Champaign
The city. As in, greetings from. That's right kids. I'm in Champaign, IL and let me tell you, IT'S FREAKING COLD!!!! Boo, I've become a true, spoiled southern chick-a-dee. It's about 30 degrees here this morning. Gah. At least it's supposed to get up to 63 today in Madison, WI-- our final destination.
Linds and I drove 5.5-6 hours last night and stopped to see a friend of ours who is an opera grad student at the University of Illinois (booooo. hisssss.-- that's the WI alum coming out there.) We had an easy drive, made good time and got to spend a while hanging with our friend before we all started falling asleep where we sat.
This is A Cappella Weekend! For a taste of the concerts we'll be participating in and viewing all weekend, see the girls group that I used to be in and the guys group.
Ok, time to clean up and get back on the road!
Much love.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
An Invention
So, I've figured out how I'm going to become a bajillionaire. I've come up with an invention to completely revolutionize all motor vehicle systems. Using this invention will prevent more accidents and increase overall driving safety. It will be a sort of warning system to let other drivers know when you want to change lanes or turn one way or the other. There will be little blinking lights on the front and rear corners and a little lever easily accessible to the steering wheel of each car with which to control the little signals. Say a driver needs to be in the left lane, said driver will click the lever leftward and the little lights on the left side of the car will automatically start blinking, letting other drivers know, "hey, I'm moving over to the left lane." Or perhaps said driver wants to make a right-hand turn, he/she would simply click the lever over to the right instead.
If people used these little blinking lights, this "signaling system" if you would, road safety would increased as well brake lifespan! Oh to wonder in joy at the thought!
So, I've figured out how I'm going to become a bajillionaire. I've come up with an invention to completely revolutionize all motor vehicle systems. Using this invention will prevent more accidents and increase overall driving safety. It will be a sort of warning system to let other drivers know when you want to change lanes or turn one way or the other. There will be little blinking lights on the front and rear corners and a little lever easily accessible to the steering wheel of each car with which to control the little signals. Say a driver needs to be in the left lane, said driver will click the lever leftward and the little lights on the left side of the car will automatically start blinking, letting other drivers know, "hey, I'm moving over to the left lane." Or perhaps said driver wants to make a right-hand turn, he/she would simply click the lever over to the right instead.
If people used these little blinking lights, this "signaling system" if you would, road safety would increased as well brake lifespan! Oh to wonder in joy at the thought!
Friday, April 16, 2004
I'd Like to Report Some Missing People
I have a friend, actually I have several friends, who have become M.I.A. Sometimes it seems like I only actually have one friend left! It's really amazing when you go from hanging out with someone most of the time to never seeing them or talking to them and actually feeling like a pest when you try. It's like we broke up or something, but I've yet to receive closure.
I told a friend recently that I'm thinking of "consolidating" my friendships, meaning that I'm willing to let some friendships finally ebb into nothingness if need be. I don't want to do this. It just seems like some people have better things to do than call me back, or call at all. Perhaps they just have busier schedules than I do, yeah that's it, so they're just waiting to call me whenever they happen to have a spare moment.
The real deal though, is that I'm not the one doing the consolidating. I feel like they're whittling me out. So, I'm tired of fighting to save friendships that seemingly didn't mean as much to others as they did to me. It's not as cut-and-dry as I make it sound. These are friendships after all, not business deals. These are people who know about some of the worst hardships I've been through in the past few years. These are people with whom I've cried and laughed and fought and embraced.
The whole situation has really hurt me. I wake up in the morning with headaches and muscle tension from horrible, stressful dreams about fighting with them, being abandoned by them. I've been angered, saddened and left hollow by their absences. The worst part is it's not like it's several people from one group. They are a few different people in completely different areas of my life and they're all walking away. And I'm going to let them because it hurts too much to keep getting tossed in their wakes, it hurts to much to keep falling on my face while grasping for threads of reason. I can only take so much. I can only wonder so much if I'm that poor of a friend/person. I can only ask them and myself so many times if I've done something wrong. Sometimes the only thing left is to move on. Grasping at straws does no good when you're in the middle of the Pacific.
I have a friend, actually I have several friends, who have become M.I.A. Sometimes it seems like I only actually have one friend left! It's really amazing when you go from hanging out with someone most of the time to never seeing them or talking to them and actually feeling like a pest when you try. It's like we broke up or something, but I've yet to receive closure.
I told a friend recently that I'm thinking of "consolidating" my friendships, meaning that I'm willing to let some friendships finally ebb into nothingness if need be. I don't want to do this. It just seems like some people have better things to do than call me back, or call at all. Perhaps they just have busier schedules than I do, yeah that's it, so they're just waiting to call me whenever they happen to have a spare moment.
The real deal though, is that I'm not the one doing the consolidating. I feel like they're whittling me out. So, I'm tired of fighting to save friendships that seemingly didn't mean as much to others as they did to me. It's not as cut-and-dry as I make it sound. These are friendships after all, not business deals. These are people who know about some of the worst hardships I've been through in the past few years. These are people with whom I've cried and laughed and fought and embraced.
The whole situation has really hurt me. I wake up in the morning with headaches and muscle tension from horrible, stressful dreams about fighting with them, being abandoned by them. I've been angered, saddened and left hollow by their absences. The worst part is it's not like it's several people from one group. They are a few different people in completely different areas of my life and they're all walking away. And I'm going to let them because it hurts too much to keep getting tossed in their wakes, it hurts to much to keep falling on my face while grasping for threads of reason. I can only take so much. I can only wonder so much if I'm that poor of a friend/person. I can only ask them and myself so many times if I've done something wrong. Sometimes the only thing left is to move on. Grasping at straws does no good when you're in the middle of the Pacific.
Thursday, April 15, 2004
My Dawson
For those of you who weren't Creek* fans or didn't catch the finale, Joey ended up with Pacey. She and Dawson decided that they'll always be together in some cosmic way, just not in a romantic sense.
