Things sisters do

Being a girl is occasionally a very weird thing.

And by a girl I, of course, mean being an independent and self-reliant women.

And by weird, I mean that as an independent and self-reliant women, I sometimes find myself in the strange position of doing things that one could define as "girl stuff."

I say this having spent half my life railing against the injustices of the male-dominated world.

I say this as someone who has, for as long as I can remember, scoffed at soap operas, ignored rituals like pedicures and trips to the hair salon (except for when my mom takes me to the fancy one in Lincoln) and vehemently rejected the oodles of products peddled to reinforce female insecurities about themselves.

I say this being one of this women who hates most everything that's made for women -- and who has otherwise chosen to believe that most (if not all) of it is simply the product of misguided corporate dicks deciding what it is that women want, so they can sell it to them.

But, after spending three months with my little sister, who stopped off in Guam before heading home from Thailand, I can only conclude that there's some sort of chemical reaction that happens when you get into a room with another girl and you know that there are no guys around to make fun of you.

During Heidi's stay I found myself doing all sorts of unconscious and uncharacteristically girly things.

Like, for example, going shopping for a book only to emerge from the mall(ish) shopping area with the same pair of impractical shoes, in different sizes. Or, you know, going to K-Mart in the middle of the night to buy ingredients for chocolate chips cookies, and then giving up on baking half-way through so you can eat the chocolate chip cooking dough raw.

Or making elaborate, multi-ingredient, multicultural dishes and then taking pictures of them.






























Or simultaneously humming the Poirot theme song, because we'd spent nearly every night watching episodes of PBS Mysteries that you have stacked up in your Netflix queue.

Or pretending like we weren't going to cry while talking about that really sad episode of Futurama where the dog waits for Fry on the corner for a millennium.

Melting things, and then eating them with ice cream seems also to be something that happened more frequently in each others presence.




















Or going to the animal shelter to in-no-way-whatsoever adopt a dog, and then adopting the most ticky worm-infested emotional manipulative (and adorable) dog on the planet.
















I would blame this on some kind of familial defect, except that the women in my family tend to be of the self-contained temperament, more likely to calmly cynical, perhaps bordering on bitchy, than hysterically sentimental.

I am, or was, to some degree, the exception to this rule (except for the bitchy part). But my emotional outbursts have usually been relegated to melodramatically prostrating myself, launching into political tirades, or running in the rain to throw myself up against some poor, unsuspecting boy whose steely heart I was wooing (you know who you are).

While neither Heidi nor I seemed predisposed to this type of behavior, together, however, it only took us minutes before we started eating chocolate and drinking wine, while watching above-said Poirot, only to find ourselves moments later trying on dresses in front of a mirror and surreptitiously comparing waist and boob sizes.

Which, again, is weird.

deep holes

One of the strangest things on Guam is the presence of the mundane so near the improbably sublime.

Like, for example, this gnarly tree on the grounds of the Hilton (Guam Resort & Spa) in Tumon -- the Japanese-tourist playground alternately forested with ostentatious hotels, kitschy dining establishments with flavorless and forgettable food, seedy bars and x-rated massage parlors.

Also on the grounds of the Hilton, this deep and surprisingly accessible hole, which lurks just at the top of the hotel's grounds along Pale San Vitores road.

You can't tell from these rather blurry photos just how deep it is, but it's actually quite unnerving when you're standing on the edge of it looking in.

improbable paths

On the road to the hospital, a few hundred feet from the site of a yet-to-be completed Korean condominium development, there's a little gravel path cutting into the jungle.

Strewn with abandoned appliances and trash, as most of the vehicle-accessible jungle spots on the island are, the path doesn't look promising to the casual observer.

But, if you follow the road up to the end, you'll find yourself at the edge of a cliff, facing due west and overlooking a rocky coral bay.

The site of a house that never was, the gravel road ends at a half-completed faux-Spanish railing, satisfyingly missing half of its rails, which runs along the cliff edge.









If you follow the railing, toward the encroaching jungle, you find a staircase.


Walking down it, I sort of felt the way Frodo must have felt navigating the hand-rail-less depths of Moria, minus the Balrog.

The zig-zagging series of staircases, presumably built as part of the same, unfinished house, lead all the way down to platform overlooking the ocean.























The spot provides a clear view down to the water, and a solid perch from which to cast a fishing line. The coral rocks were pockmarked with pipes, which had been dug into them cliff, presumably as holders for fishing lines.

We also encountered several fishermen, who were casting off reels from the bottom-most platform.

















