How long has it been since you last had a cookie?

The Carnival of Me

2010-05-03T16:33:00.001-07:00

I understand the call of carny life. I love the colours of the carnival, the crazed, lilting music, the wild, twirling rides, and the house of mirrors that is both terrifying with its distorted images and beautiful with its reflected, glinting rainbows. During the day a carnival is asleep, but at night the dusty fairground transforms into a place of magic. These things seem to speak to me.

If I were a Carny, I'd be a fortune teller. I'd set up shop with a dark, velvet table cloth, and the most sparkly crystal ball I could find. I would wear deep purple and maroon, and I would speak with a phoney Eastern European accent. My eyes would be shifty, as if I were busy taking in all of the spirits in my candle-filled tent, and I would take long, drawn-out pauses between my sentences. For the people I liked, I would predict bright futures filled with love and happiness. For people that irked me (men with mullets and women with overpowering perfume), I'd predict tailbone boils, and strep throat. Of course, I'd make these people pay in advance.

If you were a carny, what would you be?

xox

2010-01-04T17:46:00.000-08:00

I've spent a while trying to write about my father. The eulogy at his memorial service was strange. It was as if the minister was speaking about a man I never knew, a man I never would know.

My relationship with my dad was always troubled. We were so different once I grew to young adulthood, and I can hardly remember a time we weren't clashing over some subject. He told me once that having children was the worst mistake he ever made. He played golf rather than attending my wedding. He kicked me out of the house on my 16th birthday. He took $600 from me and claimed the bank stole it. He introduced me to drugs. He bought guitars rather than food for his children. He never paid child support unless the state garnished his wages. I spent a third of my life not talking to him.

But I still loved him. I still love him. With all of my heart. He was my father, and while he wasn't perfect, I am a part of him. He is a part of me.

I remember when I was a child and he would tuck me in bed, he would rub his beard stubble on my face and tickle me. I would squirm and scream, and he would tell me he loved me. He took me fishing and he would always put my worm on the hook. I loved his laugh. It was deep and full of humor. He told terrible jokes with the worst punch lines. I'll never look at a lawn chair without hearing his voice, "What do you call an Irish lawn chair? PATI O' FURNITURE!"

I remember when I was 14 and having a difficult time at my mom's, he gave me a place to live. He told me then that he would always be there for me when I needed him. I believed that.

My father taught me to love myself, and to accept and cling to the differences that made me who I am. He told me that there was never a reason to feel inferior to another person. I was as worthy of a person's respect as they were of mine. He taught me to challenge the norm, and to fight for what I believe.

I am who I am in large part of my father. Although our relationship was always tumultuous, I wouldn't have given up a second of it.

I love you dad, and I wish I could have said that while you were still here.

The disappearance of Andrew

2009-11-30T20:40:00.000-08:00

I still believe Danny Abernathy ate my cat.

About six months prior to the disappearance of Andrew, Danny was doing well. He had a nice job, a wonderful girlfriend, and an apartment to die for. Everything seemed to be going great for him. Then Danny discovered meth and started staying up for days in a row. Eventually he was fired from his job. Flash forward three amphetamine-filled months and Danny had lost his girlfriend, his apartment, and he had wasted away to a shell of himself. It was insane to see such a good friend lose so much so quickly, so I offered to let him live in my tiny, one room house until he could clean himself up and get a new job. He declined the offer to live in my house, but decided that he was not above living in my tent, camped out in my front yard.

Yes, I said tent. And let me also tell you, it was November in Oklahoma. November was cold there, that flimsy tent didn't offer much shelter. Still, Danny scrounged some blankets, and was never without a heavy coat and fingerless gloves. He picked pecans from the tree in the back yard and sold them at the local market for money. He gathered the neighbor's beer cans to cash in at the recycling plant. He snuck into my house to take showers, and when he left he would leave the door unlocked and dirty, grime-filled soap in the shower. When I would tell him to lock the door if he went into the house or to buy his own soap, he would claim he wasn't in there. He constantly annoyed me because he was always talking about how he was an Eagle Scout and therefore, he was able to survive outside.

He also complained incessantly about my cute little Andrew The Cat. Andrew was a tiny, gray fur-ball who loved to play. He also loved to squeeze out the broken window of the house and haunt Danny's/my tent. He would stalk through the fallen leaves and pounce on the tent when he saw Danny's shadow move. I thought it was adorable and funny, but Danny did not. When Danny started to gripe about Andrew or the lack of pecans, I reminded him that perhaps he should stop doing drugs, get a job, and move out of the tent. By the time January rolled around, Danny and I hated each other, and we were no longer on speaking terms.

The last time I saw Andrew, Danny was yelling at him and I was laughing. I should have picked him up and put him in the house, but I thought it was more fun to let him torment Danny.

When I came home from work that day, there were policemen outside of my house. I thought that Danny had screwed up and bought drugs from the wrong person, but no. Danny had dug a pit in the ground and started a fire. He was cooking a small animal on the open fire when the police arrived. Danny claimed that he had made a sling shot and killed a squirrel that was climbing a tree.

That evening, after the police had left, I climbed into the tent and threw all of Danny's things onto the lawn. I remember I was screaming that he had to find his own place, and that he was banned from picking pecans from the tree. I was sobbing like a rage-filled mad woman when I nailed the broken window shut so Danny couldn't sneak into my house anymore.

Despite my tears and anger, I never saw Andrew again, and a few days later Danny disappeared too. A friend told me he had moved to Arizona or New Mexico to look for aliens. It's possible. I still miss Andrew, but if I ever see Danny again I hope to be armed with my own sling shot. I may not be an Eagle Scout, but I have good aim.

Can a class make life more interesting?

2009-09-29T15:14:00.001-07:00

The other day I had a long, drawn-out conversation with my sister about how bored I am with my life. Of course I cried and felt guilty for saying that my life, which really is wonderful, is suffocating me, but it was one of those days when I felt like unzipping my skin and stepping out to become an entirely different person.

During our conversation, my insanely supportive sister didn't judge me. She didn't scold me and state the obvious about how lucky I am. No, she listened and then asked a very poignant question. What would make me happy?

I thought about it all night, and to be honest, I still don't know. And the truth is that I'm not unhappy. I'm just restless. I crave some kind of change.

In the past when I felt like this I would do something that completely obliterated my ability to return to the life I was living. I once left college and ran off with a group of traveling sales people from Jordan to sell gold jewelry and refurbished electronics. Another time I packed a cardboard box with things I couldn't live without, boarded a greyhound bus, and left my first husband. Those kinds of things are major bridge burners.

Now, I'm not looking for a bridge burner. I'm just looking for some excitement; something that can feed my desire for change without ruining my life. Per Sarah's suggestion I'm going to start taking some classes to search for new interests and new friends. Next week I begin a class on book binding. I'll let you know how it goes. Even if I don't find it to be exciting, at least I'll have a new journal to add to my book collection which will one day end up on the A&E show, Hoarders.

As for you, have you ever felt this way? If so, what did you do to make life interesting again?

Strange Folk

2009-09-26T20:25:00.000-07:00

Today I awoke to a bright and cheerful morning. It was a beautiful day which I was thankful for because on Friday I decided I had to go to the Strange Folk Festival. I drove over to pick up my friend Katie, and off we went to O'fallon, IL.

First, I have to state that I have never purposely driven into Illinois. The only exception to this self-imposed rule was when I was in college. In my early college days, my friends and I would stay out until the bars closed in Missouri. Then, we would shuttle across the Mississippi to the Purple Crackle which had dim lighting, stayed open until 4am, and most importantly, contained more alcohol than any one place would ever need. It was a sleazy club (it is even sleazier now), packed full of drunken college students and 45 year old cougars all looking for the same thing - "love". There, relationships were made and broken, and it wasn't uncommon for a relationship to end and a new one to begin all in the space of one Purple Crackle evening.

As the Purple Crackle was my only experience with Illinois, I've never felt the urge to drive across the river and visit the great land of Lincoln's birth. That is until today.

To my utter dismay, the portion of Illinois directly across the Mississippi is not the stinking cesspool I pictured it was. During the day it is not composed of women covered in too-tight animal print mini skirts and men still bearing the beloved mullet of the late 80s. It is not rife with stumbling drunkards or groping college co-eds. No. In fact, it is just like home. The people are normal, which once and for all proves to me crossing the river does not automatically turn a person into a vodka swilling lunatic.

The trip to the Strange Folk Festival was great. I purchased a new wallet from Dammnatation Reclaimation, five very interesting buttons from Pumpkinbear, and an adorable gnome pin cushion for my sewing projects. The best part about all of these items is that they were all handmade by crafty people making exciting things out of ordinary materials. It was a wonderful time to commune with people like me, and it has really inspired me to begin creating again.

Now it's time to unleash my inner artist. To my craft room I go. Perhaps I can make a Purple Crackle inspired plushie...

The here and now

2009-09-25T21:24:00.000-07:00

It seems like lately I have often been reflecting on my life. I'm not sure if this review has been spurred by growing older, my mother's illness, or if it's simply a transition I'm going through that everyone faces at some point or another.

I've recently been contemplating where I've been, where I am, and where I'm headed. My life thus far has been such an interesting journey, and I'm wondering where I'll be in 10 years. 10 years ago I would have never thought that I'd be who I am or where I am today. I was such a jumbled mess of a person, and now, while I'm still a mess at times, I like who I've become. Sometimes I still feel the restless energy I felt when I was younger. At those times I want to throw a change of clothes into a case and set out on a crazy adventure that may end up back at home or, alternatively, somewhere among moss covered trees dancing in the moonlight with a group of people I hardly know.

I was telling my husband about how I may be going through my mid-life crisis. I've realized that there are several things I dreamed of doing that I won't ever do now. I won't study in Germany, I won't join the Peace Corps, I won't be an English teacher (or a German teacher for that matter!), and I'll never, never become a prima-ballerina-surgeon-archaeologist. While it makes me sad to know this, when I was speaking with him, I came to the realization that there are so many things that I've done that I never expected to do.

I've traveled all over the world. I've seen countries I never knew existed, and shared meals with amazing people that have changed my views on life, spirituality and what joy really is. I've married an amazing, kind and supportive man, and one day I will have his children. We will snuggle them silly until they can't stand us and begin to slam their doors in our faces. We will giggle behind their backs and joke about who is the most hated at the moment while simultaneously feeling the odd mixture of pain, hope and sheer exasperation all parents must sense at those moments. We will live and laugh and love, and eventually we will grow old together. When we retire we will cup tea in our hands on the porch while rocking in our chairs. We will bask in the twilight or the sunset or the bright, cheerful light of a spring afternoon.

These are things that I never imagined I would experience, and despite the dreams I had at 20, I'm so thankful I've made the decisions in my life that have brought me to this point.

