The Young and the Restless

Tonight, I tried to duplicate the sticktoitiveness that produced my previously completed 5-page weenie paper. Why is it a weenie paper? Because 5 pages ain't jack. Especially in grad school. Unfortunately, similar results were not observed tonight.

I thought, well, maybe if I go to that same Starbucks, that same I-must-get-my-work-done spirit will infuse me and I'll get to it. Not so. First, I was thrown off by the subtly flirtatious baristas, and then made a wrong move by deciding to sit outside to commence my reading. I should have known better. Being outside is my mind's number 1 prompter to wandering. At least I came up with an official, smartypants sounding title for my looming 10-pager: "Inclusivity vs. Exclusivity: Identity in Contemporary Spain." I highlighted maybe 3 lines of scholarly article before I decided that a change of venue was needed.

Books-a-Million didn't snap me out of it, either. Blast me for stowing away that Newsweek in my tote bag before leaving home! Identity in Spain or Barack vs. Hillary? I chose the latter. I just couldn't seem to get with it. I kept zoning, even on Newsweek.

Then instead of taking notes on my articles and formulating paper points, I started making a list of stuff I like. I'm trying to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. My list:

Spanish
foreign language and culture

travel

reading

politics

race relations

writing (esp. personal, reflective writing)

art (anything involving creativity)

helping other people

I know lots of careers could fit into that. I mean, teaching fits into that. But I don't know if I want to make a long-term career out of it. I don't know if I want to make a career out of academia either. Just the thought of publish or perish makes me want to cry. Becoming a travel writer or a book reviewess would be more logical if I had a background in journalism, which I don't. Become an interpreter for the UN, some have urged. Yeah, after I master like, 5 more languages.

How did I go from being an anal, focused, energetic overachiever to a spacy, restless, undecided limbo-lurker?

I cannot believe this is my 3rd year teaching. It's ridiculous. Dude, I JUST graduated from college. I cannot believe I am 26. I mean, I was just 20 yesterday. And now I'm supposed to be graduating with a Master's in a year? (Sigh.)

BTW, my Peruvian friend scored my position. I knew she would. I still can't get over how completely God that whole process was. I went to a bookstore I didn't normally frequent, just happened to sit by a certain couple, I just happened to be wearing some cute Sketchers, and my friend just happened to have an accent to compliment them in, and she just happened to have a background in Education and just happened to be looking for a teaching job. Bam. If God can do all of that, then I know He can at least give me some direction for the rest of my life.

I'm taking a shower and then snuggling up in my sunflower covers. "Identity in Spain" can wait. Hmph.

Typical

I think one way that I can make myself write papers is to go to Starbucks where there is no free WiFi, sit in an uncomfortable chair, and get my work done. I did my five-pager in one sitting, and that's near miraculous for me. I got there at about 5:30 or so, maybe closer to 6 and left at about 9. That's pretty good time, even with my little zoning breaks. If you knew me, you'd know that I have a bad zoning habit.

As much as I whine about being atypical, today I realized I could have fit perfectly into a box. There I was at Starbucks, ears stuffed with iPod buds, wearing a "Barack The Vote" t-shirt and flip-flops, typing away at my little Dell, sipping a latte. All I lacked was a pair of black-rimmed glasses. I also left my "I heard it on NPR" bag at home. That would have also given me street cred, in a manner of speaking.

I Think, Therefore I Smile

These are just a few of many things that make me smile just thinking about them. A few make me laugh out loud. I could be in the middle of class teaching, but then something will make me think about one of these super funny things, and I have to control an overwhelming urge to laugh. Mind you, I laugh at weird things, and many of them are "you had to be there":

1. I was driving around downtown Atlanta with a friend over Spring Break. We came to a stoplight, and there was a man dancing on the corner. It was around 9:00 a.m, and there was no music. There he was, in his corner, in his own world, doing 80s moves. What topped it off is that this other guy jogged by unfazed, like the crazy corner dancing man was just part of the routine. And I guess that's what set me off. Like, the absurdity of what was going on with the dancing man juxtaposed with the normalcy of everything else going on around him.

