Thursday, September 06, 2007
Friday, August 31, 2007
The Guy in My Class, Part II and Mt. Rushmore
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
The Priest and the Cuban Guy
The second class I've taken this summer has been Latin American Poetry. I've enjoyed the discussions, but not so much the work. Anyway, I've found myself becoming closer to people in my class. Getting the know the people in the program somehow makes it seem less intimidating.
The Priest
I've talked about him before, he's a nice guy. But . . . well, let me tell you. Okay, there's a gay guy in my class (I've talked about him before too) that I really like. There's a part of me that just wants him to be happy because it seems like deep down inside he isn't. I want to reach out to him, but how? Anyway, one particular day before class he came in all downcast and I asked him what was wrong. He said he wasn't feeling well and that he was tired. I declared that he needed a hug and so I went over and just gave him a great big hug. When I walked back over to my seat, the priest looked at me and said, "I'm tired, too." I laughed and gave him one too. Then he started talking about how he really was tired and didn't really want to come to class that day and I kiddingly said, "Who ever heard of not wanting to come to class? Imagine that!" and then he said, "Well, the only reason I come to class is for you." Uh, I laughed nervously and said, "Oh, well I'm glad I could be an inspiration to come to class!" I honestly don't think the priest has any sinister motives. Maybe Spanish class is the only time he ever has the opportunity to benignly flirt. Today we had to turn in original poems and I wrote one in the style of the Romantics that was entitled "Melancholia." It talked about (in Spanish) the bittersweet feelings of pondering over your life. I let the priest read it, and afterward he said, "You didn't write this about me, did you?" I just laughed and shook my head. When he asked to borrow a sheet of paper because he accidentally left his notebook, I said, "Sure, I'll give you three--Father, Son and Holy Ghost." I thought that was pretty clever. lol! (I know, some of you are thinking I should have just given him one since there's only one God and stuff, I know.)
The Cuban Guy
I love the Cuban guy. He and his wife are both students and they have a gorgeous little girl. He gave his presentation about a Cuban poet that had difficulty being accepted in society and among literary circles because he was the illegitimate son of a white mother and black father. I walked with him after class and asked him is there still racism in Cuba. Interestingly, he said that people still have prejudices in Cuba, but it's not the type of racism that still exists here in the US. You know, here it's common to fill out forms and such where you identify yourself racially. In Cuba, nothing like that exists--people aren't categorized according to race at all. He said that Castro did away with the racism that persisted with Communism. But instead of discrimination based on color, he said, now there is discrimination based on beliefs and ideology. He said if you are a religious person and have affiliations with the church (as he was) in Cuba, you can't get a job--employment is controlled by the government. If you imply that you disagree with Communist ideology in Cuba, you are in big trouble. It was so weird . . . I can't even imagine not being able to worship freely, you know what I mean? But it's like one form of discrimination took the place of the other. It's almost like you can't get away from it. It seems like humans will always find a way to divide themselves.
The Priest
I've talked about him before, he's a nice guy. But . . . well, let me tell you. Okay, there's a gay guy in my class (I've talked about him before too) that I really like. There's a part of me that just wants him to be happy because it seems like deep down inside he isn't. I want to reach out to him, but how? Anyway, one particular day before class he came in all downcast and I asked him what was wrong. He said he wasn't feeling well and that he was tired. I declared that he needed a hug and so I went over and just gave him a great big hug. When I walked back over to my seat, the priest looked at me and said, "I'm tired, too." I laughed and gave him one too. Then he started talking about how he really was tired and didn't really want to come to class that day and I kiddingly said, "Who ever heard of not wanting to come to class? Imagine that!" and then he said, "Well, the only reason I come to class is for you." Uh, I laughed nervously and said, "Oh, well I'm glad I could be an inspiration to come to class!" I honestly don't think the priest has any sinister motives. Maybe Spanish class is the only time he ever has the opportunity to benignly flirt. Today we had to turn in original poems and I wrote one in the style of the Romantics that was entitled "Melancholia." It talked about (in Spanish) the bittersweet feelings of pondering over your life. I let the priest read it, and afterward he said, "You didn't write this about me, did you?" I just laughed and shook my head. When he asked to borrow a sheet of paper because he accidentally left his notebook, I said, "Sure, I'll give you three--Father, Son and Holy Ghost." I thought that was pretty clever. lol! (I know, some of you are thinking I should have just given him one since there's only one God and stuff, I know.)
The Cuban Guy
I love the Cuban guy. He and his wife are both students and they have a gorgeous little girl. He gave his presentation about a Cuban poet that had difficulty being accepted in society and among literary circles because he was the illegitimate son of a white mother and black father. I walked with him after class and asked him is there still racism in Cuba. Interestingly, he said that people still have prejudices in Cuba, but it's not the type of racism that still exists here in the US. You know, here it's common to fill out forms and such where you identify yourself racially. In Cuba, nothing like that exists--people aren't categorized according to race at all. He said that Castro did away with the racism that persisted with Communism. But instead of discrimination based on color, he said, now there is discrimination based on beliefs and ideology. He said if you are a religious person and have affiliations with the church (as he was) in Cuba, you can't get a job--employment is controlled by the government. If you imply that you disagree with Communist ideology in Cuba, you are in big trouble. It was so weird . . . I can't even imagine not being able to worship freely, you know what I mean? But it's like one form of discrimination took the place of the other. It's almost like you can't get away from it. It seems like humans will always find a way to divide themselves.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
I'm a Coward
I hate to admit it, but it's true.
Okay, if it's some kind of thing where I feel wronged, or if I feel that someone is acting weird around me because maybe I've unknowingly wronged them but they don't want to talk about it, I'm usually woman enough to cut all the pretenses and address it, despite my generally non-confrontational manner. There's no sense going around and being fake when you know that something is up. Let's get everything out on the table and talk about it.
But when it comes to other social matters, especially when dealing with members of the opposite sex, I'm a coward. But, and please forgive my old-schoolness, I believe that the man should be the pursuer, so to speak, so when I say I'm a coward I'm not talking about my tendency to be a little timid. I'm talking about when there's someone that I fear is trying to get his swerve on that I don't want to pursue me.
At the risk of sounding like I think I'm some sought-after princess, I'm just honestly saying that I can usually tell when someone has . . . intentions. And sadly, more often that not, whatever it is that makes me give a guy the green light doesn't happen. And I kind of wonder about myself because of that. It's like, what the heck do I want?! Am I doomed to existing in this netherworld of unsurety? But anyway, so then I'm left in an uncomfortable (to me) place. I know that I don't want to go down that road, so why even allow him to take a step? I don't even want to get to the place where I may have to reject him, because I hate doing that. So what do I do? Avoid him. Like I said, I'm a coward.
Let me clarify something. I do not believe in leading a man on. Not by any stretch of the imagination. If I arrive at the dreaded place of having to let a guy down, I will do it, gently yet clearly so that there is no doubt about what I mean. And then I'll feel miserable afterward, but console myself with the fact that at least I was honest. But the cowardice that I'm talking about is the avoidance of even interacting with someone because I fear that he might try to make an undesired move and then I'll be put into the wretched position of turning him down.
