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.