2. My aunt started a new job. I'm so proud of her. She works for the State at one of the unemployment offices . I nearly collapsed when she told me that she read that someone had gotten fired from McDonald's for eating "unauthorized" apple pies. LOLOL. Tell me that's not funny! I mean, number 1, getting fired from McDonald's in and of itself for some reason sounds hilarious, and then on top of that, for eating "unauthorized" apple pies?! I mean, that put me over the top.

3. I laugh when I think about the prospect of which instructor I'm going to be paired with during my assistantship. There's a possibility that I could be paired with this really cute Spaniard who was actually in one of my classes last summer. He was finishing up classes to graduate and I was just starting. He's got this curly hair, wears glasses, and has that lovely Spanish lisp. I just laugh thinking about how funny it would be if I actually did get him, and how I would be the best teaching assistant ever if I were paired with him.

4. I laugh when I think about this red-haired 1st grader I see every week. He's so cute, but has the mischievous smile of a little troublemaker. He has both front teeth out and when he comes into my class he has one finger over his lips and his other hand with two fingers up (the quiet signal) like he's going to be so good. And most of the time, he isn't.

5. At the end of my Spain trip this summer, we're taking a tour of Paris before we go back to the States. I laugh thinking what if I run into that dreamy tour guide I met 4 years ago? That would be seriously funny.

Third-Wave Senioritis

It's the end of the school day. There are word searches, boxes of markers, erasers and pencils scattered over each table. I'm exhausted. Thank God it's Friday.

I think I've been infected for the third time with senioritis. Of a different strain, of course.

The first time, I was a senior in high school. I was graduating, I had a full ride lined up for me at a major university, I was excited and ready to embark on a new chapter of life, but apprehensive at the same time. In those last days of high school life, I didn't feel like doing anything. I got lazy. It was almost all over . . .

Fast forward five years. I was a senior in college. I was graduating, I had a teaching job at a prestigious private school lined up for me back home, I was burned out from school and ready to embark on a new chapter of life, but apprehensive at the same time. In those last days of college life, I didn't feel like doing anything. I got lazy. It was almost all over . . .

Fast forward three years. I am a third-year elementary and middle school Spanish teacher. I'm resigining, I have a graduate teaching assistantship lined up for me at my undergraduate alma mater's biggest rival school, I'm excited and ready to go back to school, finish my Master's and embark on a new chapter of life, but apprehensive at the same time. In these last days of teacherly life, I don't feel like doing anything. I'm getting lazy and sluggish. It's getting harder to even get to work on time. My spark has definitely fizzled. My verve has undoubtedly waned. It's almost all over . . .

It's like déjà vu that self-aggrandizes each go round. The only conclusion that I can draw from this third wave of senioritis is that it's never over. Old chapters end and new ones begin. I'll never wake up in the epilogue.

Nothing's really different. It's just the same in a different way. There's no new thing under the sun. There's nothing depressing about that. It's just that I'm finally beginning to wake up from the irrational fantasy that one day I'll have arrived in some bright, transformed tomorrow. I know that sounds negative, but it's not. It's just reality. The postive thing is that I have the will to go on and strive for improvement. That I have the space and desire to change and grow. Even if I am a little lazier than usual between chapters.

I think I'm going to the park to soak up the sun. Maybe I'll even get some reading done.

Political Phone Call Satire

One of the great things about this blog is that it makes for an oh, so handy way to put off reading Iberia and boring as bricks Spanish Civilization textbooks.

Anyway, you've got to read this Slate piece on how phone calls from the Obama, Clinton and McCain campaigns might go. Hilarious.

Oh, and Obama's gaffe as "bittergate" is laughable. Sorry, but nothing beats Hillary's Bosnia-gate.

Plan-less

I was pondering today (something I tend to do when papers loom menacingly over me), and I realized that for the first time in my entire life, I have no long-term goals or plans.

I want it to sink in how utterly un-me that is.

I am Miss I-Have-My-Life-Planned-Out. I am a member of Checklist-Makers Anonymous. I always know what I'm going to do. And even if I don't have the details worked out, I usually have a ballpark figure of where I'm heading.

But this time, I have ni idea. You know how when people thought the Earth was flat and if they kept going, they'd fall off the edge into a bunch of monsters or whatever? Like, I feel like right now, I'm traveling on the flat Earth: 1. Go to graduate school. 2. Graduate. But then, 3. ??? (off the edge!)