It's absurd. But it keeps me from having to be the bad guy, and it keeps him from having to be rejected. Yeah, but it's still absurd. That's why I ate leftover Chinese take out from like a week ago instead of staying after church to have a nice Sunday dinner on the grounds.
Okay, if it's some kind of thing where I feel wronged, or if I feel that someone is acting weird around me because maybe I've unknowingly wronged them but they don't want to talk about it, I'm usually woman enough to cut all the pretenses and address it, despite my generally non-confrontational manner. There's no sense going around and being fake when you know that something is up. Let's get everything out on the table and talk about it.
But when it comes to other social matters, especially when dealing with members of the opposite sex, I'm a coward. But, and please forgive my old-schoolness, I believe that the man should be the pursuer, so to speak, so when I say I'm a coward I'm not talking about my tendency to be a little timid. I'm talking about when there's someone that I fear is trying to get his swerve on that I don't want to pursue me.
At the risk of sounding like I think I'm some sought-after princess, I'm just honestly saying that I can usually tell when someone has . . . intentions. And sadly, more often that not, whatever it is that makes me give a guy the green light doesn't happen. And I kind of wonder about myself because of that. It's like, what the heck do I want?! Am I doomed to existing in this netherworld of unsurety? But anyway, so then I'm left in an uncomfortable (to me) place. I know that I don't want to go down that road, so why even allow him to take a step? I don't even want to get to the place where I may have to reject him, because I hate doing that. So what do I do? Avoid him. Like I said, I'm a coward.
Let me clarify something. I do not believe in leading a man on. Not by any stretch of the imagination. If I arrive at the dreaded place of having to let a guy down, I will do it, gently yet clearly so that there is no doubt about what I mean. And then I'll feel miserable afterward, but console myself with the fact that at least I was honest. But the cowardice that I'm talking about is the avoidance of even interacting with someone because I fear that he might try to make an undesired move and then I'll be put into the wretched position of turning him down.
It's absurd. But it keeps me from having to be the bad guy, and it keeps him from having to be rejected. Yeah, but it's still absurd. That's why I ate leftover Chinese take out from like a week ago instead of staying after church to have a nice Sunday dinner on the grounds.
I needed a break
so I took at day trip to Tuscaloosa to spend time with a friend I hadn't spent time with all summer. Her little sisses and little bro were down to visit as well, so we all went on a picnic-excursion to Lake Lurleen. (To Whom It May Concern: "Durn you, Lake Lurleen, durn yoooou!") Here are a few pics:
The most attractive feet you've ever seen in the water
Why to we feel the need to memorialize ourselves? Are we afraid of being forgotten?
Me and Kayna on the paddle boat
Kwoya, Natalye and Nicholas on the paddle boat
Paddle boat out on the lake
Me at Cold Stone Creamery after our excursion (I had Dulce de Leche. Yum!)
Me and Kwoya (also known as "Homegirl")
Picnic at the Lake (Kayna, Nicholas and Natalye)
Me at the Lake "beach"
Kids having a grand time in the water
Picnic at the Lake (Kayna, Nicholas and Natalye)
Me at the Lake "beach"
Kids having a grand time in the water
The most attractive feet you've ever seen in the water
Why to we feel the need to memorialize ourselves? Are we afraid of being forgotten?
Me and Kayna on the paddle boat
Kwoya, Natalye and Nicholas on the paddle boat
Paddle boat out on the lake
Me at Cold Stone Creamery after our excursion (I had Dulce de Leche. Yum!)
Yes, I have stuff to do that's due Monday that I haven't started on yet. But I will. Sometimes we just need to say "forget this" for a little while, take a breather, and then jump back in the saddle. Sheesh, otherwise, you'd fall off the saddle from exhaustion.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
People, can you please
stop getting married left and right until I at least have a steady boyfriend? What? What do you mean you're not going to put your happiness on hold for me? I mean, come on. Is my self-pity worth nothing to you, then? Well, fine! Go ahead and be happy, you stinkin lovebirds. Excuse me? Get a life and stop comparing myself to you, you say? Hah, that's some classic advice. Yeah, yeah. Paul, shmaul.
For we dare not make ourselves of the number, or compare ourselves with some that commend themselves: but they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise (2 Corinthians 10:12).
For we dare not make ourselves of the number, or compare ourselves with some that commend themselves: but they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise (2 Corinthians 10:12).
Sunday, July 22, 2007
If You Didn't Do Anything Else . . .
God, if You didn't do anything else than send a saved and sanctified clone of Boris Kodjoe my way, I would spend the rest of my life being still and knowing You are God.
Yes, Lord, beautiful is Your creation. Mmmm. (Um, lead me not into temptation?)
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Impulsivity?
I consider myself a person who generally mulls things over forever, never one who does anything on a whim. The very idea is a little distasteful to me. Impulsivity usually conveys to me instability.
But one of my main girls in the cold, cold Midwest is going to Mount Rushmore with her singles group over Labor Day weekend. I've never been to Mount Rushmore, and I wanted to go really badly. Not just for the sake of the presidents' faces carved into stone, but because I very rarely get to see her and I know she really wanted me to come. Plus, I have done zero fun things this summer. Seriously. I haven't taken any kind of trips to speak of. Unless you count the Mon-Fri commute to Auburn. So I bit the bullet and bought a ticket.
I know I'm going to have fun and everything, that's not what I'm worried about. It's just that I feel kind of impulsive about having done that. It's not like I'm rolling in the dough now (nor have I really ever been). I've got tuition to worry about, I'm moving out soon and I'm going to start having to pay hardcore bills.
I mean, I'll be okay. I didn't break the bank or anything to buy the ticket, but I hate that nagging little feeling that I really could have used the money for much more practical and necessary things. I don't blow my money. I'm usually very conservative. I thought I could splurge just a little bit this time and now I feel badly because I wonder if this was the best time to "splurge just a little bit."
But oh, well. I bought the ticket. What's done is done. Might as well enjoy it instead of obsess over it.
But one of my main girls in the cold, cold Midwest is going to Mount Rushmore with her singles group over Labor Day weekend. I've never been to Mount Rushmore, and I wanted to go really badly. Not just for the sake of the presidents' faces carved into stone, but because I very rarely get to see her and I know she really wanted me to come. Plus, I have done zero fun things this summer. Seriously. I haven't taken any kind of trips to speak of. Unless you count the Mon-Fri commute to Auburn. So I bit the bullet and bought a ticket.
I know I'm going to have fun and everything, that's not what I'm worried about. It's just that I feel kind of impulsive about having done that. It's not like I'm rolling in the dough now (nor have I really ever been). I've got tuition to worry about, I'm moving out soon and I'm going to start having to pay hardcore bills.
