So, I went out with the guy in my class. It was supposed to be strictly coffee, but then it turned into talking over actual food. I'm really skittish about hanging out with guys over food. It tends to turn things into more formal, awkward, sticky kinds of affairs. But this was an exception.
The key is comfort. When you're laughing and just talking about nice, neutral, funny things, you feel comfortable, and that's why my apprehension dramatically lowered. He's pretty cool and very interesting. Still not like, desperately attracted to him, but I wouldn't mind hanging out again.
Now it's 12 a.m. and I still haven't packed for my trip to Mt. Rushmore tomorrow! I'm excited about it, no, not really to see a bunch of old dead white men's--oops, I mean, our country's memorialized presidents' faces carved into stone, but to spend time with my road dawg whom I rarely get to see. And, okay, it's a national monument. It is something to be excited about. I mean, seriously, I've been all over Europe, but haven't even seen the important things in my own country.
And maybe I'll get some of the reading done for my blasted Spanish class during my layovers. Hey, miracles still happen! I'll be sure to post pics upon my return.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Brussel Sprouts: An Allegory of What True Happiness Is(n't)
This is going to sound weird, but stick with me.
I don't like the idea that we may have to be happy or will eventually be happy with something we don't think we'll be happy with or that we aren't happy with to begin with.
I know that happiness is an extremely subjective, often problematic word. I'm not even going there. But let me see if I can 
try to explain. In front of you sits a plate full of brussel sprouts. There aren't many things that I don't like; I'm seriously (and surprisingly, to some) unpicky about food. But brussel sprouts are an exception. I don't do brussel sprouts. There is nothing you can do to convince me that I'm going to like them if I start eating them. They look like stinking little cabbages, they stink, and they taste like something an ogre would enjoy. (Please forgive me if you like brussel sprouts--I don't mean to imply that you're an ogre.)
try to explain. In front of you sits a plate full of brussel sprouts. There aren't many things that I don't like; I'm seriously (and surprisingly, to some) unpicky about food. But brussel sprouts are an exception. I don't do brussel sprouts. There is nothing you can do to convince me that I'm going to like them if I start eating them. They look like stinking little cabbages, they stink, and they taste like something an ogre would enjoy. (Please forgive me if you like brussel sprouts--I don't mean to imply that you're an ogre.)But some would say, "Girl, you better eat those brussel sprouts! They're good for you. Besides, when's the last time you've had any? You don't even remember, do you? Just eat them. You might find that they're better than you thought they were." I don't like that. That kind of reasoning scares me and makes me queasy.
I don't like to think of true happiness as learning to suppress your gag reflex to stom
ach some detestable brussel sprouts and finding out later that you really love brussel sprouts, that your gag reflex was nothing but the devil trying to steal your blessing. I would rather think of it as getting a large supreme pizza that you didn't even order delivered right to your front door. You were craving something and couldn't really put your finger on it, but once your doorbell rang and you opened the door and found the deliveryman holding it out to you, you knew that it was exactly what you wanted.
ach some detestable brussel sprouts and finding out later that you really love brussel sprouts, that your gag reflex was nothing but the devil trying to steal your blessing. I would rather think of it as getting a large supreme pizza that you didn't even order delivered right to your front door. You were craving something and couldn't really put your finger on it, but once your doorbell rang and you opened the door and found the deliveryman holding it out to you, you knew that it was exactly what you wanted.Tuesday, August 28, 2007
There's This Guy in My Class
Before I even begin this, let me tell you I have a sinking feeling that more people read my blog than I think. I went to a little youth service in another city last Friday (I'm on the youth committee and all), and this guy that I don't even know for real came up to me and said, "Hey, I read your blog! You have a blog, don't you? Yeah, I'm a computer geek and I was surfing and came across your blog. Cool, huh?" Not to say that he reads it faithfully or anything, but it's kind of weird . . . but on the other hand, what should I expect? This is the world wide web. So anyway, maybe I should be a little more careful?
Okay, there's this guy in my class. Weirdly, he works part time where I work, and he's subbed for me before, so I know him. I had no clue he was starting the Master's program at Auburn. It also so happens that he might be moving to Auburn next year to do it full time . . . as am I. It also happens that he's the son of a Pentecostal minister. He knows I'm a church girl and everything, and admitted that he hasn't been in a while and confessed that he's a preacher's kid. He also happens to live right down the road from my church and knew exactly where it was and said he might be interested in coming. He also speaks fluent Spanish and French and is originally from Jamaica, but grew up here. Kind of interesting. But what impressed me is that I thought he was a native Spanish speaker, I seriously did. Like, I thought he grew up speaking it somehow. His Spanish is impeccable. But he's only been learning it for 6 years. And he's never studied abroad! AND he speaks French on top of that. And French isn't easy. I bought a little program to teach myself some before I went to Paris a few years ago. I never made it past the alphabet.
