Pinpoint

“I don’t know what I want” has been my mantra for a long time. In retrospect, being unsure of what I really wanted was a major player in the demise of my last (and only) serious relationship. The entire time, I questioned myself: How can he be so totally sure while I’m so totally not? I was the poster child of indecisiveness. The quintessence of vacillating, fickle hesitance. I couldn’t make up my mind. He was patient. It wasn’t fair. I bailed. (He later found a more decisive girl. He got married. He lives happily ever after.)

In addition to “I don’t know what I want,” I adopted a shoulder-shrugging, “Well, at least I know what I don’t want” philosophy and applied it liberally. Maybe even bordering on unfairly. But at least I realized that I could be decisive . . . although in the negative sense.

Recently, I’ve had the bittersweet realization that for the first time I recognize what it is that I want. It’s sweet because it’s not a lofty ideal. It’s not a disassociated, theoretical, irrationally idealistic concept. It exists in living, breathing, flesh and blood reality. On the other hand, it’s bitter because now that I can finally pinpoint it, it exists beyond my reach.

I guess it might do me (and the unlucky few who attempt to understand me through reading this stuff) well to explain what “it” is. A big part of it is drive. It isn’t type A, aggressive, anal-retentive, CEO drive. It’s altruistic, big picture drive. The kind of drive which always has the forest in mind despite the trees. It’s the kind of drive that can multitask, not the kind that single-mindedly plows ahead. It’s a flexible kind of drive that doesn’t reel and hemorrhage if it hits a snag. There’s a hunger in this type of drive that isn’t satisfied by accomplishing a quantifiable goal. In fact, the appeal to this drive is that it’s always seeking to learn, improve, augment. There’s no, “I have arrived. Time to turn it in, shut it down, cash out and settle into flat, status-quo existence.” This kind of drive continually seeks and yearns.

Another part of it is insight. It’s the ability to take the complexities, ambiguities, and contradictions of human beings into account. It’s the kind of insight that stunts reactionary responses to people’s actions. This kind of insight can view a humiliating, demoralizing experience as a genuine learning experience. This kind of insight is fitted with observant eyes and ears. The kind of insight that can even decipher my womanspeak! (Aside: I have a habit of unconsciously beating around the bush when trying to explain myself. It’s speech rife with disclaimers and euphemism, and simply trying to spit it out while grasping at words. This insight can take all of that, and turn it into pared-down, concrete statements that are exactly it.)

The drive and insight I described are at the heart of what I want. These are the essentials. The rest, as far as makeup is concerned, are details and, for lack of a better word, negotiable. But outside of makeup, “How can two walk together except they agree?”

Now that I can finally pinpoint it, it exists beyond my reach.

Go, Barack!

After watching his speech on race relations that he gave in Philadelphia this morning, I am even more convinced that Barack Obama is the man for the job.

So many times, Americans would rather sweep questions of race under the rug. It makes us uncomfortable to talk about it. We'd rather ignore things and hope they'll eventually go away and work themselves out, or worse, convince ourselves that race isn't an issue anymore.

Though I know people mean well when they say it, it bothers me when people profess to be colorblind. "I just don't see color." I know they're trying to say that they don't judge people based on color (and no matter what you say, we all do subconsciously), and that's admirable. But telling me that you don't see color is another way of telling me that you'd rather look past who I am so that we can all get along. Hold up. Don't look past me. Look at me. I want you to see me for who I am. Instead of focusing on minimalizing differences into watered-down, inauthentic generalities, we should recognize differences, do our best to understand differences, and embrace them.

In his speech today, Obama tackled some issues head on, and I highly admire him for the tact, balance and eloquence with which he pulled it off. It's almost 40 minutes, but once you start watching, it will be hard to turn away. If you have some time, stop, press play, and hear the man out. (The story in the end might bring tears to your eyes, so if you're a crybaby like me, be prepared!)

Another One for the Team

See this post for the title to make any sense.

Tonight is the first time in about a month I've hung out with Guy 2. "Do you want to grab something to eat later?" he texted. Oh, so off-the-cuff, just-friends, no-strings-attached. I hadn't seen him since the, um, fireball. No, not true, I randomly ran into him earlier this week.

It wasn't awkward or anything, we laughed, had fun and enjoyed each other's company as expected. No weird pregnant pauses, no rehashing of the fireball. It was fine.

I hate reporting this like it's some kind of breaking news. Teryaki chicken and Starbucks. Big whoop.

I mean, I feel alright about Guy 2. My hopes concerning him have changed, though. Though my mind still plays The Game, in all seriousness, I'm not hoping for things to change for my sake anymore. I'm primarily hoping things change for his. It may very well be that whatever God has for him has zero to do with me. And I'll have to be okay with that.

A Totally Unrelated Addendum

Today a flaxen-haired 6th grader innocently looked up at me while I was bent over helping her look up a word in a Spanish-English dictionary and asked, "How do you get your hair that way?"

I stepped back and blinked a few times, flummoxed. What way? I laughed nervously. Why did that question unsettle me? "I um, er . . . "

"I mean, it looks so smooth. Do you use hairspray?"

T'yeah. That and a lot of other stuff you've never heard of. "Yeah. Well, I straighten my hair, um, with a chemical that would burn your hair out if you used it and use a lot of other stuff. Um, hairspray, curling irons, moisturizers . . . "

"Well, all I have to do is wash my hair in the shower and blowdry it when I get out."

I just smiled, nodded and gave her a little teacherly pat on the head.

