Memories, etc.

Mah-wage.

2011-11-30T10:53:00.001-08:00

A fabulous excerpt on the definition of integrity as it applies to marriage, from Marriage Transformation:

Integrity means that our ideals, intentions, words, and actions are honest, just, defensible, and in harmony as a couple.

We choose the best words and behavior for each circumstance. Our clear moral and ethical code guides our lives and work.

We do not allow others to influence us to lower our standards.

Our integrity contributes to the harmony and trust in our marriage. We do not inappropriately keep secrets.

We use reflection, prayer, consultation, and spiritual guidance to strengthen our integrity.

Integrity is achieving a state of balance and wholeness in life and character.

I probably don't tell my husband this enough (Husband? Are you reading this?) but I feel incredibly fortunate to have married a man who is strong enough to stand up for his family, who works with me to set and enforce appropriate limits for those whose relationships directly affect us (hey, isn't that pretty much everyone?), who calls me on my crap (sometimes this happens daily. When you're married sometimes you find out that you have a lot of crap.), who graciously accepts it when I call him on his crap, and who does other awesome things, like laundry and making morning breakfast scrambles.

I love that man.

Lord give me patience, because if you give me strength I might choke someone.

2010-12-12T18:57:00.001-08:00

I'm sure you've run into them too - those insipid creatures who demand their own way at the expense of your patience, who kick their feet and sob when something goes wrong, who sometimes seem to be the behavioral equivalent of a ticking time bomb. No, I'm not talking about toddlers - I'm talking about adults who act like 'em. I ran across a print by a lovely artist out of Iowa recently that very much reminded me of the particular brand of behavior that I am forced to deal with all too often:

"What are the rules? I said & she said, Do exactly what I want whenever I want, make no demands of me whatsoever & love me forever, no questions asked & I said, how do you win? & she said, you don't understand. I'm the only one who wins & then she laughed & clapped her hands. Isn't it a great game? she said." - Brian Andreas

How do you deal with the people in your life who seem to only be pleased when everyone else is miserable? Personally, I'm finding that a combination of techniques from Supernanny (calm, consistent behavior with follow-through on consequences) and Cesar Millan (no hitting, beating, or poking) seems to be working nicely.

Courage & Love & Play

2010-12-11T10:34:00.000-08:00

Do you ever have moments where you think, "When I have kids, I'm going to..." or "I swear I will never do that to my children?" I do. In no particular order, a list of promises to my as-yet unborn (and unconceived - let's not get ahead of ourselves) child(ren):

1. I will do everything I can to help you pay for higher education. You pretty much need that to get almost any kind of a job these days, and I want you to graduate with as little debt as possible. That said - this does not mean you can go to whatever school you want, so calm down there, Study Abroad McGee.

2. I will never threaten to "pull this car over." Unless you are really being bad.

3. We will go camping as a family.

4. Yes, you can have a puppy.

5. If Aunty Melissa, Maggie, and S.S. take you to get your tongue pierced when we come visit you at college, I won't be mad. (If you do get your tongue pierced, it's probably best to avoid eating with forks for the first few days. Don't ask Mommy how she knows this.)

6. I will provide your clothes, shoes, cheerleading outfits, soccer uniforms, ballet tights, paintbrushes, and clarinet reeds, regardless of your gender. However, after you turn 16, if you want the cool jeans, you are going to need to make up the difference in cost yourself.

7. I am going to make you get a job in high school. You might hate me for it, but you'll thank me later, when you have work experience, money, and the beginnings of a resume.

8. I will love your spouse and welcome him/her into our family. Unless he/she is abusive, an unrepentant alcoholic, or tells me to shush at Thanksgiving so he/she can watch the football game, I will love the person you choose to share your life with as much as I love you. Even if they chew with their mouth open. Ew.

9. I will do my very best to never make you feel like a horrible person. When I am wrong, I will apologize. I will teach you to do the same. I will respect you as a human being. I may not be your friend while you are growing up, but I will do my best to raise you to be a loving, capable, self-sufficient adult: and when the time comes for you to go and live your own life and embody the very qualities that your Daddy and I will try to instill in you - I will let you go and be the person you are.

10. I will have an identity outside of you. It will be better for both of us - trust me.

11. I am not sending you to daycare because I don't want to spend every day with you - I am sending you to daycare because it will socialize you, allow you to develop immunity to multiple childhood diseases, and because if Mommy and Daddy have two incomes, we're all going to have more opportunities. (See #1.) Also, if Mommy doesn't spend at least part of her day talking to grownups, Mommy will go crazy.

12. I will let you paint your bedroom whatever color you want. Even bubblegum pink. Even if you are a boy.

13. I will never say the phrase, "Go give such-and-such a hug." I will teach you that your body is your own - and if you don't want to hug someone, you don't have to.

14. I will consider the way I treat you, and I will always try to treat you with respect. I will consider the things I am doing, and the things I am saying, and I will try to never, never say things that you will remember years later with the uncomfortable stingy feeling you get when someone says something horrible.

15. Your daddy and I will do our best to give you a childhood filled with mostly happy memories. That said, you will be appropriately punished. For example, if you color on the walls, you will become really good friends with Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser. You know better. Seriously.

16. You will always be allowed to build forts in the living room.

"This is a dress-up box for the future & it's filled with stuff like courage & love & play because they're the only things that are any use at all when you get right down to it." - Brian Andreas

Sometimes, you can't fix crazy.

2010-12-11T00:58:00.000-08:00

When you take stock of your life, do you get along with the majority of the people in it? How do you feel about your peers, your co-workers, your family, your teachers? If you're getting along with 99% of them, with the exception of 1 or 2 people who strike you as completely, positively, diagnose-ably crazy (or whom, at the very least, are just jerks), more than likely, the problem truly isn't you - it's them.

However, if you have issues with your family, very few friends, are unhappily trudging down your educational or career path, and are going through life with the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that everyone is mean, rude, horrible, or out to get you, odds are - you're the problem.

Society, and our relationships therein, can be a wonderful litmus for evaluating our mental state, or at the very least our level of functionality as we relate to our fellow humans.

Many, many thanks to a counselor I saw some time ago for introducing me to this concept. It helps me take stock of my life and my attitude - and more importantly, is distinctly comforting when I'm confronted with the 1% and their abject irrationality.

Recollections from a barf bag

2010-03-13T10:22:00.000-08:00

6:30 - 7:30 a.m. - woke up, showered in notoriously small cruise ship bathroom, packed, bolted from bro-filled ship. Sad to leave tropical beaches - not sad to leave group of approximately 2000 spring breakers, most of whom were wearing Greek shirts emblazoned with obnoxious sayings. ("I don't cruise control, I control the cruise," "Bitches, booze, bros.")

7:47 a.m. - caught shuttle from pier in Miami to airport in Ft. Lauderdale.

7:52 a.m. - sat quietly in shuttle with six other people while port authorities yelled at our shuttle driver for a. not having his pier ID and b. the fact that the shuttle company owed the port approximately $2900. Found out we were the first, last and only shuttle that would be allowed out today. Thank goodness - a cab to the airport from Miami would also cost approximately $2900.

8:23 a.m. - arrive at FLL for our scheduled 12:30 p.m. flight. Check in, grab coffee, settle in for an anticipated four-hour wait.

8:47 a.m. - find out flight is delayed to 1:10 p.m.

9:33 a.m. - find out flight is delayed to 1:50 p.m.

9:42 a.m. - bathroom break! Stopped by Broward County sheriff, who inquires as to whether there is a man in the woman's bathroom, as someone had reported a potential predator lurking there. Before he goes in and causes more chaos, he asks me to look in and see if there is, in fact, an XY in the XX pool. I peek in - the "predator" is an 80-some year old man wearing a cardigan sweater who is helping his 80-some year old wife (also wearing a cardigan sweater, hers emblazoned with embroidered flip-flops and palm trees) out of her automated wheelchair and into the handicapped stall. Ooh, scary!

11:03 a.m. - find out flight is delayed to 2:20 p.m.

11:40 a.m. - realized our food options in Terminal 1 consisted of Dunkin' Donuts and two vending machines. Out of desperation and the need for sustenance, we chat with an airport employee and are advised to broaden our search area. Apparently the only real food options at Ft. Lauderdale are in Terminal 3, a short shuttle ride and two escalators away. We opt to eat at Chili's To Go! in Terminal 3 - what's a short shuttle ride and a bit of a walk, we say? Speaking of to go - my GI tract will not thank me later.

12:53 p.m. - head to the airport bookstore to stock up on books and magazines. Calculate that we have spent more money on food, books, and entertainment today that we have spent the entire duration of the cruise.

1:30 p.m. - find out flight is delayed to 3:40 p.m.

1:33 p.m. - check with Southwest attendant to see whether flights will actually be leaving today. Promised matching sets of Southwest jammies if we are delayed past midnight.

1:40 p.m. - crack up at the extremely gay attendant manning the overhead announcements: "Michael Shaw - if you want to go to Orlando today you had better run to gate B6 like you have never run before!"

2:03 p.m. - find out flight is delayed to 4:20 p.m.

2:27 p.m. - find out flight is delayed to 4:50 p.m.

2:59 p.m. - start to wonder whether Southwest is toying with us as part of some sort of sick psychological experiment. Try to be annoyed at Southwest, then realize that it's impossible, because a. I've never been delayed on Southwest, ever, and b. if Southwest is delayed by several hours, the poor suckers flying AirTran are probably delayed until Tuesday.

3:03 p.m. - find out flight is delayed to 5:30 p.m.

3:17 p.m. - purchase Elizabeth Gilbert's book "Committed." Bookstore guy promises a 50% refund if I return it to an airport bookstore in 6 months. Reassure him that I will probably be returning it in 6 hours, as I will more than likely still be here.

4:03 p.m. - 80 pages into new book. Good read - highly recommended!

4:21 p.m. - find out flight is delayed to 7:50 p.m.

5:00 p.m. - flight is still delayed to 7:50 p.m.

5:15 p.m. - flight is still delayed to 7:50 p.m. Our fellow passengers are steadily beginning to wilt. Hair is frizzing, countenances are drooping, breath is getting bad. An air of growing solidarity descends upon the airport as we realize that we may, in fact, be sleeping here tonight. An un-reassuring statement from a Southwest employee lends to the sense of dread - "Don't worry, we'll get you out of here! Last night we had flights getting in until 3 a.m.!"

5:40 p.m. - flight is still delayed to 7:50 p.m.

5:45 p.m. - confirm with attendant that flight is still delayed to 7:50 p.m.

5:50 p.m. - decide to head to Chili's again for an attempt at dinner. Board bus to go to Chili's, located 2 terminals away.

5:59 p.m. - arrive at Chili's, have lovely conversation with Canadian man about their healthcare system, sit down, informed by harried waiter that food will take 30 minutes.

6:20 p.m. - On a whim, text to check flight status.

6:20:21 p.m. - Flight is listed as departing at 6:30 p.m. Surely not - call mom to confirm.

6:20:42 p.m. - Dinner, in the form of a cheesesteak sandwich only slightly less tired-looking than our fellow passengers, is delivered to the table.

6:21 p.m. - Mom confirms flight is boarding.

6:21:01 p.m. - Exclaim obscenities, throw cash at waiter, abandon sandwich on table, bolt.

6:21:30 p.m. - Last people to board bus at Terminal 3. Explain situation to driver, who makes a perfunctory swerve at Terminal 4 (to fulfill the requirement that he stop there) and then floors it for Terminal 1. En route, exchange less than encouraging story with man on bus who missed his last flight because they moved up the departure time. Man on bus - "Yeah, they can move up the flight times any time a plane gets in. That happened to us last time we were here." Me - "Did you make the flight?" Man - "Um. No."

6:21:31 p.m. - attempt to fight off feeling of hopelessness. Mentally check status of bank account to determine whether cab to hotel, hotel, and replacement airline tickets are feasible, or if we will have to remain permanent residents of Ft. Lauderdale with nothing but the clothes on our backs, four magazines, two books, and a camera to get us through.

6:23 p.m. - Arrive at Terminal 1. First people off bus. Hit sidewalk at a dead sprint. Husband's statement earlier in the day that "These flip-flops would be really bad for running," now seems to have ominous overtones. Husband and I remove shoes, run through lower level, take escalator two steps at a time, and arrive at security. Make mental note to be impressed later at husband's ability to hurdle an old lady's suitcase in a single bound.

6:23:41 - Make it through security. Two people in front of us allow us to cut. Security guard finds water bottle in purse. Conversation as follows: security guy - "Is this water?" Me - "Yes I forgot about it my flight is leaving now please just throw it away!" Security guy - "You're going to have to come with me while I search your bag." Me - "OK, just please hurry!" Security guy smiles evilly. S.G. goes through purse, insists on sending purse through x-ray again, then finally lets me go. Note to security at Ft. Lauderdale airport - your people are awesome at removing water bottles. But I would like to point out that my husband's pocket knife made it through not one, not two, but FOUR screenings. Maybe sharp objects aren't as dangerous in the hands of thirsty people? Meanwhile, Husband is flustered, and, in his hurry, neglects to remove his belt, cell phone, spare change, and wallet the first time he goes through the metal detector. Necessitates two more trips through metal detector before he is finally cleared. (Mind you, due to our eight-hour delay and constant ins and outs, this is his third time through security today, and the only time that he had a problem.)

6:25 p.m. - Finally clear security and begin mad dash to gate.

6:26 p.m. - hear gay announcer on overhead - "Erin Jamison and Andrew Johnson, we love you, but we're going to have to leave without you!"

