Caffeine after 8

has caused me to do the following:

1. Take a bubble bath in the middle of the night (What flavor was it, you ask? Spicy gingerbread.)

2. Admire my new happy bunny pajamas way longer than is necessary (What do they say, you ask? "Ok i am perfect now stop staring.")

3. Contemplate a song to go along with my new philosophy. (What is the song, you ask? "The Middle" by Jimmy Eat World.) I'm the "little girl in the middle of the ride":

Hey
Don't write yourself off yet
It's only in your head you feel left out
Or looked down on
Just try your best
Try everything you can
And don't you worry what they tell themselves
when you're away

It just takes some time
Little girl you're in the middle of the ride
Everything, everything will be just fine
Everything, everything will be alright

Hey
You know they're all the same
You know you're doing better on your own,
so don't buy in
You live right now
Just be yourself
It doesn't matter if it's good enough
for someone else

It just takes some time
Little girl you're in the middle of the ride
Everything, everything will be just fine
Everything, everything will be alright
It just takes some time
Little girl you're in the middle of the ride
Everything, everything will be just fine
Everything, everything will be alright

(whoo)

Hey
Don't write yourself off yet
It's only in your head you feel left out
or looked down on
Just do your best
Do everything you can
And don't you worry about what their bitter hearts
are gonna say

It just takes some time
Little girl you're in the middle of the ride
Everything, everything will be just fine
Everything, everything will be alright
It just takes some time
Little girl you're in the middle of the ride
Everything, everything will be just fine
Everything, everything will be alright

(click here to hear the song)

4. Think of ways to make myself fall asleep since obviously, none of the previous items worked. Perhaps I'll try reciting the prologue of the Canterbury Tales in Old English until I doze off . . .

My New Philosophy

I just got back from seeing Peter Pan at the Alabama Shakespeare Festival, and it was wonderful. We literally had front row seats--I'm talking the very first row right up front-- which can be fun, but it can also be a little scary because not only did I get pixie dusted, but I inhaled more than my fair share of dry ice (Mermaid Lagoon mist) and Mr. Smee scared me with a pirate roar in my face as he was marching onto stage. lol. Anyway, I really wanted to see it and I'm glad I got tickets when I did, because all other performances were compeletely sold out!

(sigh) I am totally enjoying my time off. I'm enjoying it too much. But I know January 7th is coming around the mountain, so I'm trying not to get too comfortable. Anyway, during my morning of lovely solitude in one of my favorite spots at my favorite park today, I realized something. Okay, let me preface this by saying I hate talking about this, you know, the whole "girly" thing that pops up from time to time, but I promise it won't end in a rant or a lament or a ::shudder:: plea.

This is my new philosophy, plain and simple: I feel that one day, I will get married and have children. I may be wrong, of course, but somewhere, in the inner recesses of my mind, I feel that I will. So, why don't I just have as much fun as possible now so that when and if I do get married, et. al., I won't regret having spent so much time worrying about it instead of just enjoying my life? I know that to some, this may be one of those "no duh" moments, but to me, sitting on that grassy knoll this morning, it felt like an epiphany. I want to have the least amount of regrets as possible in my life. I don't want to one day have a desire to retroactively kick myself in the rear because I wasted time being neurotic that I could have spent chillaxing, enjoying life, and being cool with being me.

The great thing about this new philosophy is that its success doesn't hinge upon what actually does happen in the future. Even if one day, I find myself dried up as a prune, bent over, toothless, with a few strands of hair left on my head, and still a Miss, I'll be able to look at myself (if I'm still able to see at that point), and say that I didn't waste my youth and that I had a great life.

Anyone care to add my name to Wikipedia for being one of the world's most profound post-modern philosophers?

I Was Santa Today

It's currently 12:35 a.m., so it's officially Merry Christmas!

But I must share what I did today (er, yesterday). I decided to become Santa. See:

Okay, backstory. I'm a teacher and I get a horde of baked goods and little cutsie things from my students for Christmas--the great majority of which I could never possibly eat or use. So, it was Christmas Eve, I'm trying to clean up my apartment, and I realize that I'm overwhelmed with student-given baked goods and cutsie things. They were dominating my humble dining room table. Why horde things that you're never going to eat or use? Why not give them to people who might actually eat/use them? So, I took it upon myself to do a grand re-gifting expedition.

I repackaged the goods in recycled Christmas gift bags, donned my Santa hat, and hit the town. My first stop was the fire department. They're always on duty, and I thought they'd appreciate some Christmas goodies. The door was opened by a handsome, clean-cut fire fighter (is there a correlation between firefighting and clean-cut handsomeness?). There were about ten or fifteen firefighters milling around. I announced that I just wanted to spread some Christmas cheer and that I appreciate all they do. I wished them a Merry Christmas and exited as mysteriously as I'd entered.

The next stop was my favorite Starbucks. I love Starbucks, period, but there is a particular Starbucks that is very close to my heart. It's so cozy and inviting--it's the best Starbucks location in Montgomery. Anyway, I gave everyone behind the counter a little gift and they were all so surprised and grateful that they offered me a free drink. I turned it down (I promise that I didn't do that to get a free drink!), but they insisted, so I opted for a pumpkin spice latte.

I had one gift bag left, so I went by my favorite Mexican restaurant, expecting to see the owner (who usually mans the front during lunch hour), but was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a certain drop-dead gorgeous waiter who works there. I am not kidding, this guy looks like a Roman god. He's actually Dominican, is tall and well-built, has dark curly hair, lovely dark eyes, and a perfect smile. Honestly, I didn't think he worked there anymore, so I really was surprised to see him. After I regained my composure, I told him this was my favorite Mexican restaurant and just wanted to drop something off to say Feliz Navidad. "Oh, you didn't have to do that," he said, flashing that brilliant smile.

I thought to myself that seeing the guy was my reward.

For God so loved the world that he gave . . .

Merry Christmas, everyone!

One Problem

There is a guy at my church who is gorgeously tall, endearingly handsome, and has a disarming, dimpled smile. He has that perfect mix of masculinity and charm, is slightly aloof, but not so much so as to prevent him from engaging in witty small talk. On top of all of that, he wants to learn Spanish!

There's only one teeny, tiny problem.

He's married.

(sigh.) Naturally. Always the impossibles. I think cloning could possibly be considered ethical in this situation, though, don't you?

Christmas Banquet 2007

What can I say? Corny entertainment, fair to middlin' food, but good times! It's one of the few times I can un-self-consciously wear glittery stuff. We did a skit (didn't get pictures, boo) and I had a part where I wore my graduation robe and did a black preacher's version of "Mary Had a Little Lamb." When I threw in "y'all don't hear me" everyone lost it. lol. Here are a few pics:


Mom, Auntie, Dad and me


Auntie, Dad and me


Rachel and me

Me

The Dreamer's Catch-22

Despite my strong reliance on having an (overly) analytical mind, I must admit that at heart I am a dreamer.

The problem with dreamers is that they yearn for the ideal. There's nothing wrong with yearning for the ideal per se, it's just that it presents a possible problem for personal happiness when said dreamer lives on planet Earth. Why?

1. What the dreamer yearns for is the ideal.

2. In this humanity-populated, post-Fall-of-Man world, nothing is ideal.

So, the dreamer is left with either sucking it up with a dose of reality and settling for the less than ideal, or being left with what Langston Hughes calls "a dream deferred." Both are less than desirable options. Together they could be described as a catch-22.

The irony of it all is that not even the dreamer is exempt from the categorization of "less-than-ideal" because the dreamer, too, is human.

What I've just described is a problem that a pure dreamer might have. I don't think I'm a pure dreamer . . . nobody is purely anything, I don't think. I'm not averse to good doses of reality. In fact, I'm really cool with reality--I just want sprinklings of the ideal to go along with it. However, sometimes I'm afraid that I have just enough dreamer in me to produce symptoms of the aforementioned Dreamer's Catch-22 Syndrome.