I'm not afraid of monsters. In fact, I'm scaring myself with how unperturbed I am that I don't have a little mapped-out post-graduation life. I have six weeks left of teaching. Isn't that insane? Six weeks! How did that happen? It's ridiculous how fast this school year went by. And I know my year of graduate school is going to clip by at the same pace.

But like I said, I'm uncannily unperturbed. People constantly ask, "So, what are you going to do when you graduate?" And I just shrug my shoulders, goofily smile, and say, "I have no idea." Then I follow up with, "Well, whatever I decide to do, I'll get paid more," which in turn elicits polite laughter. Har, har, har.

Seriously, though, I wonder if I'm going to have this awakening and fly into panic mode. Or perhaps I'll acquire a comforting hunch that what really awaits me beyond the edge of my flat Earth aren't monsters at all.

Saturday

Saturday is the day I can wake up whenever I want.

I can cook myself a late breakfast (further honing my future breakfast-making skills).

I can assess the disaster that is my room, my kitchen and my hair, and can contemplate what I'm going to do about it over a mug of chai tea latte.

Saturday is my day to regroup, balance my checkbook, and buy stamps to send off hand-written cards. (I like my handwriting and I like sending cards.)

Saturday is when I can lounge on my pear green couch, laptop on my lap, to catch up on all the political banter and blog.

I can think about starting one of two papers. One is a five-pager and one is a ten-pager. I think I'll tackle the five-pager first. (Sigh.) I also have to at least start researching for the ten-pager. Saturday keeps flipping the switch on me. It starts out all shiny and golden with a velvet, soothing voice saying, You have all the time in the world. Enjoy me. But before I know it, Saturday turns into this drill sargeant barking, You have a million and one things to do! Get up off your derriere!

But, but Saturday . . . there's a lot I want to think about. I just want to go to the park and feed the ducks and stare out into space and wander around and have "realizations" about things that I can then blog about. But you have to watch your online class! You don't have time to indulge in spaciness. Okay, Saturday, you win. But I refuse to let you bully me out of a brunch of biscuits, bacon and eggs. Naw. Before "Saturday guilt" gets the best of me, let's recap:

1. One of my main girls is getting married and I'm the maid of honor. Right after that, I'm going to Spain. In other words, I'm really excited and I'm going to be hemorrhaging US dollars. (And with our wretched economy, it takes $1.58 of them to make up 1 euro. Which will bode very suckily for me while abroad.)

2. Oh, and right after that, I'm moving to Auburn. I really wish I had a rich uncle right about now.

3. I'm nearly 100% sure that my friend from Peru is going to get my position. She's taught a class of 1st graders and a class of 6th graders while being observed by administrators, and she did an awesome job.

4. My heart has been a lot less heavy as of late, and my tear ducts are really enjoying their time off.

5. I'm starting to look at the swirling tide of events ahead of me with anticipation instead of fear. Yes, I know that when August rolls around I'm going to have to hit the ground running. Yes, I know that I have zero idea of what I'm going to do after I graduate. But instead of feeling like, "God, what in the world is going on?!" I'm starting to feel like, "God, I can't wait to see where You're going to take me."

Unconventional/Tensions

There's something in me that won't let me start without a disclaimer. It's a bad habit. My friends hate it. But I just have to say that this post is not meant as "woe is me." It's not a lament at all. It's more of an observation and recognition of where I've come from, where I am, and who I am.

Sometimes it's exhilirating to be different. Sometimes it's maddening. Sometimes it's frustrating. Sometimes it's hilarious. Sometimes it just is.

Okay, what the heck am I talking about? I guess just me and my uncategorizable nature. There are things that set me apart. Then there are even things that set me apart within that set-apart-ness.

1. I grew up in different places. I was a military brat. I hate how after so much time, not having a hometown or roots to speak of still makes me slightly sad. I say Montgomery is my home since I've had a home base here for going on 14 years, but I'm still not a native. All I have to do is open my mouth to confirm my non-native status.

2. I am a minority. I mean, in the traditional, racial sense. And that's cool. I'm glad I am who I am, and I was raised to be proud of it. But I'm not "black" in the traditional (read: stereotypical) sense. I was not raised in a majority black environment. So, after moving back to the States and to the South, and being placed in situations where I was in a majority black environment, I was (and many times, still am) woefully out of place. (Opening up my mouth did me in then, too.) It's something that still bothers me in weird ways. Though I'm thankful for my diverse upbringing, I sometimes feel that I've missed something from not being enveloped in an expected identity. When you are a minority in the traditional, racial sense, certain things are expected of you from black and white alike, and I found myself cringing in the middle. It's something I quixotically hope to rescue my future children from.

