Would You Believe?

Does love at first sight exist?

Oh, hell, I have no idea. But it's certainly possible (I guess). There are a lot of things involved with falling in love. We're all very complex people, and we think about things as they're happening. We've got built-in ideals, morals, intuition, logic, and imagination. We have baggage.

I had a professor that always said that “we are our stories.” We are made up of the things that happen to us. The difference is, of course, that we all react to these things differently. I'm an empath— I'm emotional before I'm anything else. I try very hard to be logical (and I can be, it just doesn't always happen first), but I'm usually acting on emotion. That's how I react to my stories, and that's what makes me who I am.

Falling in love is actually a physical thing, isn't it? We're drawn first to appearance, voice, gestures, and smell. It's because we're all really animals underneath all of it. We have this intuition that pulls us where we're going. We search for that person that has the qualities that we feel will complete us. And because we're looking for that completion, we're sometimes putting constraints on love. I guess that's why people don't think that love at first sight can happen.

Love at first sight is supposed to take you by surprise.

Maybe you suddenly “fall in love” with some unknown person and you see that it's mutual. Perhaps “Mother Nature” or some other higher power has chosen that person for you. Maybe that person genetically suits you. But that's not love. That's babymaking science.

It takes less than a second to decide whether you find someone physically attractive. (What? We're fickle.) But emotion can change that initial reaction.

Studies show that the more you interact with a person, the more you come to regard him (or her) as “good looking.” Sometimes it can take years for people to fully appreciate one another. So, in theory, you can fall in love with someone even more every time you see them.

I guess that's what love at first sight is— when every time is like the first time.

To the Moon!

Someone told me the other day that I have a “glow.” After exclaiming vehemently that I'm not pregnant (isn't that when you “glow”?), I realized that he's probably right.

I've got a lot to be happy about right now, and I need to keep remembering that. All of this happy stuff has me very stressed out. I've got so much work to do, so much moving to do, and so little time to do it. But it's all part of a bigger goodness that's just starting.

So that's why I haven't had time to drop any more pearls of wisdom down on this blog. The pearls will be dropping again soon (I promise). I just have to get my stuff organized. I'm taking off a little too quickly for my own good. I liken it to Justin Bieber's rise to fame— it happened so fast, and it came out of nowhere. Hopefully I am more talented than he is, though.

In the meantime, here's a little nugget:

I was moving my painting supplies into the apartment yesterday. I had my easel, stool, table, blank canvasses, and a few paintings. I met one of my new neighbors. He saw all the stuff and said, “Are you an artist?”

“Yes,” I replied. Meanwhile, I'm thinking, “No, I'm just holding these supplies for some other artist.”

Then he said, “Let me know when you make millions!”

That's Why You Park by the Thingy

How would you react to this?

You just had a great experience at the grocery store. You got all of your essential items, and you even got a few things on sale. You walk up to a register, and the cashier recognizes you.

"Hello!" she says cheerfully.

"Hello!" you reply with an amount of cheer only rivaled by the cashier's.

She rings up your items, and you pay. Then you go happily on your way with the bags in your cart.

You walk out to your vehicle (which is parked right next to the cart corral) and start putting your groceries in the back. Another vehicle pulls up next to you. You see the guy that collects the carts out of the corner of your eye.

"Remember to put your cart away!" he yells at you.

"Are you talking to me?" you say.

"Yeah!" he yells back. "Everyone leaves their carts all around the parking lot. I'm sick and tired of pushing them all around."

"But isn't that what they pay you for?" you ask.

"Well..."

Oh, you got him now.

Meet Me Monday

Just a few random questions about me on this Monday.

1. What is your favorite kind of potato chip?
Middleswarth Barbeque. There's an “A” in their name, and “A-quality” in their product. They are definitely the most delicious things in the entire world. I would happily stick a bag on my face like one of those feed-bags they use for horses. No joke.

2. Do you make your bed everyday?
If you call pulling the covers up so it doesn't look like a giant mess “making” the bed, then yes. I really should work on tucking things in a little better, though. But, sadly, that's not one of my strong-suits.

3. How often do you go to the hair salon?
Um... I used to go every 4-6 weeks, but I haven't been doing that lately. My hair is doing just fine. I like letting it get a little longer. I do need to go get my eyebrows done sometime soon, though.

4. What do you dip your French fries in?
Not ketchup. Either ranch dressing or barbeque sauce. The other day, actually, I dipped my fries in some “real hot” wing sauce. Needless to say, my mouth was on fire— but in a really good way.

