Scattered Thoughts Compiled as a Neat List

1. I can't worry about what other people think. Why am I wasting my brain energy? I have no import upon what goes on in other people's heads. Why am I concerned about something so utterly incontrollable?

2. I can't worry about what's going to happen next. There's always been a next step. God's always led me to one. So what makes me think that suddenly He won't?

3. Are the dreams that I fervently wish for nightmares in disguise?

4. I really don't want to grade these compositions. I really don't. There are so many of them. I'm teaching four classes! That's about 100 students. And they're going to be bad. Most of them will be. It's Elementary Spanish. They're supposed to be bad. And I hate grading, more than anything, error riddled compositions. It drains my lifeforce. But I'm getting paid for it. I'm getting paid for the draining of my lifeforce.

5. My iPod earbuds are broke down. To' up. It was a slow process of erosion.

6. I had the UN in my stomach Thursday night. Japanese, Chinese, Saudi Arabian, Turkish, Italian, Malian, Korean. The only thing American were my peanut butter brownies out of a box.

7. People keep postulating that I'll return from France with a Frenchman in tow. Bon chance with that happening.

8. I am procrastinating, egregiously and brazenly, on grading my compositions. Expect a few more procrastinatory posts in the near future.

Stuff Apostolics Like

I've been invited to contribute to a hilarious blog called Stuff Apostolics Like. (Modeled after the equally hilarious Stuff White People Like.) It gives a humorous and ironic glimpse into the rich, quirky and at times, contradictory world of Apostolic Pentecostals.

Flattered, I accepted. I've already submitted ideas that have been published, among them:

#9-Anne of Green Gables

#30-Watching TV Shows Online

#40-Compartmentalizing Your Prayer Requests

So, now, I'll be a regular blogger. Check it out.

P.S. - The funniest one so far to me is #31-Covering Ladies' Legs Who Are Slain in the Spirit with Suitcoats.

Gas Station Encounter

Me (Minding my own business pumping gas. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure walking towards me. At first I think he's going past me, but then he stops right in front of me. The figure turns out to be a blond-haired, freckle-faced teenager.)

Him: Hey, um, I just wanted to say that you look pretty good.

Me: (surprised, because I honestly thought he was going to ask me for money or try to sell me something) Oh, why, thank you.

Him: Yeah, you're looking pretty good. And um, I wanted to know if I could get your number.

Me: (even more surprised and somewhat amused at his audacity) Um, I'm sorry, but that's not going to happen.

Him: (embarrassed) Oh . . .

Me: (feeling like maybe I was a little too harsh) How old are you?

Him: 16 about to be 17.

Me: Well, add 10 years to your age, and that's how old I am. You see, it's impossible.

Him: Okay, well, you still look good . . . have a good night. (walking away)

(sigh.) I could start my own show called "The Cougar." Seriously.

I have a scary problem with days.

What I'm saying is that I'll wake up and think it's another day.

Case in point: Last month I woke up on a Sunday morning, and upon looking at my alarm clock and seeing it a little past 6 a.m. (the time I normally leave the house for my 45 min commute), I jumped up (more like tumbled out) and started feverishly brushing my teeth trying to whip up an acceptable-outfit-to-wear image in my head so that I wouldn't have to blindly rummage through my closet. Mid-spit, it dawned on me that it was Sunday morning, not Monday morning (I had a flashback of preparing snack for my Toddler Sunday School class the night before) and I angrily yet disorientedly tried (but failed) to go back to sleep.

Fast-forward to this past weekend. I just knew that a certain dinner party I had been invited to was Saturday night. I got all ready, bought a bottle of sparkling cider (for the teetotalers like myself) and a Publix-made Boston Creme Cake. You couldn't tell me that the party was not that night. Upon my arrival, the hostess greeted me in her jammies and regretfully informed me that the party was the night before.

Wait . . . come again? I'mmmmm sorry? ::perplexed blinking and head shake:: Then it dawned on me. The last minute invitation she emailed me which said "The party is tomorrow night" was sent on Thursday night. My weird self, not bothering to check the date, read the email on Friday morning and assumed that it was also sent Friday morning. So "tomorrow night" registered in my mind as Saturday night.

I felt like idiota of idiotas and could barely staunch the deluge of manic apologies that came flowing out of my mouth, but she ended up inviting me to stay and she whipped up some lovely pasta carbonara and a salad, we sipped sparkling cider and finished things off with Boston Creme Cake. Um, all's well that ends well?

Co-Author with Don Miller!