I mean, I'll be okay. I didn't break the bank or anything to buy the ticket, but I hate that nagging little feeling that I really could have used the money for much more practical and necessary things. I don't blow my money. I'm usually very conservative. I thought I could splurge just a little bit this time and now I feel badly because I wonder if this was the best time to "splurge just a little bit."
But oh, well. I bought the ticket. What's done is done. Might as well enjoy it instead of obsess over it.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Miscellania
You know what the priest told me yesterday? That he was at his church and this guy he didn't know came up to him and said, "What does the church need done?" And the priest told the man the various projects and repairs around the church that needed to be done. Then the man said, "Hmmm, that'll cost about 40 grand." Then the guy wrote him out a check for 40 grand, told him to call a certain bank and that it should clear, and left.
I hate feeling like I don't know anything. The longer I live, the more I see that I am ignorant of so much. I don't know the philosophy of Foucault. I've never read Dante's Inferno. How did I get this far without having read that? My knowledge of history is atrocious. Don't ask me about dates or causes and effects of that war or this war. I know nearly zero about cars. I can't even change a flat tire! And the closest I've gotten to knowledge about money matters is listening to Marketplace on NPR. The more I learn, the more I know that I don't know. How Solomonesque.
I need to learn how to shut my mouth. It really is hard to shut up sometimes. Especially when you have all of these really clever rejoinders just itching to shoot out, and on top of everything else, why are you even having this discussion? Everything in you just wants to scream, "Okay, twenty plus five, twenty plus five, I am twenty plus five!" I know I look younger than I am, and I've eventually come to accept this fact as a very good thing. I know I'm the only girl in my family, and maybe that causes a sense of overprotectiveness amongst the elders, but please. Thanks for not ever having to announce, "I'm pregnant"? Thanks for not coming home with a tattoo of a demonic dragon emblazoned on my forearm? Thanks for not blowing my money on crack rock? Thanks for not having to plead with you to bail me out of the slammer? No thanks? Oh, okay. I understand. The very idea is absurd. What's this about being grateful for your not doing things you'd never do? Ca-ray-zay.
Let me tell you about the She Can Handle It Girl. Can't find anyone else to take the place of the person who was supposed to do it? Call the She Can Handle It Girl! She's never busy, never needs down time, and she'll never, never, ever say no! You know all those other selfish people out there who don't always do what everyone else wants them to do? Not the She Can Handle It Girl! You want someone to join you in your endeavor to whatever? Call the She Can Handle It Girl! You want to know the secret to keep her from breaking down? Give her more to do! Don't worry, cuz She Can Handle It!
Someone should write a thesis entitled, "iPod: Reflection of the Self?" lol. My iPod, though dominated by Christian rock and hip-hop, is a strange bird. Classical, Disney musical soundtracks, Portuguese jazz, Spanish pop, and Audrey Hepburn singing "Moon River"? (to name a few abberations).
And lastly, a word to the wise: You know your nails are getting too long when you start unintentionally scratching yourself and others.
I hate feeling like I don't know anything. The longer I live, the more I see that I am ignorant of so much. I don't know the philosophy of Foucault. I've never read Dante's Inferno. How did I get this far without having read that? My knowledge of history is atrocious. Don't ask me about dates or causes and effects of that war or this war. I know nearly zero about cars. I can't even change a flat tire! And the closest I've gotten to knowledge about money matters is listening to Marketplace on NPR. The more I learn, the more I know that I don't know. How Solomonesque.
I need to learn how to shut my mouth. It really is hard to shut up sometimes. Especially when you have all of these really clever rejoinders just itching to shoot out, and on top of everything else, why are you even having this discussion? Everything in you just wants to scream, "Okay, twenty plus five, twenty plus five, I am twenty plus five!" I know I look younger than I am, and I've eventually come to accept this fact as a very good thing. I know I'm the only girl in my family, and maybe that causes a sense of overprotectiveness amongst the elders, but please. Thanks for not ever having to announce, "I'm pregnant"? Thanks for not coming home with a tattoo of a demonic dragon emblazoned on my forearm? Thanks for not blowing my money on crack rock? Thanks for not having to plead with you to bail me out of the slammer? No thanks? Oh, okay. I understand. The very idea is absurd. What's this about being grateful for your not doing things you'd never do? Ca-ray-zay.
Let me tell you about the She Can Handle It Girl. Can't find anyone else to take the place of the person who was supposed to do it? Call the She Can Handle It Girl! She's never busy, never needs down time, and she'll never, never, ever say no! You know all those other selfish people out there who don't always do what everyone else wants them to do? Not the She Can Handle It Girl! You want someone to join you in your endeavor to whatever? Call the She Can Handle It Girl! You want to know the secret to keep her from breaking down? Give her more to do! Don't worry, cuz She Can Handle It!
Someone should write a thesis entitled, "iPod: Reflection of the Self?" lol. My iPod, though dominated by Christian rock and hip-hop, is a strange bird. Classical, Disney musical soundtracks, Portuguese jazz, Spanish pop, and Audrey Hepburn singing "Moon River"? (to name a few abberations).
And lastly, a word to the wise: You know your nails are getting too long when you start unintentionally scratching yourself and others.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Weird/Cool
Okay, so I was in a wedding. It was nice, yadda, yadda, yadda. Established. But I guess the whole wedding thing inspired me to think about what mine might possibly be like in the possible future.
Or this:
So, anyway, you get the idea. But then I was left with the question of what the groom would wear. If I'm up there looking like Maid Marian and he's in a tux, that wouldn't look right. But I wouldn't want him to wear tights or anything. Eww. What could he wear that wouldn't look ridiculous? I seriously was just talking to my mom about it.
But then today I went to Books-a-Million, intent on getting some reading done for my class. This middle-aged dude on his laptop was sitting behind me. You know how there are some people in the world who don't know you from Adam, but decide to strike up a conversation with you when you're trying to get something done? Well, that guy was one of those people. So anyway, he starts out by complimenting my laptop's wallpaper and starts telling me bits of his life story. I will admit I always feel vulnerable when I'm out by myself and a male that I don't know approaches me. I didn't know who this dude was, he could be some kind of pervert trying to pick me up. But then I felt a little more at ease when he mentioned his wife and kids. But then he started talking about how he does graphic design and he showed me an altered picture of his wife on their wedding day. (He revealed to me about the breakup of his marriage, his abusive ex-wife and how he met his new wife on eHarmony. Why do unknown people seem to single me out as a person to tell their business to?)
But then I realized that her dress was in the style that I wanted! Then he showed me more pictures and he and the whole wedding party were in Renaissance style! "That is exactly what I want!" I exclaimed. I was freaking out. I just thought it was so weird/cool that I was just talking about having a possible wedding in the possible future in that style and then I run into this unknown dude who did just that. Plus he gave me the links to where they bought the stuff on the Internet. "Not that I'm planning on getting married any time soon," I told him.
"It's never too early to plan," he said. Weird. No, I really don't plan on getting married any time soon, but that whole thing was weird.
I know it's weird, but I've always wanted a Medieval/Renaissance style dress. Like a Queen Guinevere/Maid Marian kind of thing.