5 Do you shop with coupons?
Heck yes. I even email companies and tell them how much I like their product just so they'll send me coupons in the mail.

But, You're ALL Winners!

Competition is healthy. It's what drives us to excel. But what's the difference between “competing to win” and “competing to excel”?

When we compete to win, we're trying to basically outperform and dominate others. Competing to excel, on the other hand, is about surpassing our own personal goals. Obviously, the latter offers us more benefits than the former. When we compete to better ourselves, we're going to end up having higher self-esteem and we'll be less depressed.

Granted, there's something to be said for experiencing a little bit of victory every now and then. It's healthy. Competition is healthy. But it shouldn't be all we're setting out to do. We have to realize that everyone out there is valid. I'm no more valid than you are. Just because I can do one thing better than you doesn't mean I'm an all around better person. We're all good at something. So we should be competing with ourselves—not against one another—to improve these skills.

There's no need to put ourselves in situations that make us unduly anxious. There's no need to put ourselves in situations that interfere with our performance, creativity, and poise.

But, like I said, a little bit of competition is good. It teaches us to be gracious, humble, and to accept the bitter pill of defeat with a bit of pride.

That's how kids are growing up these days, though. Grades are the main focus of school. Grades and those horrible standardized tests. Then we have youth sports leagues. What's the focus there? The focus is on getting the trophy. The crazy parents on the sidelines screaming at kids for every little thing that goes wrong out on the field. Like I've been saying, competition is good. But it's got to come from within a person. What's a kid going to learn if the focus is solely on the outcome? Isn't the journey half the fun?

If we don't enjoy the game, we shouldn't have to play it.

On Apartments, Baggage, and Who I Am

I'm a little terrified, but that's all right. I got a phone call yesterday from the lady about the apartment. I'm going to meet with her on Monday when I get out of work.

Why am I terrified?

I'm not worried about living on my own. I'm not worried about being able to afford it. (Okay, maybe I am a little worried about that part.)

I'm terrified of telling my parents that I'm moving out. Somehow they'll turn it around and make it seem like I feel that they did something wrong. Like it's their “fault” that I'm moving out. Um... isn't this supposed to be a good thing? I'm an adult, and it's time to start living like one. They haven't really done anything wrong. (Now, anyway.)

But this is how it's always been with them. I have always been terrified to tell them about things in my life that seem “grown up.” Because, first of all, I'm pretty certain my grandmother still thinks I'm five years old. When she was over for Christmas dinner, she saw me take three of the dogs outside. I heard her say, “Oh it's so nice to see children taking care of the animals like that.”

Okay, what?!

I said, “Grandma. I'm not a child. By the time mom was my age, she HAD me. Was she a child then?”

And she does it all the time. I'm teaching a COLLEGE CLASS, and somehow that's “adorable.”

I collect Barbie dolls, and I might enjoy the occasional bank lollipop, but that doesn't mean that I'm a child. (It just means that I'm connected with my inner-one.)

And my mother feels the same way as my grandmother, I think. At least that's how I've always perceived it. When I was 11, I started hitting puberty. I was embarrassed of my hairy legs. So what did I do? I didn't go up to my mom and say, “Hey! Can you teach me how to shave my legs?” No... I just did it. I used my mom's razor and I did it. And when she confronted me about using her razor, I lied about it. For some reason, it was easier for me to hide the “adult” things and just pretend I was the child she wanted me to stay.

I was, more or less, embarrassed by every “milestone” that moved me closer to adulthood. I remember my mother saying, “Oh, we have a TEENAGER now,” with such seething contempt in her voice. I didn't want to be that. I didn't want to be something that caused anyone any discomfort. This ultimately worked against me because I wound up becoming full of all sorts of anger and anxiety. My dad called me “Katie Ka-BOOM” (like the character from Animaniacs). I resented that deeply.

I never went to her with relationship problems. Not even the stupid little teenager crap. I felt like I was a failure for not dating the boy I had a crush on in the 4^th grade. My mom liked him. His dad was a lawyer. Clearly, nothing else was good enough for me.

Instead, I “dated” (as much as a 15 year old dates) a boy that smoked, went to vo-tech, and bathed in Nautica cologne. It lasted a month.

Then my parents started fighting, and I rebelled. I dated someone they hated just because I knew they hated him. My mom put me in therapy.

So I dated a guy that they liked. And I stayed with him for far too long simply because they liked him. That was stupid.