I have a "Dawson," a guy friend who is like my kindred spirit-- but not my soulmate. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes, although it's rather enormous. Yeah. So, now I'm thinking about findin' me a Pacey. ;-)
*Not to be confused with "Creeksters," the name for Nickel Creek fans. Which are way cooler than Dawson's Creek fans, by the way.
For those of you who weren't Creek* fans or didn't catch the finale, Joey ended up with Pacey. She and Dawson decided that they'll always be together in some cosmic way, just not in a romantic sense.
I have a "Dawson," a guy friend who is like my kindred spirit-- but not my soulmate. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes, although it's rather enormous. Yeah. So, now I'm thinking about findin' me a Pacey. ;-)
*Not to be confused with "Creeksters," the name for Nickel Creek fans. Which are way cooler than Dawson's Creek fans, by the way.
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Promised Quotes
from Fat and Happy by Wendy Shanker as featured in Self Magazine
"I'm not a doctor. I'm not a therapist. I don't have a degree in health education. I'm just a professional ex-dieter with a chip on my shoulder and a mission on my mind. There are too many women just like me who know more information about fat grams than about foreign policy, who spend more time counting calories than communicating with friends. And that ain't right."
"Technically, because I am fat, I look fat in everything."
"The body image anxiety we put ourselves through is mostly wasted time, wasted energy and, finally, wasted life."
"Here's the challenge: Think about how much time you've spent pondering your extra poundage and punishing yourself for what you've put in your mouth. Now imagine not doing that. Imagine if we all did it. The fat girls and the skinny chicks. The movie stars and the PR agents, the soccer moms and the CEOs. Imagine all that free time not going toward ripping ourselves to shreds. All that money that we're not going to spend on fat-free, sugar-free, taste-free sorbet. [Personal interjection: I like sorbet~melissa] That's a lot of minutes and money from a lot of women with a lot of brainpower. Use that energy to admire achievements more than muscles, to weigh options, not bodies."
"So, basically The Man's trying to bring us down by making us focus on weight instead of taking over the world like we should."
"If I had a choice between regular heaven and pie heaven, I'd choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it's not... mmmmm boy!"
~ok, ok. she didn't say the last two quotes. but it would have been awesome if she had.
ah well, go here, it's more entertaining than I am.
from Fat and Happy by Wendy Shanker as featured in Self Magazine
"I'm not a doctor. I'm not a therapist. I don't have a degree in health education. I'm just a professional ex-dieter with a chip on my shoulder and a mission on my mind. There are too many women just like me who know more information about fat grams than about foreign policy, who spend more time counting calories than communicating with friends. And that ain't right."
"Technically, because I am fat, I look fat in everything."
"The body image anxiety we put ourselves through is mostly wasted time, wasted energy and, finally, wasted life."
"Here's the challenge: Think about how much time you've spent pondering your extra poundage and punishing yourself for what you've put in your mouth. Now imagine not doing that. Imagine if we all did it. The fat girls and the skinny chicks. The movie stars and the PR agents, the soccer moms and the CEOs. Imagine all that free time not going toward ripping ourselves to shreds. All that money that we're not going to spend on fat-free, sugar-free, taste-free sorbet. [Personal interjection: I like sorbet~melissa] That's a lot of minutes and money from a lot of women with a lot of brainpower. Use that energy to admire achievements more than muscles, to weigh options, not bodies."
"So, basically The Man's trying to bring us down by making us focus on weight instead of taking over the world like we should."
"If I had a choice between regular heaven and pie heaven, I'd choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it's not... mmmmm boy!"
~ok, ok. she didn't say the last two quotes. but it would have been awesome if she had.
ah well, go here, it's more entertaining than I am.
Monday, April 12, 2004
Love Songs
I just got Andy Davis' album "Thinks of Her" in the mail the other day. This aptly titled disc contains approximately 35 minutes of love-induced or lovelorn songs. Instead of having most of the songs be about relationships with a few obligatory songs not about relationships, this disc is intentionally devoted to songs about relationships-- about what Davis is thinking as he "Thinks of Her."
I'm not very good at writing love songs. There's "Fools." Well ok, that's about a couple who will never get together because they don't communicate. Then there's "Far Away Home." Oh, that's about a marriage gone sour and cold. "Pedestal" is about expecting too much of another person. And then there's "Should've Known Better"-- the title speaks for itself. See, I told you I wasn't very good at writing love songs. I don't think I've had the right muse as of yet.
There were two loves songs that I wrote last year. They were for my friends' wedding. Which was actually one year ago today! Yes, I've called to wish them a Happy Anniversary already. They were a good source of inspiration. The thing about Andy's love songs... they're about her. He's thinking about her, whomever "her" may be. I think about myself too much to write about him, whomever "he" will be.
Here are some examples of attempts from my documents:
"God I wish I knew what love was. I wish I could put it in a song. But the hollowness would hide all I had to offer, all that I could write. All my words are lost now. My pallet has run dry. Wish I could write a love song. Wish I had the chance to try.
I thought I knew what love was once. Thought I could explain. Now I can't remember that far back. Don't know what to say.
And my mother's always wondering where her girls went wrong. I told her that it just takes time. What if she's the one that's right.
What if I was never meant to have you? Whomever you might be. What if everyone is meant to fall in love? Everyone but me.
And yet, I'm young. I've got a life to live, free from strings and obligations, free from jealousy and questions, free from love in all progressions..."
Old Red Shirt
You wear me like your old red shirt, Brand new in seventh grade
Fit you like a tent back then, fits like a glove today
Chorus:
You wear me like your old red shirt
You wear me like your old red shirt
Darling, you wear me like your old red shirt
A second skin of faded comfort
You wear me like your old red shirt, Its ringer collar frayed
Peeled off the label years ago, Said you like it better plain
Chorus
Bridge:
There are patches growing threadbare
And the seams are showing through
What others call beyond repair
Fits perfectly to you
Chorus Modified:
You wear me like your old red shirt
You wear me like your old red shirt
Darling, you wear me like your old red shirt
A second skin...
