Stories from the Robe

The Great Outdoors

2012-02-04T08:44:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I get tired of going to the gym (I've only had my membership for two weeks, I know). But I still get tired of it. I attended a group training class with a friend and the leader was her personal trainer. We performed a number of ridiculously looking, painfully difficult exercises, and I happily found modifications when necessary (modifications like pretending I couldn't find the weight to lift, my eye fell out, or that I had actually died). That was a good use of my minute. "Where's the weight? How am I supposed to lift this crazy heavy thing if I can't find it?" was my facial expression. Or, "Ahh! My eye!" but that one unfortunately didn't work for very long.

The sit ups are now my least favorite thing to do. Mr. T told me that I didn't need to do sit-ups unless it was once a week because I don't want to have killer abs with a little "love" layer over it. Again, not his official words. I am not good at memorizing exactly what someone says. I met someone a couple weeks ago who repeated to someone else word for word what I said, which amazed me, and when I inquired about it he said it was because he was a good listener. Great. I'll get on that listening bit.

So to appease my desire to work out while not attending the gym and pretending to lose body parts, I decided to go for a little jog outside. It was beautiful. I have been a bit enamored with this winter in that it allows me to be outside without my parka and snow boots. It's important to note that when you jog, though, you actually use your stomach muscles. Needless to say my work at the group training class a couple nights before prevented me from having a great run because I felt like someone was throwing needles at my stomach. And when you come to think about it, it seems like it could happen. People are always in the park, throwing frisbees and footballs. What would stop someone from standing a few feet in front of me the entire run, chucking needles at my midsection?

Perhaps that is why I joined the gym. It's safer to work out indoors.

Weight a Minute.

2012-01-28T09:57:00.000-08:00

I've officially been a gym member for 8 days (what what?!?) and I had my first appointment with a trainer to get me comfortable with a routine and machines. Look, strong toned athletic guy, whom I will affectionately call Mr. Trainer, or Mr. T for short, I clearly know how to use the machines. But I'll act like I'm learning, for you.

Mr. T pointed out all the weight machines I won't need. Like the inner/outer thigh stuff. "You see" he said (and I am paraphrasing here because I actually don't remember exactly what he said, nor do I think he would've started a sentence with 'you see'), "it only targets one small muscle here." I actually wish I would've paid attention to that point years ago. He kept picking the machines I used as the ones I didn't need. So THAT'S been the problem all along. I am so glad Mr. T is part of my life to help make this gym venture a success.

Calling him Mr. T reminds me of the conversation I had with some friends about one of the actors on Law and Order: SVU. His name is Ice Cube, one of my dumb friends said. No, I pointed out, his name is Iced-Tea. It turns out we were both wrong, but I was closer, so that's a win for me. (Also, my friend is not really dumb, I just needed to add that descriptor for sentence structure. FYI.)

Back to the point on weights. I use the machines because I have no idea what good exercises to do with the free weights. I wish I did; today I watched a pregnant lady do some cool free weight stuff with lunges. I hope she was pregnant... My problem is that when I have the weights in hand, I somehow get confused as to how my body actually moves and I start lifting them in strange, uncomfortable motions. And to be fair to myself, no, I don't actually think that people walk with constant arm distortion, but it's the only move I can come up with on my own.

Perhaps I can search Pinterest to see if Iced-Tea has any work outs with free weights; he seems to be in decentish shape...

I Joined a Gym

2012-01-25T09:10:00.000-08:00

I just spent the last 20 minutes (that's a lie, it was probably closer to 30. I'm a slow reader, give me a break) reading some of my old blogs. In one of my blogs I wrote about how chain stores like Borders can never let us down. Whoops. I also wrote about my attempts at learning Spanish. Whoops. I also wrote that I was not going to spend money joining a gym. Whoops.

I am actually proud of myself for that last one. I've been trying to find ways to motivate myself for awhile, and I found it. I saw some pictures from my 30th birthday party. Now, I loved the party and the people who came, but nobody's chin needs to look like that.

Some prior information: I was an athlete growing up. I was good at sports all throughout high school. I can thank my sister for that (she chose sports, and since I wanted to be like her, I did, too) and my dad for helping Ashley and I learn how to play soccer. We ran cross country, too, to stay in shape. I didn't have a problem running for miles and miles at a decent speed, and I could eat whatever I wanted. Let's be honest, though, if you know my mom you know her meals are well-balanced to the core.

Then I went to Truman. I loved it there. The gym (which I rarely frequented) was great, and the cafeteria (which I frequented too often, unfortunately) was great as well. Somewhere along the line I thought I could do it all on my own--stay in shape, eat right, etc. and I just didn't succeed. And I think the idea that I could always just 'get back in shape' was sitting in my brain, infecting me.

Twelve years later I look back and realize I yo-yo'ed for so long between healthy and unhealthy weights. I've tried to find motivation in other people's goals or other people's stories. Until recently I didn't become fully aware that I can do this for me, and it's okay to do something for me.

I am excited for my new journey. I am excited I joined a gym that lots of my friends belong to and I am sharing with them that I need help along the way. I am excited that I am learning to ask for help in a vulnerable area in my life. And I am excited to see my progress. This time it feels different.

And that's a good feeling. This gym membership is only a step, but it's a step I am finally making. For me.

And you're welcome for letting you in on a hard part of my life. I know this blog isn't filled with hilariously embarrassing memoirs, but it's a starting point for me. If you want to share encouragement or words of wisdom or anything, please do! Because of good friends like some of you, I know I am not alone on this journey.

The Nazarite

2011-08-10T12:33:00.000-07:00

I wrote this awhile ago, but have been thinking about it again lately, so I figured I would share.

I walked across the red wooden bridge preparing to set down my bags.
There he stood with his cowboy boots inhaling on his homemade drag.
I looked away and back again. I lifted my chin caught his gaze and smiled.
No smile crossed his lips but I saw it, mixed with surprise, in his eyes.

We learned he cut his hair four years ago but before that it was in ’73.
He saw Bob Marley ten weeks ago. He spoke in tongues. He had no teeth.
It rained on us but we carried on, the fire perfect in the night.
Slowly, quietly, over time, his story was brought to light.

His children numbered six or seven. He was deported from a Mexican jail.
He grew up in California and a great white brushed his heel.
His son in anger burned down his home and now he pitches his tent.
A church refused him food, and starving, away he went.

He learned we study the Bible. He mentioned specifically Ephesians 3.
I knew it not by heart and found a place to hideaway and read.
The mystery is that the Gentiles and Israel share together in the promise of The Christ.
And Paul prays that we may know His love; its width, its depth, its length, its height.

I began to pray the kids would not reject him and I ended praying for me alone
For I have yet to grow accustom to crossing paths with travelers who have no home.
Who is this man who speaks only of one song and has his hair in dreads?
He told me once, when I asked, that I could simply call him Ted.

I thought we had a toaster.

2011-07-30T09:36:00.000-07:00

I'm not a very good cook. I try darnit, but really am not so good. Which is sad, because my mom is probably the best cook I know, my sister makes a mean Thanksgiving dinner and my dad grills like no other. Me? I provide comic relief. And I'm pretty good at setting the table, which I learned to do when I was younger because I lost my bike at the park (which, might I add, was actually just locked in the shed thanks to the nice park guys who were astute enough to know I don't remember things well. Sometimes a girl just wants to walk home from the park; is it really that hard to comprehend?).

When my parents were visiting they realized once again of my lack of cooking ability and kindly bought me a George Foreman grill, of which I am most thankful. I actually try now. Last night I made chicken. It was good! This morning I made the mistake of thinking I could make something other than chicken. Like poached eggs, my favorite.

I've seen it done hundreds of times; my parents make poached eggs on Sunday morning with bacon, toast and jelly, and orange juice. It's delicious. Since my cooking skills are not quite up to sub par I figured I'd start with the eggs and toast. I used to carry a toaster around with me in the trunk of my car, you know, "just in case". I eventually threw it away I suppose, which is a shame when all you want is toast after the egg you were going to put in the boiling water fell off the uneven counter and you had to clean up gross raw egg from the cracked hard wood floor. But with no toaster, I'm eating cold bread. Today's going to be a good day.

Why is today not Sunday at my parent's house?

Daydreamer

2011-07-28T21:17:00.000-07:00

At times I find myself daydreaming. Like the time I dreamt I would win the lottery. It was a sweet 70 million, and once I saw the sign I would pull off the road on the first exit, buy my ticket at the first grocery store on the right, and win. I tried it; I didn't win.

Another time I kept seeing a guy in a black BMW driving to school the same time as me. I thought eventually we might run into each other and say hello. It never happened.

Then I remembered all the silverfish in our house and thought that one of them might land on my head someday. Why, out of all the options, is this the one that has to be true? Why, when I'm about to turn the lights off and fall dreamily to sleep do I have to feel something lightly moving on my head? Why wasn't I able to catch it? It might've been because I was screaming and throwing my covers everywhere; I can't be sure. It's all a blur now. All I know is that my room is completely coated in bug barrier and it's not working.

I guess I'll start only daydreaming about the happy stuff. Because even if it doesn't happen I don't have to worry about the bugs. Maybe I'll write a song about it someday.

I also dream that someday I won't be afraid to share my music.

For Sale!