I didn't even go away to college. College for me was basically glorified high school. Same with grad school. I have a Master's degree, and I still feel like a child every time I walk into my house. I can't bring myself to share a lot of the awesome stuff that's happening in my life... And that's just how it's always been. I've got so much going on for me, but I only tell my family some of it. They don't know who I am, and they never really have. The Lauren that exists in that house is not the Lauren that exists for the rest of the world.

I can count on one hand everyone that knows who I REALLY am. (And four of them are dogs.)

It's not really anybody's fault. I never felt like I had that great “family life.” I mean, it wasn't awful. I wasn't abused or anything. But I always felt more at “home” everywhere other than my house.

I'm hopeful that I'll have a better relationship with my family once I can really, truly deal with them on my own terms. They won't have the “as long as you live under our roof” thing to dangle over my head, and I'll be able to see them when I want to— not when I feel like I'm supposed to.

Karokae! In! The! Mail!

Mmmkay... So (probably as a result of this Solid Cactus blog post) I was contacted by Chartbuster Karaoke via Twitter. (Oh how I love me some Twitter.)

Well, after emailing back and forth a bit with the super-nice Dave, they sent me some discs!

(Again, how cool!?)

I mentioned that I liked Stevie Nicks, and I got this sweet 80's Pop set. I also got the promo disc for August 2010.

And then I was happily minding my own business one day when another package came for me. It had the September 2010 disc! Amazing.

On their website, they have a feature where you can make your own Chartbuster Karaoke Custom CD+G. You can also download karaoke songs.

My favorite thing? I posted to Twitter the other day about how Madonna's “Vogue” is the only song that had my name in it.

Their response?

@chartbuster How about Celtic Thunder's “Lauren & I”? http://bit.ly/aKIXK0 or http://youtu.be/y2e0nN9Kx0k

I used to paint things, now I use words

I'd generally paint in oil, but I had to do some watercolor in college. This was probably my favorite watercolor painting. (Yeah, I painted that!)

I know that "a picture is worth a thousand words," but I do have an MA in writing. So I think I get a little more out of my words than some other people out there.

I tried to get my students to do that today in class. I'm teaching about writing descriptive pieces, so I had them do a little exercise. I had wooden blocks, and I got three student volunteers. (I had three guys do it first.)

One student sat at one end of a table, and another was at the other end. I put the little podium between them so they couldn't see what the other was doing. They had exactly the same blocks. Then the third student described what one was building so that the other could build the exact same thing. We did it once with three guys, once with three girls, and once with a mixed group.

Nobody really got it exactly. But they all came close.

I asked them, "So what did you learn from this?"

One girl said, "Word choice is important."
I said, "Exactly. 'Flat' and 'sideways' might not mean the same thing to one person as they do to you."
A guy said, "I thought it was hard to say what I was thinking so that the other guy would understand it."
I said, "You mean, you had a hard time catering to your audience's needs?"
He said, "Yeah."

So I have them thinking about a piece of art they want to use for their descriptive paper. We'll see if they can turn that picture into a thousand words. (Okay, at least 500.)

Time to Make the Donuts!

So you know that I talk to Java Josh over at @DunkinDonuts on Twitter. (You can learn all about that from the blog post I did for Solid Cactus.)

Well, they sent me stuff!

I got a FedEx package on Friday. Inside the box, was a Dunkin Donuts box. Like the boxes that they put donuts in. Classy.

Inside that was a cool t-shirt and travel mug.

Needless to say, I was beyond excited.

It really geared me up for my first day teaching at the community college. I mean, how can you go wrong when you have such a kickass coffee mug?

(Oh, and the shirt in the picture... I REALLY want that one.)

These are our stories

Just a quick thought about stories.

The other night I was at my in-service for the community college. I ended up sitting by someone I went to college with. He’s teaching there, too. (Same class and time as me, also. We’re going to tag-team!)

Anyway, he asked how I was. I knew how he was. He’d been married and divorced in the two years since I’d seen him last.
He’d moved from PA to NC and back to PA.

But how was I? Well, I told him I dumped my boyfriend about a year ago.

Best thing I ever did, I told him.

“Why is that?” he asked.

Well, I thought about it. And I said, “I have done so much in this last year. I’ve accomplished things I wanted to accomplish. I’m proud of myself. I didn’t do anything when I was with him. He was a slug, and he turned me into a slug. It makes me wonder what I could have done with myself in those five years I was with him.”

“Don’t think like that,” he said.

Why not?!

He said, “That’s part of your story. That made you who you are. You know what you want now, and you needed that experience to get you there. Don't try to erase it or re-write it. Would you be here now if all that hadn't happened? How can you know?”

Fair enough.