What I Sent Padre for Christmas

(sigh.) I have like . . . 3 days to get 99.9 percent of my Christmas shopping done. I really don't want to have to brave the crazy last minute atmosphere on Monday if I can help it. Anyway, at least I've gotten a meager start. This is what I did for Padre:

Well, first let me just kind of ruminate on something. I don't know why I have this . . . attachment to him. Okay, stop right now. I didn't say attraction. Please. I said "attachment." Maybe it would be better described as curiosity. Maybe deep down inside, the fact that he has vowed to be single his whole life makes me feel sad. I could see him as a loving husband and father, but he will never be either of those because he's a priest. He's even admitted to me that sometimes he feels lonely. I don't think that he was trying to elicit sympathy from me at all. I think he was just being honest. He'd probably be put off if he knew that someone felt sorry for him because he chose to fulfill what he feels is a calling in his life. I know that he's happy doing what he's doing, but the little maternal, sentimental, softie side of me wants to reassure him somehow.

So anyway, I bought him a (I know this is probably worthy of a snicker) lunch bag. You know, one of those vinyl lunch bags that have a velcro closure at the top and a little zipper compartment at the bottom? I have one that I brought to class all the time that I'd keep snacks and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in. More than once he asked, "Hey, I need one of those. Where'd you get that from?" I couldn't remember. Anyway, I found one at Wal Mart. I bought one of those little sheet protector booklets and printed out a copy of my story to put in it. I got a Christmas card and enclosed, I put a copy of the receipt showing the worthy cause that I donated my prize money toward.

I packed it all up in a box and sent it off to him. I hope he likes it.

Book Meme on Word

I was tagged to do a book meme by fellow blogger Brian LePort, and I decided to post it on 90&9's literary blog, Word, since it had a literary bent (okay, okay, and since it was my week to post and I couldn't think of any profound treatises). If you're a bibliophile, I encourage you to do it too, if you have some extra time. You'll see how hard it is to have to narrow down your choices to one book. Check it out here.

Another Multi-Topic Offering

I can't seem to blog about one thing at a time lately.

Padre's response to my story

I was starting to get antsy about what Padre thought about my story. He finally wrote back and here's part of what he wrote:

I read the story -- very well written, reflective and creative -- you deserve the Grand Prize! Do something good for you with the money, like buying something fattening.

I thought that was SO funny. Omg.

Next School Year

I went up to Auburn today to discuss the possibility of my being a Teaching Assistant next school year. Usually, those who want to teach must have taken the methods class for a year before they are allowed to. With the classes I've taken this past summer, the class I took this Fall, the class I'll take in the Spring and the classes I'll take this summer in Spain, I'll have the 18 hour requirement. But with my working full time also, it was impossible for me to have taken the methods class. However, I'm going to be allowed to take the methods class while I'm teaching as an Assistant next year mainly because of my prior teaching experience.

It's weird how everything has fallen into place. It's almost like I haven't even done anything. It's just like all of a sudden, I have a guaranteed Teaching Assistant position lined up for next year (which means school will be paid for, by the way), which means that I can confidently say that this will be my last year teaching at my current place of employment and that I can unstressfully and gracefully bow out this time. (Unlike last year. Lord. Remember that fiasco?) I just wanted to make sure like . . . this is a done deal, right? The program director waved me away saying that I should get my award letter in about a week. I walked away with the instructor's edition of the first year undergrad Spanish book and manual with a "See you at orientation in August" as a farewell. It's like it dropped in my lap. When things are meant to be, I guess they're just meant to be.

Bend It Like Beckham

I'm always behind the loop on movies. I know, this movie is like 5 years old, but I finally got around to seeing it. It was only $5 at Target, and I heard it was good, so why not? I fell in LOVE with it. It made me want to go back to Europe, go to an Indian wedding, and fall in love with an Irish soccer coach. Well, the going back to Europe part has been saved up for (ay, that reminds me, I need to fill out all of that study abroad paperwork), but Indian weddings might be rare in Spain. The Irish soccer coach is maybe a 50/50. Maybe if I'm a good girl and save up some more, I can take a side trip to England while I'm in Spain. That would be smashing, yeah?

Ramblance

Yes, this is another procrastinatory Saturday. My 15 pager was put to bed this past Monday, which was glorious, but I still have a take-home final. Which is really not that bad--Professor emphasized "brevity" (he's already got a stack of 15-pagers to read), but it's still one more thing to have to do. So . . . I'll treat you to a little pre-writing procrastinatory rambling.

Feeling Christmasy
I went to a Christmas party last night. A friend from church had an office Christmas dinner party, and I tagged along. But even as I left with a gorgeous Christmas ornament and a ceramic Santa, I didn't feel Christmasy. I mean, they made us sing the 12 Days of Christmas and everything, but still. I don't know what it is . . . it seems like each year it takes me a little bit longer to get into the Christmas spirit. Maybe because this is the first Christmas I've lived on my own and I haven't had time to amass a whole bunch of Christmas decor? Maybe because I haven't smelled sugar cookies baking yet or taken any tentative sips of egg nog? (The sips are tentative because I can't take it in gulps. It's too . . . eggy.) Or, maybe it's more simple than that--because I haven't done any Christmas shopping yet. Sheesh, in that case, I probably won't feel Christmasy until like Dec 20 or something.

I'm Dying to Know
Okay, I talked about how I won this short story contest from a story I wrote about myself and my priest buddy. I was just bursting to share it with him and see what he thought, so I emailed him Thursday about it. I didn't go into detail, I was just like, "Padre, I need you to do me a huge favor. Go to this link, read it and tell me what you think." I still haven't heard back from him, and the suspense is excruciating. Will he be flattered? Apalled? Will he feel weird because this girl in his class wrote a story about him? Like semi-stalked? lol. I'm trying to think how I would feel if it were the other way around. How would I feel if someone wrote a story based on me? I think I'd be flattered. But maybe I'm a little worried because my physical description of him in the very beginning of the story is not exactly flattering, lol. But he's the one who always references his age and weight and jokes around a lot, so I seriously doubt he'd be sensitive about that or anything. We'll see.

Convince Me
Of course, no pre-writing procrastinatory ramblance (yes, I made that up) would be complete without speculation on the, uh . . . shall we say, exactitude of what I "want" (in quotes because of the admittedly problematic nature of that word). I think I've finally hit the nail on the head.(sigh, how many times have we heard that before?)

I want to be convinced.

That's what hasn't happened yet. I have been flattered. I have been endeared. I may have even been impressed. (And being impressed is not as important to me as some people seem to think.) But I haven't been convinced. Convince me that you're worth setting aside for. Convince me that I can let down my guard without regret. Convince me that it's going to work. I thought about it, and this is why nothing so far has lasted. Because I wasn't convinced of those three things. Maybe I'd been convinced of one or two of them at a time, but never all three. The million dollar question is What will it take to convince me? Like I know. lol. But I'd advise whoever can figure it out to not wait until I'm like 40 to do so. Thanks.

Postscript
I'm starting to love it when people think I'm still in high school. I used to hate it, but 26 is around the corner, and though I'm not worried about getting old (26 is not old. Please.), it's still nice to know that I could pass for much younger.

On to the take home final. Aaargh.

I Won and I'm Sad

I Won
90&9.com held a short story contest. I entered for the fun of it, hoping my story wouldn't be ridiculed for its being (or being what I thought was) so achingly amateur. I based the story on myself and my classmate friend who happens to be a priest. I was shocked that I won first place. I really was. Click here to see links to all of the winners as well as a description of how the winners were chosen. Click here to go directly to my story, entitled "Catholicostalism."

First place comes with an award of $100! I've decided to donate the winnings to a worthy cause in honor of my friend (since I did base the story on him), as well as send him a copy of the story printed on some nice, pretty paper for Christmas.