2011-07-09T17:22:00.000-07:00

I used to have a spending problem. I wasn't outrageous, I suppose, but I spent my money freely. I collected the following over the years: a bike I rarely ride, lots of fun jewelry I don't wear nearly enough, entirely too many restaurant receipts, and lastly, clothes I absolutely love that are too small to wear. I wish it was that they shrunk but sad to say it isn't true. It might have something to do with all those restaurant receipts... Thus I have vowed to get back into shape. And I'm not going to buy another gym membership that wasn't worth the money. No, this time I'm going to try something new: eat better. And exercise when I can. I know it's simple.

We have cable TV. Apparently the basic cable package includes two news channels and 47 channels that sell crap. I haven't succumb to any purchases, thank goodness, but I've gotten close. Like the Jim Croce cd. I almost bought it. Via my television set.

One of the channels is devoted to Zumba. I was watching it and all the success stories. Sure, I was finishing the dark chocolate chex mix that was on sale at the grocery, sure. It dawned on me when I saw the 42 year old mother who lost 35 pounds that I could do it, too. Not that I want to lose 35 pounds, but I could do SOMETHING. Like, not eat the bag of chex mix. But clearly that was too late. So perhaps I can do something else. Like run at the park. Or go to bed at a decent time. And not eat when I'm full. Or just buy clothes that are too big and that might make me feel better.

I realize that buying clothes which are too big entails spending more money, so I changed the channel. I can get 10 cd's of 150 of the best "Teen Year" songs with only $1.99 shipping and handling. That sounds like a better deal.

It's too bad that the Zumba cd's don't come with a bottle of motivation.

Singing in the Rain

2011-06-29T20:06:00.000-07:00

I love St. Louis. In the summer, The Muny, our outdoor theatre, has a section of free seats. I dreamt of going last summer to the Sound of Music, as it's one of my favorites, but my classes kept me from finding the time. This summer it's the same. I want to see Kiss Me, Kate; I want to see the Little Mermaid; I want to see Seven Brides for Seven Brothers; sadly summer classes are keeping me from this yet again.

I love music. Sometimes I need complete silence when I work. Other times, I need music. But not just any old music. Great, great music. I used to be really good about finding this music, or at least paid enough attention when my friends did. However, my busy months have kept me out of incredible music mania land and I long to be invited back into the beauty that is raw, emotional, indie, honest music. I could use some serious help here, people. Give me ideas!

On another note, Gus is dead. My wonderful roommate scooped him into a box after finding his little legs sticking up from the other side of the trap earlier this week. It was a little gross, a little sad. Good thing she's so strong.

I'm not kidding about the help with the music. And if you're free, make me go the Muny with you.

The Secret to a Healthy Life

2011-06-21T21:10:00.000-07:00

So much time can be spent trying to find the cures and fix-alls to life's difficulties. I am pretty sure I learned the answer through experience. If you're trying to figure out how to stay quick on your feet, take it from me: the solution is simpler than you think. Simply move to an old house with bugs.

You might be thinking, "Courtney, I don't have time or resources to pack up my life, find an old bug-infested house, and move into it." But I ask you, "How could you not?" Since moving, I've discovered ways to keep my body fit and my mind sharp.

I wake up in the morning and scan my walls and floor for bugs, giving my neck a nice stretch before ever stepping out of bed. Then I gingerly tip-toe to the shower to avoid anything I did not see in my scan. My calves are really getting strong. I give my towels a good shake (upper body strength is finally developing-if only I had that in gym class so I could've done pull-ups), jump into the shower (plyometrics) and quicken my brain by plotting escape routes should a bug somehow fall in my path.

I also use my math abilities when recognizing all edges in my home in order to get the full effect of our bug killer gun. It's electric, and although I didn't know it when I bought it, I find a sense of comfort in that. I am also getting a good upper leg workout by bending properly, at the knees, to pick up any dead insects I find due to our weapon of choice. For only a little bit of money and a lot of sleepless nights, you too can have this lifestyle.

Now if only I could have a positive attitude about trying to exterminate Gus, our house mouse.

Summer Drifts

2011-06-17T07:27:00.000-07:00

I love summer. It's wonderful. Since I am not yet a teacher I don't get to have lots of glorious time off (Side note to teachers-I am simply acknowledging the time off; I fully recognize that you work very diligently during the school year and many of you continue to work at times throughout the summer. This post is meant only to recognize that summer is thought by many to be a time of relaxation, rejuvenation, and rest. And someday, when I am a teacher, I am going to sit in the summer's beauty.) Back to what I was saying. Summer is glorious. I realized, though, that I had one day off this summer and it has already passed. So my summer, as I was hoping it to be, is already drifting away.

But nothing is pushing it quite into the days of less sunlight and down jackets as my summer course, Differential Equations. Perhaps you've taken it. I will advise that you don't inform me of your success in this class UNLESS you have beautiful words of wisdom that will quickly pull me out of my quicksand episode and catapult me into successland. I mean, I appreciate the gesture of you attempting to make a connection with me, don't get me wrong, but this course is consuming my life. No, sir, I don't remember that e and natural log "cancel" each other out. No, sir, I didn't remember that integration and differentiation were actually different things (until 2:50 am the night before my second class). No, sir, I can't just rememorize the thousands of tricks from my calculus days over 10 years ago. So when I ask you for help, telling me to work some calculus problems might not be what I need. Perhaps I need a hug and a glass of wine. Both things I presume you won't give me during evening class. And that's fine; I don't expect you to provide for me what I truly need in times of crisis.

How would you know that the nap I am trying to take in your class is only necessary because of the heinous number of hours I've spent on this homework already? How would you know that my crying spells and crazed eyes are not directed toward you or my fellow classmates, and are in fact my only solace in a time like this? How would you know that my increased volume in conversation which turns to song is how I cope with and redirect my feelings of inadequacy?

I suppose you won't know that until I get the things I need, and pinot noir and warm embraces just don't show up like they used to...

The Mud Room: A Secret to Luxury Living

2011-01-20T07:34:00.000-08:00

Mud rooms aren't only for providing walkways to the bathroom and hall closet. Their purpose is not merely to offer a wall where we can measure parts of our childhood by the tic marks of our growth (although it was great fun to watch my height increase as a child, now I fear the only measurement I could make would be width; something I am not at all interested in measuring). Mud rooms were the way to the great outdoors. Through the back door we would watch our garden grow around the patio, Ashley and I sneaking fresh green beans while Doxie (our dog) sampled the miniature tomatoes, much to our dismay only a few short hours later. When she was outside snacking with us, we practically drew straws for who she had to sleep with that evening.

The mud room's front door, leading into our garage, may have been the best adventure yet. Much like Seal, when it snowed, my eyes became large. Mom would bundle us up in jumbo socks, scarves, gloves, hats, boots, snowpants, and coats, and send us out to brave the weather with our father. And although she would join us at shoveling, my favorite was when she sent the three of us out and began to prepare the after-shovel meal. As Dad, Ashley, and I shoveled and breaked for snowball fights and tackles, Mom slaved away in the kitchen and mud room, making cookies, warming water for cocoa and laying out mats for our messy attire when we returned inside. With cold hands and a warm heart, she smiled at our red faces and delayered us. The mats were near a vent and somehow, with Mom's magical touch, everything dried faster than if we had placed it ourselves. We usually did a good job of sneaking in a snowball or two for her as our way to say thank you.

Those are the memories of luxury living. Now after shoveling inches of snow early in the morning with my roommates, I come back inside, discard my boots and outerwear in the living room, and begin to prepare my own after-shovel meal, sharing my childhood memories with my dear friends in hopes that the tradition can continue.

This time, though, I'm having big girl cocoa.

The one who got away. Literally.

2010-09-21T21:26:00.000-07:00

We all have those people in our lives... the ones we think we could have little crushes on forever. You know what I'm talking about. Maybe you had a pretend relationship with them in your head and you actually got mad at them when they didn't call. Oh that wasn't you? You've never experienced this? Then learn from me, my friend.

About a month ago as I was leaving the grocery (as I affectionally call the grocery store-- it has a nice ring to it and I don't have to write or say as many words. I also like to say "grocery" like "gross-ery" when I say it without "store" at the end. It sounds so refined. You should try it.) I saw this guy running who I *may* have had one of those little crushes on when I lived in St. Louis the first time. I was so surprised and shocked and excited. Who knew we might live near each other now? I did what everybody always wishes they'd do when something like this happened. I gasped, looked frantically for on-coming traffic, and made a split-second decision to spin the car around. This time I wasn't going to just not say anything! I was the star of the movie!

I drove past him running again. Then the stoplight came and I stopped. So far so good. I had strategically passed him (fine that's a lie. I had to pass him so I wouldn't stop completely in the middle of the road and look totally nuts) and was ready to say hello. I pulled down the 2x3 inch mirror on my car flap thing that blocks the sun to make sure my hair was groomed, rolled down the window, and said hello as he ran past. Oh boy, here we go...he looked in the window...and said hello back! And then kept running. And running. And didn't turn around. So I kept turning where he turned and driving past him. Just kidding. I went straight when he turned. And our paths stopped crossing. I guess he wasn't interested in talking to me like I had hoped. Someone else gets to star in my movie...

Oh well. You win some, you lose some.

Or maybe I accidentally said hello to his twin brother.

Long Drives and Guys who Just Don't Quite Fit In

2010-08-11T20:23:00.000-07:00

First of all, thank you Mr. Confessional for the usage of your lyrical masterpiece as the title of this little ditty.