6:27 p.m. - Husband and I's sprints take different trajectories, resulting in me getting tangled in his garment bag, tripping, and falling into the laps of two ladies. Jerk posing as a business man behind us says, "Way to go - nice one!" and then explains that he is heading to the same flight, and he sees no reason to hurry. Good for you, sir - perhaps your aversion to hurry is the fact that you weigh 300 pounds? Andrew, ever the gentleman, insists that he board the plane before us.

6:28 p.m. - With the flight attendant cheering us on, we skid into the gate, thrust our tickets at her, and run on to the plane, shoes in hand. After collapsing into our seats, we learn that we have made the last flight from Ft. Lauderdale to Kansas City for THREE DAYS, due to weather delays and sell-outs. I have never been so happy to be on a plane in my life.

6:30 p.m. - Cleared for takeoff. Kansas City, here we come - every last sweaty, panting one of us.

*Note - the title "Recollections from a barf bag" was inspired by the fact that this post is transcribed from scribbles on, you guessed it, a barf bag.

Xanax smoothie with a side of down comforter, please.

2010-01-14T14:40:00.000-08:00

I am cranky and exhausted.

I thought it would be a fabulous idea to get a job. My new schedule is class 8-4 Monday and Thursday, clinical 6:30-3 Tuesday and Wednesday, work 6:45 p.m. to 7:15 a.m. Thursday and Friday. Fridays and part of Saturdays are used for sleep. Sunday is for studying. Probably not so coincidentally, school stopped being fun about the same time that I started working. I feel like I have absolutely no down time - every minute is spent either sleeping, eating, studying, or at work. I feel pulled in a million different directions and the only direction I actually want to go in is toward the couch. Plus, I feel like I'm quickly losing nursing school friends just because I've become "that girl who always says no." I'm sure this will be worth it in August, but for now I just feel overwhelmed.

2009-12-13T18:50:00.000-08:00

This photo pretty much sums up how I feel about nursing school finals. (Exhibit A - Manifestation Man, Hypo- and Hypernatremia.) Fluid and electrolytes/musculoskeletal/sensory test tomorrow, pharm test Tuesday, and then, you can find me at 10:15 a.m. with some lovely future nurses, sipping a sparkling water and having my nails whipped back into shape. But for now - I'm wearing pajama pants, have crazy hair (not to be outdone by crazy eyes) and have become a shadow of my former self. And, last night I picked a fight with my husband. For no reason. I just. Want. This week. To be over. Not even over - I'd settle for Tuesday.

A rebirth

2009-12-12T18:39:00.000-08:00

I think, that after a long and much-needed break from the blogging world, that I may come back. I've missed writing as an outlet. Much like when I first started blogging, I keep staring at the page and wondering what to write, and how I could possibly begin after being out for almost a year. I think, much like when I first started blogging, I'm just going to have to start by typing something.

So hi.

I'm back.

I think...

2008-11-28T00:03:00.001-08:00

This was one of the best Thanksgivings ever. Yay, friends! Yay, great food! Yay, going to sleep off a turkey-induced coma! G'night!

Random notes from Thanksgiving preparation

2008-11-27T01:00:00.000-08:00

-We pick up The Bird from Baby Blues BBQ in Venice tomorrow. Oh, deep-fried turkey that I do not have to deep fry, how I love you so.

-Whole Foods is insane the night before Thanksgiving.

-The plastic flamingo in our front garden is wearing a turkey costume.

-Every nook and cranny of our house is shiny-clean, and the entire place smells like a combo of lemon and cinnamon. It's cozy.

-Tomorrow we embark on a pie-making, green-bean casserole concocting, potato-mashing journey. Dinner is at 4. Wish us luck.

My husband is good at surprises.

2008-11-17T08:27:00.001-08:00

This is what greeted me when I walked out the front door on the morning of my birthday:

Yes, that IS a bright, shiny Trek hybrid. Rock! Or should I say roll?

Why I love Los Angeles, Part I

2008-11-13T22:32:00.001-08:00

This morning we went to free yoga in the park. I would like to point out that it's November, and I was definitely barefoot, wearing a tank top...and sweating. I love Los Angeles.
(Photo credit salomon888)

Cougar Cafe

2008-11-12T21:19:00.000-08:00

Author's note: I am well aware of the fact that I haven't blogged in months. Getting married and a subsequent move halfway across the country, the realization that I would need to figure out an alternative plan for nursing school, and the fact that I needed to find a job all took up a bit of time. Excuses aside, I'm back; we're married; life is good. My blog style will be changing slightly - for now, I've decided to blog short snippets of real life, with the occasional profound foray into All Things Deep and Philosophical. Without further ado...

Today my dog jumped off a cliff.

To elaborate:

Today my ever-fabulous neighbor, Lanie, and I took our dogs to Runyon Canyon. Basically, it's a 134-acre off-leash park with a wide path that gradually climbs to the top of the canyon, affording views of downtown L.A., the Hollywood sign, and on clear days, the Pacific Ocean.

The pooches loved it. All was going swimmingly until Lanie's pooch, Calliope, found a stray tennis ball. My somewhat intellectually challenged dachshund, Badger, loves tennis balls. Now, we use the word "love" a lot - we "love" pizza, we'd "love" to take a nap. This does not compare to the way Badger loves balls. He loves them, pardon the expression, like a fat kid loves cake. He will do ANYTHING for a tennis ball. He proved it today when one of the dogs let the ball drop on an inclined part of the path.

The ball rolled over the edge - and Badger soared over after it. Just to give you an idea of this "edge" I reference, please see the photo* below.

See the path? Yeah. See the drop? Yeah. That's what Badger leapt from. The dog has a death wish, I swear. I turned around in time to see a flash of golden-brown fur flying down the slope...and then nothing. I was sure my dog had been eaten by a cougar. (An actual cougar, not a forty-year-old woman dating a twenty-year-old man. Although, now that I think about it, there are probably more two-legged cougars than four-legged ones at Runyon, and they really have no interest in dining on dachshund.)

We called. We cajoled. We started to draw a crowd at the top of the hill. Lanie began stripping off layers so she could dive down after Badger and Calliope, who had now decided to follow Badger down on a rescue mission. And then, in a moment that truly should have had musical accompaniment, (c'mon, Hollywood, where are you when I need you?) Badger and Calliope emerged intact from the brush, Badger with the hard-won tennis ball clamped in his jaws.

The rest of the Runyon trip was uneventful. The ride home was peaceful. Fierce was taken directly to the groomer for a wash 'n curl and is now a pretty, pretty princess. Badger has been asleep for the last six hours. Los Angeles? I think I love you. Tomorrow: My love/hate relationship with IKEA.

*Photo credit: Alain Demour.

Accepts with pleasure

2008-08-12T12:37:00.001-07:00

Here's a fun game - go ahead and Google these terms for me:

1. Wedding planning
2. Preparing for marriage

Just play along. Google them. I can wait.

OK, you're back? Good. I'm sure you noticed that your efforts were rewarded with roughly 7 million hits on search 1...and 300,000 results on search 2. This seems backwards to me. In wedding reception language, it's almost like serving the five-layer buttercreme-frosted cake before the demi-glazed duck. Putting the tulle-covered carriage before the white horse, even.

Where did we get the idea that Choosing a Dress That Will Flatter All Seven of Your Bridesmaids and Still Guarantee That You Will Look Better Than They Will! is more important than preparing for and maintaining what will surely be more important than Your Big Day - namely, the next 50 years of your lives?

This "big-day" mindset perpetuates the idea that is probably at the root of America's divorce statistics. I'm sure you're familiar with the numbers, but just in case - they're sitting right around 50%. Now, those surely don't apply across the board, but let's say (for the sake of argument) that they do. In that case, I hope you didn't engrave anything too couple-y on the toaster you gave Amy and Chad* last weekend, because odds are they're going to be in court disputes over who gets the good kitchen stuff sometime within the next seven years.

Could these divorce statistics stem from the fact that from the time we're little, we're fed a "happily ever after" mindset?

As women, we must sit around and wait for a man on a white horse (or at least driving a white Honda) to sweep us off our feet and away to a life of 2.3 children, a home with a white picket fence, and a perfectly housebroken Labrador. Gentlemen, I certainly hope you are both sensitive and manly, but not too much of either, and only in the appropriate situations. (Sensitivity is never appropriate while watching football. Manly behavior is banned while shopping for throw pillows at IKEA.)

Perhaps, as the Tom Robbins says, "we waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love." Maybe we should stop thinking that the ultimate display of love is a $125 bouquet of roses and a box of chocolate. Or let go of the delusion that when love ceases to be "exciting," it certainly must be boring. Perhaps we should learn to accept that the perfection of love lies in its ability to grow, adapt and evolve. Perhaps we need to remember -

"Love is the ultimate outlaw. It just won't adhere to any rules. The most any of us can do is to sign on as its accomplice. Instead of vowing to honor and obey, maybe we should swear to aid and abet. That would mean that security is out of the question. The words "make" and "stay" become inappropriate. My love for you has no strings attached. I love you for free.”

*Names are hypothetical and are not intended to imply misery or doom for any couple named Amy and Chad or variations thereof who may or may not have recently received an engraved toaster.

Celebratory weasels

2008-08-07T20:11:00.000-07:00

This is a shallow blog. I'm just warning you - if you're expecting deep or insightful, click onward.

I am having my hair put up for our wedding. I'd debated doing it myself, and then remembered several key points -

1. I have semi-long, extremely thick, naturally curly hair.

2. It is August.

3. I live in Kansas.

4. Kansas + August + long, thick, curly hair = one potential giant ball of uncooperative frizz.

Thus, I have an appointment at a local salon in order to get the mass tamed, pinned, and otherwise coerced into submitting for the better part of eight hours.

I have my hair trial next Friday. I'd debated canceling said trial, and then remembered the last two times I had updos done by unknown stylists:

Stylist 1: I wound up with a French twist. I haaaaaaate French twists. (Disclaimer: this statement only applies to a French twist on me. Go ahead and twist away - I think they're gorgeous on everyone else.)

Stylist 2: I had what appeared to be an angry, lopsided weasel (ALW) living on top of my head.

In the hopes of avoiding an angry, lopsided weasel, I went ahead and kept the hair trial. In the event that I DO end up with an ALW, I'm hoping that between Lorenia, Atoosa, Brooke, and a big ol' pile of bobby pins the ALW can at least be turned into a weasel who's there to party.

Dear God: Thank You.

2008-08-05T21:17:00.000-07:00

Whenever I start to be slightly nervous about moving to Los Angeles (which is directly related to my super-paranoid fear that I'm not good at maintaining friendships, which is directly tied to the fact that a friend of almost ten years decided this year that our friendship wasn't working for her [for the second time]) something happens to reassure me that all is love and light in the world.

Today it was a delightful blog comment from Atoosa, and the appearance of my friend Dara at The Cheese. The appearance of Dara at Cheese may not seem too monumental, until you consider that she's spent the last few years in the Peace Corps in Africa and was then off to Italy for Montessori training, and is now in the midst of a move to Toronto. Walking around the corner at work and seeing Dara's sweet face did good, good things for my heart.

What I Did Last Week

2008-08-03T20:29:00.000-07:00

The ol' What I Did Last Summer post is a little too overwhelming, so here's a sample of last week:

-Worked National Cheesecake Day at My Favorite Corporate Restaurant on Wednesday. The Cheese Higher-Ups decided it would be a fabulous idea to celebrate by selling slices for $1.50 each. It was a fabulous marketing idea. Until The View and Sprint got ahold of it and informed the entire country. People were showing up in droves (I actually never thought I'd have a chance to use that word in this blog - yippee!) on Wednesday. They waited for an hour in the lobby, and then sat down only to wait for another hour to get a slice of cheesecake for $5 less than normal. I will confess that when a table decided, at 11 p.m., that they wanted to order cheesecake, thus guaranteeing that we would be there at least another hour, I offered them $5 each to just come back and get it the following day at normal price.

-Cleaned up the small swimming pool that formed in the basement, kitchen, and living room after the water hose detached from the fridge and began spewing water at the rate of 3 gallons/minute.

-Was really glad that wedding dress was not hanging in basement.

-Realized that Certain Events involving Certain People this summer have made me super-paranoid and really suspicious.

-To-dos: remember that people are inherently good. Forgive people who have made life rough. Pray more. Start noting blog-worthy items in Moleskine, because a heckuva lot more fun stuff happened last week that I am unfortunately unable to remember at this point.

Back!

2008-08-03T15:26:00.000-07:00

I haven't been able to access Blogger for, like, ever.

It appears to be cooperating again, and now I find that I have nothing to say.

I'll work on coming up with some witty observation tonight if you'll reassure me that you're still out there after such a long hiatus.

I stole this from Sarah.

2008-07-02T08:30:00.000-07:00

The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed. Well let's see.
1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read.
3) Italicize and bold the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list in your own blog so we can try and track down these people who've only read 6 and force books upon them. (If you have not read The Handmaid's Tale or A Prayer for Owen Meany, please go to your local library right away.)

1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austin
2. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6. The Bible - God
7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8. 1984- George Orwell
9. His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11. Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20. Middlemarch - George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38. Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52. Dune - Frank Herbert
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones' Diary - Helen Fielding
69. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker
73. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75. Ulysses - James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte's Web - EB White
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Not sleeping

2008-07-02T01:11:00.001-07:00

It is almost 3:30 a.m. and I am awake.

Again.

I can sleep - during the day.

For now, I will content myself with watching a documentary on bears (thanks Hulu!) and waiting until dawn, at which point I'll probably drift off. Again.