Like this:
Or maybe this:
Or this:
Or even this:
So, anyway, you get the idea. But then I was left with the question of what the groom would wear. If I'm up there looking like Maid Marian and he's in a tux, that wouldn't look right. But I wouldn't want him to wear tights or anything. Eww. What could he wear that wouldn't look ridiculous? I seriously was just talking to my mom about it.
But then today I went to Books-a-Million, intent on getting some reading done for my class. This middle-aged dude on his laptop was sitting behind me. You know how there are some people in the world who don't know you from Adam, but decide to strike up a conversation with you when you're trying to get something done? Well, that guy was one of those people. So anyway, he starts out by complimenting my laptop's wallpaper and starts telling me bits of his life story. I will admit I always feel vulnerable when I'm out by myself and a male that I don't know approaches me. I didn't know who this dude was, he could be some kind of pervert trying to pick me up. But then I felt a little more at ease when he mentioned his wife and kids. But then he started talking about how he does graphic design and he showed me an altered picture of his wife on their wedding day. (He revealed to me about the breakup of his marriage, his abusive ex-wife and how he met his new wife on eHarmony. Why do unknown people seem to single me out as a person to tell their business to?)
But then I realized that her dress was in the style that I wanted! Then he showed me more pictures and he and the whole wedding party were in Renaissance style! "That is exactly what I want!" I exclaimed. I was freaking out. I just thought it was so weird/cool that I was just talking about having a possible wedding in the possible future in that style and then I run into this unknown dude who did just that. Plus he gave me the links to where they bought the stuff on the Internet. "Not that I'm planning on getting married any time soon," I told him.
"It's never too early to plan," he said. Weird. No, I really don't plan on getting married any time soon, but that whole thing was weird.
The Wedding
Ah, the wedding. It was this past Saturday, and it was lovely. I took gobs of pictures, but for the blog, I feel a little iffy about posting pictures of people who aren't connected to the blog for the world to see. "How dare you post my wedding pictures on the Internet!" Yeah. So I'll just put myself on the line.
Pictures
And, my escort was a very nice guy, but he wasn't the one. lol. So much for Jane Austen.
Pictures
Me the bridesmaid. I loved the color of the dress!
Here's the kind of bouquet all the bridesmaids carried. We cradled them in the crooks of our arms as we walked down the aisle.
Here's what I did with the flowers. Aren't they just lovely? Calla lilies and lavender roses.
Musings
I was so excited about the whole deal . . . it felt like I was getting married. But I was also kind of behind the scenes helping the bride out beforehand, and I also saw the stress the accompanies the big day. The marriage thing is not just, "Oh, baby, we're in love, it's just you and me." No, it's more like, "Yeah, we're in love and everything, but we're going to have to get along with my family and your family and you're going to have to get along with yours and mine while we do this thing." As a teenager, I guess I sort of romanticized the whole falling in love thing. But the more I observe of other people who have taken the proverbial leap, the more I see that it involves SO much more than yourself, the other person, and the way you feel about one another. Seriously.
And, my escort was a very nice guy, but he wasn't the one. lol. So much for Jane Austen.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
The Priest and the New Friend
The Priest
There's a priest in my Spanish class. I don't know why, but it seems that he has a kind of attachment to me. I'm not saying he likes me or anything. He's a priest. But he sort of goes out of his way to sit by me, offers to help, wants to work together on little class activities--stuff like that. And that is completely fine with me, he's a nice man, he's not annoying or anything like that, but I just wonder, like . . . I guess because both of us are kind of in the beginning stages of the Master's program, and we both have to commute to Auburn, so maybe he feels some commonality there. Yesterday I asked him if he'd always wanted to be a priest. "No, not always. Actually, I grew up wanting to be a member of the Mafia." He said the Mafia controlled the neighborhood where he grew up in New Jersey. But some priests he knew sort of mentored him and I guess he ended up feeling a calling from associating with them.
But sometimes I wonder about him. He can never have a wife or a family. He's relatively young, in his late thirties. He seems like he would be a good husband and father, but he'll never have the opportunity. Why does that make me feel sad? He apparently doesn't mind. Maybe I should ask him if he's ever read Pepita Jimenez. It's a 19th century Spanish novel about a young seminarian who falls in love with a young widow and he has to choose between her and his vocation.
The New Friend
There's a guy at my church who works with a young lady who had been asking him a lot of questions about the Bible. He invited her to church and introduced me to her, and we hit it off right away. We have so much in common. Yesterday we met at Starbucks and had a awesome discussion and Bible study. She just opened up to me and she was so open to the things I shared with her about the Word. She is so hungry for God and she is searching for Him sincerely. We plan to get together weekly.
It is so amazing how God places people in our paths. He knows just what we need when we need it, and the beautiful thing is that each person learns and benefits from the other.
There's a priest in my Spanish class. I don't know why, but it seems that he has a kind of attachment to me. I'm not saying he likes me or anything. He's a priest. But he sort of goes out of his way to sit by me, offers to help, wants to work together on little class activities--stuff like that. And that is completely fine with me, he's a nice man, he's not annoying or anything like that, but I just wonder, like . . . I guess because both of us are kind of in the beginning stages of the Master's program, and we both have to commute to Auburn, so maybe he feels some commonality there. Yesterday I asked him if he'd always wanted to be a priest. "No, not always. Actually, I grew up wanting to be a member of the Mafia." He said the Mafia controlled the neighborhood where he grew up in New Jersey. But some priests he knew sort of mentored him and I guess he ended up feeling a calling from associating with them.
But sometimes I wonder about him. He can never have a wife or a family. He's relatively young, in his late thirties. He seems like he would be a good husband and father, but he'll never have the opportunity. Why does that make me feel sad? He apparently doesn't mind. Maybe I should ask him if he's ever read Pepita Jimenez. It's a 19th century Spanish novel about a young seminarian who falls in love with a young widow and he has to choose between her and his vocation.
The New Friend
There's a guy at my church who works with a young lady who had been asking him a lot of questions about the Bible. He invited her to church and introduced me to her, and we hit it off right away. We have so much in common. Yesterday we met at Starbucks and had a awesome discussion and Bible study. She just opened up to me and she was so open to the things I shared with her about the Word. She is so hungry for God and she is searching for Him sincerely. We plan to get together weekly.
It is so amazing how God places people in our paths. He knows just what we need when we need it, and the beautiful thing is that each person learns and benefits from the other.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Channy the Paper Slayer
On the eighth day of July, in the year of our Lord two thousand seven, the mighty warrioress known as Channy soundly defeated the fearsome, terrible, monstruous fire-breathing 5 page Spanish paper dragon. As it shall be written in the annals of academia, "She who refused to pull an all-nighter faced her fear and at her feet lay procrastination slain."
So shall it be written, so shall it be done.
So shall it be written, so shall it be done.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
I Hate Writing Papers
How did I get this far with such reluctance to get things done? A five-pager in Spanish. Due Monday. How did I graduate from college with such procrastinatory tendencies? Did I think graduate school was going to be easier?