The Insane Game

I hate when my mind starts to play The Game.

It's ridiculous and a total and utter waste of mental energy. But The Game plays on. The rules are kind of fuzzy, but this is the gist of it:

1. Before The Game can start, I have to be experiencing some kind of maddening mix of uncertainty and hope about something.

2. There are two . . . okay, in sticking with the game analogy, goals. One goal is called "Why It's Totally Unreasonable and Never Going to Happen." The other goal is called "Why It's Okay to Think That in Spite of Everything, It Will Still Happen."

3. Then the whistle blows, and what would ordinarily be considered likely happenstances or mundane coincidences turn into little soccer-like balls that go hurtling into the direction of the "Why It's Okay to Think That in Spite of Everything, It Will Still Happen" goal. The goalie guarding it gets mercilessly pelted, and the balls that don't blindside him go whizzing past him into the goal with superhuman speed. The goalie guarding "Why It's Totally Unreasonable and Never Going to Happen" just kind of stands there. He's just chillin. He's examining his fingernails. His job is pretty much done even though The Game is going on, because (I forgot to mention this part of The Game) before the whistle blew to signal the start of the game, a big, firey, gignormous monster of a soccer-like ball tore past him into the goal and burned right through the net. It's now lying there abandoned, smoking on the ground.

4. Mind you, there are no teams per se, just balls that go flying in one direction except for the monster fireball that burned straight through the net on the other side. The score is always disconcertingly lopsided. 50 million-1. Something like that.

Okay, I've already reported on the huge fireball (albeit in hazy terms) concerning Guy 2. Now begins the onslaught of millions of little balls that go whizzing past at superhuman speed. And my goalie can do nothing to stop them.

• He called the other night!---GOOOOAL!
  
• I failed to mention to him I was going to Auburn for my Spain orientation thing the next day but still just happened to run into him on the way to the meeting!---GOOOOAALL!


• At the orientation meeting, I asked a girl next to me something about the forms we were filling out, and I when I looked over at her form while she was answering my question, I noticed that she had the same (uncommon) last name as Guy 2!---GOOOAAALLLL!

And these are just the most recent soccer-like speed balls. The irony of it all is that the winner of The Game is rarely the winner in real life. "Why It's Totally and Unreasonable and Never Going to Happen" often comes out on top despite the insanely lopsided score. There must be something about the sound of the speed balls whistling past that keeps my hopes, even if a mere millimeter, above ground.

In the end, I have faith that God can do anything, no, more than that, He's proven to me that He can on several occasions. But there's a difference between having faith and leaving things in God's hands and obsessively and irrationally clinging to an absurd, selfish wish. More than anything else, I pray that I don't pitch head first into the latter.

Kinda Cool How It Happened

I really need to get back to work on the dreaded midterm.

I will. After I write.

I totally forgot to mention a really cool thing that happened.

I'm definitely leaving my place of employment this time, and I've felt a little worried because I knew that it would be hard to find someone to take my place. Not because I'm this irreplaceable perfect person, please. It's just that many people either aren't willing to work with both elementary and middle school aged children, or aren't experienced in doing so, and on top of that, proficient in Spanish, which is kind of a must-have for my position.

Last week, I sought quiet refuge at Barnes and Noble at around 9 pm, fully expecting to have a people-less place to get some serious reading done. Whatever, the place was packed! I finally settled on sitting at one chair out of a 4-chair grouping. A 30-ish couple occupied two of them already. When the lady complimented my new Sketchers out of the blue, I noticed she had an accent and I asked where she was from. Peru. Well, then we started chatting up a storm in Spanish. Even weirder was that it turns out hubby knew a bunch of people I knew from an A/P church he used to attend in another city. The voluptuous denim skirt kinda gave me away, I guess. Anyway, Peruvian lady and I hit it off really well and we met for coffee later on that week. She told me all about her life in Peru, and how she met her American hubby. It turns out that after a degree and career in Business, she realized teaching was her calling and went back to school and majored in what we'd consider Early Childhood Education. She's had experience teaching little ones, and she also had experience teaching older kids English as a Second Language (her English is fabulous because she grew up learning it and went to a British high school in Peru).

Anyway, that night it dawned on me that she would be perfect to take my place if she were interested: she has experience working with younger and older kids, she's well-traveled and can bring that experience into the classroom, and she's naturally fluent in Spanish. The next day I called her up and asked her if she'd be interested, and she said she'd love to because she was wanting to get back into teaching. I emailed Headmaster about it today and he said he'd call her this week!

I really felt a relief because I think she's a great candidate for the job and I feel confident about her being able to handle it, and to be creative and have fun with it. I don't feel like I'll be leaving my place of employment high and dry to try to scramble to find someone.

God is so weird. I mean, in a good way. He places people in our paths and He handles things in His own way. The way I met Peruvian lady and her husband was so random . . . but things just sort of slid into place. It makes me feel more secure about what I'm doing because everything concerning my upcoming transition is doing just that--sliding into place. It gives me hope that other unresolved issues concerning this transition will follow suit.

In the Meantime

I finally got the reading done that I wanted to get done this weekend. Now, it's time to embark on the midterm. Which, naturally, I don't feel like doing.

In the meantime, I'm trying not to wonder so much.

I thought I came to terms with it. I mean, I did. Didn't I?

You know when you're trying not to think about something, and the fact that you're trying not to think about it is what brings it even closer to the forefront of your mind?