On my long long sojourn from Minneapolis to St. Louis I discovered Cruise Control. I haven't really ever had a need for it before, as I felt all my limbs had a responsibility in the transportation process. Right Hand: steer. Left Hand: hold up my head. Right Foot: push the appropriate pedal. Left Foot: constant state of readiness for the braking that might need to happen as Right Hand was alone in the steering process. It seemed like a well-oiled machine.

Then I started getting tired of driving.

Cruise control...everyone talks about your beauty; your bliss. I will attempt you.

I think it's important to note to new users of CC that it's NOT actually the same thing as auto-pilot. The only one that gets a break (no pun intended. or was it?) is Right Foot. As it so happened I didn't realize this in the beginning. Everyone got a new job and it wasn't until another car showed up mysteriously in my way (it's possible I set the cruise control for a little over the speed limit) that reaction had to happen.

But what now? Right Hand was busy reaching for chips, Left Hand was tapping along to the music, Left Foot was finally resting, and Right Foot was hokey pokeying it up when the SUV came into the picture. Ugh. This is why I don't use cruise control. Just when I thought I could take a break, here comes trouble. Everyone still had to work and I couldn't handle Right Foot just sitting there, so we said good-bye to cruise control. Maybe we can try again another day when all the other drivers are taken off the road.

And if they were old, my mom would love that.

Ahhh Summer

2010-06-02T21:57:00.001-07:00

This summer proves already to be a great one. I am spending my glorious time hanging out with 75 middle schoolers by day and 14 other Linear Algebra students by night. I haven't taken a math class in eight years. EIGHT YEARS. The reason I switched from math to accounting? Linear Algebra. For some reason, though, I finally feel like I'm ready to take it.

I'm going to kick some serious Linear Algebra butt. I hope.

We went to a Cardinals game tonight. Although we tried to liven up the group around us we failed. I think they hate talking. Especially the kid in front of me. At least he hates me talking. When I would say something I began to notice a little red baseball cap in front of me turn and I began to see the face of an angry elementary school child. Eventually I returned his gaze but kept the scowl out of my response. I did talk to him, though, which I don't think worked. It was quite funny to us, not to the people next to us. Mainly they were mad we didn't get there on time. Or maybe they were mad that we couldn't keep from laughing at how upset that boy got at me. Or maybe they were mad that we kept trying to step on their feet. Who knows. None of it really makes much sense. Regardless, the Cardinals won, the boy in front of me (NOT next to me, which is a story for a different time) stopped glaring-because the game was over and everyone left-and the evening came to a close. Just in time for the rain to start.

Ahhh, Summer. I'm glad you're here. Now I just need to find a tutor...

Lo Siento

2010-03-28T22:04:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure I remember that to mean "I'm sorry." and it's true; I am. I promised wonderfully articulated sentences, proven mastery of the Spanish language by the end of March. And you're not going to get it. One thing is for sure, though: I remember why I didn't minor in Spanish. And that's because it takes a lot of work. I didn't make the time then and I sure didn't make it now. I have a tendency to overcommit myself to projects and it turns out nothing gets done. Who knew? So, lo siento. I will try again in April. No promises this time; I think we all know where that landed us in March.

Here's something else to be sorry about: my choice in movies these days. I watched the Informant with my parents (the company was great, the movie mediocre) and Law Abiding Citizen. What kind of crazy is that? I am in desperate need to watch something better. Like why doesn't someone make a movie about my life? That would be interesting. I wouldn't mind watching that. I suppose the obvious question is clearly who would I cast to play the role of me and frankly, I don't know. I think that's a tough one. Especially since I just spent a few hours today looking at my senior yearbook and remembering how awesome I was. I'll probably have to hire a stunt double. When I was little my sister and I would compete to jump off the higher step on the staircase. I dreamt that I jumped from the highest one. You know what? Forget it; this movie is too complicated and it's already lost my attention.

Looks like the Hollywood writers and I are going through the same thing. It's alright, Hollywood, I'm right here with you. But don't give up; there is still hope for us.

Wimpy Day

2010-03-03T21:17:00.000-08:00

Today I only had to cover one sheet's worth of material. and I learned about "a" and "the". I think I've got those covered. Since I got done with time to spare, I paroused the rest of the book.

Apparently there are keys placed throughout the manual to try to get me to practice my question words. Why don't they just write the words down, or say: now is a time to practice your question words. Why do I need to have a set of keys to entice me? Do the keys get me into a magical land? Will they be what I need to unlock my special prize of front row tickets to Disney on Ice? What can I do with these keys? Although I don't know the answer now, I can't imagine it would hurt anything for me to cut them out and carry them around with me, just in case. If nothing else, I could use them to scratch off lotto tickets. That is, after I have them laminated. They are paper, after all.

I have some examples to learn from in my lesson. Like la agricultura. That means the agriculture. And el animal. That means the animal. la and el are the articles which come before the words (nouns, I think; i was never good at remembering that), and they are femine and masculine, respectively. Two other examples I was given in learning my articles: agosto (August) and America (hopefully no translation needed). Please note they have no articles. I can't figure out why they're in the article section. Much like yesterday when I couldn't figure out how Washington was a good example to use when practicing my letter pronounciation. Just like today when I can't figure out why there is a picture in the middle of my page of children playing marbles. Sometimes it's better to not ask questions.

So to recap: Donde esta un vaso de vino? Look at this: mastery. I combined my day one and two lessons into this beautifully woven masterpiece. I would try to figure out a way to use today's lesson, but unfortunately I don't use the words "a" and "the" very much. This is going to be tricky.

Oh well. Maybe I can use one of my keys to help me.

Question Words

2010-03-02T20:14:00.001-08:00

Today is all about question words. The book says we're going to use donde (where) the most. Probably because when we go to countries where the people speak Spanish, we won't really know our way around. We'll need to know where the damas go to find the restroom. I think damas means ladies. The book didn't say what it meant, but there was a picture of a restroom sign with a female on it and the word damas, so I am pulling out my inference skills on that one.

In high school when I first remember learning the question words, my teacher made up songs to help us. Looking back at them, I'm pretty sure two of them are racist. I know that wasn't her intent, but let's be honest: chanting the cheer "what, what, what..." in spanish (where "what" is the same as "que") just doesn't work out to anyone's advantage. Although I suppose now I know it, but that's due to shock value from my class more than anything. Surprisingly, I don't remember how we learned "donde". If it's such an invaluable word, I should remember how I first became aware of it.

Nevertheless, another successful day (I know, I know, it's only day 2)of learning spanish. I am well on my way to getting ready for Spain. I'm surprised my 1/3 bottle of NyQuil didn't keep me from focusing, but I guess when something is really important, no amount of NyQuil can keep me down.

You're welcome, spanish language, for being devoted to you. May you someday come in handy!

I knew I was going to like this.

2010-03-01T20:56:00.000-08:00

I open up my Spanish book and the first line to learn is, "What is that?" with an arrow pointing to a picture. The next line: "That is wine." The third and final line in this section: "I want/would like a glass of wine."

I think that's enough learning for one day. If I get this message down, I should be set, at least for awhile. Every now and again I can substitute 'vino' for something potentially more practical, like 'fruta', which means fruit. Sure, it might sound weird to say I would like a glass of fruit, but I haven't learned what a "plateful" or "a little bit of" is yet. Get off my back, would you? It's only day one.

In college my friends and I would say GOMBA to stand for Get Off My Back Already when we felt pressure from the others about something we were clearly not living up to. I don't remember what it was used for the most, I only knew it was used. Often.

Today we are reviewing the alphabet. I was supposed to spend ten minutes studying the map, but please. Maps are no good to me. I am terrible at geography, and this isn't March Madness around the globe. It's March Madness in Espanol. Come on, people. Let's get it together.

Here's my one concern about the validity of my book: while reviewing the alphabet, each letter is paired with a word that contains it, to help with a more comprehensive learning. I don't have a problem with words like Rosa, Samuel, Carlos, Isabel. No problem; we're clearly going on a theme of Spanish names. My concern comes into play when we get to W. Our chosen word to practice how to say it: Washington.

Oh boy. Yo quiero un vaso de vino. Stat.

March Madness. En Espanol.

2010-02-28T20:11:00.001-08:00

I am excited for what March brings: warmer weather (spring--I am glad you are on your way), more birthdays, spring break, and....spanish lessons! I love the spanish language, and it's time for me to learn it. March challenge is teaching myself Spanish in ten minutes a day.

Join me if you'd like. My old suitemate Molly and I would hold conversations in Spanish across the hall near the drinking fountain in college. She spent a summer in Costa Rica. I pretty much repeated everything back to her, took a drink of water, and listened as she said something new. I learned so much about her during that time. Like she was really good at speaking spanish and I wasn't even close. She learned how to style her curls there really well too. I wonder how she did it. Now is my time to learn (spanish, not about hair styling. although if you have insight on that, let me know; clearly from my previous blog we know I could use all the help I can get).

I'm going to take advantage of my complete language learning kit and hopefully teach you a thing or two about a language you may not know. And hopefully, you can teach me a thing or two as well.

Middle Parts

2010-02-23T19:36:00.001-08:00

I've been thinking long and hard about this. Not that I want to get one, but I'm not sure why they're ever chosen to be the right path in life. I mean really, who can sport the middle part with ease all the while looking good?