3. My faith takes me completely off the map of convention. If you know anything about being Apostolic, you'd know that "conventional" and many times even "orthodox" is foreign. I don't complain. I am thankful God has led me where He has. My faith is strong, and I hold it dear. Being led by God requires being set apart, and that's fantastic. But what occasionally gnaws at me is the fact that within this circle of unconvention (within the huge globe of the conventional), I am unconventional. My political views are skewed. My goals are unorthodox. My existence as a single 26-year-old who hasn't "made a mistake" (and no judgment passed on those who have--God is merciful, and I'm certainly not perfect) puts me in a rarely visited niche, even within the church. Though I believe that God has placed me where I am for a reason and I have no desire to leave that place, I am not an amen corner. I am down with what I (and definitely the majority) consider the fundamentals, but I am not down with a few ideas that flutter about them (and that puts me in the minority). My oddity and discomfort within the conventional globe as well as my oddity and discomfort within the unconventional circle makes for some interesting, sometimes agonizing tension.

I'm always doing stuff no one else does. Memories of being a library aide. Wearing "glorified shorts" in PE. Being the only one to take 5th year Spanish in high school. Reading Billy Budd instead of The Things They Carried. Going to an academic magnet school and not taking any AP tests. Being the only double major in my Education cohort ("Well, it's different for Chantell, but for the rest of you . . . "). Staying home and watching Spanish gossip shows on Friday and Saturday nights with Blanca instead of barhopping in downtown Madrid. Driving 9 hours to St. Louis by myself for a conference no other Alabamian attends. Traveling to Minot, North Dakota for fun. Being a non-Latino black person who speaks Spanish. (The double takes I get while speaking it in public are hilarious.)

I know this sounds slightly melancholy, and it kind of is. Maybe bittersweet is a better word. But before I get too sentimental, I have to say that I know I'm not the only one who experiences this. I'm not some kind of anomaly. I know. But writing this has helped me recognize that my "tensions" make up who I am. I can't wish it to be otherwise without wishing not to be me. I can appreciate the joys and amusement of non-conformism, unconventionality (yes, I made that up) and uncategorizibility (that one, too) as well as bear the loneliness of it all. I know that my "tensions" are what make me happy to be alive and overjoyed to be where I am at times and so disillusioned at others that I feel my only recourse is to join the Peace Corps and spend the rest of my days relentlessly pouring myself out in a third world country to feel I belong. Tensions are a part of life. I suppose life would be kind of boring without them.

Grrrrrrrr . . .

Okay, who in their right mind would send me this link?

It's not thought provoking. It's an old, tired, and annoying argument. "You wanna be an educated, successful woman? Be my guest. But don't act surprised when you don't get a man. In fact, the more education you get, the less likely you'll be able to get one. You wanna intimidate them all away? Men want someone who doesn't make them feel insecure."

1. If the thought of being with me makes you feel insecure, I don't want you anyway. Go ahead and scurry away from the blinding beams of intimidation that emanate from me. You'd be doing us both a favor.

2. Trying to get a reaction out of a woman by presenting her with scary "statistics" and/or by wondering if (hoping that?) she'll see herself in it all does not endear you to her. It makes her grab a hammer and gives her all the strength she needs to wallop that nail down into the coffin of your delusions of grandeur.

3. My existence defies statistics. So does God. That's enough.

4. Cállate. (Sounds meaner in English.)

That is all.

Quote of the Day. Amen.

"Never allow someone to be your priority while allowing yourself to be their option."

Can I get an amen? Y'all don't hear me!

I Am Not Old! (I Don't Care What You Say)

Yes, today is my birthday. Yes, I am one year older. Yes, I'm inching towards "late twenties" at head spinning speed.

But let's get something straight. I am NOT old.

Don't give me that yang-yang claptrap. Naw. I said I am NOT old.

No, really. Give me a break. 26 is NOT old. I don't care what you say.

Okay, okay. If I lived in the Old Testament or something, yeah. I'd also probably have been married off to some old crusty guy and have a myriad of kids by now, too.