But here's the thing . . . I always feel like a little dumb girl because . . . I don't know. I am not attracted to him in that way. Actually, he's kind of short (which is a minus) and honestly, he's pretty average looking. So it's not like I'm blown away by his Boris Kodjoe-type looks. But he seems okay. Like, I don't get the vibe that he's "only after one thing," so I haven't gone into flight mode. He seems somewhat attracted to me, but his conversation has been purely intellectual/academic/goals type talk. So, I'm not saying anything, like, definite about him. I don't even know why I brought him up. I guess he seems cool and doesn't make me feel like I'm being hunted. There is only one cool guy friend that I have, I mean, one that I'm really down with, as in, I talk to him about girly stuff and he's totally with me. Maybe he'll be another cool guy friend. That's all.
Okay, there's this guy in my class. Weirdly, he works part time where I work, and he's subbed for me before, so I know him. I had no clue he was starting the Master's program at Auburn. It also so happens that he might be moving to Auburn next year to do it full time . . . as am I. It also happens that he's the son of a Pentecostal minister. He knows I'm a church girl and everything, and admitted that he hasn't been in a while and confessed that he's a preacher's kid. He also happens to live right down the road from my church and knew exactly where it was and said he might be interested in coming. He also speaks fluent Spanish and French and is originally from Jamaica, but grew up here. Kind of interesting. But what impressed me is that I thought he was a native Spanish speaker, I seriously did. Like, I thought he grew up speaking it somehow. His Spanish is impeccable. But he's only been learning it for 6 years. And he's never studied abroad! AND he speaks French on top of that. And French isn't easy. I bought a little program to teach myself some before I went to Paris a few years ago. I never made it past the alphabet.
But here's the thing . . . I always feel like a little dumb girl because . . . I don't know. I am not attracted to him in that way. Actually, he's kind of short (which is a minus) and honestly, he's pretty average looking. So it's not like I'm blown away by his Boris Kodjoe-type looks. But he seems okay. Like, I don't get the vibe that he's "only after one thing," so I haven't gone into flight mode. He seems somewhat attracted to me, but his conversation has been purely intellectual/academic/goals type talk. So, I'm not saying anything, like, definite about him. I don't even know why I brought him up. I guess he seems cool and doesn't make me feel like I'm being hunted. There is only one cool guy friend that I have, I mean, one that I'm really down with, as in, I talk to him about girly stuff and he's totally with me. Maybe he'll be another cool guy friend. That's all.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
I Can Cook
Okay, I've always used "I can't cook" as sort of a cutesy, spoiled excuse. Single, college educated girl, used to microwaved junk and eating out when living (semi) independently, dependent on mom's cooking when living at home. I've just never had to cook for myself. It's in the same category as a college student complaining, "I'm broke." It's acceptable for a college student to be broke. It's even expected. It's almost 'cute.'
But when you're completely on your own, it's not that cute anymore. You don't have the money to buy processed microwaveable junk or eat out all of the time. I'm learning that "I can't cook" metamorphoses into "I can cook" (or even "I must cook") when your bank account takes on a tendency to deplete with head spinning speed.
I got this ingenious idea. Tortellini, ham, onions, tomatoes, and mushroom alfredo. I sauteed the onions, ham and tomatoes in some olive oil and butter, and added it to the tortellini. I then dumped in a jar of mushroom alfredo and mixed well. I popped some garlic bread in the oven and opened up a bag of salad, and voila! A cooked dinner by the I-can't-cook girl.
Picture proof. Bam!
My tortellini-ham-tomato-mushroom-alfredo creation
My creation on my yellow plate and sunflower placemat!
A pretty little girl from church eating my creation. It was edible! Hooray!
And now, a message to Mr. Right: If you're out there reading this, I can cook now! Now you have no excuse not to waltz into my life. Thank you. Disclaimer: This doesn't mean I've transformed into Betty Crocker . . . just be content that I can produce things in the kitchen without causing the smoke detector to go off.