I've been struggling here. I just got my hair cut (it was long overdue). I used to have to brush or comb my hair for ten horrific minutes trying to detangle the massive knot created on the underside of my mane. When I was a wee little lass my mom would comb it out for me, no lie, for about an hour. I would sit and cry as we watched Days of Our Lives. Okay, the DoOL part is not true. I wonder if that show ever thought to use my ingenious abbreviation for it? It seems like a clear winner.

Back to what I was saying: Thank you, Mom, for not forcing me to chop my hair off. I greatly appreciate your painstaking efforts to keep me looking ravishing, even in my middle school days. Fine, like anyone looked good in middle school, but you know what I mean: to the best that I was able. For that, I thank you.

I used to get perms and got one of those in middle school. It was a tight curl with my jumbo glasses. I was hot stuff. I also got a perm in college (wherein I looked like Kenny G for about a month) and I got a perm a couple years ago, one that I actually really liked. Finally! Why do we constantly change our hair? And why on EARTH would you ever change it to the middle part? I know some of you, very few of you, can actually wear the middle part and look good. I am not one of the few. My hair, since the cut, has been unfortunately starting to fall in the middle. It's devistating. Since I have swoopy long bangs they're fine, but it's all downhill after that. Question: how do I keep it from happening?!? And I don't want to hear from those of you who wear it successfully. I never will be successful with a separation down the middle of my scalp.

Whew! This may be a post for the ladies, so sorry, guys if you're disinterested. I get that. Just don't wear your hair down the middle and we won't have any problems.

I'm Practically an Olympian

2010-02-14T21:53:00.000-08:00

The Olympics have been on for a few days now and it's incredible to me. The amount of time and intensity of the trainings and it all boils down to one big moment. Tonight I watched figure skating. I love it. Minus the outfits. Not that the skaters should spin around without them on, just that maybe they could be a bit different. Instead of swans on them, maybe no swans. Instead of web backs and space suits, maybe a little less spider meets the astronauts and more sparkles. You can never get enough sparkles.

So figure skating. It's beautiful to me. I was surprised by the number of falls tonight. I mean, I get falling. It happens unexpectedly. Like tonight, for example, I fell. It was one of those magical and terrifying slow motion times. I was leaving the figure skating party and heading out to my car, dreaming up uniforms for my new best buds while flitting around in the blizzardous St. Louis weather. The key was nearly in the lock when it happened. From the other side of the car, to my lone onlooker, it was a backward swan dive (now I understand the aforementioned outfits). To me, reality was hitting hard. I lost my footing and without realizing it I was down. And the pain was immediate. I felt it mostly in my upper thigh, but slowly my arm started in. Regardless, I could only shout "That hurt so bad! That hurt so bad!" through roars of laughter as the clock neared the midnight hour.

Why do we laugh when we're in pain? I don't know. All I know is we all fall down. You, me, and the Olympians. It's like I'm one of them, and they're one of me. Or something. Maybe just the first one. But I'm not going to stop falling down and getting up, and I don't think they should either.

If you have questions for any of us Olympians, just ask. I promise I won't send you spam. I can't promise I won't be wearing the swan outfit (I think I might be able to get a good deal on one), but I won't be sending you spam. You can count on that.

Proud Little Sister Tears

2010-02-12T16:04:00.000-08:00

I got exciting news today: my big sister, who has been going back to school to be a special education teacher, called today to tell me she passed all of her tests. There is something so incredible about hearing the voice of someone you love share great news. It brings tears to my eyes. Not the onion kind of tears where you try to hide it because you're embarrassed that something so trivial could make you cry. No, they're the "I want the whole world to know" kind of tears, they're the "I'm so proud of you I don't know the words to say" kind of tears. They're the "WAHOO!!!!" kind. Good thing tears don't talk (I mean, they definitely say something, but they don't talk. You get me?) or else I'd be in trouble, especially since they don't know the words to say. They'd probably babble about how they mix with make up as they fall down the face of girls and how they cause weird face stains and people blame them for their red eyes.

I think crying is great. I know some people (I might even to venture to say most) hate crying. They see it as a sign of weakness. I think I cry nearly everyday. Not the bawling kind of cry, but the tear up deal. It's probably good for me; my eyes get dried out sometimes from my contacts.

But seriously, crying releases so much, aside from tears, and lets you express deep emotion. I hope someday if I get married (Dear God, please let me get married someday. That is a real prayer.) the guy I marry doesn't look at me and say, "here we go again." I mean as a joke, once a decade, fine. But seriously, tears are legit. So let 'em out, friends. If you're sad, go ahead. If you're happy, go ahead (those are my favorite kind of tears anyway).

And you can always cry around me. I won't think you're a baby.

Unwinding from the windedness

2010-02-11T14:14:00.000-08:00

Please note: I wrote this Thursday. Not sure when it will post; I get confused with drafts...

Some days start off badly. Some days end badly. Some days have rough patches in between. Yesterday was no exception. Neither was today.

Last night, I was poking around, not doing much, and realized (too late) that it was time for my evening class. So after changing clothes and grabbing my books, I huffed and puffed to my car. Drove to school, parked, huffed and puffed up two flights of stairs, and continued huffing and puffing for five minutes while sitting in class. I can't handle this. Two flights of stairs! I couldn't believe how winded I was (and how long I stayed in that wretched state). Something needs to be done about this. Like petitioning to get the class moved to the first floor. Who made that second floor decision, anyway? Some people really abuse their power.

Then this morning, I woke up late (on purpose and on accident. You see, I knew I wasn't going to shower (layoff, okay? It's not good for my hair to wash it everyday.) but then I got up later than I expected. Like 7:10 later...) and after running around getting ready, I threw on my heels and was out the door. Who knew that extremly cold evenings = the necessity to scrape the car = falling ONTO the car while scraping? And since I'm not tall enough to reach my entire windshield flat-footed, the snow crept into the back of my heels while I was standing on my tip-toes. It was nuts. And very cold.

I need to get a good unwinding strategy. Like being on time. Unfortunately, that's not too helpful in my case. I mean, I can try for sure, but it's not my norm, and it's hard, and sometimes hard things are not what you need for unwinding. Maybe I could just hire someone to have a glass of chilled white wine ready for me when I get home, or hot cocoa with schnapps, like how I grew up (I mean, grew up after I was 21. duh.) on cold days. Like the previously mentioned day. Someday the snow will melt, and it will be warm enough to go for jogs outside. If only I can convince myself to do that.

Motivation. Where are you? Will you find a way for me to unwind?

Snow days and Shred

2010-02-09T20:48:00.001-08:00

What a glorious day. A snow day. My teacher cancelled class last night, too, which means all that homework I'd try to do the day before: pointless. Not actually pointless, but still undeserving on the incredible amount of time I put (or tried to put)into it. No complaints about school being canceled, though. Please notice I've spelled cancelled two different ways. I'm just not sure how many l's it has. And frankly, I don't care enough to dictionary.com it. I'm hoping someone else will let me know; I've got some pretty great grammar friends. I'm not asking you to point out all the clearly visible problems with my blogging (for example, the insane amount of improper punctuation used), I'm simply asking for a spellcheck on one word. Got it, guys?

So school (work) was canceled and I got a couple different calls letting me know. I appreciate the calls, I just wish there was a magic way of them not waking me from my slumber until ten seconds after my alarm clock goes off, which also happens to be on my phone. You're probably thinking, whoa, Courtney! I didn't know your phone had the capability of an alarm clock AND that you were able to figure it out. My response: we all have a few tricks up our sleeves.

Although it is time to get a new phone. I've been browsing the free upgrades online and they look quite enticing. At church on Sunday the bulletin said there was a place to recycle old phones so others could use them. My friend Gina leaned over and said I shouldn't even think about it; no one would want it. And it's true. The antenna is exposed, the outside is slowly chipping away, and not too long ago I picked it up out of my purse and the back had detached itself and the battery was floating around somewhere. What does all of this mean? Clearly it means it's still usable, and therefore, it's being used. Maybe it's not as glamorous as say, the iPhone, or a Blackberry, or even a fancy rotary phone for that matter...in fact, my mom has a nicer phone than me and she doesn't even text. She hardly has her phone on.

Great, now I'm being reminded of all that I don't have....quick! something I do have: incredible friends who will work out together to Jillian Michaels, sit down, watch the Biggest Loser, eat an awesome meal, and cry about success stories.

All in a day's work, my friends. All in a day's work.

People keep getting in the way.

2010-02-07T21:23:00.000-08:00

Today was designated homework day. Get the homework done, celebrate the big game. The check list was not long. I read somewhere that you should not have a checklist longer than 7 items per day otherwise it would get overwhelming. Today proved that two can be just as overwhelming.

I figured, hey, what a great day to go to a local coffeeshop that I've always wanted to try. Right when we thought we'd get the last table, some lady bolts and steals the table. Her daughter looked at us. If she said something I was ready to respond (unfriendlylike, unfortunately). Luckily for all our sakes she didn't...off to the next place. After all, I had some studying to do! One spot left. We walked past it and proclaimed that if there wasn't any room at the tables in the back we'd settle for the bar seats at the window. The lady behind us followed closely and when she realized we were turning back from the back room she ran and snagged the seats we were going back to. I know, I know, that happens. In fact, had I been the one in the back of the line I would've grabbed the seats too, but at least I wouldn't have made it noticeable that I had my eye on something potentially better.

I was ready to ram that lady's car. Seriously. That mad over seats in a coffeeshop. Maybe today was just one of those days. I ended up not going all Fried Green Tomatoes on anyone and we drove to our third choice, which was closed on Sunday, and settled at Borders. Things to be thankful for: chain stores. They never let us down.

