the domestic flunky

honorary degree plan...

2011-07-12T01:07:00.001-05:00

...in kinesiology, with an emphasis in competetive running. And this is just THIS WEEK'S SCHEDULE!

Day one: Endurance. Open Road.
Jog/run 5 "easy miles" followed by four consecutive 100 meter acceleration strides.

An acceleration stride, btw, is basically a runner's crescendo, intentionally building momentum so that you hit your personal max speed by the time you cross the finish line. Mine were more like very awkward sprints. Imagine a clumsy ostrich and I think you'll have a fairly accurate visual. Not to mention the fact that my 5 "easy miles" (there is actually a formula for this!) left me about ready to pass out. Good thing I had my super cool hydration belt with me. :) I'm officially a dork.

And, yes, the belt makes me feel totally legit. And I'm being serious. Like Wonder Woman. All I need are some awesome wrist bands, a tiara, and a lasso. Not sure what I'd do with the lasso while running, but I'm pretty sure I need one all the same.

Day 2: Endurance and Speed. Treadmill.

Run 1 mile at "race" pace (based on personal goal) followed by 1/2 mile at "easy" pace. Repeat for a total of 3 miles.

Day 3: Speed work. Treadmill.

This is where it gets complicated. If you need a refresher on algebraic order of operations, click HERE.

1.) 8 x [1/4 mile at "race" pace minus 15 seconds (WTH?!? See note below for details!) followed by 1/4 mile @ "easy" pace]

2.) 4 x [1/4 mile at "race" pace minus 30 seconds (more math?!?) followed by 1/4 mile @ "easy" pace]

3.) 1 x 1/2 mile at ("race" pace + "easy" pace)/2

4.) Collapse on floor in utter exhaustion.

Days 4 and 5: Endurance. Open road or treadmill.

Jog/Run 4-5 miles at "easy" pace followed by 4 acceleration strides.

Day 6: Endurance and Speed. Treadmill.

5 miles at "race" pace plus 15 seconds.

Additional Notes:
1.) For an easy run mapper, try http://www.walkjogrun.net/. Very easy to use. Create your own route, or search the database.

2.) I prefer the treadmill for speed runs. I'm simply not experienced enough to gauge or hold myself to faster paces without constantly checking my phone app (I use My Tracks to monitor my route and pace). While I love keeping track of my pace on easy runs (I check during my 30 second recovery walks at the end of each mile, which are marked on my running route), the constant checking required to monitor faster paces is very distracting for me.

3.) Those pesky "plus/minus x seconds" mean x-seconds faster (minus) or slower (plus) than the indicated miles/minute pace. In other words, since my 5K goal time is 29 minutes, that makes my race pace about 6.4 mph, or a 9:19 minute mile. Minus 15 means a 9:04 mm, or a pace of about 6.6 mph. Minus 30 means an 8:49 mm, or a pace of about 6.8 mph. Plus 15, a 9:34 mm at about 6.3 mph. You get the idea. (I used the aforementioned link, pictured below, to help me calculate these numbers.)

Have I mentioned today how much I love the Internet?!?

Happy running!

pigs do fly

2011-07-09T21:34:00.002-05:00

This is me. I run now. Yes. I know. WHY?!? Because it makes my workouts shorter. Because I look good in running shorts. Because when I go to get my oil changed looking like this, I get free stuff. I'm not kidding. Today I got a free tail light replacement! I never got free stuff before. Never.

But that's not really why I run.

Mostly, I run because it forces me to get real with why I let myself go in the first place. I believe that few if any of our patterns (ways of thinking, reacting, being, caring, etc.) exist in isolation. Getting real with my physical health has, consequently, brought me into direct confrontation with many of my deepest insecurities, hang-ups, rationalizations and personal myths. (I call these "stories". I have quite a few.) Fertile ground for some serious self-counseling.

I know I'm supposed to say "self-help", but I prefer "self-counseling". It seems to honor the process a little better. For instance, this week while contemplating (subtext: bemoaning, griping about, defending, then finally owning) my lack of discipline re: my dream of running a 5K in less than 30 minutes, I realized that I don't go all out in my training because, deep down, I'm afraid my hard work will be for naught, that nothing will really change, that I'll be forever stuck in the same place.

Surely some are saying to themselves, "Dude. Get a grip. It's a 5K. What's with the all the analysis and worry and sweat and painful introspection?!?"  But for me running has become something more. I find so many parallels between what I experience--the bitter and the sweet--while running and what I experience in the rest of my life. Running is becoming a sort of spiritual exercise for me, deeply personal. It's symbolic and empowering. It's the Hero's Journey made very tangible and concrete. It is adversity and pain and the darkness before the dawn and, ultimately, victory. When I run a race, I think, "Man. I'm here. I showed up. And I'm going to finish this thing and eat me a banana and make a connection and go home and feel like I did something!" And I take that confidence with me into other parts of my life.

So, yeah. That's kind of great.

I'm a new runner, though, and I'm still learning. Lately, I've sort of plateaued... before meeting that goal I mentioned a few lines ago. For weeks, I managed to adroitly avoid any deep analysis of said plateau despite a growing sense of restlessness and dissatisfaction.

This has been really bothering me.

Again... nothing happens in isolation... I knew this avoidance connected to other parts of my life, I just couldn't quite put my finger on what or how. (In counselorese, this budding awareness constitutes an important part of the Change Cycle known as Contemplation. It's where one finally gets that they have a problem, much like Amy Whinehouse must have felt right before she finally checked herself into rehab. I should probably google her and see how that worked out before I use her as the poster child for Contemplation... Moving on... )

While talking with a new running friend about plateaus and speed and self-talk and the Universe, I realized that, for me, this particular plateau was becoming a sort of comfort zone, a place where I could safely exist and feel okay about myself, but not a place where I felt challenged or meaningful. I realized that I have been choosing to settle into this safety zone not out of some Zen Why-Rock-The-Universe? Inner Peace, but for fear that my Universe couldn't be rocked... which is a seriously depressing thought cuz, for reals, baby was meant for more than this, yo!

And here's the bring-it-all-full-circle kicker: I know that I do this in other significant areas of my life, too. Routinely. Important areas.  And now I'm thinking, "Holy crap."

Fear is a subtle beast.

One thing that running has taught me is that motivation follows action, and not the other way around. (Actually, a speaker at Time Out for Women taught me that. But running helped make it real.)

We don't change because we suddenly, like magic, find our motivation. We change because we finally decide that--ready or not--we are going to do something... anything. Put shoes on. Turn the t.v. off. Take our meds. Whatever. (I don't judge.) The point is, we make a choice and we takeaction... even though we aren't 100% sure yet what the outcome of that choice will be. (I think they call this faith.)

So, tonight, with the help of this cool new invention called the Internet, I worked out a new running plan.  It's a little scary.  Speed work apparently requires a minor in astrophysics. Oh, well. Nothing I can't handle. I went to college, after all. I remember SOHCAHTOA. I did have to look up a bunch of running words. Gonna have to work on some new skills, but nothing too crazy. Just new. Yep, sounds like Life in microcosm to me.

I took some steps on some of that other stuff, too. Equally scary. (SOHCAHTOA didn't help, by the way.)

Motivation follows action.

Now to find out what the heck an "acceleration stride" is.

getting out of dodge

2011-04-09T21:35:00.012-05:00

For anyone who has the blues, may I suggest a little more green.

Last summer, I got really depressed. I don't want to dwell on it. It doesn't really make sense to me yet. Well, it sort of does, and it sort of doesn't. You know how it goes. But I'm a fighter, so between crying jags, I started making a mental list of all of the disappointments that seemed to be taking over my thinking. My goal wasn't to dwell, but rather to sort. There are things we can change quickly, and things that take time. When someone is depressed, they need to focus initially on the things they can change quickly, things that, once addressed, might help moderate their mood enough so that they can adopt a more healthy perspective on the stuff that's going to take time.

My depression was characterized by sense of loss. All these experiences that I started thinking I might never have. Before I knew it, the list was really long.  I felt like my life, or at least the life I dreamed of, had sort of slipped away. I knew cerebrally that my life was actually in full swing. I did the whole "evidence for/evidence against" exercise and could see that things were very, very good. But the feeling of dread was still there. The feeling that nothing would ever change. That I'd just sort of float through life without really loving it.

And I started thinking about what I wanted and what I could get and how I could get it. Hence, the sort. Now, to be honest, most of my woes went into the "No Freaking Clue How That's Going to Happen" pile. Many of those items are still there (I'm just a little more at peace about them now).

And then there was Ireland.

I have always loved the idea of Ireland. I can't explain it. Everyone wants to see Paris or Rome. I wanted to see cobbled stone walls lining narrow roads, sheep everywhere, and really old abbeys.  I wanted to listen to people talk like leprechauns. I wanted to walk and walk and walk through Irish countryside. And meet a boy named Declan.

"No Freaking Clue" could not claim Ireland.

So I bought my ticket and went. By myself. I rented a car and got three flats in one day while driving though breathtaking, yet perilous Irish hills on St. Patrick's Day.

And I was saved by a boy named Declan.

There's more, of course. But the really important thing was that I went and loved it and I came back feeling changed. Not just recharged. That's what I lot of people want from a vacation, to feel recharged. I wanted more than recharged.  And I think I got it. I've thrown away the "No Freaking Clue" list. It's a downer.  The other list is getting longer. It's just called The List. No need for fanfare.

Next stop: Sedona and the Grand Canyon.

weekly ten: schooled by snow

2011-02-06T17:55:00.002-06:00

1) Snow is nice... the first day. By day four, not so much.

2) Keep chocolate on hand. You know, for snow emergencies. There is no telling how long before you are going to feel brave enough to leave the house. In the meantime, chocolate really does calm the nerves. Or something like that. Okay. I just really like it, and not having any during my time of need created a lot of unnecessary suffering for me and my dog. (Mostly me, but people tend to feel more sympathy for dogs than 30-somethings, so I thought I'd drag her in for persuasive value.)

3) Cake Boss, Millionaire Matchmaker and Housewives of Beverly Hills can get you through just about any crisis... including acute snow-bound-boredom syndrome. Sadly, I did not read a single book during my snow-cation. Sad. Sad. Sad. What have I become?!?

4) When faced with the annoyance of freezing temperatures and arctic breezes, do not assume that your dog will pee in her usual (subtext: outdoor) places. I know: TMI.

5) When your dog chooses to pee behind the sofa instead of OUTSIDE, remember this: Sure, vinegar neutralizes the scent of said dog pee, but now your house smells like vinegar... and you're stuck with it until the freaking roads clear enough for you to actually go somewhere... anywhere.

6) INVEST IN SOME PRACTICAL BOOTS. Seriously, I've thought this at least 100 (or 3) times over the last few months. Leigh, look at those cute Wellingtons. You should get some for when it rains really hard... or snows... or for when you want to channel Paddington... Geez, girl. Listen to your inner voice every now and then!

7) Snow is the perfect excuse for a sister's sleep-over. And for eating breakfast food 27-4.

8) When embarking upon your first "#$%@ this ice! I was born to be free!" car excursion, remember to throw a bag of mulch, cat litter or something of similar grit into the trunk. It will provide just enough traction to get you (or the unfortunate snow-trapped souls you decide to rescue) unstuck and back on your (their) wobbly way.

9) Don't take any money with you when embarking upon previously alluded-to excursion. You will spend it... probably on crap you don't need. My purchases? Three picture frames, several floral stems, a sports bra, pepperoni, and ridiculous quantities of frozen veggies (I think as some sort of psychological counter-response to actually wanting very badly to buy chocolate, which I did not buy, but should have because, seriously, when am I going to eat frozen brussel sprouts?!? And now I have all of these veggies when what I really want is a huge brownie... and a couple of tacos).

10) Silver lining: Even though the ice officially melted yesterday, church today was still pushed back to 1:00 pm. God does love me!

Back to work tomorrow. Sigh.

gh 2011

2011-01-22T13:38:00.002-06:00

Caution: Endless chatter about soap operas (and my dream of someday writing for one) about to ensue.

And now to get down to business...

1) Brenda must die. Preferably at her own wedding. Sonny, her husband of all of 3 minutes (if we're lucky), will do his best to swear off women. Six weeks should do it. (This is Soap Opera Land, after all.) This will give GH writers time to create the back story for his next femme fatal: an assassin named Lola (real name Saffron Jones) hired by indignant mob relatives of the disrespected Lopez Brothers to right the wrong perpetrated by the Corinthos Organization when it framed said Hermanos Lopez for the bombing of Johnny Zacchara's car.  Lola/Saffron will weasle her way into Sonny's life, gathering incriminating information as she goes (like that ever works?!?), then attempt to bomb Sonny's car, poetic justice style. Something will, of course, go wrong, and they will end up trapped together for at least 72 hours under a boulder or something and inevitably fall in love. It will be perfect. Then, like so many disposable characters before her, Lola/Saffron will die on *her* wedding day.