Is there a fine line between being resolute and being in denial?

I have placed things in God's hands and I can honestly say that I don't intend to take them back out again. It's just that I wish I didn't care. I hate the fact that every time my phone rings and it isn't him, my heart sinks. I really do. I wish there were some magical way to snap out of it. To just suck it up and move on. I mean, life is moving on whether I want it to or not, so why not make a noble effort to keep up?

However, I realize my wish to not care is akin to wishing I weren't myself. And the reality of it is, I'm going to be me for the rest of my life. Whether that's great news or disappointing news is totally up to me.

Political Name Calling

This morning, I read that an Obama aide resigned because she told a Scottish newspaper that Hillary is a "monster."

Again, I'm easily amused, but that's funny. I guess it was heightened by all of these mental images I got of Hillary arising out of Loch Ness. Or of a giant Hillary breathing fire and wreaking havoc on New York.

I mean, if you're going to make a snarky comment, make a snarky comment, but a "monster"? LOLOLOLOL. Homegirl was kidding herself if she thought they were going to let a little pearl like that stay "off the record."

Obama's still my man, but his peeps keep inadvertently shoving him under the bus. First the way overblown "NAFTA-gate," now this. Obama peeps really need to realize that any little slip up is going to be mercilessly pounced on in an attempt to sift my guy as wheat.

Laugh-Cry Addendum

I stumbled across this gem doing a Google search for "McCain hugging Bush." I'm telling you, every time I look at the picture it's funny. But here's an even funnier addendum. Click here to see an even bigger and higher quality picture replete with gut-busting comments and caption suggestions. My fave? "Heal this man!" LOLOL.

I'm Sorry, but This Is Hilarious

Some people get sick of hearing about politics, especially during an election year where the primaries (well, the Democratic one) has been so prolonged. But I thrive on it. I love it. Here's a still from an ad run by anti-war group Campaign to Defend America that I saw on cnn.com's political ticker. It made me laugh-cry:



Instead of McCain, "McSame"! And look at the way McCain looks hugging Bush! And look at Bush! Omg, it's too much, too much . . .

Come on, whether you're a Rep or a Dem or an independent somewhere in the middle, you have to admit that the picture and "McSame" are hilarious.

Scallop Fettuccine

(sigh) There's a million things I could be doing other than this. There's always something to do. (sigh) I have a midterm due soon and I still have a class to watch and a billion and one pages to read before I can even think about attempting it. Professor is really cool and posted it online and it's open book and everything, but still. Open book is not awfully useful with essayish questions and I'm not keen on, well, for lack of a better term, BSing my way through it. That may work in high school and in undergrad, well . . . okay, it did work in high school and undergrad during those desperate times when it was a procrastinator's last resort. But not this time, baby. Uh-uh.

Nevertheless, here I sit with a baby oil-drenched scalp (a precursor to chemically straightening my hair), and I figured I'd share a few photos of my latest culinary creation. I had a taste for seafood. And I love pasta, so I concocted this idea: I would boil some fettuccine, whip up one of those wonderfully seasoned garlic and herb alfredo sauce packets, sautee some scallops, add some crumbled bacon and see what resulted. And, surprisingly, the results were oh, so good:


Mmmm.

Mmmmmmmmmm!

The good thing about cooking for one is that there are ample leftovers--which means tomorrow morning I can dump some in a plastic container, stuff it in my teacherly lunch bag and skip out the door. No frantically searching for something worthy of human consumption to throw in there in my rush out of the door only to realize what a crummy lunch I have when lunch time rolls around and my stomach wants something substantive. Naw. I got me a good lunch tomorrow, youknaaimsayin?

Okay. On to my monthly chemistry project.

Why I Plan to Barack the Vote

I've already caught some flack from my dear old dad because I jokingly said that he looked like Barack Obama in the suit he was wearing tonight and I offhandedly mentioned that I planned on voting for him. Oh, why? I love my dad to bits, but trying to explain to him that it is possible to vote Democratically while not supporting abortion or being a gay rights activist is futile. Explaining is all I wish to do, and isn't a blog a lovely way to do that? It'll be a little lengthy, but hang with me.

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from a friend of mine who was checking out Obama because of dissatisfaction with McCain:

I've been following the Primaries, and this is the first presidential election that I've really paid attention to.

I've been rooting for Mike Huckabee on the Republican side, but it looks like McCain will probably ride into victory the next few weeks. That's caused me to look a lot closer at the Democratic side.

Although I don't agree with the moral or economical points of view of either of the Democratic candidates, I'm interested in their ideas because one of them will probably be leading the country by this time next year.

I've been reading a lot of articles about Obama, and the people who are attracted to his campaign, and am leading towards his direction. I would be more accepting of his election than Hillary Clinton's simply because a Bush or a Clinton has been in the White House since 1989. That's entirely too long! :)

But from a demographic standpoint, you fit into most of the categories that seem to be the most supportive of Obama's campaign. You're young (college student), black, and female. What is your opinion (as a young, black female) of Barack Obama? What is your opinion of him as a Christian, young, black female?

I'm really trying to analyze this whole process from every different angle. You're one of the most sensible, knowledgeable, and open-minded Christians that I know, so I figured I could gain a lot from your opinion.

Thanks.

My response:

First of all, thank you for saying that I'm one of the most "sensible, knowledgeable and open-minded Christians" that you know. That was such a sweet compliment!

But let me make a few statements before I get to answering your questions. This too, is the first presidential race I've paid really close attention to.