I wouldn't trade the here and now for anything.

Comfort

2009-06-25T17:26:00.000-07:00

I don't think that I'll ever be able to eat a grapefruit again. I came to this conclusion at about the same time the doctor was drawing his diagram on the dry erase board of the tiny, windowless consulting room my sister, my brother and I were sitting in.

I was looking at the carpet when he began talking to us about the grapefruit-sized cancerous mass that had invaded my mother's body. The carpet was dark gray Berber with flecks of colour. In my mind the flecks were red and blue and purple, but honestly I'm not certain of the exact colours today. They wove themselves together as tears sprouted from my eyes, but I remember trying to concentrate on the fibers so I could remain strong enough to ask important questions before the doctor left the room.

What did a 60% 5 year survival rate mean? What happens now? What does radiation do? And chemo, what exactly is chemo? Why did this happen to my mom? Is this genetic? Is there anything we can do to help her through this?

It felt like time raced by at some moments and slowed to a crawl at others. I'm not sure how long we were in that room, but after the doctor had answered our questions and left us alone, my brother, sister and I sat in silence for a moment. Then, I stood up and erased the picture the doctor had drawn on the board - it seemed as if it were too private for a stranger to view. We gathered our things and walked out of the room. Someone else would be needing it shortly, and I prayed silently that the next people visiting that room would be receiving happier news than we had just heard.

Our group trudged upstairs to my mother's hospital room to wait for her. In the elevator there was silence. It was as if we were mourning something. Perhaps we were mourning the belief that everything was okay, that the doctors were simply overreacting. After the doctor confirmed what we all were wishing not to hear, there was no way we could be in denial any longer.

That moment of realization was frightening - the moment when I realized that my mother would need a respite from being the caregiver. That she would need to be cared for and cheered up. She would need to be comforted rather than be the comforter.

But my mother is so strong. In the hospital, as she lay in the bed with tubes and IVs plugged into every part of her body, she told me that she felt lucky. She felt lucky to have more time to be with her family, that she caught the cancer in a very early stage, that the odds were on her side. She felt lucky just to be alive and have the chance to fight.

And my mom will fight. She's happy, she's active, she smiles and laughs. She has such a positive outlook about her illness.

Even though I thought that I would need to comfort her, she is still comforting me with her actions and words. And she amazes me more every day.

Why?

2009-05-28T09:47:00.001-07:00

Why is it, that when it starts sprinkling, people drive 35 MPH on the highway?
Also, why is it, that when it starts pouring rain, I never have my umbrella?

PS. Someone please help me with my comma placement in the above questions. I'm very confused.

10 ways to impress a man

2009-04-24T21:59:00.000-07:00

In my life, I've learned a few tricks that seem to impress men. Now, these things come natural to me, as I seem to be particularly gifted with the ability to drink beer and discuss sci-fi, but I thought that I'd share my secrets with any ladies out there in cyber world that might be interested.

1. Wear a dress. Yes, it is that easy.
2. Drink beer. Now, it can't be just any beer - it has to be a "man" beer. For some reason men are very impressed when a dress wearing woman strolls by with a Grolsch in her hand.
3. Win a beer chugging contest. This can melt even the stone-coldest of men.
4. Know all the names of the Ninja Turtles and their weapons.
5. Hum the Transformers' tune.
6. Talk about Star Trek. Now, to be fair, this may only impress the nerdy men, but at times good things come in geeky packages.
7. Say that you think Johnny Depp is over-rated,
8. But that Bruce Lee is amazing.
9. Perfect the ability of getting ready to go out in 10 minutes or less.
10. Begin a conversation with, "If I could have any super power it would be..."

So, those are my ten "secrets". What are yours?

100 Things About Me

2009-04-23T18:58:00.000-07:00

1. I love art. I could spend 5 years in an art museum and never get sick of it. Almost every day I wish I would have been an art major rather than a language major. Art rocks my socks, German... not so much anymore.

2. Speaking of socks, I love silly ones. Today I'm wearing a pair of black socks with hot-pink polka dots. I started buying silly socks because I thought that they would be easier to match, but in fact they are worse than plain white socks. You can never replace a silly sock once it's lost. However, you can make a mean sock puppet out of a left over silly sock, some buttons, and a little bit of thread. :)

3. I believe that all dryers have tiny black holes that suck up socks. Most likely Maytag and Haynes have worked out some sort of conspiracy to improve their product sales. The dryers, of course, house the black holes, and the socks that remain in the dryer after the black hole has filled its belly (Is that even possible?), release lint to clog up your dryer filter, which eventually results in you either needing a new dryer or a repair man to come to your house. Anyway, My best guess is that all the socks go to another dimension that is full of socks, pens and pony-tail holders. Who knows, perhaps that missing ring from my sixth grade summer boyfriend is there too.

4. I never used a computer until college. Well, I guess that's not totally true. I did play Oregon Trail in elementary school.

5. I pronounce Oregon like "Organ."

6. I think that someone should make a game called Organ Trail. In the game the player could harvest organs from drunk tourists who make their way down to Mexico, and then sell them on the black market. I'm sure you are thinking, "What a sick idea for a game! There's something really wrong with this woman." I know! It's a crazy idea, but I'm pretty positive there's a market for it. And where there's money to be made...well, you won't find me there, but anyway...

7. I webmd everything. If I have a scratchy throat I webmd it. Because of the internet I'm always sure that I have some new, deadly and contagious disease. Once I was positive I had cancer. While that's not contagious, it is deadly. I didn't/don't have cancer...or so my doctor says...

8. For someone that thinks materialism is stupid, I really want a lot of stuff. I want a fireplace, I want hardwood floors, Bose speakers, every book written by Orsen Scott Card, a white leather purse, and many, many other things.

9. When I was about 5 years old a moth flew into my ear. I thought that it was eating my brain and I remember screaming, "It's eating my brain! It's eating my brain!" as it flapped around. My mom (being the good mom she is) poured water into my ear and drowned the winged creature. I'm sure she saved my life that evening since I probably would have had heart failure had she killed that moth even 3 seconds later.

10. I'm still frightened of moths and tiny bugs.

11. I'm terrible at math and geography. I chose German as my major in college partly because I didn't want to take college algebra. Maybe the moth really did eat part of my brain; the parts that house math, geography and good judgement skills.

12. I'm impulsive. I often act or speak first and think later. While I'm usually okay with that, other times I lie awake at night hoping that someone doesn't hate me for one of the stupid things I said that day.

13. All genres of Music are very important to me. I suppose I could be called a music snob at times. Several years ago, I actually got into an argument with a teenager at Hot Topic because they called Blink 182 "punk." It still gives me shivers when I think about it.

14. I hate Blink 182.

15. I hate Fall Out Boy.

16. I love James Taylor.

17. It bothers me when people spell grammar with an -er. That's just bad grammar. I also dislike it when people mix up there, their and they're, or two, to and too.

18. I'm not actually sure that bad spelling qualifies as bad grammar.

19. I use commas far too often. Once in high school, my English teacher said that we should be putting commas anytime we pause in a sentence. To be fair, I should have known better because she also said that "its" should always have an apostrophe. How did she get to become an English teacher?

20. I moved to Oklahoma when I was a Junior in high school. Big. Mistake.

21. I was a wild teen. I don't think that many people would guess that if they met me today. Most people think I've always been an innocent rule stickler, but as a teen I lived by my own rules. Of course rules made by a teenager aren't always the best rules. They are usually something like, "Never be late for a party, but arriving on time for work isn't that important. But don't go to work high... that often anyway."

22. Now I am a rule stickler. I always use my blinker, and I never go to work high. In fact, I don't even get high. See what a rule stickler I am?

23. I really hate it when drivers don't follow traffic laws. My driving pet peeves are when people don't use their blinkers, and when they try to turn one lane into two . IT'S ONLY ONE LANE PEOPLE!

24. I also hate it when bicyclists don't follow the traffic laws. I don't mind sharing the road with them, I just want them to stop at stop signs and traffic signals like I do. There's this billboard that I see every day on my way to work. It states, "Same taxes, same roads. Respect bicyclists." I always dream of getting out of the car and writing in thick black sharpie, "SAME ROAD, SAME RULES. RESPECT LAWS." So far I've managed to stay in the car, but I'm not sure how much more of the sign I'm able to take.

25. I'm an obsessive collector of pens, pencils and notebooks. Right now I have...22 writing utensils in my purse. And yes, I did just count them.

26. My favourite gum is Trident Splash Strawberry with Lime.

27. I like spelling favourite with a u. It makes me feel "worldly."

28. My knee hurts when the weather changes. I'm like an old woman. I always say to my husband, "Well, I guess the weather is about to change. My knee is hurting!" It's true that the weather does usually change... within the week.

29. I'm always a little ticked off when St. Louis isn't included in the lists of America's Large Cities.

30. I've traveled a lot. I've been to Germany 4 times, Austria, England, Dubai, Abu Dabi, Mexico and Bangladesh. However, I've never been to Chicago which is 5 hours away. Take that big city.

31. My favourite city I've ever been to is Munich. I'd move there in a heartbeat. Of course, I'd have to live in a teeny, tiny apartment, I'd probably be unemployed, and I'd have to scrounge food out of trashcans, but I'd still go.

32. My main reason for moving to Munich is the amazing bookstore they have across from the Rathaus-Glockenspiel. The bookstore is called Hugendubel and it's one of the most fabulous places I've ever been.

33. I never get rid of a book. I just know one day people will see me on TLC, the walls of my house lined with stacks and stacks of books. On the show people will be trying to coax me into selling them or giving them to charity, but I won't do it. Then, at the end of the documentary, I'll be found smothered under a collapsed pile. Ah, my sad, sad, totally foreseeable future.

34. It bothers me when people use the term underemployed instead of unemployed. If you don't have a job, you are UNemployed. If you have a job, but you are doing something far below your skill level, then you are underemployed. Yes, it's true. They are two totally different things.

35. I have a tattoo on my ankle that I got when I was 17. It was given to me while I was drunk at my friend's roach-infested house with a homemade gun that used a guitar string as a needle. Needless to say, it is not pretty.

36. I was married for a month when I was 18. I usually lie about it and simply call him my high school boyfriend because I don't think that "marriage" really counts. It was totally practice.

37. I met my real husband at a Delta Chi fraternity party when I was 19.

38. When I met my husband, I pretended to know where Bangladesh is. The truth was that I had to go to the library to look it up the next day. This is yet another testament to my lack of geography skills.

39. I feel like the luckiest woman alive to have my husband. I'm not always nice to him (even though I should be), but he's truly the best man I've ever met. He cooks, he does laundry, and he makes me feel like the most special woman alive.