It is times like these that I wish I were a go-getter from the get-go. Yeah, come on, let's tackle this sucker! But I'm always the one who slumpingly gets it done, and that probably only because of the twisted high that comes from working under pressure with deadline looming. It's not quite a high, though. It's more a simple motivation to get up off of my junk in the trunk and overcome my inertia to Nike: Just Do It.
Grrrrr . . . I don't want to. I know how Paul felt when he said "For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I" (Romans 7:15).
It is times like these that I wish I were a go-getter from the get-go. Yeah, come on, let's tackle this sucker! But I'm always the one who slumpingly gets it done, and that probably only because of the twisted high that comes from working under pressure with deadline looming. It's not quite a high, though. It's more a simple motivation to get up off of my junk in the trunk and overcome my inertia to Nike: Just Do It.
Grrrrr . . . I don't want to. I know how Paul felt when he said "For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I" (Romans 7:15).
Friday, July 06, 2007
Antithesis
Have you ever been inexplicably attracted to someone who is the antithesis of everything you (thought you) wanted? It's ridiculous. I know this person is totally wrong for me. Everything about him is no-no. Not because he has any obviously unsavory characteristics that would negatively affect me or anything. It's not that at all. It's just that I know that he's not for me. Let me back up and say that this "attraction" is not like a crazy, I-can't-stop-thinking-about-him obsession. It's more of a . . . passing fancy.
The main reason I think I fancy him in this way is not because he's a dapper pretty boy. He doesn't have a magnetic personality that just unwaveringly draws people in. He doesn't have that Don Miller-esque down-to-earth intellectualism that I go ga-ga over. It's more basic than that. It's just that he exudes the perfect mix of masculinity and vulnerability. It's weird. On one hand he's ruggedly handsome, walks with a slight swagger, and has a roguish smile. He's hard. A man's man. But on the other hand, there's an almost boyish vulnerability about his manner. Beneath the hard exterior, there's a gentlemanly sweetness.
Yep. No doubt about it. I seriously need to get out more. Or something. Geez.
The main reason I think I fancy him in this way is not because he's a dapper pretty boy. He doesn't have a magnetic personality that just unwaveringly draws people in. He doesn't have that Don Miller-esque down-to-earth intellectualism that I go ga-ga over. It's more basic than that. It's just that he exudes the perfect mix of masculinity and vulnerability. It's weird. On one hand he's ruggedly handsome, walks with a slight swagger, and has a roguish smile. He's hard. A man's man. But on the other hand, there's an almost boyish vulnerability about his manner. Beneath the hard exterior, there's a gentlemanly sweetness.
Yep. No doubt about it. I seriously need to get out more. Or something. Geez.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Crazy Hair, Blogortunities, and Other Miscellany
Crazy Hair
This is what my hair looks like when I wash it and don't blow dry it straight.
It can get really crazy, even more afro-esque than in this pic, but it's so . . . freeing or something. It's liberating when you can just walk around like, yeah, this is what my hair is like untamed, what? It's nice to not have to worry about the many products that go into my hair to get it to hold and stay "under control," or the humidity or whether my carefully constructed curls are going to fall. It's just there and I can do whatever I want with it without having to care about details.
Blogortunities
July at 90&9 is going to be interesting. There are two new group blogs which will be updated daily by a different blogger. One of them is Notes, whose topic is music and songwriting, and the other, of which I am a member, is Word, a blog which fosters conversation on books, reading and writing. My assigned day is Wednesday. So far the posts on both are highly pertinent and interesting discussions. Check 'em out!
Other
I bought living room furniture from Rooms to Go for my upcoming move in August. Here's the ensemble:
I just thought it was so cute and trendy looking. Yay!
I met this Cuban couple in my Spanish class. They are so sweet and have a beautiful 5-year-old daughter. There is just something about them . . . I just want the best for them. They are doing everything they can to have a better life and to provide their daughter with all the best opportunities. The wife doesn't speak English very well, and we had a conversation the other day where she practiced her English and I practiced my Spanish. A bilingual conversation. lol. She was telling me about life in Cuba. It's a communist country, of course, so a lot of things are completely free--health care and education, for example. But she also said, "But we all share the same misery."
A beautiful young girl who is a co-worker of a guy at church came to service this past Sunday morning, and afterward, we just totally connected. We had so much in common. She has a lot of questions, is so open, and is sincerely seeking God. Hopefully we'll start up a Starbucks Bible study this week!
This is what my hair looks like when I wash it and don't blow dry it straight.
It can get really crazy, even more afro-esque than in this pic, but it's so . . . freeing or something. It's liberating when you can just walk around like, yeah, this is what my hair is like untamed, what? It's nice to not have to worry about the many products that go into my hair to get it to hold and stay "under control," or the humidity or whether my carefully constructed curls are going to fall. It's just there and I can do whatever I want with it without having to care about details.
Blogortunities
July at 90&9 is going to be interesting. There are two new group blogs which will be updated daily by a different blogger. One of them is Notes, whose topic is music and songwriting, and the other, of which I am a member, is Word, a blog which fosters conversation on books, reading and writing. My assigned day is Wednesday. So far the posts on both are highly pertinent and interesting discussions. Check 'em out!
Other
I bought living room furniture from Rooms to Go for my upcoming move in August. Here's the ensemble:
I just thought it was so cute and trendy looking. Yay!
I met this Cuban couple in my Spanish class. They are so sweet and have a beautiful 5-year-old daughter. There is just something about them . . . I just want the best for them. They are doing everything they can to have a better life and to provide their daughter with all the best opportunities. The wife doesn't speak English very well, and we had a conversation the other day where she practiced her English and I practiced my Spanish. A bilingual conversation. lol. She was telling me about life in Cuba. It's a communist country, of course, so a lot of things are completely free--health care and education, for example. But she also said, "But we all share the same misery."
A beautiful young girl who is a co-worker of a guy at church came to service this past Sunday morning, and afterward, we just totally connected. We had so much in common. She has a lot of questions, is so open, and is sincerely seeking God. Hopefully we'll start up a Starbucks Bible study this week!
Monday, July 02, 2007
There's Hope
It doesn't cost a thing to smile,
You don't have to pay to laugh,
You better thank God for that
Cuz there's hope . . .
It doesn't cost a thing to smile,
You don't have to pay to laugh,
You better thank God for that
--India.Arie "There's Hope"
You don't have to pay to laugh,
You better thank God for that
Cuz there's hope . . .
It doesn't cost a thing to smile,
You don't have to pay to laugh,
You better thank God for that
--India.Arie "There's Hope"
Thursday, June 28, 2007
A Substitute Offering
I guess I haven't written lately because I don't want to sound depressing. No one wants to read ad nauseum about some chick's quarter-life crisis angst. Heck, I don't want to write about it. It's broken recordesque. "Oh, my life is blah blah blah, I cried last night about blah blah blah, I don't know what to do about blah blah blah, I feel blah blah blah about blah blah blah." An unoriginal tragicomedy. lol. So instead, I offer you this:
What I'm supposed to be doing right now: Reading a 50 page introduction on Latin American Romantic poetry before my class in 30 minutes. In Spanish.