And this is unrelated, but I liked it.
I was at church today and the priest made the best analogy ever.
“We are all puppies in God’s eyes.”

Emotional Vampires? Ahh!!!

Some people just insist on sucking your soul out. They don't all know it, but that's just what happens.

The important thing, of course, is to check yourself and make sure you're not one of the energy suckers. I read this article about Energy Vampires, and it got me thinking. Do I do these things to people?

Do you?

The article starts out like this: “Insecure people drain other people's energy. Symptoms felt, after dealing with an energy vampire are, weakness, impulse to eat, headaches, low energy.”

Crap, I know people have made me feel like that before. Some people just sap my energy and make me want to eat. (Is that why I can't fit into my skinny jeans?)

(Upon further consideration, I can't fit into my skinny jeans because I've gained, as Daniel says, “ten pounds of laughter.” Nobody's fault but my own.)

I like how the article breaks down the different types of “Energy Vampires,” too.

1. Sob Sister, Blamer, Drama Queen. People like this constantly talk and blow things out of proportion. Sob sister blames the world, blamer somehow makes YOU feel guilty, and drama queens are just huge energy vacuums that are energized by chaos.

   We all know people like this. But how do we deal with them? Especially the drama queens, because they're absolutely unbearable.

2. Constant Talker, Fixer Upper, Outwardly Nice Socializer. Constant talkers are addicted to their own voice. (Am I one of these?) A fixer upper needs you to fix all of their problems. And the outwardly nice ones are the worst! There's nothing like passive-aggression to really make you feel like crap. If you're pissed off, just tell me you're pissed off. Fake nice sucks.

3. The Go-for-the-Jugular Person, the Unintentional Sapper. The former here likes to put others down. And I'm sure everyone is an unintentional sapper from time to time. If I'm stressed out, I might stress other people out. I don't mean to, it just happens.

And most people really don't mean to, I think. The drama queen doesn't realize that she's the drama queen.

What should you do if you feel like someone is sucking your energy away? Or if the thought of talking to this person just stresses you out?

Um... if you don't have to talk to them... Don't!

Seriously, a friend is someone that makes you feel better about yourself— not worse. So limit the time you spend with people that make you feel crappy. Spend more time with the people that make you feel super-fantastic-awesome.

If you have to talk to these people, try to control the conversation. Say, “I've only got five minutes to talk.” Or, “I'm running to the bathroom now.”

If an energy sucking person starts talking about something you don't want to talk about, just say so. “I'm sorry, I don't want to talk about your wife's hangnail anymore.”

I guard my personal space like it's going out of style. I'm not a hugger. I hate hugging, actually. If I initiate a hug with you, then it's a big deal. Physical contact is valuable to me. I'll only give it to someone I really care about. (And I mean REALLY care about.)

How can you tell if you're an energy vampire?

Well, check out this article. It lists some major warning signs.

Like:

• You state your opinion like it's fact

• You complain endlessly about your problems

• You throw pity parties

• You wield guilt like a weapon

• You spread fear around

• You're stubborn (I especially liked the example she gave for this one. Read it!)

We are all like that sometimes. And it's cool to be a little Dracula.

But in moderation, please.

Take A Minute to Laugh

Sometimes I think we forget how important it is to laugh. We need to laugh at ourselves, at (well, with) one another, and at the world around us. There's humor in everything, and there's nothing wrong with getting a little bit of joy out of life. I spent a lot of time laughing last night, and I feel really good about it today. (So what if most of the laughing was at the expense of Swamp People?)

It's all about finding humor in your life. When someone says, “That's your boyfriend? I thought he was your father,” don't get angry at her. Just laugh. Instead of complaining about life's frustrations, try laughing about them. People are going to do what they do whether we react or not. So we might as well react in a positive way, right? No sense being a jerk. We always say, “Someday we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny.” But why can't it be funny now? Think of how it will sound as a story that you tell your friends. Laugh about it. When you keep thinking that way, you'll end up being more lighthearted and silly. Approach life with a healthy dose of mirth and you'll be less stressed with just about everything. And laughter is healthy!

It's totally fine to fake it. You know that studies show that the positive effects of smiling occur whether the smile is real or fake, right? Well I'm sure the same applies to laughter. Smile more, fake laughter, and you'll still see some positive effects. (Hell, the fake happy might even lead to real happy.)

So why exactly is laughter beneficial to us?

Well, it reduces the level of stress hormones like epinephrine, dopamine, and cortisol. It also increases the level of endorphins and neurotransmitters. And, seriously, how great do you feel after a good laugh? It's a physical and emotional release (that's second only to an orgasm, really. Wow, imagine laughing during orgasm). And laughing can strengthen your ab muscles!