But when you're completely on your own, it's not that cute anymore. You don't have the money to buy processed microwaveable junk or eat out all of the time. I'm learning that "I can't cook" metamorphoses into "I can cook" (or even "I must cook") when your bank account takes on a tendency to deplete with head spinning speed.
I got this ingenious idea. Tortellini, ham, onions, tomatoes, and mushroom alfredo. I sauteed the onions, ham and tomatoes in some olive oil and butter, and added it to the tortellini. I then dumped in a jar of mushroom alfredo and mixed well. I popped some garlic bread in the oven and opened up a bag of salad, and voila! A cooked dinner by the I-can't-cook girl.
Picture proof. Bam!
My tortellini-ham-tomato-mushroom-alfredo creation
My creation on my yellow plate and sunflower placemat!
A pretty little girl from church eating my creation. It was edible! Hooray!
And now, a message to Mr. Right: If you're out there reading this, I can cook now! Now you have no excuse not to waltz into my life. Thank you. Disclaimer: This doesn't mean I've transformed into Betty Crocker . . . just be content that I can produce things in the kitchen without causing the smoke detector to go off.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Hooray!
I won the contest on Jewel's blog!I never win things, for real. I am ecstatic. In celebration of her 10,000 hit, she sponsored a contest. Everyone who wanted to join left a comment, and she drew a name out of a hat, and it just happened to be me. God has smiled on me! We had a choice of homemade fudge or a homemade afghan. Despite my chocoholism, I opted for the afghan. I love snuggly things.
Jewel is so sweet. I can't wait to get my homemade afghan made by loving hands.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
More Road Related Adventures
I know that "Women are bad drivers" is a stereotype, but sometimes I think it's the God honest truth. Or maybe I should just speak for myself.
This morning I was, admittedly, in a bit of a rush, and went way over the white line at a stop light. I wasn't sticking out in traffic at all, but being over the white line at the entrance of my apartment complex, as I found out this morning, causes a bit of a quandary when a gignormous school bus is trying to turn in.
Maybe I wasn't all the way awake, maybe I was in that happy place I go to when my mind wanders, but I heard honking, and it took me a minute to realize that the honking was directed at me. The bus driver lady was yelling and waving her arms and it subsequently took me a minute to realize what she wanted me to do. See, I had the window up and NPR blasting, and for some reason, it took me a minute to realize that I should turn the radio down and and lower the window so I could acutally hear her.
"Git beehind the white line! Git beehind the white line!" Oh, oops. My bad. I rolled on back--thank God no one else was behind me--and she was finally able to turn in without broadsiding my car. On her way past, she stopped to give me a little piece of her bus driving mind. "You need to stay behind the white line! This big ol' bus gonna knock yo' little car over!" I peered up at her through my sunglasses. I was humbled. Speechless. She might have even thought I didn't speak English or something.
By golly, I'm never going over the white line again!
This morning I was, admittedly, in a bit of a rush, and went way over the white line at a stop light. I wasn't sticking out in traffic at all, but being over the white line at the entrance of my apartment complex, as I found out this morning, causes a bit of a quandary when a gignormous school bus is trying to turn in.
Maybe I wasn't all the way awake, maybe I was in that happy place I go to when my mind wanders, but I heard honking, and it took me a minute to realize that the honking was directed at me. The bus driver lady was yelling and waving her arms and it subsequently took me a minute to realize what she wanted me to do. See, I had the window up and NPR blasting, and for some reason, it took me a minute to realize that I should turn the radio down and and lower the window so I could acutally hear her.
"Git beehind the white line! Git beehind the white line!" Oh, oops. My bad. I rolled on back--thank God no one else was behind me--and she was finally able to turn in without broadsiding my car. On her way past, she stopped to give me a little piece of her bus driving mind. "You need to stay behind the white line! This big ol' bus gonna knock yo' little car over!" I peered up at her through my sunglasses. I was humbled. Speechless. She might have even thought I didn't speak English or something.
By golly, I'm never going over the white line again!
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Adventures on the Side of the Road
I always prayed I would never be that person on the side of the road, tire blown, car unstartable, waiting for a wrecker to pick you and your car up while everybody else stared and whizzed past.Today it was a friend and I. We were in my friend's car. I thank God that when the tire blew, we didn't hit anyone else or the concrete wall on the left side of the interstate. When she finally slowed the car to a stop, I was literally shaking from an adrenaline surge, and I couldn't get out a word. It was really weird--every time I tried to say something, I just stuttered incoherently.