What I've finished reading not too long ago: Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami. I need to review it for Collideoscope. Note to self: Do not read Murakami when you're melancholic. He's a brilliant writer, but everyone at some point in his novels are drenched in this haunting, aching aura of loneliness. Geez, Haruki. Can you please offer more than measly crumbs of hope next time?
What I'm going to read soon: An Amazon ordered book recommended by my go-to book guy called Never Eat Alone by Kevin Ferazzi. And I got Amazon-suckered into buying a "people who bought this book also bought this" book. Urban Tribes by Ethan Watters. Interesting-seeming stuff.
Why my stomach is growling like a big dog: I've only had a caramel latte the whole day so far today. That's it. Maybe that's part of why I'm so cranky. Maybe I need to try to put some meat on my bones or something. Make the older folks who know me happy.
My Spanish professor is really . . . happy. A little flighty. She worried me at first, but she's definitely grounded. Homegirl knows her stuff. And she's more hardcore than I expected. So, I'd better get it together.
What I'm supposed to be doing right now: Reading a 50 page introduction on Latin American Romantic poetry before my class in 30 minutes. In Spanish.
What I've finished reading not too long ago: Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami. I need to review it for Collideoscope. Note to self: Do not read Murakami when you're melancholic. He's a brilliant writer, but everyone at some point in his novels are drenched in this haunting, aching aura of loneliness. Geez, Haruki. Can you please offer more than measly crumbs of hope next time?
What I'm going to read soon: An Amazon ordered book recommended by my go-to book guy called Never Eat Alone by Kevin Ferazzi. And I got Amazon-suckered into buying a "people who bought this book also bought this" book. Urban Tribes by Ethan Watters. Interesting-seeming stuff.
Why my stomach is growling like a big dog: I've only had a caramel latte the whole day so far today. That's it. Maybe that's part of why I'm so cranky. Maybe I need to try to put some meat on my bones or something. Make the older folks who know me happy.
My Spanish professor is really . . . happy. A little flighty. She worried me at first, but she's definitely grounded. Homegirl knows her stuff. And she's more hardcore than I expected. So, I'd better get it together.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Confessions of an Impatient Person
I'm impatient. Yes, I'm coming clean. If I were cast in a Shakespearean tragedy, impatience may be my tragic flaw.
Well, not about everything. If I were hard core impatient, I would have lost my mind as a teacher by now. Elementary + Middle School kids - Patience = Insanity. But in other things, especially recently, I've been maddeningly reminded of how impatient I can be.
While I'm driving, for instance. I have conversations with all the cars around me. "What were you thinking, Mazda?!" "Don't even think about it, Expedition. You gas guzzling landmass." "Aaargh! Just because you're a Volvo doesn't mean it's cool for you to cut in front of me and then go 5 miles per hour!" I hate extra long red lights too. "Oh, come ON!" Usually I drive around by myself. But now that my aunt is here for the summer, I've been driving around more with her. She looked at me kind of funny after one of my outbursts, and though she didn't say anything, I felt checked. I realized that I really do need to chill out and be a more patient driver.
I was also near tears when I couldn't print out my paper yesterday. I know that is ridiculous, but technology is something else I get disconcertingly impatient with sometimes. I was yelling at my dad's computer, "You stupid computer! Why won't you print? The CD worked fine on my laptop, and now all of a sudden there's an error when I try to pull up my paper? What did I do wrong? All I want to do is print out my paper!"
In the end, I brought my laptop to campus, connected to the wireless connection, emailed the paper to myself, and printed it out at the lab. It wasn't the end of the world. Through this "trauma," I also realized that impatient people are usually the most frustrated people. Because things don't happen their way. Because it's not done how they want and when they want it done. That's an exhausting way to live life.
Well, not about everything. If I were hard core impatient, I would have lost my mind as a teacher by now. Elementary + Middle School kids - Patience = Insanity. But in other things, especially recently, I've been maddeningly reminded of how impatient I can be.
While I'm driving, for instance. I have conversations with all the cars around me. "What were you thinking, Mazda?!" "Don't even think about it, Expedition. You gas guzzling landmass." "Aaargh! Just because you're a Volvo doesn't mean it's cool for you to cut in front of me and then go 5 miles per hour!" I hate extra long red lights too. "Oh, come ON!" Usually I drive around by myself. But now that my aunt is here for the summer, I've been driving around more with her. She looked at me kind of funny after one of my outbursts, and though she didn't say anything, I felt checked. I realized that I really do need to chill out and be a more patient driver.
I was also near tears when I couldn't print out my paper yesterday. I know that is ridiculous, but technology is something else I get disconcertingly impatient with sometimes. I was yelling at my dad's computer, "You stupid computer! Why won't you print? The CD worked fine on my laptop, and now all of a sudden there's an error when I try to pull up my paper? What did I do wrong? All I want to do is print out my paper!"
In the end, I brought my laptop to campus, connected to the wireless connection, emailed the paper to myself, and printed it out at the lab. It wasn't the end of the world. Through this "trauma," I also realized that impatient people are usually the most frustrated people. Because things don't happen their way. Because it's not done how they want and when they want it done. That's an exhausting way to live life.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
A scramble of stuff
is jumbled in my brain. Okay,
#1. Why does it seem that things are so weirdly connected? For example, I'm going to be a bridesmaid in my friend's wedding, and in the comic For Better or For Worse, Elizabeth is a bridesmaid in her friend's wedding. Yesterday, I went to look at apartments and the girl drove me around in a golf cart to show off the different features of the complex. Today, I went to visit with the lucky gal so she could show me the dress and all of the little details of the wedding, and her parents have a large property and we went around in a golf cart. Comics, weddings, golf carts? Weirdness.
#2. I think I saw band director on campus. I heard his voice and saw a little glimpse of him as he walked past a room where I was sitting. But I wasn't going to jump up and scream out his name or anything.
#3. There is a difference between admiration and appreciation. I think I've finally hit the nail on the head. I have been admired in my life. It is a great feeling to be admired by someone. To know that someone has affection for you, thinks you're beautiful, would do anything to make you happy. But that is not the same thing as being appreciated, and I'm not sure if I've ever truly been appreciated. (I'm talking about by a member of the opposite sex in the context of a relationship or potential relationship.) Appreciation carries a connotation of understanding. You can admire the way a Rachmaninoff prelude sounds, but do you understand the technique? Can you appreciate the skill and expertise it takes to be able to play one flawlessly? It takes more than being attracted by a person's looks, ability, personality, or whatever to appreciate them. Appreciation demands the answer to this question: Do you "get" me? No, really, do you have any idea of what is involved in me being me? What I've worked for? What I long for? What I'm passionate about and why? What makes me laugh or cry? I think that's what I crave. More than to be admired, I want to be appreciated.