Laughter connects us with others. And it's probably the most contagious things out there (next to lice and herpes). So if you start laughing, you'll get others around you laughing.

Look, I know I have a bunch of goofy laughs. Sometimes I have a really deep belly laugh, and other times I think I literally howl like a hyena. But it doesn't matter— it's my laugh.

I found this really cool link to different Laugh Sounds. What are you? Are you song-like? Grunt-like? Or snort-like?

If listening to these laughs doesn't make you laugh yourself... then there's something way wrong with you.

But you can fix it! Try dancing the Cha-Cha, but keep the beat by saying “ho-ho, ha-ha-ha.”

Or practice laughing! Pay attention to your laughs. Do a “ho-ho-ho” laugh, then a “ha-ha-ha” laugh, then try a “hee-hee-hee.” See when you use the different types of laughs throughout the day. Do you “ha-ha-ha” at certain times and “ho-ho-ho” at others?

If all else fails, Farts are Funny.

Simplify, Please?

Now that I'll be teaching at the community college, I've got way too many different emails that I'll need to check.

Let's break it down:
-personal email
-work email
-school email
-school WebCT email
-community college email

How am I supposed to keep up with all of this? What if something important goes to one that I haven't checked? There must be a way to simplify all of this.

There wasn't a grand point to this, but I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one with this problem.

Carpe Diem

Before I started my MA program, I had to keep a “journal” for a month. Just writing anything, really. Here’s the entry from June 4, 2008.

I’ve heard a lot of

-CARPE DIEM-

Today.

(Largely because I watched Dead Poets Society, but bear with me)

I helped stack the kiln.

I wanted all my pots to fit.

“I need a short one.”

“I know I have one of those.”

Kiln space is valuable.

Carpe KILN.

Carpe the diem kiln.

I don’t know when the next firing is.

So I took it.

Then I watched that movie.

It was about being what you have the potential to be.

Not what they told you to be.

Is it as simple as that?

I want to be an artist.

“But there’s no money in that!!!”

So I’ll write, then.

“Well at least that’s MARKETABLE.”

This is free, see.

Art school was not free.

THANKS FOR THE UNIVERSITY JOB, DAD!

It’s okay.

This is art.

I can’t touch it and feel the paint

Or clay

Or textile—

But it’ll work. It’ll have to.

Besides—I have a knack.

(I won a scholarship for it…

The day AFTER my dad got our tuition remission agreement)

So I have to carpe this diem.

Seize this day.

Smell these rosebuds

(While I may).

Or at least until I graduate

(For real, this time)

And have to make a living.

Can I still have an art studio?

Or is this supposed to be all-consuming?

I don’t want to be pigeonholed.

Let me paint on this paper.

Until I read that, I forgot how unhappy I was about the whole MA program. I didn’t want to do it. Hell, I spent a lot of time during the program bitching about all the reasons why I STILL didn’t want to do it. I always felt out of place, and I didn’t think anyone (except Becky) took me seriously.

But I stuck it out, and I’m so much better for it.

Seems like everything happens for a reason.

Social Me-Me-Media

I spend a good chunk of my day dealing with social media and all of its wonderful features. It's part of my job. But I still think that Facebook is sort of the devil. Especially since most people don't really understand what it's for. A fraction of those 500,000,000+ users really understand Facebook. This is one thing I'm sure I know something about because (GASP!) I was on Facebook when you needed to have a student email address to get an account.

Facebook wasn't always for everybody. It was named after the books given to students at the start of an academic year. Facebook was supposed to be a way for college students to get to know other college students. It was a slow growth. It started at Harvard, then moved to other Boston colleges, then the Ivy League, and Stanford. Then most other colleges and universities across the country got in on it. It was a cool college club.

I remember the backlash over every little format change. I remember how clean the profile pages used to look.

I REMEMBER WHEN FACEBOOK WAS CALLED “THE FACE BOOK.”

The real downfall came, of course, when Facebook launched its high school version in September of 2005. Because that just opened the door for Facebook to extend its membership to the employees of some companies... And on September 26, 2006 Facebook became available to everyone over the age of 13.

And that's when all the crap started. There was no Farmville, no Mafia Wars, and no garbage. Facebook was better when there was no such thing as a “status update.” (Do you remember that? I DO.)

It's fine to want to get to know the people around you. It's great to keep in touch! I get it, I get it, I agree. But Facebook sucks if you use it wrong.

Opening Facebook up to the world was like opening up the VIP lounge to everyone in the club.