Of course, I voted in 2000 and in 2004, but this is the first one I've followed closely from the primary stage. I don't admit this to many people, but thus far. I've voted Democratically. Of course, as a Christian, I do not agree completely with the Democratic platform on moral issues, but they've never been "dealbreakers" for me. Whether a Rep or a Dem is in office, Roe v. Wade will never be overturned, and gay marriage is and probably always will be left up to the states. I think both parties' stances on these issues are more for grandstanding purposes than actual intended policy change.

[And I must insert here, seriously, Republicans were in control of the White House and Congress for eons. But nothing was passed to actually put into effect anything that radically altered the status quo as far as abortion/gay marriage is concerned, or rather, that backed up the "moral stances" they take. Those issues, and I should include immigration as well, are issues that politicians use as pawns to get votes. And boy has it worked.]

At the beginning of this race, I was very disheartened. No one on either side really excited me. When Hillary was the Dem frontrunner, I kind of nixed voting for her--I'm not keen on the continuation of the Clinton dynasty either, and though I didn't mind Huckabee, I didn't see him as appealing to independent voters as McCain, and at the time, his campaign was declared dead. I almost considered not voting. At that time, I saw Obama's emergence as idealism to the max. Come on, a young, inexperienced black man? With the machine backing her, Clinton's going to blow this skinny little dude out of the water.

But once Obama started gaining a bit more attention, I paid closer attention to him. And when I heard him speak for the first time, I got goosebumps. He speaks with such conviction. And I really like it that he doesn't employ Jesse Jackson/Al Sharpton-esque rhetoric. My God, am I glad for that. I'm tired of people thinking those two are the spokespeople of all living black people. Anyway, I started having a change of heart. Obama (as well as everybody else now) is the poster child for "change." And the reason I believe him is because he gives me the impression that he is genuinely for bipartisanship. He gives me the impression that when/if he takes office, he is going to make an effort to reach out to Republicans by including them in important administrative positions--no more of this Clinton-style you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours mess.

And though I will admit being a teeny bit swayed by his charisma and presence, I don't feel that that is all he has going for him. From what I've read and heard, his policies have substance and specificity--he's not just running on charisma fumes. And I feel that because of his upbringing and experience, he has the perfect mix of diversity that makes Americans of all races and walks of life identify with him. And right now, the world hates us. Seriously, people abroad have such a low view of Americans--primarily because of our heavy handed, isolationist foreign policy, and I think Obama has what it takes and is willing to change that view.

Once he won Iowa, I, for the first time, felt that he actually had a chance. I felt hope. I changed from being disheartened about the presidential race to being excited about it. And I've been rooting for him ever since. And the thing is, not only do I think he can win, I think there's a big fat chance that he will! Look, McCain has the Rep nomination in the bag. (I did like Huckabee though.) Although McCain has appeal among independents, his base is not exactly rallying behind him. Obama has a good amount of base support, and he also has very wide independent appeal. In fact, there are even a lot of Reps (maybe not in significant numbers . . . I'm not sure) I've heard and read about and even know personally who are for him. The same can most definitely NOT be said about Clinton. There are Dems who would rather vote for McCain than for her if she won the Dem nomination. She is such a divisive figure . . . that's just the fact of the matter.

So in sum, this is what Obama has going for him (not in order of importance):
1-Charisma and motivating/rallying power
2-Concrete, specific, fresh policy ideas
3-Willingness to commit to genuine bipartisanship
4-Widespread/unifying appeal to Americans from diverse backgrounds
5-Willingness to truly effect change in the way American politics are run and in our reputation abroad.

Whew! I know that was a lot, but let it soak in for a minute. Though my friend was right that I do fit into the typical demographic of an Obama supporter, the amazing thing is that Obama has since shown that he garners support from a multiplicity of demographics. I'm sure I'll have more to say about it later, but now I'm interested in the kinds of comments I may get from having posted this!

What's Ahead, and Some Things I Hadn't Considered . . .

What's ahead
In my next to last post, Sis. Jewel left a comment asking about what was going on with this talk of moving, etc. and I'm just now getting around to kind of summing up what God is doing, and some changes that are coming up soon.

"Change" has been quite the catchword lately, hasn't it? I might as well jump on the bandwagon. Oh, and by the way, I'm really excited about Barack Obama, and plan to vote for him if/when he wins the nomination. (I don't normally get political here, but anyway, that'll be for another post.)

If you remember way back in the day, well, last year around this time, in fact, I was nervously awaiting news to see if I had gotten in to a certain university. Well, I didn't get in. Once I came to my senses and realized where God was leading me all along, I applied to Auburn University. Things flew in to place. In the end, after taking classes this past Summer, this past Fall, and this Spring, I've been offered an assistantship for next Fall. (I'm still waiting on the official award letter before I spread the news at my place of employment.)

I won't be able to teach as an assistant/attend school at Auburn while holding down my current position in Montgomery, so I plan to resign and move to Auburn. By doing the school thing full time, I should be able to have my Master's degree by Spring or Summer of '09—so basically, in one more year, which isn't bad at all. (And a year goes by really fast. But don't ask me what I'm going to do after that because I honestly have no idea.) So, I've had to secure an apartment and everything now, because it's a college town and one bedrooms go fast. I may not have been able to get one if I had waited. Anyway, I'm also looking forward to going to Spain this summer to rack up some more credits before then—this is not just for fun though, I've got to do this so that I'll have enough hours to teach in the program and so that I won't be pulling my hair out while trying to write a thesis in the Spring. But we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

So, yeah, though I'm looking forward to what's ahead, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I'm still working to overcome my fear of the unknown.