After spending 40 minutes reading a five page article (that's what happens when you're with a friend who can listen to you as you start to read something you care about and then break every other sentence to say why you agree or disagree with the point the author is making)and drinking a fantastically rich coffee sensation, we headed off to watch the Saints proclaim victory. My night was restored.

I'm also glad I cut out coupons. That was highly productive. I probably won't use them, but that's not the point, now is it? Coupons never hurt anyone. Coupons are the complete opposite of the coffee ladies. I would never think to ram into the coupon's car if they let me down. If they were expired, that's alright. They didn't rob me of my joy of discovering new flavors in St. Louis. They only tried to help.

And let's be honest; they're coupons. They probably wouldn't waste their money on cars. They'd ride bikes.

Oh the Success of it All!

2010-02-06T13:49:00.000-08:00

So I did it. January Budget: $155. Spent $152.96. Remainder: $2.04.

I can't believe it! It was quite a surprise, but if it wouldn't have worked, it would've been devistating. The new budget for February is well underway (6 days in, officially) and it's a bit different. I have to drive more now that school is back in session, which means the gas budget had to increase. I've made separate budgets inside of the big budget; let's see how well that works... and yes. Okay? I DID create a fun budget for the month. I don't need you lecturing me. Every once in awhile a girl wants to go out and get a pedicure. And that girl this time, is me. And that pedicure will be great. And my feet will love me. According to my friend Justin, "Don't look at me with those judging eyes." He said that to me, today. I don't want to get into it. I only know my eyes weren't judging, but if they were, they had every right to be.

What did I learn from January? First of all, if you put your mind to something (put your mind to it, go for it, get down and break a sweat), you can do it! I started February driving around (day 2) with my gas light on. My gas light became a dear friend in January and I hope to end our friendship very soon. I know, I know, it's not good to make a friend and then ditch them, but hey, that's real life sometimes.

Saved by the Bell--the show with the "put your mind to it...." lyrics listed above...that was a good show. I used to watch it all the time in middle school. Right, friends? that was middle school? My high school reunion is coming up in August. I was a little nervous for it at first, saying I wouldn't go and blah blah blah. I mean, after all, no one wants to be the "oooh, what happened to her?" girl at their reunion, and I feared that would be me. Life was good as I remember it in high school. My friends were great, I had good grades (which left as soon as I got to college and I had a mini-mental breakdown), I was in great shape. Now life looks a little different. I finally realized that's okay. I have great friends, I'm finally getting good grades again (thank God I'm also finally studying something I really care about), and little by little I can get back in good shape. I guess really all that matters is that at the end of the day I like who I am. What we've learned from this free therapy session (you're welcome) is that little victories really matter. And no matter how much you love the Saved by the Bell characters, they all grew up and changed, too.

Who knows? Maybe they're living on a budget just like me.

Where Have I Been?

2010-01-17T13:52:00.001-08:00

Everyday I think, "I need to update my loyal friends with some news on my spending." So far, as of right now, I have $3.34 saved up. Wahoo! What that means is that as of right now, I've spent less than $5 a day. Which is great news! I haven't had to take out a loan against myself and I've been keeping track of my spending on a trusted excel spreadsheet. I was reviewing my notes (I even have every grocery item I've purchased listed by name so I don't forget to eat it) and realized this was my description for one of my purchased items: $1--candy bar from child.

I'm not 100% sure this is the best way to describe my purchase, but I was at the grocery store buying my needed brownie mix (what? a girl can't just live on bread and water) and saw these kids selling candy bars for their church. Why wouldn't I buy them? I'll tell you why: the price of one tiny candy bar was half the cost of my entire box of brownies. It's 6 times the amount of a package of Ramen noodles. It could pay for me to drive part way to work on Tuesday. It's $1 closer to paying off my credit card.

It didn't matter.

He was smiling, silently begging me to buy a candy bar so he could go to summer camp. So he could swim with his new friends and stay up late eating s'mores. He needed to know the sound of bugs running into the window screen, feeling safe inside the cabin as he fell asleep with a cool breeze running over his sleeping bag. At least, I think that's what it was for. Who really knows. Everyone in line in front of me was blocking the sign so I couldn't be certain. I don't even know if he likes camp. Come to think of it, he wasn't even looking at me when I gave him my dollar and snatched my candy bar, tearing it open almost immediately because I hadn't eaten lunch. Oh well. I'm pretty sure, almost certain, that my dollar is going to a good cause. At least, fairly certain. One thing I know: the candy bar was good, the dollar is gone, and next time, I'll just walk on by.

I could really use that dollar, though. Maybe I'll try to sell candy bars at the local grocer, too. I'm pretty good at making signs.

Hey Big Spender

2010-01-08T01:43:00.001-08:00

I've been spending money like it's going out of style. $15 on gas, $6.16 on groceries, $2.54 on tea...I am practically out of money! This is hard. And it's getting harder.

I made the mistake of telling my roommate today that I'd rather have people give me $5 for my birthday instead of a small gift (not that I'm expecting any gifts, so please don't feel like you need to give me any, but if you come to my birthday party it would be okay to bring a snack to share). I went on to say something like, "I mean, if someone wants to make me cookies, don't. Just give me the money you would've spent on the groceries. I don't need more trinkets. I could use the money instead. Now that's thoughtful. Don't bake a cake either; just give me the money" and then I remembered that she is a cake maker. Oops. Her face got sad. I think I covered really well by saying, "Oh no, I don't mean YOU. YOU can bake a cake. I don't want anything but a cake from you." I said that for about five minutes. She said I could still have a cake but it wouldn't be as big anymore. That's fine, I said. I think I won that round.

Anyway, it's time for bed, with dreams of miniature cakes (some call them cup) dancing in my head.

5 DAD....5

2010-01-04T19:39:00.000-08:00

Today is January 5. This month: $6.50 spent. $18.50 still to spend. Not bad! Until I have to get gas. But we're not focusing on that yet. My friends went to the movies (without me) the other day. I was kindly reminded by my roommate that the movie theatre costs money. I decided it would be more lucrative to rent a movie from the red box, make popcorn, and charge my friends $2 to come over for the festivities. My roommate has to pay too, but she is charging me a rental fee of $2 (since I live in her house), so it's a wash. No one has taken up my invitation yet, and I'm not holding my breath; my guess is that one of my friends will probably steal my idea. That's the problem with ideas. You only get money for them before you share them. Otherwise, they're out there...exposed...free.

I'm a little nervous for the weekend. I'm going to Phoenix (WAHOO!)if the airport doesn't shut down due to inclement weather and running an event out there. My concern is money. Sure, my food will be paid for since it's something for work, but still, it needs to be included, and NO WAY did I save all this money to blow it on two measly meals! It's tricky in Phoenix. Life seems more expensive. Or maybe it seems more luxurious and luxury equals money. I felt like an equation would be good to use there since it's something I'm relearning for my job.

Before I leave for Phoenix I've got quite a bit to do: pack, get a new driver's license, convince the people at the driver's bureau that what I'm giving them actually IS my vehicle registration, things like that. I have no idea how long it will take. Plus I need to start planning my birthday party. My roommie Emily and I are having a joint party since our birthdays are 8 days apart. She's so young; I wish one of these days she would appreciate all the great advice I give her. With age comes wisdom, right? So I've got 8 days of wisdom that I'm trying to share with her, if only she will listen.

If you bring them, if you only bring them...

A line from a Counting Crows concert a few years back. They toured with the GooGoo Dolls and we had $10 lawn seats. But, we had to listen to lines like that to fill the time between songs "if you bring them, if you only bring them." What are you talking about, lead singer man? Well, I actually do know what he was talking about. We learned at the concert if you brought cans with you then they would get donated somewhere. My concern: the fact that they were sharing this info AT the concert instead of BEFORE so people would actually bring the canned goods.

I guess that's musicians for you.

5 DAD

2010-01-02T21:55:00.000-08:00

It stands for 5 Dollars A Day. The first day was great! I didn't spend any money. I saved all of my five dollars so I was up to 10 today. Today I found a beautiful dress. Beautiful! I tried to take out a loan. It's not easy to try to save money when you go to the mall. Malls are bad places for money saving. So are restaurants, it turns out. And grocery stores. All bad places. I'm trying not to be a recluse but it's almost as though I've got no options. There were some pants on sale today. $90 on sale for $6. You heard me. $6. But that's a day and a little bit of a day's spending allowance and it's just not worth it.

I spent a year traveling with a music ministry and received a stipend of $25 a month. I refused to even buy a shirt at the Goodwill because it cost me everything I made that day. I soon realized that coffee was worth my day's wages, especially in northern Minnesota in January when I had little sleep and it was negative forty outside. But a shirt at Goodwill? That would have to wait.

Tomorrow I will have 15 buckaroos since I saved it all today. I ate leftovers (thanks to Mom for the bean soup recipe!) and figure I'll spend money tomorrow at lunch. Here's something that this diet is making me: stingy. I don't ever feel like I've been that way before, but all of a sudden the idea of sharing things or spending money is like breaking my arm. I can only hope that tomorrow is better. Tomorrow, the day that adds $5 to the pot. I will love tomorrow.