But not five minutes afterward, two really nice guys stopped and helped us. They were super sweet. We found that whatever had caused the tire to blow was something more serious because after they put on the spare, the car wouldn't start. They waited with us until the wrecker showed up, even after the cop came to investigate.
Anyway, I don't want to bog this post down with details. I'm glad none of us got hurt and that the situation wasn't worse than what it was, and that we both eventually got home safely. It's just that once again, God was there for me. For both of us. And now I know how it feels to be that person on the side of the road.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Join the Fray
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Good Things/Bad Things
Good Things
1. I got my books for the seminar class I'm taking this semester for a little over $20 less on Amazon than I would have at the fatheaded university bookstore.
2. The books actually arrived way before I needed them. (Cuz sometimes those jokers take weeks.)
3. This lady at work gave me the hook up with free designer clothes. (See, her sister is a super rich designer clothes rep and she gets hordes of free samples that she ends up passing along to the masses. The "trickle-down theory" at its finest.)
4. I haven't had any come-to-Jesus-style depressed crying spells at my apartment yet. Nosiree, I haven't shed one tear. (Knock on wood.)
Bad Things
1. I have to wake up at an ungodly hour to finish a bunch of stuff I need to finish for my first full day of school tomorrow. (Today was the official first day, but it was only a half-day.)
2. Once school starts, I get this perpetual feeling that I'm never going to get done all that I have to get done. It's like this constant . . . satellite hovering over and orbiting me. You're not done yet, you're not done yet, you're not done yet . . . (meant to be sung to the tune of "Na-na-na-boo-boo.")
3. I'm constantly reminded that the available, suitable guy landscape in my neck of the woods is an arid, God-forsaken desert. Open the floodgates of heaven, let it rain, let it rain . . .
I have to stop here. It just wouldn't do to have more bad things than good things. In the end, I've always been a glass half-full kinda gal.
1. I got my books for the seminar class I'm taking this semester for a little over $20 less on Amazon than I would have at the fatheaded university bookstore.
2. The books actually arrived way before I needed them. (Cuz sometimes those jokers take weeks.)
3. This lady at work gave me the hook up with free designer clothes. (See, her sister is a super rich designer clothes rep and she gets hordes of free samples that she ends up passing along to the masses. The "trickle-down theory" at its finest.)
4. I haven't had any come-to-Jesus-style depressed crying spells at my apartment yet. Nosiree, I haven't shed one tear. (Knock on wood.)
Bad Things
1. I have to wake up at an ungodly hour to finish a bunch of stuff I need to finish for my first full day of school tomorrow. (Today was the official first day, but it was only a half-day.)
2. Once school starts, I get this perpetual feeling that I'm never going to get done all that I have to get done. It's like this constant . . . satellite hovering over and orbiting me. You're not done yet, you're not done yet, you're not done yet . . . (meant to be sung to the tune of "Na-na-na-boo-boo.")
3. I'm constantly reminded that the available, suitable guy landscape in my neck of the woods is an arid, God-forsaken desert. Open the floodgates of heaven, let it rain, let it rain . . .
I have to stop here. It just wouldn't do to have more bad things than good things. In the end, I've always been a glass half-full kinda gal.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
I was thinking
about my last post, and I just wanted to say, for the record, that I don't think lying is a good idea. It was confessional rather than promotional.
Anyway, I was also wondering, what is the best way to say no in those cases? I don't want to lie, but I also don't want to be mean. Are those my only choices, either lie or be mean? Is there an Aristotelian Golden Mean in these situations? Every response I come up with either falls into the "lie" category, ex: "I'm busy," "I have a boyfriend" or the "mean" category, ex: "I don't think so," "I'm not interested." In other words, is there a way to be honest AND nice (read: preserve the guy's ego)? Another mystery of the universe.
Anyway, I was also wondering, what is the best way to say no in those cases? I don't want to lie, but I also don't want to be mean. Are those my only choices, either lie or be mean? Is there an Aristotelian Golden Mean in these situations? Every response I come up with either falls into the "lie" category, ex: "I'm busy," "I have a boyfriend" or the "mean" category, ex: "I don't think so," "I'm not interested." In other words, is there a way to be honest AND nice (read: preserve the guy's ego)? Another mystery of the universe.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
I Lied to the Maintenance Man
Day 6 of apartment life.