Any tips on removing myself from the land of nocturnal creatures would be appreciated.

NOW what do you think about global warming?

2008-06-27T21:50:00.000-07:00

Scientists from the National Snow and Ice Data Center are quoted on CNN as saying, in reference to global warming, "Not to say I told you so...but I told you so."

The North Pole is melting, people.

Here, kitty kitty

2008-06-20T08:43:00.000-07:00

So I am a huge sucker for animals. Especially if they're small. Especially if they're hurt. ESPECIALLY if they're small AND hurt.

This has gotten me into trouble before. Like the time a couple of years ago when I was driving back to Kansas City from Manhattan and saw what I thought was a litter of kittens on the side of the road. I stopped to investigate, thinking that I would load the tiny, helpless, mewling creatures into my car and drop them off at the no-kill shelter, thus saving their lives and providing several area families with the Perfect Pet.

It turns out that when one is driving 70 mph at night, it is fairly easy to mistake a group of baby possums for a litter of kittens. And possums do not take kindly to the idea of being bundled into the car and taken to the shelter.

I was out running this morning and saw a bedraggled black-and-white cat limping along the sidewalk. You know where this is going, don't you?

I approached him, crooning, "Here, kitty kitty..." trying with all my might to look like a friendly cat-lover, one who had pockets full of tuna and catnip. I just wanted to HELP him.

I'm not really used to being around cats, but I'm guessing that flattened ears and hissing means that they probably don't want to be approached.

Because I did not feel like explaining to either Andrew or my mother why I came home from this particular run looking like a scratching post, and also because I'm fairly sure that a series of rabies shots can't be added to the gift registry, I abandoned this particular mission.

But I still hope the little guy finds his way home safely, and that there's tuna waiting for him, and that someone will fix his hurt paw.

One of us

2008-06-18T09:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Chicago,
Thank you.

You see, it's been a bit of a rough year. I've lost a few good friendships, and the process of those losses has caused me to question myself. Am I REALLY that funny/smart/interesting/good at using proper punctuation?

What if I'm selfish and boring and have been using semi-colons incorrectly this whole time?

You, all of you, made me feel entirely wrapped up in and surrounded by and connected with love. You're all such amazing, wonderful, (insert complementary adjective here) people - and spending the weekend with you made me realize that maybe it wasn't my fault that I lost those particular friendships - maybe it was just part of the process that happens when two people are growing, but their relationship is not. And not to go all Hallmark on you, but this past weekend really gave me a lot of hope for new and healthy relationships in the future.

So thank you, Chicago. You were more healing than you know. And also, you have really great hotdogs.

Love,
Erin

Author's note: The term "Chicago" includes but is not limited to Minnesota, San Diego, Massachusetts, Haifa, and Los Angeles.

"Someday, the light will shine like a sun through my skin & they will say, What have you done with your life? & though there are many moments I think I will remember, in the end, I will be proud to say, I was one of us." - Brian Andreas

Things I Am Terrified Of, Part I

2008-06-06T16:13:00.000-07:00

So I live relatively close to a pond. Said pond is in the "yard" of a big corporate office building, and is thus on the corner of a really busy intersection.

Across the street from the pond is a hill full of juicy young clover blossoms and succulent, delicious grass.

Neither of these facts are of any importance until you add in the geese.

The pond is filled with several Canadian geese and their too-cute-to-be-believed little goslings.

Several times a day, the geese take it upon themselves to leave their watery home and meander across the street (and by "street" I mean "six-lane road close to the interstate") for a delicious snack.

I am terrified that I am going to be driving down Metcalf, changing the radio station or sending a text (dear Officer Dad, of course this is just for illustration - I never text while driving, no, no!) or taking a bite of granola bar or doing something else that may require that I take my eyes off the road for a second - and in that second, I will plow through the line of geese, thus incurring the wrath of all Canadian geese everywhere (those suckers are mean!) and making it look as though my Honda just lost the world's largest pillow fight.

These are the things I think about, dear readers. These are the things I think about.

It was a dark and stormy night...

2008-06-03T11:11:00.001-07:00

It wasn't, actually. It was a bright and sunny day. But dark and stormy makes it seem more dramatic.

Roommate situations can be dicey - but this one seemed promising. Me and Her and another girl, Sorority Sister for short. S.S. took the single bed. She got the top bunk. I didn't mind - the bottom bunk was easier to find when I was coming in after a late night of studying or playtime. She was quiet the first day and for several days after that. She never hung out with the rest of the floor. We didn't even really talk until mid-semester, when chemistry started to get tough, and we began to study together. We became friends and discovered that we had a lot in common - reading, sarcasm, a love of chicken-fried steak. Things with S.S. went downhill, and She began plotting elaborate methods of revenge. She put silver nitrate in S.S.' bodysplash to turn her skin black, and ripped the seams out of her stuffed animals. I know - it sounds like a bad movie. I should have realized then that true character doesn't change. Regardless, we moved into a different room, and then into a larger one down the hall the next year. We lived with a girl named Amy - She would hide the phone when Amy spent too much time in the hall talking to her boyfriend.

The year after that, we lived together again, this time in an apartment off-campus. Halfway through the semester, I decided that I wanted to live alone the following year. Nothing personal - I just wanted something different. The day I told her, she flipped out. "What the F&%K!" she screamed. "Why does this always happen to me?" We didn't speak for the next two-and-a-half years. Then, I got an e-mail from her. We met for lunch, and began to tentatively re-establish a friendship. I thought she'd changed, grown. I should have known.

I should have known, again, when she became angry at me for establishing a friendship with someone who had shown her no interest. I should have known, again, when she withdrew after I couldn't plan a vacation with her because we were already planning a trip to Peru. I should have known, again, when I called her to tell her about our engagement and she sobbed and lamented how unhappy she was. I did know, finally, when she sent me an e-mail the day before she was supposed to come for a visit, essentially ending our friendship because I was selfish, because I had changed. Without realizing it, she helped me. Without realizing it, she taught me that sometimes the best thing you can do is trust your instincts about people. She helped me to realize that a true friendship isn't one-sided, that a true friendship allows itself and the people in it to grow and evolve and change, that a true friend is not one who always cries about her problems and expects you to listen without doing the same for you.

Some friendships are worth hanging on to at all costs - and others are worth ending. To those of you who have been there through everything, and to those of you whom I'm just beginning to know - thank you. To those of you who have been there in the past - thank you, too. For helping me realize who I am, and what a true friendship should be.

What do you say to this exactly?

2008-05-29T15:08:00.000-07:00

Comments from work last night that I was not sure how to reply to:

1. "You're really hot, for a 27-year-old!" Um. Thanks, I think.

2. "You have really big lips!" Yes. Yes I do. I grew them myself.

3. "If you're not a good boy, we're going to send you to the kitchen with the waitress, and she's going to make you wash dishes!" Please do not use me to scare your children. The fact that I'm wearing a tie is frightening enough.

Wednesdays are for randomness

2008-05-27T12:04:00.000-07:00

*I attribute part of my obsession with coffee to the fact that I like the lingo.

That statement doesn't make any sense, until you consider that, outside of a coffee shop, the words, "Iced double tall skinny vanilla latte" make no sense. Therefore, in my mind, it's kind of a code.

My obsession with codes/abbreviations/secret languages (if you will) probably goes back to when I was about nine and made up a flashlight code with my neighbor/BFF so that we could communicate after our designated bedtime. We also spent a lot of time speaking in Pig Latin o-say as-hay o-tay annoy-hay y-may rother-bay.

Anyway, I have ascertained that my Summer Coffee Obsession is the drink mentioned above. It's cold (nice in the summer), delicious (nice no matter the season) and involves skim milk (nice for those of us who hear, "If you eat that you're not going to fit into your wedding dress!" several times a day.)

*Speaking of not fitting into our wedding dresses, someone needs to have a chat with Facebook. I'm slightly creeped out by targeted advertising; I'm even more creeped out by the fact that every time I log in to Facebook, I'm greeted with a banner ad: "Don't be a FAT BRIDE." Thanks for your concern, Facebook, but at my last fitting, the seamstress informed me that if I didn't eat more, my dress would fall off. That's why I'm enjoying these delicious nachos at this very minute. I'm doing it for you, my beloved wedding guests, so as to avoid losing my dress mid-ceremony. That's just awkward.

*And on another wedding-related note - I was going with mom for the aforementioned fitting when I mentioned that I was flummoxed about a veil. (These are things I have never worried about before, and do not anticipate worrying about ever again.) The conversation went as follows:

Me: "Mom, do you think it's weird that I don't want a veil?"

Mom: "Um. I would be a lot more concerned if you DID want to bail, but if you're even CONSIDERING bailing, then I suggest you bring that up now so that..."

Me: "Mom. I said 'VEIL.'"

Notes from all over

2008-05-21T19:11:00.000-07:00

*I do not have appendicitis. And the Weird Pain went away, so I can stop worrying about it.

* I'm working on applying to schools in Los Angeles. I'm excited. And reeeeeealy ready to move. Surf lessons, anyone?

*I'm terribly afraid that the Peru trip has given me a Travel Bug that I may never get rid of. And by "afraid" I mean "excited."

*Some people are weird.

*Wedding planning is hilarious. Excerpt from a conversation with the florist: "I use orchids like most people use carnations!" Gulp.

*This blog is starting a new five-part series. Wednesdays will be Blogging for Brent. Stay tuned!

I CONFESS!

2008-05-15T13:45:00.000-07:00

The more superficial my blogs are (see below) the more emotional upset I'm typically in.

I think I'll go biking. Because it's beautiful outside. And I need to try to breathe.

6 more weeks...

2008-05-15T13:25:00.001-07:00

The following conversational excerpt is the primary reason I will not miss waiting tables:

Me: (Random introductory stuff to table, followed by request for drink order.)
Man at Table: "Iced tea."
Me: "Sir, have you had our iced tea before?"
MAT: "No..." (Suspicious glare.)
Me: "It's tropical passion, made with an infusion of several different flower and plant flavors...it tastes a bit like mango." (Internal cringe at the fact that I am required to say "tropical passion" to strangers several times a day - David Overton, if you could refrain from naming your next iced tea flavor after a Fox reality TV show, that would be super.)
MAT: "I just want regular iced tea."
Me: "We only have the mango tea and green tea."
MAT: "You don't have just regular iced tea?"
Me: "No, sir. Only the mango tea and green tea."
MAT: "You really don't have just a regular house tea?"
Me: "The mango tea IS our regular tea, sir." (Internally: "You caught me! I've been lying this whole time! The trick is to ask more than three times for the regular ice tea, and then it will miraculously appear!")
MAT: "Mango tea, then." (Heavy, suspicious sigh.)

Dear universe, please advise.

2008-05-13T09:00:00.000-07:00

I already know what the answer to this question is, but feel free to chime in. Because I like confirmation. To make a long story short, the required grade for my Patho class here in KC is 75%. I got a 74%. I have always believed that Things Happen For a Reason.

A 74% is good enough for the nursing program I was thinking about applying to in Los Angeles. Further, the random theology/philosophy courses that I have already taken are also required for school in Los Angeles.

Choices:

Option 1: Retake patho this summer. Get married. Move to Los Angeles. Live in LA until August 2009. Move back to KC with Andrew, who would complete an internship in the KC area and then move BACK to LA for 8 months to finish school, while I stayed here in KC to complete school.

Option 2: Don't retake patho this summer. Get married. Move to Los Angeles. Apply to school in L.A. Get accepted to school in L.A. Go to school in L.A. Same program - accelerated option, loan forgiveness. Won't require that we have a long-distance marriage for 8 months.

Some things seem so much simpler after writing them out.

Go to sleep, little appendix.

2008-05-12T20:20:00.000-07:00

So much happened in the last two weeks that I'm basically opting out on blogging it. It would take forever, and you probably wouldn't want to read a 894-paragraph blog anyway. Suffice it to say - Peru was amazing, Bolivia was beautiful, and I have the best fiancé ever. (Side note: he left for California yesterday - HOW was that only yesterday? - and I miss him terribly. But I digress.)

World travels and engagement news aside, let us move on to more mundane aspects of my life.

I have a Weird Pain in my side. (Hey, I said mundane.) My lower right side. Which, traditionally, is where your appendix lives.

(This would probably be a good time to point out that I know just enough about medicine to be dangerous. My mom taught me to read on her American Journal of Nursing magazines, which resulted in a four-year-old me running to her with a bruise and saying, "Mommy? Is this a symptom of acute mylogeneous leukemia?")

Anyway, at the first sign of a Weird Pain in the general area of my appendix, I waste no time in jumping to the conclusion that my appendix will surely burst, I will immediately develop peritonitis, and tomorrow will find me in the hospital having emergency surgery instead of taking my theology final. Because the only symptom of appendicitis that I am currently manifesting is this weird abdominal pain, and not nausea, vomiting, fever, or anything else that goes along with Needing To Have Your Appendix Out, my appendix (whom I've nicknamed Melvin) and I are going to go to bed. Hopefully a nap will calm him down, and all will be well in the morning.

Going somewhere soon.

2008-04-23T05:37:00.001-07:00

I'm leaving for Peru in two hours.

Details when I return in two weeks.

Love!

Seriously.

2008-04-04T01:01:00.001-07:00

He's not joking.

To myself at 17.

2008-03-19T08:47:00.000-07:00

Hey Em,
You've never liked wasting time on sugarcoating, so we'll jump straight to the point. Just so you know - you are much too young to worry as much as you do. Learn to live in the moment. Sure, planning is never a bad thing - but try to focus less on what's going to happen tomorrow, or next month, or in college, or after college, or when you're 50, or when you're old.