Being fairly uncoordinated, however, I stayed far from the edge, and simply took in the view.

















We were a little early for sunset, but I didn't mind.

in the rain

It's rainy season here on Guam, which means practically every day we get a rainstorm that looks something like this.

A dog named Paz: Update

Scratch that. Heidi has decided her name is now Honey -- mostly because it is awesome, and also because she can now sing her this song.

A dog named Paz

Names are funny things.

I can never tell if people become their names, or if their names become them.

My fantastically name brother Aradan has always had a less-than-typical, near-ethereal worldview, and a penchant for similar exotically A-named chick counterparts.

Even ironic names -- like foul-tempered cat Grace or the lecherous Munchkin -- can provide some kind of insight into their characters as beings. Grace eventually found her meditational zen after listening to a few warbly bars of "Amazing Grace" while being petted. And Munchkin, well, he was barely a dog anyway, so the ignoble name only further exacerbated his tragic plight as a dirty old man stuck in an adorable body.

My name has never felt entirely like my own. For most of my life I think I have seen it as an unnuanced label applied haphazardly to my delicate and complicated soul -- naturally. But, then again, people have been calling me my sister's name my whole life, which is basically the same name if spoken with a lisp (which I used to). And besides, my temperament could never withstand an embarrassingly girly name like Ashley or Jessica or Kristen or Cathy or, shudder, Jennifer. At least my name does have that tomboy-cum-peasant-lass ring to it that sort of suits my earthen charms.

So, it was with much responsibility that Heidi (who has grown into her own milkmaiden call sign) and I mulled the naming of our newly adopted shelter dog.

Given the unattractive and short name Paz during her short time at the shelter, our newly adopted pet arrived in our care a terrifically gaunt, tick-carpeted, almost-boonie dog, who has clearly seen one too many litters.

Immediately we considered names inspired by Battlestar Galactica, because there are certainly not enough dogs named Cylon or Caprica Six. Given the dog's affection for Heidi (she seems to have chosen her at the shelter and Heidi was powerless against her manipulative sad stare) we also considered iterations of Heidi's name -- Adelaide or Adelheide, which might not be a real iteration of Heidi, but simply something that my zany best friend in high school Cathy (who now calls herself Cate) made up.

Heidi also said she always wanted a dog named Sunshine, which seemed like it might work, since "You are my sunshine" is the only song I know more than one line to. Plus she's yellow (suprisingly) -- a fact we discovered after the tick exodus.

If we named her Sunshine we could also put "Sunny" in quotation marks in her name and make her run for local office -- like so many of the Anthony "Tonys" and Jonathan "Jons" and James "Jims" and Michael "Mikes" who seem to feel the need to publicize their incredibly common nicknames on campaign posters here.

I thought Worms might be an appropriate -- if unflattering -- name, given the large quantity of parasites she was infected with (and threw up) when we got first her. In the same vein, it occurred to me Pandora might be a good name, because like the metaphoric box from which sprang all the world's sins, she was carrying with her a bevy of costly (albeit treatable) ills.

In a flash of brilliance, I decided while I was walking her that I like the name Prudence, due in no small part to her rather finicky disposition when peeing. If we named her Prudence, we could also call her "Pru" for short, like the Shannon Doherty character on that show about witches that I will pretend that I don't know the name to. And also, Prudence Pandora Paz is kind of the most stupid name for a dog ever.

After reading many a local obituary, Heidi realized that we didn't need to choose just one (or three) names, when six or seven would do. Thus: Adelhaide Cylon Caprica-Six Prudence Sunshine Pazaline "Paz/Mama Paz/Ticky" Gabriela Thompson (familian Boonie-Mutt), of Chalan Pago, formerly Yigo.

For now, since that doesn't really fit on a dog tag, and people keep asking me her name, I have to call her something that sounds vaguely like a real name. And Paz seems to be slipping off the tip of my tongue more than Prudence Pandora or Sunshine or Adelhaide Cylon Caprica-Six Prudence Sunshine Pazaline "Paz/Mama Paz/Ticky" Gabriela Thompson (familian Boonie-Mutt), of Chalan Pago, formerly Yigo.

And while Paz wouldn't necessarily be the first name I chose if deciding to newly anoint some creature, maybe it's not up to me.

Paz, which means peace, does seem oddly fitting for a dog whose main pastime is lying sedately on our bed, looking as if she has no desire to do anything, or be anywhere, but here.

















Plus, Paz works nicely in that Lady Gaga song that goes "Ra Ra Ra-Ra-Ra" that I actually don't know the name too, but plan on making Paz's new theme song.