40. I do not have children although I'm 30.

41. It bothers me when strangers ask me why I don't have kids yet, or when I plan on having children. I wish I had a funny retort, but I can't ever think of anything that nicely sums up my thought of, "Mind your own damn business, Snoopy."

42. I'm actually normally a very open person. I'm even quite the over sharer at time.

43. I have a pre-occupation with the way toilet paper comes off of the roll. In my opinion, it has to be pulled from up and over the top of the roll, not under the bottom (where it can get stuck!) of the roll. My obsession with this is so insane, that I'll even rearrange the toilet paper at a friend's house (or a bar bathroom) if it is "incorrectly" installed.

44. I only use one type of soap to wash my face - Cetaphil cleansing bar for dry sensitive skin. It's amazing.

45. Every morning I consume copious amounts of caffeine.

46. I still love to colour. I have a My Little Pony colouring book stashed in my guest bedroom for when I'm bored.

47. I prefer red grapes to green.

48. My doctor once told me that I have the cleanest ears of anyone he has ever seen, a fact which I am oddly proud of.

49. I am stubborn, but I blame it on astrology. I am an Aries (ram), my Chinese zodiac is a goat, and my name means lamb. With that combination of things, who wouldn't be a little hard-headed?

50. I secretly love it when my husband threatens our puppy with a time-out.

51. I sing loudly when I'm driving alone in the car.

52. I didn't drive until I was 23 years old. I tried to learn once when I was 17, but I gave up when I hit a stop sign and then drove into a ditch.

53. I don't like birds even though they eat bugs and tiny moths. They are dirty, and they are loud.

54. I am quickly becoming amazing at Wii RockBand.

55. I've worn glasses since I was in 5th grade. My first pair were brown plastic frames and went from my eyebrows to the middle of my cheek. You can sort of see them in this picture.

56. At the same time I got glasses, I was also "blessed" with a mullet. The combination of these two things sealed my pre-teen fate as a total nerd in middle school.

57. That mullet was one of the most traumatic haircuts I've ever received. You see, I wanted feathered bangs, but I walked out of the beauty school (where they gave $3 haircuts) with a full fledged mullet. So did my sisters Sarah and Martha, and my brother Zachary. After many years of thinking about this, I have come to the conclusion they must have been practicing mullets in beauty school that week. I probably could have asked for a trim, and left with a mullet. However, Billy Ray Cyrus would have been pleased.

58. I still cringe when I see the school pictures that were taken a week after the mullet tragedy. In mine, I'm standing next to a giant yellow pencil, a strained smile on my face. I'm sure I was already regretting not faking an illness that morning, and instead having to have that moment captured in time - mullet, glasses and all.

59. I like sneezing.

60. And having the hiccups.

61. I really wish I could lick my elbow.

62. I believe that everything in your life happens for a reason, and that every experience is a chance to learn something new.

63. If I had a time machine and I could go back to one time in my past, I would go back to the last time I visited my grandmother before she passed away. I would spend hours with her, and ask her every question I could think of that I had never asked her before. And I would tell her that I love her - a hundred times.

64. My favourite scent is grapefruit.

65. I love snuggling with my puppy.

66. I wish I could appreciate wine, but it gives me a stomachache.

67. I can appreciate cheese, and I "appreciate" (aka: eat) it as often as possible.

68. I wish I knew Kung Fu.

69. If I could choose any superpower, it would be the power of Psychic Punch. With that power, I could deliver a mighty blow to someone from thousands of miles away simply by thinking about it. Of course, I would have to keep this power a secret, since if anyone found out it was me psychically punching them, I'd have to worry about retaliation in the form of Psychic Roundhouse Kick.

70. I would love to spend the night in the Amityville Horror House or the Myrtles Plantation.

71. If I had to choose between being a monster or an alien, I would choose being an alien. Unless I would have to be a slimy alien. Then I would choose being a monster; a fuzzy monster, like that one in Monsters Inc.

72. I love Liquid Paper DryLine Grips, but it bothers me that they are called "liquid paper" when there is nothing liquid about them.

73. I'm bossy, but I'm okay with that. However, how other people feel about it may be a different issue.

74. I love jewelry. And shoes. That may be why I've always had a little bit of an obsession with Dorthy's Ruby Slippers; they are a combination of two of my favourite things.

75. I go to Walgreen's nearly every day.

76. I wish I had a Mensa-level IQ.

77. because then I would lord it over people of lesser intellect.

78. Actually, I wouldn't do something like that.

79. I like my coffee cold and black.

80. I'm not a fan of Tootsie Rolls.

81. I think the world would be a better place without blueberries.

82. I cry. A lot.

84. I also over-react. A lot.

85. Usually I over-react and then cry. It's the worst combination ever because then I just come off as crazy.

86. I have written, but never mailed, thank-you notes.

87. I know the phonetic alphabet.

88. I love riding in trains.

89. I love sleeping during road trips.

90. I enjoy folding fitted sheets.

91. I learned how to fold fitted sheets from a video on the Internet.

92. I also fold underwear. I learned how to do that from Who's The Boss.

93. I love to bake, but I can't cook at all. Once, when we first started dating, I tried to impress my husband with a home cooked meal. I thought about it all day and finally decided to make honey-glazed salmon. I bought all of the ingredients and called a local restaurant to find out how to use the broiler in my oven, but when Jyoti arrived and I took the salmon out of the oven it wasn't cooked thoroughly. Then, I put it back in the oven and it caught on fire... We went out for Thai food, and Jyoti has rarely asked me to cook for him since.

94. I have a difficult time conforming to how others think I should act, even if a change would help me in the long run.

95. I love the sound of my husband's laughter.

96. I have read Jane Eyre more times than I can remember.

97. I think that everyone deserves a happy ending.

98. I can sew.

99. I can't dance.

100. It has taken me since October 2008 to complete this list

Over the hill already??

2009-04-14T18:37:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I turn 30. Now, realistically, I know that 30 isn't old, but there have been a few things that have thrown a wrench into my "30 is still young" mindset.

1. My hairdresser found a gray hair during my last appointment.

2. When I told my neighbor's daughter that I was turning 30 tomorrow, her jaw dropped and she exclaimed, "30!?!"

and last but certainly not least,

3. My husband just brought me a cake; not to say,"Happy Birthday," but to help me bid goodbye to my 20s, or in his words, my youth.

Tulips on a rainy day

2009-04-10T09:19:00.001-07:00

There are certain times of the year when I miss my grandmother the most. One of those times is the beginning of Spring, when flowers wake up from their winter slumber to stretch their new shoots out of the cold, wet ground towards the sun. When I see this beginning to happen, I picture my grandmother wandering around her yard, whispering secrets to the tiny buds, her hands clasped behind her back, and pieces of hair slipping out of the bun that rested on top of her head.

I have a tulip that just sprouted out of the ground. It's a tulip that once made a home in my grandma's yard, one that she once whispered to, trying to coax it to bloom especially for her. I remember that those tulips were difficult to dig up after my grandmother passed away. It was as if we were digging up tiny pieces of her to carry off with us to our new homes.

Today it's dark and rainy, but the tulip from my grandmother's yard is bright pink. It's like she's giving me a little gift to remember her on a dreary day.

Lesson learned

2009-04-08T19:22:00.000-07:00

When I was a child, my dream was to become a prima-ballerina/archaeologist/surgeon/fashion designer. When I ran out of aluminium foil to create clothing for Barbie, I would amputate her legs, bury them outside to dig up later after they had "fossilized," and then practice my pirouette in the kitchen while clutching Barbie's naked, limbless body. My parents spent a lot of money on both Barbie dolls and ballet lessons (perhaps they should have invested in therapy for me instead), but neither of these things led to much that was helpful later in life.

My primary goal was to be a ballerina. I lived, ate and breathed ballet, and I have to admit, I always thought I was a wonderful dancer. Although I never received a lead role in a recital, during the show I was always the one tree dancing out of sync with the rest of the forest. When the other trees would scamper left, I would throw my arms into the air and spin in a circle to the right. Ballet was much more dramatic that way, and by dancing to my own tune, I received far more attention and smiles than the other girls. Even then, the power of hamming it up for the crowd was not lost on me.

I didn't learn much ballet technique since I was so intent on charting my own dance waters, and until today, I thought I hadn't learned anything other than the fact that I'm a bit of an attention hog who dances to her own beat. However, I thought about my childhood ballet lessons this afternoon when, on the way to lunch, I tripped down the stairs and sprained my ankle in front of a group of my co-workers. I. Wanted. To. Die. But as I stood there with my eyes full of tears that were more embarrassment than pain, I heard the faint, far-away voice of my ballet teacher (In my memory she sounds much more Glenda-the-Good-Witch than normal-woman-from-Oklahoma).

"If you make a mistake, just keep going!"

So, even though my pride was severly wounded, I didn't run away. I picked myself up and continued on with the day. I guess my parents' money wasn't completely wasted.

My Dream: The Newbery Medal

2009-04-07T16:06:00.000-07:00

For my first order of business, doesn't anyone want something made by me?

Secondly, I have, of late, been consumed by reading children's books. This is not only because I find children's literature insanely wonderful, but also because I've started working on my "great American (children's) novel." Now, don't laugh, but I plan to win the Newbery Medal, and I promise that I'll remember you all when I'm rich and famous. Leave a comment and I may even mention you on the Today Show when I'm interviewed by Matt Lauer.

Matt: "Rae, who was your greatest inspiration when writing this book?"
Me: "Normally people would say their significant other, but you know Matt, I'd have to say my blogger friends: ______, _______, _______, and ______. Their comments really kept me going."

In preparation for my great, award-winning work of fiction, I recently read two winners, The Graveyard Book, and The Tale of Despereaux: Being the Story of a Mouse, a Princess, Some Soup and a Spool of Thread. I thought that perhaps I would gain some insight into the minds of children and maybe come up with some ideas for how to write engaging dialogue for my own main characters, but to my surprise I fell into these books with all the abandon of a 12 year old.

On Sunday evening I read The Tale of Despereaux in one sitting. I read through dinner (it's extremely difficult to eat nachos while holding a book), and I read through The Tudors, and although my husband begged me to turn out the light and go to sleep, I read far past bedtime. I just couldn't stop; I was like an addict. What was that mouse going to do next??? My heart ached to know the conclusion of the characters' stories. I kept telling myself, "One more word. That's all... one more page. No more than that. Well, maybe one more chapter..."

I read until my eyes were droopy, and finally, when the last page contained no more words, I was so sad that the story was over. I wanted more.

If you promise not to tell anyone, I'll tell you a secret..... I liked The Tale of Despereaux just as much as I liked *Harry Potter*. I may even have liked it more....

(I feel like I just committed a sin by admitting that.)