#4. The lucky guy had the lucky girl's engagement ring made. Did you hear me? He got it custom made. And get this: He's been saving since he was a teenager to buy whomever he would ask to marry him in the future a nice ring. I'm just struck with the curious blend of practicality and romanticism of the idea. His dad told him when he was a boy that that's what he was supposed to do. And that's exactly what he did. Thanks a lot, lucky guy. Now my standards are hopelessly high.
#5. I totally hate having a cut on the inside of my nose. Do you know what I'm talking about? What happens is you have allergies or whatever and you're constantly sneezing and blowing your nose. Then your nostril lining gets so dry it cracks, and voila, inside nose cut. It's not like you can just put a Band-Aid over it. I've been applying Vaseline and the pain relief type of Neosporin all over that sucker with a Q-tip, but to no avail. When will the madness end?
#6. Tonight was the last night of the Alabama District Camp Meeting, and almost every year, it seems, some old lady that I don't know tells me something spiritual. I don't mean to sound irreverant, really, it's encouraging that these random old ladies are senstive in the Spirit and feel moved to pray with me and speak a word to me. But I wonder, is it just me, or is the unknown-old-lady-tells-you-something-at-camp thing a Pentecostal phenomenon?
Scrambled ramblings from a jumbled mind.
#1. Why does it seem that things are so weirdly connected? For example, I'm going to be a bridesmaid in my friend's wedding, and in the comic For Better or For Worse, Elizabeth is a bridesmaid in her friend's wedding. Yesterday, I went to look at apartments and the girl drove me around in a golf cart to show off the different features of the complex. Today, I went to visit with the lucky gal so she could show me the dress and all of the little details of the wedding, and her parents have a large property and we went around in a golf cart. Comics, weddings, golf carts? Weirdness.
#2. I think I saw band director on campus. I heard his voice and saw a little glimpse of him as he walked past a room where I was sitting. But I wasn't going to jump up and scream out his name or anything.
#3. There is a difference between admiration and appreciation. I think I've finally hit the nail on the head. I have been admired in my life. It is a great feeling to be admired by someone. To know that someone has affection for you, thinks you're beautiful, would do anything to make you happy. But that is not the same thing as being appreciated, and I'm not sure if I've ever truly been appreciated. (I'm talking about by a member of the opposite sex in the context of a relationship or potential relationship.) Appreciation carries a connotation of understanding. You can admire the way a Rachmaninoff prelude sounds, but do you understand the technique? Can you appreciate the skill and expertise it takes to be able to play one flawlessly? It takes more than being attracted by a person's looks, ability, personality, or whatever to appreciate them. Appreciation demands the answer to this question: Do you "get" me? No, really, do you have any idea of what is involved in me being me? What I've worked for? What I long for? What I'm passionate about and why? What makes me laugh or cry? I think that's what I crave. More than to be admired, I want to be appreciated.
#4. The lucky guy had the lucky girl's engagement ring made. Did you hear me? He got it custom made. And get this: He's been saving since he was a teenager to buy whomever he would ask to marry him in the future a nice ring. I'm just struck with the curious blend of practicality and romanticism of the idea. His dad told him when he was a boy that that's what he was supposed to do. And that's exactly what he did. Thanks a lot, lucky guy. Now my standards are hopelessly high.
#5. I totally hate having a cut on the inside of my nose. Do you know what I'm talking about? What happens is you have allergies or whatever and you're constantly sneezing and blowing your nose. Then your nostril lining gets so dry it cracks, and voila, inside nose cut. It's not like you can just put a Band-Aid over it. I've been applying Vaseline and the pain relief type of Neosporin all over that sucker with a Q-tip, but to no avail. When will the madness end?
#6. Tonight was the last night of the Alabama District Camp Meeting, and almost every year, it seems, some old lady that I don't know tells me something spiritual. I don't mean to sound irreverant, really, it's encouraging that these random old ladies are senstive in the Spirit and feel moved to pray with me and speak a word to me. But I wonder, is it just me, or is the unknown-old-lady-tells-you-something-at-camp thing a Pentecostal phenomenon?
Scrambled ramblings from a jumbled mind.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
My New Abode?
Thursday mornings I have off (before my class in the afternoons). I had to get an oil change, and I wanted to check out the apartment complex I had been thinking about moving into. It's very convenient because it's right up the street from where I work, right next to my favorite park, and actually, off of the same road of the subdivision where I live with my parents now.
Everything looked fine, they have pools, tennis courts, all of the little amenities. In the model I plan to move into, they have a little fireplace and built in bookcase, which is really nice because I have hordes of books. The walk-in closet is also super needed--space is one of the reasons I feel I need to move out. I felt really good about it, filled out the application, and paid the security deposit.
But why do I feel so weird about it now? Why do I doubt my ability to be on my own? That is so confounding. There is no reason why I shouldn't be able to manage. I don't get myself. I'm not moving to another country or another state, or even across town. Mom and Dad will be literally down the street. And I'm 25! In five years I'm going to be 30. Like, if someone had a baby right now, the baby would be going to Kindergarten by the time I turn 30. I'm going to be 30 in the amount of time it took me to graduate from college. (And that didn't seem very long at all.) Isn't it time for me to do something on my own? Seriously.
I have to snap out of it and stop worrying all the time. Perhaps part of it is that I don't know what I'm going to be doing a year from now, around the time the lease will be up. Stay in Montgomery? Move to Auburn and finish the Master's I've started by going full time? I hate how everything is so uncertain. It's really draining. It's like, give me something to go on. Give me some assurance that something is going to work out. Being in a constant state of not knowing really starts to wear on you. I know I'm probably exaggerating things. (I'm really good at that.) But that's how I feel a lot of times, and I really am trying my best not to let it get to me.
Everything looked fine, they have pools, tennis courts, all of the little amenities. In the model I plan to move into, they have a little fireplace and built in bookcase, which is really nice because I have hordes of books. The walk-in closet is also super needed--space is one of the reasons I feel I need to move out. I felt really good about it, filled out the application, and paid the security deposit.
But why do I feel so weird about it now? Why do I doubt my ability to be on my own? That is so confounding. There is no reason why I shouldn't be able to manage. I don't get myself. I'm not moving to another country or another state, or even across town. Mom and Dad will be literally down the street. And I'm 25! In five years I'm going to be 30. Like, if someone had a baby right now, the baby would be going to Kindergarten by the time I turn 30. I'm going to be 30 in the amount of time it took me to graduate from college. (And that didn't seem very long at all.) Isn't it time for me to do something on my own? Seriously.
I have to snap out of it and stop worrying all the time. Perhaps part of it is that I don't know what I'm going to be doing a year from now, around the time the lease will be up. Stay in Montgomery? Move to Auburn and finish the Master's I've started by going full time? I hate how everything is so uncertain. It's really draining. It's like, give me something to go on. Give me some assurance that something is going to work out. Being in a constant state of not knowing really starts to wear on you. I know I'm probably exaggerating things. (I'm really good at that.) But that's how I feel a lot of times, and I really am trying my best not to let it get to me.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Methinks She Doth Protest Too Much
I'm not worried about it. Naw, I'm not even worried about it. No, really, I'm not worrying about it at all. Seriously, it hasn't even crossed my mind . . .