2) Lulu will finally dump Idiot Dante's bohiney. Why? A: Their romance got boring some time ago. B: Dante was dumb enough to fall for Brenda. C: I have other plans for Dante. But first, my plans for Lulu. Lulu's scallawagging but loveable half-brother, Ethan, will recieve an unexpected houseguest, his long-lost mate and once-upon-a-con partner in crime, Shepherd Jennings. (And, yes, he will speak with an accent.)  Shepherd, tired of running from the law, is ready to make right and go strait, but he's got one more debt to settle and Ethan is the only one he can trust (maybe). Lulu, ever the guardian of plans about to go awry, will, of course, step in to provide a much needed moral compass. Partnering with these loveable ne'er-do-wells will remind her of the good old days and, presto, she and Shepherd will start to fall and fall hard.  Luke (Lulu and Ethan's father), will then sell Ethan and Shep controlling interest in his (er, Tracey's) casino, the two will go legit (sort of), and Lulu will be happier than ever with her new man. Maxie, of course, will approve. Win-win...win.

3) Dante, dumped and broken, will take a leave from the Port Charles Police Dept.  While on leave, he will discover the plot to kill Sonny. He, Jason, Lucky and I'm-Not-A-Kid-Anymore! Michael will then join forces only to discover that the treachery goes deeper and darker than any of them could have possibly imagined. Best of all, someone will die!

4) Dr. Lisa Niles, bane of Port Charles' existence, will happen upon a washed-up (literally), barely breathing Jerry Jax, mastermind of evil, while pulling over to text a friend (insert "Don't Text While Driving" PSA here). Lisa, no nice girl herself, will feel an instant attraction. While nursing him to health, Lisa will discover that they share an uncanny love for NASCAR and making other people miserable.  Evil love will blossom just in time for Fall Sweeps and the most insane act of diabolical horror EVER.

That's it... for now.

If, by chance, any GH writers actually happen upon this post, please contact me ASAP. I can start working right away. Serioulsy.

eleven

2011-01-19T21:38:00.000-06:00

...the total number of points I scored my first night of racquetball. Eleven glorious points! Sure, it took me 5 matches to get there (0,0,1,4,6). I loved every minute. Especially the one where six middle-aged fat guys (any one of whom--I confress--could have creamed me) were making faces at me from the other side of the glass. That was priceless. I'm also pretty sure it means I'm 'in'.

This week's #1 training goal: learn to serve. (Yes, I am aware that I am inexplicably talking like someone from the third world... Abu's #1 Taxi... Botswana's #1 Ladies Detective Agency... Leigh's #1 Training Goal).

*Contented sigh*

My booty's gonna be in some major pain tomorrow...

the whole foods $99 pantry starter list

2011-01-18T06:00:00.003-06:00

Not sure why I find this so fascinating. I think it has something to do with the pantry-worthiness of arame sea vegetable (like, for rolling sushi?), any kind of milk except the kind that comes from a cow, tahini (um, because every pantry should be hummus-ready?) and tamari (wheat-free soy sauce... I had to look that one up). I don't know... Sounds kind of fun...

4 lbs dried beans
4 15-oz cans no-salt-added beans
4 lbs whole grains
2 lbs whole-wheat pasta
2 lbs steel-cut oats
1 6-oz can tomato paste
2 14.5 oz. cans no-salt-added diced tomatoes
1 32-oz box low sodium organic vegetable broth
1 32-oz box organic unsweetened soymilk
1 32-oz box organic unsweetened almond milk
1 14-oz can organic lite coconut milk
1 8-oz pkg organic mellow white miso
1 2-oz pkg arame sea vegetable
1 16-oz jar tahini
1 18-oz jar organic no-salt-added peanut butter
8 oz each organic raw almonds, walnuts, and sunflower seeds
8 oz each organic dried apricots, dates, and raisins
1 8-oz squeeze bottle organic Dijon mustard
1 32-oz bottle organic apple cider vinegar
1 10-oz bottle reduced-sodium tamari

little victories

2011-01-16T17:58:00.002-06:00

I am determined to live life more joyfully.

Sounds good, but mere determination doesn't exactly make all the yucky stuff *poof* go away. I still have to do things I don't like, be places I don't love, see people that I don't exactly enjoy, and even eat things that aren't exactly delicious. With so many opportunities for suffering and misery, how am I ever going to maintain an attitude of joyfulness? The answer lies, in part, in the question: attitude. Nothing new there. (It's the stuff right in front of our eyes that's sometimes the hardest to see.)

So, I've been really working on thinking, speaking and BEING joyful. Joyfulness, I'm discovering, involves equal parts of acceptance, curiosity, humor, and gratitude, with mega-doses of love and patience. Tandem to all of that, you've got to keep hope alive by celebrating the little things.

So, here we go; this week's celebration of joy-full little victories:

1. While running on the treadmill this week, I realized that MY THIGHS WEREN'T RUBBING TOGETHER. Holy mother-load of joy.

2. I am two weeks Facebook-sober, and I feel great!

3. I joined a recreational racquetball league. I look super dorky in my safety glasses and have only minimal control over where the freaking ball goes, but when I do my patented (not really) run-and-jump-smash-into-the-corner super-fly shot, I feel like a Gatorade commercial. And that rocks.

4. My living room is clean and tidy. Notice I didn't say "entire house". These are *little* victories. There is always next week.

5. I am learning to live in the moment and let go of worry. One of the interventions with which I have experimented this week is strategic abandonment. I know. Sounds awesome... maybe even a little dangerous. BECAUSE IT IS. Strategic abandonment, simply put, means giving oneself permission to temporarily step away from a problem, to do something different, when working on the problem ceases to yield positive results (i.e. fun, utility, new insight, or--heaven forbid--an actual solution). It's deciding to "sleep on" a problem... or, in my case, go to the gym, plan my vacation, clean the living room, do some laundry... anything that gives my mind a rest and my subconscious a chance to work through. Sounds like common sense? Like something your mom used to suggest? Of course it does! But how often do we dig ourselves deeper and deeper in to frustration because we are determined to MAKE THIS WORK, GOSH DARN IT! even though it (whatever it may be) clearly isn't working? Right. Now you see my point. Strategic abandonment sometimes means acknowledging that I'm trying to do too much and choosing to shift my focus for a little while. Sometimes it means slowing down. Sometimes it means allowing others to sit with their own problems rather than trying to save them (as if?!?) by doing more, more, more myself. Very freeing.

6. I actually cooked this week. Grilled portabella and avocado sandwiches. Okay. So, I ate that, like, three times. Whatever. It was a delicious treat, and I hardly tasted the flaxseed once it was mashed into the avocado. Delicious and nutritious. Win-win.

7. I made it through the week without using the phrase "acting like idiots!" during school hours. I have decided that this phrase, though momentarily gratifying, is not really in keeping with my commitment to 1) love purely or 2) live joyfully. So, instead of insulting America's youth, I am taking deep, cleansing breaths while imagining the sound of sea gulls and ocean waves.

8. I was only 4 minutes late to church today.

9. I was able to enjoy quality time with several good friends this week.

10. This last item didn't really happen this week, but it's been on my mind, so here it goes...

A few months ago, I had an experience in one of my counseling classes. We were exploring the group process and how trust develops. In the exercise, we did a series of trust falls. At first I was terrified. My internal monologue went something like this, "Poker face, baby. Just do it. Go now before you chicken out!" After being caught enough times, though, I found that I was actually able to enjoy the feeling of falling, to let go and really experience the moment. The last activity was a group activity where one person, blind-folded, stands in the middle of the circle while other group members gently catch, then toss again, the falling person for several minutes. I went first. Strangely, I felt very much in control of myself even though there were external aspects of the experience that were clearly out of my control--the direction I would be pushed, the force of the shove, how far I was allowed to fall before being caught. I trusted my group, though, and was able to really focus on the sensation of falling and, more importantly, being caught. It wasn't scary anymore. I wasn't thinking about the possibility of being dropped, about being too much for someone else to handle. I was very much in the moment. And it was kind of a rush.

There is a scene that I read in an autobiography many years ago. The writer is a Native American Indian who grew up on a reservation with his grandfather. As a little boy, he went out one night to look at the heavens. He saw his grandfather standing beneath the stars with his hands raised to the sky, tears on his face. He was singing softly. The boy crept closer and listened. His grandfather's song was a prayer. He was telling the Great Spirit that the sky was too big for his hands and that he could not hold it all, his sorrow was too great. As his prayer ended, he released his sorrow to the Great Spirit's care.

Where am I going with this? I have no idea. Maybe it's that I've been thinking about my own wrestle with God... mostly I wrestle and He watches. I'm not really sure. All I know is, I'm pretty worn out. Sort of reminds me of when a grown man puts his hands on a fist-swinging child's head, keeping the child at an arm's length. The child, meanwhile, swing as she may, ends up throwing punches in the air, then collapsing to the floor. I've been throwing a lot of punches in the air lately. A LOT. As a consequence, I haven't been experiencing a lot of joy. I'm starting to feel differently. I'm starting to think differently about what it means to "turn it over to the Lord." I never really got that before. I'm starting to get it now.

cool tool

2011-01-15T06:48:00.000-06:00

Ugh. After 6 weeks of regular workouts at the gym, it's time to kick it up a notch. And so... I started my food log today! Ugh... I mean... YEAH!!!

This next step comes in the nick of time since, as previously blogged, I'm also trying to cook more... and by "cook" I mean "actually create things from scratch". Regretably, I am not very good at following recipes. Though cooking on the fly is fun, the caloric consequences can be disastrous (see moo-tza-reh-la post). I start out with what looks like a sound set of culinary instructions (sometimes), but invariably start adding things, taking things out, making substitutions. To help me keep my kitchen in check, I've found the following website to be a real sweat-saver (meaning, I won't have to sweat an extra 20 minutes at the gym for eating that!):

Calorie Count Recipe Analysis

http://caloriecount.about.com/cc/recipe_analysis.php

This site is great for people like me who like to modify recipes or, more often than not, throw stuff together just to see what happens. In a nutshell, you can enter your recipe and get a quick and reliable breakdown of what you are about to consume. It'll even give your recipe a letter grade! Yikes.

I ran an analysis (doesn't that sound fancy?!?) on a banana bread recipe today and got a B-. Hmmm... NOT good enough. Let's see... apple sauce for oil... stevia for sugar... up to a B+ (better)... zucchini for bananas (I can live with that)... A+! Now, that's what I'm talking about!

are you kidding me?

2011-01-14T15:00:00.017-06:00

So, to lose 10 pounds of fat, one must eliminate--through diet or exercise--35 THOUSAND calories. Holy cow. McDonald's hash browns, I must bid you adieu. And you (crispy taco supreme), and you (mozzarella sticks), and you (peanut butter and chocolate ice cream).

lazy day

2011-01-09T20:32:00.002-06:00

3 parts snow,

2 parts comfort food,
3 cheers for disposable dishes,

1 dash blog,

and a pinch of silly dog

= HEAVEN.

how to cook your life

2011-01-09T16:16:00.001-06:00

I saw a great documentary this weekend, available on streaming video through Netflix (and, no, they didn't pay me to say that, though I would gladly accept remuneration if were ever offered). The film is called How to Cook Your Life. It's the story of a Zen chef.

Yes, there actually is such a thing.

They practice principles like functional silence (ah, in my dreams), present awareness, meditation, and the three minds (joyful mind, big mind and kind mind) while--you guessed it--cooking delicious food for Buddhist monks, students, and pretty much anyone else who might be curious.

Most Zen chefs are also teachers. Not just to their kitchen staff, but to curious adventurers looking to add vitality to their lives through the culinary arts. Old, young, seasoned chefs, and novices are invited to attend cooking classes and retreats at Buddhist centers around the world.

While cooking, Chef likens what happens in the kitchen to so many universals of the broader human condition: suffering, disappointment, trying to please, wastefullness, distraction, man's search for perfection, service, patience, and acceptance. Chef talks about making bread by hand, listening to the dough, be aware of how it feels in one's hand, knowing that the final loaf, warm and crunchy, will bring joy to someone. He talks about making an offering to the Buddha. He talks about how it took him twenty years to figure out what that offering meant. The Buddha doesn't taste, smell, or enjoy the loaf. He doesn't say, "Thank you." He doesn't critique. He simply accepts what is placed before him and is content, joyful at the sincerity of the offering desite--or perhaps because of--its imperfection.

Chef talks about how his life came into focus as he was able to focus his heart, mind, and hands on what really meant something. Years of pushing back, pushing down, moving too fast left him with an ache in his soul. Once he was able to make out the longing of his heart, he was able to slow down and appreciate his own vitality, his own usefulness. He was able to feel with his hands, smell with his nose, see with his eyes, and taste with his tongue. He began to understand what his teacher had said to him, "There are no mysteries in the universe." It is all right here, right now.

I have an anxious mind. I lose moments, hours, days to worry about the future. Sometimes, it sits in my stomach like lead. Today, I made bread. While I made it, my thoughts were on nothing but the moment. I saw with my eyes, felt with my hands, smelled with my nose, and tasted with my tongue. When my mind wandered, I made note, and then came back to my senses, to the present, to what is real right here and now.

And it felt... No. I felt amazing.

moo-tza-reh-lah

2011-01-08T15:46:00.001-06:00

Party. Panic. Must bring dish. Why do I give in to these ridiculous demands?!?

Freezer check: 17 Lean Cuisine dinners, one lonely icee pop (blue), 1 individually packaged serving of chicken cordon bleu, 1 packet of yeast from 2006 (what the heck, I'll keep it), and a package of sundried tomato and mozzarella kilbasa.