After reading these two stories, I'm certain that I have a lot of work ahead in order to win the Newbery Medal. Even if I don't win with this story, hopefully I can write something that has people begging to stay up in order to read one more page.

However, if I do win, I promise one great party. Consider that a bribe Newbery Medal judges.

Crafty McCrafterson

2009-04-06T21:21:00.000-07:00

Over at 280 Main Street, 280 Main is getting her craft on. She's posted a great idea. Want a Gift From Me? is sort of like a crafting chain letter; one that I'm passing along. If you'd like a gift from me, these are the rules:

1. I make no guarantees that you will like what I make!

2. What I create will be just for you.

3. It’ll be done this next month.

4. You have no clue what it’s going to be. It may be a story. It may be poetry (Actually, I can guarantee that it won't be poetry) or something sewn. I may draw or paint something. I may bake something and mail it to you. Who knows? Not you, that’s for sure!

5.The catch? You must re-post this on your blog and offer the same to the first 3 people who do the same on your blog. The first 3 people to do so and leave a comment telling me they did win a FAB-U-LOUS homemade gift by me! I do promise fabulosity here folks…

So, who’s in?

For those of you who are in, leave a comment and then send me an email with your mailing address and a few things you like. Links to pictures you like would be nice too. My email is istoleyourgnome@hotmail.com.

On-the-way-to-work Idol

2009-04-01T20:42:00.000-07:00

My new favourite time of the day is the ride in to work. Although I loved riding with my husband when we worked together, I was never fully awake by the time I dragged myself to my desk, and it wasn't until nearly an hour after I was seated that I was able to begin forming coherent sentences.

Now, I blast my stereo as loud as it will go, and I sing my heart out every morning. It's been so lovely lately since I've been able to roll the windows down to enjoy the Spring air blowing on my face. If I had the opportunity, I would stick my head out of the window like a puppy.

These short minutes give me a little time to myself; much needed time to psych myself up (and wake myself up) for the day. I listen to songs my husband doesn't like, and I don't have to worry about him teasing me about my pathetic vocal abilities when I belt out the lyrics in my tone-deaf pitch. For those moments, I am the next American Idol, and all the world is full of Paulas.

Today I sang songs by Bon Iver and The Killers. Follow the links to hear my favourites.

Orpa

2009-02-23T19:32:00.000-08:00

When my husband and I got married, my niece Orpa was one year old. I remember when I met her on our 2002 trip to Bangladesh I was amazed at how small she was. However, although she had a little, tiny body, she also had a fierce will. One of the most difficult battles was getting her to eat. She wouldn't eat anything other than chips. I remember that she would hold her hand out and squeeze her fingers into a fist to indicate she wanted you to give her a bag. I always fell for her trick, and since I tried to hold her as often as possible, I would bribe her into my arms with chips. There she would sit, contentedly munching until the bag was empty.

Now, she's nearly 7 years old, and she's so big! I can't believe how time has flown.

Toothachingly sweet

2009-02-16T19:53:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: The picture below may cause cavities. I am not responsible for dental bills resulting from looking.

A chocolate-covered Evie and her Uncle Joe pose for the camera

Desperate housewife

2009-02-04T11:03:00.000-08:00

As a child, I always looked forward to summer vacation. Three days into the school year, and I would already be dreaming of snow days in January or the upcoming break when I would do all the fun things my heart desired. However, when break arrived it always seemed too long, and eventually I was dreaming about heading back to school.

Now, like then, having all the time in the world has been more of a bore than a blessing. I had wonderful plans about what I would do with my time at home. I would work out every day and cook dinner for my husband. I would play with the dog, and go to the movies, and grocery shop. However, my plans have not played out like I thought they would. I hate working out, and my husband won't eat anything I cook. I can only play so much fetch with Raja, I have to actually get dressed to go to the movies, and I've been living on PBandJ so there isn't a reason to go grocery shopping. I have not done anything I planned, and there is nothing less motivating than knowing that there isn't a reason to get out of bed before ten. So, despite my desire to be a housewife, it's been one of the most boring "jobs" I've ever had.

Because I've been living in Dullsville for three weeks and I can't imagine living this life forever, I have accepted a new position at a local publishing house. I'm excited about the opportunity, but I also have those old going-back-to-school jitters. Of course I'm worried that people won't like me, that I'll say something of the utmost stupidity, or that I simply won't fit in. I feel like I'm in middle school again, when I would psych myself up by saying, "This year, no matter what, I will be popular."

At least this time I may have a chance since big hair is out and I no longer have a home perm.

Thankful Thursday - My boyz

2009-01-29T18:02:00.000-08:00

When I met my husband, I didn't think I would marry him. In fact, I was "technically" already married (that's a story for another day), so I was certainly not looking to land a new, serious relationship. I did, however, realize that Jyoti was very special. I remember talking to my best friends, Sam and Amanda, about how connected I felt to him even after only two weeks of dating. He was nice, hardworking, interesting, an excellent cook, and horrible at telling jokes, which made him even funnier in an odd sort of way. I thought that he was amazing, but a new marriage was not on the horizon.

One night, Sam, Amanda and I, were sitting in Sam's small apartment drinking Jack Daniel's, and we made up a game. I can't remember exactly how the game was played, but during play, it was determined that I would marry Jyoti, have his children and corrupt a priest. Two of those things have come true (Actually, Josh wasn't a priest yet), and I'm just waiting for the right time to work on the third. As of now, having Raja is enough.

All I have to say about Raja, is that I love him, even when he tries to eat things out of the trash.

So, today I am thankful for my boyz. They have made my life fun, exciting and better than I ever imagined it could be.

The House of Rock

2009-01-20T19:26:00.000-08:00

Going to the House of Rock is like taking a time machine back to the late 80s. There, big hair and blue eye shadow are still in, as are half shirts and men with pony tails. It's an amazing place full of cheap beer and loud 80s hair-band music, and it is certainly one of my favorite bars in the St. Louis area.

This weekend, my husband and I met two of our friends there. Tony and Theresa go to the House of Rock so often that there is a table reserved in their name each Friday evening, and they know the personal life stories of the other regulars. Both of these things make the trip extra fun because I get to sit close to the band and hear about how the lead singer (who bears a miraculous resemblance to Meatloaf) has five children, and now, after a bitter divorce, is dating the tiny blond woman with feathered bangs and skin-tight, acid-washed jeans.

It seems like everyone should have a bar like this in their area; somewhere they can go to people watch and rock with both laughter and music. If you don't, and you are headed to the St. Louis area, send me and email. There's always room for one more at Tony's table.

"Appreciation" Gift

2009-01-16T06:17:00.001-08:00

This is what I received from Man Pants for my five years of service at the college.

Dead flowers. What an appropriate ending to my time here. Fivemorehoursfivemorehoursfivemorehours...

9 more hours

2009-01-15T13:19:00.000-08:00

Today has been a difficult day in the land of J.O.B. If you have ever given notice at a job you have spent 5 years cultivating hate for, you will understand how excited I am to leave and how long these last few days have been.

Today, the person I mentally call Man Pants continuously yelled my most hated expression, "That's what she said!" from the "staff training" she was administering. Each time I heard her grating voice I counted down the remaining hours and minutes I had to endure her. Now I'm at 9 more hours, and the only way I could be happier is if it were less.

It's like clouds are parting, and angels are singing in the distance. After 4 pm tomorrow I'm never again going to have to feign interest in her sad, lonely life, smile at one of her terribly inappropriate jokes, or swallow my disgust when she walks by burping.

Ah, a Man Pants free life. Maybe Nutter Butters aren't really what heaven is all about.

My Routan Baby

2009-01-07T14:33:00.000-08:00

Over at Land of Lovings, we've been given a preview of their soon-to-arrive baby boy. The preview comes in the form of a Routan baby made on VW's website. I've made one too. Enjoy virtual Baby Rahman. Oh, and when you look at the parents you'll have to excuse my picture. I have not showered, put on make-up or even changed out of my pajamas today.

New Year, New Job

2009-01-06T06:41:00.000-08:00

I know I've been away from my blog for awhile, but I've been a little stressed out, and I don't want my posts to be fodder for SNL's Debbie Downer skits. You know the ones. Everyone is happy and then Debbie jumps into the conversation with something like, "You know, the icecaps are melting and the polar bears are starving. I'm pretty sure whales will go next." wa-waaaaa

No, that mentality does not bode well for blogs.

First, I have to begin by telling you that I still have not cleaned my oven. I purchased the supplies (I even bought the "expensive" stuff Heather!), but I've just been too lazy. I actually took out our little roaster oven to cook the Christmas Eve roast beef so I could avoid the oven a little longer. I'm pretty ashamed of myself, but pretty soon I'll have plenty of time for scrubbing. You see, I turned in my resignation letter yesterday! Yes everyone, I am leaving my job.

My job has been the crux of my issues lately. I've been unhappy at my present position for a while, but when I began having panic attacks and taking Xanax because I had to go to work the next day, I realized that something needed to change. That something was my job.

I started really looking and I received a couple of job offers, but none of them would lead me to my ultimate goal of teaching German. After a few (really a lot of) freak-out moments, my husband finally agreed to let me become a substitute teacher! I'm very excited about it, but I'm also nervous. This is because I remember what it was like to have a substitute teacher in school. We made it a game to see how upset we could make her. Someone would sneak around and steal her notebook, while others would switch names and dance on the top of their desks. Roll call was always a joke since three students would answer, "Here!" when Jacob Smith's name was called. If we were asked to be quiet we were only inspired to talk louder. I remember once a student snuck a porn tape into the VCR when we were supposed to watch a movie. Subs were simply there for our entertainment, and it was rare that someone was good enough to keep us quiet, let alone able to get us to do the worksheet left by the teacher.

Still, I'm excited because I really want to teach German in a high school setting. I've applied for a position, and I think that with a few months of substitute teaching I may be more likely to get it. I'm not sure if this is really the case, but hopefully they will take that into account when filling the opening. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that there aren't a lot of applicants either! :)

Anyway, if you have ever subbed or taught please give me some advice. I think I'll need all I can get.

To clean or not to clean. That is the question.

2008-12-16T06:28:00.000-08:00

How awful is it that I think it may be quicker and more cost efficient to purchase a new oven than to clean the one I have?

Last night my husband cooked shake and bake chicken (and I helped! Well, actually I didn't.), and our house filled with the lovely aroma of burnt food. It wasn't because he actually burnt the food, it was because, brace yourselves.....

Wehavelivedinourhouseformore thantwoyearsandIhavenevercleanedtheoven.