Some outlets weren't working, and not that it was dire to my survival, but I have a bit of free time, might as well call in and get it looked at, I figured. So the maintenance man came in this morning around 9 as I was just coming out of my sleep-in stupor. I rushed to put on my robe just after he finished knocking loudly and announced his presence before came right on in. He seemed pleased to happen upon a tenant like myself, despite my just-rolled-out-of-bed look, and struck up some small talk. I knew what was coming. So after he tinkered with the outlets a little he eventually got around to letting me know he was free this weekend . . . would I like to go out for coffee or a movie? (sigh.)
I felt bad, because he seemed like a nice man, so instead of saying, "No, I don't think so, " or "I'm busy" or any other excuse that is code for "I'm just not interested," I lied and said, "Well . . . I'm dating this guy right now." After he suggested that I could still date other people to "see if anything else would work out," I shook my head and reassured him that he was a "really nice guy" and that I was happy. "Oh, well, you can't fault a guy for trying," he said. He then told me that if he started "not acting right" to let him know. Yeah. If things don't work out with my imaginary boyfriend, I can rest assured because I'll have a gold-toothed maintenance man waiting in the wings. Things are definitely looking up.
Some outlets weren't working, and not that it was dire to my survival, but I have a bit of free time, might as well call in and get it looked at, I figured. So the maintenance man came in this morning around 9 as I was just coming out of my sleep-in stupor. I rushed to put on my robe just after he finished knocking loudly and announced his presence before came right on in. He seemed pleased to happen upon a tenant like myself, despite my just-rolled-out-of-bed look, and struck up some small talk. I knew what was coming. So after he tinkered with the outlets a little he eventually got around to letting me know he was free this weekend . . . would I like to go out for coffee or a movie? (sigh.)
I felt bad, because he seemed like a nice man, so instead of saying, "No, I don't think so, " or "I'm busy" or any other excuse that is code for "I'm just not interested," I lied and said, "Well . . . I'm dating this guy right now." After he suggested that I could still date other people to "see if anything else would work out," I shook my head and reassured him that he was a "really nice guy" and that I was happy. "Oh, well, you can't fault a guy for trying," he said. He then told me that if he started "not acting right" to let him know. Yeah. If things don't work out with my imaginary boyfriend, I can rest assured because I'll have a gold-toothed maintenance man waiting in the wings. Things are definitely looking up.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
My Apartment
I moved in this past Saturday, and during this blessed week of freedom (no work, no class) that I have until inservice starts Monday, I've been concentrating on getting things in order. I don't have absolutely everything that I need yet, but I have the basics, which is enough for now. Thankfully, I was able to get a few decorative items while I was saving up money living at home. Here it is, my new home sweet home:
Dining room area. My little bro put my dinette set together for me! Awwww.
My little kitchen. Now I have no excuse for not knowing how to cook. I'm going to have to learn now. Girl's gotta eat.
Here is one side of the living room.
That's all, folks.
My bedroom. I just can't get enough of sunflowers!
Another side of my bedroom. This is where I'm going to settle down to do all the hard work that I do. (Whatever.)
Around the world in the bathroom.
Dining room area. My little bro put my dinette set together for me! Awwww.
The other side of the living room. I was really excited about the built in bookcase and real fireplace!
That's all, folks.
8 Random Things
I've been tagged to do this by the lovely Sis. Jewel, and of course, I can't help but comply. Here's 8 Random Things About Me:
1. I can't live without dental floss. Really. I am very obsessive-compulsive when it comes to my teeth. If you had teeth as . . . prominent as mine, you probably would too. Those suckers look like elongated chiclets in my mouth. Anyway, I didn't have a cavity until I was 19, and the dentist admonished me for not flossing every day. From that point on, I became a born-again flosser.
2. I am wild about sunflowers. I like them a WHOLE lot. They're just really happy, classy, naturally beautiful flowers. I mean, I guess all flowers are "naturally beautiful" by the very fact they're flowers, but sunflowers aren't as . . . sophisticated as roses and orchids and flowers like that. They're not all soft and velvety, they're bright and spunky.
3. The purse I have gotten the most compliments for carrying is a small, colorful purse with ladybugs on it that I got from the thrift store for $2.
4. My best friends are far away. It's not hard to keep up long-distance friendships when you're really good friends, but it's uncool that you can't just spontaneously hang out like you used to do in college.
5. I am deathly afraid of credit cards. For the longest time, my dad had me convinced that they were the spawn of Satan, but I had to use one recently. I am praying that this isn't the beginning of the end.