Some things I hadn't considered
I think I've mentioned before that I keep a personal journal. I've kept one consistently since I was 12. Every once in a blue moon, I read over some of what I've written and it's cool (sometimes painful) to look back and see how I've grown and changed, to realize the lessons I've learned. And sometimes, perhaps rarely, something will make sense. As in, I'll look back at what I wrote then, and realize now why I experienced what I did. I'll see that I had a question then that I have the answer to now. I may have even had a wish then and the realization of its having (possibly) been fulfilled only dawn on me now. Tonight was one of those once in a blue moon times. I went to Starbucks, resolved that I would eventually get to Spanish Civilization, but got caught up in re-reading my most current journal that I'd brought along just in case I wanted to take a break and write.

I'll just say that I saw something that I didn't see before. I realized something that my mind had completely glossed over. And while part of me feels a little encouraged, maybe even pleasantly surprised by the realization, the other part of me feels silly and reluctant to take the "realization" seriously. I've been guilty in the past of turning pure happenstance into "realizations" to mean what I wanted them to mean. And I don't want to do that now. It's truly a waste of precious mental energy. In theory, I'm very frugal about expenditures of mental energy, but in practice . . . well, I suppose I can't be the only one who deals with theory/practice tension. C'est la vie. Oh, and that reminds me, I'm going to make another effort to learn French. I bought a language course back in the day and never made it past the alphabet. This time, it's for real. Oui, oui.

This Made Me Cry with Laughter

As I've stated many times before, one of the reasons being a teacher is so cool is that we get lots of paid days off. Yesterday and today have been noted as "President's Day Break." So instead of singing "Hola, Amigo" with my elementary kids and fussing at my middle schoolers in rapid Spanish (much to their entertainment), I'm starting my day by sleeping in and reading articles on one of my favorite webzines, Slate.

It's a bit liberal for many palates, I know, but I like it because they cover a lot of interesting, eclectic, current issues and have informative, if not entertaining, articles on the presidential candidates and their campaigns, even if I don't agree with all the magazine's left-leaning tendencies. They also have an advice column called "Dear Prudence." It is hilarious. I guess I'm kind of easily amused, but this one, I just HAVE to share. It is so terrible and funny, I couldn't even contain myself. It brought me to tears—from laughing so hard, yet part of me felt pity:

Dear Prudence,

My live-in boyfriend and I have been together for more than four years. We are both in our late 20s, very much in love, best friends, and have an amazing time together—so much so that even grocery shopping is hilarious. We share the same goals and interests, and have challenging, engaging conversations. However, he doesn't bathe on a regular basis. And by that, I mean, he bathes every three weeks to once a month. I've tried to talk with him about his poor personal hygiene, but have made little headway. I've been blunt and angry, encouraging and sensitive, but, lately, I've mostly given up. On his side of the bed, our headboard and sheets have become stained with his body oils (imagine a used bag of french fries). I don't want to leave him, but I'm tired of it. I don't want to live with a dirty person for the rest of my life, and I don't want my kids growing up unbathed because their daddy refuses to. Could this be a personal-growth issue? What can I do?

—I Know I'm Not Perfect, Either

Dear Not Perfect,

I don't know if it's a personal-growth issue, but I'm loath to imagine what kind of personal growths are on the body of a monthly bather. What do you laugh at in the grocery store? He points to the soaps and shampoos and says, "Some idiots actually use those!" Sure, you may not be perfect, but if you bathe more often than Queen Elizabeth I, you should feel pretty good about yourself in your household. The image of your boyfriend's side of the bed looking like a used french fry bag is vivid and repulsive. I have tried to bar from my mind the thought of what the sensory assault must be like when Mr. Greasy attempts to join you on your side of the bed. Perhaps he suffers from the wonderfully named ablutophobia, fear of bathing. If so, this article gives information on phobias and anxiety disorders and possible paths to treatment. Print it out, and tell him you think this might be his problem, and that there is help for it. If he refuses to consider it, I don't know how you can consider getting close enough to him to contemplate having kids.

—Prudie

Find the original article here. I mean, that is so terrible! "A used bag of french fries" was just too much. God, in all your infinite wisdom and power, do not let me EVER in my living LIFE get that desperate. Ever.

New Apartment

I went up to Auburn and signed a lease on a new apartment to move into in August.

The downside of apartment living is that you have to pay so much up front. And even worse, I'm going to have to pay my last rent payment where I'm currently living to finish out the lease at the same time as I have to pay the first month's rent for where I plan to move. Argh! Oh, well, God's brought me this far, there's no reason to believe He won't help me the rest of the way.

I was in tears before I left because more than anything, I hate uncertainty. I hate not knowing what I'm doing, and not knowing what to expect. It's something I really have to get over in order to live the rest of my life without going insane, I know. Life is a big, fat rolling ball of uncertainty; I might as well get used to it. But God is so wonderful. I was able to find something that meets my needs and (hopefully) suits my budget. I can't complain.

Today I Learned . . .

I'm trying to watch one of these boring classes that I'm behind on. (sigh). What is it going to profit me to know the innerworkings of Spain's Modern Age? Anyway, here's something else I'm learning:

Once feelings have been revealed, a relationship cannot be platonic.