Shew! I got that out. It was painful to admit, but there it is. Now, sort of in my defense (or maybe this makes it worse) our oven was extremely dirty when we bought our house. I remember asking my real estate agent if I could have the previous owners clean the oven before we moved in. This is only because I was thinking that it hadn't been cleaned since, um, about 1997 when our house was built. He said that it would be ridiculous to ask for something like that, so I let it go. However, I have been too grossed out to clean it because the gunk is SO OLD IT'S NEARLY PETRIFIED.

So, back me having to clean the oven.

The thing is, it's not a self-cleaning oven. I would have to scrub it with, well, I'm not sure what, but I know I'd have to wear those huge, yellow, plastic cleaning gloves. I've seen it on t.v. and I'm pretty sure it's some kind of law.

I'm also sure cleaning the oven will take hours. In my mind I'm estimating about 10. Maybe 20. Then, I have to purchase the gloves. I'll have to have new ones because the only plastic cleaning gloves I have are pink, not yellow, and they are for scrubbing toilets, not cleaning something my food will go in. I'll also have to buy the cleaning supplies. Since the oven hasn't been cleaned in probably more than a decade, most likely I'll have to buy at least 10 times the amount of supplies one would normally purchase.

I estimate (including time and labour) the cleaning to cost approximately one million dollars. And that's just an estimate. It could be more due to the therapy I may need after the job has been completed.

Thoughts?

The Hole

2008-12-12T13:49:00.000-08:00

My dream weekend consists of watching Nancy Grace reruns and eating rocky road ice cream straight out of the container while lounging on the couch with blankets piled up all around me. Occasionally I might play a game of Wii Mario Cart, sew a few seams or knit a few stitches on one of my many ongoing projects, but the majority of my time would be slothful. Gluttonous. Full of unnecessary rest and relaxation.

I haven't had a weekend like this ever since we got our puppy. Oh, I love Raja, but I dream of the day that he will stop leaping at my face and chewing up the carpet.

Raja's newest "thing" is chewing on the wall next to our kitchen. I've patched The Hole (the one that's been laughing at me in my dreams) a few times already, but for some reason he keeps going back to that spot. I've sprayed it with bitter apple, I've put him in puppy time-out, I've lunged at him, arms clawing at the air, screaming, "NOOOO!" Nothing has worked. It's like he knows that chewing on the wall is the thing that will bother me the most, so he stops by for a nibble any chance he gets.

Now, anytime I sit on my couch I see It. The Hole makes my pulse race because I worry that I will never be rid of It. When I'm 60, I'll look over at my husband, eyes wild with insanity, and scream, "THE HOLE! THE HOLE! WILL WE EVER BE RID OF THE HOLE?!?"

It's the stuff nightmares are made of.

Here's the truth

2008-12-05T07:57:00.000-08:00

The other day my little sister, Martha, asked me if my husband and I were trying to have a baby. We aren't.

Even a few weeks ago, I may have said, "I'm totally ready." I was seeing babies everywhere and each time I saw a tiny baby smile, or coo, or try to stand up, my heart ached with longing. Our plan was to start trying this month. Now I have to say that the idea of having my own baby is completely frightening to me again. There were a few weeks there when I really thought I was ready. I thought that it was time, and it seemed that everything had fallen into place. Now the dog has chewed a hole in our living room wall, and Jyoti has switched jobs, and it's Christmas shopping season, and I'm having issues from going off of Lexapro. I just feel like if these things are stressing me out so completely, I'm not sure I can add a whole child to the mix.

Aside from the birth process which you all know freaks me out, I also have these fears about what kind of parent I'll be. I'm afraid that I'll have rages like my mother had, or that I'll ignore my children like my father does. I'm afraid that I'll totally screw up the little child that comes into my life, and I'm not sure that I'm ready to take on that burden. I know that all children are a little screwed up and there is no way to avoid it. I just don't want them to be screwed up in the hoodied-college-student-with-a-gun way.

So I guess I'll give it a little while longer. Hopefully I'll be ready to commit by the time I'm 40.

I promise I'll let you know Martha.

Ignorance is Blitz

2008-12-04T16:41:00.000-08:00

As I work in Higher Education, I can't exactly say that I approve of plagiarism. In fact, I obviously don't approve of or condone it at all. However, there are times when dealing with an academic dishonesty violation may be easier for a professor than reading actual papers written by certain college students.

Today I found a book with dozens of examples of terrible, stupefying excerpts from college essays and papers. If you want to laugh until you cry (even the back of the book says you will!), I highly recommend it to you. The book was edited and compiled by Anders Henricksson and is entitled, Ignorance is Blitz, Mangled Moments of History from Actual College Students.

Here are a few tidbits that made my eyes water, both from laughter and pity.

"Prehistory, a subject mainly studied by anthroapologists, was prior to the year 1500. When animals were not availiable the people ate nuts and barrys."

"Rulers were entitled Faroes. A famed one was King Toot."

"Zorroastrologism was founded by Zorro. This was a duelist religion."

"The three gods were, 'Good,' 'Bad,' and 'Indifferent." These beliefs later resurfaced among the Manatees."

"Cesar inspired his men by stating, 'I came, I saw, I went.'"

"Mary and Joseph went from inn to inn trying to find a place for Jesus to be born, but they were refused everywhere because they were Jewish."

"Eventually Christian started the new religion with sayings like, 'The mice shall inherit the earth.' Later Christians fortunately abandoned this idea."

and my personal favourite:

"During the Dark Ages it was mostly dark."

I'm not sure if I should really react this way, but this book makes me feel very smart.

* UPDATE!: Fiona pointed out that the dark ages really were dark. History once again has triumphed. In case you still aren't a believer here is an article that can tell you all about it.
Who knew that student was a secret genius?

What does Heaven taste like?

2008-12-03T11:05:00.000-08:00

I just ate the one type of cookie I swore I would never eat again. Nutter Butters. It's like heaven just died and fell down to earth to land on my tounge.

Who knew heaven was crunchy with a peanut butter filling?

Potty Training

2008-12-02T16:28:00.001-08:00

My sister called me today. She said that Evie had something to tell me and she passed the phone to my niece. Here is a recap of the conversation:

Evie: "Poop!"
Me: *Uncomfortable giggle* "Um, Evie, did you just say Poop?"
Evie" "POOP!...POOPPOOPPOOP!"
Me: "Yeah, wow. I mean, hmm...I'm totally amazed."
Evie: "Poop!"

Then Sarah grabbed the phone.

Sarah: "Did you understand what she was trying to tell you?!?!?"
Me: "I'm guessing that she used the bathroom?"
Sarah: "TWICE! On the potty!"

This leads me to the point of this post. I never thought that my sister, the one who cried when she slipped in dog poop at Pet Co, would have ever, ever been this excited about poop.

Congratulations on your baby growing up, Sarah. You really are a good mother.

DeVotchka

2008-11-26T23:28:00.000-08:00

Have you ever wondered how you went so long without hearing a song or a band that seems to make your heart stop beating for a moment? It's as if your music library wasn't complete until you discovered it, and you have no idea how you never noticed the hole that it suddenly rushed in to fill.

I heard DeVotchka for the first time today. It's like Modest Mouse and Morrissey made mad, passionate music, and from that union sprang DeVotchka.

I think I'm in love.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbZM6ZSlvvY&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XviMAXKvewM&feature=related

A letter to Barnes and Nobel

2008-11-26T10:55:00.000-08:00

Dear Barnes and Nobel,

I'm already boycotting Borders due to a shipping fee of $5 they refused to refund me. Now it seems like you too are heading towards my list of boycotted retailers. This list is small and I'd like to keep it that way. I'd love to have somewhere that I can buy books and sit and drink my coffee and eat my cupcakes in peace. Barnes and Nobel has been that place for several months.

The problem with this, is that every time I go to the Washington University School of Medicine Barnes and Noble bookstore I receive poor customer service from the cafe employees. Normally I just brush it off as tolorably rude behavior, but today I reached my tipping point.

All I wanted was a venti ginger peach tea and two small red velvet cupcakes. Following is a brief description of what happened.

Me: "Please don't smash the cupcakes. Actually, could you put them in a box rather than a bag? I'd like them to look pretty since I'm giving them to my employees."

Cashier: "We don't have any boxes."

Me: "Well, could you maybe just put them in that styrofoam soup bowl?" *point to the soup bowl* "That one would be big enough."

Cashier: *Heavy sigh* "Let me see if we have a box."

The cashier proceeded to look through the cupboards for a box, slamming each one until she found a box that was approximately two inches deep.

Me: "I don't think those cupcakes will fit in that. I just want to make sure they aren't smashed."

Cashier: "They won't be."

She put them in the box and closed the lid. When she handed them to me they were obviously smashed. Chocolate icing was smeared on the top of the clear container. I sighed and walked over to a table. However, when I got to the table, I thought to myself, "I specifically asked her not to smash the cupcakes. I'm going to ask for some new ones." So, I walked back to the counter.

Me: "Excuse me. I asked you not to smash these cupcakes since they are gifts. Would you please give me new ones?"

Cashier: "What?"

Me: "I'd like new cupcakes since you smashed these. Could you make sure not to smash the new ones?"

Cashier: *Eye roll* "Fine."

The cashier grabbed two more cupcakes and put them on a plate.

Me: "I actually need them in a container so I can take them back to work. Could you just put them in a soup bowl?"

Cashier: "What soup bowl?"

Me: *Pointing again* "That soup bowl I just asked you to put them in a minute ago."

Cashier: *Deep sigh combined with an eyeroll*

The cashier put the cupcakes in the soup bowl and handed them to me. They were smashed again. At that point I gave up on trying to get unsmashed cupcakes and went back to my table.

That's when the cashier started talking about me to a woman sitting at the table across from the cafe counter. She was talking about how unreasonable I was about not having smashed cupcakes. The lady at the table laughed and another woman chimed in, "Well, you know we deal with all kinds here." They continued to talk about me until I left my table.

By this time I was very angry, and decided that I should speak with the manager about the cafe staff. I walked over to the book section and asked to speak with someone. When the manager arrived, it was the woman who had been sitting at the table across from the cafe counter, gossiping about me with the other workers.

When I told her I didn't appreciate the way she was speaking about me, when I was sitting right there, she didn't even apologize. So, I asked to speak with her manager. That manager didn't arrive for nearly 10 minutes, but when she did, she at least apologized.

Hopefully the attitude of your employees changes. Perhaps I will rejoin your customer base when this happens.

Thank you,
Rae Regenbogen

No more Bidz

2008-11-25T20:27:00.000-08:00

I am now boycotting Bidz.com, and I am certainly removing it from my top 7 websites.

The company misshipped my order and since it was returned to their warehouse, they are charging me again for shipping and repulling the order. They are even charging me a restocking fee. This is despite the fact that it was their fault because they shipped the order to the wrong address. When I told them they could just refund me for my order and keep it, I was told that they would not do that. I'm fuming.