I'm Sad
This is so terrible, but I just received news that a sister in Christ passed away just this morning. I never thought that last Sunday morning would be the last time I'd ever see her. She had diabetes and the purported cause of death was a diabetic coma. She was the woman who was a co-worker of my mom who started coming to the Spanish classes I held for free at the church, and who eventually came to the Lord. My mom is taking it especially hard.

As soon as I found out, I immediately called my mom to make sure she was okay and to remind her that she made a difference in Sis. Denise's life and to never forget that.

Cute Apology Note

Okay, there's something else that I'm bursting to announce, but I'll wait until I get off of work so I'll have a little more time.

For now, I've got to share this adorable apology note that I got this morning from a first grader:

I am so sorry that I did the wiggly worm while you were teaching You are may favorite ennchment please forgive me and I won't do that again

He was encouraged to do so by his mom, so I'm sure he got a little help with (some of the) spelling. He also included a picture of us holding hands and of a little creature going up a tree. He's a great kid, really excited about Spanish and everything. But many times, he gets a little TOO excited.

Page 15: The Shining Light

I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. -- Paul (II Tim. 4:7)

It is finished. -- Jesus (John 19:30)

Now for the icing on the cake, "Works Cited." Oh, and the presentation is going to be cake after finishing this mamma jamma.

Page 10

There is a light at the end of this tunnel. I'm starting to feel a lot better about this whole thing now. And I'll admit that I'm just a smidgen more passionate about writing it now that I'm almost at the point where I wind this thing down and talk about the "big picture" stuff.

Five pages to go is still a lot, but it's doable. Perhaps I won't be burning any midnight oil this weekend after all.

Ay, but then there's still the blasted works cited page . . . I'm using a lot of online sources (which is totally fine with my professor) but the bad thing about them is that citing them throughout the paper as well as in the bibliography is a pain.

Oh, yeah, and then there's also the oral presentation we have to worry about. It's basically just a summary of our paper, not a huge deal. Professor only wants it to be between 5-7 min long, and we don't have to do any fancy schmancy PowerPoint stuff to accompany it. I mean, he suggested it, but it's not required. I just want to put together a brief one anyway--it'll help me keep my ideas together when I'm up there. But anyway, that's something else to do even after the paper is put to bed.

I've got to take a little industrious break now (clean up a little bit, maybe get some bill-paying out of the way), but I can't lose momentum.

Page 7

(sigh). Still slow-going. But going nonetheless. I'm almost halfway done, I guess. That's sort of good. It could be worse, I know. But I'm still not looking forward to a weekend which will be inevitably spent writing the other half. (sigh.)

I'm almost sure academia is not going to be for me . . . not on a permanent basis. Spending my life holed up researching and writing? I don't know if I'd be able to take it. I love learning. I really do. I enjoy taking classes and reading and discussing, I don't even mind writing, but I just don't like writing long research papers. Well . . . unless it's something I'm really passionate about. I guess I'm just not that passionate about a criminally long, depressing 19th century Spanish novel.

The first long research paper I did was in high school. I did my entire paper on Marc Antony's funeral oration in Julius Caesar. "Friends, Romans, countrymen"? Yeah, that. I was out to prove that he was a demagogue. He was not just being straight up and honest with the plebians. He had an agenda. I was pretty passionate about that.

Another long paper that I really enjoyed writing in college was one about foreign views of the United States. I interviewed about 6 people that I knew from other countries and analyzed their reponses to questions I asked them about their opinions on Americans, our government and our culture. It was really interesting research (along with the interviews, I cited several articles and books) and though the paper was over 10 pages, it didn't seem like it at all because I was so passionate about it.

There are a few others, but anyway, writing this one has been like eating day old cold grits. No, even worse, like eating pork brains in milk gravy. I saw it in a can at the grocery store the other day and couldn't stop thinking about how utterly disgusting it would taste, how desperately and scarily hungry someone would have to be to open up a can of pig brains and eat them. (sigh.) Back to work.

Page 4

That's where I am right now on this trail of paper writing drudgery. But at least I've started and I shall get further down the road as the night wears on.

I've spoken many times about the teacher persona never leaving me no matter where I go. Anytime I go into a public place I expect to run into a few of my students. It's just a given. But now I'm realizing that the risk of running into parents is just as high.

All I wanted was a 2-liter of ginger ale. (Yeah, I'm a ginger ale fanatic.) At Winn-Dixie I ran into the mother of one of my students. I always remember her because she's a punky mom. She's got hair dyed jet black with a few maroon highlights. It's cut short and held in place with really shiny gel. I love her son, he's a really cool kid. He's soccer-crazed and sports a David Beckham-reminiscent "faux-hawk" (that's what he calls it) which is held in place by the same gel mumsy uses, I'd be willing to bet. Anyway, punky mom is freaking out because of some zeros her kid got and detailed how she yelled at him and threatened to take away his TV privileges for a week . . . anyway, we got it all straightened out. Apparently, one of the zeros he got was on a day that he had an excused absence or something like that. I assured her that I'd change it accordingly. Whatever, I mean, it's really not that crucial. You'd think I was in charge of handing down magic sentences that would either ensure her child's success for life or doom him for all eternity. lol. But she was really sweet and said she'd tell her son she ran into me so he'd feel better about it.

Anyway. So here am I, a plastic, lavender Starbucks tumbler nearly drained of ginger ale beside me, working up the nerve to trudge on a few more pages in this 15-page-long journey.

I'm Trying to Write My Paper, I Really Am

(sigh) Here's what I did today (other than try to write this blasted paper):

I went to lunch with my super cool, brotha from anotha motha, road dawg since junior high school buddy (yeah, that was before the middle school concept caught on in Alabama), Kev. I'm really proud of him. He's going to be an M.D. in May. He really does look like he could be my brother, doesn't he? I don't get to see him that often, so it was cool to hang with him while he was in town over the break.

I also made dinner for myself without completely burning it--yippee! It was sauteed zucchini and squash, roasted red potatoes, and broiled salmon. This is officially Dinner Four of apartment living. Can't I get like a certificate or something? This is no mean feat for a previously cooking challenged girl like me. And I'm still overcoming a few hurdles. (Some of the taters came out ummm . . . a little crisp.) But deep in my heart, I do believe that we shall overcome someday.

Pre-Paper Writing Procrastinatory Thoughts

Amazing how much we can come up with to do to avoid doing what we have to do. Or, maybe I should just speak for myself.

1. Many people ask me what I plan to do after I get my Master's in Spanish, and the answer is I don't know. All I know is that I want to 1. go back to school 2. improve my Spanish and 3. go back to Spain, and pursing a Master's in Spanish will help me accomplish all three. One of the career options I've been juggling around in my mind is one in academia, like college professor, something like that. But if it takes every ounce of my being just to work up the nerve to begin to write a 15-pager, which, by academic standards, is small fries, (and let's not even talk about the Master's thesis that, if I'm going to really do this thing, will have to happen and will have to be more than 15 pages), then how in the universe could I contemplate making a living out of this? Let me back up--the teaching part would be fine, but the having to establish yourself by writing mad scholarly articles and going out of your mind trying to get published? As I heard many a professor comment, it's called publish or perish. Ay, ay, ay.

2. I've recently been prompted to ponder over the dichotomy inherent in what I want. Okay, okay, about what I want in Mr. Wonderful and about the prospect of being able to change my plain jane last name. (You've been warned.):

• The disconnect between what I say I want in a person and what I find myself attracted to.
• The disconnect between what I say I want to do and am doing and what I find myself wanting to do.

Maybe I can elaborate with some examples. I say that I want someone who's into travel and foreign language, but have been into people who weren't. I say that I want to be this Master's-degreed globetrotter, but find myself wondering if I'd be happy as a soccer mom. And this brings up another question, are globetrotter and soccer mom mutually exclusive? I don't think they necessarily are. Rather, I don't want to believe that they are.