End
You wear me like your old red shirt, Broken in through time
You wear me like your old red shirt
And I wear you like mine
I just got Andy Davis' album "Thinks of Her" in the mail the other day. This aptly titled disc contains approximately 35 minutes of love-induced or lovelorn songs. Instead of having most of the songs be about relationships with a few obligatory songs not about relationships, this disc is intentionally devoted to songs about relationships-- about what Davis is thinking as he "Thinks of Her."
I'm not very good at writing love songs. There's "Fools." Well ok, that's about a couple who will never get together because they don't communicate. Then there's "Far Away Home." Oh, that's about a marriage gone sour and cold. "Pedestal" is about expecting too much of another person. And then there's "Should've Known Better"-- the title speaks for itself. See, I told you I wasn't very good at writing love songs. I don't think I've had the right muse as of yet.
There were two loves songs that I wrote last year. They were for my friends' wedding. Which was actually one year ago today! Yes, I've called to wish them a Happy Anniversary already. They were a good source of inspiration. The thing about Andy's love songs... they're about her. He's thinking about her, whomever "her" may be. I think about myself too much to write about him, whomever "he" will be.
Here are some examples of attempts from my documents:
"God I wish I knew what love was. I wish I could put it in a song. But the hollowness would hide all I had to offer, all that I could write. All my words are lost now. My pallet has run dry. Wish I could write a love song. Wish I had the chance to try.
I thought I knew what love was once. Thought I could explain. Now I can't remember that far back. Don't know what to say.
And my mother's always wondering where her girls went wrong. I told her that it just takes time. What if she's the one that's right.
What if I was never meant to have you? Whomever you might be. What if everyone is meant to fall in love? Everyone but me.
And yet, I'm young. I've got a life to live, free from strings and obligations, free from jealousy and questions, free from love in all progressions..."
Old Red Shirt
You wear me like your old red shirt, Brand new in seventh grade
Fit you like a tent back then, fits like a glove today
Chorus:
You wear me like your old red shirt
You wear me like your old red shirt
Darling, you wear me like your old red shirt
A second skin of faded comfort
You wear me like your old red shirt, Its ringer collar frayed
Peeled off the label years ago, Said you like it better plain
Chorus
Bridge:
There are patches growing threadbare
And the seams are showing through
What others call beyond repair
Fits perfectly to you
Chorus Modified:
You wear me like your old red shirt
You wear me like your old red shirt
Darling, you wear me like your old red shirt
A second skin...
End
You wear me like your old red shirt, Broken in through time
You wear me like your old red shirt
And I wear you like mine
Saturday, April 10, 2004
Worth the Weight
Well, since tomorrow's Easter, I suppose I can spill the beans (I mean confessions, not jelly bellys)-- the following is my essay on What I Gave Up For Lent. (um, or something)
The other day I picked up a couple of magazines at the grocery store. Last month I picked up a couple for my plane ride up north and one had some good looking previews for this month, so I wanted to make sure I got that one in particular. Unfortunately, since I don't buy magazines all that frequently, I couldn't remember the name of said interesting magazine, so I picked two that sounded familiar.
One of them was Self Magazine, a magazine for which I actually used to have a subscription. This is basically a beauty magazine about health and fitness. A couple years ago I ended my subscription, figuring that, in truth, the magazine wasn't a healthy beauty magazine alternative, but actually made me even more obsessed and concerned with exercise and my body's shape.
When I got home and realized what mag I had picked up, I was a bit unfurled. This is a magazine I'm supposed to stay away from, dangit! However, I opened it up to give it a skim and found the very first article to be about being happy fat, by a self-proclaimed fat woman (5'7", 220lbs). This article had some great quotes that I will post later since I forgot to bring the magazine and (sadly) couldn't find the article on their site. It is a very positive article about loving yourself for you and making changes for yourself and no one else and all sorts of stuff like that-- regardless who you are or what your shape.
Now, I know I'm not fat. I also know that I used to be 20-25 lbs heavier than I am now. Well, actually, I don't know that for sure because, you see, I gave up weighing myself for Lent. A seemingly odd, yet unbelievably difficult thing to do-- especially for someone who has been fighting eating disorders for a number of years. I can't tell you how many times I've been tempted to step on a scale in the past 39 days. I never realized how much well, weight I give to my poundage. It's a sort of comfort, knowing that even though I had a piece of cake (or three) I still weigh the same amount and I didn't blow up like a balloon. There are certain times when the scale really is a comfort because, even though I feel fat, it tells me nothing's changed and it's all in my head.
It's been hard not having that comfort, that crutch, but it's been good. To be honest, I'm dying to know what I weigh, though I'm sure it hasn't changed much-- and I've even had a couple of doctor's appointments in which they've had to take my weight, so It's not even like I've gone the full 40 days without a weight check at all.
Just know you don't realize how much you use your elbow until you hurt it, I never knew how much I relied on that scale for comfort (and I don't even own one!) until I couldn't run to it. There have been days that have been extremely difficult without this crutch, but I think I'm learning to flex muscles I would have never realized I had unless I'd set it down. Now I just have to strengthen those muscles so that I can run to the One True Comfort. The greatest thing is, that even if I'm so weak that I can't hobble, much less run to Him, He'll come and sweep me up right where I've fallen. For that, I give great thanks and tears of mercy-filled joy.
Well, since tomorrow's Easter, I suppose I can spill the beans (I mean confessions, not jelly bellys)-- the following is my essay on What I Gave Up For Lent. (um, or something)
The other day I picked up a couple of magazines at the grocery store. Last month I picked up a couple for my plane ride up north and one had some good looking previews for this month, so I wanted to make sure I got that one in particular. Unfortunately, since I don't buy magazines all that frequently, I couldn't remember the name of said interesting magazine, so I picked two that sounded familiar.