Shady, shady, shady.

A letter to Kellogg's

2008-11-25T07:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Kellogg's,

I appreciate the fact that you are trying to help people lose weight with your Special K diet. However, it's not going to work.

You see, last night I went to Walgreen's around 11:30pm. While there, I purchased a 6 pack of your Chocolate Peanut Butter Special K Protein bars. It is now 9:34am the next day and they are gone. I'm sure I'll never be able to wash off the ring of chocolate shame they left around my mouth.

Hopefully in the future you will make your diet food taste like crap so that people will be able to control themselves.

Yours truly,
Rae Regenbogen

Can you change a man?

2008-11-19T16:41:00.000-08:00

There are many, many times in my life that I have been grateful to be a girl. The fact that I never had to pay for dinner on a date, that I rarely have to buy my own liquor at a bar and that I can ask someone to open a jar for me without being teased are all plusses in my book. However, today I think that the best thing about being a girl is using the women's public restroom.

There's a reason women wait in line for 20 minutes to use their own restrooms. It's so we don't have to share them with men.

I had this thought yesterday when I went to have my car fixed. At the dealership, they had a non-gender specific restroom and of course I had to use it. Anyone that knows me also knows that I have the bladder the size of a pea, and that when I go anywhere I have to immediately find a bathroom. Anyway, back to the dealership. When I went into their restroom, I stepped in a puddle of pee.

YES LADIES, THERE WAS A PUDDLE OF PEE ON THE FLOOR!!! Did I mention that the toilet seat was left up? As I've never known a woman to pee on the floor or leave the toilet seat up, I assume this little gift was left by a man.

To be fair to the dealership, this isn't the first time this has ever happened to me. It seems like non-gender specific restrooms are usually pretty gross. I'm not sure if I have high standards since I'm a woman, but I think that if a person pees on the floor, the least they can do is to let management know it's there. They don't even have to say they did it. The conversation could go something like this:

Pee-er: "*Cough* Excuse me, there is a problem in the bathroom. It seems that "someone" missed the toilet."
The End.

Perhaps men have this problem because they have to stand, but I'm starting to think that they pee in places just to mark their territory. "This bathroom/subway/street/alley is mine, all mine. I'll allow you to use it, but not until you step in my urine."

I'm not sure exactly why I'm writing this post. I'm not asking for all bathrooms to have real towels and vanities and perfume and mints. I guess that I'm just hoping that a man reads this post and vows to never pee on the floor in a shared restroom again. Men, I don't care if you pee on the floor in a men's restroom. Really. I don't. I'm just asking that you don't pee on the floor in a restroom that women have to use. You see, we simply aren't used to it, and we never will be.

If I can help change even one man's public restroom habits, I'll feel I've made a difference for women everywhere.

Old

2008-11-18T16:25:00.000-08:00

I hate the intern in my department. Well, not really, but sometimes I nearly do. This isn't because she's mean or snide or cruel in any way; it's because she wore gold pants today. The Intern dresses like fashionable clothing grows on trees and then falls off at her feet and begs her to put it on. Her cuteness reminds me of when I was her age and thin and wore$100 sweaters with 6 inch heels I bought on my weekely shopping excursions. Sure I was broke all the time and my feet were in a constant state of pain, but I certainly looked adorable.

The thing that most worries me even more than my petty jealousy, is that I just typed, "when I was her age." You see, she's only 25 and I'm only 29. When did I start thinking that wearing gold pants was too risque and instead began purchasing duplicates of any flattering pair of black slacks I could find. When did I start using the word slacks? At some point in the last 5 years, "old" has snuck up on me. I realize that physically 29 is not old. I do, but I think I must be more like 65 mentally. I say hip - as in, "I thought I was hip when I was in high school." Just saying hip instead of something else, anything else, qualifies me for one old point in my mental How Old Are You? quiz. I also say, "those kids" when referring to the college students I work with. Today I actually said to a student's parent, "Those kids and their texting; I just don't understand it."

When did I suddenly develop the need to begin railing about the olden days when we didn't have text messaging and we had to actually hold conversations? Since when were people that are 4 years younger than I am kids?

I just know that soon I'll start telling my niece Evie that I walked uphill both ways in the snow to school and that she should be thankful her mother doesn't give her candy for dinner. Maybe I should just invest in a cane to shake at people now.

Why?

2008-11-18T06:11:00.000-08:00

Why is it that oatmeal rasin cookies taste so much better than actual oatmeal with rasins and brown sugar? Sometimes life really is unfair.

7 websites you should never visit

2008-11-17T06:23:00.000-08:00

I don't know if you are like me, but when I'm told not to do something an automatic switch flicks somewhere in the shadows of my brain. I. MUST. DO. THAT. THING.

So, in the spirit of rebellion, I'm going to tell you 7 websites you should "never" visit. FYI: this is not because they contain inappropriate content, but because once you have discovered them, you may never leave your computer again (whether you want to or not).

#1. http://www.bidz.com/. Now, this website is sick. And it will make you sick. And poor. But happy. ish. (PS. Please never bid against Rockykid - that's me!) *Edit 11/25.08 - you really should not go to this site. I'll never be using it again. For real - they're shady. Here is the reason why.*

#2. http://www.perezhilton.com/. I'm almost embarrassed to put this on here, and you probably know about it anyway. However, Perez is mean, and his cruelty often improves my Monday mornings. Does that make me bitter and petty? Yes, but who really cares?

#3. http://www.songmeanings.net/. I can look up song lyrics on any site, but I can't read about their meanings just anywhere. Does it really matter why The Cure used the name Elise in their song, A Letter To Elise? I never thought so, but painted_doll seems to have put a lot of time into studying it. Thanks painted_doll for saving my braincells for other work.

#4. http://www.etsy.com/. This website was made for both the crafty McCraftersons and the not so crafty McCraftersons. It's like a craft fair on your computer. Hooray! :) Pass me the kettle corn, please.

#5.www.thepcmanwebsite.com/media/pacman_flash/. Ahh, Pac-Man, my first love. Need I say more?

#6. http://www.morphthing.com/. If you have ever wondered what your lovechild with Sacha Baron Cohen or Spock (or Pac-Man) would look like, here's the site for you.

#7. http://www.webmd.com/. I've been convinced that I've had every disease known to man because of this website. I know that self-diagnoses isn't good for a person, but I JUST CAN'T STAY AWAY! *Cough* Do I have TB?

I waste quite a bit of time on these sites. If I'm not reading blogs or googling words like lolcats (I just found out what they were today - I'm way behind the times) I'm most likely on one of these sites. What are your favorites?

PS. Spell check now recgonizes googling as a properly spelled word. How times have changed...

Why oh why do I google?

2008-11-10T10:26:00.000-08:00

Since my husband and I have purchased a home, adopted a puppy and located the perfect 4 door car, I'm finally seriously considering this baby thing. So, today I thought that I'd look up information a woman should know before trying to concieve.

I shouldn't have.

I have to say that I'm a little grossed/freaked out. I don't mean to offend anyone by saying that, it's just that I've always been a little creeped out by the whole birth process anyway. When my sister was pregnant I couldn't bring myself to touch her belly, and I had crazy dreams about Evie trying to break out of the womb. They were spooky. In one dream Evie had her face and hands pressed so hard against Sarah's abdomen, that I could see exactly what she looked like. I remember waking up in a near-panic and my husband calming me down.

Since the idea of pregnancy bothered me so much, I never learned about body changes other than weight-gain and morning sickness. So, after a quick google search I was unpleasantly surprised to find that these changes may include (but are not limited to) accidental pants-peeing, nose bleeds, hemorrohids, and leaking boobs.

Perhaps this is why people don't watch TLC's A Baby Story while they are pregnant. Maybe sometimes it's just better to jump in with both feet even if you don't know how deep the pool is. All I know is that now that I've tried to see the bottom and I know it's WAY down there I'm scared again.

Why can't the stork story be true?

It's a miracle

2008-11-08T06:09:00.000-08:00

Thankful Thursday

2008-11-06T06:52:00.000-08:00

This morning my husband and I cruised into work in the new baby wagon, blasting tunes out the open windows. It was a great ride, even though dark clouds were hanging, heavy with rain, in the sky above us. Some mornings are just wonderful for no apparent reason, but I believe that this morning was especially great due to the new cd I had playing in the cd player.

So, today I am thankful for music and music makers.

Music has been an important part of my life ever since I was a child. Everyday in our house was music day, with the radio or record player blasting an assortment of musicians. I remember listening to James Taylor and making up dances with my sister. Our best dance was to The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (this link is to Gene Pittney's version - also an amazing musician). During the dance, Sarah would stand at one end of the bed and I would stand at the other. When James Taylor sang, "The man who shot Liberty Valance, he shot Liberty Valance, he was the greatest of them all," Sarah would point her finger at me and "pull the trigger," while I fell face-first into the mattress.

Other times, when the radio wasn't playing, my father would sing and play his guitar for us. My personal favorites were The Oreo Cookie Blues by Lonnie Mack or The Martian Boogie by Brownsville Station. I loved those moments when I saw him doing the one thing he truly loved. I was always amazed at how his fingers would fly across the neck of the guitar and he would belt out blues lyrics in his deep voice. I always felt extra special when he sang for me; as if that moment in time was ours and ours alone.

As a pre-teen, I discovered music that my parents didn't listen to. I plastered my walls with New Kids on the Block posters. I even had a life-sized version that I secretly used to plant kisses on Joey McIntyre (whom I planned to marry). I would roller skate my booty off at the skating rink each Friday evening to You Got the Right Stuff and dream of a boy that would sing a song like Please Don't Go Girl to me. Oh, I loved the New Kids on the Block, almost as much as I loved Bryan Adams.

Sarah still talks about how much she worried about me in the Bryan Adams "Dark Days." In those days, I would lie in bed at night and cry to his music. Today, I'm not exactly sure why I was moved to tears. I only vaguely remember that I related the Bryan Adams song Everything I Do to a short-lived summer romance I had in the 6th grade with a boy whose name I can no longer remember. I do remember that boy gave me a gold plated ring with a blue glass stone that I lost at the park, and that I received exactly 3 letters from him after summer was over.

My teenage years were filled with 80s and 90s classics. I did a lot of lying in bed weeping then as well. Life wasn't fair, I hated my parents, I hated my friends, I hated my body and my clothes and my teeth, and I cried about all of it. If I wasn't weeping, I was smoking or drinking something in my tiny, windowless room with one bare, tiny red bulb burning through the darkness. No matter what my mood, music was always blasting on my stereo. My life-sized posters had changed from New Kids on the Block to one of Kurt Cobain and another of Morrissey. I no longer kissed them, but I dreamed of a moody, angst-filled boyfriend who would drown his sadness in my love. Mazzy Star's Fade Into You played over and over on my cd player, as did anything by The Cure, Nine Inch Nails, Nirvana, The Smiths and David Bowie.