I know it's hard to believe, but Don Miller chose me to co-author his new book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. It really is a dream come true. I had to wait to announce it because it was being featured on the literary e-zine Top Selling Authors, and I couldn't break the non-disclosure agreement. Read about my exhilarating experience collaborating with my husband-in-my-mind here.

Why I'm Getting Old

A few weeks back, I was teaching food vocabulary in Spanish. Fruits, vegetables, all of that. One of the vocabulary words was rábano, otherwise known as a radish. I was trying to be funny and made a Fraggle Rock reference. You know, those little things that lived in caves and sang "Dance your cares away (clap, clap) worries for another day, let the music play (clap, clap), down at Fraggle Rock!" Anyway, the fraggles ate radishes. I loved that show when I was little.

My students stared back at me blankly. They had no idea what fraggles were. It was before their time! I could understand if my middle schoolers didn't get it. But these were college-aged kids. I'm not that much older than them, c'mon. But then I thought about it. Most of my students now are between the ages of 18-22. So, I'm at least 5 years older than the oldest. But this is 1st year Spanish and most of them are freshmen, so I'm about 8 or 9 years older than the majority. That's a generation gap. Yikes.

I'm baaaack!

I thought I had a long, silent road of recovery ahead of me. I saw myself a month, even two months from now, as a mere puddle of emotional meltdown soup, the primordial ooze from which I would painstakingly re-evolve into a shell of my former self. And once I did re-evolve, once my pseudopods hardened into actual legs, I questioned whether I would even be able to walk.

If all of that sounds melodramatic (if not pedantic), that's because it is. And once I realized that it was, that the sun still rises, and that I could still see rainbows after the rain, I also realized that I could still nourish my blog baby with the milk of my mind.

To commemorate my realizations, I'm pondering doing some new things with my blog baby. I'm considering having some guest bloggers throw their $0.02 in. I had a weekly "mindquote" going, (all of which were made up and from varying pseudonyms conjured from my own name. Can anyone guess why the present quotation is by "Chaniko Smitikami"?) and I think it might be fun to have readers submit their own quotations (real or imagined) for me to feature.

If you'd like to help me realize my realizations, leave a comment or shoot me an email (you can find the address if you click on "View my complete profile" to the right) if you think you're a good candidate for guest blogging or have any mindquote suggestions.

Hurray! May your days be full of sunflowers.

Blog Break

Dear Readers,

I'm taking a leave of absence from my blog baby for a while. I'm not sure for how long. It may be a month or two. I don't want to abandon the blog, but neither do I want to continue writing when I have other priorities that demand my attention right now. I need time to regroup and refocus. Blogging is a fun outlet, but it can also be a distraction. And distractions are what I need the least of at this point in time. So, never fear. This is not goodbye, it's just TTFN.

Sincerely,

Me

Pre-You

I am borrowing this concept from a dear friend of mine and shall expound upon it here. (I gave you credit upfront this time.) LOL. Ahem.

When we meet people, is the person we meet from the get-go really them, or are they, as my friend postulates, Pre-Them?

Think about it. The us that we put forward from the start is not usually the us that people come to know. Not that we're attempting to deceive, necessarily, but that most people are multi-layered and what we get from the get-go is the mere epidermis.

Hasn't this happened to you before? You get to know someone and they say, "You know, when I first met you, I thought you were _______, but now I know better!" What goes in the blank is not necessarily something negative, but rather just one of the characteristics of Pre-You. (What usually goes in the blank for me is "shy.")

Dealing with Pre-People isn't a bad thing. It's just that you have to allow time to go beyond Pre-Them before casting a definitive judgment. What's bad is All-Them from the get-go. I've come to the realization that I'd rather be ambivalent over Pre-Them than dazzled by All-Them. Why? Because once you've met All-Them, that's literally all there is. Sure, All-Them can be dashing and exciting and leave you breathless, but then what? Can All-Them, as my friend put it, "back that stuff up"? Is there any depth beyond the charming artifice?

Here's a hypothetical situation (what if there were no hypothetical situations?) to illustrate a layer of Pre-Them being shed:

Her: (Sitting at a cafe with WiFi, perusing news online waiting for him. She realizes too late that she's sat in the direct line of sight of a middle aged creeper. Fantastic. She tries to sink lower into her seat to allow her laptop screen to block his view. He finally arrives. They greet each other and he sits down.) Hey, would you mind moving over a little bit? No, this way. There's this man sitting over there staring at me, and I need you to block his view.

Him: (laughing) Sure.

Her: (After a bit of chit chat, she excuses herself to the ladies' room and comes back to find the creeper gone.) Thank God that man left. Even after you tried to block his view he still moved over to keep staring.