One of them was Self Magazine, a magazine for which I actually used to have a subscription. This is basically a beauty magazine about health and fitness. A couple years ago I ended my subscription, figuring that, in truth, the magazine wasn't a healthy beauty magazine alternative, but actually made me even more obsessed and concerned with exercise and my body's shape.
When I got home and realized what mag I had picked up, I was a bit unfurled. This is a magazine I'm supposed to stay away from, dangit! However, I opened it up to give it a skim and found the very first article to be about being happy fat, by a self-proclaimed fat woman (5'7", 220lbs). This article had some great quotes that I will post later since I forgot to bring the magazine and (sadly) couldn't find the article on their site. It is a very positive article about loving yourself for you and making changes for yourself and no one else and all sorts of stuff like that-- regardless who you are or what your shape.
Now, I know I'm not fat. I also know that I used to be 20-25 lbs heavier than I am now. Well, actually, I don't know that for sure because, you see, I gave up weighing myself for Lent. A seemingly odd, yet unbelievably difficult thing to do-- especially for someone who has been fighting eating disorders for a number of years. I can't tell you how many times I've been tempted to step on a scale in the past 39 days. I never realized how much well, weight I give to my poundage. It's a sort of comfort, knowing that even though I had a piece of cake (or three) I still weigh the same amount and I didn't blow up like a balloon. There are certain times when the scale really is a comfort because, even though I feel fat, it tells me nothing's changed and it's all in my head.
It's been hard not having that comfort, that crutch, but it's been good. To be honest, I'm dying to know what I weigh, though I'm sure it hasn't changed much-- and I've even had a couple of doctor's appointments in which they've had to take my weight, so It's not even like I've gone the full 40 days without a weight check at all.
Just know you don't realize how much you use your elbow until you hurt it, I never knew how much I relied on that scale for comfort (and I don't even own one!) until I couldn't run to it. There have been days that have been extremely difficult without this crutch, but I think I'm learning to flex muscles I would have never realized I had unless I'd set it down. Now I just have to strengthen those muscles so that I can run to the One True Comfort. The greatest thing is, that even if I'm so weak that I can't hobble, much less run to Him, He'll come and sweep me up right where I've fallen. For that, I give great thanks and tears of mercy-filled joy.
Thursday, April 08, 2004
Things, ok SONGS, That Make Me Happy As Of Late
I Met a Girl~ Wheat
Return to Me~ Matthew Ryan
Do You Realize~ Flaming Lips
Fell In Love With a Boy~ Joss Stone
Burning Photographs~ Ryan Adams
Silence is Easy~ Starsailor
Five Minutes, Superhero, Like a Drug~ pretty much anything by Garrison Starr
She Will Be Loved~ Maroon 5
I'm Shakin'~ Rooney
Friday I'm In Love~ The Cure (this is just an all around "make me feel good" staple)
Ugly Girl~ Fleming and John
Will Hoge
Basically a whole bunch of songs that I can blast in the car with the windows rolled down to let in the warming breezes. I love warmer weather.
There's a definite difference between summer music and winter music. Winter music is more intimate, moodier, closer: the kind of music you curl up in a chair with while sipping hot cocoa. Summer music is fun and blaring; the kind you can roll with, dance to and just all-around radiate fun. "You Got It Bad" by Usher reminds me of warm weather. "Something's Missing" and "Man on the Side" from John Mayer's live double disc remind me of cold, rainy nights. Tracy Chapman's whole "Let it Rain" album reminds me of some dark winter freezes, physically and emotionally. I love driving to "Romeo on the Radio" from The Normals, perfect warm weather driving song. Wilco's "Heavy Metal Drummer" is a total summer song, as well.**
It's so amazing how different songs and different types of music emerge in different seasons of the year, and of life in general. In this season, I just want to bop my head and shake a tail feather. I'm ready for flipflops, tank tops and dancin' tunes.
**As a disclaimer, these songs remind me of these things, a lot of the time, because that's when I first heard them or heard them most.
Basically a whole bunch of songs that I can blast in the car with the windows rolled down to let in the warming breezes. I love warmer weather.
There's a definite difference between summer music and winter music. Winter music is more intimate, moodier, closer: the kind of music you curl up in a chair with while sipping hot cocoa. Summer music is fun and blaring; the kind you can roll with, dance to and just all-around radiate fun. "You Got It Bad" by Usher reminds me of warm weather. "Something's Missing" and "Man on the Side" from John Mayer's live double disc remind me of cold, rainy nights. Tracy Chapman's whole "Let it Rain" album reminds me of some dark winter freezes, physically and emotionally. I love driving to "Romeo on the Radio" from The Normals, perfect warm weather driving song. Wilco's "Heavy Metal Drummer" is a total summer song, as well.**
It's so amazing how different songs and different types of music emerge in different seasons of the year, and of life in general. In this season, I just want to bop my head and shake a tail feather. I'm ready for flipflops, tank tops and dancin' tunes.
**As a disclaimer, these songs remind me of these things, a lot of the time, because that's when I first heard them or heard them most.
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
Forgive Me Reader For I Have Scened
Sorry for the pun (ok, not really-- I'm really that cheesy) but I just couldn't help it since I'm citing the second article from The Scene in two consecutive posts. I really do have my own thoughts. Really. Anyway, this "gladiator" article reminded me of a friend and I thought I'd share his crazy antics with you.
My friend Matt (one of my friends named Matt, there are about a gajillion) is an Ultimate Fighter. As in, he goes into a ring no-holds-barred and either beats the crud out of someone or vice versa. Let me put things in perspective for you: Matt's not a big guy. He's probably around 5'9", maybe 155lbs and quite aesthetically pleasing, not to mention hilarious. He dressed really nice and majored in business at Madison. I think he's one of those dumb smart boys. We even had one class together my senior year and we would sit next to each other, when he showed up.