When I moved from Missouri to Oklahoma, I took a job at Pizza Hut. While I hated the job, I loved closing in the evenings. During closing, we would shove a bundle of quarters in the juke box and repeatedly listen to Merle Haggard's Okie from Muskogee as we filled parmesan cheese containers, wiped down tables, vacuumed and polished the copious amounts of brass in the restaurant. At home I listened to Alice in Chains , Primus, Bad Religion, and the Misfits with my musician, angst-filled, poet boyfriend. We fought a lot. Once while Type O Negative was playing I threw a lamp at his head, barely missing him. We ended our relationship 3 years later, and I moved back to Missouri to begin college.

In college I was introduced to the collegiate catalogue which included bands like Dave Matthews, Bob Marley, Bob Dylan, and Modest Mouse. I listened to the Counting Crows every day while walking through campus. I felt so adult and urban and hip. For the first time in my life I lived alone in a small apartment off-campus, and I didn't have to account for my whereabouts to anyone. I went to parties and had flings and refused to get emotionally involved with boys. I was independent, damn it, didn't my stack of Indigo Girls cds prove it? I forsook all real relationships. That is, until I met my husband at a Delta Chi fraternity party.

As Jyoti walked up to me in the smoke-filled room, The Violent Femmes were playing on the radio. I remember he had a beer in a red cup and that he looked very handsome in his black leather jacket. I think I may have been in love right then. We still argue about who kissed whom first, but I do know that when our lips met, we were standing outside in the cold next to an evergreen bush, and the music of Cake was wafting through the air. I went home and listened to Cake for the rest of the night.

Now, we are married and Sundays at our house are music day. Rather than watching t.v. I put on my Ipod and play random songs as loud as my stereo can go. I'm in a new phase in my life and with this new phase, comes new music. In ten years I will look back and remember the times before I had children when I listened to Regina Specktor, Ingrid Michaelson, Joe Purdy and Amos Lee. They are all musicians I have found on television commercials. I have the feeling I'm going to miss television when I have a baby, but I'll always have music.

Wordless Wednesday

2008-11-05T06:33:00.000-08:00

If anyone thinks they went through an "awkward" (aka: ugly) phase as a child, they should really take a look at this picture. Here I am in 5th grade sporting a fringed, jean jacket, and a jingle bell necklace. The worst part is that when this photo was snapped it wasn't even near Christmas. Actually, the worst part may be that I thought I looked cool...

Thankful Thursday

2008-10-30T06:26:00.001-07:00

Once in college, I threw up on myself in a dark parking lot filled with strangers. As the world spun with alcohol and vomit hit my new, black jeans, I remember thinking to myself that maybe rock bottom wasn't necessarily waking up to that guy from my German class and not remembering his name. It also maybe wasn't wandering through the hallway of my apartment building knocking on doors to find where I lived, and telling the apartment manager that she could (I believe my exact words were), "go ahead and call the police because they would just tell [her] to go to Hell." They didn't.

No, there were several times in college that I should have hit "rock bottom" but for some reason the fall wasn't hard enough to knock the stupid out of me. However, when I threw up on myself and a stranger said rather loudly to his friend, "Man, that girl is TRASHED!" something clicked. As I sat on the asphalt in a puddle of my regurgitated dinner (or was it lunch?) I thought to myself that it was finally time to get it together. Pulling myself out of the pit of alcohol and drugs wasn't easy, it wasn't instantaneous, and it certainly wasn't done on my own, but it began in that parking lot with the words from that frat boy.

So, today I'd like to say that I'm thankful for that stranger. I don't even know who he is, and I'm not sure it really matters, but if I could tell him that his words made such a huge impact on me and that at some point his path in life changed the course of mine, I would.

Thanks Frat Kid.

Wordless Wednesday

2008-10-29T09:41:00.001-07:00

These are all from this week, and it's only Wednesday. CAN YOU SEE HOW SICK I AM?

A four door car

2008-10-28T06:37:00.000-07:00

My biological clock chimed today.

When my husband turned the car on this morning, the check engine light blinked on. Then off. Then on. Then off. Then on again. The morning was frosty so I gave a little, "Thank God our heater works at least," while my husband grumbled, "The mechanic said that it would cost $1200 to fix the car."

So, how does our broken car lead to my biological clock spasm? Simply because when we were talking about whether to fix the car or get a new one, my husband said, "You know, our next car will have to be a four-door."

A. Four. Door. Car.

Cue spooky music.

To me, a four-door automobile means poopy diapers, baby drool and never leaving home without a purse stocked with snacks and books. It means that where I now have one bag to carry, I would instead have three bags, one baby and all the other accouterments that go with it. It would mean sleepless nights and sleepless days and no television. It would mean daycare bills and and pee-tents (ugh) and nasal aspirators and saving for college.

However, a four-door automobile also means tiny little fingers and toes and snuggles on the couch on cold winter mornings. It means a little person to shape and mold with my own ideals and morals. It means seeing first steps, and hearing first words, and smiles, and giggles, and a new-found love. It means viewing the world through young eyes; a world where knock-knock jokes would be funny again and everything would seem possible.

So, tick-tock biological clock. A four door auto doesn't sound quite as frightening as it once did.

The five most common words in my household

2008-10-27T06:05:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to think that my husband's vocabulary is limited to 5 words.

"NO! DON'T! RAJA, STOP BITING!"

Every morning I lie in bed for as long as possible, trying to squeeze the last drops of dreaming from my brain. However, it's been impossible to get that last snuggle in with the sandman since we got our dog from my sister's neighbor, Greg.

Now, I love my dog, but somehow I feel duped.

"Rachel, I met our dog today," my husband said one Saturday afternoon."He's so cute! They call him fuzz-monkey because he has a patch of white on his face. Greg said that he's the best dog of the bunch!"

This is where the duped part comes in. Now, I'm not sure who duped me. It could have been Greg, it could have been my husband, or it could have been the dog.

My bet is on the dog. You see, Raja is the best dog when other people are around. He's calm(ish), he nibbles on toes rather than diving for them like he hasn't had a meal in a year, he chases toys when they are dangled in front of him instead of lunging for any uncovered, sensitive piece of flesh you may have accidentally left exposed, and he runs circles around the room instead of trying to figure out the best way to jump onto the couch to bite your feet. When others are around he doesn't draw blood. No, not at all. When other people are around he's an angel.

It's only when my husband and I are alone with him that the inner vampire comes out. I thought about stringing together a necklace of garlic, hanging crosses up around Raja's sleeping space, or investing in a gallon of holy water, but all of these seemed a little extreme. I don't want to kill my dog! I just want him to behave. So, I've enrolled him (and myself!) in a doggy obedience course.

Hopefully after I've trained my puppy to stop biting, the sandman will hang around to cuddle in the mornings again. I feel so cheap when he leaves right after I wake up.

Thankful Thursday

2008-10-23T06:58:00.000-07:00

There are many things in my life that I am thankful for. The fact that there are janitors that clean the floors of public restrooms is only one of them. So, I thought that since there are so many things, I should dedicate one day a week to declare my thankfulness for a topic. This week I'm focusing on family. The list is in no particular order, so I don't want to get calls from people at 3 am wondering why they are at the bottom of the list! Here goes...

1. I am thankful for my husband. I am thankful that he has helped me become a better person and that he has exposed me to different cultures and values than I had known before I met him. I am thankful that he wakes up in the morning and cooks me breakfast. I am thankful that he does laundry and dishes. I am thankful that he hugs me and loves me unconditionally. If it weren't for him I would be a totally different person.

2. I am thankful for my sister Sarah. Even in my crazy, non-medicated times she always sticks by me. I'm thankful that I have memories of eating toothpaste off of the back of a dresser with her. I'm thankful that I had someone to steal clothes from in middle school. I'm thankful that I have someone who knows what I'm talking about when I complain about my mother. I'm thankful that when I feel sad, or happy or worried and scared, I can always call her and she can relate to how I'm feeling.

3. I am thankful for my mother. I'm thankful that she told me I was a good ballerina when I wasn't and that she said I was a wonderful singer when I could have made people's ears bleed. I'm thankful that she taught me morals and manners, and I'm thankful that I can call her a friend as well as a parent.

4. I am thankful for my grandmother. I am thankful that she always gave me Avon makeup and hot bread and terrible tasting soup. I am thankful that she took us to the lake on hot summer days and was always available to pick me up from school when I had a tummy ache. I'm thankful that she taught me it was okay to be different and that sci-fi books were cool. I'm thankful that because of her example I am able to be a strong woman who is confident that her differences make her a better human being rather than a weird-o.

5. I am thankful for my father. I am thankful that he taught me about Monty Python, Pink Floyd and good music. I am thankful that when times were too tough at my mom's he gave me a place to live (even if it was in the kitchen). I am thankful that because of him I have memories of my papa and magnolia trees and the box of alcohol my brother and I used to drink. Without his influence in my life I would not know how strong I can be and how hard I can fight when life gets tough.

6. I am thankful for my Aunt Diana. I am thankful that she always comes to family events with a smile on her face. I am thankful that she always invited us to her house and let us slide down her carpeted stairs. I am thankful that because of her I have memories of wonderful Christmas Eve dinners and fighting with my cousins and the laundry shoot in her daughter's room that I used to imagine sliding down. I am thankful that she accepts me no matter what, and that she is always there to lend a supportive shoulder.

7. I am thankful for my in-laws. I am thankful that they accepted me for who I am, and that they didn't try to change me. I am thankful that they raised such a wonderful man who loves his family. I am thankful that they came to stay with us for a month and that now I have memories I can pass on to my children. I am thankful that even though we don't speak the same language we can still communicate how much we love each other.

8. I am thankful for my Aunt Jeniffer (yes, her name had 2 fs and only 1 n). I am thankful that she taught me that women can be tough on the outside and soft on the inside. I'm thankful that she broke the stereo-types people have of women by becoming a Harley mechanic. I am thankful that she taught me a woman's place isn't only in the home, but it is also out in the world kicking some a%@.

9. I am thankful for my sister Martha. I am thankful that she loves me even though I burned her with cigarettes and hung her dolls from nooses when we were kids. I am thankful that I can call her when I need to know something about a weird, ancient civilization or if I have questions about how carbon-dating works. I am thankful that she shares my love for all things odd and that she doesn't think I'm too weird when I tell her about monkey prostitution.

10. I am thankful for my brother Zachary. I am thankful that he gave me chicken McNuggets he smuggled out of McDonald's when we didn't have food. I am thankful that I have memories of carving bible quotes into his bed and watching X-Men on weekday afternoons. I am thankful that he has always been there for me when I needed him and that he has always been my friend.