That's just the fact of the matter. You can call yourselves whatever you want in title. Are we "just friends"? Are we "more than friends"? Are we "in a relationship"? It doesn't matter. Once it's out there that emotions are somehow involved, that's it. There's no going back to safe, ambiguous territory.

Does that mean that the only option from here on out is total shut-down? Communicatory cut-off? No. But you still can't go back. You can't rewind time. Pretend that an attempt to define the ambiguous never happened. So what's a gal to do from here on out?

She has to make a new friend. His name is Arm's Length. Arm's Length has got to be her friend unless something fundamentally changes. Otherwise she'll just be fooling herself that things can automatically go back to the way they were. People are human beings, not automatons, no matter what rhetoric and logic do to persuade otherwise. And if she allows herself to be self-deluded, she'll only be doing herself a disservice in the end.

Love Bug, Family and Friends

This morning I was happy because:

1. I got a call from my brotha from anotha motha telling me Happy Valentine's Day. Kev is so sweet.

2. I got one of those huge Hershey's Kisses from a student. I ate like 2/3rds of that sucker in one sitting . . . nothing but solid milk chocolate. Oh, yes.

3. I got compliments on my red dress and one of my 5-year-olds told me that I looked beautiful. That just made my day.

Later on I was happy because:

1. I was able to find one of those Valentine's Day headband/heart antennae things. I was finally able to take on the identity of Love Bug.

2. As Love Bug, I was able to spread the love by dropping flowers, candy and a stuffed animal off at a friend's job, giving little plants to a couple of single moms that I know, and giving my aunt a heart shaped box of her favorite Ghirardelli chocolates.

3. I ate a nice dinner at my parents' house with my ridiculous brothers. They really are crazy.

Here's some pics to enjoy. Hope your Valentine's Day was happy!

Valentine's Day Eve

Breathe easy. This is not going to be a rant on how overrated Valentine's Day is.

I am going to be for real, though. I have no great expectations for tomorrow. I'm no Pip. lol.

Look, I've had nice Valentine's Days in the past. In 2006 I got a dozen roses, a box of chocolates and a balloon delivered to my job by a mystery man. In 2007 I got more toned-down gift of a single rose and a box of chocolates and was treated to a fabulous dinner. Even though things didn't work out, I'm still grateful that someone cared enough to want to make me feel special. I know that, based on the way things turned out, I may not have seemed that appreciative, but I really was. I don't take people's regard for me lightly. I don't take people's acts of kindness and affection for granted.

However, based on my track record, I realize that I have not made myself an attractive candidate for anyone to take a chance on. I'm woman enough to own up to it. I know that I have a tendency to throw myself into a position to be given up on. I don't blame a brother for wanting to preserve some time, money and pride.

I always run into the same problem: The people I would love to get attention from don't go there, and the people I'd rather not try to go there often end up doing so. Like I said, I don't blame anyone but myself for my disappointing odds. So, though I'm honestly not expecting a dazzling day tomorrow,
::cough::itwouldstillbeniceifIdid::cough::

I do plan to get into the spirit and be a little love bug who gives treats to other deserving people, though. I dunno, I guess I'm more of an if-you-can't-beat-'em-join-'em kinda gal than a die-hard boycotter.

I am thankful

for a mother who is a friend (sometimes people mistake us for sisters), who is encouraging and who is very compassionate. I am thankful for a father who is supportive, makes me feel special and who wants me to be happy. I am thankful for a wise and insightful pastor.

I don't want to take these things for granted. There are many people who don't have good relationships with their parents and/or whose parents aren't even in the picture. There are many people who don't have a church home where they feel loved and that is headed by a leader who is genuine. I don't want to take these things for granted at all.

I feel so much better about the whole Guy 2 thing. I've gotten clarity, counsel, and confirmation . . . things don't seem so bleak anymore. And I am so glad, because when things seem bleak, it's hard to function. When things seem bleak, it's like I'm stuck in a vat of molasses, lethargically trying to right myself and pull myself out. Foggy gray clouds attach themselves to my back, and it's hard to see past the mist.

But now, even though nothing has changed as far as Guy 2 is concerned, everything really is okay.

Argh! Life Isn't Fair.

Guy 2 is a complete no-go.

I hate to break things down in such final, hopeless terms, but I must. I have to face reality and let it soak in really, really good.

In the end, I'm fine, he's fine, we're still friends, but also in the end, he can feel encouraged from having gotten to know me and be in admiration of my . . . godly dedication or whatever and go on with life, but I can be left feeling vulnerable and wondering why I ever allowed myself to hope.

Here's something else: I can "argh" all I want to, but it doesn't change the fact that life isn't fair. It's just not. There is positively no way around it. I can blubberingly pour my heart out to God every living day, but He is never going to make life un-unfair because I want it to be.

I'm at a point in my life where I have been characterized by many people as the good, nice girl who has it together, whom people flock to and children adore, who's going to do great big fat wonderful things for God, who is principled and is a "rarity," and who is going to "make someone happy." And while it's all swell to be that girl, while I don't necessarily wish to not be that girl, it gets tough being that girl. When you're a so-called rarity, that means that there aren't a myriad of people out there who have the slightest idea what it's like to be you, who can "get" you in a way where you actually, for once, feel understood.

So when, by a series of "coincidental" events, someone crosses your path who seems to, um, align in mindbending ways, what human being could be so stoic as not to hope? So, while I 100% don't blame him and tend to put 100% blame on myself for having the audacity to hope (thanks, Barack), in the end, I guess I can't beat myself up too badly.