One day he came in to class in his J Crew button down, sweater, jeans and arm sling. Ok, no, J Crew does not make an arm sling... of which I am aware. Yeah, he broke his collar bone, or rather, the guy he was fighting broke his collar bone. However, I think he actually won the match, fighting in a higher weight class than he should have. I thought about going to one of his matches, but after I saw the videos of previous matches, I knew I could be no where near that arena. Though I admit I would have cheered mighty heartily for him if I had.
Sorry for the pun (ok, not really-- I'm really that cheesy) but I just couldn't help it since I'm citing the second article from The Scene in two consecutive posts. I really do have my own thoughts. Really. Anyway, this "gladiator" article reminded me of a friend and I thought I'd share his crazy antics with you.
My friend Matt (one of my friends named Matt, there are about a gajillion) is an Ultimate Fighter. As in, he goes into a ring no-holds-barred and either beats the crud out of someone or vice versa. Let me put things in perspective for you: Matt's not a big guy. He's probably around 5'9", maybe 155lbs and quite aesthetically pleasing, not to mention hilarious. He dressed really nice and majored in business at Madison. I think he's one of those dumb smart boys. We even had one class together my senior year and we would sit next to each other, when he showed up.
One day he came in to class in his J Crew button down, sweater, jeans and arm sling. Ok, no, J Crew does not make an arm sling... of which I am aware. Yeah, he broke his collar bone, or rather, the guy he was fighting broke his collar bone. However, I think he actually won the match, fighting in a higher weight class than he should have. I thought about going to one of his matches, but after I saw the videos of previous matches, I knew I could be no where near that arena. Though I admit I would have cheered mighty heartily for him if I had.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
Deep Fried Onion
In honor of April Fool's Day, one of Nashville's local (and my favorite) publications, The Nashville Scene, decided to post a few cover stories Onion style. I was literally laughing out loud reading this to myself over coffee the other day. Ah, southern humor.
In honor of April Fool's Day, one of Nashville's local (and my favorite) publications, The Nashville Scene, decided to post a few cover stories Onion style. I was literally laughing out loud reading this to myself over coffee the other day. Ah, southern humor.
Monday, April 05, 2004
WANTED: ONE (1) COPING MECHANISM
This weekend a friend and I went to the Southern Women's Show. No, not something any boy would be caught dead at, lest he be forced to carry purses and roll his eyes for hours on end. Actually, there was a time or two in there when I wondered if I was even girlie enough to be in that place. It was a lot of hand lotions, beaded jewelry and pink. Including pink ribbons, the official symbol of breast cancer awareness. Despite the free samples and gallons of hand lotion samples, I left the building sobbing.
Over a year ago my aunt fell to the disease of breast cancer and I suppose I have yet to really cope with her passing. I mean, I know plenty of people who have survived the disease, especially in my own family, so I often underestimate the seriousness of the disease. Seeing the loads of women at the couple of breast cancer awareness booths touting the vast improvements in research and treatment did not bring me warm fuzzies. It made me angry. One woman rattled off a statistic about the improvement in mortality rates from 95% mortality to 95% survival. Don't get me wrong, that's amazing. Being an at-risk candidate myself, I bank on improving research, technologies and preventative healthcare.
However, the way the women all smiled and radiated angered me so much because 95% is great, but it isn't 100%. There are a lot of survivors, and there are some who haven't. I wanted the ladies to acknowledge those who scrapped tooth and nail and still didn't make it. Instead they stood there in their black and pink looking more like Victoria's Secret sales associates than healthcare activists. I felt bad because my friend's mom has recently gone through chemo and survived and was all gung-ho about the cancer awareness tables. The ladies were so happy that her mom was a survivor, I didn't have the heart to tell them my aunt wasn't and bring down all their joy. So, I just wandered off infuriated and distraught.
It's not their fault that I was mad. It's just that my aunt did all that stuff: the walks for research, the campaigning, the crusading. She was beautiful, outrageous, impetuous, immature and amazing. They didn't have a somber funeral when she finally went to her eternal rest, they threw a party. That's what she would have wanted. Maybe that's why I haven't coped with things. She wouldn't want me to be sad or angry. She'd want me to celebrate life for what it is, even in the crappy times. She'd want me to pick up the flag where she set it down and with my face forward, thumb the world and keep on moving. She'd want me to be thankful for those who have survived (I am) and help those who need it (I will try). In the very least she'd expect me to toast her with some Dewer's. What a broad.
"Of course it's my color, I bought it." ~my aunt in response to questions about her hair color.
This weekend a friend and I went to the Southern Women's Show. No, not something any boy would be caught dead at, lest he be forced to carry purses and roll his eyes for hours on end. Actually, there was a time or two in there when I wondered if I was even girlie enough to be in that place. It was a lot of hand lotions, beaded jewelry and pink. Including pink ribbons, the official symbol of breast cancer awareness. Despite the free samples and gallons of hand lotion samples, I left the building sobbing.
Over a year ago my aunt fell to the disease of breast cancer and I suppose I have yet to really cope with her passing. I mean, I know plenty of people who have survived the disease, especially in my own family, so I often underestimate the seriousness of the disease. Seeing the loads of women at the couple of breast cancer awareness booths touting the vast improvements in research and treatment did not bring me warm fuzzies. It made me angry. One woman rattled off a statistic about the improvement in mortality rates from 95% mortality to 95% survival. Don't get me wrong, that's amazing. Being an at-risk candidate myself, I bank on improving research, technologies and preventative healthcare.
However, the way the women all smiled and radiated angered me so much because 95% is great, but it isn't 100%. There are a lot of survivors, and there are some who haven't. I wanted the ladies to acknowledge those who scrapped tooth and nail and still didn't make it. Instead they stood there in their black and pink looking more like Victoria's Secret sales associates than healthcare activists. I felt bad because my friend's mom has recently gone through chemo and survived and was all gung-ho about the cancer awareness tables. The ladies were so happy that her mom was a survivor, I didn't have the heart to tell them my aunt wasn't and bring down all their joy. So, I just wandered off infuriated and distraught.