There is hope.

Slice and sear sausage. Toss fresh mozzarella with pesto. Layer on top of seared sausage. Bake until bubbly and gooey and the whole house smells like an italian restaurant. Remove from oven. Sprinkle with fresh tomato and italian seasoning.

Presto.

Sparkly top, cozy jacket, pointy shoes, lip gloss, keys, and we're off.

A simple and delicious dish for a great night.

dear parent or guardian

2011-01-04T18:56:00.001-06:00

When I call or send you a message that your child has not been using class time wisely, that he and his work mates have taken three zeros in a row because they chose not to complete their assignments in the time provided, that when I addressed the issue with your child in class he was dismissive and made no change in behavior, and that today your child proudly announced, "I don't do homework and my parents don't care about my grades so, whatever"...

and you do nothing...

...I begin to feel certain dark impulses which, though incredibly enticing, I suppress and control.

Unlike your child. Who is not exactly a child. He's sixteen. In some cultures, he'd be expected to kill his own food. Possibly live alone in the wilderness for a few weeks. I think your child, er, man-child, could learn a lot from that kind of experience.

Also, when you write back about how you're really sorry, but that you and your husband have decided that your first priority isn't academic, but rather that your son develop into a, how did you put it?, "fully actualized human being and a good person," it makes me want to place my hands squarely on your shoulders and yell... no!... *whisper* very, very softly into your ears, "Since when have apathy, smugness, boasting, and an utter lack of industry been congruent with "good person"?"

And then calmly walk away.

Just saying.

like it's 1999

2011-01-03T21:18:00.000-06:00

I tried to write a check today. Had to rewrite the darn thing several times because I kept writing the wrong date... 2009. What the heck?!? And then I was, like, Wait! Am I 35 or 36? Do I wear a 7 1/2 or an 8? The only number that hadn't slipped my mind, cursed memory!, was my WEIGHT. So not right.

settling is for pilgrims, and other gems for the new year

2011-01-02T16:24:00.016-06:00

So. A new year.

First and foremost, let me just say that I am still alive! Just thought I'd get that out of the way since I know it's on everyone's mind, my own not excluded.

Second, I am almost done with my counseling program @ UNT and now have all kinds of free time on my hands. Halla-freaking-lujah.

Third, I joined a gym and have lost 2 pounds. Rah. Just kidding. 2 measly pounds after a whole month of blood, sweat, and spandex!?! To be honest, I was totally bummed until my trainer (I know, fancy pants has a trainer!) informed me that my body fat was down by 2%, which means I actually lost 3+ pounds of pure lard and gained 1+ pounds of lean muscle. RAH!

Fourth, I am a little scared about blogging again. Performance anxiety is a beast, but my very good friend Denise tells me that it's extremely important to let go of the perfection myth and I think she's right which is one of the reasons I refuse to rewrite this rather long and probably flawed sentence. Imperfection, I embrace you!

Fifth, I have started a Facebook Fast. You heard me. Spence out!

Sixth, now that I don't have class four nights a week, I have time for dating again. It's been... okay. I'll be sharing profile gems like the one included in today's title from time to time just to keep it real. Or whatever. (It would be wrong to hoard all this wisdom to myself.)

Seventh, I'm not sure how long this list is going to be, but I'm hoping I can make it to ten because the only numbers I like more than round numbers are multiples of ten... which are also round, both conceptually and visually, making them aesthetically pleasing on many levels.

Eighth, as part of my renewed committment to fun, I am going to Ireland for Spring Break.  Knowing that I'll be touring Irish castles on St. Patrick's Day makes the occassional drudgery of my everyday life a bit more tolerable.

Ninth, my dog has finally stopped trying to escape and, yes, I feel more secure as a result.  Despite Cesar Milan's insistence that bolting is mostly just hunter instinct mixed with doggy ADHD, Daisy's unaccompanied and mostly discouraged forays into unfettered suburban adventure often left me feeling a bit rejected and, well, insufficient. Two years in a counseling program (which I'm pretty sure equals 3-5 years of actual therapy) have given me some insight into my distorted thinking and helped me to see that it was misguided of me to have ever expected a simple dog to carry the weight of my existential angst. Still, I'm profoundly glad that Daisy no longer seems interested in escape and that I can at least pretend that am not utterly alone.

And finally, the Big Ten... despite my sardonic tone and obvious existential funk (copious free time, alas, has its pitfalls), I am grateful to be alive and kicking for another year. I have a wonderful family, true friends, enough money to do most of the things I really want but not so much that I take any of those things for granted, happy memories of 2010 and big hopes for 2011.  I usually start the year with a list of goals, but this year I'm keeping it simple: have more fun, live in the now, and trust in the Lord. And learn to hot-wire a car. You never know when that might come in handy.

for my family

2010-11-18T11:59:00.000-06:00

As the holidays approach...

...a variation on last year's theme that seems so much cooler now that GLEE has introduced the term "mash-up" into the vernacular.

bare naked ladies

2010-04-26T20:24:00.003-05:00

The following is a recap of my visit to the Dallas King Spa and Sauna on Saturday, April 24, 2010.

Today, I did one of the bravest things in my entire adult life: I got naked in public. And by ‘public’, I mean a roomful of perfect strangers, all of whom were equally naked. We’re talking saggy parts, jiggly parts, dimply parts, and—lest we forget—pubic parts. (Somehow that last one really drives home the emotional weight and potential for humiliation that nearly led me to abort this fool's mission before it even started.)

Lest my dear readers convince themselves prematurely that I am some kind of exhibitionist, allow me to explain why I chose to participate in such a strange and foreign custom. As a teenager, I lived in Seoul, Korea. Generally speaking, Korea and I comingled fabulously. I loved the language, the food, the kooky karaoke pizza parlors, and the bizarre flavors of ice cream. I did, however, encounter one insurmountable cultural snag: the public bathhouse.

Bathhouses are a staple of Korean culture. In fact, I would say that frequenting public bathhouses is to most Koreans as, say, hanging out at the beach is to the cast of Baywatch. It’s simply what they do. And while my mother, brothers, friends, and neighbors all lauded the sublimely relaxing virtues of the public bathhouse, I avoided the place like the plague. My reason—singular—was quiet simple: To soak in relaxing waters, you had to get naked.

Naked? Um, no.

End of story.

Now flash forward some twenty years, and picture me at lunch with my dear friend from Seoul, Sun Hee. We’ve just finished off the last strip of bulgogi, a traditional Korean barbeque dish, and she says something like, “There’s a new Korean bathhouse. We should go!”

I nearly choked. Then I staredt to think, How bad could it be? This might turn out to be a defining moment in my life. Liberating, even. Heck, if I can do this, I can do anything!

And then I pushed those thoughts deep, deep down into the most forgotten part of my spleen where I hoped they might stay hidden forever and ever and ever.

To no avail, unfortunately. When this semester’s COUN 5790 diversity assignment was explained as an opportunity to “deliberately step outside personal comfort zones” (assignment overview handout), I knew what I had to do.

I arrived at King Spa and Sauna, located on Royal Lane off of I-35 East in Dallas, in decent shape. I had managed to suppress most of my anxiety, masking it with an I’m-so-worldly swaggar. It wasn’t until I paid my $19.00 entrance fee, picked up my pink sauna uniform (they issue one to everyone, very Asian), and entered the women’s locker room that I began to wonder at my own judgment. Moments later, the sight of at least two dozen naked Korean women laughing, pointing, and talking en flagrante nearly caused me to break out in a nervous sweat.

True, I had worked at a Korean health club, so I knew what to expect. I understood, for example, that Korean women are socialized to the norms of bathhouse etiquette from the time they are very young, and that Koreans don’t generally connect body image, non-sexual nudity and personal modesty in the way many American women do. But this was different. In the gym, I accepted their comfort with their bodies. Today was more about my comfort with my body.

The most terrifying moment of all came when I had to walk NAKED across the locker room into the whirlpool room. I’m not going to lie. I almost chickened out. I rationalized that I didn’t have to do the whirlpool. I could change in a bathroom stall then skip straight to the clothing-mandatory sauna section of the spa. Surely I wouldn’t be the first. It would still be a cultural experience. I’d still be out of my element. I stood, frozen, between a row of lockers and the set of glass doors that separated the casual spa-goer from the truly committed cultural warrior.

Determined, I boldly stripped down, sucked in, and walked through those glass doors like I was born for nothing less.

Upon entering the whirlpool room, I was politely instructed by the attendant (full eye contact, by the way) that I should shower first. Luckily, the showers were conveniently located next to the whirlpool. (I should clarify that by ‘shower’, I mean a weird half-wall lined with several large mirrors, each with an adjacent hand-help sprayer, soap dispenser, and sit-stool. No curtains or dividers. Did I mention the mirrors? So you can see your naked self as you wash away your shame, or dignity, whichever still remains.)

The good news is that by the time I finished taking the fastest shower in known history, I was totally over being naked. Seriously. Over it. I stepped into the whirlpool, soaked for about twenty minutes with several lovely Korean women who smiled at me and said meeguk (American) repeatedly, then made the brave naked walk back to my locker. I then donned my pink uniform and ventured into the co-ed parts of the spa to enjoy the rest of what King Spa and Sauna had to offer. And let me just say, you haven’t really experienced a Korean bathhouse until you’ve found yourself in an Ice Room flapping your arms like a chicken with ten strangers playing Sam-Yuk-Ku! Sam-Yuk-Ku! Mori, mori sam-yuk-ku! or singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow with an ancient abuji (grandfather) while sweating in a cave of cobbled salt stones.

As I was leaving four hours later (hey, there’s a lot to experience!), I brushed past a nervous meeguk saram (American). I asked her if she’d ever been before. She said no, then started to say something else only to stop herself short.

“You’ve heard about the naked part.”

“Yes.”

“Do it.”

“Really?”

“Trust me.”

Then I climbed into my car and drove away.

apparently, i'm quite popular in germany... and it's freaking me out

2010-03-26T16:01:00.002-05:00

God bless the inventor of the MAP IT widget. Now I can see who's watching me from where. It's like reverse stalking.

So, yes. Germany. I'm a little wierded out. Feeling a little David Hassellhoff. If only I had a lame pop album. This would totally be my chance to say, "I'm huge in Europe."

Not that that would be a bad thing. I love me some Euros. The tiny cars, sexy accents, somber fashion sense, and bleak existential outlook. All so very intriguing.

Anyway.

I haven't written for a while and, honestly, this post isn't exactly dripping off my fingertips. I need a new muse. *Sigh.*

Abrupt change of topic.

If you haven't heard Vampire Weekend yet, download The Kids Don't Stand a Chance. You'll love it. Or hate it. Either way, you'll have something interesting to talk about over dinner or in the cab that has nothing to do with politics. *Hallelujah.* Plus--speaking of Euros--it mentions France. Always a plus. A-Punk is also delightful. I think they sampled it in a recent Volkswagon ad. OMGoodness. Another Euro reference. (They're everywhere.)

I've also been reading Longitudes and Attitudes by T. Friedman. It traces the events leading up to and following 911, with particular attention paid to the traditional Muslim-Arab worldview, then justifies the need for modernization within Islam, including a more cooperative approach to relations with the rest of the world. Very interesting. Read it. Or download it to your iPod and listen while you jog.

(Eruption of hilarious laughter... elective jogging... so, so funny.)

More soon. Maybe. :)

and that's jazz

2010-01-13T08:58:00.002-06:00

My brother has this patient. She's little. Like, small for her age. And precocious. The first time she came to the office almost two years ago, she went through a series of girations and facial expressions (that were even funnier, as mimicked by my 'all dancing people look like retards' sister) and then pronounced, "And that's jazz."

The other day Jazz Girl was back to sell Girl Scout cookies. She gave a well-rehearsed, yet very natural speech about the good these cookies do for little girls like herself all over the globe. Impressed, my sister decided to delve deeper into Brownie culture (we were, alas, deprived of this experience as youngsters) by asking a few select questions about Jazz Girl's many badges. Jazz Girl went through the names of several of her accoutrements, ending on her final badge.

Jazz Girl, saleschild extraordinaire: And this one is because I'm a nutcracker.
Page, witty receptionist: A what?
JG: A nutcracker.
P: Wow. Don't tell any boys that.
JG: Why not?
P: Never mind. What kind of nuts do you crack?
(Entire office giggling.)
JG: Not the kind you eat.
P: WHAT?!?
JG's mom, red faced with suppressed laughter: You're not a nutcracker, darling. You were IN The Nutcracker.
JG: Oh, yeah.

Later, Jazz Girl was invited to run her schpeel on the impressionable and loose-walleted Dr. Spence.

DS: Hmmm. I really love the Thin Mints.
JG: Oh, that's an excellent selection. Thin Mints freeze exceptionally well.
DS, while impressed with JG's vocabulary and sale's technique, must quibble a minor point: The problem is, these cookies won't last long enough to make it to the freezer.
JG, very seriously: My mom has the same problem.
(Laughter all around.)
JG: I'm not kidding! It's become a very serious issue.
DS: So, if I buy these cookies, will you show me some more dance moves?
JG, suddenly looking very bored: Do I have to?
DS, thinking like a man: I just bought a bunch of cookies from you. Now you must perform.
JG, quick-witted as ever: Hey, you bought those cookies for YOU.