Splurge Before the Big Diet

2009-12-29T15:54:00.000-08:00

You’ve probably been there. I have. You decide you’re going on a diet but before that special and saddening day, you eat as much as you can of your favorites because they’re going on your no-no list. I need to go on a diet of sorts. I learned a long time ago how to spend money and I got good at it. Then I found a job I loved and got less money. Then I quit that job to go back to school for something I've loved since I was little and now have way less money. And that's fine; that's life. Except I never forgot how to be good at spending money. Whoops....

So after years of spending what I want and suffering in little ways, I'm going on a diet. A spending diet. It's probably going to be worse than any other diet that I've ever gone on. And better. My goal is to spend no more than $5 a day for the month of January. There are rules. Like the fact that bills have to be paid; they're not included. But things like gas, food, and other fluctuations are included. I will have to be disciplined in where I go, what I eat, etc. This is not going to be easy. And I hope you keep me accountable. Ask me how I'm doing. I need it. And don't try to be all nice and buy things for me. What will that teach me? I mean, my birthday IS in January, and if you WANT to do something nice for that, okay. And if you want to do something for more than just that one special day, that's okay too. Like if you want to spread your kindness throughout a month, fine. I'm not going to fight you on it.

Birthdays really are great. Last year one of my friends forgot my birthday and I reminded her of it two weeks later after I got done being mad. Now when I call her, she wishes me happy birthday every time. I hope she doesn't expect ME to call HER on MY birthday. What? I forgive HER.

Let me back up on this one. My special forgetful friend is Katie. Katie, don't be mad at me okay, don't be mad!

Katie and I were roommates in college, with a joint bathroom in our suite. One day Katie and I were hanging out, and I had something in my eye. Back in those days I had hard contacts, and if you have them: GET RID OF THEM! I got soft contacts a couple of years ago and it's like a present everyday to my eyes. Happy day, eyes. Happy day.

While I was removing shards of glass or something a little less grotesque from my eyes, my neighbor crush came knocking on the other door. Be right back, Katie! I say. Want to watch a movie? He says. DUH. Who wouldn't? So I leave. I come back two hours later and Katie's mad. I don't get it. She won't talk to me. Weird, I know. The next day I went to the bathroom and there wasn't any toilet paper. Turns out Katie forgot to change the roll. It's okay, Katie. I say. I forgive YOU. Apparently those two happenings aren't on the same plane of needing forgiveness. Things you learn when you have roommates.

Katie got mad at me a lot. Like the time I asked her to turn the light off in our room and I snuck into her bed to scare her. It worked. She screamed and hit me a lot before she realized it was me. I laughed. She hit me again. She always forgets the nice things I do for her. Like forgive her when she forgets to change the toilet paper. Or remind her of all the books she didn't read for her class.

Which reminds me, I have to buy more books for school. The semester starts at the end of January and I want to be ready to succeed! The books aren't included in January's diet, either.

Diets stink. I can't wait until February.

Back to Life. Back to Reality.

2009-12-26T09:09:00.000-08:00

Christmas is over. My parents have gone. I have to work today. It rained an incredible amount on Thursday and my mail was soaking wet. I got a Christmas picture from a good friend (so what if I requested it? I knew she'd have some kind of beautiful picture of her three children on it, and I was right. It's possible that the last Christmas card she sent me stayed on my refrigerator for 8 months. Possible.)

She (let's call her Shannon, as a code name. It also happens to be her real name; I would get confused if her code name and real name weren't the same.) came to town with some family the other day, and I was lucky enough to get to see her. She's great. We met in college. She's really pretty and because of that my friends and I decided she was most likely mean. Well, it wasn't just because she was pretty; it was also because she had on a white hat. I don't remember the significance now, but we all remember that white hat. I think she burned it. Or maybe she still has it. She probably still has it; she keeps a lot of things. Shannon came back from one of our breaks with her mom's homemade caramel brownies. We decided she wasn't mean anymore. Those caramel brownies were the best. I'd find excuses to have to go to her room and eat them when she wasn't looking. I gained 20 pounds my first three months of college. I blame Shannon for that. Shannon, and the buffet cafeteria.

It's hard when your mom's a really great cook. Probably the best cook you know. I would go into that cafeteria, say hi to Virginia even though she only ever remembered our friend Karen, and eat as many things as I could, searching endlessly for something to taste as good as my mom's cooking. I would leave disappointed, exhausted, and overly full. Eventually I learned that nothing would be as good as her food, not even my own. It's tough when it comes time to bake something for myself. As much as I try, it's just never quite the same. Good thing mom did most of the cooking for Christmas. In this case, most equals all, I'm simply pretending I did something....

So "Shannon" came to visit. I guess code names don't require quotations, but it felt necessary in thise case. By the time I met them after work they had at least two shopping carts overflowing with purchases. I'm so proud of them. Shannon and I left early to get a table for dinner; everyone else was on their way. Some restaurants are tricky. This restaurant had walls that looked like doors so you could see through them. Really just windows. Shannon's mom tried getting into the restaurant through the wall. I would say how embarrassing that was for everyone, but I'll refrain because the conversation after she finally found the door and made her way in was quite nice. I got to hear all about life in Illinois, or least a little bit. I tried changing the conversation as much as I could. Shannon is married to her former teacher. We used to tease her about that, but now we're just proud of her for finding someone so great. And we pretend we've found great people too.

Sure, we haven't yet, but maybe someday we will. We in this case is Katie (Chicago) and me. Sometimes Katie and I call each other to say how proud we are of the other one no matter what kind of job we're doing or how much money we don't have. Life is tough in your twenties, no matter what people say. You could have succeeded in high school, in college even, and then found the real world to be something a bit different. Katie is one of the smartest people I know. And right now, she's still trying to figure out her place in this crazy world. I read a book called "It's a Wonderful Lie" (that's not a code name, that's the real title) and it was enlightening for me. Turns out not EVERYONE has life figured out, no matter how successful they thought they would be. That reminds me, Mel, could you please get this book back to me? I want Katie to read it. Katie is good at reminding me of all the great things I've had the opportunity to do in my life , regardless of whether or not I made any money at it. She is quick to point out I get to be friends with her, so what more could I need? I don't know, Katie, a stable income, perhaps? We won't go there... after all, I have her and Shannon as friends, and got to see my parents for Christmas.

I am making bean soup now with the leftover Christmas ham bone. My mom said the ham should just fall off the bone. It didn't. Just my luck. I tried shoving the wooden spoon straight into the bone to get the ham off. Apparently all that does is make things splatter in your face and jam your wrist.

Where is the buffet cafeteria now?

My Special Day

2009-12-23T13:25:00.000-08:00

Dear Mom and Dad, please stop reading this right now unless it’s after Christmas.

If it’s before, STOP or Christmas will be ruined! If you’re anyone else, you can read this unless you’re going to notify my parents of the information in this blog prior to Christmas. Then I would advise you to stop as well. If my parents find out what this blog says and I find out who told them….oooooh I’m going to be so mad…..

So my parents are coming for Christmas. I am beyond excited. They brought my presents with them at Thanksgiving “just in case” I wouldn’t see them. That was the saddest pre-Christmas ever. I imagined all my friends being with their families at Christmastime opening presents, laughing, stopping to eat grapefruit, laughing again, opening more presents, telling stories about how that present could’ve come in handy a week ago but the giver still refusing to share it early with the receiver, then someone gets mad, then everyone laughs again. Prior to all this everyone sneaks downstairs in a fashion to check out the tree without everyone else realizing. After all presents are opened, my friends and their families say, “That’s all; Merry Christmas!” and while they’re getting ready, mysterious presents show up and stockings are preparing themselves to be opened. It’s beautiful.

Then I imagined my Christmas. I would get up early, sneak by the Christmas tree, see all my presents…then I’d get the grapefruit ready (because no one woke up before me to do that) and start the coffee. I’d sit and talk to myself about how I slept, what I wanted the day to look like. I’d try to talk myself into going to see a movie. Now that I think about it, I’m probably still upset that I lost the game of Old Maid to myself last night. I sang the 12 days of Christmas to myself, by myself. I read books to myself.

Now, I’d wait until I could handle it no more and then I’d go pick out “Santa”. Santa is the one who gets to give out all the presents. It would be me--finally! I’d get to choose where I wanted to sit. For the first time ever I got the best spot! I’d make sure before we all woke up that everyone’s Santa hat was ready for them in place. I guess in order to be successful at this I’d have to put it there before I went to bed, which means I’d have to pick out my seat before bed too. This is getting tricky…
Then I’d pick out my very favorite present and ask if I could open it first. No, I’d tell myself. That one has to wait until later. After I opened a few presents and ate some grapefruit, I’d ask again, “Can I open this one now?” Nope; still couldn’t open it. Eventually almost all my presents would be open and I’d look around to count how many everyone else has to see what kind of order to go in now. Everyone else has zero. My turn again…Ooh! I’d say; thank you, Santa! Then I get to open my very favorite present and I am so excited about what it is. I am probably crying now and giving hugs to anyone who will take them, saying thank you so much and how much I love it. No one is there to hug. I probably hug my pillows or something. It’s a sad Christmas this year. Until…..Mom and Dad call and say they’re coming. WAHOOO!!!!!!!