6. I'm a long shower junkie. It's been an addiction for a long time that has been nearly impossible to break. There is something so soothing and magical, bordering on bewitching, about a hot shower that makes it so hard to leave. Maybe I'll sober up once I get my first water bill.
7. I'm a teacher and I'm not ready to go back to school. Everywhere I go, I see my little students. The snaggletoothed smiles that greet me at Wal-mart and the mall and Panera Bread and wherever else I might go are like haunting reminders of the time to come. Like little ghostly voices whispering, "We're coming, we're coooommmiing!"
8. I alternate between the following ringtones for my cell phone: "Everything is Beautiful" by Starfield, "Life is a Highway" by Rascal Flatts, and an orchestral version of "Moon River."
Now, when it comes to tagging others for memes, I usually chicken out. Plus, most of the bloggers I know have done this like a million times. I look at them like email forwards--I'll read them, but I don't pass them on. :-)
1. I can't live without dental floss. Really. I am very obsessive-compulsive when it comes to my teeth. If you had teeth as . . . prominent as mine, you probably would too. Those suckers look like elongated chiclets in my mouth. Anyway, I didn't have a cavity until I was 19, and the dentist admonished me for not flossing every day. From that point on, I became a born-again flosser.
2. I am wild about sunflowers. I like them a WHOLE lot. They're just really happy, classy, naturally beautiful flowers. I mean, I guess all flowers are "naturally beautiful" by the very fact they're flowers, but sunflowers aren't as . . . sophisticated as roses and orchids and flowers like that. They're not all soft and velvety, they're bright and spunky.
3. The purse I have gotten the most compliments for carrying is a small, colorful purse with ladybugs on it that I got from the thrift store for $2.
4. My best friends are far away. It's not hard to keep up long-distance friendships when you're really good friends, but it's uncool that you can't just spontaneously hang out like you used to do in college.
5. I am deathly afraid of credit cards. For the longest time, my dad had me convinced that they were the spawn of Satan, but I had to use one recently. I am praying that this isn't the beginning of the end.
6. I'm a long shower junkie. It's been an addiction for a long time that has been nearly impossible to break. There is something so soothing and magical, bordering on bewitching, about a hot shower that makes it so hard to leave. Maybe I'll sober up once I get my first water bill.
7. I'm a teacher and I'm not ready to go back to school. Everywhere I go, I see my little students. The snaggletoothed smiles that greet me at Wal-mart and the mall and Panera Bread and wherever else I might go are like haunting reminders of the time to come. Like little ghostly voices whispering, "We're coming, we're coooommmiing!"
8. I alternate between the following ringtones for my cell phone: "Everything is Beautiful" by Starfield, "Life is a Highway" by Rascal Flatts, and an orchestral version of "Moon River."
Now, when it comes to tagging others for memes, I usually chicken out. Plus, most of the bloggers I know have done this like a million times. I look at them like email forwards--I'll read them, but I don't pass them on. :-)
Monday, August 06, 2007
God Saved It for Me
Do you ever feel that God saves stuff for you while you're going shopping? It happened to me several times and I'd like to share.
Oh, btw, the move went fine and I'm feeling much, much better about it. I still have a few boxes to unpack and things to organize, but I'm getting settled in. I think I'm going to like this a lot. Once everything is all put away and decorated, I'll post some pics.
Back to God saving stuff for you. Okay, I was looking for some shower curtains the day before my move. I was really searching for some shower curtains that spoke to me. I didn't want to get anything cheesy, but neither did I want any serious, boring looking ones either. I was aimlessly wandering around Wal-mart (again) when I spotted them--some trendy looking fabric ones called "Around the World." They consisted of a white background with black sketches of representations of major cities around the world. For example, there's a sketch of the Eiffel Tower with "Paris" written under it, there's a sketch of the Statue of Liberty with "New York" written under it, there's a sketch of some kangaroos with "Sydney" written near it, there's a sketch of a man navigating a gondola with "Venice" written beside it--you get the idea. They were perfect because I have this awesome Eiffel Tower-shaped oil lamp, this Paris picture, and this really cool looking black and white picture a photographer friend gave me of a pigeon on top of the Empire State Building that would go great as little decorative bathroom items to match. As soon as I snatched those suckers up, I realized that I had nabbed the last package. God saved it for me.