Touche, little girl.

john connor: eat your heart out!

2010-01-01T18:01:00.004-06:00

Some might recall a past post wherein I outlined my post-apocalyptic survival plan. Or, rather, the factual evidence supporting the claim that I would be utterly useless in the future distopia foreshadowed by the creators of the Terminator dynasty.

Sad. So sad.

Reflecting upon my embarrassing future irrelevance was a wake-up call, to say the least. I discovered, among other things, that my only real talents were scrapbooking and Bejeweled Blitz. In said past post, I considered the efficacy of acquiring new skills. Practical skills that would not only ensure my survival in an uncertain future, but also render me, er, 'useful' (and by 'useful,' I really mean 'irresistable') to some future heroic hotty in need of a clever, save-you-in-a-pinch, can-do lady love.

Well, folks, I would like to proclaim my efforts a SUCCESS.

First, it has been observed that futuristic babes always know how to kick butt. Well, I'm proud to say that I have learned at least three ways of rendering someone twice my size unconscious, or at least immobile. There's the tried and true kick to the groin, the strategic karate chop to the wind pipe, and the "here, let me just break that finger for you" move. (Thank you Tai Bo, Sherlock Holmes, and the idiot who tried to kiss me on our first--and last--date.)

Second, End Times chicks tend to know how to fly stuff. While I haven't *actually* learned to pilot a helicopter YET, I have mastered this little contraption. How different can they really be?!? I bet there's even a helicopter app. I'm so downloading it ASAP.

Third, girls of the future can fix things. So, I installed a kitchen faucet. Yes. A real faucet. To a real sink. Alone. With my own tools. No leaks. I'm practically a plumber. Nay, architect of sanitation infrastructures.

Fourth, and this one is REALLY cool, the good people of the future (I'm talking about you, Christian Bale) need people who not only remember the days of electricity, but have a halfway decent chance of harnassing its awesome power. To that end, I tamed not one, but two electrical currents and replaced a 'so yesterday' light switch with this handy, timed switch. (Yes, it has a cover now.)

No more closet-light-left-on-all-day energy waste. This baby turns itself off whether I remember to or not. Genius, I say. Genius.

(This is me upon resetting the breaker and discovering that I did, indeed, have light!)

I'll admit, I was expecting smoke. Some popping sounds. Okay, my phone was already in 911 emergency mode. NOT THAT I NEEDED IT! (Pshaw!) I mean, really. So what if I never figured out what that extra green wire was supposed to do?!? (J/K. LOL. Anyone see that texting episode of How I Met Your Mother...?)

Next project: motion sensor switches in the bathroom and pantry. Then, if I have time, a holograph machine to answer the door when I'm busy blogging. (Yeah, right. Wait. Do they have those yet?)

All in all, I'd say 2009 was a pretty productive year. I'm making excellent progress on most of my self-improvement plans, with challenging goals still ahead to keep me motivated. For example, I have yet to track down a reliable, underground source for plutonium, petroleum, or government secrets. And it would be nice to know how to hack a computer, track a meteor/spacecraft/UFO projectile, or know what the heck to do in the event of a cataclismic solar flare. And I still haven't had lunch with the writers of General Hospital. Or completely broken up with George.

Go gentle, little Grasshopper. Gentle.

for the fam

2009-12-30T06:57:00.004-06:00

...and anyone else who enjoys stalking other people's holidays... :)

5:00, Christmas Eve--Dinner with the Spences in Justin, TX. Glad I got an early start. I-35 wasn't looking so hot. (LOL. HOT. Cuz, you know, it was actually really COLD.)

5:45--Upon my arrival (early, I might add), I'm enthusiastically greeted by Santa's Little Helper.

6:10--SLH and I catch up as we wait to see if any of the other Aunties and Uncles will be brave enough to face the wintery roads.

6:40--While Aunt Page is only minutes away, SLH is shocked, appalled, and maybe even a little suspicious to learn that all other family members have finked out on account of the weather.

7:30--After scarfing down some holiday brisket, SLH opens a few gifts. He tries not to eat the paper, but it is really hard to resist.

7:35--Wow. Daddy got an interesting present: the world's largest cast iron skillet. Yowzuhs.

7:47 (until the wee hours)--Mommy got a cool gift, too. And I quote, "Now that I've got Wii Boxing, I can finally beat up my husband!" All in good fun. All in good fun. Boxing was a riot, but tennis was the biggest hit. Best. Night. Ever. No joke.

Next Day--Christmas wasn't bad, either.

Why, yes. This *is* a grown man pretending to be Harry Potter with the amazing magnetic-tipped LED wand he received for Christmas. "Expleorus!" Or whatever.

Um. Yes. Yet another *grown man* playing with his *magic* wand. (Please don't blind the child!)

Mawmaw wishing the babies lived closer.

Aunt Leigh feeling quite content.

A very Happy Christmas indeed.

Hoping yours was just as sweet.

t.v. blues

2009-12-28T08:27:00.002-06:00

in the bleak midwinter
when all my shows are gone
i must settle for reruns
'til burn notice comes back on.

good thing general hospital is a year-round show
else I might begin to feel unhinged.
in the bleak midwinter--
pass the leftovers. now i'm gonna binge.

for kicks

2009-12-23T10:15:00.001-06:00

I included this pic in this year's newsletter. My grandmother is probably phoning my bishop as we speak. :)

Love it.

on the cheap, part deux

2009-12-20T22:26:00.002-06:00

I don't seem to have much to say these days. It's starting to alarm me.

Anyway.

While words seem to be escaping me of late, I have had no end of brilliant ideas involving scissors, pretty paper, and glue.

As my loyal fans may recall, I am flat broke this Christmas. (That's not entirely true. I did recently purchase a super awesome, new touch-screen phone which has, I confess, made me somewhat retarded when it comes to those old-timey button thingies. Why, just the other day, I had to collect a student's phone during class and, as is my custom upon taking things away from powerless youth, flipped it open and pretended to answer whoever had just texted him. After repeatedly and to no avail hitting the word "reply", I was like, "I'm touching the screen and nothing's happening!" And the kid was like, "You have to push the little arrows UNDER the screen." And I was like, "Dude, you're phone is so 2008." At which point--and this is what I love about middle schoolers--the young man showed me step-by-step how to send a text on his obviously outdated phone. I then messaged some girl called XXANAXXKITTEN, whose screen image was a bit PG-13, and told her to put some clothes on.)

Okay. So, anyway, as my loyal fans now know... I am not actually flat broke this Christmas. However, what little 'extra' money is in my checking account needs to stay there until next month's mortgage clears OR George Clooney actually asks me to marry him (at which point I have every confidence that money and, by extention, the pesky business of my monthly mortgage payment will cease to be serious concerns).

So much rambling.

The point is... I'm coming up with all kinds of clever ways to give super cheap gifts. Here is the latest: Tea Light Gift Boxes

Pretty, right?!? The kind of thing you'd pay, like, way too much money for anywhere else. Forget that! To create this yourself, you will simply need:

a few small, empty chocolate boxes (No, we are not gifting the chocolates. Eat them yourself. You deserve them. I used a few 4x4x1 Fanny May boxes that I stole from my brother's dental office. I stole the chocolates inside of the boxes, too, in case you were wondering. They were a bribe from a local endodontist looking to score a few more referalls off my bro. I know. Who knew dentists played hardball with sweets?!?)
some pretty paper from your already stocked craft closet
scissors
Modge Podge
a craft brush
pretty ribbon
a box of Walmart's cheapest tea lights (count: 30/box, cost: about $4/box). I like the Wild Cherry and Cranberry Mandarin scents. Each of my gift boxes included 18 candles, 9 of each scent, enough to make three sets.

Use your pretty paper and Modge Podge to cover your entire box. Fill the thing with tea lights, then wrap the whole thing in a ~~boy~~ bow. (Freudian slip.) Dress it all up with a tag made from contrasting paper and... presto!

That's it. Simple.

And elegant, if I do say so myself.

Voila!

on the cheap

2009-12-13T02:35:00.000-06:00

If you're like me (and by 'like me' I mean fabulous and broke... emphasis on broke), then you have more than likely found yourself of late saying things like, "Doesn't he have enough crap already?" or "Isn't that thing to which you are currently attaching fireworks and hurling from your second story bedroom window the insanely expensive toy I just got you for your birthday?" or "Are my eyes deceiving me, or is that 5-year old sporting a phone that costs more than my car?"

If so, then listen up. This year, I'm giving the rug rats in my life edible gifts. That's right. No lingering bits of plastic. No decals that somehow end up all over the upstairs toilet. No crap to be flung out of upper story windows when the grown-ups aren't looking.

Instead, I'm packaging the delightful experience of culinary whimsy. Kits, to be exact. And they're totally gonna rock. (P.S. also a great last minute gift for visiting teachers, friends with younger children, primary teachers, etc.)

Here's kit #1, inspired by Chili's Sweet Shots.

My versions includes:

-one set of IKEA shot glasses ($2.99)

-one small box of vanilla pudding ($0.89)

-one packet of graham crackers (~$0.50)

-kid-friendly instructions

(they'll need to grab milk and butter

from the fridge

and some cocoa from the pantry)

Step 1: Set up ingredients.

Step 2: Prepare vanilla pudding. Pour half into a separate bowl.

Step 3: Add 2-3 heaping spoonfulls of cocoa to one of the bowls of pudding.

Step 4: Prepare graham cracker crust by first crushing crackers with fingers, rolling pins, or other creative implements. Then melt about 1/4 stick of butter. Mix butter and crumbs.

Step 5: Fill shot glasses with alternating layers of graham mixture, vanilla pudding, and chocolate pudding.

Step 6: Top with sprinkles, nuts, or fruit.

Step 7: Refrigerate for 10 minutes.

Step 8: Enjoy!

Voila.... I mean... Noel!

slump

2009-12-03T16:50:00.002-06:00

Counseling programs are brutal. I'm all "reflected" out. Any more introspection and I might have to start thinking about assuming someone else's identity just to take a break from my own.

That would be fun. (Being me is fun, too. Don't get me wrong.) My big concern, of course, would be that I'd do a fabulous job at being that other person, only to come back to the complete mess that they, meanwhile, had made of me. Not cool.

Assuming that I could trust my life in the hands of another, I'd really like to be Demi Moore for a few days. Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Get real, Leigh. You just want to watch naked TV with Ashton.' While there is that, mostly I want to be told over and over again that I look 'younger and skinnier every day.' I also want to know if a sickeningly lithe figure is really about power yoga or if--as I seriously suspect--it actually requires frequent and clandestine trips to the world's most discreet cosmetic surgeon ever. And if, by some freakish turn of events, eternal youth really is about the downward facing dog, then I want to know, Exactly how much power yoga are we talking? You know, so that I can make an informed decision about my own looming battle with Mother Nature and Father Time.

I could also be a housekeeper in the White House. Just for a few days. And no toilets or windows. I'm thinking more along the lines of... management. The Obamas seem like such nice people and, I admit, I'd love to have a few "you'll never believe the compliment Mr. O gave me this afternoon as I supervised the tidying up of the parlor" stories to tell over the holidays. (Nothing like a well-played distraction to dodge the 'why aren't you married yet' inquiries.) Plus, once I became myself again, I'd know just where to go for a nonchalant 'guess who I bumbed into today' with Michelle and the girls. We'd swap a few stories about our mutual acquaintance, the housekeeper, then become bestest friends. Our friendship would, of course, lead to the absolute revelation that I belong, somehow, in the Presidential sphere, perhaps as a private tutor for the girls. Or possibly an appointment as Keeper of Presidential Scrapbooks. Maybe an important Cabinet position. Wherever my country needs me most.

In the event that Demi and the Obamas are unavailable, then I suppose I could settle for Mafia Princess, but just for a day or two. No longer than a week as I might discover things that are best left unspoken. Or end up in jail. Or dead, the innocent victim of a rival family's senseless vendetta against my Sicilian father. (Best not to dwell on that.) While living it up in Staten Island, I'd eat cannolis and lasagna to my heart's content and bask in the gorgeousness of a young Andy Garcia look-alike (preferably called Nico, Vito, or Tonio), knowing, all the while, that there are two big lugs following at a safe distance should anyone try to mess with me. Or take me down in a hit meant for one of my no-good, hot-headed brothers. My papa, rolling in recently laundered dough, would most likely insist that I carry a super-awesomely endless supply of credit cards. I'd purchase a few token super guady items for my Mafia Princess self, and then an absolute ton of beautiful, sophisticated pieces for my real self, to be cleverly sent to my real address where they would wait patiently for my eventual return to my real life. I'd also try to talk Vito, Nico or Tonio (but definitely NOT Vinny) out of 'the life' and promise him a date with my totally awesome, completely mob-free distant cousin, Leigh.

Ah, so many adventures to be had.

Now for the laundry.

there's no 'i' in team

2009-11-25T13:27:00.003-06:00

I made the mistake of volunteering to serve as editor for a group term paper. I hate group papers and, to be frank, am starting to hate groups as they generally underscore of the following unfortunate truth: The world is full of idiots.