Spend more time with your best friends. Time with them will be different as you all start getting older, entering careers, marrying, and having children. Also realize, though, that some friendships will grow with you, and others won't. Learn how to recognize which relationships are healthy - and which ones to let go.

Let mom and dad work out their relationship on their own. Know that their divorce WILL skew your view of relationships - but it will skew it in such a way that you will be all the more determined to fight to make yours a good one.

Accept early on that you're probably not going to be in the same career forever. So do your best in bakery science and give communications a try. When you're 22, you're going to think you're "too old" to change your major. At 22, you are practically larvae. (Yes, dear readers, I realize that at 27 I'm not exactly Little Ms. Old and Experienced either, so please stop snickering.) You are never too old to change your major, or start another career, or go back to school. For now, though, stick with it, and always remember that you don't know what's at the end of this path. You can't go into healthcare yet, but there's a good reason for that. And you will eventually, so just be patient with the whole bakery science thing and appreciate the friendships (and the knowledge of muffins) that you'll build there.

Finally, learn to communicate - really communicate. Realize that being assertive is not the same as being mean. Don't take good relationships for granted. Learn to maintain friendships - and realize that even though you've lost touch with someone, odds are they'd still appreciate knowing you're thinking of them, even years later. Don't date people to fix them. Don't date people who make you feel like less of a person. Don't ever be afraid to hold fast to your beliefs. You have a strong sense of intuition - follow that. Know that it's OK to question your faith. Know that the right faith will encourage questioning. Finally - love yourself for who you are, and learn to recognize your own perfection. Do not be afraid of your own success, for by doing so, you'll cause yourself to fail.

With love and hope,
Your future self

P.S. You will never regret not getting a tattoo.

Is there a theme here?

2008-03-14T12:33:00.000-07:00

I've been on a "blogging about personal struggles" kick lately, it seems. I'm sure I'll be back to hotdogs in tomato soup in no time. But we all need balance, and, well, life isn't always hotdogs in tomato soup. (Thank goodness.)

I keep hearing that God will continue to present you with tests until you have learned what you're supposed to from them. The ol' "struggle with control and trusting in God" issue seems to be rearing it's ugly head again.

You see, I like to be in charge. I am GOOD at being in charge. Delegation? Organization? My strong points. I mean, you are reading the blog of someone who organizes her closet by COLOR. So this whole "Guess-what-sister-you-are-not-running-this-show" message that I keep getting from God is hard. To. Deal with. Because I feel like I'm being turned inside out. And I am terrified of what will happen if I let go. Terrified. But it's getting to the point where I'm MORE terrified of what will happen if I don't.

Because while I seem to be doing a fabulous job of organizing my closet, the amount of time I've spent in tears over the past week or so makes me think I'm not quite as good at running my life as I'd like to think.

That being said, I'm about to share something a bit personal. Because, well, this is my blog. SEE HOW MUCH I LIKE CONTROLLING THINGS? I didn't even mean to type that. OK. I can control my closet and this blog. But that's it. Anyway. I realized some time ago that my periods of meditation aren't going to be periods of quiet emptiness. They actually tend to resemble something akin to conversation. Excerpt:

Me: "Well, you see, I've been trying really hard to..."

- "Have you?"

Me: "Yes! I think so... OK. Good point. I THOUGHT I was trying to let go and know that when You close a door You open a window and all that - but I'm so anxious sometimes. What if I'm not cut out to be a nurse? What if I'm not smart enough for school what if I don't make friends what if I let myself settle into being happy and actually BELIEVE that I can have the life I've always wanted (you don't mind a cliché, do you?) and then it all gets RUINED?"

- Laughter.

Me: "What??"

- "Haven't we been over this before?"

Me: "Yes."

- "OK. Let's start over. Let Me do this. I'm good at it. Better at it than you are, even. Trust Me. Trust. Me."

"O SON OF BEING! With the hands of power I made thee and with the fingers of strength I created thee; and within thee have I placed the essence of My light. Be thou content with it and seek naught else, for My work is perfect and My command is binding. Question it not, nor have a doubt thereof." - Bahá'u'lláh, The Hidden Words

Standards for living

2008-03-12T14:03:00.000-07:00

My primary example for marriage was not a good one. Stony silence, or worse, polite conversation was the order of the day, as each of us moved in elaborate dance steps, trying desperately to ignore the problem that ate with us at dinner and tucked us in to bed at night. We all dealt with it in our own way - my father tried to be The Perfect Husband - cooking and cleaning, but not dealing with his anger issues or his resentment at my mom's withdrawal. My mom worked constantly, viewing 60-hour weeks and extensive travel as a way to cope until she felt my brother and I were past the age for drawn-out custody battles and summers and holidays in separate houses. My brother rebelled, pulling pranks that were not quite bad enough to get him arrested but were just enough to pull my parents' attention toward him. I simply tried to be perfect, getting good grades, joining everything from the cheerleading squad to the science club, and eventually establishing what I came to view as my handpicked family built from a group of tight-knit friends.

I'm realizing now just how strongly my idea of marriage as a "fortress for well-being and salvation" was influenced by the way I grew up. Marriage should be a place of safety, comfort, and love - but also an institution that is prepared for challenges and attacks, from within and without. There will be bad days, and worse days, and days where it may seem easier to just quit. That is when I must remember that I DO want what I grew up with - fighting and determination and stubbornness - but I will fight the desire to give up when life's challenges seem to be more than we can handle. I am determined to build a marriage that is worth defending - and one that will last forever. And I will stubbornly, stubbornly cling to the idea that it IS possible to be one-half of the old-couple-holding-hands-on-a-park-bench who love each other for the best and despite the worst.

"You may not remember the time you let me go first. Or the time you dropped back to tell me it wasn't that far to go. Or the time you waited at the crossroads for me to catch up. You may not remember any of those, but I do & this is what I have to say to you: today, no matter what it takes, we ride home together." - Brian Andreas

No translation necessary

2008-03-10T19:32:00.000-07:00

"The purpose of religion as revealed from the heaven of God's holy Will is to establish unity and concord amongst the peoples of the world; make it not the cause of dissension and strife." - Bahá'u'lláh

Baha'i devotions are beautiful to me for this reason - the Faith brings together people from so many different backgrounds - and there we are, all gathered in one room, not necessarily speaking the same language, but all there to love the same God.

It's always apparent that the spirit behind these gatherings is so sparkling, so alive.

Sometimes (more often than not, actually) things happen that bring tears to my eyes and leave me completely in awe of God's power and presence.

We gathered on Saturday to break fast and pray. One of the men present was the president of the Muslim Student Association at UMKC. He offered to chant a prayer in Arabic. We debated having him translate this prayer for us, but came to the conclusion that it wasn't necessary. We did not need to understand the exact words being said - the intention behind it would be clear, and that was the most important thing.

He chanted a Muslim prayer, and we read the next prayer in English from a Baha'i prayer book. As we finished the reading, he looked up.

"That was the same thing I just said. Almost verbatim."

We smiled, and exchanged looks of disbelief. Why disbelief, I'm not sure. The intention was there - and so we all understood, whether or not we spoke the same language.

Perhaps you'd like my firstborn child, also.

2008-03-07T21:31:00.000-08:00

I just got my schedule for the accelerated year of nursing school. They want my paperwork, proof of vaccinations, proof of CPR certification, and my soul sealed up and mailed back by August.

Think trimesters. Roughly 21 hours each. Two days off in October, two days for Thanksgiving, slightly over a week for Christmas. Four days for spring break. Four days for "intersemester break."

And THEN - August 8th, 2009. Pinning ceremony, and I'm FREE. Let the countdown begin.

A touch of random

2008-03-05T04:35:00.001-08:00

It may be because it's 6 a.m., but this struck me as absolutely hilarious. It's a described as a "Portable Lunch Box Stove that plugs into your car's cigarette lighter! Now you can enjoy a hot lunch anywhere, anytime by using koolatron 12 Volt Lunch Box Stove! The Koolatron 12V Lunch Box Stove delivers what you've been waiting for - a hot lunch while you're on the road without stopping for a questionable roadside meal! You can cook your food at home and bring it with you on the road along with the Koolatron Lunch Box Stove for a home cooked meal anytime!"

Emphasis on "questionable roadside meal" is mine. Mainly because I suspect that anything that you could cook with this thing would probably be more questionable than something you'd be able to buy on the road.

Speaking of lunch, and questionable, has anyone ever heard of hotdog fishin' as a lunch idea? No? Prepare to be enlightened. And grossed out. (My comments in parenthesis.)

The description below was contributed by: Ruth Bartley on Oct 10, 2000 12:41:59AM (Ruth, did you actually make this for your children? If so, are they still speaking to you?)

Recipe Rating (Four stars as compared to WHAT? Sending your kid to school with a can of catfood?)

Estimated time to complete recipe:
10 min.

Description of lunch box recipe:
Lunch in a Thermos.

Directions:
Cook the hot dog, warm the soup of the child's choice. Tie a string around the hot dog, place it in the soup that you have put in the Thermos. (Can't you just see yourself in your bathrobe, sipping coffee, tying string on hotdogs for all the kiddos?) Make sure that you keep enough of the string to place it on the outside when you put the stopper in. Place the bun in a baggie for the hot dog. Your child now has a hot lunch!! (Junior high's not hard enough - make it better by forcing little Johnny to fish his lunch out of a thermos. Definitely beats cutting the crusts off of a PB&J and writing a loving note on a napkin.)

Other suggestions and comments:
This is great with tomato soup for the children that like ketchup on their hot dogs. All of mine love this. If you microwave the hot dogs, they taste just like you fixed them on the grill, and it only takes a minute. (A minute for lunch - a lifetime of terrible memories for your child!)

Unleashed

2008-02-29T18:41:00.001-08:00

Tonight I was presented with an unexpected Friday night off, and thought it would be as good a time as any to renew my faltering relationship with my gym. I'm extra-motivated now, because we leave for Peru in approximately 55 days, and while I know the group that I'm going with has a lot of love for me, I'm not sure they'll maintain that same level of love if they have to carry my panting self up the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu.

I was sweating away on the Stairmaster when I noticed one of trainers incorporating a new technique. He had strapped his client into a weighted vest and had essentially leashed her to him using a resistance band. She was running in front of him (or trying to) while he walked the opposite way behind her, pulling back against her as hard as he could.

I will happily walk on the incline trainer wearing my weighted backpack. I will not complain about doing squats on the Bosu ball. I will hum along with my iPod while alternating lunges with sprints. But the second my trainer attempts to introduce a leash into my program...I'm out.

...And then I did not get carjacked.

2008-02-27T20:43:00.000-08:00

There have been a few carjackings on and around campus lately. Not your average, friendly, get-outta-the-car-or-I'll-hit-you-with-this-crowbar carjackings, either - no, these have involved real, actual guns. Campus security has been sending out e-mails, everyone is supposed to be extra-vigilant, yadi yadi. So you may understand why I'm a teensy bit paranoid.

Tonight after class, I walked out to my car, got in, started it up, and started to drive off. Then I heard a sharp, metallic "tappa-tappa-tappa-tappa" from the passenger side. Gulp. I slowly looked over. Nothing. I checked the back seat. Nothing. I made sure the doors were locked. (They were.) I started the journey home again, a bit more quickly this time.

More tapping, more urgent - "Tappatappatappatappatappa!"

Me, mentally - "I'm-so-sorry-sir-if-you-want-my-four-door-mom-car-with-the-factory-speakers-
here-go-ahead-and-take-it!!!"

I proverbially screeched to an actual halt. This set off a "TAPPATAPPATAPPATAPPATAPPATAPPA!"

At this point, I realized what it was. Ice from the beverage I'd had earlier was clinking against the side of my shiny new travel mug that I'd stuck in the cupholder on the passenger side. It was chilly enough to keep all of the ice from melting...but warm enough that my drink hadn't frozen solid, for the first time in several months.

To-dos: drop paranoia. Clean out car.

Did I stop too soon?

2008-02-25T12:49:00.001-08:00

This post was partially inspired by the following conversation with my mom:

Mom: "What mascara are you using now?"

Me: "I dunno...I never remember the names of them. Partly because they're always named Super Triple Extra-Length Amazing Volume Stupendosity, or something like that."

But seriously - maybe I gave up on copywriting too soon. Maybe instead of writing ads for tractors, I should have gotten a job just naming stuff. Which made me think of Mitch Hedberg's take on this:

“I want to get a job as someone who names kitchen appliances. Toaster, refrigerator, blender.... all you do is say what the shit does, and add "er". I wanna work for the Kitchen Appliance Naming Institute. Hey, what does that do? It keeps shit fresh. Well, that's a fresher....I'm going on break.”

Yeah. That job would be perfect.

Me-OW

2008-02-22T10:22:00.001-08:00

This is kind of how I feel right now. I am NOT going to get sick again. To do today:

1. Down another gallon of OJ. (Yes, that does imply that I have already downed one gallon of it...delicious!)

2. Take a nap.

3. Intermix napping and OJ with oil of oregano, that magical, natural, anti-microbial elixir.

P.S. To the girl in my class who left her lungs on the desk behind me Wednesday - it's NURSING school. No one will be mad if you're sick and skip class. In fact, we will applaud you.

Tainted Love

2008-02-21T09:24:00.000-08:00

If I were describing a dating relationship, you would tell me to get out now. You see, we take each other for granted. One of us leaves, or we tell the other one to leave. I've ended it twice. And both times, I've gone back, asking for another chance. Not only does this relationship leave me physically sore, and feeling somewhat soulless, it also controls what I wear and who I spend time with.