And then, I was prompted to think about something that kind of scared me: Maybe the person for me will not be one who fits a preconceived "list," but will be someone who is simply the person for me. And then that made me think: Maybe the life that will make me happy is not the life I've planned out, but will simply be wherever life takes me. Why does that scare me? Because without my list or plan as something stable, something I can bank on, something I can hold on to, I'm out there. I'm vulnerable. I'm subject to unpredictables and uncontrollables. And I don't like that.

3. Both my dishes and my hair are dirty, and I must do something about that before I can feel comfortable sitting down to read and highlight the useful parts in the articles I printed out this morning (at least I've done something) before I can type the first stroke of the first word of my paper. (sigh) ::fans self with a cardboard fan:: Lawd ha' mercy.

P.S. -- Scroll down for Thanksgiving pictures.

Thanksgiving Pics

Here's a few pics of Thanksgiving yesterday. We invited some friends and church family over. Enjoy!

Thanksgiving Eve

I remembered that I've already counted my blessings in an earlier post here. I'll wait to do the whole "year in review" thing in a couple of months. But being Thanksgiving Eve, here are some things that I am thankful for that I didn't mention in my earlier little list.

I'm thankful for the little things.

Right now, I have on the most comfortable, spectacular warm underwear (I still say "long johns" though) that you could ever imagine. I was so excited about them that I even googled the brand and found a link to share, here, so that you, too could have the chance to lounge in cuddly comfort. (Guys, just be content with your flannel and t-shirts. I don't want to hear it.)

I know this is weird, but I sometimes find it amazing that little things content me as much as they do. Little things like sleeping in, matching teacups, sending a friend a scholarly article I found that matches his paper topic exactly, Lorna Doone shortbread cookies, getting funny text messages and being able to make a child laugh all make me happy.

I'm thankful for the ordinary.

Though I don't think I will ever cease to yearn for the extraordinary and far-away, I'm realizing more and more that there's nothing wrong with the familiar and close-to-home. Something tells me that maybe I should stop and enjoy where I am as much as I can so that if one day if I am ever catapulted into some exotic, daring, titillating tomorrow, I won't miss it so much.

I'm thankful for right now.

Forget mooning over the good times of the past. Forget rehashing the bad times of the past. Forget desperately hoping for my life to finally begin tomorrow. Forget obsessively worrying about what's to come tomorrow. I'm living right now. My life is happening right now. Right now is where I'm existing, and right now is where I can make choices (hopefully postive ones) and changes (hopefully positive ones). It's so easy for me to get bogged down in the routine of right now, but I have to realize that right now is where it's at.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Jephthah's Tent

I've been invited to join a group of "former, current, and transitioning" Pentecostal bloggers at Jephthah's Tent. So, I'll be throwing my $0.02 in from time to time. If you're partial to interesting, civil, edifying discussion and interaction, feel free to stop by.

P.S.-- I've added it as another "Blog of Interest" on the sidebar.

Two Dinners

Dinner one: The guy in my class
Again, for clarification sake, the guy in my class (Gimc), is nothing more than a friend. He texted me Friday afternoon to ask if I wanted to "grab dinner" that night. I said sure and we went to Ruby Tuesday. Warning to all of those who are contemplating careers in Education (for the big bucks, of course): You are never off duty. You can't just have dinner with someone in public without the high chance of running into one of your students. Naturally, one of my students came over with her mother and greeted me, effectively seeing me with Gimc (who is also well-known because he's the soccer coach at my place of employment). Since I'm the youngest teacher they have, my students tend to ask me questions about my personal life, which I remind them is none of their business (which doesn't daunt them a bit), and have even gone so far as to invent an imaginary boyfriend for me named Rico. But that's another story. However, now that I've been spotted with a member of the opposite sex over dinner, I know that I'm never going to hear the end of it.

Anyway, I sometimes feel awkward going to dinner with a male friend because 1. I don't want him to think I assume he's going to pay for my dinner either because he's male or because he was the one who asked me, yet 2. I don't want to make a big fuss insisting I pay for my own dinner because I don't want him to think I'm afraid that he thinks there's something more between us and by declaring my intention to pay myself I am making it clear that there isn't. So, what do I do? Dread the waiter's question "Is this together or separate?"

Thankfully, Gimc made clear his reason for choosing Ruby Tuesday was because he got a gift card, and so that dinner was on him because it wasn't his money anyway. lol. The waiter never asked the dreaded question, either.

Dinner two: The priest
I went to Mass for the first time today. I was planning on going last Saturday, but something came up, so I went today. It was interesting. I guess it was kind of neat to see Padre doing his thing, yet I felt sort of out of place because I didn't know what was going on. I had to follow the cues of those around me to know when to stand up, sit down, or kneel down. I didn't know the liturgical responses to the priest's words. I was really happy when they started reciting the Lord's Prayer because it was something I knew and I could actually participate. I wonder if that is the way people feel when they first walk into a Pentecostal service. Every belief has its lingo and ways of doing things that are taken for granted by those involved. It's not until you try to enter a different circle that you know how it feels to be on the outside.

Afterward, Padre gave a young lady who is getting married there soon and me a tour of the church, and when that was over, he took me to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. I asked him a few questions about Catholicism. I realized that although I still don't agree with many aspects of the doctrine, that I had some misconceptions about it, and he helped me to understand the whys a little bit better. For example, I don't believe that a piece of wafer and a sip of wine literally turn into the actual flesh and blood of Christ when it is consumed during the Eucharist. But when he explained why they believe in transubstantiation, I understood. I didn't agree, but I understood.

I wanted Padre to know that I want to learn about things that I'm unfamiliar with and that I care about his life. Part of loving someone is gaining an understanding of who they are. And a big part of what makes people who they are is what they believe, what they hold dear.

Crazily and Hilariously Coincidental

I can't really reveal too much about how . . . astounding, bordering on bewildering it was to open up a fortune cookie tonight and to read this fortune without nearly choking on my proverbial foot. So, I'll just leave it as is. A short stranger (as opposed to a more cliche, tall, dark and handsome one)? I wonder if God just might be able to speak through fortune cookies.

I Need Help

I'm at work, so I've got to make this one quick, but honest to God, I thought today was November 12. And it's really the 5th. My mind was a week ahead of reality. That is ridiculous.

How did I figure out the truth? Well, I sat down at my desk and looked up at the calendar. It said Veterans Day on today's date (or what I thought was today's date). Twilight Zone music started playing. Wait . . . if today is Veteran's Day, why am I here at school? Didn't I hear kids come in? Didn't I say "Good morning" to my co-workers?

I finally flipped to some previous lesson plans and recognized that last Thursday was November 1. That kind of put things into perspective for me. Like I said, I need help.

Dinner with Val and Dave

Yesterday marked the official 3rd dinner I've cooked since being in my own humble abode. (Check the 1st and 2nd out if you please.)

But this one was a little different. Why? Because this was my first non-family dinner offering. The other two times it was like, okay, so even if my cooking tastes like whodunnit and what fo', I'm in somewhat safe territory because it's just my folks. But with non-folks, the stakes are higher.

But once again, proof that God exists:



This is what I had originally made for Val: Italian breadcrumb encrusted chicken topped with a creamy garlic alfredo sauce, mushroom alredo pasta, and French cut green beans.



She looks like she's enjoying it. But then I get a call from Dave, and I end up inviting him over to join us. The problem was that I didn't have a healthy man-sized serving of pasta left. So I whipped up one of those little Lipton alfredo noodles packets to make sure he'd have enough.



Hence, Dave's plate had a different brand of side pasta.



And of course, I had to make sure he prayed over his food like a good boy.

All in all, I guess it was good. Or at least, they said it was. We topped the meal off with strawberry cheesecake (store-bought, but still good), and chai tea (made by yours truly!)

This cooking and entertaining thing . . . I think I can handle it.