Then, I needed a black bath mat to match my bathroom ensemble. I needed a medium sized one, not one of those gargantuan ones. I found one medium-sized black bath mat left on the shelf. God saved it for me.
Then, I needed a trash can, like a big one to put near the kitchen area. I didn't want a blah one, but neither did I want one of those upscale ones where you open the lid by stepping on the little pedal. I found a cool black one with a helmet looking lid. It has a tan visor you open and close. It was the last one left. God saved it for me.
And lastly, I was craving some chai tea after church tonight. I hit up Wally world once again and beelined for the coffee and tea aisle. I couldn't believe they didn't have any chai! They had all kinds of green tea, they had weird flavors like vanilla caramel and minty orange and wild raspberry, but no chai? Give me a br . . . I started rifling through a slightly jumbled section of Lipton french vanillas when I found it--a lone box of spiced chai. God saved it for me.
Thanks, God! You lookin out for ya girl.
Oh, btw, the move went fine and I'm feeling much, much better about it. I still have a few boxes to unpack and things to organize, but I'm getting settled in. I think I'm going to like this a lot. Once everything is all put away and decorated, I'll post some pics.
Back to God saving stuff for you. Okay, I was looking for some shower curtains the day before my move. I was really searching for some shower curtains that spoke to me. I didn't want to get anything cheesy, but neither did I want any serious, boring looking ones either. I was aimlessly wandering around Wal-mart (again) when I spotted them--some trendy looking fabric ones called "Around the World." They consisted of a white background with black sketches of representations of major cities around the world. For example, there's a sketch of the Eiffel Tower with "Paris" written under it, there's a sketch of the Statue of Liberty with "New York" written under it, there's a sketch of some kangaroos with "Sydney" written near it, there's a sketch of a man navigating a gondola with "Venice" written beside it--you get the idea. They were perfect because I have this awesome Eiffel Tower-shaped oil lamp, this Paris picture, and this really cool looking black and white picture a photographer friend gave me of a pigeon on top of the Empire State Building that would go great as little decorative bathroom items to match. As soon as I snatched those suckers up, I realized that I had nabbed the last package. God saved it for me.
Then, I needed a black bath mat to match my bathroom ensemble. I needed a medium sized one, not one of those gargantuan ones. I found one medium-sized black bath mat left on the shelf. God saved it for me.
Then, I needed a trash can, like a big one to put near the kitchen area. I didn't want a blah one, but neither did I want one of those upscale ones where you open the lid by stepping on the little pedal. I found a cool black one with a helmet looking lid. It has a tan visor you open and close. It was the last one left. God saved it for me.
And lastly, I was craving some chai tea after church tonight. I hit up Wally world once again and beelined for the coffee and tea aisle. I couldn't believe they didn't have any chai! They had all kinds of green tea, they had weird flavors like vanilla caramel and minty orange and wild raspberry, but no chai? Give me a br . . . I started rifling through a slightly jumbled section of Lipton french vanillas when I found it--a lone box of spiced chai. God saved it for me.
Thanks, God! You lookin out for ya girl.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Move Out Blues
Okay, Saturday is my official move-in day to my new apartment. Yes, I'm 25 and this is the first time I will have lived away from my parents, completely on my own (well, college doesn't exactly count--this isn't dorm life we're talking about . . . oh, and I guess my semester in Spain doesn't really count either. Apartments don't come with a built in Spanish host mom who fusses if you lift a finger to help out around the house. And scholarships don't go towards rent.)
I don't know why I am so depressed. This is ridiculous.
First of all, why is it so hard to let go of junk? The stuff that I have accumulated over the years is unreal. It's overwhelming. I spent the entire day today just going through stuff. Boxing up stuff. Throwing away stuff. Half of it I don't even think about until I have to make a decision over keeping it or chunking it. And of course I end up keeping it. But there were a few instances where I put my foot down and audibly told myself, "You don't need this!" Some things I set aside to give away. But most of the heartrending decision making revolved around sentimental junk. Unsent graduation announcements. Museum brochures from Spain. An old, plastic Pillsbury doughboy figurine. My deteriorating corsage from my senior prom. Sometimes I even egotistically think, What if I become famous someday and all of this sentimental junk becomes worth thousands of dollars? What if when I'm dead and gone, one day that plaque I got for winning first place in the fire prevention poster contest in 6th grade is worth like $100,000? I also think about my possible future progeny. Wouldn't I be robbing my grandkids of their family history if I threw away that graded Spanish Civilization test? Crazy.