I'm going to be a bridesmaid this summer. Next month. I am so excited about it, I almost feel like I'm getting married! I've known the lucky gal since we were in junior high together, and I knew the lucky guy when he first met the lucky gal when we were all attending the same college and the same church together. So, I know the ins and outs of how they got together. I knew that it was going to be a sure thing. I saw it coming from a mile away. This will have been the first time I've ever been in a wedding. Well . . . there was that time I was a flower girl when I was 5 or 6 and instead of gently tossing the flowers, I ended up throwing the flowers so forcefully that people were ducking as I made my way up the aisle. But that doesn't count. I'm going to be a bridesmaid!
Another special thing about the wedding is that the bridesmaids' dresses are my all time favorite color. Lavender. That beautiful, soft, light pastel purple. Nearly everything I own is lavender. Desk lamp, pajamas, toothbrush, hordes of articles of clothing, shoes, bedsheets, journals, scarves--if it is something commonly owned, chances are I own it in lavender. During the fitting, I ended up being the model. I stood on the block while the seamstress pinned and poked and tried to help the bride decide how she wanted the trimming to go, and how far she wanted the sleeves to be hemmed. Everyone oohed and aahed and told me how great I looked in the dress. Inner monologue: This is not your wedding! This is not your wedding! Oh, but the dress is beautiful.
I love the lucky guy and lucky gal. They are so made for each other. They balance each other out perfectly. It's like, God really knew what He was doing when He brought them together. That is how I really feel, and I am so happy for them. But the lucky guy seems to be almost as eager to see me get married as he is to get married himself. He nearly prophesies to me every time we start chatting about the wedding that God has someone for me too. Actually, he mentioned that his best friend is a groomsman. And it seems that we're the only ones in the wedding party who are not related to the bride or groom. And I think I'm supposed to be matched up with him in the procession. The lucky guy playfully mentioned that he was single, attractive, educated, very available . . . I laughingly waved him off. I'm not worried about it. Naw, I'm not even worried about it.
But, oh, once a seed as tantalizing as that one has been planted into the mind, one can't help but think about it. Wouldn't that be hilarious? What if "the one" were your escort at your friends' wedding? While you were wearing your favorite color walking down the aisle? Oh, the mirth. Geez, I hate that. Unfortunately, I'm "a victim of circumstance," a friend told me after I related to her the situation. "It's perfectly natural for an English major to think that way. You know, to romanticize things. But people meeting at weddings? It happens all the time." Why must I get all Jane Austen about everything? Blast you, English major side of my brain! But my Spanish major doesn't help out much. Daydreams about the curly-haired Spaniard in my class is enough proof of that.
No, really, I'm not worrying about it at all. Seriously, it hasn't even crossed my mind . . .
I'm going to be a bridesmaid this summer. Next month. I am so excited about it, I almost feel like I'm getting married! I've known the lucky gal since we were in junior high together, and I knew the lucky guy when he first met the lucky gal when we were all attending the same college and the same church together. So, I know the ins and outs of how they got together. I knew that it was going to be a sure thing. I saw it coming from a mile away. This will have been the first time I've ever been in a wedding. Well . . . there was that time I was a flower girl when I was 5 or 6 and instead of gently tossing the flowers, I ended up throwing the flowers so forcefully that people were ducking as I made my way up the aisle. But that doesn't count. I'm going to be a bridesmaid!
Another special thing about the wedding is that the bridesmaids' dresses are my all time favorite color. Lavender. That beautiful, soft, light pastel purple. Nearly everything I own is lavender. Desk lamp, pajamas, toothbrush, hordes of articles of clothing, shoes, bedsheets, journals, scarves--if it is something commonly owned, chances are I own it in lavender. During the fitting, I ended up being the model. I stood on the block while the seamstress pinned and poked and tried to help the bride decide how she wanted the trimming to go, and how far she wanted the sleeves to be hemmed. Everyone oohed and aahed and told me how great I looked in the dress. Inner monologue: This is not your wedding! This is not your wedding! Oh, but the dress is beautiful.
I love the lucky guy and lucky gal. They are so made for each other. They balance each other out perfectly. It's like, God really knew what He was doing when He brought them together. That is how I really feel, and I am so happy for them. But the lucky guy seems to be almost as eager to see me get married as he is to get married himself. He nearly prophesies to me every time we start chatting about the wedding that God has someone for me too. Actually, he mentioned that his best friend is a groomsman. And it seems that we're the only ones in the wedding party who are not related to the bride or groom. And I think I'm supposed to be matched up with him in the procession. The lucky guy playfully mentioned that he was single, attractive, educated, very available . . . I laughingly waved him off. I'm not worried about it. Naw, I'm not even worried about it.
But, oh, once a seed as tantalizing as that one has been planted into the mind, one can't help but think about it. Wouldn't that be hilarious? What if "the one" were your escort at your friends' wedding? While you were wearing your favorite color walking down the aisle? Oh, the mirth. Geez, I hate that. Unfortunately, I'm "a victim of circumstance," a friend told me after I related to her the situation. "It's perfectly natural for an English major to think that way. You know, to romanticize things. But people meeting at weddings? It happens all the time." Why must I get all Jane Austen about everything? Blast you, English major side of my brain! But my Spanish major doesn't help out much. Daydreams about the curly-haired Spaniard in my class is enough proof of that.
No, really, I'm not worrying about it at all. Seriously, it hasn't even crossed my mind . . .
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Way Weird
I was driving by a local Pentecostal church and saw this on their sign! Who would do such a thing?! I was flabbergasted! I mean . . . like, the church okayed this? I mean, did they think it would bring in the harvest or something?
Okay, okay. I did it. At www.churchsigngenerator.com.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Which Sports Car Are You?
I'm a Mazda Miata!
You like to soak up the sun, but your tastes are down to earth. Everyone thinks you're cute. Life is a winding road, and you like to take the curves in stride. Let other people compete in the rat race - you're just here to enjoy the ride.
Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.
I must give credit to Jay at I Write the Blogs for this cute little quiz.
Joy
My aunt came down from Philadelphia to get a change of scene, and in her words, to get her life together. She was hungry, seeking, and open.
Tonight at church, she was filled with the Holy Ghost. Soon afterward, her brother, my dad, baptized her in the name of Jesus Christ.
It was pure joy. The way it happened so plainly. A woman, tired of her life, reaches out to God, and He fills her and gives her a new life. It's the beginning of a beautiful story.
Tonight at church, she was filled with the Holy Ghost. Soon afterward, her brother, my dad, baptized her in the name of Jesus Christ.
It was pure joy. The way it happened so plainly. A woman, tired of her life, reaches out to God, and He fills her and gives her a new life. It's the beginning of a beautiful story.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)