If you want to keep putting up little updates, use Twitter. (Twitter is way cooler, anyway. It's also a much better source of information. I follow news feeds!)

If you want to write about your feelings, start a blog. (HELLOOOOO.)

I'm just saying that we have to remember both parts to the term “social media.” Yes, it's social. Yes, we should interact. But it's also “MEDIA.” That means that it's broadcast. Don't say something on Facebook unless you'd be okay with saying it on national television.

Facebook ain't what it used to be, and I just have to accept that.

(Though I really can't wait until the movie The Social Network comes out.)

Like Blue Topaz Today

Blue topaz looks like the sky. It's a cool blue, a light blue, and a bright blue. It was once the rarest color of topaz. (That's why it's the state gem of Texas. They found some rare, naturally-occurring blue topaz in 1969. They thought, “Oh man! How rare!”)

But thanks to a stable color enhancement process developed in the 1970s, it's become fairly common.

It's a hard gemstone. It can be split with a single blow.
Just like a diamond.

The blue topaz we see today is created by exposing colorless topaz to irradiation and then heat. Lighter colors are created by exposure to electrons, and darker blues are created by exposure to neutrons. (No word yet on what protons do.)

Making blue topaz like this can take minutes or years. It's a high-energy process, so it requires that the topaz be stored before it can be safely released. (I'm kind of a high-energy process myself, aren't I?) So don't rush the blue topaz. Let it do its thing. You'll be glad you gave it the time it needed to realize what it's supposed to be.

Blue topaz is supposed to balance emotions and calm passions. I could certainly use that. It releases tension and gives feelings of joy. I experienced that firsthand yesterday.

Topaz has some serious metaphysical properties.

It's said to promote individuality, creativity, and confidence. It can help remove doubts about decisions. I need all the creativity and confidence I can get. I also need to stop doubting decisions. I'm on the right track. I'm making good progress in my little world.

And topaz allows you to creatively change your personal world.

Blue topaz is supposed to be very good to people born under the zodiac sign of Scorpio.

Long story short, blue topaz is perfect for me. Right here, right now. Now is my time for blue topaz.

(I also read that if one is obsessed with sex, blue topaz is said to help curb the obsession. I don't see how that applies to me.)

Risk Being Happy

“Most people would rather be certain they're miserable, than risk being happy.” - Robert Anthony

I follow @GreatestQuotes on Twitter. This one just showed up on my feed, and it made me feel a little bit better. In fact, it made me feel a lot better.

I was feeling sort of bogged down and lousy at work today. Just a combination of work, hormones, and being a little tired. I was having a hard time focusing, and all I wanted to do was go take a nap.

I was certain I was miserable.

But I'm not allowed to be miserable. I don't have any reason to be miserable.

But happiness is a risk, too. Sometimes if you're too happy people will wonder what the hell is wrong with you. Life is too short and too sweet to be miserable. Take the leap into happy. Don't be afraid to flaunt it. Risk being happy.

To add to my turnaround from being miserable...
Mandy and I went to Dunkin Donuts and I discovered that the iced coffee is just as good with skim milk as it is with cream. (As long as I get the mocha flavor in it, that is.)

A Whole New World

Big important things are happening. My world is doing a little bit of exploding. And it's the good kind of exploding. It's time for me to share just how awesome I am with the rest of the world. (Because, really, it's selfish for me to keep all of this awesomeness to myself.)

I'm excited to report that I'll be teaching Composition 101 at the local community college this semester. I'm pumped because I love writing, I love people, and I love yakking in front of crowds.

But I'm also a little nervous.

Their education is in my hands. I can't screw up. If they can't write when I'm finished with them, it'll be all my fault. I want to make it fun. I want to make it exciting. But I need to make them learn.

It's an 8am class. How much learning will they do at 8am? How awake will I be at 8am?

I want to take them to the library. I want to take them to the art gallery. I want to get at least a few of them to love writing as much as I do. Is that asking too much?

Oh, probably.

I just want to make a difference.

The class is already going to make a difference for me. I called a lady today about an apartment! Imagine me with my own sweet pad. (Granted, it used to belong to Donna... and it seems like I've been following Donna around for the last two years. But that's another post all together.) And the only reason I think I can do this apartment thing is because of the extra buckazoids I'll be making from this teaching gig.

Everything happens for a reason. The universe is one big puzzle, and we shouldn't question how the pieces fall together.

The apartment is sweet. It's got an upstairs! It's got room for me to paint! It has RED CARPET in the bedroom. It is ten minutes from work.