NaNoWriMo

I first heard about National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) from the GodDivas. Basically, it's a contest to write a 175 page (50,000 word) novel starting November 1 and having to finish by midnight, November 30. GodDiva co-blogger Jody has decided to take the challenge. A fun twist is that she's inviting readers to suggest a random sentence or phrase that has nothing to do with what she has already written (she posted an excerpt) that she could choose from to work into her frenzied writing. As one who relishes the challenge to invent totally random creations, here was my contribution:

“The silver alligator with emerald eyes had always provided a shining, symbolic comfort. If not comfort, at least it provided shine, and that was not symbolic at all.”

Where do I come up with this stuff? lol. Anyway, if I had more time, I would be tempted to embark on NaNoWriMo myself. But the only writing I have to look forward to doing soon is a 15-page paper on the 19th century Spanish novel I had to read for class. In Spanish. Eww.

The Riddles of God

I'm planning on going to mass where my priest classmate, um, pastors (?) this Saturday. He gave me a business card with the church address on it and on the back is a G.K. Chesterton quotation that says, "The riddles of God are more satisfying than the solutions of man."

Part of me agrees with it, the rational part of me. But the emotional part of me finds it a hard pill to swallow. Sometimes the riddles of God are so frustrating, and it seems that the solutions of man make life easier to handle.

But on the other hand, I've seen many a solution of man sickeningly unravel right before my eyes. In the end, the solutions of man are never enough. They're fig leaves.

Right now, as Paul says, we only know in part. But then I shall know even as I am known. (I Corinthians 13:12). Does God owe us an explanation? Even if He gave one, would we be able to grasp it with a finite mind? I want to get to the point where I can take comfort in the riddles of God simply because they're of God.

More Serious, Introspective Reflections

It's Saturday. What I have to look forward to today, apart from having slept in, (which, I must admit, was glorious after this seemingly tiring past week) is having to read the rest of a 19th century Spanish novel (in Spanish) before Monday, and volunteering at the egg relay race booth at my church's fall festival.

Wild, raucous fun.

Anyway, I'm still reflecting over my experience in St. Louis last weekend. (For a more fun recap, click here. For pictures, click here and here.) One of the themes, I felt, of the Forum was the idea of pursuing God's will and fulfilling His purpose using our God-given talents and passions, albeit in possibly unconventional, mold-bursting, box-defying ways. I am completely down with that. That idea fits perfectly into the grooves of my brain. But here is my quandary: There are gifts and talents that God has given me. There are things that I am passionate about. But the gifts/talents/passion has yet to collide with a solid standing, defined purpose. It's sort of like God has given me a toolbox full of what I need to get the job done, but I'm left wondering, What is the job I was cut out to do? Where do I go to get it done? After a while, the toolbox gets heavy from just standing there holding it and aimlessly looking around in an attempt to figure out where I'm supposed to go with it, so what have I done? It feels like I've sat down, opened up the box and blankly stared at the tools. Well, maybe I've taken them out and polished them a little. Perhaps I've even used a tool here or there to tinker with a few things. But I haven't hit my stride yet. I haven't found that niche. I haven't had that moment of realization where I know that I know that I know I'm where I'm supposed to be, doing what I was destined to do.

Maybe that idea is romantic (philosophically, not chocolate candy) and unrealistic. Maybe I'm supposed to pull myself up by the bootstraps or whatever and stop allowing my eyes to glaze over from looking up and trying to wrap my mind around the infinite number of the stars. I'm trying not to allow my view to become tinted by my surroundings. But it's hard to focus on clear, golden, sky blue, warm yellow, when all I can see is red, entrenched, ingrained, I-was-raised-this-way, earth.

I'm uncomfortable being temporary, transitory: The lease is up in a year. You'll move. A year later, then what? But I'm afraid of permanence, now: Establish roots in this red earth? What is it like to establish roots? I thought I was close to having some, after nearly thirteen years of one place, but as soon as a word exits my mouth, Where are you from? You don't sound like you're from here. I'm not . . . technically. Amount of time doesn't create roots. You have to be born with them, I think.

I believe I got some semblance of an answer to these questions from reading this brief, excellently written New York Times article that pegs me (and my generation, at least, my age bracket) squarely on the head--"The Odyssey Years."

Even if I don't have answers (I've gotten used to it), at least I can find flashes of recognition, connection, resonance. I am never alone.

IQF 2007 Pics: Part I

IQF 2007: Part II

Sniffs of the Sentimental

I had to suck it up today when my first group of 2nd graders walked in this morning.

There is a little girl in the class from Korea. She speaks very little English and is very shy, but always has a beautiful snaggletoothed smile replete with pigtails. Today she and another extremely shy frecklefaced girl who rarely ever speaks in class walked in holding hands.

I don't know why that scene brought me to tears. Maybe I was glad that the Korean girl has begun to fit in? Maybe I was glad that the frecklefaced girl overcame a bit of her shyness to make a new friend? Children are so innocent. They are so untouched by fear and prejudice. Their love is unreserved and pure.

Post-IQ Forum 2007 Musings

I'm going to write serious, introspective reflections on IQ Forum 2007 and my time in St. Louis later. But for now . . .

Top Ten Observations, Conclusions, Jumbled Ramblings, etc., in No Order of Importance

1. There are many things one has to do in order to get a conference UPCI approved. Naming a roundtable discussion session "The Naked Pentecostal" is not one of them.

2. There is NOTHING wrong with me. (I just happen to be a 20something single girl. Sheesh.)

3. Having a "kegerator" in a Christian home is acceptable only if filled with lemonade.

4. Ted Drewes custard is a St. Louis legend.

5. There are people other than me who are heartily amused by putting bunny ears on others while taking pictures. (I really thought I was the only one left.)

6. Taking pictures through the open doors of as well as through the sunroof of a moving vehicle while riding around downtown St. Louis should be considered an authentically Pentecostal recreational sport.

7. How a 45 min - 1 hour wait for a table became no wait at all: "Ye have not because ye ask not."

8. It's important to do "research" on dating sites in order to intelligently reference them while on a discussion panel about being single.

9. Pennsylvania Dutch sounds an awful lot like German.

10. Trying to eat a cheesy gas station-bought hot dog with one hand while driving is not a good idea.

Click here to check out my reflections from last year.

Oh, and for the record, I LOVED the roundtable discussion on blogging (the one titled "The Naked Pentecostal: Is Nothing Sacred on the Web?"). If someone reading this happened to be the leader of that discussion, don't listen to what anybody else says. Believe me.

A Few Updates

Well, well, well. I've got a chunk of free time here at work. (A rarity.) Here are a few updates:

1. Padre forgot to bring the PB&J sandwiches to class last night. As soon as he stepped into the classroom (I was already there), he looked at me and said, "I really need to apologize . . . " Like, he was hard core, like he was about to make some kind of horrendous confession. I got all alarmed, probably contorted my face, and was like, "For what??" and he looked down and said, "I forgot to bring the PB&J sandwiches." lol. He really did feel badly about it. He said he had his secretary make them but he left them on his desk. Awww . . . I told him not to worry about it. It's the thought that counts, right? Also, I'm pondering going to one of his masses on a Saturday evening I have free. Having traveled to Italy, France, Spain and Germany, I've seen plenty of churches and cathedrals and basilicas and all of that, but I've never actually been in a Catholic mass. I just want to see what it's like.

2. Okay, in a previous post I talked about how I was all nervous about some guy calling. Now usually, when I'm nervous, I tend to be un-wordy. But for some reason, it's hard for me to shut up when I'm talking to this dude! I never thought of myself as a conversation dominator, but I wonder if I have some conversation dominant genes that have lain dormant that have been activated from talking to this guy. I feel kind of bad because I have enjoyed our conversations so far, but I always end with the sense that I've talked too much. ::sigh::

3. I am pumped about going to St. Louis this weekend. The downside? I'm driving. Ay, caramba. I've made the drive before, so I'm not like, scared I'll get lost or whatever, but it's just soooo looong. It's just the most cost-effective and convenient way to get around for now, though. (A plane ticket would cost more than gas both ways, and if I flew in I would have to rely on other people to get around unless I rented a car, which would cost even more . . . ) But I'm still excited. It'll be an adventure. (Cue Rascal Flatt's "Life is a Highway.")