Him: Yeah, when you left, he came by and asked if I was with you. I was like "Naw, man," and I gave him your number. I even gave him some tips and told him you liked long walks in the park. So, be expecting a call pretty soon.

Her: (laughing uproariously) Whatever.

At first, she thought he was kind of reserved, but then she saw a funnier, more outgoing him beginning to emerge.

Letter from a Wannabe Matchmaker

From: Sister Wannabe Matchmaker

To: Me

Hey, sis,

I'm sorry you haven't heard from ______. My brother said that he thought _____ has been talking to someone else recently. Oh well. I tried. God has a wonderful plan for your life; so, hang in there and keep believing.

God Bless,

Sister Wannabe Matchmaker

From: Me

To: Sister Wannabe Matchmaker

Hey, sis!

No problem at all. You did try, and the Lord will reward your efforts. ;-)

God bless,

Me

Everything You Wanted

Sometimes you get so used to wanting what you want that when the possibility of it arises, it immobilizes you.

You're so used to wanting what you've wanted that you've gotten comfortable, almost to the point that you'd almost rather continue wanting than face deciding to accept it.

Not that . . . an offer has been made for me to accept (or reject), but the circumstances, taken at technical face value, are just short of bewildering.

However (isn't there always?), I cannot presently deny a reticence. Almost an ambivalence. While part of me demands "What is wrong with you?" the other part advocates self-patience instead of self-beratement. Perhaps a healthy reticence, for now, is not altogether a bad thing.

Bienvenidos to Instructor Life

Today was the first day of official instructordom.

It's nothing new, really. I taught in the Spring and this past summer. It's just that then, I was a lowly GTA. Now, I'm a part of the system. I have an office (albeit shared) and my box in the mailroom has been elevated to the more prestigious instructor row. I'm so special.

Class went well today. As first days go. A bit of drama with cancelling and recombining classes, and a young lady who has proven herself to be the beginnings of a headache (she came in late, and then greeted me with, "Yeah, like, buenos noches or whatever"), but all in all, I still give it an A.

And NPR. Ah. What a friend for the 45-minute commute. Morning Edition on the way up and All Things Considered on the way back.

One of the best things is that I teach Mon Wed Fri. Tues/Thurs I have to my little self. No classes. No papers (except for the ones I'll eventually have to grade, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there).

I can do this.

Passivity

There are downsides to being passive. There are downsides to being aggressive. But I'd take a little too aggressive over a little too passive any day.

Guys who are passive are just ugh. Having conversations with them is like swimming in a pool of coagulated grits. Spending time with them is like watching a French film in slow motion. Expecting them to take initiative is like waiting for Godot.

I'd much rather one brazenly escort me onto the dance floor without asking, risking my resistance, than to stand against the wall allowing song after song after song to slip by, like Hamlet, immobilized by the specter of action.

Ladies, let's have a talk.

Ahem. I'm writing this out of concern for certain of my fair sex kicking into e-stalker mode when it comes to members of the opposite sex.

Lord knows I have my fair share of quirks, but there are some things that deserve an utter status of FAIL. I have a few male friends (hasn't seemed to up my chances of Mr. Wonderful noticing me, but that's for another day), and occasionally, they confide in me. Keep this in mind:

1. E-stalking is initially flattering, but ultimately annoying.

2. Don't assume that any Internet-generated correspondence of any type is confidential.

And believe me, I've been through the school of hard knocks on number 2. My advice comes from a position of concern and experience, not of condescension.

I mean, you do you. Whatever floats your boat. But I'm of the persuasion that calm and coy triumphs over frenetic and forward.

Goodbyes

I've never been good at them.

After I helped one of my pals and his wife pack and put stuff in a moving truck today, I said goodbye to him and my other good grad school buddy who came to help. I despise saying goodbye. I know, things change, people move on, you begin new chapters in life, you can still keep in touch, it's part of life. I get it. But it still makes me melancholy and teary-eyed. It still depresses me to know that, despite the positive that can come from change, things from this point on will never be the same.

I feel like all my friends are moving away, getting married, starting new lives without me. I know, it sounds dramatic, maudlin and self-pitying. But it's how I felt standing there in the grass as they pulled down the door to the moving truck.

I have a lot to look forward to. I have a couple more orientation sessions before my life as an instructor begins next Monday. I'm blessed to even have this job because, frankly, people aren't getting hired in this economy, especially in academia, rife with budget cuts. I needed something temporary that would allow me to save a decent amount of money, and that's exactly what this is. After that, I'll experience 6 months abroad. I'm thankful for the opportunities God has given me.