I'm taking off like a rocket. Just over a year ago I was a confused grad student with a dead-end part-time job in a bank. I didn't know what I wanted or what I was doing. And now I've got a job that I love, an opportunity to teach, an amazing partner cheering me on, and a whole new world on my horizon.

So I guess I've already made a difference.

Grief is Selfish

I got a text from my mother while I was out last night. She said, "I am in the emergency room with grandma. Just pull in the driveway. Street is full."

What?

She was at the ER with her mother-in-law, and she was just trying tell me about the parking situation? Long story short, I ended up at the ER at 2:30 in the morning. Saw my grandma, and then they wheeled her out for an MRI. Was only supposed to take 45 minutes, but it took like 2 hours. I hung with my mom the whole time.

"I'm totally not phased by this stuff anymore," I said. "I've lost two grandparents, and I've seen so many other great aunts and uncles go through these things. I'm not even really affected by this right now. I'm almost numb."

"No, I see what you're saying," my mom said. "I work with death all the time." (She's the cemetery manager for the church.)

"I mean, what is grief, anyway? Are we grieving for the person? Or for ourselves because we'll never see the person anymore? Grief is an inherently selfish act." I figured I'd throw it out there.

"No, you're right. Grief is selfish."

I said, "You know, Grandpa died in the same summer as Snoopy." (Snoopy was our first dog.) "I grieved more for Snoopy than I did for Grandpa. But it's because Snoopy was a bigger part of my everyday life than Grandpa was. I felt bad about grieving more for a dog than for a human being. But that's when I realized that I was grieving for myself."

My grandma is going to be fine. She's got wonky potassium levels, and she kind of OD'd on Advil. But she'll be all right.

I didn't get home until like 5:00 in the morning.

Live Your Life With Arms Wide Open

Okay, so I've seen more of The Hills today than I ever have before. I'm not sure I totally understand. What's the deal with these people? Why am I supposed to care? Why do they make me want to dress up and go to parties? How can you have a group of friends like that? I think they've literally all slept with one another.

This is not to say that I don't like a good reality show from time to time. I secretly love Ochocinco: The Ultimate Catch on VH1. I like that he turned a dating show into some weird sporting event. He's using a bracket system to pick these women. I hope there are office pools about it.

I also get a pretty good chuckle out of Money Hungry. A bunch of teams paid $10,000 to be on this show. That's right... they had to pony up the dough. They are all overweight, and it's a competition to see who loses the most (I think). In the end, a team will win $100,000. Ten teams, $10k each, so that's the total. But they're, like, running around in thongs and playing in hot tubs. It's like The Real World meets The Biggest Loser. That's sort of funny.

It's almost like everything on TV is both real and fake at the same time. "Reality" shows aren't very real. I'd really rather watch Full House. (I did that today, too.)

I wouldn't want to live any portion of my life in front of a camera like that. It's left up to someone else to edit.

So it's kind of ironic, then, that the theme song on The Hills is "Unwritten."

"Drench yourself in words unspoken, live your life with arms wide open. Today is where your book begins... The rest is still unwritten."

Ah! But they aren't even writing their own stories.

Bangin' on the Bongos Like a Chimpanzee

It's Mark Knopfler's birthday. He's a pretty cool guy. You probably know him as the lead guitarist, vocalist, and songwriter for Dire Straits. He also produced an album for Weird Al. Funky stuff. He wrote the score for one of my favorite movies, too— The Princess Bride.

But there's something special about “Money for Nothing.” That's been my “song” since I was a fetus.

Seriously.

It was really big when my mom was pregnant with me. She said it was on all the time. So you know how sometimes people will put headphones up to their stomachs and play Mozart or something for the unborn kid? Well, I got Dire Straits.

As I was born smack in the middle of the 1980s, I'm sort of proud to have this song be one of my little anthems. The song is in first person, but it's not Mark Knopfler singing the song. It's a character. And it's a pretty cool character.

Here's what Knopfler had to say about it:

“The lead character in 'Money for Nothing' is a guy who works in the hardware department in a television/custom kitchen/refrigerator/microwave appliance store. He's singing the song. I wrote the song when I was actually in the store. I borrowed a bit of paper and started to write the song down in the store. I wanted to use a lot of the language that the real guy actually used when I heard him, because it was more real...”

Yeah, Knopfler actually wrote the song in the hardware store. He took notes based on what the guy working there was saying. I guess MTV was on in the store, and the guy didn't get it. He said stuff like, “What are those? Hawaiian noises? That ain't workin'.”