Life's like a road that you travel on / there's one day here and the next day gone . . .

Awww . . .

Remember when I talked about making PB&J for Padre?

Well, see, he was absent last class and I emailed him telling him I missed him in class and I hoped all was well. He wrote back asking what he'd missed and I tried to fill him in on what we talked about as best as I could. Then, the other day, he wrote telling me thank you and that he would bring the PB&J sandwiches next class.

Awww . . .

(No "Thorn Birds" references, please. lol)

When is He Going to Call?

The feeling: Nervousness. Why? You know he's going to call, you just don't know when. (Well, he has, but you've missed him.) It's like a jack-in-the-box. You know that if you keep turning the crank, the little guy is going to pop out, but it's still a surprise when he does.

The thoughts: Will you calm the heck down? It's not that I have any expectations of anything. We're just friends. But you still need to chill. And will you stop shaking your leg? Geez. I shake my leg when I get nervous. I can't help it.

The solution: Wait and see. Don't worry about it. Be yourself.

Dear Profile Stalker

I didn't want to join Everyone's Connected (EC). I was cajoled into it. But now that I'm there, I'm there, and I can't say that I'm unhappy that I am. In fact, I've connected with some cool people as a result. But the way that EC is set up allows for profile stalkers. You know what I'm talking about. People who create a fake (read: anonymous) profile so that they can peruse others' profiles without being detected (read: indicted) through the "people who have viewed your profile" history.

Now, I allow anonymous comments on my blog because sometimes people are afraid to attach their names to their opinions for fear of blacklash. I want people to feel free to speak their minds (in a non-vulgar manner, hence comment moderation) and to be honest on my blog without fear of reprisal. But profile stalker anonymity is more insidious. If you don't want me to know that you've been viewing my profile, you probably have no business viewing it.

In short, a certain fake profile has shown up about 3 or 4 times in my EC history. It was starting to kind of creep me out. So, I got smart and paid a few bucks to become a member with more accessibility features so that I could let this person know that I know he's stalking. My email was as follows:

Dear Profile Stalker,

I have an inkling as to who you might possibly be, but of course I could be entirely and completely wrong. I prefer to err on the side of caution and not assume.

Nevertheless, why do you persist in doing this? If you would like to get to know me and/or keep up with how I'm doing, why do you prefer to do so in an undercover manner? If you know me (and I'm not entirely sure that you do), you know that I wouldn't freak out if you were to drop me and email and say "Hey, this is such and such, my life is yadda yadda yadda, how's yours?" It would be completely harmless, no strings attached, no assumption of anything other than friendly concern. But this anonymous lurking thing, I can't handle, and it kind of creeps me out.

So, if you would be so kind as to a.) Be upfront with your identity or b.) Stop lurking, I would appreciate it.

Cheers,

Chantell

Accentuating the Positive

Why is it so durn hard to be positive? I rebuke all negative vibes that are trying to assault me. I hereby douse all negative vibes with this YouTube video:



Better yet, I'm going to do this:

Things for Me to Be Happy About (in No Particular Order)
1. My health. I have no chronic conditions, I'm on no medication, I have 20/20 vision, I'm 100% fine.

2. My job. My job is so great. I get hordes of days off, I get the whole summer off and still get paid, I have fun, it's very low-stress, I work with very supportive people, and I love it.

3. My family. I have two awesome, loving parents who are still married to one another, I have two brothers who are cool and stick up for me.

4. My finances. I have good credit, I have enough money to live in a nice apartment and meet all of my needs with a tiny bit left over to placate a few wants.

5. My education. I thank God that I was able to go to a good school, graduate with a degree with which I was able to get a decent job, and to learn a foreign language. I'm also thankful that I now have the opportunity to continue my education even further.

6. My car. I have a decent, working car. That's a big deal to me because there was a time when I had a car that had problems.

7. Trips I have to look forward to. I'm going to STL later on this month, and this coming summer, I'm going back to Spain.

8. My church. I have a lot of great people to worship with, people who love and care about and support me just like a family.

9. My friends. Of the few that I have, they're really cool, loving, loyal, and supportive.

10. My bed. I have a really comfortable bed.

11. My teapot. I know this is weird, but my red teapot is somehow . . . comforting.

12. Sunflowers. I was given a bouquet of flowers with sunflowers in them which is now sitting on my coffee table. They're just so pretty and positive.

13. My self-esteem. I'm so glad that I don't struggle with this like I used to. It's so relieving to be able to say that I'm not a bad-looking girl and that I have a lot to offer.

14. My bookcase. I'm so glad that I have a built-in bookcase to house my random book collection.

15. My hair. I'm glad that my hair is a nice length, that it usually does what I want it to do, and that it has a nice natural reddish tint to it that some suspect are highlights but I assure them that it's the real deal.

Gee, I feel better.

IQ Forum 2007 and My Sub

I'm making plans to attend IQ Forum in St. Louis, as I have every year since its inception in 2005. This year it'll be October 19-20. If anyone reading this has the freedom to take off of work to go, I highly recommend it. It touts itself as "The un-Conference," because it is completely unlike your typical (preaching) conference: spearheaded by the latest flavor for a spell (Bro. BigName), replete with flouncing big hair and solar plexus-length ties. I have thoroughly enjoyed myself each time, one of the reasons being it is interactive rather than didactic.

Anyway.

I'm going to need a sub for the Friday I'll be out. Guess who my sub is going to be? The guy in my class. Yes, Gimc himself. It was funny because the first time I met him was when he was my sub for--surprise--IQ Forum last year. He called today and asked what I was going to be doing October 19. Huh? How'd he--but then he laughed and revealed that the school had called him to ask if he'd sub for the elementary and middle school Spanish teacher (moi) that day. lol. So then I had to hip him to the Forum.

Just had to share that cute little coincidence.

PB&J and the Priest

Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches have sentimental value in my life. I grew up eating them, and every once in a while I'll get on a PB&J kick and just eat them all the time.

I have a late Monday class, as I've mentioned before, and sometimes, if I have time, I'll throw some snacks into my little teacherly lunch bag to take with me so I don't starve during class. While making myself a PB&J to take along, I thought of Padre (the priest in my class) and made him one too. He always lightheartedly jokes about his weight while eating candy bars and stuff during our breaks. So, I thought I would give him a somewhat healthier alternative.

When I saw him before going up the elevator he said he was going to grab a candy bar and a drink, did I want anything? I said, "Wait! I was going to ask if you like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches." He told me that he loved them. "Well, I made you one, so you don't have to get a candy bar if you don't want to." He was all smiling and grateful. Later on he ate it and said I was a good cook. lol.

I'm weird, I know, but there is something in me that wants to take care of the priest. I know he's a grown man and can eat whatever he wants to, but there's something about him that makes me want to nurture him, to try to give him good things to eat and to care about him. Even though he's a priest, he's human, too. He has dedicated his life to helping and caring for other people, but he needs someone to care about him, too.

The Guy in My Class, Part III

Here are Parts I and II for your convenience.

There is a paradox in guys' dealings with girls. Guys, listen up. If you are super intense, your chances are usually shot. If you are calm and make the girl feel like you're not trying to get with her, then your chances go up. It's counterintuitive, I know. It seems like if you lay compliments on thick, show her your wittiness by a series of cunning emails and texts, and shower her with flowers and attention and implications that "she might be the one" that you're sure to get some kind of positive response. That only works if the girl is 100% into you from the get go. But if you're cool, talk about intellectual/spiritual/engaging stuff without even dipping into relationship talk, and behave totally friendly and platonic and like you're not trying to size her up for the kill, you're a lot better off.