So that's this Thursday's list. Tune in next week for my list, "Ten Reasons I am Thankful for Janitors."

Wordless Wednesday?

2008-10-22T06:09:00.000-07:00

Due to threats from my two faithful blog readers, Katie and my sister, I am posting today. I'm not sure if this post fits in with the Wordless Wednesday clique since one, I'm writing something, and two, it's a picture of my wonderful vampire dog instead of a child. Here it is anyway. Enjoy!

Take Time Today to Make the World Better

2008-10-15T09:08:00.000-07:00

There have been several times in my life when poverty has made an impact on me. I grew up poor, a child who received free lunches at school and food stamps and government issued commodities at home. We once were given free coats during winter from our local head start program. To this day my mother still cries when she talks about how much those coats meant to her. I even remember my coat. It was brown, puffy and kept me very warm in the cold, mid-western winters. My family moved from house to house, always one step ahead of the last landlord, never having a place to call home. In third grade my grandmother welcomed us back to Missouri. She baked warm bread and boiled hot soup on the stove all day long. Although it wasn't always where we lived, we at least finally had a home to return to when times got too rough.

At the age of 14 I got my first summer job. My mother helped me get a work permit and she and my father's girlfriend took turns driving me back and forth to the local fire station. At the fire station they fed me breakfast and lunch. I answered phones and made coffee for the men. I remember that I often forgot to put the coffee filter in the machine, but the men would grit their teeth and drink a few sips from their cups anyway. They treated me kindly and handled my 14 year old emotions with kid-gloves and support. They were wonderful men, and the job enabled me to buy clothes rather than wearing hand-me-downs scrounged from my grandmother's neighbors.

At 16 I moved to Oklahoma with my father. Not long after we moved, he kicked me out of the house. I had a job, but because I was still in high school it was difficult to work enough to pay rent, bills and still eat. So, I rarely ate, and at times I didn't have a place to live. If it wasn't for my friend's parents, I would have been hungry and homeless.

I thought that my life was terrible. I wallowed in misery and proclaimed that it wasn't possible for others to have it worse off than me. I had grown up without the material goods my friends had, and I was angry about every "thing" I didn't own. Even in college when I saw the new cars, or brand-name clothing friends had I was bitter. I blamed my parents, and I blamed society. I thought that it simply wasn't fair.

It wasn't until I went to Bangladesh in 2002 that I realized how lucky I had been in my life. Even through my struggles I was able to get an education. I was able to work, go to college and improve my life. I didn't really understand that others didn't always have that opportunity. Before I visited my husband's home country, I imagined Bangladesh to be like country-side living in a tropical paradise. "If people don't have food," I thought, "I'm sure they can just pick some bananas off of a tree."

When I think about how wrong and ignorant I was it pains me. It makes my stomach ache with shame.

When I stepped out of the airport into the city of Dhaka, I was immediately surrounded by a crowd of beggar children. What a sight they were. Their clothes were ragged, their bellies protruded from malnutrition, their faces were dirty, and their feet were bare. The worst part however, even worse than their starved appearance, was the combination of hope and despair I saw in their eyes. They clutched at my clothing and begged, "Taka dou! Taka! Taka!" while making eating gestures with their hands. They were asking for money for food, and there were so many of them. Just so, so many of them. It was one of the most difficult things I had ever had to face not to be able to scoop them all up in my arms and fill their stomachs with hot, nutritious food. When we got into the car I was still passing out coins. My heart breaks every time I remember the boy who ran along side the automobile as I dug in my bag for more money. He was so happy to receive what was a mere dollar to me.

During that trip I saw what being poor is. My eyes were opened to all the wonderful people and programs that were instrumental in my life, and the difference small contributions can make for others. For $90 I can buy two sheep for a woman who will use their wool to make cloth. For $25 I can make a loan a to a third-world entrepreneur through Kiva. Each month I donate $5 to the United Way which goes to provide eyeglasses for a local child in need or food for home-bound seniors.

However, I know that not everyone is able to donate money. If you are reading this blog you can make a difference simply by visiting FreeRice.com. There, you can improve your vocabulary and do good for others. For each correct definition you click on, the website donates 20 grains of rice through the UN World Food program. You can also choose an organization to donate your time to via Volunteer Match.

Whatever you choose to do, take time today to make the world better for someone less fortunate than yourself. If we make an effort to change ourselves (even in the smallest ways possible), the world around us will also change for the better.

Rehab is for Quitters

2008-10-14T06:29:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure that my body is made up of 95% Diet Mt. Dew.

This greatly exaggerated statement leads me to think of Odo, the Changeling from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. He was a liquid being, and although he took the shape of a humanoid during business hours, he returned home to sleep in a bucket during his time off.

Anyway, my inner space-dork aside, I really drink far too much Diet Mt. Dew. Each morning instead of a cup of coffee, I begin the day with a 44 oz. cup of "the Dew" from QT. I'm always trying to quit, but I'm hopelessly addicted. I think that this habit is more difficult to kick than cigarettes were. Perhaps I need a patch.

My friend Katie was over tonight and she said that Diet Mt. Dew should just be injected into her veins. I replied, "I think they call that meth." To which she responded, "Huh. Maybe I need that then."

Is Mt. Dew a gateway drug? If so, I wonder if my insurance would pay for caffeine rehab.

My Husband the Patriot

2008-10-13T18:26:00.000-07:00

When my husband was a child he only had one pair of pants and two shirts. This is what he claims anyway, although I'm pretty sure this is his version of walking up-hill both ways through the snow. When he rails about the materialism of the world, he often points his finger in the air and proclaims in his mild accent, "When we have children, they won't be spoiled. If they are we're shipping them off to Bangladesh!" I'm guessing that when he gets his grubby mitts on a mini-him he won't be so quick to ship the kid back to his home country.

Actually, when I think about it, I suppose his home country has changed. My husband is now an American citizen. It was a long road to citizenship for him; one paved with lawyers and paperwork, but in September, after thirteen years, he took his oath of citizenship. In the small amount of time he's been a citizen, he's added two Obama signs to our yard (one extra since our neighbor has a McCain sign up) and hung an American flag in front of our house. I'm not sure anyone in this country is more proud to be an American than he is.

We celebrated this weekend with a small party at India's Kitchen (which is ironically owned and operated by Bangladeshis - not Indians). It was great to have our family and friends gather to show their excitement for the newest American citizen to be added to our ranks. They were all so supportive and everyone, even my uncle Dick, ate their fair share of "Indian" food. I had such a great time.

I do have to admit though, I didn't wear sweat pants.

Elastic is the new black

2008-10-09T09:20:00.001-07:00

Each morning I drag my sleepy body from beneath the covers, flop my feet onto the floor and think to myself, "Why can't I wear fat-pants every day?"

You see, fat-pants are my favorite clothing item. While I'm out shopping, anything with an elastic band and the word stretch on the label is instantly tossed into my cart and wheeled to the check-out isle. Honestly, I don't know a woman who does not have at least two pairs of these pants in her dresser drawer, hidden away from prying eyes. Still, it's shameful to be caught in these pants. I'd say it's akin to someone walking in on you while you are standing in your underwear.

However, all women wear fat-pants. On days when they feel bloated, sick, lazy, tired, or when they just really need to do laundry, they swallow their pride and pull them on. At one time in my life, I laughed at the women in Wal-Mart. You know the ones; the women with shaggy hair and no makeup who live in rumpled t-shirts and flipflops. I am now changing my tune. I believe that women of the world should unite and declare fat-pants the new trend.

Wouldn't it be lovely to skip the skirts and highheels and instead wear stretchy pants and house slippers to events? If this were possible I would never again be embarrassed to encounter the HR Director at Blockbuster while wearing my beloved XXL Pac-Man t-shirt and sweat pants. Instead, he would stop and declare, "My! Don't you look wonderful! I think the new unkempt look is very flattering on you!"

The truth is, men don't set the fashion laws. It's women who care about how other women look. I've never seen a guy friend jab a buddy to whisper into his ear, "Oh my God! Do you see that Susan is wearing black and navy blue AT THE SAME TIME?!?" No, we've trained them better than that. Men simply go along with what we tell them because they don't want the cold-shoulder at bedtime. I mean, has your husband/boyfriend ever said, "Yes honey, that dress makes you look huge," (Well, other than that first time when he thought you really wanted honesty) ? I know mine just looks at me with large, frightened eyes and assures me that I look beautiful ALL THE TIME.

So ladies, let's start telling each other that stars without makeup look great, and that when they dress up for red carpet events they really should try out that new designer who pairs flannel, elastic-waisted pajama bottoms with free t-shirts from college campuses.

Gowns are so last season.

V is for victory

2008-10-08T06:21:00.000-07:00

At one time Autumn was my favourite season. I loved the sight of blazing orange leaves drifting to the ground, the scent of moist earth and the sound of rain splattering on the roof. I couldn't wait to pull my sweaters out from the back of my closet and don long pants and a great pair of boots. Fall, to me, was a terribly romantic time.

Now I have allergies. Yes, adult on-set allergies. The kind where your nose drips snot and your eyes are constantly burning and watering. The kind where you wish they made backscratchers for your throat. At 29, I'm beginning to look at Autumn in a different way. Instead of basking in the scent of decomposing leaves, I imagine all the mold spores that will soon be invading my nostrils. I believe they all have Nazi uniforms and tiny, straight mustaches.

Well, I'm preparing to wage war. This morning I bought Claritin. If it's half as wonderful as the commercials make it out to be, I will be sending a personal thank you letter to Schering-Plough Healthcare Products Inc.

Send in the tanks.

I'm no June Cleaver

2008-07-26T12:38:00.000-07:00

There are few things that rid me of any speck of motivation I may have as quickly as the thought of doing housework. It's amazing the number of things I need to cross off of my to-do list before I can vacuum the carpet or (God forbid!) clean the toilet. When the pile of dishes in the sink is looming, I suddenly find it pressing that I best someone across the globe in Mario Cart Wii, google "Nancy Grace", or even (as I'm doing now) start a blog.

I wonder, if June Cleaver had access to the internet in 1957 would she have had such a spick-and-span home, or would she have had a blog devoted to women's lib with a picture of a burning bra on the title page? Would Beaver and Wally have trotted off to school in dirty, wrinkled shirts carrying PB&J sandwiches while she sat in front of the computer writing about the injustices plagued upon the female gender?

"Last night Ward came home stinking of whiskey again. I can't believe that he leaves me here to clean the toilets and cook dinner while he goes off to the men's club. Why can't he, for once, cook the dinner while I get a mani-pedi?"

I for one think that would have made for a much more interesting show.