That's how you write. You take what's going on around you, and you mash it up and make it something else. We're at the point, I think, where you really can't say anything new. But you can still say it the way you want to say it.

There will probably be more later on songs that define me as a person.

One notable one would have to be ZZTop's “Tush.”

That won't get its own blog post, though. Because it's easy enough to figure out.

I'm Not Nuts

For work today I had to write two pages about almonds.

Almonds are my favorite nut. I enjoy them on ice cream, and I enjoy them on their own. I would probably use almond butter.

But almonds, much like peanuts, are not really, truly, nuts. (Peanuts are legumes.)

Almonds are actually closely related to peaches. Peaches! The almond tree is a species of tree native to the Middle East. The seeds of this tree are “drupes.” Drupes. (Say that out loud.) So they're the opposite of peaches, basically. The fleshy shell is removed, and what we're actually eating is the “pit.” I won't eat peach pits, but I will eat almonds.

How did they figure out how to eat almonds? And how did they figure out that it was the opposite of a peach? The fruit part of wild almonds contains the glycoside amygdalin, and that actually becomes deadly prussic acid (or hydrogen cyanide) when the seed is crushed.

Oh my God! How many people died trying to figure out how to eat almonds?

Almonds were domesticated in the early Bronze Age. (Almonds are older than Jesus.)

Almonds and the amygdala in the brain actually have the same root word. The amygdala plays a function in emotional learning.
Am I more emotional because I enjoy almonds?
Or do I enjoy almonds because I am emotional?

Regardless, I just ate a handful of almonds. And I feel pretty good about it.

Almonds are not exactly what they seem. I like to think I'm the same way. They aren't nuts, but they aren't peaches, either.

I'm not nuts.

You Don't Belong in the Dictionary

I always felt like I was more mature than my years. When I was in kindergarten, I insisted on wearing a pearl necklace every day. (So much so, in fact, that my teacher started calling me Barbara Bush. I was a very conservative 5-year-old.) I didn't care what people thought.

And that's what real maturity is, people. It's not caring what people think. It's being secure enough in who we are as individuals that we don't need other people to validate us. I can validate myself. We are not defined by everyone else's definition of us. (That doesn't happen until we die. And, even then, if we've defined ourselves well enough, we might still be in good shape.) We are defined by what we think and make of ourselves.

Yesterday, for instance, I put a picture up on Facebook of my newly pierced ears. Looking at that picture I realized that I have a really nice profile. (Not a Facebook profile, but a real actual profile.) So I left a comment under my own picture saying so.

BAM! I just validated myself.

A few weeks ago I was singing karaoke on the patio at the casino, and a lady from the newspaper took my picture. When I finished singing she asked me for my name and information. She then said, “If it'll be in the paper, it'll be in next Thursday. If not, you'll definitely be on the website.” I just looked at her and said, “I'm gorgeous. I'll be in the paper.”

Guess what?

I was in the paper.

It's not about being full of yourself or narcissistic (though, those things are totally necessary in moderation). It's about knowing that you're awesome. How can anyone else think you're awesome if you don't already realize it?

Reflect yourself out onto other people. Don't let them reflect onto you. Because (most of the time) they don't really know what's going on, anyway.

This is one of my favorite quotes:
“I love Mickey Mouse more than any woman I have ever known.” - Walt Disney

Exactly. Because Mickey Mouse was an extension of himself. Mickey Mouse was a reflection of Walt Disney. He didn't let anyone mess with that. And look how that worked out! We aren't defined by what others make of us— we're defined by what we do to leave our mark on this world.

You can't love other people until you love yourself. Give yourself a chance to shine. Don't worry about what other people think of you. Those people will come and go... But the Mickey Mouse inside you will be there forever.

Hello Bloggy Blog

I just got my ears pierced yesterday (yes, I know, I'm nearly 25), so I figured it was as good a time as any to open a new blogging chapter, too.

I really can't believe I actually got my ears pierced. I'm terrified of needles, and my mom doesn't have hers pierced, either. “I'll never do that!” I can't even tell you how many times I've said that.

But you know what? I'm not afraid of anything anymore.
I'm not afraid of taking steps, and I'm not afraid of making mistakes. How else do you learn?

Besides, I wasn't allowed to be afraid. There was a 5-year-old girl that got hers pierced right before me. She didn't cry. I wasn't allowed to cry, either.

And I didn't cry. (That doesn't mean I didn't get dizzy and pass out afterward. But that is not the same as crying.)

So now I have permanently altered my body. First time I ever did that on purpose.

I hope to write about things that I do, read, think, and eat.
Because I do those things.