I'm talking about my relationship with...The Cheesecake Factory.

I've gotten new jobs twice. The first time, I didn't even start. The shirts at New Job Number One had a rhinestone logo, and the place reeked of cigarette smoke and meat. (It wasn't a frat bar. It was a steak place in Leawood.)

I actually started New Job Number Two, but quit three days in, after:

1. Spending eight hours a day in training without sufficiently going over table numbers or the menu.
2. Being asked to serve a lunch shift while being followed by a trainer without sufficiently going over table numbers or a menu.
3. Being asked to spend several hours at night memorizing asinine facts about the menu, including all fourteen ingredients in the chicken salad. (Which, if you're curious, are dijon mustard, yellow mustard, salt, pepper, basil, oregano, red onion, green onion, worcestershire sauce, garlic, parsley, and red wine vinegar, apples, and walnuts. I would assume there's also some chicken in there somewhere.) You may assume that this would constitute going over the menu, but (perhaps not surprisingly) people usually don't ask how many ounces of dijon mustard are in the chicken salad.
4. Coming to the realization that there appeared to be only one other female who served in the restaurant.
5. Being told that women usually didn't make it at that particular restaurant.
6. Being told that we were not allowed to request time off but instead were responsible for finding someone to cover our shifts.
7. Having a phone conversation after the third day wherein the other party stated that at least I hadn't fallen on my face. I remembered after this comment that no, while I had not fallen on my face, I had slipped on the kitchen floor and managed to bruise both knees, my right elbow, and my right glute. (Don't ask.) Thing is, I had completely forgotten about falling because it was not actually the worst part of the day.

So anyway. Here I am. Still at the Cheese. One day, I hope to break the cycle. For now, I will continue to wear white pants, and be sure my guests realize the tea is a mango flavor. Did anyone save room for dessert?

Best comment to a table, EVER.

2008-02-16T23:09:00.001-08:00

I wait tables. Sometimes, it sucks. Today, I worked 13 hours. I did get a ten-minute break, though, and I got to go to the bathroom once, so maybe I shouldn't complain. My feet are the feet of an 80-year-old woman that have somehow attached themselves to my 27-year-old legs. A coworker, who was sharing a similar schedule (and similar feet) made the following comment to a lady at his table today:

Lady: "We have been waiting THIRTY MINUTES for our table!"

Co-worker: "I've been working for seven hours! I win!"

It happened one night...

2008-02-14T11:48:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: despite what you may think after reading this post, I am not on hallucinogenic drugs of any kind. That being said, take my hand, and venture with me into the wild world of Wednesday evening Philosophy class.

In addition to the disclaimer, I also need to preface this by saying that I will be referencing the girl who sits in front of me as Pickles. This is because last week, she brought a Pickle Pak to class and proceeded to eat sweet pickles for two hours straight. That is, until she knocked the Pak over, sending sweet pickle juice cascading over the desk and onto the floor. Fortunately, she was able to mop up...with her gloves...and then clamp the pickle-juice-covered gloves over the noses of her friends for the remaining forty minutes of class, causing them to squeal and recoil in disgust.

6:00 p.m. Class begins. Girl who had been pregnant comes in quite obviously not pregnant. Professor: "Wow! You must've had your baby! Are you sore?" Now, how exactly is New Mom supposed to answer this? She had a baby on Sunday. It's Wednesday. I've never had children, but as I see it, she has one of two possible responses:

1. "You'd be surprised, really - pushing something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of a lemon really isn't all that bad!"

2. "I sure am - that episiotomy was a real b*tch!"

Of course she's sore. But why are you asking?

6:05 p.m. Class commences. We continue adding to our list of "Things to Get Off The Moral Hook, Spring 2008." The premise: come up with reasons that we are not morally responsible for hitting a small child with a car. Included in the list so far: "My prosthetic leg got jammed under the brake pedal." "I was high and thought the kid was a monster." "I'm driving Christine."

6:27 p.m. Pickles pulls out a can of pineapple and a spoon and starts a-snackin'.

6:42 p.m. Pickles wraps up dinner and commences cleaning out her hairbrush, dropping wads of hair on the floor.

7:00 p.m. A discussion on our responsibility to vote begins. Professor Bill points out that the voting machines are all made by one company with ties to a certain political party, and the possibility exists that they operate a master control somewhere.

7:16 p.m. A strangled scream comes out of the heater vent next to me. I think it's the guy one classroom over being exceptionally animated. I THINK.

7:31 p.m. Professor Bill launches in to a detailed synopsis of Moby Dick.

7:33 p.m. Professor Bill wants to know if we know the first and last lines of Moby Dick. The first line? "Call me Ishmael." The last line, according to him? "Call me fish meal."

7:39 p.m. Wrap up synopsis of Moby Dick and begin synopsis of The Neverending Story. When Professor Bill begins talking about Fantastica needing a hero, he does a little leap and bursts into a rendition of Bonnie Tyler's "Holding Out for a Hero." With arm motions. (There is no way I could make this up. I'm not that good.)

7:42 p.m. Weird noise from the heater vent again.

8:03 p.m. Pickles pulls a wad of hot-pink Silly Putty out of her bag, fashions it into eyeballs, and affixes them to her glasses, where they remain for the better part of ten minutes.

8:22 p.m. More strangled screams. I begin to think that someone is actually being tortured in the ductwork.

8:39 p.m. Professor Bill wraps up class with the following statement: "In order to be a moral agent, you must be convinced of your moral responsibility. Chickens might be moral agents, but until you get more evidence, I'm not buying into it."

8:40 p.m. Another day in Philosophy draws to a close.

Why study when I can blog about the weekend?

2008-02-12T14:02:00.000-08:00

Last weekend, I got to escape the frigid plains of Kansas and hop a plane to sunny L.A.

Despite my arrival at an insanely early hour, Andrew oh-so-cheerfully picked me up at the airport and we commenced spending the Perfect Weekend together. Granted, the Perfect Weekend mostly consisted of homework, but it was really fantastic to be doing homework where the distance between us was the length of the coffee table, instead of the length of most of Kansas, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada. Just to give you a glimpse of what life in California is like (and to reassure all of you Midwesterners that yes, 80-degree weather will indeed come again someday...) I've included some photos. Note: I've also included a photo of Andrew and I for everyone who keeps asking who this Andrew person is, anyway. Note II: I did not suddenly become insanely talented with a camera. All photos by Andrew Johnson.

No, this is not a postcard.

Look, Mom! No mittens! No shoes either, for that matter.

Yes, it really was this idyllic.

Meet Andrew! (Confession: I think we're cute.)

I think I'm done pouting now.

2008-02-07T09:02:00.000-08:00

Note to self - don't blog while tired. The world tends to look better after 8 hours of sleep and a cup of green tea.

Leftovers

2008-02-06T20:30:00.000-08:00

I've been completely emotional lately for no reason whatsoever. I feel unsettled, off-center, whatever you want to call it. The problem is, it's not consistent - I can deal with feeling consistently one way or another, but I go back and forth between being pretty content and being completely, totally sad.

I think it has something to do with being back in school after such a great break - and not only am I back in school, I'm at Real Actual Nursing School instead of just at small friendly JuCo, and it's a different atmosphere. I also think it has something to do with feeling like I never see people anymore - I spent so much time over break with so many people I love, and now I feel like I bounce between class, work, and homework with no time to do anything else but sleep. I also think it's partly that I feel like I don't know anyone well enough to be real yet - I mean, sure, we spend six hours a day together, but it's not exactly like I'm going to be anything but cheerful.

I think I just need some time to get used to everything. Maybe? Is that it? What's going on?

It makes me think of something New Friend Ben said in class today - "Drama is kind of like Chinese food. It's OK sometimes, but not very often, and you definitely don't want it sitting in your fridge."

I need to clean out the fridge.

Be not of those who doubt.

2008-01-21T22:38:00.001-08:00

My biggest challenge in relationships has always been jealousy. Initially I thought it started in college, when my first "real" relationship ended after a planned camping trip was canceled early due to rain, resulting in a late-night visit to a boyfriend's house. This visit culminated with me walking in on him in bed with a girl whose name I will not mention here, though I still remember it, and her, as vividly as I remember the feeling of complete and total betrayal. When it comes up, I've always told this story with a twisted sort of amused self-deprecation, as if I didn't really mind, and as if the memory of that night doesn't cause my stomach to twist a little even now.

I've carried those feelings of betrayal and jealousy into every relationship I've had since then, always expecting that any sentence that begins with "I love you," will surely be followed by "but ________."

I wonder sometimes if this insecurity blanket that I carry with me goes back to my childhood, to the weeks when mom was gone on business trips and dad would wonder aloud what she was doing, or if she would come back. I wonder if it has to do with knowing that sometimes dad would search for nonexistent clues that mom was cheating, or if it's due to the fact that I realized before I turned ten that at least for my parents, "I love you" did not mean, "I love you and the person you are because you are independent of who I am, and I love the life that our separateness will enable us to build together." Instead, "I love you" implied possession, control, suspicion, and ultimately, failure and loss.

I am determined to fail. And I will lose. I am determined to fail to perpetuate this cycle. I will lose the feelings of jealousy and suspicion that have tainted former relationships. I refuse to hurt those I love by applying past behaviors to current situations.

I've been using a journal as part of my periods of prayer and meditation for some time, and two phrases are beginning to establish themselves as a clear theme.

Be not of those who doubt.

Act as if.

Clearly, negative associations from former relationships can no longer apply. Further, acting as though I must protect myself from being hurt may do just that - but it will most certainly prevent me from realizing the complete happiness that comes from being willing to trust. I will focus on accepting, learning from, and letting go of past experiences. I will make wise choices in the future. I will choose not to wallow in the past, or fear being hurt again. And I will believe that the Divine Someone who has planned everything to this point has also planned everything that is sure to follow. Because His vision is far superior to mine, I am giving up. I cede my desire to control to His ability to do so.

I will not be of those who doubt.

Hiatus

2008-01-19T15:19:00.001-08:00

By the looks of things, I'm taking a bit of a break from blogging.

Yes, please.

2007-12-11T11:14:00.000-08:00

Bali and Lombok, anyone?

Done!

2007-12-10T17:33:00.000-08:00

My semester is over. Papers have been written, chapters read, tests taken, A's received.

On January 23rd, I start nursing school.

Until then, though...I will read. Books, real ones, of my choosing. I will attend the yoga class at my gym, and then sit in the sauna. I will enjoy long, leisurely lunches with friends. I will relish in not toting a 40-pound backpack from anatomy to the library to a ten-minute lunch to lab to microbiology.

I will lounge. I will love it.

Now commencing...relaxation.

A vow.

2007-12-05T17:40:00.000-08:00

I will write a paper today. I will not use the internet as a method of procrastination. I will ENJOY writing about proper handwashing techniques as they effect pediatric nosocomial infections in the ICU. I will.

Volunteers?

2007-12-05T12:56:00.000-08:00

You know how sometimes you're kind of stressed out (but not super stressed out) and you have a lot to do (but not so much you're not going to be able to get it done) except you're not going to really be able to start (at least, not yet) because you're just kind of staring at this big pile of STUFF you have to finish?

And you know how you think that you might not be able to even start until you just get a gigantic reassuring hug or at least the verbal reassurance that everything IS, in fact, going to be OK, just because that reassurance alone means that someone out there recognizes that you are able to do all of this (by "all of this" I mean work and school and life) without pulling your hair out and while still coming across as a relatively sane person?

Yeah, that's how I feel right now. So if anyone wants to drop by for a hugging, you're invited. I think a nap may have a similar effect, though, so I'll give that a shot too. And on Monday at 2:01 p.m., I will be normal again. Normal, of course, being relative.

That means "I love you."

2007-11-27T08:51:00.000-08:00

I met her when I was five.

She stood out to me, even as a child, because she was the only adult at the family reunion playing football with the cousins.

"This behavior!" gasped the relatives. "At the age of 82!"

She sent me letters, real mail, type-written on yellow stationery bordered with flowers. We drove to Minnesota to visit one summer, staying with her in her tiny house. We spent days swimming in the pool and exploring the surrounding gardens and lakes. She swam laps every morning. It kept her young, she said.

Before we went to sleep at night, she would reach over and take my hand, squeezing it three times.

"That means 'I love you,'" she explained. "My husband and I used to do that every night before we went to sleep. It was my secret with him, and now it's my secret with you."

I didn't see her much, but there were letters, always letters. I wrote back religiously, even learning to type on the electric typewriter that my parents kept in the basement. Then she got sick. She moved from her tiny house into a tinier room in a nursing home. The nurses continued to read her my letters, and I still received them from her, sporadically now, even as the cancer progressed, eventually forcing her into a wheelchair and then into bed.

She died when I was fourteen. Weeks later, I received a package. It contained her wedding ring, and several smudged photos of me. When I looked more closely, I saw that the smears on the photos where the places where she'd kissed the images, to say goodnight, or perhaps good morning, or just as a way to tell me she loved me, since I was too far away to squeeze her hand.

Her ring sat in a safety deposit box for years. Now, I wear it on a chain around my neck. It reminds me to hope. It reminds me that somewhere in me runs the blood of the woman who swam laps to stay young, and played football with the cousins, and loved unconditionally and well.

An inconvenient tuth

2007-11-22T16:47:00.000-08:00

An excerpt from Thanksgiving dinner:

Brother: "So I'm thinking about getting a tattoo."