But, newsflash: I live in the 21st century. And in the 21st century, 26 is NOT old. In the 21st century, 26 is the age where you're in the midst of what has so conveniently been called the quarterlife crisis. 26 is the age where you are handlin' dat business while silently (or not so silently) wondering whether dat business you're handlin' is the business you were meant to handle. 26 is the age where you experience the ups and downs of apartment life (ups: freedom! downs: bills!). 26 is the age where you say, I've always wanted to go back to school full time and knock this Master's degree out, and you're resilient enough (and unburdened enough) to quit your job and do it. 26 is the age where you seize every opportunity to travel the world. 26 is the age where you face reality but aren't so tainted by world-weary cynicism that you don't still hope. 26 is the age where you finally realize what you want and aren't afraid to wait for it when going after it proves futile.

Por favor. 26 is NOT old. Like I said, I live in the 21st century, and in this unique moment in history, I am NOT old. And if you had a mug like mine that shines, "I'm still 19!" you would feel even more un-old.

Oh, uh-uh. Don't even think it. 26 is not even CLOSE to being old. I don't care what you say.

Night

The only Holocaust literature I've ever read would probably be classified as Young Adult. The Diary of Anne Frank, Number the Stars. I recently read Night by Elie Wiesel. It's a harrowing account of his time in Nazi concentration camps.

I guess maybe I fall into the trap of staying away from "depressing" stuff because I know how easily my mood is affected. I have to make sure I'm in a really good, resilient mood before I attempt anything by Haruki Murakami. I don't even listen to Coldplay anymore, despite how much I really love the band. I take advantage of every sunny day and brace myself for every rainy one. That's just me.

But sometimes we have to face the reality and even the horror of things because it is truth. We have to allow ourselves to come to terms with evil. Maybe we have to force ourselves to see how low humanity can go.

Something that scares me about being human (as if I could be anything else) is the recognition that we all have the capacity to commit atrocities. It's so easy to think, especially when you have made the choice to resist evil and surround yourself with positive, godly examples, that you are above sinking so low. But the fact is that we are all made of the same stuff. Given the right cocktail of circumstances, victim or victimizer, how can you say how you would react? How could you say that you'd never throw another human being into an incinerator if you were made to believe that you were superior and that you were completely justified in doing so? How could you say that you'd never kill another human being over a piece of bread if you were nothing more than a starving shell of what you used to be and your only impulse was the basic will to survive? How could you say that your faith would stay intact despite bombardment with demoralizing and dehumanizing images and situations: being jam packed into train cars without room to move or breathe, seeing babies thrown into fire pits, smelling the stench of burning human flesh, living in constant fear and being stripped of everything you love and hope for?

On the flip side, once seeing examples of the horror that humanity is capable is creating, in the end, I realize that even though I can't do anything about history, I still have a choice now. I can choose to rise above evil. I can choose not to sit idly by when I see evil being committed. I can do everything in my power to never allow the Holocaust to ever happen again.

I Want Laser Resurfacing Surgery

I can't believe I'm writing about this, but I must because it's about something that has bothered me for a long time.

From the time I was about 14 till I was a sophomore in college I had a horrendous and relentless struggle with acne. (It metamorphosed into inconceivably severe acne once I entered college.) The dermatologist prescribed everything under the sun. Seriously, if I were ever on a game show and one of the question categories were "Acne Medications" I could rack up some serious points. I finally arrived at the drug of last resort, the super-strong, use-only-if-all-options-have-been-exhausted, Accutane.

If you've ever read anything about it, you'd know it is not some stuff you mess with. Because there is a slight chance Accutane can mess up your liver, I had to get blood work done every month to make sure my whatever-it-is-that-can-mess-up-your-liver levels were normal. Since I'm female, I also had to take a pregnancy test every month because if a fetus were to ingest Accutane, it would turn into an awful-looking creature with an enlarged, misshapen head along with various and sundry other deformities. (They included a little drawing of one in the little pamphlet that accompanied each package to discourage the Accutane-dependent from putting themselves at risk to turn up preggers.) All of that to say that you have to be pretty badly off before a dermatologist recommends Accutane.

They say it's a wonder drug. And it pretty much was. They also say that once a round of it has been completed, 75% of people never have problems with acne ever again. I was one of the 25% that had to take another round of it to exorcise the acne demon from my pores once and for all.