It's not their fault that I was mad. It's just that my aunt did all that stuff: the walks for research, the campaigning, the crusading. She was beautiful, outrageous, impetuous, immature and amazing. They didn't have a somber funeral when she finally went to her eternal rest, they threw a party. That's what she would have wanted. Maybe that's why I haven't coped with things. She wouldn't want me to be sad or angry. She'd want me to celebrate life for what it is, even in the crappy times. She'd want me to pick up the flag where she set it down and with my face forward, thumb the world and keep on moving. She'd want me to be thankful for those who have survived (I am) and help those who need it (I will try). In the very least she'd expect me to toast her with some Dewer's. What a broad.
"Of course it's my color, I bought it." ~my aunt in response to questions about her hair color.
Friday, April 02, 2004
The State of the Non-Union
One of my roommates moved out yesterday. She and her fiance just closed on their house and she's moving in before the wedding. I had to face the fact that not only was I losing a roommate, I was losing a coffee grinder and free Starbucks beans every week. It was a sad day.
Even sadder because I was sick. Yet again. Stupid illnesses. I swear I work in a dorm-type atmosphere where diseases just continually people hop. With that and the sporadic weather, my immune system hardly gets any time to recoup.
Neither does my desk or apartment. You can tell how I feel by the condition of my surrounding areas. My desk is in a current state of chaos and my bedroom... oh man, my bedroom. I've thought about not cleaning up but just starting to pack instead. I mean, I'm moving in a couple months, makes sense, right? Looking around the apartment makes me dread the whole moving process. I think we'll need to rent a U-Haul. Except we won't because we're far too cheap/poor for anything like that, especially since it looks like we'll have to move into the new place before the old lease is up. Double payments, woo hoo. (Did I mention the root canal bill from hell? oh yeah, and my brakes are starting to grind, so I'm going to have to have that looked at asap. great)
The new place is great, though. It's a duplex, 3BR 2BA, large kitchen with dishwasher and adjoining dining room, fireplace, front and back yard with lawn maintenance provided and a washer and dryer. The rent is slightly higher than I'm paying now, but the location is amazing. A wonderfully quiet neighborhood, completely safe and yet still not far from anything. Now we just need to find a third roommate. bah.
I've applied for a second job and will hopefully get to go in for a second interview soon, since my (hopefully) manager-to-be and I have been playing phone tag to do just that.
So, now all I have to do is work on raising the money to go to Ireland (the week before moving), get my car fixed before driving up to Wisconsin in a few weeks and nail down my entire-employment situation. Oh yeah, and then there's that "have enough money to duplicate THE CD" issue. dangit. someday my pretties, someday.
One of my roommates moved out yesterday. She and her fiance just closed on their house and she's moving in before the wedding. I had to face the fact that not only was I losing a roommate, I was losing a coffee grinder and free Starbucks beans every week. It was a sad day.
Even sadder because I was sick. Yet again. Stupid illnesses. I swear I work in a dorm-type atmosphere where diseases just continually people hop. With that and the sporadic weather, my immune system hardly gets any time to recoup.
Neither does my desk or apartment. You can tell how I feel by the condition of my surrounding areas. My desk is in a current state of chaos and my bedroom... oh man, my bedroom. I've thought about not cleaning up but just starting to pack instead. I mean, I'm moving in a couple months, makes sense, right? Looking around the apartment makes me dread the whole moving process. I think we'll need to rent a U-Haul. Except we won't because we're far too cheap/poor for anything like that, especially since it looks like we'll have to move into the new place before the old lease is up. Double payments, woo hoo. (Did I mention the root canal bill from hell? oh yeah, and my brakes are starting to grind, so I'm going to have to have that looked at asap. great)
The new place is great, though. It's a duplex, 3BR 2BA, large kitchen with dishwasher and adjoining dining room, fireplace, front and back yard with lawn maintenance provided and a washer and dryer. The rent is slightly higher than I'm paying now, but the location is amazing. A wonderfully quiet neighborhood, completely safe and yet still not far from anything. Now we just need to find a third roommate. bah.
I've applied for a second job and will hopefully get to go in for a second interview soon, since my (hopefully) manager-to-be and I have been playing phone tag to do just that.
So, now all I have to do is work on raising the money to go to Ireland (the week before moving), get my car fixed before driving up to Wisconsin in a few weeks and nail down my entire-employment situation. Oh yeah, and then there's that "have enough money to duplicate THE CD" issue. dangit. someday my pretties, someday.
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
EGO BOOST LEADS TO ADOPTION
I'm not sure how he got it, but Dave has been referring to me as "Lady M." Seems rather sophisticated and diva-ish, like a (rather flattering ) mix of Lady Day and the Divine Miss M, herself, who, by the way said one of my favorite movie quotes of all time: "But enough about me, let's talk about you... what do YOU think of me?" in the super sappy Beaches.
Since this (*possibly* undeserved) nickname celebrates my inner-Diva so well, I think I shall adopt it. Hence forth you shall receive all writings from "Lady M."
Thank you, thank you. Now where has that towel boy run off to? Good help is so hard to find these days! Dang, my fellow TUIB divas would be so proud. Raquel, this is for you.
I'm not sure how he got it, but Dave has been referring to me as "Lady M." Seems rather sophisticated and diva-ish, like a (rather flattering ) mix of Lady Day and the Divine Miss M, herself, who, by the way said one of my favorite movie quotes of all time: "But enough about me, let's talk about you... what do YOU think of me?" in the super sappy Beaches.
Since this (*possibly* undeserved) nickname celebrates my inner-Diva so well, I think I shall adopt it. Hence forth you shall receive all writings from "Lady M."
Thank you, thank you. Now where has that towel boy run off to? Good help is so hard to find these days! Dang, my fellow TUIB divas would be so proud. Raquel, this is for you.
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
Of Pain
Pain levels involving the root canal process on a scale of 1-10, 1 being "Pain? What pain?" and 10 being "I think my tooth's water just broke."