Mom and I, simultaneously: "Of WHAT?"

Brother: "Of the phrase, 'Are you comfortable with your truth?'"

Brooke: "What if they misspell something?"*

Me: "And then your back would say, 'Are you comfortable with your tuth?' You'd have to be a dentist."

I love the holidays.

*Disclaimer: This statement was not intended to degrade, demean, or disgruntle any tattoo artists who may or may not read this blog. Rather, the implication was that if one chooses to tattoo such a long phrase across one's back, one should fully consider all possible consequences.

What to do with a stray $2K.

2007-11-15T17:12:00.000-08:00

Go here.

See this.

That is all.

Because being a ballerina isn't realistic...

2007-11-15T08:17:00.000-08:00

I have exciting news, everyone.

At the age of 27, I finally know what I want to do when I grow up.

I've had quite the variety of jobs. I've even liked some of them. But I've never really come home at the end of the day just glowing because I've changed someone's life for the better. I've provided you with the following sample of My Crazy Resumé, just in case you were worried that I hadn't tried out enough jobs before reaching a conclusion on my future.

*Entry person at Sedgwick Co. Zoo. I sold tickets, and memberships, and was responsible for closing the front gates if Something escaped. Which happened more than once. Ask me. I'll tell you stories.

*Retail sales at Hallmark. This required a lot of dusting, and an insane amount of enthusiasm for angel figurines and Beanie Babies. And dusting. Did I mention dusting?

*KSU's infamous Van Zile Dining Center. I cooked, believe it or not. And provided candid opinions of what the main course was really like that day, and wore a really cheesy hat. (Speaking of cheese - the theme for our Holiday Dinner my freshman year was Harry Potter. I remember this because the VZDC employees were forced to construct a replica of Hogwart's out of cubes of cheddar cheese. Not kidding.)

*Wonder/Hostess bakery in Denver, CO. I learned to make ginormous batches of WonderBread and snack cakes, developed ferocious arm muscles from lifting the snack cake pans (each one weighs about 30 lbs.) and realized that I never, never want to spend 8 hours a day hand-packing gem donuts. (Yes, they're packaged by hand. Ask me. I'll tell you stories.)

*Wonder/Hostess research and development lab in K.C. Changed the icing formulation for Honey Buns to decrease moisture loss. Developed a flavor profile for the Raspberry Zingers (in stores now!) and Hostess Apple Spice Cupcakes. (Please do not blame me for the company's bankruptcy. I TRIED to tell them that while raspberry IS one of the more upper-crust artificial fruit flavors, Raspberry Zingers still do not qualify as a "sophisticated snack.")

*Beach Museum of Art. I greeted visitors cheerfully, answered questions, and made sure no one took pens into the galleries. I basically got paid to study and look at art. Using this blog to kill time? Check out Dieu Donné papermill, Dale Chihuly, and Patrick Dougherty!

* American Institute of Baking. Technical Information Coordinator. (Yes, it abbreviates to "TIC.") I put helped put together nutrition labels for different food products, and (briefly) edited a technical bulletin. My first big-kid job!

* Osborn & Barr Communications, a.k.a. O&B, a.k.a. Obliterate and Belittle. I wrote advertising copy ("tomorrow's trash!") for John Deere. We (by "we," I mean me and my designer) put out roughly 3,000 ads in 6 months. I burned out after roughly 3 months. I was laid off one year to the day after I was hired, and on the same day that I'd planned to give my two weeks' notice.

"Here's this severance package!" they said.
"I'll just tear up my two weeks' notice!" I said.

Actually, I just thought it. Then I reveled in the joy of that timing for months.

*I've also held various and sundry serving jobs, working everywhere from a Cajun restaurant to a college bar to the Cheesecake Factory.

Which brings me to where I am now. Nursing school. Anyone who reads this blog, talks to me on a semi-regular basis, or bumps into me on the street when I'm in a good mood (97% of the time, or when I'm awake) knows that I am starting nursing school in January. And after orientation yesterday, I could not be more excited. (I always think I couldn't be more excited. Then I get more excited.)

We heard about working in the neonatal ICU. (WE GET TO WORK WITH BABIES!) They talked about working in the Emergency Room. (WE GET TO WORK ON EMERGENCIES!) They told us what it's like to give an antibiotic via suppository for the first time. (WE GET TO SHOVE MEDICATIONS UP...never mind. That was further down on the list of things I'm excited about.)

Throughout my many and varied career experiences, one thing was always the same - I may not have gone home glowing because I successfully reformulated the Honey Bun mix, but I always went home happy when I could help Eddie Ray (his real name) figure out why his ads weren't running in the scheduled time slots, or when my tables left me notes saying that I'd made their day more special, or when someone was so appreciative that I could giftwrap their purchase after closing time on Christmas Eve.

You get the idea. It's corny. And it's a cliché. But I really, really like helping people. And now, I get to do it for a living! They're going to PAY ME to wear scrubs and geek out about new developments in microbiology! I get to hold babies! And hold hands! And yeah, I know there are going to be days when things are sloppy, and disgusting, and I'm going to come home with puke on my Pumas. But it's gonna be worth it. Because I am going to save lives, people! I'm going to save LIVES!

You can just call me Future Nurse Erin, The Overly Excited B.S.N.-to-be.

Don't you kids make me turn this plane around...

2007-11-12T09:04:00.000-08:00

On the late flight back to Kansas City last night, I managed to score my favorite seat on the plane - first row/aisle, if you're interested. I love this spot because it is close to the door and has miles of legroom. It also provides an excellent vantage point for interesting interactions between captain and crew.

At one point, I briefly surfaced from Sleepytown to see the pilot, hands folded in front of him, standing at the front of the plane. He surveyed his kingdom, and then quietly said to the flight attendant, "Are they all asleep? Aww...that's so cute." It felt very family-vacation-in-the-minivan-esque. Now please go back up there and drive the plane, Captain Dad.

For your eyes only

2007-11-05T19:53:00.001-08:00

Anyone who's worked knows that junior high behavior sometimes carries over into the workplace. Who knew it carried over into the White House?

(Note: the headline to this article changed shortly after I posted this link. It was originally "President Bush kinda puts pressure on Pakistan," which I find infinitely more amusing.)

Climbing rocks.

2007-10-30T20:36:00.000-07:00

I went to the climbing gym in Blue Springs with a friend* yesterday. It. Was. Fabulous.

I had several dreams last night wherein I was successfully scaling huge cliffs. (Symbolic much?)

I kept waking up because in my dreams, my arms were sore. Upon waking, I had my arms raised above my head, hands poised in climbing position... This happened more than once. Feel free to chuckle.

*Brent - I am officially inviting you to step out of lurker-dom. Please feel free to comment. Even if it involves a climbing pun. Especially if it involves a climbing pun.

She will be right back with your dressing, and an education on point-of-view.

2007-10-26T21:02:00.001-07:00

Hello, my name is Erin, and I'll be taking care of you today. Have you been in a restaurant before? No? OK.

Before I start working on your requests, I'd like to share one of my own. It's just a small one. For the good of humanity, or at least those of us who are working as waitstaff, I would like to ask that should you find yourself in a restaurant, burning with an overwhelming desire to refer to your server in third person, you kindly refrain.

Two things happen when your server is forced to listen to things like, "See if she will get you another Coke," or "She needs to bring us more ranch dressing," for the duration of the meal. One, it makes your server feel like (s)he should be wearing a tutu and performing some sort of show, to be rewarded by tasty morsels (perhaps peanuts?) tossed by the audience. (I would imagine this is akin to what it feels like to be the proverbial circus bear.) Two, it makes him/her a lot less inspired to bring you Coke and/or ranch dressing quite as quickly as (s)he normally would.

Thank you, and I hope you enjoy your meal.

Collective Chorus of "Aww!"

2007-10-23T20:29:00.000-07:00

The Cutest Little Boy In the World sat at my table tonight. His name was Marco. He was roughly 2. He had huge brown eyes, equally huge chubby cheeks, a button nose, and perfect manners.

Before he left, he said thank you, and bye-bye, and proceeded to give me a hug and a kiss. There was a collective chorus of "Aww!" from the tables sitting nearby. It. Was. Adorable.

If my children are not that cute and well-behaved, I shall sell them on e-Bay.*

*If, through some miracle of technology, this blog post is still here 15 years from now, and is being read by my as-yet non-existent children - you don't need to worry. Mommy isn't going to sell you on e-Bay. Unless you're really, really bad.

Sugar-free me

2007-10-22T16:12:00.000-07:00

Just in case I wasn't motivated by Julie Walker's threats of imminent death (or at least an ambulance ride) if I consume sugar, here's one more reason to skip it: a nasty little process known as glycation.

During glycation, sugar in your bloodstream attaches to protein to form advanced glycation end products (AGEs, har har). AGEs damage collagen and elastin in skin, collagen goes from elastic and springy to dry and brittle, and just like that, your skin looks like that t-shirt you've had stuffed under the front seat of your car all summer.

Our lesson today? No sugar = an ambulance-free, wrinkle-free life. And who doesn't want that?

Former copywriter still excited by good ads!

2007-10-18T19:42:00.000-07:00

Yes, that's lettuce. Growing on a billboard. It's in Chicago at the intersection of Addison and Clark. Leo Burnett is responsible. I'm...well, lovin' it.

The most recent Sony Bravia ad is out. I personally don't think it's as good as either Paint or Balls, or even Pyramid, but it does involve a whole lotta PlayDoh (plasticine, if you're picky), which is always fun. (But can you imagine what it smelled like?) If you like it, you can thank Fallon. Or you can thank kozyndan - rumor is the ad is based on this still.

Things to Figure Out Before Nursing School, Part I

2007-10-17T14:04:00.000-07:00

Turns out Mr. Marmalade is actually Mrs. Marmalade. My mistake! (To my credit, we've only been looking at muscles up to this point. There's not a lot of gender-based anatomical variation to be ascertained from muscle observation on a skinned cat.)

And in totally random news, I have an addition to the list of blogs I frequent.

This week is...

2007-10-10T09:30:00.001-07:00

Insane! I have roughly a million and four things to do - but on the positive side, I like lists, and crossing things off of them, so it's good that life is ridiculously busy, right? Right?? Here's a taste of what I'm up to. (Feel free to send encouragement, and treats.)

*Nursing school enrollment/orientation. I already know that my first two semesters will be pathophysiology, two theology classes, a philosophy class, and a psychology class. This means I'll be a spiritual hypochondriac who's prone to overanalysis. I can't wait for orientation because...I want to find out what PDA is recommended for drug books (yes, this excites me - they're all electronic! No lugging 40 pounds of books around the hospital!) AND I'm excited to meet the people I'll be spending 10 hours a day with for the next year and a half. (I hope they're not morning people. If they are, I hope they don't mind that I may not be perky for 5:30 a.m. clinicals.)

*I have a gigantic microbiology test next week. My professor gave us the following example and told us that something similar would be on the test: "Given a strand of DNA from a hepatitis virus, detail the steps you would take to create a vaccine. Hint: there are 7 steps." That is not my idea of a hint. Eek.

* I'm starting orientation/training at my new, shiny job. Think black pants! Think higher ticket prices! Think shirts with the name of the restaurant bedazzled in red rhinestones! (I'm not joking. But the food IS more expensive, and the place is not kid-friendly (read: no chicken strips), so I'm willing to forgive them for making us wear shirts that sparkle. In their defense, the bedazzling is tasteful...er...wait a second...)

I Like...

2007-10-07T21:26:00.000-07:00

My regulars. They're a man and his sons (Joe, Aaron, and Jason!) who always come in to Cheese on the first Sunday of the month. We get along well, and they are jolly, and they find me hilarious, and laughter, good times and breakfast are had by all. Well, laughter and good times are had by all. I'm not allowed to eat breakfast when I'm working.

This morning I wasn't scheduled until 11:30. My regulars come in at 10:45. Today, they came in at 10:45, as usual, and then proceeded to wait 45 minutes for me to get there, just to make sure that no one else but me brought them their eggs Benedict. I was touched. They're fantastic.

Week in review

2007-09-26T07:58:00.000-07:00

In no particular order:

*Studied myself silly for an anatomy test. Got required grade. Things seem to be on track for nursing school. In fact, I start the registration process in a few weeks. I'm super-excited to find out what classes I'll be taking, and to see who my new best friends for the next two years are going to be.

*Went to devotions hosted by friend Caitlin. It was beautiful, and cathartic, and full of love. All things that devotions should be.

*Worked, a lot. The Cheese is taking over my life. New Friend Megan mentioned jobs at local HCA hospitals. Part time, great for nursing students, and you get to hold babies. Hmm...

*Received confirmation from Julie Walker, again. During her phone conversation with my mom, she once again mentioned that I am really stable, and that I'm going in the right direction; I just need to be patient. Julie is a wise, wise woman.

*Spent much of one night talking to my brother's girlfriend. Found out that I'm not the only one who remembers some of the things that went on during my childhood. Felt incredibly validated.

*Spent much, much time at the gym. I heart endorphins, and the relief I get from not thinking about anything but what's blaring from my iPod for an hour and a half.

*Picked up running again. Getting ready to go now, in fact. Then it's lunch with an old high school friend, and out for the weekend, for what will hopefully be a time of relaxation and reunion.

*Got more than my fair share of what I took to be messages from the world, thanks to the random songs on iTunes. I leave you with today's advice:

"It's not now or never. It's not black and it's not white. Anything worth anything takes more than a few days and a long, long night. Don't push so hard against the world. You can't do it all alone, and if you could, would you really want to? Even though you're a big strong girl, c'mon, c'mon lay it down."