Alas; in our earthly lives, will we ever understand the whys of everything? Fat chance. But is Someone in control? I'm going to have to go with yeah.

The Value of Sadness

I read this awesome Newsweek article about the value of sadness. I thought it was wonderful because it posits that our society's pop-psychology obsession with "happiness" and tendency to "medicalize sadness" is actually unhealthy. It doesn't glorify depression and pessimism, but instead suggests that allowing ourselves to feel during the down times is a normal part of being human, not something that by virtue begs a cure.

I guess I got excited about it because I recognize that there is a strong melancholic (note that I didn't say depressive) streak in my personality, and maybe it isn't all together a bad thing.

Read it here.

Why must I

defend my non-existent personal life to 8th graders? Since being seen in public with Guy 2, I've naturally been questioned. Ordinarily I wouldn't even acknowledge whatever may have been said because honestly, I'm not obligated to let them know anything, just for the simple fact that I'm their teacher, and it's simply none of their business. Yet it's not that I'm terribly bothered by good natured teasing/speculation at all, it's just that I've never felt that I've had to respond to the speculation until today. I guess I'm just a little sensitive about the Guy 2 thing in light of recent developments.

I wasn't mean about it, I just said, "I am not dating Guy 2." And of course they carried on saying, "Oh, sure, you guys are just friends," doing finger quotes when they said the word "friends." It's fine . . . I mean, if I were in 8th grade, I'd probably get a kick out of teasing my single 20-something teacher too. But I guess something in my expression gave me away (surprise, surprise) because one of the students noticed and said, "Come on, guys, just drop it."

Ugh. Montgomery may be the capital (some people from Backwoodsville think it's "too big") but it is still frighteningly small town.

It's Not About Me

God really is very awesome. At our special service tonight, a friend that I invited received the infilling of the Holy Ghost for the first time. It was amazing. There was no one else around us, just the two of us praying together, and it happened so simply. God can use anyone to do anything. People just have to be willing to be used.

Guy 2 called tonight. I'll start by saying this: When you're a person like me who can't hide anything emotionally, it makes you extremely vulnerable. On one hand, it can be good because in being transparent, you're honest, and on the whole, you have a lot less pent up mess to deal with. On the other hand, it can be bad because you're a stinking open book to anyone who cares to read. You're exposed 24/7, and that is not the most comfortable feeling. To say the least. But anyway, no tears this time. Something still has to change, and right now there's a possibility that it may. Regardless of how things turn out, I have to realize that it's not about me. It has zero to do with me. It's something only God can handle, so I have to be willing to leave it in His hands. And I have to be willing to live with the outcome, even if it's not what I want. Because it's not about me.

Band-Aids from God

A recent conversation with Guy 2 ended in tears (for me). It's 100% not his fault, but his being honest doesn't make me any less of a crybaby.

So what did I do? I went over to my parent's house and cried to Daddy. Being on the verge of 26 does not make me any less of a daddy's girl. What did Daddy do? That special Daddy thing. You know, where he sits there and listens while you cry and blubber and then says the right thing to make it all better? Then, he said he had something for me that he'd been meaning to give me. He said as soon as he saw it he had to buy it for me. Here it is:

Aww, Daddy . . . he knows his girl, doesn't he?

I think there is a female hormone that induces women to want to buy a dress on sale in order to compensate for whatever previous crying took place. Aunt in tow, I went to the mall. Nada. Then Auntie suggested a really superly expensive store in the shopping center in town where all the people who have gobs of money to spend (unlike me) go. Umm, Auntie . . . "But they're having a sale!" she protested. Get this: I find a dress with an original price tag that looked like this:

The pic is a tad blurry, so if you can't read it, it says $128. I paid $27 for it. Oh, score! Even the sales girl who rang up the purchase was shocked.

Things will be okay. They may still work out. But it's nice that God cares so much that He gives you little band-aids to help with life's boo-boos.

Oh, and we're having a special service this afternoon (that's why I'm blogging on a Sunday morning), and expecting awesome things to happen.

Catch Up

Homegirl comes to town

One of my best friends (along with her illustrious boyfriend) came to visit last month. I was really excited because I missed her and I got to show off my new place. Yay!

It snowed in Alabama

It hasn't snowed here for like . . . 13 years. So when it did last month, it was a HUGE deal. One little girl I know excitedly told me, "I made a snowball!" lol. There wasn't much, so that was about all you could do with it. But it was still pretty magical.

Guy 1
Guy 1: I love the way you write. You know, I’d really like to talk to you sometime.
Me: Ummm, I don’t know about this giving-my-number-to-a-guy-I-met-on-the-internet thing. It’s just kind of, er, I dunno . . . I don’t really know you. I wouldn’t mind emailing, though.
Guy 1: Really, I’m a very normal person, but I understand.
****Months pass*****
Guy 1: You know, I’d still just love to talk to you on the phone sometime.
Me: (Inner monologue) Aw, shucks, well, what’s to lose? He does seem pretty normal. (To him) All right, here’s my number.
****A couple of months pass with talking, texting, etc.****
Me:(To myself) Ah, that was a nice Christmas break. I wonder how Guy 1 is doing.
Guy 1:(crickets chirping)
Me: Hmm, that’s funny. I hope he’s all right. I’m not going to bother him, though. I know he’s really busy.
****Over a month passes****
Guy 1:(crickets chirping)
Me: Okay . . . well, it was nice talking to you.

