IQF 2007 Pics: Part I

IQF 2007: Part II

Sniffs of the Sentimental

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

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

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

Post-IQ Forum 2007 Musings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9. Pennsylvania Dutch sounds an awful lot like German.

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

Click here to check out my reflections from last year.

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

A Few Updates

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

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

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

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

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

Awww . . .

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

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

Awww . . .

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

When is He Going to Call?

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

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

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

Dear Profile Stalker

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

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

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

Dear Profile Stalker,

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

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

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

Cheers,

Chantell

Accentuating the Positive

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



Better yet, I'm going to do this:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gee, I feel better.

IQ Forum 2007 and My Sub

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

Anyway.

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

Just had to share that cute little coincidence.

PB&J and the Priest

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

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

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

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

The Guy in My Class, Part III

Here are Parts I and II for your convenience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm Not Anorexic or a Zealot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jena 6

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

Hey Leonardo

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



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

Faith and Reason

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

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

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

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

Gooey (Single) Girlyness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Rainy Today

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

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

My Irrational Fear and the Search for Somethingness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God: Somethingness?

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

God: (chuckles)

Me: This is so frustrating.

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

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

Another Miracle

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

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

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

Here's an aerial view:

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

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

Betty Crockerdom and Getting Snuggly

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

Betty Crockerdom

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

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

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

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

Getting Snuggly

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

It's soooo snuggly.

Thanks, Sis. Jewel!

Mt. Rushmore: A Somewhat Summary

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mt. Rushmore Pics, Part I

Mt. Rushmore Pics, Part II

Mt. Rushmore Pics, Part III

Mt. Rushmore Pics, Part IV

Mt. Rushmore Pics, Part V

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.

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.)

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 stomach 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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

Join the Fray

Free music downloads are going down at 90&9's music blog, Notes.

Download, listen, and then offer feedback. It's that simple! Hurry, cuz the offer ends Sunday.

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

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. :-)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

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

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.