I had another coffee outing with the guy in my class (Gimc) today. Yes, outing. I will not call it a date, because it wasn't one. When I walked into Starbucks (I purposely got there early so I could go ahead and get my drink so that he would not attempt to pay for it), I found that the guy behind the counter spoke Spanish. He was taking classes at a local college and I mentioned that I had started the Spanish Master's program at Auburn. He then asked if I knew Gimc! Apparently, they knew each other when Gimc transferred to that local college to play soccer. I guess he'd heard that Gimc had started grad school at Auburn. I gasped. I then informed the guy at the counter that not only did I know him, but that I was meeting him in a matter of minutes. Weird! In a matter of minutes, Gimc walked in.

Gimc is really cool. I'm glad that he's not tall and mind-blowingly fine. If he were, I'd probably have trouble seeing him as the cool friend I see him as now. Being infatuated is fun, but it's also emotionally draining and time consuming. And I could really stand to do without that type of involvement. It is so refreshing to have the kind of conversation I had with Gimc. I mean, we talked about intellectual/spiritual stuff that really made me feel like God had our paths cross for a reason. And I don't mean so that he'd end up being Mr. Wonderful. I mean so that he'd realize the importance of maintaining a consistent relationship with God. I didn't tell him, "Gimc, you should go to church." I didn't even imply it, because going to church is not in and of itself the solution. But HE ended up saying, " I know I need to get my relationship with God back on track." HE ended up saying that he wanted to come to church with me when he was free.

Gimc has never said any outrightly flirtatious/complimentary (appearance-wise) things to me. He doesn't make it seem like he's trying to get with me. Like he's trying to inch towards "seriousness." He really makes me feel like he appreciates my insights instead of simply my looks and "qualifications." This is good.

I have a bad habit of mentally categorizing guys into "potential" and "non-potential," regardless of how well I know them, and that's a pretty narrowminded way to look at relationships. I'm working on breaking that habit. I'm not going to allow my mind to put Gimc into either of those categories because I know those categories are irrelevant in a friendship.

One of the things I have prayed is that God would allow me to expand my circle of friends where I am. Most of my friends are far away, in other states. There aren't many people I click with and hang out with here. I think Gimc is just a small answer to that prayer.

I'm Not Anorexic or a Zealot

I believe that fasting is one of many ways to draw closer to God. I have found that when I break down and just do it, I get to a place where I feel more in tune with Him.

But it seems that every time I decide on a day to do it, that's the day that kids show up at your classroom door shoving cookie cake into your face because it was such and such's birthday. It's the day they have a Teacher's Appreciation Luncheon replete with chicken salad on croissants.

I try to be discrete about it, really, I do. The Bible says that we shouldn't broadcast it. Usually on days that I skip lunch at school, I find a quiet spot to read my Bible. I was trying to think of a way to avoid having to go in the teacher's lounge area to avoid people trying to encourage me to partake of the Teacher's Appreciation Lunch, so I went ahead and brought my Bible inside with me so I wouldn't have to make a show of walking out to my car to get it at the start of my lunch break, passing by people on their way to the teacher's lounge in the process. My Bible is not a huge Thompson Chain Reference Bible, so I didn't think it would garner that much attention amongst all of the other teacherly papers, and folders that I haul around with me. But as soon as my kids saw me put my stuff down, they were all abuzz about my Bible. "Why did you bring your Bible?"

"Um, because I'm going to read it later during my lunch break."

One kid even gave me a high-five saying, "Cool! Señora Smith is religious, that's awesome!" Okaayy. At the start of lunch, I tried to slip outside to one of the quad benches outside through one of the side doors, but not before I ran into a teacher with a plate full of chicken salad croissants and other goodies.

"You know they're providing lunch today! Go on and get you some!"

"Oh, yeah . . . that's right. Thanks." As soon as she passed by, I slipped outside. Once I found a discreet place under a tree to read, another teacher saw me and I waved. She asked if I'd eaten yet, and when I told her no, ma'am, she said, "Well, you know they've provided lunch today." Why are people so concerned about my eating habits today? "Oh, I know. Thanks!" She looked a little weird and shrugged and then walked on. When the bell rang for the next period, I put my Bible back in my car and was going to put my water bottle back in the teacher's lounge refrigerator, thinking they'd all be back to their classrooms by then, but upon entering, I was cornered by the PTO mom who'd put it all together.

"Hey, aren't you going to get something?"

"Oh, I don't have time now, the bell just rang. But thanks for all you do for the teachers. We really appreciate it."

"But didn't you have time to eat earlier?" What in the world?!

"Um, yes, but . . . well, I really do like what you have out here . . . maybe there'll be some leftovers and I'll get some tomorrow. Just not today."

I have a feeling the teacher who saw me out there reading my Bible went in and told whoever else was in the lounge that I was sitting outside reading instead of eating. They might have even guessed that why I didn't eat was for a somewhat religious reason and wondered if I was a part of some weird ultra-religious cult. Or maybe they may have suggested I might be anorexic and became concerned--either one could possibly explain why the PTO mom semi-grilled me when I walked in.

I was trying to be discreet, but ended up calling attention to myself. Grrr. But I just didn't feel like I should have broadcast to everyone why I wasn't eating. Oh, well. I hope my co-workers don't think I'm either a younger version of Carrie's mom or a closet anorexic now.

Jena 6

I normally don't go all current events on my blog, but this Slate article articulated exactly how I feel about the Jena 6 situation; therefore, I was compelled to share. Click here to read it.

Hey Leonardo

Someone will be able to sing this song about me someday . . . maybe. I know the video's really dorky, but this song came out in 1999 (so the pop culture references are a tad dated), my junior year in high school, and it reminds me of funny, happy times. Enjoy!



PS-I love the part where he gets slapped. LOL!

Faith and Reason

My priest class buddy (I call him "Padre," Spanish for 'Father') brought up an awesome point in class today.

We were talking about how one of the themes of the novel we're reading is the contrast between faith and reason. Padre brought up the point that people usually associate reason as being man-made and faith as something God-given, when it's really the complete opposite. Reason is actually God's gift to man--it's our God-given reason that separates humanity from animals and other living things; while faith is actually derived from man. In a way, faith is man's gift to God; having faith is a way to humbly accept the circumstances that reason can't explain.

I know there is a scripture that says that God has given every man a measure of faith (Romans 12:3). He gives us the ability to be confident in what we can't prove, but we're the ones who have to put it into action.

Faith fills in the gaps reason can't account for.

Gooey (Single) Girlyness

I know I've been leaning towards more girly stuff as of late. Ordinarily I would apologize for waxing all girly and hormonal, and talking about the whole single girl thing. But I won't this time.

So many times I have strived not to be that girl. You know the girl I'm talking about. The girl that's like always talking about girly stuff and finding the right one, etc. I always strived to be the girl who rolled her eyes at that other girl and said, "Please get a life, sweetheart! There's more to it than your romanticized, desperate pinings, hellooo?"

But then, I realized that part of me was pretending. If I could just pretend that I didn't really care about what that girl cared about, then I'd be cool. If I could just brush that girl's frivolous little worries off and be a real woman who wasn't bothered by that stupid little stuff, then I'd be straight.

Tonight, the topic preached was "What Lies Beneath." He talked about how we put up fronts and hide behind facades, even within the church, so that everyone would think that we're fine. We don't like other people to know that we have hurts and worries and problems and weaknesses, so we put up a good front. I don't want people to know that it bothers me that I don't have someone in my life right now. I don't want people to know that I ever feel lonely. So, I put up a smiling facade. Just the thought of admitting that to anyone other than God makes me cringe. It makes me feel sick. It makes me feel weak and desperate.