Guy 2
Guy 2: Hey, let’s hang out and be buddies.

Me: Okay, that's cool.
****Months of hanging out pass****
Me: Hey, do you want to come to church with me sometime? It’s nothing new to you, you know.
Guy 2: Yeah, that’s the way I grew up. It’s not that I don’t want to come, I’m just really confused about some things, but I’ll let you know when I’m ready.
Me: That’s cool. I mean, no pressure or anything.
Guy 2: I know. I do want to come, but I’ve got to work some things out first.
Me: Cool.
****Months pass without any indication of being “ready”****
Me: (inner monologue) I’m not going to bring the church thing up again. I’m not going to beg someone to come to church with me. That’s ridiculous. If he wanted to come, he would have come. I’m not mad, we’re still cool, but there’s no way he doesn’t know how important the church thing is to me.
****Not too long after this inner monologue****
Guy 2: Hey, um, what time does church start?
Me: (To him) 10 a.m. and 6:30 p.m. (Inner monologue) I don’t know whether he’s really going to come . . . we’ll see.
****The following Sunday morning****
Me: (To myself, upon seeing Guy 2 darken the church doors) Gasp! He did come! (To him) Hey, I didn’t know if you were going to make it.
Guy 2: I said I’d come when I was ready. (Smiles)

School

Spanish Civilization. (sigh) It's what I need to be doing right now. Reading a Spanish Civilization textbook as well as Iberia by James Michener. (sigh) Distance classes are convenient, but not any less work.

Realizations

I've realized that there are a lot of things that I can do without. And when I've forced myself to do without them, I tend to fill the space with essentials. Things that I really don't get enough of.

Fast

The only reason I'm posting this is so people will know why they won't see any new posts for a month, not because I'm trying to proclaim my "spiritualness."

The purpose of fasting is basically self-discipline, and food is not the only thing you can fast. I enjoy blogging very much and I spend a lot of time doing it. This is one thing I've decided to set aside for a month to spend more time getting in tune with Him.

See ya next month!

I (Heart) Matt Damon

I used to think Matt Damon wasn't that cute. I thought he was kind of dorky looking. But I've come to have a change of heart because of the Bourne series. He is so cute now. But see, it's not so much his looks. And it's not really that he looks sexy jumping off buildings. It's actually very simple: Even though Jason Bourne was trained to be this killing machine, he still has a heart. He's an assassin, but he's really sweet. Awwww . . .

Resolution 2008

Last year, I kept it simple. It was only one thing: I will be confident.

Now this may seem a difficult resolution to gauge, as in, how do I know whether I’ve kept it? How can I know whether I’ve been confident or not? It’s kind of hard to pin down. But I just realized today that I did meet my goal.

I don’t have like this buddy-buddy relationship with my pastor. I mean, there have been instances where he’s shown that he cares about me like a daughter, so I’m not saying he’s this distant, unfeeling guy, but I’m saying I’ve never been one to be all up in my pastor’s face. You know, I don’t tell him about every little detail of my life, and he’s not the one I initially go to for advice. Actually, I’ve gotten a little closer to him from helping him by translating a Bible study he’s written into Spanish, but still, I don’t solicit his attention. However, a few weeks ago, he came up to me out of the blue after service one night and said he felt impressed to share with me that I am exactly where God wants me to be right now and that I am in His perfect will. He said that this is a time of preparation and that I shouldn’t get discouraged if it feels that I’m at a standstill. He told me that I’m becoming more beautiful, physically and spiritually, and that I’m casting off the awkwardness that I used to have and that he sees me walking in confidence.

Though I was very encouraged to hear those words from him at the time (and of course, I’m summing things up), I didn’t realize that what he said tied in with my resolution until I went back and looked at it. God has cool ways of reminding us of things.

Okay, on to this year. I kind of liked keeping it simple last year, so I’ll continue in that tradition this year. I have kind of a running resolution to make it a point to spend time with God in devotion, but aside from that, here it is:

I will do something I have never done before that will make a positive, lasting impact on my life and someone else’s.

The things that I have lined up so far don’t make the cut. Moving to Auburn doesn’t count because I’ve moved before, lived in another city away from home, gone away to school, all of that. Going to Spain doesn’t count because, well, I’ve gone to Spain before. So, I actually have no idea what that thing will be, but I think I’ll know it when I do it.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Caffeine after 8

has caused me to do the following:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(whoo)

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

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

(click here to hear the song)

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

My New Philosophy

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

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

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

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

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

I Was Santa Today

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merry Christmas, everyone!

One Problem

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

There's only one teeny, tiny problem.

He's married.

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

Christmas Banquet 2007

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


Mom, Auntie, Dad and me


Auntie, Dad and me


Rachel and me

Me

The Dreamer's Catch-22

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

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

1. What the dreamer yearns for is the ideal.

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

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

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

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

What I Sent Padre for Christmas

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

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

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

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

Book Meme on Word

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

Another Multi-Topic Offering

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

Padre's response to my story

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

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

I thought that was SO funny. Omg.

Next School Year

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

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

Bend It Like Beckham

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

Ramblance

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

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

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

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

I want to be convinced.

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

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

On to the take home final. Aaargh.

I Won and I'm Sad

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

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

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

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

Cute Apology Note

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

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

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

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

Page 15: The Shining Light

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

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

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

Page 10

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

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

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

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

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

Page 7

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

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

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

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

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

Page 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pre-Paper Writing Procrastinatory Thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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