Even so, there is a part of me which has a tendency to nurse the bittersweet. To cast a wistful glance behind me and long for the way things used to be.

Graduation

As soon as I took off my bridesmaid dress, I donned a cap and gown and walked across the stage. Today was the big day! I officially have a Master of Hispanic Studies. God is so good.

Wedding

My blog has been neglected for a beautiful reason.

I've been in the lovely town of Charleston, SC to be in the wedding of one of my very best friends. The wedding, in short, was a fairy tale. A fairy tale come true.

There are so many things to describe: a dinner cruise, watching the sunset over the water, getting whirled and dipped on the dance floor, meeting lots of interesting people, watching the bride and groom speed away on a boat at the end of the reception.

It was lovely. I wish my friend and her hubby the absolute best.

Yet Another One of My Snobby Musings

Okay, this is going to come out sounding like the words of a smarty-pants, high-maintenance, snobby girl. Perhaps there are some who would attest that those adjectives do accurately describe moi. Indeed, I've been accused of being each of those things at some point or another. But oh, well. I don't know what to do to convince the naysayers that I'm actually nice and down-to-earth and generally unpicky. Generally.

Okay, on with the snobby postulation. It has to do with guy deal breakers. I've always been clear about the fact that we must be in one accord on our beliefs. How can two walk together except they agree? Okay. I've also mused over age difference. I've been in some situations where I pondered the ramifications of cougardom. Age can definitely be a factor, especially if the age difference causes a disparity in maturity level, but I've come to the conclusion that it is not, by default, a deal breaker. I could probably write a dissertation about the ramifications of racial/cultural difference, but I'm gonna leave that can opener right where it is and just say that neither is that, by default, a deal breaker. There are a few preferences that I have: tall (or, at least taller than me) and bespectacled, but I know in the back of my mind that neither are the lack of these preferences deal breakers for me.

But the one that I haven't yet decided upon is educational level. Here's the snobby part: I don't know if I could be with someone who hasn't gone beyond a high school education. I'm just being honest. Let's be clear (channeling Obama here), I'm not in any way putting down anyone who has a high school education or less. Life leads people down a plethora of disparate paths. Fantastic. Many people that I look up to and love and admire who are much wiser than I could ever think about becoming haven't gone beyond a high school education. Honestly, college isn't for everyone. It just isn't. But that's okay. (Now that I've gotten my disclaimer out of the way . . . ) It's just that I don't think I could relate to Mr. Wonderful if he'd never gone to school. I don't think he could relate to me. I want someone (dare I say it?) on the same level as I am intellectually.

The college experience is a huge part of my formation as a person. For better or worse. And if he hasn't experienced it as well, there's a whole lexicon of commonality that would be missing from our discourse. Instead of being able to season our conversations and understanding of one another with spices like saffron, cumin, oregano, anise, thyme, rosemary and paprika, we'd be left with trying to get by on merely salt and pepper. And I don't know if salt and pepper is enough for me.

Like it or not, there's also the intimidation/inferiority complex factor. I don't want a guy who struggles with feelings of inferiority because his significant other has a more extensive curriculum vitae than he does. I don't want a dude who feels emasculated by my existence. There may be men out there who wouldn't be bothered by it. But I'd be willing to bet that many would have a problem with it.

I want to be able to be completely, nerdily me with Mr. Wonderful. I don't want him to stare blankly if I want to reminisce about my literary love affairs with Poe and Shakespeare. I want us to be able to accuse one another of having Freudian dysfunctions (i.e. anal-retentiveness, passive-aggressiveness, having Oedipal and Electra complexes, projecting) and laugh. I want us to be able to be each other's thesaurus.

Is that too much to ask?

Score!

1. Got served up a blue light special for speeding, but got off with a warning. Score!

2. Since I did well on my French exams and completed all other assignments, I was exempted from the final. Score!

3. I thought I owed rent for August and included a check along with my keys and check-out papers, but got a call today saying I didn't owe anything and they'd destroy the check for me. Score!

Three More Things That Have Made Me Cry Lately

and then we'll call a moratorium on the sappiness.

1. Reading a letter my brother wrote me while he was in basic training.

2. Examining a copy of my birth certificate.

3. Listening to a story about how a man's brother broke his neck in a swimming accident when they were teenagers and how the man's brother ended up paralyzed from the neck down. Then listening to him tell about the positive attitude his brother had towards life in spite of it all and how his brother even got married last year. He said it was the most emotional wedding he had ever attended.

I am now moved back in with the 'rents, my stuff is safely in storage, a lady I just met has plans to set me up with a "good looking guy," and this new chapter of my old life can officially begin.