Day 1: I calmly type a diplomatically phrased email to several group members whose recent submissions belie a penchant for verbosity... and very poor grammar.

What I'm really thinking: What part of 750 words dost thou not understand? And, dude, acquaint thyself with the almighty comma.

Day 2: Incorrectly formatted reference pages begin to pour in, reminding me once again of my deep-seeded trust issues and prompting yet another reply-all with helpful on-line tutorial links and the firm but supportive request that each member make his or her own corrections, then resubmit.

Inner voice: Seriously?!?

Day 3: I read aloud yet another ~~retarded~~ ill-concieved response to day two's simple request, claiming that APA is 'too confusing' and could I please provide 'further direction.'

My subsequent rant: Holy freaking crap. This is not rocket science. Study the freaking examples. It's simple, freaking substitution. Freaking sentence case for articles, caps and italics for journals. What the heck. (Statement, not question.) What. The. Freaking. Heck. America is doomed, and I'm moving to freaking France.

My hilarious sister Page, who has patiently witnessed this entire drama unfold and thoroughly encouraged me in my righteous indignation: "All I want to know is, will your next reply-all include the phrase dumb @ss?"

It just might.

resurrection

2009-11-17T19:37:00.001-06:00

I'm writing a paper about loss. Loss of a loved one, loss of nation or homeland, loss of identity, loss of hope.

Pretty depressing stuff, really.

Then I came upon this:

this much i know for sure...

2009-11-17T14:25:00.000-06:00

...my next oven will be self-cleaning. Can I hear an amen?

i spy

2009-11-15T16:15:00.000-06:00

mascara, cold medicine, spare key, tide to go pen, orange post-its, emergency ketchup, hair thingy, lip gloss, ipod, earphones, necklace, business card, mineral powder, receipt, repelling hook thingy (of course i've never been repelling!), miniature connect four game, mcdonald's monopoly tickets, level... what's in your glove compartment?!?

notes

2009-11-14T14:35:00.001-06:00

If there's one thing Joe Dickie, a.k.a. Mr. Morgan, AP English teacher extraordinaire back in the day, taught me during my sojourn at Glenbard South High School, it's that my internal responses to the messages around me are just as important as the messages themselves. To drive the point home, Mr. Morgan used to make us fold our notebook pages in half, dividing the paper into two equal columns. One side was for taking down the main ideas of the lecture or reading selection, the other was for recording our own insights, questions, interpretations, and criticisms. This second column, he said, should be just as full as the first, if not more so.

I employed this method big-time this week while attending my first ever Texas Counselors Association Conference in Dallas. Now, I should admit up front that I *heart* professional development and continuing ed. Yes, my inner nerd quite often prevails. I took notes galore. Here are some highlights that I found universally applicable. No real pizzazz in their presentation, just bullets.

Full disclosure, including a careful examination of ALL the steps leading up to and following criminal behavior (or any unhealthy behavior) is crucial to honest self-evalutaion, healing, recovery, and growth.
Boundaries are fundamental. Kids aren't born with them. Parents must be thoughtful models.
We are all creatures of habit. The question is, Are the habits we have in place making it easier for us to live in healthy, adaptive ways or unhealthy, maladaptive ways? (The fancy term for these behaviors is maintenance behaviors, and they include daily routines, movies, books, music, friends, how we take care of ourselves and our environment, what we do in our alone time, how we handle *all* of our emotions, and how we choose to either stay in or get out of a particular mood, funk, or mode of thinking.)
We need to stop dressing our little girls like they're going clubbing. Seriously.
Denial runs deep. Real deep.
Communication (especially listening) can't be selective.
It really does take a village.
You don't have to agree with, accept, understand, or condone a lifestyle in order to treat an individual with dignity and respect.
Perfect love casteth out all fear.
It's never to late to ask, "How's that working out?"
If we aren't getting what we want/need, then maybe it's time to make a change.
I can only change myself. The solution to my problems lies in me.
Empathy and accountibility are very closely linked.
Real forgiveness inevitably leads to personal growth. If we haven't changed, there is a good chance we haven't really forgiven.
Cheap forgiveness (granting pardons without processing what happened and the reactions of all participants, minimizing both the offense and the feelings of the offended) is not really forgiveness.It's just a postponement.
Real forgiveness is an act of love, hope and renewal.
Love really is the answer.

hope

2009-11-11T17:31:00.004-06:00

I like to consider all sides of important issues. I try to understand the logic behind other people's priorities, choices, predilections and actions. I try to see the underlying morality of each possibility, and then commit to the option whose basic morality most closely aligns with how I believe the world "should" be.

Lately, though, I find myself feeling a bit confused. This is not to say that I am unsure of my own moral leanings. I am not. In fact, I am clearer on that every day.

My confusion stems, quite simply, from the fact that both sides are accompanied by compelling arguments. Which side do I take and, more importantly, why?

Let's take the fundamental questions surrounding Health Care Reform. For the purpose of this discussion, we are going to throw out all claims that such reform will lead to the End of Democracy As We Know It. (Mostly because I think that these claims are ridiculous. ) Rather, let's focus on the legitimate underlying values of each side:

PRO: The good health of American citizens is fundamental to optimal personal, social, economic, scholastic, and, dare I say it, spiritual productivity. It is, therefore, in the public's best interest to provide reasonably affordable preventative and therapeutic health services to all, but especially to those who are contributing to society as productive workers. Individuals who work 40 hours a week and their families who are not fortunate enough to recieve employer-sponsored medical benefits, not rich enough to purchase insurance out-of-pocket, yet not poor enough to qualify for Medicare/Medicaid, deserve another option. Regulation and reform may be the answer.

CON: We value the reasonable autonomy of individuals and businesses and believe that the unfettered wheels of capitalism will eventually produce a market wherein individuals, doctors, insurance companies, and employers will find mutually satisfactory middle ground. As for requiring businesses to provide health care coverage, companies who offer generous benefits do so because they want to attract the best candidates for hire and because, having secured those top candidates, they want to keep them healthy and productive, as is their (the company's) prerogative and, lest we forget, their best interest. It's a win-win, and we love win-wins. It is not, however, a company's *moral obligation* to foot the bill for an employee's health issues unless those health issues are directly tied to the work environment. Nor--or so it could be argued--does that responsibility fall on the State, constitutionally speaking. In fact, the only person *responsible* for my good health is... me. Oh... and the doctors who took an oath to treat my illnesses. (Oaths are serious business. The morality of the actual cost of medical procedures must, however, be saved for another discussion.)

Here's where the plot thickens: I know that there are lots of great doctors out there who do all kinds of pro-bono or pro-rated work because they believe in both of the value schematas laid out above. More importantly, they are able to integrate the two into a single plan of action. Obviously, these doctors are doing the right thing. (Okay, I hope that it's obvious. If not... ay ay ay.)

But not everyone does the right thing. Living unnecessarily off the dole, charging ridiculous amounts of money for tiny pills, knowingly participating in risky behavior, refusing affordable coverage to those who legitimately need it. Worse, some people very intentionally do the wrong thing. And when they do wrong, it eventually weakens the entire structure. This is why we have democratically determined laws and regulations, for our mutual protection.

And this is where I'm feeling just a little torn.

At what point do we legislate "what's best"? At what point to we decide Value 1 trumps Value 2? Or that the needs of Group B are significant enough to warrant additional sacrifices from Group A? (Welcome to public education, by the way.)

And how do we know if we are making the right choice? Back in November of 2008, I studied and prayed about the candidates and felt completely peaceful about my decision. My close friend did the same with similar results. The thing is, we prayed about totally different candidates. Yet we got the same peaceful response. What's that about?!?

Perhaps what was really being confirmed to each of our minds and hearts was the underlying validity and goodness of the values, morals, and compassion that motivated our process and our respective decision. Perhaps the peace we each felt signified that, whatever turmoil the world was in for, we would be okay, and that, whatever party or causes we attached ourselves to, the key was to do so on principals of love, human kindness, honor, decency and an abiding respect for the democratic process.

I'm not a doomsday kind of thinker, but I do believe that Christ alone is the Prince of Peace. If these are the End Times, then so be it. My conscience is clean. Maybe that's why, while I have my preferences, I refuse to let the divisive issues of the day create a wedge between me and my fellow man. I know that those whose lives are lived in thoughtful compliance with a Higher Law will continue to do so regardless of what happens in on Capitol Hill. And they will be blessed... even if affordable health care isn't one of those blessings.

Plus, I haven't lost hope in America. Not by a long shot.

hai-ya!

2009-11-10T07:13:00.001-06:00

I'm thinking about taking karate. Mostly because I want to put my hard won TaiBo skills to good use. I'm a little nervous, though. I've never done anything like this before and I keep imagining how that first conversation might go.

Hey.

Hey.

Someone told me ya'll could turn me into a ninja.

A ninja? Um. We can teach you to break a piece of wood with your bare hands.

Close enough. Do I have to wear one of those silly outfits.

No.

Darn it.

You can if you want. Or just come in sweats.

Oh, gross.

Or whatever.

Well, if I wear the outfit, will people think I'm some kind of ninja nerd?

No. Well, yes. But no.

Um. Okay. Do said ninja outfits come in a variety of colors, or just black and white?

I have no idea. But if ninja stardom is your primary goal, I'd stick with black. You'll need one of those mask thingies, too. And a weapon of some sort.

You mean like num-chucks or throwing stars?

Or a sword. But don't bring the sword to class. We're a stricty hands-and-feet-only dojo.

Got it. Now, about general stealth...

We invented stealth.

Awesome. Sign me up. I'll need a receipt.

love notes

2009-11-09T00:06:00.003-06:00

Fast Learner and I occasionally like to ~~pretend we are famous~~ pass the time by making ~~retarded~~ hilarious videos which always end with me signing off with my now signature phrase, "Spence out." (Like Ryan Seacrest, only way cooler.) Fast Learner thinks it's genius. I know because she left me this mirror note at the end of one of our legendary sleepovers (don't worry... it's dry erase):

The mirror hasn't been properly cleaned since.

Until today.

But not before taking a picture.

Spence out.

crafty, part deux

2009-11-08T08:47:00.000-06:00

Guess what EVERYONE is getting for Christmas?!?

This one is even easier than the first. No assembly required. Just a 2" square punch, a 1" circle punch, coordinated paper (or not, depending on the desired look), and glue. (Number stickers included in kit.)

2 hours, tops.

the environ(mentalist)

2009-11-07T16:05:00.002-06:00

I used to read books on how to make stuff grow. Now I just put it in the ground and trust Nature to do what's best. So far, the results have been quite favorable. Not quite "Christian Bale will definitely stop by for some cherry tomatoes on his way to kick the crap out of some aliens" successful, but close.

With vegetables and waxy florals down, I've decided it's time to kick it up a notch and actually try for a tree.

Meet Mama Tree. She belongs to the neighbors.

Meet Babies #1 and #2. They sprung up a few months ago, have outlasted several severe weather storms, and seem ready for the wild.

For the record, digging the hole is the easy part. Getting the sapling out of the pot in one piece... Well, let's just say that Little Ling Ling (that's her new name) almost didn't make it!

Luckily, Henry was there to step in. He seems to approve of this new adventure in gardening, by the way, which is a good sign seeing as he shall undoubtedly prove to be poor Ling Ling's #1 Tormentor during the coming months of backyard mayhem.

This, too, is a promising sign.

Daisy... well. She's not saying much. Not easily impressed, this one. She's waiting until the thing is big enough to pee on. That's just how she rolls.

I love fall.

hi. my name is...

2009-11-06T14:42:00.001-06:00

7:54 and I don't want to be late. The sun has already set and I can't find the address. I approach what looks like an abandoned gas station, then realize that this is the place. I pull in sharply, dare I say a bit haphazardly. I'm pretty sure the row of pre-meeting smokers are thinking that my first meeting is long overdue. I get out of my car and say hello.

7:57 and I'm sitting next to Steve. He's looking a bit torn up, but is extremely friendly. Since he seems to be in charge, I introduce myself.

"My name is Leigh and I'm visiting. I'm studying to be a counselor. I'd love to sit in and learn a bit about how AA works."

Steve responds with a big smile followed by too many hearty introductions for me to keep straight. It's a motley crew, to say the least. Leather and spikes. I swear I see prison tats. This is a far cry from my last AA experience (mostly professionals and a couple of guys I recognized as extras on Law and Order), but the feeling of welcome is just as genuine. Maybe even a bit more so. I am clearly an outsider in every way, but I feel as though I've just met several long-lost cousins.

8:00 and the meeting starts. I'm fascinated by the very intentional sense of order. The facilitator/chair is careful to follow the protocols and procedures for conducting a meeting. He even asks a time or two for clarification. We make introductions. I'm struck by the value all place on their sobriety date. I think about dates from my own life. I'm not sure that any are as meaningful as October 9, 2004 is to the gentelman in the corner, or November 3, 2009 to the first-timer.

After introductions, the steps are read, followed by a passage from the Big Book.

This is a speaker meeting (also a new thing for me, my previous meetings were discussion meetings). The speaker tells his story. He claims that he was a boring drunk with an uneventful 'drunk-ologue,' but I find the entire history anything but. His story is laced with pearls of wisdom that make his fellow drunks smile and nod. I'm nodding, too. I'm a connector. I connect. And, while I've never tasted alcohol, I relate to everything he's saying.