Aww, shucks

2007-09-25T08:43:00.001-07:00

I was out walking the dogs this morning when a cute old man and his cute old wife pulled up beside me and rolled down the window.

"Those sure are cute dogs!"

"Thanks - do you want one?"

"No, we don't need a dog!"

"Well, if you decide you want one, you can adopt one of these!"

"We'd rather adopt you!"

It was a nice offer, especially considering I hadn't yet brushed my hair, but my mom and I get along really well, so I think I'll just stay with her. But thanks, mister!

And also...

2007-09-24T20:43:00.001-07:00

I feel like my posts have been somewhat superficial lately. I've been writing things that are quite deep. I just don't feel ready to share them. Yet.

Also, I've been noticing that I tend to develop wanderlust when the weather starts to change. I want to go...somewhere. Somewhere...foreign. Because, quite frankly, it's been a long time since I've had concentrated Erin time, sans school and stress. The idea of being alone for a bit in a place with beautiful scenery, great food, and friendly locals (whose language I don't speak) seems incredibly appealing to me.

I like...

2007-09-24T19:48:00.000-07:00

Podrunner! An hour (ish) podcast of music that's 130 beats per minute (ish). Perfect for running. And yes, I'm back in a running phase. I wanted to take a boxing class, but feel that I need to delay that until after my health insurance kicks in. So, running it is. The goal is a 5K in November. Wait. No, it's not. I just want to run because the weather is beautiful, the leaves are turning, the music is good, and I like the way it feels. The new goal is to run as long as I like it.

Tagged!

2007-09-18T08:40:00.000-07:00

I've been tagged! And so...

Ten things I like about myself:

1. People tell me things. I'm not sure why, but I tend to get life stories from friends and strangers alike. It happens all the time. I'll be standing in line somewhere, when all of a sudden the cashier/person behind me and I are chatting like we've been best friends for our entire lives. Perhaps it's because...

2. I'm a good listener. I really enjoy hearing what people have to say. I think they can tell.

3. I am not a gossip. I've gotten this compliment three times over the last two weeks. I try really hard to not repeat things I hear, and this kind of feedback makes me think I'm doing a good job.

4. I am not shy! I just discovered this. I'd spent most of my adult life thinking I WAS shy, despite being told otherwise by several people whose opinions I trust. After spending a day on campus two weeks ago wherein I was pounced upon and hugged by two strangers, made three new friends, and gave my phone number to some girl named Jennifer who wanted to talk about nursing school, I realized I was kidding myself. So - I'm not shy. And I like it.

5. I'm really intuitive. I can usually tell right away whether I'm going to be good friends with someone. This gift manifests itself further through the ability to "know," somehow, when a situation is serious and what the people I'm close to are feeling despite their attempts to hide it. It's also helped keep people I love safe...more than once. Yes, there are stories here. Ask if you're interested. I'll tell you, because, well...I'm not shy.

6. I am strong. No, silly, I don't mean I routinely bench my body weight. (Although I did, this morning. Before breakfast. With one hand. Just kidding.) I've been realizing recently how much I've gone through to get to where I am. And I've come through relatively unscathed, with a better understanding of life and love and all that is good and true. And, well, I think that rocks.

7. I am starting to be comfortable in my own skin. I've really started to love myself lately. Over the last several months I've realized that often, I'm too willing to sacrifice my own happiness for the happiness of others. So I've stopped pouring myself into relationships that don't give back what I put in, and focused on the ones that are fulfilling for the other person involved...and for me. It feels great.

8. I'm not afraid to apologize. Really. When I screw up, I'll admit it.

9. I've kept a journal since the beginning of college. I really like being able to look back on the person I was, and see how far I've come. It also helps me realize that life is, truly, cyclical.

10. I'm full of random facts and quotations. It comes in handy in moments of awkward silence. Did you know a giraffe has a tongue that's fourteen inches long and sticky? (That's one of my favorites.) "We're our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves." Tom Robbins. Another favorite.

If you've read this far...you're tagged. (Lurkers, this includes you.)

Games, and the guests who play them.

2007-09-15T21:10:00.001-07:00

Gather round, dear readers. It's time for my semi-annual blog from the world of waitressing. Tonight's subject? As you may have guessed from the title, tonight we will be covering the games guests play with their server.

1. Musical chairs. Usually involves a table of 10-14 people. Best if table consists of several different families and friends. Each father figure will be paying for their meal, their wife's meal, their daughter's meal, their daughter's best friend Samantha's meal (she's the one in the pink stripes. NO, the OTHER one in the pink stripes!) and 1/5 of each of three shared appetizers. This must NOT be revealed in advance. Begins when guests come in, sit down, order drinks, and then proceed to re-arrange themselves while server is retrieving drinks. Bonus points are awarded if every drink is different or if they are all complicated bar mix drinks, OR if rearrangement happens more than once.

2. Fetch. Again, best if played in large groups, but can be successfully played by couples or individuals. Rules: must not ask for more than one thing from server on any one visit to the table. Must ask server for one additional item each time previous request is fulfilled. For example: initially order ranch dressing for salad. When delivered, ask for an additional side of vinaigrette. Upon appearance of vinaigrette, request soy sauce. When soy sauce arrives, see if you can exchange your iced tea for a Coke. Continue until end of meal, or until server appears with bald patches from pulling hair out.

3. Twenty Questions. This is another great game that can be played by individuals, couples, or large groups! Instead of reading the descriptions of the food in the menu, just ask your server to explain it to you. Interrupt frequently with specific questions on amounts of ingredients, further explanation of specific ingredients, and detailed questions about how foods are cooked. Best if you are an incredibly picky eater, and don't eat wheat products, sour cream, vegetables, or anything with mayonnaise. Bonus points are awarded if server is obviously trying to attend to four other tables, and you have server explain more than five menu items.

4. Math Attack. Best for making server cry, wrinkle forehead in confusion, consider running after you with change - or all three! To play, simply compliment server on service throughout entire meal. Use phrases with exclamation points - "This is the best service I've ever had!" "You're doing such a great job!" Then, leave server 10%.

Coming soon: Tips (pun intended!) for getting ahead in the restaurant world, written by an actual server! Flavor profile - slightly cheesy.

Unplugged

2007-09-07T08:34:00.000-07:00

It is a fairly well-known fact that I am not a morning person. I am typically able to function by 8, but am not completely caught up with the world around me until closer to 10. My piano class is at 9, right on the border...

This morning, I walked into class a little early and sat down to practice before we officially started. Each of our pianos is equipped with a handy-dandy headset, which allows you to practice "Miniature Waltz" as many times as your little heart desires without your professor or your fellow students knowing that you tend to mess up the chord on the 5th bar, or that you must play it over...and over...and over...until it is perfect, because you are somewhat obsessive-compulsive.

That's the idea, anyway.

I had played for about ten minutes when Dr. Pretzel (his actual name) walked over, gave me a typical Dr. Pretzel look (wry amusement combined with despair) and held up...the dangling end of my headset cord.

So much for stage fright. And please pass the coffee.

I have a cat. Sorta.

2007-09-05T20:34:00.000-07:00

Warning: Do not read this post if you are easily scared. This is NOT like one of the banner ads on MySpace that says that, and then when you click on it, it's some lame ad for a new cursor. I mean it - if you have recently eaten, or are easily disturbed, or have been waffling about our friendship, don't do it.

Seriously.

Just stop. I warned you...

OK, you're still with me? Brave soul. Our topic today is...my A&P dissection class!

I have been forced to enroll in an anatomy dissection lab in order to complete the 6 hours of A&P required for nursing school. (Other requirements include grades of "B" or better in various and sundry science classes, letters of reference that do not imply I am insane, and the desire to cram two years of nursing school into one "accelerated" year. Obviously, having this desire does imply that I am insane, but I digress.)

We are currently dissecting cats.

There is no way to blog this without sounding weird, so I'll just state the facts.

1. Dissection is really interesting because you don't realize both how strong and how fragile the body is until you're able to see it (or something comparable to it) in detail. I'm constantly amazed.

2. Everyone in my class has named their cat. It's easier, somehow, to say "Can you lift (insert name here)'s triceps in order to observe the biceps brachii?" The cat at the table in front of us is Jake. The table behind us has christened theirs Bojangles. Our cat is Mr. Marmalade.

3. The most disturbing part of dissection class so far actually happened AFTER dissection class. Yesterday in microbiology lecture, I was packing up my notebooks when I noticed...cat fur on my backpack.

Bad kitty, Mr. Marmalade, bad kitty.

Shag carpet, sign language, and an epiphany!

2007-09-03T19:46:00.001-07:00

I keep meaning to do all kinds of things with this blog. I had big plans for it - a banner that expressed my personality, some nice font (something really glittery...) and maybe a format that was a little more organized. Then school started, and I remembered why I'd felt like I had so much time during the three week interim between summer and fall classes. It was because I DID have so much time! I'm not sure how I feel about bulleted updates on blogs, but for the sake of actually getting something out to my adoring fans (the four of us need to get together!) and more for the sake of getting some things out of my head that I'm happy about/proud of/just think are great:

- I just got done painting my bedroom. I am famous for underestimating the amount of time projects like this take. Instead of my optimistically estimated two hours, a mere (actual time not mentioned to save my pride) hours later I am DONE painting, rearranging, hanging new curtains, and resurrecting my down comforter from winter storage in the basement. (Yes, I know it's only September. But I do love snuggling with some goose-y goodness while I drift off to dreamland. Yes, I just said that. No, spellcheck didn't like it.) My room is now orange. It's like living on the inside of a hibiscus...or a fall leaf...or a citrus fruit...depending on the season. (Note: during the course of the project, I was inspired to lift the corner of my cream-colored, three-inch thick (long?) shag carpeting to see if there was hardwood underneath it. Sadly, there was not. Note II: I fail to understand why, when recarpeting a house, someone would recarpet every room BUT the room with the three-inch shag. Unless the entire house was shag and they wanted to leave some for the sake of nostalgia. Or perhaps they lost something important (like their pet - the carpet is probably shag-gy enough to hide a kitten, at the very least) in the carpet in that room and were hoping to someday recover it. Theories?)

- I got a letter last week saying that my admission status to Research College had been changed. Instead of re-reviewing my file in January, I will be automatically admitted as long as I receive a B in microbiology this semester. I got a 100% on a quiz last week. I hope that bodes well for the future.

- I have had two babies in to the Cheesecake Factory* over the past week who know sign language. I think this is fantastic. And, how cute is it to have a seven-month-old sign "thank you" when you hand her a plate of bananas? Pretty. Darn. Cute. I now know how to sign "You're welcome" just in case it happens again.

- I had an epiphany about Relationships tonight. It may be fairly obvious, but it's something I've been struggling with. I'd always been worried that because my parents did not have a successful Relationship, I wouldn't be able to either, or I would have a harder time forging** a successful Relationship. Then I realized something I'd never considered before - I will not have my parents' Relationship. I will share one of my own. Glorious!

*Please read this carefully - if you're reading too quickly, you might think it said, "I had two babies in the Cheesecake Factory over the past week." Which would be both medically miraculous, and somewhat (very) disturbing.

**This is not a phrase I came up with - but it's one I've been using since I heard it. (Thanks, Andrew!) I love the connotation when applied to a Relationship. Pretty fantastic, don't you agree?

Ahh.

2007-08-28T10:05:00.001-07:00

Confirmation. Absolution. And - a gigantic sigh of relief.

Today is the day!

2007-08-28T06:56:00.000-07:00

When I was little and had been anticipating something for a long time, I can remember waking up thinking, "Today is the day!" (Yes, the exclamation point was included - I always think with punctuation. Always.)

All momentous events of my childhood-tween-teen-semi-adult life were marked with this phrase. It awakened me on Christmas, birthdays, the day I was set to be un-grounded (I didn't spend all that much time grounded, but when you're nine, it's a big deal), cheerleading tryouts, prom, church ensemble performances, the first day of camp, high school graduation, the first day of college, sorority rush result day (just kidding), college graduation, mornings of job interviews, etc. It's usually unbidden - I just wake up with overwhelming feelings of excitement, apprehension, and, if it's something that's really big, slightly sweaty palms.

"Today is the day!" was my first thought this morning. And yes, if you're wondering, my palms were slightly sweaty. ("Were" - who am I kidding? Let's make that "are.") You see, dear reader, today is the day of my much-anticipated appointment with Julie Walker, medical intuitive. She comes highly recommended. I have no idea what to expect. I'm also having a hard time not viewing her as a psychic.

While I have every intention of eventually getting to the one slightly annoying physical malady that I've been wanting to discuss, I have no doubt she'll be able to ferret out my mental anguish almost immediately. (This may be due to the fact that I tend to burst into tears without provocation lately. An actual ferret would probably realize that I'm not quite myself.) And while I am bothered occasionally by bouts of hypoglycemia, I'm more concerned with the future - should I go to nursing school? Am I supposed to move to California? Should I go to nursing school in California? Was I supposed to be a famous classical ballerina, hindered only by the fact that I did not take ballet until college? Am I destined to be Crazy Aunt Erin, wearer of puff-painted sweatshirts emblazoned with dachshunds, giver of hand-knitted sweaters with arms that aren't quite the same length, owner of large herds of cats ?

Two hours, more or less, until The Phone Call. Updates forthcoming.

Random Facts

2007-08-23T22:22:00.000-07:00

It always takes me a while to wind down after work, mainly because I'm usually so awake that I'm thinking about 87 different things. Here's a sampling:

*I am so looking forward to the day when I can go to work and not be dressed like a man. Also, after I am done at the Cheese, I am never going to wear white pants again.