So, I went to the altar and cried. I didn't care. I do a lot of crying at church, anyway. It can be pretty cathartic. But I still didn't like, spill my guts to anyone. Then I sat down and kept crying. Then this wonderful grandmotherly lady with strong, grandma hands and a comforting grandma bosom sidled up to me, put her arms around me and said she had a word from the Lord for me. First she started naming outright all of the things that were going through my mind. Everything. I didn't have to spill my guts. She understood. She even said, "I feel what you feel right now." And then she started speaking encouragement to me. This was God's way of telling me that He knows. He's not blind. He knows where I am right now, and He is not ignoring me.

I don't like writing about this, just as I don't like people knowing how I really feel sometimes about where I am in my life right now. But as much as I hate being the object of pity, I also hate fakeness. Though I still don't plan on diving headlong into the gooey girlyness, (I know my few male readers are breathing a sigh of relief) I won't apologize for the times that the gooey girlyness oozes out, because the gooey girlyness is a part of me, and I'm trying to be more real.

PS--Yes, "girlyness" is a made up word. The proper word would be "girlishness," but I don't like how that word looks or sounds, so I made one up.

It's Rainy Today

I don't like the rain. I know we need it, but it's gloomy, gray, wet and melancholy. It just makes me feel like the world is sad, and then depressing old Coldplay songs start rolling though my head: "In my place, in my place/ were lines that I couldn't change / I was lost, oh, yeah." I don't need this.

I always try to look on the bright side, though. What is rain? In addition to nourishing vegetation and curtailing drought. A free car wash from God.

My Irrational Fear and the Search for Somethingness

This is so dumb. I mean, it's ridiculous, inane, unfounded, bordering on neurotic, fill in whatever adjective suits you to describe an irrational fear, and there you have it. But I can't help it.

My fear is that God is going to give me a hard pill to swallow. Example conversation:

God: Either you get with this guy I've chosen for you, or you will become a dried-up old maid and it will be no one's fault but your own.

Me: But God, look. I know You're God. And I know that if You've chosen someone for me to be with, then that's like, the best choice on the planet, but God, I don't like him. I'm not attracted to him. There's nothing about him that does it for me. I know he's got all the good, godly qualities. I know that he's a sincere guy that would take care of me and all of that, I know that he's educated, he's got his stuff together and everything, but I can't fathom allowing him to even touch me. There is nothing about him that draws me to him. God, why are You doing this?

God: You see, that is your problem. You are so picky that you won't even accept the choice that I, God Almighty, am offering to you! What is your deal? Is My choice not good enough?

Me: No, God, no. That's not it at all! You know I'm not picky. A simple glance at my pitiful track record is proof enough of that. I mean, come on, God. You're omniscient. Geez.

God: Watch your mouth, young lady! That's a euphemism for 'Jesus.' Takin' my name in vain like you crazy . . .

Me: Oops. Okay, but really. You know that I am not looking for a Boris Kodjoe, Jude Law or Antonio Banderas clone. I mean, if You wanted to bring one my way, I'd be down, but you know the looks thing has nothing to do with the apprehension I have over this God-chosen guy. It's just that he doesn't have that . . . somethingness I crave.

God: Somethingness?

Me: Don't act like You don't know what I'm talking about. You know what the somethingness is even if I can't explain it.

God: (chuckles)

Me: This is so frustrating.

There is no other way I can think of to describe this fear. That my choice will come down to marry this fantastic guy that I'm not attracted to, or become a dried-up old maid forever. Could it be that instead of having high standards, I'm really being stubborn and overly picky? I really don't think that I am, but sometimes I question myself because even though it seems that perhaps I may at times be put into situations where there are people who seemingly have the right stuff, I'm totally unmoved. I'm like, "YAWN." Or worse, "Ewww."

Whoever the poor soul may be, he must have somethingness. God knows what it is. Even if He acts like He doesn't.

Another Miracle

Have you ever craved breakfast at dinner? I did tonight and I had the bright idea that I was going to make an omelet.

Now, to normal, cooking-enabled people, big whoop. But to me, this was a grand undertaking. I am so serious. I have never been able to make an omelet that didn't end up as sick-looking scrambled eggs. The flipping/folding thing always escaped me. Either that or I wouldn't let the egg set long enough and that makes a grade A mess, too.

But tonight . . . ::kisses fingertips like an Italian chef::

Here's an aerial view:

Ham, turkey, cheese, onions and a little bit of fresh parsley. It was nearly perfect. A teeny tear and a little wrinkle, but hey, it's worlds apart from sickly scrambled eggs. I think the devil may have just bought his first fur coat.

Okay, Mr. Wonderful, you can emerge now. I can make omelets, for Pete's sake! What else do I have to be able to do? Shear sheep, make yarn out of the wool and weave tapestries for my household?

Betty Crockerdom and Getting Snuggly

Who thought it would ever come to this? My writing about pseudo-housewifery (since I have neither house nor husband) and snuggly things?

Betty Crockerdom

I produced my official second meal yesterday. (For a recap on the first, click here.) See, I was in the checkout line at Winn Dixie and I saw this magazine-like cookbook called "30-minute Meals: 145 Delicious Recipes for Busy Families," put out by Better Homes and Gardens and it was only $9.95, so I was sold. It had a cute little recipe in it called "Individual Sicilian Meat Loaves." I'm not really a meatloaf type of gal, but see, this one has a twist. They're mini-meat loaves filled with chunks of prosciutto-wrapped mozzarella and served over fettucini. It looked good and didn't seem to difficult to pull off, so I went for it. The result:

Okay, maybe I should've taken the picture before I slathered on all of that tomato sauce, but you get the idea. It definitely turned out better than expected. Well, my mom thought it was good (yeah, she was the guinea pig):

My mom is a pretty awesome cook, so if she says it's good, I'll take her word for it. (Not that she'd be biased or anything.)

I'm taking slow and measured steps toward Betty Crockerdom.

Getting Snuggly

I believe that I may have mentioned earlier that I love snuggly things. Remember, I won Jewel's contest in celebration of her 10,000th blog hit. I requested a lavender afghan. Well, it came in the mail yesterday:

It's soooo snuggly.

Thanks, Sis. Jewel!

Mt. Rushmore: A Somewhat Summary

All I can really say is that I am SO glad I was able to go. At first I was a tad regretful about buying the ticket, but now, I'm thankful my impulsive side won out--for the better this time.

I got to spend time with one of my best friends in the world and her singles group from North Dakota (affectionately known as NoDak). They drove, but I flew in and met them in Rapid City, South Dakota. Honestly, I was thinking that Rapid City was going to be a podunk, backwoods place and that the only highlight of the trip was seeing Mt. Rushmore. I was wrong.

The land was just . . . unlike anything I'm used to. It was simply lush and beautiful. Animals that my mind usually relegates to the zoo, I saw roaming around in their natural habitats. I ate a buffalo burger. I bought a stick of elk jerky. (I haven't been able to bring myself to eat it.) I went rock climbing in a skirt. We hiked trails and took scenic routes. We grilled hotdogs and bratwurst (oh, so Midwestern) and skipped rocks in the pond after we had a devotion.

I'm not normally a patriotic person at all. Seriously, like I've never been one to get all red, white and blue on the 4th of July. I don't go around singing "I'm Proud to Be an American" with gusto. I know that I'm blessed to have been born in a prosperous country like the US, but I'm not all that wild about "God bless America" rhetoric. But when I saw the iconic monument of Mount Rushmore arise around the bend in the distance on our way there, I was . . . I dunno, stirred. It was weird. Just beholding those "old dead white men's" stone faces was more impressive than I ever would have imagined. Postcard pictures really don't do it justice.

But apart from the animals, scenery and monuments was the fellowship. I don't mean to get all woe-is-me, but I feel the lack of not being able to hang out on a regular basis with people I click with. Very often, I feel like a girl inside of a box. But here was a rare opportunity to spend time with people I love dearly and get to know some other people that I would probably never have gotten the chance to know otherwise. It was great. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. And the pens and the keychains and the refrigerator magnets . . . ahem.

Look below for slideshows to get a picture (pun intended) of my trip!

Mt. Rushmore Pics, Part I