Needless to say, the whole ordeal, from initial acne consumption to eventual Accutane cleansing, left my self-esteem in shreds. I must admit that I am still hyper-sensitive about my complexion, even though it looks better than it ever has post-treatment. Though I am so thankful that I don't suffer from it as I did before, here's my problem: The emotional scars left behind aren't noticeable, but the physical ones are.

Again, I know I have a lot to be thankful for. There are no huge, gaping holes, no deep, pitted craters. I know. But like I said, what is there is noticeable. And as much as I've tried to shrug it off and say, "Oh, well, I'll never have perfect skin, so I just have to live with it," something just won't let me leave it at that.

I have done a little bit of research into cosmetic procedures to smooth out scars. There's dermabrasion, microdermabrasion, chemical peels and laser resurfacing. One problem is that all of these procedures have additional risks for people like me who were born with tans (as I jokingly tell students of mine who moan, "Omigawd, I'm so pale! I'm, like, SO going to the tanning bed!"). Laser resurfacing seems to be the most successful with what I want done, and there are even lasers that can be used on all skin types. The key is to find a doctor who is experienced in working with ethnic skin.

Another big problem is that most of this stuff is crazily expensive, and homegirl ain't rich. In fact, I'm about to become really poor since I'm going back to school full-time in the Fall. This is awful, but sometimes I think I won't be completely happy with myself until I can somehow do whatever I can to remedy this lingering thing that has always bothered me. So, I'll either somehow strike it rich and go for it, or continue to go with the less expensive option of sucking it up.

The End of the Guy 2 Chronicles

Due to circumstances too mortifying to even begin to recount, there will be absolutely no more Guy 2 musings on this blog. I'm tempted to go as far as to delete everything on here I've written that has anything even remotely to do with Guy 2 (or any of his previous incarnations, which shall remain un-divulged), but, in the end, I look at it as, hey, what's done is done. Trying to artificially (and tardily) undo it would be utterly inauthentic. Somehow not true to myself. The reality is that once it's out there, it's out there, and no matter how much you'd like to, you cannot take it back.

Sometimes me forgets that this is the WORLD WIDE WEB we're dealing with here, baby. If you dish it out, you've got to be able to take it.

Meet the Sister

I really am sorry for this endless Guy 2 cataloging. But the best place to talk about it is in a place where nobody (with a few miniscule exceptions) knows who I'm talking about.

Today his little sister came in town to visit and he wanted me to meet her. Awwww. She was a cutie pie. The way he treated her made me wish I had an older brother. It's no fun being slapped with the "bossy big sister" stigma. I guess it has been well-earned, though. I won't lie.

I was just short of flabbergasted that he called me again today. Didn't he just see me yesterday? He told me his little sis was coming, but I figured they'd want some sibling time. I thought it was sort of sweet that he wanted to include me. I brought another friend along, and we all had a nice time. It was a beautiful day today.

Yet Another One for the Team

See this post for the title to make any sense.

Okay, obviously Guy 2 still wants to hang out. Obviously, I still do too.

The question is, when am I going to be "too busy" so that I don't slide back into emotional limbo?

This time it was ice cream and Books-a-Million.

We talked about Barack Obama, racial identity, what we each plan to do after we get our Master's, books we've read, books we plan to read, French and how it compares to Spanish, and yes, what we really "want." I gave him a recap of this. (I left out the "beyond my reach" part.) He initiated that whole question, so I answered it according to what I'd pondered. Whether he was smart enough (or presumptuous enough) for it to dawn on him, I dunno.

He's shorter than average (around 5'7), and I'm slightly taller than average (around 5'6), and he commented more than once on our heights. Like, he seemed relieved to know that he's actually taller than I am. Okay . . . I guess other times I'd worn shoes with somewhat of a heel, and this time I had on flip-flops. Why does it slightly intrigue me that he seems to care about being taller than me?

Why doesn't God just wrap this thing up? I've come to terms with the position we're both in, but what will it take for there to be some kind of closure and finality to everything? There are only three options:

1. He meets someone else.

2. I meet someone else.

3. God works a miracle and we end up together.

God, please do one of the three (or a combination of 1 and 2) so that I can know without a shadow of a doubt. Thank you.

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 . . .