While I relate, I am also aware that his life as an addict, drunk, and recovering alcoholic is unlike anything I've ever experienced. He talks about his first drink, which he refers to as his first and last social drink. He talks about the first time he got drunk, how his drinking escalated, how 23 years later he joined AA, how 1 year after that he and his wife (who he refers to as 'very good at taking care of drunks') divorced, and how for the last 13 years he's been sober and trying to repair the relationship that he nearly lost with his children. I think about Bruce Hornsby's song about recovery, "Gonna Be Some Changes Made." I need to listen to that again tonight before I go to bed.

He says something that strikes me to the core. In AA, he explains, he heard for the first time the six little words that would change his life: Everything is going to be okay.

How human is that?

The speaker talks about the transformation from surviving selfishly drunk to living selfishly sober to realizing that full recovery would require that he extend the commitment he was making to himself and God to other drunks, that he needed to put his name on the call list, volunteer to make the coffee, and share. Giving talks was the next step: being honest enough in his sobriety to share his story with others and, in a sense, become accountible not just to himself and God, but to them as well. I thought in a new way about the commitments I make when I simply show up, ready to do whatever is asked of me. I vow to answer my phone instead of letting it go to voicemail.

These are lessons for life.

After the speaker's talk, one member recieves her 30-day chip. I'm a light weight and start to tear up. Everyone else is, too, so I don't feel so ridiculous.

8:58 and we stand to recite the Serenity Prayer. Then the meeting is adjourned.

More people approach and introduce themselves. One gentleman in particular is eager to tell me how AA changed his life, saved him in prison, kept him from committing his third strike, and gave him a reason to move forward. "It may not work for everybody, but it worked for me." He isn't ready to share his sobriety with people outside of his group, yet, though his parole officer thinks it would be good for him. He is still working on believing in it himself. Someday.

I am aware of something within myself that makes me a bit uncomfortable: I am fighting pity, catching myself on the verge of offering some kind of condolence. I believe intellectually that pity is a wasted emotion, so I pay closer attention to what I'm really feeling, saying and doing, taking my cues from members of the group who express no pity toward each other, offering instead support and kinship.

Something clicks. I realize that the steps aren't about feeling bad about being a drunk, though taking inventory and making amends are key. Rather, the steps are about honest, courageous responsibility and a return to order. The meeting protocols and procedures, the statement about financial independence, even setting aside 'prudent' funds for and unpredicable future, and the fact the members, not paid administrators, make the meetings happen. All of this underscores the message: We can, with God's help, be responsible agents of positive change and recovery through hard work, service and unity.

Once I banish thoughts of useless pity from my mind, I find myself able to speak more genuinely with the group members, and they respond more genuinely to me. One man tells me that he's been sober for 14 months. I respond that life is good. "Amen, sister."

I shake a few more hands, listen to a few more jokes. Someone invites me to go to dinner, "the meeting after the meeting", but I don't want to overstay my welcome. "Come back. Open meeting every Wednesday and Saturday," they say.

I just might.

playing dress up

2009-11-04T20:53:00.000-06:00

I was hanging out with Little Girl Fast Learner. She was convinced that I could "look just like a teenager" if I changed the part in my hair. I gave her a brush and told her to have at it.

A few minutes later she proclaimed enthusiastically, "You have got to see this, Aunt Leigh. You look just like a high schooler."

"Just?" I asked skeptically, not entirely convinced.

"No one would ever know that you're old in real life."

"Wow. Thanks."

She can be a very generous girl when she's in the mood.

if this doesn't brighten your day...

2009-11-03T20:35:00.001-06:00

...then I don't know what will. Baby Cole. 4 months.

loose ends

2009-11-02T08:22:00.001-06:00

Taking out the trash. Mowing the lawn. Plucking one's eyebrows. These are not things that one should let slide. At least not all in the same week.

I need a secretary.

I know what you're thinking. We girls are supposed to say, "I need a wife," and then wink and nudge each other knowingly because, hello, it's ironic. But, I don't need a wife. You have to be really nice to wives and respect their autonomy.

(Plus, in today's social climate, people might actually think that I want a wife. Which I don't. Not that I'm judging. All the best to Ellen and Whats-Her-Name.)

No, I don't want a wife. I want an employee. Someone to whom I can say things like, "On the double!" and "When I say 'jump', you say 'how high'!"

Not that I would actually say those things, though I really, really like the idea. A lot.

I think I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. It's mostly PMS, I'm sure. (Ah. Another thing only women are allowed to say out loud.) Why else would I have started to cry while watching Community when that McHale guy's character ditched the girl in order to coax Chevy Chase's character out from under a fort made of library furniture? (I know. I watch a lot of tv for a girl with no cable or reception.)

Seriously, though, the stress is starting to get to me. Yesterday, I stole some (and by 'some', I mean 'a lot of') groceries from Albertsons. Not intentionally. I called the store as soon as I got home. We're cool. But still.

Oh, and there is a warrant out for my arrest. Yeah. Remember that speeding ticket? I hope you're shaking your head and doing that 'What on earth are you talking about?' thing with your face because I didn't remember, either. Until I was cleaning my car, found the ticket, actually read it, and realized that the Allen P.D. doesn't send out fines. It's the civic responsibility of the person recieving the citation--who, by the way, already proved him/herself to be less than civically responsible--to call the municipality and inquire about payment. Yeah. Well, anyway. That check is in the mail. The warrant should disappear soon. In the meantime, I sure hope no one needs an excuse to hold me for 24 hours while they build a case about something completely unrelated. (Been watching a lot of The Closer reruns, too.)

Ah. Well. This too shall pass. I'll be back to my old, take-the-bull-by-the-horns-and-remember-important-stuff self in no time.

Though I don't think I'll be showing my face in Albertson's ever again.

why not?

2009-11-01T20:30:00.001-06:00

(Click to enlarge)

Made completely out of paper. If they ever lock me up, I'll be needing my friends to send me insane quantities of white cardstock so that I can devote myself to topping this during arts and crafts time.

just shoot me

2009-10-31T16:40:00.007-05:00

I did it. I took my first official steps toward 'cat lady' status today; I made someone look through one of my scrapbooks.

Not that I actually had to appy force, but as soon as I set the album on the unfortunate youth's "Sure-I'll-Play-Along" lap, I was like, This reminds me of something ... something almost lost, almost forgotten... What could it be?

Oh, yeah. The life I used to live but now only relive in agonizing slo-mo through pictures and stories. The adventures. The whimsy. The size 8 jeans.

Who, besides Hillary Duff, knew that one day it would all feel so... yesterday?

Oh, my fleeting dignity! I should have children of my own to bore with stories of single-punch knock-outs and handsy Argentinian drunks.

(I told you my life was exciting. Once upon a time.)

More to the point: What if no one wants my scrapbooks when I die?

Sigh.

tis the season

2009-10-29T00:30:00.002-05:00

... to get crafty.

I'm a great lover of the fancy papers. Don't even get me started on Modge Podge. (It is to paper crafts what the trick deck is to magic.) And adhesive bling? Well. What girl's life is complete without a little of that happiness?

This year's first craft of the season: Kaisercraft's DIY Advent Calendar.

It took me several searches to track down a vendor, but the search was well worth the investment of time. The kit includes the frame, drawers, and numbers. (These come unpainted and unassembled, but not to worry. They are not difficult to piece together, and the finished product is quite sturdy.)

To decorate the drawers, I combined scraps from my rather copious supply with a few sheets of seasonal paper, modge podging the heck of it when I finished. I glammed up the numbers with an outrageously overpriced glitter kit purchased at Michael's with a 45% off coupon. (I never pay full price for anything over $4 at that store.)

My 'Oh, duh' moment came when I realized that I could get the perfect half-circle opening by using my 1" circular punch (which I also used to cut contrasting details for several of my drawer faces).

Other useful tools/supplies: paper cutter, random embellishments (I got mine for less than a buck at Target), craft paint, sand paper (for assembly and distressing), rubber mallet (for assembly), clear tape, scissors, Modge Podge, several foam brushes, self-adhering cork, and a bold writing instrument (for outlining and occasional lettering). I still need to make some coordinating tacks for the cork board. I'm going to glue pastel buttons to cheap, silver tacks and use them to mount a card, message, or family picture.

The thing I love most about this and other similar kits is their versatility. Though designed as an advent calendar, this kit could just as easily be decorated as a girl's trinket keeper, perhaps fitted with a small mirror.

I know. How cute would that be?

Hmmm... Thinks She's GT's birthday is in February...

I think we have a winner.

lazy day

2009-10-28T15:17:00.002-05:00

Daisy is super pumped today.
Not.

It might possibly have something to do with

the fact that I spent the better part

of the afternoon turning this

into this

instead of taking her on a W-A-L-K

where she might have stood a

half-way decent chance

of running into something like this:

Hard to say.

requests

2009-10-27T17:01:00.001-05:00

I only have three today. I don't think I'm asking too much.

1) To my friends at home and abroad in yonder lands: Please pray for America. Not for peace or economic prosperity, though those would be very nice, but for these women and the people who encourage them...

2) To the grown women of the world who insist upon pairing furry Ug boots with velour sweatsuits featuring (or not) the words juicy, sweet, or pink across the buttocks: Please stop.

3) And, finally, to those now looking for a 'back-up' look: Please note that this is not an acceptable alternative. I don't care how flat your abs are. Just don't do it.

Thank you.

inexplicably related guy strikes again

2009-10-25T23:56:00.001-05:00

My older brother and I are nothing alike. (Well, except for the DNA.) And yet, I really like being around him. I mean, except for the entirely too long discourses that my good manners oblige me to sit through, i.e. 'Why the Republicans Lost the Election,' 'Why Chrysler Will Never Measure Up,' and, my all time favorite, 'Why American Public Education is Doomed.'

I'd mostly just settle for the Cliff's Notes versions of these and other diatribes.

Still, it pays not to tune out entirely. Tucked between the layers of rant are hidden tiny semantic gems like these:

Urban Hillbillies. These are (and I'm using his words, not mine) the 'idiots' running Detroit. (Yes, Inexplicably Related Guy used to work there before the shiz hit the fan.) Urban Hillbillies is the term he coined in reference to those who have a generational link to the modern equivalent of a coal mine: the Almighty Auto Assembly Line. With line jobs in shorter supply these days, these befuddled Urban Hillbillies, with no other significant skills to speak of, are left with nothing to do but play the banjo on their front porches. Or something like that. I don't know about you, but I'm utterly fascinated by the analogy and can't wait to use the term in class the next time we launch a debate about the plight of America's disenfranchised.

Inspired. Inexplicably Related Guy likes to occasionally point out the many ways that he has received divine guidance from on high. I might be convinced if it weren't for the fact that these sudden bursts of revelation almost always happen in the car when, after a series of wrong turns, he finally manages to get us back on course. That's when he says, 'I told you I was inspired.' Indeed.

Mormon Collections. I still laugh when I think about this one. For those of you who don't already know, let me preface by saying that I'm LDS... you know, the Mormons! We are a perculiar people with very deep cultural roots. Being born Mormon is like being born Jewish. It's religion and culture and family and heritage and community and the Cosmos all rolled into one.

It also means that we go to church for three sometimes very long hours every Sunday.

Anyway, while eating at a clearly racist Chinese buffet the other day... (I'm not kidding! All the non-Whites were seated in one tiny section off to the side and when I asked that we be seated in that same section the hostess got all huffy, and I was like, 'Is there a problem?' and she was like, 'Dis not section fuh you, rady!' and I was like, 'But it's the last booth and I really want it,' and she was like, 'I gib you nice taber on udduh side!' and I was like, 'Listen, I'm not trying to be difficult, but I noticed that you seem to be segregating your patrons and I think that's wrong, so I'd like to sit in the booth in this section and not over there!' And then she was like, 'Fine.' But I digress... as I was saying... while tearing down the racial divide and the Great Wall of China Buffet... ) I confessed to my wise brother that I had been feeling a bit beaten down by the long, three-hour Sundays. I then suggested--mostly in jest--that maybe I should take a little vacay from church. You know, a little 'me' time. Without skipping a beat, my brother replies, "That won't work. They'll just send you to Mormon Collections. You'll have to change your identity, and even then there's no guarantee that you'll shake them. They're relentless." I laughed so hard, water started coming out of my nose.

When I looked up, the hostess was giving me the Evil Eye. Probably thought I was some kind of Urban Hillbilly.

Whoa. Maybe my brother is inspired.

happy halloween, part 4

2009-10-23T11:00:00.000-05:00

This week is dedicated to food inspired costume mahem. Don't be alarmed if you start to feel a little hungry. Just don't confuse your children for food.

This child looks scared. I am a little, too.

Now this is adorable. I'm not sure I believe the claim that it is homemade, but who cares?!?

Call me a snob, but I don't think SPAM is ever right. EVER.

Okay. Here's the thing. I think this costume is the bomb. Colorful, recognizable, clever. Add a simple tee and some leggings, and it's even church appropriate. My only critique is this: Who has time to KNIT a hamburger dress?!?

And lest we forget that sharks need food, too.