*Even though I am a Grown-Up, weird noises outside still freak me out. There was just a weird noise outside.

*I tend to get life lessons in strange places - when I was volunteering at the hospital, a woman came in to see her husband after he'd had heart surgery. They'd been married for 60 years. As I was taking her in to see him, she told me to make sure I married someone I liked, because we wouldn't always love each other, but it was nice to have a friend there for the times you weren't in love. (Note: I did not take that as a negative comment. I really don't think that you can fill 60 years of marriage with "romantic" love, but it's nice to think that you can hang out with your best friend in the in-between times.)

*Musical fact: despite duple meter being nice, friendly time signatures (2/4, 4/4, etc.), triple meter (3/4, 9/8) is actually referred to as "perfect time." This is because the Catholic church was the primary patron of the musical arts in medieval and Renaissance times. The Holy Trinity, and thus the number 3, was considered perfect. Therefore, sacred music was always in triple meter, while secular music was in duple meter. Perfect time was noted with a full circle. Imperfect time (duple meter) was noted with a circle that was open on the right side - which is why we use a symbol that looks like the letter "C" to denote common time.

*A friend recently asked me what my purpose in life was. Professionally, it's a work in progress. And while I do think that everyone has smaller, specific purposes that tend to change as they're realized, overarching purpose stays the same. Personally, my purpose in life is to be a positive influence for the people around me, to love and be loved, and to have a comfortable house with great chairs for reading where all the neighborhood kids know they can come for cookies. That may seem insignificant to someone who has bigger plans to change the world, but my changes have to be effected in smaller ways.

*The world has really been making me feel loved lately, and I'm so very thankful for that.

*After three days of piano lessons, I am pleased to say that I can now play scales. My left hand, which has always served as a paperweight or a place to put my other mitten, is even in on the game.

And now...I must sleep.

Illusion of control

2007-08-15T09:20:00.000-07:00

OK, I admit it.

This morning I actually turned to Google for advice. Some background: the last few weeks have presented the possibility of some pretty intense (but ultimately necessary) change in my life. Deep down, I know it's necessary, and I also know what I'm going to do. That knowledge still does not make it any easier to shut up my tendency to be extremely overly analytical.

Overly-analytical side: "What if it doesn't work?"
Me: "What if WHAT doesn't work?"
OAS: "Well, what if you don't find a real job?"
Me: "I don't have a "real job" now and I'm doing fine."
OAS: "Well, yeah, but what if you hate it?"
Me: "Um. Hate WHAT?"
OAS: "Well, what if you change? What if EVERYTHING changes?"
Me: "That's why I had to be sure of my motivation for doing this."
OAS: "But what are you going to DO with the rest of your life?"

Ahh. Thank you, Overly-Analytical Side. You always do come through, don't you? Well, to be honest, I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I was talking about this with my best roomie, Sharon, last week - what if the things we're passionate about aren't things that we can use to earn a living? Do we strap ourselves in to some corporate job and just decide to deal with the fact that we're going to be stuck doing something we may not love from 8-5 in order to support a lifestyle we DO love the rest of the time? Or do we somehow manipulate the things we're passionate about into something that will earn us a living? (I do not like this term. It sounds like we should have to justify our right to a life that we love. But I digress.)

When I'm ignoring my OAS, I fully realize that ultimately, doing something you love is so much more important than doing something that is easily available or that pays well. Case in point - in college, I suffered through four years of coursework in bakery science. OK, not exactly suffered - I liked my lab classes, because we always got to eat our projects at the end. My internships weren't so bad, because they made for pretty cool stories, and really, what's not to love about Hostess cupcakes fresh from the oven? However, despite the scholarship money and the promise of immediate employment after graduation, I knew that in the long run I'd hate the work. So I switched majors, eventually graduated with a communications degree, and after two-ish years of food and nutrition labeling, got a "Great Job" in an ad agency. On the surface, life looked peachy - I was making more money than anyone (OK, probably not anyone, but everyone I knew) my age, and when people asked what I did, I got to say I worked in advertising. (After spending four years in bakery science, it was nice to have a job that I didn't have to explain.) In reality, though, I was working 6 days a week, 10 - 12 hours a day. I was able to afford a great vacation - but I had to take my cellphone in case clients needed me while I was gone. I was so stressed I spent most of my time either crying (at home) or throwing up (in the bathroom at work). I debated quitting for several months, but was always afraid of what would happen if I quit and had to start over. Then I got laid off, and had to start over. And it wasn't so bad. It was actually great.

I should have learned from that experience that despite what my overly-analytical side says, there's really no reason to panic about the distant future. I am only 26. I've already been a Mature, Responsible Adult for three years. Maybe it's time to just enjoy life for a while. As far as figuring out the rest of my life - here's what I know: I adore people. I like talking with them, and the things they tell me, and being able to do things to help them. I also adore medicine. I'm fascinated by the way the body comes together, and the way so many complex systems combine to produce such a seemingly simple outcome. That said, I don't believe that the physical side of the body is the only part to be treated - there's definitely a mind-body-spirit connection that should be considered. I guess that's why I'm having a hard time with nursing school - I should have been So Excited when I heard from Research College, but something still doesn't feel quite right.

Which leads me back to my original point - after getting the same answer from friends, and family, and prayer, and even myself when I stopped worrying about it, I turned to Google for advice. Oh, Google, what should I do with my life? Here's what I got, from a book by Po Bronson, called "What Should I Do With My Life?":

"Most attempt to answer [this question] with one eye open, one eye closed. We let our fears govern our decisions; rather than challenging the validity of those fears, we accept the boundaries set by those fears, and end up confining our search to a narrow range of possibilities, like the guy looking for his car keys under the streetlight because he’s afraid of the dark. Some broad examples: we confine ourselves to a range that is acceptable to our parents or our spouse; we confine ourselves to places inhabited only by people "like us," meaning of our class and education level; we place too much emphasis on being respected by an imaginary audience; we shy away from avocations that take a long time to mature and pay off...it isn't easy, but in a way that hard journey makes the result even sweeter."

Geez, Google. That's just the answer I got everywhere else I looked.

That Darn Groundhog (Working title: Meet Mr. McGillicutty!)

2007-08-09T12:18:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, while doing dishes and gazing out the back window admiring the wonders of nature, I saw It. A large, rodent-like creature sitting on the concrete edging, nibbling delicately at the Black-Eyed Susans. Having never seen this creature in Real Life before, I didn't know quite what to think. My initial thoughts were wolverine (too small) or badger (not striped) but after a Google search and consultation with my mom and a visiting friend, we settled on groundhog.

After identifying him* we were able to hunt down suggestions as to how to remove him from the premises. One website suggested catch-and-release, fumigation, or "just shooting it, if it's safe and legal." First, please do not refer to Mr. McGillicutty as "it." Second, I somehow doubt that a town that employs an ordinance banning clotheslines is going to be OK with shooting a groundhog in the city limits. Third, HOW COULD I SHOOT MR. MCGILLICUTTY?!? HOW, I ask you? Ahem.

I think it's been established that the household is for the "catch and release" option. We're pretty sure we're going to go with the same company that took care of a little rodent problem in the attic of my former Overland Park apartment. Anyone who can capture 27 squirrels, one of whom was extremely angry, over the course of two hours in a February snowstorm will always get my repeat business.

*By "identifying him," I mean not only figuring out what he was, but also naming him. He's now known around the house as Mr. McGillicutty, and it's my personal belief that were it up to him, he would wear a bow tie and a pair of white gloves.

Emotional purging

2007-08-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

I answered because I thought it might be a dinner invitation or maybe just a telemarketer calling again to request money for the Policeman's Fund or that man who's always suggesting new siding! and a better roof!

But it was you, again, calling to tell me you love me, and you're miserable, and you're sad, and you wish that you'd said something sooner. If our conversation had been mapped, it would have taken place primarily in Utah. Pun, of course, intended.

I spent too much time with you apologizing - for how much you hate your job and for the stock market and for loving the ocean. And now, I refuse to apologize for the unhappiness that you brought on yourself by closing off from so many things for so long. And I wanted to ask if you knew my middle name (Anne) or that my favorite movies have subtitles, or that I cry when I visit the pound. I wondered whether you knew that my three favorite things about summer are lemonade stands, the smell of chlorine, and the sound of cicadas. I wanted to inform you that I love cleaning the bathroom, alphabetizing my bookshelf, and trying to play the guitar. I debated telling you that I don't even like books about zombies, and that I strongly believe in intuitive medicine, and that love isn't something that happens because it works with your schedule.

Instead, I just listened. And when you were finished, I told you I should probably let you go. So I could alphabetize my bookshelf, and organize my closet, and continue (unapologetically) to revel in the knowledge that sometimes true growth isn't becoming someone new - it's accepting who you were all along.

You're kidding, right?

2007-08-02T19:48:00.001-07:00

Coming soon: discourse on the "stop fetal experimentation" bumper sticker I spotted in JoCo.

I love you too?

2007-07-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

The following is an excerpt of a conversation my mother and I had in the car tonight:

Mom (while driving down long, steep hill by our house): "This would be a really great hill to sled down."

Me: "We should do that this winter. Just the two of us, and whatever traffic happens to be over here."

Mom: "We can use greased cookie sheets!"

Me: "Or mattresses, like we did in the dorms."

Mom: "Or I could just pull you behind the car on a ladder!"

Me: "Um, why on a ladder?"

Mom: Silence, sideways look.

Has anyone EVER used a ladder to sled? A ladder being pulled behind the car, for that matter? Aren't these the things moms are supposed to be warning you AGAINST?

Random childhood memory: Unbeknownst to our parents, my brother and I used to pull a mattress off the bed that was in the basement spare room, place it at the bottom of the stairs, and then jump down from the top. The idea was that a. our fall would be cushioned by the mattress and b. because we were small and invincible, we would not crack our heads on the wall above the staircase during the leap. Somewhat miraculously, both of these things came to pass.

The Grocery Getter

2007-07-16T14:26:00.000-07:00

Being the proud owner of a brand-new blog, I've noticed that I am developing a tendency to narrate everything. Really. Almost everything I do now is accompanied by a voice in my head trying to figure out how to phrase such-and-such an experience, just in case I want to write about it later.

Hence this post on one of the most mundane of all mundane activities - going to the grocery store.

I noticed today while at my local (Wal-Mart Neighborhood) market that grocery shopping seems to bring out my somewhat obsessive traits and behaviors. Normal people throw a list together, go to the store, buy groceries, and leave.

Not I.

No thrown-together lists for me, no sirree. My list is alphabetized. And not just alphabetized - it's alphabetized based on the section of the store where the items on said list are found. For example, at the Market, lunchmeat, fruit, cheese, and salad are all in the same section. So, the list reads: bananas, salad, sharp cheddar, turkey. Frozen peas, tilapia, shrimp, ice cream - all in the freezer section, hence: frozen peas, ice cream, tilapia, shrimp.

That could be considered almost normal, until I realized that I mentally debate my choices... with myself...in conversation form:

"Do I really want those bananas?"
"Yes. You like green bananas."
"But am I going to be able to eat 5 bananas before they get too yellow?"
"Well, probably not. But you could just get three and be fine."
"But I always feel bad separating the bananas. They grew up together. They traveled long distances over land and sea to get to this very market."
"Just buy 3 bananas."
"OK...I'm so sorry, bananas!"

Roughly the same thing happens in the cereal aisle, but it's usually a debate concerning fiber, sugar content, and whether I am realistically going to eat something with the texture of cardboard and/or small chunks of gravel. (Yes, GrapeNuts, I am talking about you.)

I carry the obsessive behavior into the checkout lane, where I. Must. Self. Check. Why, you ask? Because I bag my groceries much the same way I buy them - juice and milk go together, because they sit on the same shelf in the refrigerator. Ice cream and frozen peas get the same bag, because they're going to the same place also and I want them to have time to get to know each other before they're forced to huddle together in the arctic environment otherwise known as the freezer.

I am, truly, somewhat strange.

Solo

2007-07-13T14:13:00.000-07:00

Solo - Not many words match their definitions like that one does. If you say it slowly enough - it can go from "solo" to "so low" and become the first part of "so lonely." In one sense, though, I wonder if I was more lonely in a "relationship" than I will be out of one.

I have to think that - in fact, I know that - it is possible to just "click" with someone, and knowing that made me less and less happy to continue to settle.

Relationships are hard because people are naturally prone to care about the opinions of others - and so many of those are conflict with what we may want to believe:

"You should know better."

"The soul wanders in the dark, until it finds love. And so where love goes, there we find our soul."

"I'm just cynical after all these years."

"It always happens?"

"You're not always going to love someone."

"It always happens - if we're lucky. And if we let ourselves be blind."

We try to date the people our friends think we should, or the one our mom sets us up with, or the person who's been a friend for years (but never really anything more) just because we feel pressure from Everyone Whose Opinions Matter - meanwhile, we completely ignore our hearts and listen to the "voice of reason" without realizing that sometimes it's OK for love to be insane and distorted - that it can't be vital if it operates within the normal threshold of day-to-day existence.

After two emotional hours on the phone today, two things happened. One, my phone shorted out because I'd been crying into it, and kept opening up strange screens seemingly with a mind of its own.

Two, I realized how liberating it is to know what I need, and also to know when that's not there and when it's time to let go.

I feel emotionally drained, but peaceful. I can't help thinking that this End is somehow the beginning of Something Important.