Eating on tooth that needs root canal: 8
Worrying about said root canal: 7
Going through said root canal: 5 (because the numb face and the process of getting that way kind of stink, but I did almost fall asleep in the chair-- nope, no sleeping gas, I'm just that tired)
Getting bill for said root canal: 8,000,000
Next project: resuscitate my wallet from its heart attack.
Pain levels involving the root canal process on a scale of 1-10, 1 being "Pain? What pain?" and 10 being "I think my tooth's water just broke."
Next project: resuscitate my wallet from its heart attack.
Monday, March 29, 2004
Erin Go Braugh! um, again.
What's that you say? St. Patrick's Day has come and gone? Well, I know that, silly. This time my greeting comes rather as a form of announcement than as salutation. What announcement have I, you ask? Well, I am going to Ireland. I'm going for a week at the end of May with a group from my church. This means I will have to raise the funds to support my time there with a youth ministry in Northern Ireland-- a British claimed area on Irish soil filled with turmoil between the two people groups. Yes, family, don't freak out, I'll be ok.
On St. Patty's Day I recounted that it has been ten years since the last time I was blessed enough to go to Ireland. I took that trip for granted, but may my eyes be gouged should I do the same this time around. As in the last trip, I will also have a short amount of time in London (1 day) and hope to see the things that I missed out on the first go round as well as a quick snap shot of that city life. *note to self-- bring empty suitcase to London in order to fill with stuff to bring back* :-)
To be honest, I look to this trip with excitement and trepidation. You see, this promises to be a challenging trip, exposing many of my faults, my caveats and all sorts of idols in my life that I am trying to avoid acknowledging. Everyone I've talked to who has gone to help this ministry in the past has nothing but great things to say about how it changed their lives. This scares me because I don't know if I'm ready to be thrown into refining fires. At the same time, however, I'm not sure which scares me most: the thought of being tested and changed, or the thought of nothing spectacular happening at all. I suppose this means I desire that challenge and change, after all.
What's that you say? St. Patrick's Day has come and gone? Well, I know that, silly. This time my greeting comes rather as a form of announcement than as salutation. What announcement have I, you ask? Well, I am going to Ireland. I'm going for a week at the end of May with a group from my church. This means I will have to raise the funds to support my time there with a youth ministry in Northern Ireland-- a British claimed area on Irish soil filled with turmoil between the two people groups. Yes, family, don't freak out, I'll be ok.
On St. Patty's Day I recounted that it has been ten years since the last time I was blessed enough to go to Ireland. I took that trip for granted, but may my eyes be gouged should I do the same this time around. As in the last trip, I will also have a short amount of time in London (1 day) and hope to see the things that I missed out on the first go round as well as a quick snap shot of that city life. *note to self-- bring empty suitcase to London in order to fill with stuff to bring back* :-)
To be honest, I look to this trip with excitement and trepidation. You see, this promises to be a challenging trip, exposing many of my faults, my caveats and all sorts of idols in my life that I am trying to avoid acknowledging. Everyone I've talked to who has gone to help this ministry in the past has nothing but great things to say about how it changed their lives. This scares me because I don't know if I'm ready to be thrown into refining fires. At the same time, however, I'm not sure which scares me most: the thought of being tested and changed, or the thought of nothing spectacular happening at all. I suppose this means I desire that challenge and change, after all.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
Painting Everything in Black and Blue
I'm a strange kid. I get the weirdest bruises. Today I have one on the top of my hand. Not the top of the hand that I completely schwacked directly into someone's sideview mirror. Oh, no, that hand remained unmarred. The other hand. The one I don't remember doing anything to, ever.
Last week I was trying on skirts for the next day and turned around to find an amazingly large bruise on the back of my leg above my knee. Ok, longer skirt it is. It was quite purple. And blue. And did I mention it was large? How did it get there? How am I supposed to know?
And the bruise I got on my thigh above my left knee. Don't really recall how that got there either.
The funny thing is that I can run into something and expect a bruise, but never get one. Then one day I'll look down at the inside of my forearm (how the heck do you get a bruise on the inside of your forearm??? happens to me all the time) and there's a little brownish/purple dot to call my own.
I think they're on a delayed reaction. So, if I get a bruise right away, then I know it must be really bad. Otherwise, they don't appear for days (a week?) later and by then I've forgotten the cause.
Case in point: My cousin and I are the same age. For our high school graduation presents, we got to go out to visit my aunt in California. The week before, at the end of my cousin's graduation, I tried to descend the bleachers instead of the nice, tractioned stairs and ended up, well, *ahem* losing my footing, if you will. Slippery little things they were. There I was trying to be all cool in my long (thankfully), flowing dress and heals, and I slipped on one of the risers half way up and rolled sideways down the rest, stopping only at the one right before the gym floor-- where an elderly gentleman so graciously helped me to my feet while the hot upperclassmen gawked laughed above me. (note: this also qualifies as one of my most embarrassing moments)
The point of the story is this: my shins didn't bruise. They hurt like heck, though not as much as my fragile 18-year-old ego, but they didn't bruise. Or rather, they didn't bruise until a week later when, after hours of rollerblading on the Long Beach Boardwalk, I traded my blades back for my flip flops, only to find that the pressure from the blade-boot had brought out the bruises in a wonderfully ribbed gym-sock-pattern all across my shins. (note: this may have qualified for its own embarrassing moment, however, it is clearly acknowledgeable as an extension of the first)
I mean, seriously. What's with the bruises? I think my roommates are coming in and beating me up in my sleep-- well, if I was able to fall asleep properly, that is. No wonder I have nightmares!
I'm a strange kid. I get the weirdest bruises. Today I have one on the top of my hand. Not the top of the hand that I completely schwacked directly into someone's sideview mirror. Oh, no, that hand remained unmarred. The other hand. The one I don't remember doing anything to, ever.
Last week I was trying on skirts for the next day and turned around to find an amazingly large bruise on the back of my leg above my knee. Ok, longer skirt it is. It was quite purple. And blue. And did I mention it was large? How did it get there? How am I supposed to know?