Happy Halloween!

new toys

2009-10-22T00:00:00.001-05:00

This is how I'm justifying General Hospital these days, by referring to it as "work-out" time. And with my new, handy-dandy, under-the-desk, express ticket to super-cooldom, portable peddler with digital monitor, me and the good people of Port Charles are sure to break all kinds of personal fitness records. Yes!

Actually, I haven't watched GH in over a week. (GASP!)

I know. What's happening to me? First I nix Bejeweled Blitz, now Sonny Corinthos. What's next? Little Debbie Snacks?!? (HECK to the NO!)

I thought my thirties were supposed to be about finally freeing myself from the shackles of body insecurity. Not so much. Rather, with the "40 Is the New 30" mantra of those just a few years older than me ringing in my ears, I find myself doing mental math to the tune of something like, "Holy crap! That means I should still look like a twenty-something!"

Which, of course, I do not.

Which is why I am spinning, spinning away even as I write and revise this post. Multitasking has taken on a whole new dimension. I've burned 102 calories so far. Another 30 minutes and I'll have atoned for those fries I ate earlier today.

And you thought this was a silly investment! Tsk tsk.

Feel the burn, baby! Feel the burn!

modern family

2009-10-19T22:49:00.002-05:00

It's been a while since I gave any update on my addictions class. Here's what I've learned so far...

1) Addiction is a beast. Ironically, the one thing that must be developed in order to beat addiction in self-discipline. I have new-found respect for youth programs, teaching strategies, and, most importantly, parenting styles that focus on impulse control, choice and consequences, goal setting, personal progress, self-awareness and self-mastery. And just good old-fashioned clean living.

2) Addicts live in DEEP denial. So deep that, really, the best thing that could ever happen to some addicts would be to lose absolutely everything so that maybe, just maybe the devestation they've been leaving in their wake all along might finally sink in. Hard core, yes. But true.

3) Addiction is just one variety of chaos and dysfunction. Almost all deeply dysfunctional families will exibit the same characteristics typically observed in a family struggling with addiction. Kind of puts ruthless backstabbing, petty jealousy, constant criticism, and spiteful gossip in new perspective, don't you think?

4) As much as I lament the havoc an addict and his/her more-often-than-not codependent spouse create for and/or tolerate from each other, my heart breaks a million times harder for the children of these dysfunctional unions.

5) I am extremely blessed. I relate quite powerfully to almost every clinical description of family dysfunction, even the thirteen characteristics of adult children of a dysfunctional parent (which, per research, are the same as those exhibited by the adult children of alcoholics). We had all kinds of chaos going on in my house growing up. And yet, by the grace of God, I've turned out okay.

Better than okay. I'm thoughtful and kind, compassionate, smart, accomplished, considerate, healthy, forgiving, and hopeful. I know that I'm not alone and that God has been guiding me throughout my life.

So I can only spend three hours max in the same room with both of my parents. The good news is that I've identified this very important boundary and, as a result, am able to actually enjoy both of my parents during those three hours. This, my friends, is PROGRESS. And it is very very good.

The point is, my family, though riddled with issues (that we are slowly working through), is full of promise and love. My mom is a saint. My dad... well. He tries really hard, and I love him for that. My sister is my best friend. My brothers are the kinds of guys my friends wish their husbands would hang out with. My nieces and nephews are fun and naughty and hilarious and, when the stars align, occasionally obedient. And my sisters-in-law... well, I'm sure they sometimes question their decision to join this crazy crew. But I'm so glad they did. We might be a mess, but we are a happy mess.

One big, happy, dysFUNctional mess.

my phone is so lame

2009-10-17T02:49:00.008-05:00

Someday, I'll be able to afford an iPhone. When I get my iPhone, you can rest assured that I will have absolutely NO TIME for, say, conversing with friends and distant relatives. Oh, no. I will be far too busy messing around with the world of available apps.

When I'm not playing that crazy puffer fish game, or the 'how accurately can you throw a wad of paper into a waste basket' game, or making light sabor noises as I slash and stab at the sky, I'll be using my iPhone to identify random songs on the radio, learn to fly a jet, or reveal the exact GPS location of my right pinky toe. (And, yes, all of these apps really do exist.)

Clearly, the whole app thing is genius, and I'm determined to get it on the action. I have even managed to put together a mini portfolio of app possibilities. In no particular order:

1) The Phone Fart App. Think of it as a Whoopie Cushion in your phone. Simply select a toot, set your phone's timer, then bury your phone behind the nearest couch pillow. Or, better yet, send a particularly nasty toot straight to your ex's voicemail. Big laughs all around.

2) The What's For Dinner App. This one is a no-brainer. You simply enter five foods/ingredients that you actually have in your fridge, freezer, or pantry, and the app spits out a selection of 30-minute recipes. The upgraded version would require nothing more that a well-lit photo. Facial recognition technology would be adapted to, instead, recognize food items. I know. Great idea.

3) The Karaoke App. Who wouldn't love to have their own portable karaoke machine?!? Uh, duh. Instant party.

4) The Instant Excuse App. You supply the cunundrum, the ap supplies a semi-believable way out. In-laws, late homework assignments, frenemies, people trying to set you up with their weird uncles... this ap has got you covered.

5) The Lie Detector App. I'm not sure how this would work, but I figure if I put the idea out there, the forensic nerds of the world will fill in the technical gaps. I just want my cut.

Any one of these ideas could easily go platinum. (Though my sister and I just discovered that we were too late on the phone farts app... several similar apps already exist. Oops. And the karaoke one, too. Oh, well. Great minds and all that.) Seriously, though. With a little time, I really think I could come up with some promising stuff.

Of course, no matter how I rack my brain, I can't imagine that I will ever be able to concoct anything quite as brilliant as this:

I believe this incredible piece of editing just goes to prove what I've been saying all along: There is absolutely nothing wrong with Sarah Palin that a little Barack Obama can't fix (with some help from T-Pain, of course).

Word. Now, get out there and waste some time on your phones! Do it for America.

happy halloween, part 3

2009-10-16T02:37:00.000-05:00

I used to think people who dressed their dogs in little outfits were unstable, koo-koo, and loco en la cabeza. Now, I want to be one of them.

I'm not sure what this says about me, and the burgeoning uncertainty has me somewhat concerned... like I don't really know who I am anymore. All because of some dogs in drag... or whatever. It's kind of like the first time I listened to Enya after making fun of all the obviously lame people who listened to Enya. And I was like, "This is so lame... and super relaxing... " Before long, I was singing "sail away, sail away, sail away" while doing my math homework or trying to remember my locker combination. That's when I knew that I had to accept the bitter truth: I was as lame as them. Ugh.

Enough.

Here are the blasted dogs. The blastedly cute, made-up-to-look-like-people dogs.

Darth and Leia. I can't help but wonder why Darth's helmet is crooked. I imagine a dog running on a slick surface, biffing it into a wall. If you have a dog, you know what I'm talking about. Leia is pretty cute, too. Check out her fake hands. Genius, I say. Genius.

The Ghost-Dog Patrol. What this ensemble lacks in complexity, it more than make up for in obedience training.

Karaoke Puppy. This is, by far, the cutest dog ever. Ever. I love it, I want it, and I shall call him Jasper. Or Rudolph. Possibly Federico.

Arthur and Guinevere. These dogs just look right for the parts.

Pirate Pooch. This costume is totally creepy. The little knife, the braids, the swashbuckling booties, the hypnotic stripes. Creepy, yet strangely enchanting. Maybe it's last night's Taco Bell speaking, but I really want this chihuahua to start talking in a drunken pirate voice. Savvy?

As for Daisy's Halloween plans... Well, she's been a bit uncooperative about trying things on, so I had some mock-ups drawn up, you know, to get her excited about the big day.

I can't wait to see which one she's chosen!

the magic continues

2009-10-15T19:49:00.000-05:00

I started something very, very bad last week when I started dipping ritz crackers in chocolate. I mean, seriously. Very, very bad. I fall asleep with these ideas just flooding my head. Delectible savory-sweet treats that herald a new day of innovation for the King of Crackers!

Why, just today, the flunky's test kitchen yielded
the following after-school snacks:

Peanut Butter and Chocolate
Chocolate and Marshamellow

Peanut Butter and Jelly and Chocolate

And the creme de la creme:

Peanut Butter and Marshamellow and Chocolate on Ritz.

I'm salivating just thinking about it.

(Sadly, none survived long enough to be captured on film.)

This was also quite nice:

And these little cuties, too:

Now, if you'll excuse me. I need to run to the store. We're getting low on supplies, and I haven't even attempted anything with bacon yet. Ooh. Chocolate and Bacon on a Ritz. You're making that face, but TRUST ME... it's gonna rock your world. (Well, mine first. Unless you can beat me to them.)

Now, if only I could find my !#%@# car keys!!!

am i the only one crazy for mr. schuester?

2009-10-15T00:51:00.000-05:00

smelly dog was claimed

2009-10-14T00:43:00.000-05:00

Just keeping you all abreast of late-breaking news. The smelly mutt my sister found on the side of the road and then gave safe harbor here in my formerly sweet-smelling abode (I'm gonna have to have to whole place steam-cleaned) has been claimed. Yay. Another happy ending.

tiny hell-hound

2009-10-13T14:32:00.001-05:00

This is what a woman who has just turned 35 looks like first thing in the morning. She's grateful that, while God did not grant her a great metabolism or a fashionable nose or natural bubbliness or ... well you get the idea... he did at least give her great morning hair. And that's something.

(Though, if we're being perfectly honest, she would've preferred the metabolism. And she does have questions for God about that. And many many other things, as well. God will probably grant her a super long life just to avoid having to face these tough questions of hers. She doesn't blame him.)

Anyway. She contemplates her life for a few minutes in the dark before getting up. It's another gray day and she's been battling the Bleghs. They are kind of like the Blahs, but with a bit more piss and vinegar, as her great grandfather might have said. They happened to hit hardest last night while she was watching Jim and Pam's wedding on The Office. Jim and Pam had just exchanged vows secretly on a Niagara Falls ferryboat when Jim looked at the camera in that way of his and I... I mean she... was overcome with this feeling of... hmmm... not defeat or resentment, just... deflation.

She felt deflated. Like keeping it all up was just too exhausting (especially since as mentioned before, 'bubbly' is not in her genetic make-up). Plus, those pesky questions started flooding in. Like: Where the hell is my...I mean HER...Jim?!?

As it turns out, the Universe has a strange way of answering such questions. Right around lunch time today, this showed up:

It's a dog--I had to ask, too. A dog clearly from hell. And it is the ugliest thing ever. Ever. And it has HORRIBLE breath. And it yips. Henry can't decide if it's a canine cousin or an interactive chew toy. (Um... Page, that's why Henry will be in his cage when you get home.) And Daisy. Well, poor, poor, sweet, beautiful Daisy. She has no idea what's going on. She's been hiding under the piano bench all morning. I think she's terrified of the noxious odors emanating from this dog's various orifices (orifi?). Which is saying a lot, because Daisy's breath...and other, er, gasses... aren't so hot, either.

Anyway, seeing this mutt, I (we'll drop the whole third person pretense... you're welcome) realized that I don't want just any guy. Just like I don't want to take in just any mutt. I'm willing to wait for the right mutt.

And now I'm feeling much better.

Thanks, Universe. (And God. I'll try to work through some of those tough questions on my own. You know, before we meet and all. I don't want to be one of those women.)

By the way, the dog is going to the pound tonight. Seriously. My nose can only take so much. Unless its owner shows up. (If you live in McKinney and are reading this... please pass this picture around. It'll be like that cell phone commercial. Except, you know, with a dorky woman in her thirties. And a much scarier dog.)

new favorite song

2009-10-12T19:55:00.001-05:00

chocolate covered ritz crackers

2009-10-10T11:30:00.000-05:00

Okay. So, I'm not entirely without domestic skills. I can make a mean meatball. And pretty much anything involving sausage links.

Unfortunately, those weren't on the sign-up list for last night's church carnival.

I dread church socials. It's nobody's fault. I just never know where to sit. I suppose that's another blog.

Anyway, as a motivator/attempt to keep myself from whimping out at the last minute, I signed up to bring "cookies, cakes or cupcakes". No problem. Except that they all involved baking and waiting. Who's got the time? So, instead, I whipped up these beauties. They are delicious and so easy to make.

Here's what you need:

1 box of Ritz crackers

1 large package of melting chocolates

Sprinkles, heath bits, chopped almonds, and other adornments to taste

Step 1: Melt chocolates in microwave per package's instructions (about 60 seconds)

Step 2: Create a first-chocolate-then-sprinkles dipping assembly line

Step 3: Lay finished product on parchment paper-lined baking sheet (something sturdy for easy transport to and from the freezer)

Step 4: Balance dipped crackers precariously atop whatever frozen mess you've got going on in your freezer. (I don't judge.)

Step 5: Wait one minute. Seriously. This is as close as it gets to instant gratification.

Step 6: Enjoy.

I went ahead and dipped the whole stinkin' box. My favorite? Almond dipped. Yum.

happy halloween, part 2

2009-10-09T02:01:00.000-05:00

Ah, the lean years. There's nothing like Halloween on a budget. You know what I'm talking about. That year you put a jar of pennies on the front porch because you didn't want to spring for candy. Or maybe you could spring for candy, but only the cheap tootsie roll/gum drop/bit-o-honey mix, or what I like to refer to as "ghetto candy."