I don’t care if I don’t have any Christmas presents under our dehydrated tree (it requires frequent watering…who knew?). I don’t care if I have to give them all back. This Christmas will be great! If only we could figure out how to get Ashley and Lily up too…

My parents called and told me they decided to not get presents for each other this year, to try to save money or something. Then later, I talk specifically to my dad who reminds me they’re not getting each other presents, but mom still needs some, so would I mind picking up a few things. Then he presents me with a list. I never have a list. Of course I buy them for him to give to her. Then my mom calls me. Dad and I talked, and we’re not getting each other presents this year. But he still needs something. Would you mind picking up a few things? Of course I don’t mind. So she gives me a list. Now everyone has presents. Good.

Now I have to find time to wrap them…

I talked to my mom today; she doesn’t know that my dad had me buy her gifts. She didn’t know what all I bought for my dad (I plan on handing over receipts the day after Christmas; what? I took the liberty to buy some things off the list. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it in the end.) She decided everyone needed gifts to open, so she bought some for my dad and she bought some for herself. Everyone has gifts.

At least I have a chance to win Old Maid now.

Christmas is here!

2009-12-19T08:55:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning with Lucy (our dog) clawing at me, trying to play. Good one, Luce. Sure, I'll play now. I have to go to the bank. It closes at noon and I still need to make breakfast, get dressed, and talk to Emily about life, so I need to get a move-on! We are getting together the last bits of our Christmas party, which everyone is invited to, for tonight. We're making a list of groceries and house chores to get done before the big night. I decided to make poached eggs but in order to do that successfully, I need to call my parents. Then I realized I was too hungry to try to figure out how to make poached eggs after my parents gave me step by step instructions; theirs are always better anyway, so maybe we can have them for our Christmas morning delicacy. Mom, what do you think? Dad? Good idea?

So I decided to make fried eggs. Those are easy. I turned on the stove and walked away; I had a list to make! Eventually I got around to throwing an egg in the pan..fried was not working. It wouldn't flip! Stubborn eggs. I started scrambling it. Scrambled eggs are my least favorite, by the way. The kitchen started smelling terrible so I tried, unsuccessfully I might add because I'm still not a pro with matches, lighting a candle. Now our kitchen smells like burnt scrambled eggs and matches. It smells like throw-up. I ran around screaming with my hand over my mouth. I think my roommate thought this was a little melodramatic but every once in a while you need a good scream. And melodrama. Thank you, One Tree Hill, for your help in case the egg idea becomes overused.

Not enough time for breakfast now; everything's a failure. I get dressed to go to the bank. What am I wearing? Good question. My big red sweatshirt, my green sweatpants, my khaki boots, and black puff vest (Kim Underwood would call this a sleeveless jacket; you may, too....) I look like a Christmas lumberjack. And that makes me stop and realize. So many times people look around and say, "Hey, no one's putting out Christmas lights anymore." or "Hey, I need you to work Christmas Eve." or "Hey, what did you buy me for Christmas?" or "Hey, I hate you and Christmas." Which brings up two major points: 1) People need to stop saying "hey" at the beginning of their sentences, and 2) Christmas seems to have lost its specialness to a lot of us. But I want to remind you to open your eyes. Maybe you're simply missing the beauty in the details. Like my Christmas lumberjack outfit. There are things all around that are trying to remind you of Christmas. Maybe you need to look more closely. The Packers colors are green and gold, Target's main colors are red and white. Our house has lights on it (sure, it may look like a cantina according to Emily, but that's not the point), and there are mismatched people everywhere who are trying to share a special message, if you'll only just open your eyes and see.

I ended up eating my leftover chocolate raspberry cheesecake for breakfast. Thank you, Cheesecake Factory, for watching out for me once again. Coincidence that right when I needed something they stepped up to the plate? No coincidence at all. Isn't that what the Christmas season is, at least a little bit, about?

Sad day

2009-12-18T11:38:00.000-08:00

Oh man. I was in my glory. I was sitting at home laugh, laugh, laughing about the blog I was writing. Funny stories from the past, how it relates to now, it could've been the best yet. Then I decided to check my email. Sometimes when I move the mouse I accidentally click on other buttons. Like "Getting started with Firefox". Thanks, FF (that's short for Firefox, saying FF is a big time saver. My friend Jenn taught me all about time-savers when were driving to the mall once and missed our exit. Oh wait, that wasn't time-saving, that was back-tracking. She hates back-tracking. She made us go a different route, a longer route, just so we didn't have to B-T. That's short for back-tracking. Saying it is a big time-saver (T-S). She also used to hate it when I put pillows on the floor. She was my roommate in college and together we'd eat whole batches of brownie batter while Katie, our other roommate, watched in disgust. Now Katie lives in Chicago and I'll bet she's eaten some brownie batter. Good characteristics between friends just tend to rub off on each other.) I think I'm officially done with my parenthetical statement. Who wants to see? Fine, I will, but you can too. Give me a minute.

Yep, looks good. What was I saying? Something about this hilarious blog that never quite made it to publication. That's right. So, I was writing my blog, clicked that stupid button, and then closed the window; turns out I closed my half-written, life-altering, non parenthetical but still meaningful blog because I was moving too quickly.

I think what I've learned from all of this is that life is meant to go at a slower pace. I am not meant to race all the time; perhaps taking it slow, enjoying the day and the time that I have is better than trying to get to the next best thing. Then again, maybe I should be more careful when I am using the computer.

Katie, Jenn, and I used to have some good times in college. It snowed one day and we brought some of the snow into the house to make snow ice cream. That's the best. We lived in an apartment, so who knows what was actually around in the snow, but we lived on the edge. Those were the days...

We never made the ice cream (if you want to try it, I think the only things to add are milk and vanilla. If it doesn't work, just buy some ice cream. I don't claim to be a chef. Do chefs even make ice cream? Whoever does, I don't claim to be them). Regardless (Irregardless is not a word. Why do so many people use it?) instead of making the ice cream we just took out the snow and threw it at each other. It made for quite a mess in the kitchen, but what else are hairdryers for? I can't think of using it for any other reason while I was in college. I took the pajama look a little far in college. Sure, I showered, etc. but I lived in my pajamas. One day I decided to wear jeans and as I was walking to class, I passed a friend who said, "wow, you're awfully dressed up today!" and she was serious. I stopped being her friend--I didn't need people to point out to me when I was different. Another time I gave up wearing make-up to remind myself that beauty wasn't all about appearances. It was a difficult, refreshing, eye-opening experience. I saw another friend later who said, "Oh, it looks like Lent is over." He was right. But what a comment to make. Oh, I see you're wearing make up again. I see you've chosen to succumb to the worldly ways again. Sure, he may not have said all of that, but I know that's what he meant. So I laughed. Until I cried. And my make-up ran all over my face. I hope he's happy.

Oh look, a soap opera is on. Time for me to go.

Friend....don't take her she's all I got.

2009-12-18T11:15:00.001-08:00

I meant to post this a long time ago but time got away from me. I had to work until 10 pm when I wrote this and then I just got tired! Sometimes working takes it out of you. Or me, I should say. I was remembering how I became friends with one of my first and closest friends at my last place of employment. That job, although difficult and totally stressful at times, was one of my all-time favorites. Thank you, Youth Encounter, for so many incredibly fond memories.

As I was saying, my newest friend there, her name was (and still is) Beckie, and I decided to grab dinner because we were working late. Has this ever happened to you: you get excited because you make a new friend, but then the very first time you hang out you become totally nervous? You sweat, you fix your hair, you start practicing your humming in case there is awkward silence....What are we going to talk about? What if she doesn't think I'm funny? What if I in inadvertently make fun of her family or her hair or the way that she talks or dresses? I mean, this is not a date, why am I so nervous about making a new friend?

I think we've all been there. What if new said person doesn't like me, plain and simple, when we think that they could be just the friend we're looking for. Luckily for me, Beckie was (and is) awesome! We had dinner and decided we could be friends. Here's the thing about Beckie: she and I are very different. She's got this cool sense of style, she plays the drums, her hair rocks...what I'm trying to say is that I was kind of like, "ooh I hope she likes me!!" It's like I was potentially inducting myself into cool kids club.

At dinner we discussed what it must be like for the people around us if they heard our conversation. We decided (by "we" I mean either her or me; I can't remember who said what at this point) that there should be a mini-tape recorder at the table so we were able to play back our conversations because we were going to write a book together about funny life-stories. I may have shared with her my humming incident at that point.

Earlier when we were waiting for our food the lady behind the counter started making small talk with me because my order was taking a while. Like I can help that; I didn't need her to converse with me when I clearly was having a stressful night already. Regardless, she kept on asking me questions. Where do you work? She said. I told her. What was I supposed to do? Ask her where she worked? I already knew the answer. I remained silent. She asked me (again) how my day was. The same as before. Look, lady, don't worry about it--I'm not going to give you my life story here while I'm waiting for my sandwich, so don't even try to get it.

Back to the tape recorder. We finally decided that if we wore vests everywhere, it would be easy to conceal so the conversation could just "happen" and no one would feel obligated to talk into it or feel confined to what they wanted to say. Needless to say, a year or so later I invested in the tape recorder. It was one of the less expensive ones and it cost me over $35. That seems kind of expensive to me. I carry it around with me now almost everywhere I go. Don't worry; it's never, or hardly ever, on. I kept forgetting to get batteries for it; I would've used it to say "buy batteries" but obviously that would've been a failure.

I had it with me at a party the other night and although people seemed interested in it and what it held, no one called later to ask me what new things were on it. One of these days, tape recorder will be a hit at parties. Until then, I'm going to keep baby duck hat. Thank Jack Handy for that one.

I guess that's all for now. Good night!