And the bruise I got on my thigh above my left knee. Don't really recall how that got there either.
The funny thing is that I can run into something and expect a bruise, but never get one. Then one day I'll look down at the inside of my forearm (how the heck do you get a bruise on the inside of your forearm??? happens to me all the time) and there's a little brownish/purple dot to call my own.
I think they're on a delayed reaction. So, if I get a bruise right away, then I know it must be really bad. Otherwise, they don't appear for days (a week?) later and by then I've forgotten the cause.
Case in point: My cousin and I are the same age. For our high school graduation presents, we got to go out to visit my aunt in California. The week before, at the end of my cousin's graduation, I tried to descend the bleachers instead of the nice, tractioned stairs and ended up, well, *ahem* losing my footing, if you will. Slippery little things they were. There I was trying to be all cool in my long (thankfully), flowing dress and heals, and I slipped on one of the risers half way up and rolled sideways down the rest, stopping only at the one right before the gym floor-- where an elderly gentleman so graciously helped me to my feet while the hot upperclassmen gawked laughed above me. (note: this also qualifies as one of my most embarrassing moments)
The point of the story is this: my shins didn't bruise. They hurt like heck, though not as much as my fragile 18-year-old ego, but they didn't bruise. Or rather, they didn't bruise until a week later when, after hours of rollerblading on the Long Beach Boardwalk, I traded my blades back for my flip flops, only to find that the pressure from the blade-boot had brought out the bruises in a wonderfully ribbed gym-sock-pattern all across my shins. (note: this may have qualified for its own embarrassing moment, however, it is clearly acknowledgeable as an extension of the first)
I mean, seriously. What's with the bruises? I think my roommates are coming in and beating me up in my sleep-- well, if I was able to fall asleep properly, that is. No wonder I have nightmares!
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Losing Silence, Losing Steam
In this world, I have favorites. It's true. I try to be unbiased, but hey, I'm human. My favorite food genre is Tex/Mex. My favorite movies are White Christmas and Tommy Boy (both for sentimental reasons, oddly enough). My favorite treat would have to be frosted sugar cookies, followed closely by anisette toast. I don't particularly have a favorite color-- they all look good on me. Oh, and my favorite personal attribute is my humility. heh.
The oddest of my favorites, however, would have to be doors. I have favorite doors in the world. I may, however, have to knock that down to just one favorite door for now seeing as how my 2nd and 3rd favorite doors have ceased providing the service for which they were so adored! There are two doors between my living room and my bedroom. These, until recently, have been two of my very favorite doors in the world. I could close them and seal myself into complete oblivion of apartment goings on and/or catterwalling.
Alas, the seal has broken, my domain has become, well, noisy. Noisi-er, I should say. Now, not only can I hear my neighbor's phone across the hall, the dog running about upstairs and anyone *ahem* "using the facilities" adjacent to my room or running water of any sort in the bathrooms above or below, now I can all of a sudden hear every little peep from my living room-- to which I had before been blessed to witness sheer silence.
I think the apartment is revolting. Perhaps it is waiting for May 31st with as much anticipation as I am. For then, we shall be free of each other-- forever! (insert maniacal laugh)
I just want peace and quiet. Oh-- and a little machine to follow me everywhere and soothe me with the sounds of tranquil ocean breezes.
In this world, I have favorites. It's true. I try to be unbiased, but hey, I'm human. My favorite food genre is Tex/Mex. My favorite movies are White Christmas and Tommy Boy (both for sentimental reasons, oddly enough). My favorite treat would have to be frosted sugar cookies, followed closely by anisette toast. I don't particularly have a favorite color-- they all look good on me. Oh, and my favorite personal attribute is my humility. heh.
The oddest of my favorites, however, would have to be doors. I have favorite doors in the world. I may, however, have to knock that down to just one favorite door for now seeing as how my 2nd and 3rd favorite doors have ceased providing the service for which they were so adored! There are two doors between my living room and my bedroom. These, until recently, have been two of my very favorite doors in the world. I could close them and seal myself into complete oblivion of apartment goings on and/or catterwalling.
Alas, the seal has broken, my domain has become, well, noisy. Noisi-er, I should say. Now, not only can I hear my neighbor's phone across the hall, the dog running about upstairs and anyone *ahem* "using the facilities" adjacent to my room or running water of any sort in the bathrooms above or below, now I can all of a sudden hear every little peep from my living room-- to which I had before been blessed to witness sheer silence.
I think the apartment is revolting. Perhaps it is waiting for May 31st with as much anticipation as I am. For then, we shall be free of each other-- forever! (insert maniacal laugh)
I just want peace and quiet. Oh-- and a little machine to follow me everywhere and soothe me with the sounds of tranquil ocean breezes.
Monday, March 22, 2004
So, I haven't written much it seems. I'm feeling a bit slow of late. A bit lethargic. A bit dreamy, yet not whimsical-dreamy, more why-am-I-awake-dreamy. However, I appear to be most stressed out while sleeping. Go figure.
I've begun looking into homeopathic wellness options, in an effort to spunk up my over-all lack-lusterness. Vitamins here, vitamins there. Homeopathic remedies are nice because they're more friendly to my messed up internal system. We'll see how they work. AND-- if they don't, the place I bought them from will give me a refund. Let's see Walgreens do that.
Any way. I would love to type more, but I think I might have to just curl up in a cocoon for a little while. Then perhaps I shall emerge a vibrant monarch ready for spring.
peace.
I've begun looking into homeopathic wellness options, in an effort to spunk up my over-all lack-lusterness. Vitamins here, vitamins there. Homeopathic remedies are nice because they're more friendly to my messed up internal system. We'll see how they work. AND-- if they don't, the place I bought them from will give me a refund. Let's see Walgreens do that.
Any way. I would love to type more, but I think I might have to just curl up in a cocoon for a little while. Then perhaps I shall emerge a vibrant monarch ready for spring.
peace.
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