I should feel excited, but I can't get away from this nagging reminder that I'm going to be alone. Why is that so disheartening? I'm not even moving across town. In fact, the apartment complex, my place of employment, and the subdivision where I live with my parents now are all off of the same main street. I'm not going to be in an isolated corner of anywhere, away from everything I know. Give me a break. What in the world is wrong with me?
I feel very insecure. If anything unexpected comes up, am I going to be able to handle it? I'm really trying to toughen myself up, to tell myself that I'll be fine, but it rings hollow. Why do I always feel like I'm trying to prove something to myself, to convince myself of something?
Today I wandered aimlessly around Wal-mart, not able to find anything that fit what I was looking for. Part of my problem was that I didn't have anything specific in mind. There were no shower curtains that struck me as anything special. No dinnerware sets that enamored me. I went to the facial care section to get a particular face wash that I had run out of. I knew exactly what I wanted this time. But upon arrival, they didn't have the kind I wanted. These scenarios seemed like dismal allegories of my life.
Come to think of it, something unexpected did come up. You know, you take your car in for one thing to be checked, and it turns out that billions of other things, some of which are safety hazards, are wrong? I used a credit card for the first time yesterday. There's a first time for everything. The guy that drove my car up for me when I picked it up seemed surprised and amused that I listen to classical piano (I'd had Chopin in my CD player when I dropped it off.) He asked if I played the piano. Um, a little bit, I said. He told me that I had really good taste and then commenced to tell me about how he's musically inclined and how he used to be in a jazz band and all of the different instruments he can play. I guess he expected me to swoon or something.
Anyway, maybe I'll be happier and less cynically depressed once it's all done and I'm all settled in. I think so.
I don't know why I am so depressed. This is ridiculous.
First of all, why is it so hard to let go of junk? The stuff that I have accumulated over the years is unreal. It's overwhelming. I spent the entire day today just going through stuff. Boxing up stuff. Throwing away stuff. Half of it I don't even think about until I have to make a decision over keeping it or chunking it. And of course I end up keeping it. But there were a few instances where I put my foot down and audibly told myself, "You don't need this!" Some things I set aside to give away. But most of the heartrending decision making revolved around sentimental junk. Unsent graduation announcements. Museum brochures from Spain. An old, plastic Pillsbury doughboy figurine. My deteriorating corsage from my senior prom. Sometimes I even egotistically think, What if I become famous someday and all of this sentimental junk becomes worth thousands of dollars? What if when I'm dead and gone, one day that plaque I got for winning first place in the fire prevention poster contest in 6th grade is worth like $100,000? I also think about my possible future progeny. Wouldn't I be robbing my grandkids of their family history if I threw away that graded Spanish Civilization test? Crazy.
I should feel excited, but I can't get away from this nagging reminder that I'm going to be alone. Why is that so disheartening? I'm not even moving across town. In fact, the apartment complex, my place of employment, and the subdivision where I live with my parents now are all off of the same main street. I'm not going to be in an isolated corner of anywhere, away from everything I know. Give me a break. What in the world is wrong with me?
I feel very insecure. If anything unexpected comes up, am I going to be able to handle it? I'm really trying to toughen myself up, to tell myself that I'll be fine, but it rings hollow. Why do I always feel like I'm trying to prove something to myself, to convince myself of something?
Today I wandered aimlessly around Wal-mart, not able to find anything that fit what I was looking for. Part of my problem was that I didn't have anything specific in mind. There were no shower curtains that struck me as anything special. No dinnerware sets that enamored me. I went to the facial care section to get a particular face wash that I had run out of. I knew exactly what I wanted this time. But upon arrival, they didn't have the kind I wanted. These scenarios seemed like dismal allegories of my life.
Come to think of it, something unexpected did come up. You know, you take your car in for one thing to be checked, and it turns out that billions of other things, some of which are safety hazards, are wrong? I used a credit card for the first time yesterday. There's a first time for everything. The guy that drove my car up for me when I picked it up seemed surprised and amused that I listen to classical piano (I'd had Chopin in my CD player when I dropped it off.) He asked if I played the piano. Um, a little bit, I said. He told me that I had really good taste and then commenced to tell me about how he's musically inclined and how he used to be in a jazz band and all of the different instruments he can play. I guess he expected me to swoon or something.
Anyway, maybe I'll be happier and less cynically depressed once it's all done and I'm all settled in. I think so.
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