Disclaimer: Beckie, if you read this, and you are mad about something I wrote, then this isn't about you. Quit making everything about you.

To-Do Lists

2009-12-16T20:51:00.000-08:00

I spent some work time today thinking about my blog and kept checking to see if anyone was writing comments. Because of that, I realized my views increased quite a bit--good for me for re-reading my own blog, full of my own thoughts. That's not narcissistic, right? I kept thinking of all the things I wanted to share that I had to write them down so I wouldn't forget. I wrote them on the back of my work notes, which sit next to me even now. Uh, work notes...good thing I finished that project today. That's the nice thing about being a temp; your work is pretty much completed everyday, so in case you accidentally take your "to-do" list home with you no one cares. The projects could probably be done by a sixth-grader. Not to belittle sixth graders, of course, because they're incredibly bright (although probably not ALL of them..where was I going?) but just something to keep in mind.

I think it's getting a little too late and I'm a little too tired to write all of the things I wanted to share, so perhaps I shall save it for tomorrow. Good--something I've added to my at-home to-do list. I think I have a headache from all the random punctuation choices I've made tonight. Could someone get me an Advil? If not, I'll just add that to the list too. I like Advil the best; it tastes good, like candy. Like fat free, sugar free, diet delicious candy.

But seriously, the holidays are tough--so much to do, so little time. I went Christmas shopping tonight and tried to walk as quickly through the mall as I could so I wouldn't get stopped by the crazy kioskers trying to sell me overpriced lotion (clearly I don't use cheap lotion, why would I use YOUR lotion, Mr. Kiosk Man?). I was successful. I made it only into one store before I got distracted and ended up buying some cute, albeit unnecessary things there for some friends. I put myself on a tight budget and therefore refuse to buy things for myself during the month of December (unless they're necessities like groceries, toiletries, Aldo shoes or scarves on sale) so I couldn't justify buying myself anything at one of my newly favorite shops. Please excuse me for a second:

Dear Beckie and Amie, if you get anything cute for Christmas that you'd like to share with some of your friends, I'd be happy to share with you.

Sorry about that. I just like to make myself available. I realize I still haven't mentioned one thing that I wanted to, but I suppose that's life. One day my blogs will be really long and you'll have to skim them. It's very similar to how I write them, actually, which is why I continually log onto my own page; I'm checking for typos. That's a lie. I'm checking for comments. Don't feel like you need to say something simply to appease me, but it IS the holiday season, a time for generosity and caring for others' needs. That's all I'm saying.

Back to my to-do list. 1) Sleeping. Okay friends, good night!

Mommas, Etc.

2009-12-15T20:04:00.000-08:00

I am not a mom. Here's what I learned about moms and shopping: it's hard. Tonight I got to hang out with a dear friend and her sweet five month old daughter and we took our pretty little selves to the mall. Stores are not built for strollers. Why not? I mean, I didn't think of it until right now, but when you can't get through the aisles you can't shop very easily. And when you can't shop easily, stores lose out on revenue. When stores lose out on revenue the first thing that gets cut: payroll. Right? So now because someone wasn't able to put the store together in a shop-able fashion, I could lose my other job. Thanks, guys, from the retail gal. Like life isn't hard enough.

If I owned a store, I would give some kind of discount to anyone shopping with a baby. I'd also give out some kind of special prize to all the kids. Sure, I'd go broke, but for a little while I'd be the coolest lady in town. And that's what I'm living for--to be the cool lady who everyone says, "Remember that lady who gave out that crap when we were younger? Whatever happened to her?" and there I'll be, sitting in my rocking chair knitting and coming up with some way to give out cool knitted prizes to the neighbor kids who are being nice to each other. I hope I'm not one of those old ladies with really bad perfume and crazy old lady hair.

Today someone asked me if my hair was real or if I was wearing a wig. I don't know what to be more worried about--the fact that for some reason my hair didn't look real or that I gave off the vibe that I was a wig-wearer. I donated my hair once. I got it cut twice to donate, but the second time I put it in a bag to send off but forgot about it. Then I moved away and it got all packed up in my stuff. It's still around somewhere...I should probably throw it away but that means I have to relocate it, and it's not hurting anything. Maybe I could make my own wig out of it and wear it one day to work. Then if someone else asks me if it's my hair or a wig I can just smile at her. It's both, I'll say. Then I'll spin around real fast until it falls off, and voila! There is my real hair, hiding underneath, styled completely the same. That's not creepy. Perhaps if she's interested though, I can just give her the extra hair. What else am I going to do with it? Pack it back up? Don't be ridiculous, friends. I'm trying to cut back on the extra things in my life. The last thing I need is my own hair tucked away in a bag when someone else may need it. That reminds me: when are we doing our next clothing exchange? I have some things I need to get rid of....

Guys Have it So Easy

2009-12-14T20:34:00.001-08:00

I sat at my computer in my khaki cubicle with no resemblance of life (because I'm a temp, and I could be asked to not come back the next day), when I found something devastating. I mean, it's not like I've never found it before, but without the proper tools I cannot discard it. Young men are proud when they find it, but me? I don't need a whisker growing out of my chin. I simply don't need it. Being a girl is tough. Where are your tweezers when you need them? It's not the same texture as the other hair on my face (hey, we've all got it, so let's not act like we don't), which is soft, light in color, barely noticeable. I'm not a boy-about-to-be-a-man and don't desire to have something growing on my face pretending that I am.

Moreover, it's the holiday season. I like butter. I like cookies. I like looking good in my clothes. It's not a game of "two truths and a lie". It's all true. That's the problem. Guys can eat a few too many cookies that are packed with butter and still look good in their clothes. I can't. I'm too busy trying to shove butter cookies in my mouth while plucking unwanted hairs from my face to have time to look good in my clothes. I made chocolate chip banana bread the other day. The recipe said it was low-fat. The recipe didn't call for chocolate chips, but assuming it did, I don't get how a half cup of butter is low fat. Maybe the low-fat portion came into play when I chose to use 5 small bananas instead of a close second choice of leftover bacon grease. Who knows. I bet the guys would've liked the bread either way.

On the plus side, I remembered my password the first time I tried logging in today and we're having a Christmas party on Saturday which I am very much looking forward to. It's a dress up party; I'll probably wear my girdle, elastic pants, and heels.

Memories...

2009-12-12T23:03:00.001-08:00

I forgot my password again while logging in.

Tonight we had two performances of our musical (excuse me, dessert theatre), A Time for Christmas, and at one point I was busy not paying attention to the director and chose to hold my note much longer than everyone else. Maybe the stage isn't meant for me. Travel back with me, if you will, on my journey....

I am in fifth grade, practicing for our band concert (I played the saxophone) and our section is sitting on the second riser. Everything is fine until it's time to break from playing our part. I got antsy. I was bored. My chair scooted back and my arms fell lazily on the backs of my friends' chairs next to me; my saxophone hung on its strap across my chest. Suddenly, with no warning, my chair started to tip over the back of the riser. Panicked, my hands tightened instinctively around the chair backs and together my two friends and I fell backwards off the risers. The noise around us came to an immediate halt; I closed my eyes. After that I don't know what happened; I was busy pretending to be passed out. I continued with this brilliant plan until someone stood over me, forcing me to get up. I don't play the saxophone anymore.

Come with me as we transition to senior year of college. I am asked to sing a dramatic solo of O Come Emanuel, where I am traipsing around in all white, no sound except for the lyrics of this beautiful Christmas melody ringing through the air. No light in the room unless it is on me. I have finals coming up, people! How can I learn all the verses of this song in three days? Nonetheless, I agree. Rehearsal is fine. Showtime, friends, showtime. First verse done. Second verse...never started. I got nervous. I blanked. I panicked. I would've pretended to pass out but there was no riser this time. Instead I chose the next best solution. Cough. No, choke. Yes, choke! Loudly. Brush your hair across your face as awkwardly as you can, and slowly transition your expression to one of extreme pain and discomfort. Then, when you're ready, slowly transition again into much less painful noise. The words still do not come. What is my only option? I hum. Proudly, loudly, with all of my might, I hum. The lights went dim. I don't do solos anymore.

Learning.

2009-12-11T22:42:00.000-08:00

Imagine....you come home to log onto (into? I don't know the right word usage here) your blog because your 10 pm dinner friends say you're connected in the blog world, and you desperately want to keep up because their readers may be your readers and you don't want to give your friends a bad name by not updating your blog. Then imagine not remembering your password. Then you start remembering how full you are and what a busy day you have tomorrow. So much going on! All you want to do is sleep but you can't. You have a blog to write. My life is so hard. And so is yours, unless this whole time you were actually imagining it was my life and not yours, which just proves again my earlier point of my life being hard--not only are all of those other things listed true, but now you're imagining being me, and that gives me a lot of added pressure.

As I try to figure out my way around blogland, please be patient with me. I'll get us there, to be sure, but if you have any helpful tips (without being mean or condescending, because, as we all know, no one actually appreciates that), send them my way!

Why?

2009-10-28T08:09:00.000-07:00

Once I asked a friend what kind of stories float around in her head all day long. She didn't respond. Eventually I learned she didn't do life that way; she didn't piece together words to create poetry or see a scenario and make a documentary out of it in her head. She didn't use her free time to create funny skits or commercials without realizing it, she didn't see two people holding hands and make up their love story. But I did. I do. And because of that, I write. Thanks for joining me in my fun new adventure!