Speaking of ghetto, you know times are really tough when you can't even manage to find ten bucks for a flimsy nylon, Disney-inspired costume from Walmart. These are the years that require ingenuity and a penchant for arts and crafts. Take, for example, the paper bag rodeo outfit seen here.

I remember wearing something similar one year. I believe I was actually an indian princess, but the end look was quite similar: a make-shift vest, odd markings that I somehow came to believe gave me an "authentic" air, and, of course, lots of fringe.

Oh to be back in 1982, fringin' it up for Halloween because Mom and Dad used the Halloween budget to take a cruise to Jamaica.

Here's to all the paper-bag wearing kids across America (forget those other countries) whose hearts beat for Halloween, even when their wallets have gone kaput!

___

1) This poor kid's parents are clearly going through some hard times. And I'm sure the kid's art therapist would agree: the strain is starting to show. I mean, what is this hot mess?!? Is it an order of regurgitated fries? Some kind of pasta? An ashtray? No, silly! It's a baked potato. Props for working it out with the construction paper, kid!

___

2) Way to reuse, Zergon from Zebulon 5. I especially love the styrofoam cup space-afro. Impressive. (The recycled egg carton accessories are also quite brilliant.) This costume is not only futuristic and utterly cool in every way, it is also quite practical: the grey thermal underwear (you thought I wouldn't notice the boy-crotch pee-slit?!?) should provide some fairly decent weather-protection should the night turn chilly.

___

3) Got a bunch of boxes just hanging around? Add some white spray paint and a couple of black sharpies and you, too, can risk the perils of limited movement and heat exhaustion as you pay homage to the ever popular Star Wars franchise. These Storm Troopers rule.

___

4) Ah, and now for our final exhibit: Semi-Naked Spiderman. This kid takes "budget friendly" to a whole new level. I have to believe that an adult was involved... the facial detailing and the chest spider suggest a seasoned hand. No matter. For Halloween on the cheap, this one takes the prize.

___

Next week: pet costumes. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll want to buy a puppy. It's gonna be awesome.

why i love phineas and ferb

2009-10-08T11:15:00.001-05:00

ribbons

2009-10-07T11:19:00.000-05:00

Last week was college awareness week at my school. The children were encouraged to wear sweatshirts and other college-related regalia in an effort to create a "college-friendly" atmosphere.

Those who didn't have a college sweatshirt, cap, or other emblem-emblazoned article of clothing (mostly the poor kids whose parents didn't go to college... who we are trying to inspire to go to college... some of whom are now even more convinced than ever that college is just for rich kids whose parents can afford to buy them copious articles of spirit wear...) were given a fun and exciting ribbon to wear. Actually, all students were given a ribbon, but only because someone pointed out that if you only gave ribbons to the flunkies, it might send the wrong message.

Or the right one.

It's hard to say.

(For the record, I am a HUGE advocate for measures that help close the achievement gap among children. My own extremely low SES* 'flunkies' recently scored the district's highest scores on the AP Spanish Language Exam, an accomplishment that will, according to statistics, increase their likelihood of a) graduating from high school and b) going to college at least five-fold.)

*Socio-Economic Status.

Back to ribbons... Don't even get me started on what it's like to monitor a bunch of 12-year-old boys armed with tiny stick pins.

Anyway, the whole ribbon thing has got me thinking...

Instead of giving ribbons for stuff like College Days and Say No To Drugs Week (both very noble causes which I do actually support despite my somewhat sardonic tone), what if we created a series of ribbons that communicated equally important, but less, um, celebrated causes? For example...

Black ribbons tied around the fingers of select students only: Have You Ever Considered Home-School? Awareness. I believe the ultimate message here is self-explanatory.
Yellow ribbons pinned to the lapel: Have You Ever Heard of Texting? Awareness. This one is for the parents who think they have to call the school directly every time their middle school child's pick-up location changes. Yes, I know. We want kids to turn their phones off during class. But they don't. Front lot, back lot, across the street, at the Sonic, 3:15, no 3:05, wait 3:10. Dude! Pick a time and place and stick to it! Oh, and prepare your child for the eventuality that your arrival time might have a variance of +/- 5 minutes. They'll be okay. Promise.
Red ribbons tied fashionably around the neck: This Isn't a Day Care! Awareness. For the parents who don't pick their kids up from school-sponsored events (games, dances, 8th period) until at least 30 minutes after the event was scheduled to end. What do you think they are doing during that time? Let your imagination go wild. Yep... all that and more. It's an exciting time to be alive.

White ribbon tied around the bicep: Could You Make More Of These, Please? Awareness. We joke a lot about the delinquents, the future scoundrels, and the ditzes whose best bet is to marry rich. What can I say? It gets us through the day. The truth is, though, most kids (and their parents) are pretty awesome. And there are some who even make us think, Wow. This family is doing something right. What we wouldn't do to spread that recipe around. Thanks!

P.S. Special thanks to blogger BOYS-R-US for the inspiration for this post! Click the link and check her out!

attn: pregnant ladies

2009-10-06T13:38:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not going to make fun of how you waddle. I happen to think it's entertaining and cute.

Actually, I just wanted to help a friend out. (No, she's not paying me to do this!) She and some other blogging/vlogging/podcasting enthusiasts have recently launched a site that I wanted to share. It's called PEA IN THE PODCAST and it covers topics especially geared toward expectant mothers and women who are trying to concieve. (If you are a man trying to concieve... um...)

Check it out and enjoy!

two-timing

2009-10-05T23:39:00.000-05:00

I realize it's been a while since I last updated the world's enquiring minds as to my torid love affair with George Clooney. Not that there's much mystery these days. You've probably seen the pictures of us at his latest red carpet event plastered all over town.

I know. I look super hot. George, on the other hand, is looking like... an old man.

Yikes. How awful of me! I'm already sorry to have even allowed that thought to take shape in my mind... and will, I'm sure, eventually regret having committed it to print, but it's true. He's aging. And not necessarily in that eternally sexy Sean Connery kind of way.

And it's not just the wrinkles and untreated sun spots. These days, I'm sort of wondering how much of a future we really have. Maybe it's time I found someone with whom I have more in common than a killer smile and enviable hair.

The truth is, George has just become a little--how shall we say it--predictable lately. All I hear is 'Italy, Italy, Italy.' And while the villa is quite stunning, I need a little more substance.

As luck would have it, I was strolling through Manhattan while George was napping (another bad sign) when who should I bump into but THIS gorgeous and totally substantive guy:

You might have seen him on television playing the role of a dashing crime novelist who shadows a no-nonsense homicide detective on the rough streets of NYC in order to get fresh ideas for his newest series of bestsellers. He's obviously talented. What's more, he's also funny and charming and smart and really knows how to show a girl a good time.

Oops. Wrong picture. (I sure hope George didn't see that!)

What I meant to say is, he has a deeply evolved sense of culture.

It's almost magical.

And yet I can't quite shake George. Sweet, sweet George. I mean, Italy isn't so bad. And so what if his age is starting to show. He's a classic.

Besides, who can resist those rascally eyes? *sigh*

Plus, there's always Botox.

crime and punishment

2009-10-03T14:56:00.000-05:00

Little Girl Fast Learner finally did it. She got her 5th 'twerp' check. It's all part of Aunt Page's rather ingeniously concocted behavior plan for the children, whom she has been watching this week while their parents frolic in Hawaii. Anyway, the plan includes fun rewards and...dun, dun, dun... twerp checks. 5 checks, you're out. Apparently Fast Learner got 'sassy' one too many times. The hatchet had to fall.

I'm not really surprised. Years of teaching have taught me that children of a certain ilk often require a 'sacrificial lamb' of sorts to test the resolve of those who would dare teach them--gasp!--socially appropriate behavior and boundaries. Fast Learner falls squarely into this special population, which is both a blessing and a curse. She isn't bad. Just... willful. Which can be lots of fun. When the she isn't throwing a fit in the middle of Super Target.

So, how do I fit into this mess? Well, turns out that the biggest reward of the Aunt Page Behavior Plan was the promise of a super awesome outing at the end of the week. Only the good would be invited. Which means someone was going to have to stay with the not-so-good. Since I knew that I would be far too busy this weekend to participate in any grand celebrations, I volunteered. Which has me all conflicted. I mean, even though I support the noble goal of teaching children the importance of, say, impulse control, self-restraint, and basic public decorum, deep down I admire the creative machinations and diabolical, "muah ha ha" ways of children like Little Girl Fast Learner. It's a terrible, terrible thing that I've had to simply live with. C'est la vie.

So, tonight, instead of going to The Pocket Sandwich Theater with her socially appropriate siblings for a unique pop-corn throwing experience*, Fast Learner will be sitting quietly (ehem)on my couch reading from an endless supply of picture books while I attempt to write my theory paper. A paper I should be writing right about now.

On my birthday. (Did I mention that? I was secretly planning to celebrate with an all-night Burn Notice marathon while I worked on my blasted paper...best laid plans...)

Oh well. I'm over it.

To be honest, right now I just feel really sorry for responsible parents (and aunties) everywhere who have to sacrifice their awesome plans so that they can, instead, be proper disciplinarians to the delinquent children who have been entrusted into their care.

3-1 says we end up playing go fish. 5-1 says it's my idea. 7-1 says I don't finish the paper.

*Seriously, they have these seasonal melodramas complete with audience participation in the form of hisses, boos, hoorahs, and--yes!--popcorn throwing!

sell-by dates and taco pie

2009-10-03T02:06:00.000-05:00

I have terrible luck when buying taco shells.

I know what you're thinking. 'Why,' you demand, 'would anyone actually go to the trouble of making tacos from scratch when Taco Bell does such an excellent job?!?'

Who knows. Every now and then I just get a little crazy and think to myself, Self, you should make some tacos tonight. It'll cost 3 times as much as buying tacos from a local vender, half the lettuce will go bad, and you'll probably make a big mess. But, you know, something someone said at church last week has got you thinking that the experience of standing over a hot skillet waiting for the meat to brown as grease sputters all over the kitchen will somehow enrich your life. So, what the heck, live a little!

Hmmm.

So, I get into my car and go grocery shopping. (You didn't think I actually keep taco stuff on hand did you? Tsk. Tsk.) I hit the produce section, grab some ground beef, then move on to the ethnic aisle for shells and seasoning. This is where things get dicey. See, no matter what the sell-by date on the package says, my taco shells are always stale.

Luckily, my sister and I are geniuses.

See, a couple of months ago we were bitten by the Let's Make Tacos From Scratch bug and, as always, were disappointed by our crunchy tacos' lack of... well... crunch. (Old El Paso had failed us again.) Not to be defeated, we began to scheme.

'I bet you could break up the shells and use some to line the bottom of a casserole dish...'

'And then alternately layer the remaining shells with refried beans...'

'I think there's some enchilada sauce in the pantry...'

'And some left-over cheese...'

'Olives?'

'Why not.'

'Tomatoes?'

'Sure.'

'What temp? 350?'

'We'll know soon enough.'

'How long has it been?

'15 minutes. I'm starving.'

'The cheese is starting to bubble.'

'Awesome. We've got sour cream in the fridge.'

'Avacado?'

'Cilantro, too.'

'Hit me.'

(Mouths, by now, are kind of full.)

'Dith ith stho goodth.'

Needless to say, the prospect of stale shells is no longer a concern.

happy halloween, part 1

2009-10-02T02:01:00.000-05:00

Halloween is fast approaching, and we all know what that means. Yep, Walmart's extensive array of plastic storage items will be temporarily relocated to make way for a gazillion cheap Cap'n Jack Sparrow costumes.

Oh, and candy. (Although, now that I'm an adult, free to purchase loads of candy whenever I dang-well feel like it, the candy part--mostly spending gobs of money so that other people's children can get wired for the next week--isn't quite so appealing.)

But back to costumes. To get us all in the mood, I shall be hosting a costume extravaganza of my own, full of Halloween disguises designed to scare, thrill, delight and, in a few cases, prompt urgent calls to Child Protective Services.

Enjoy.

***

1) I can't decide if this one is super cute or super morbid. It's the boiling that has me concerned.

***

2) Similarly, is it ever right to even suggest hanging your child from a rear view mirror?

***

3) Now, this one is so ugly, it's cute. I'm tempted to get one for myself. Luke! Do or do not; there is no try!

***

Ahh. So much to look forward to. More next week!

(PS: Thanks, Deb, for the pre-blog blogging secret!)

a little perspective

2009-10-01T22:00:00.000-05:00

From a blog called Mysterious Letters.

It's Nice That Talk #3 – Michael Crowe & Lenka Clayton from It's Nice That on Vimeo.

shout-out to code name: 'morgana'

2009-09-30T20:58:00.000-05:00

...who repeatedly tried to steal my pen today. (It really is an awesome writing instrument.) Luckily, my stealth pen retrieval skills are quite excellent. Plus, I had her mother's phone number on speed dial. (Days 1 and 2 of sub job #255005 weren't completely in vain.)

And even though I asked her rather pointedly if her parents had ever considered home-schooling, and then offered to send her some brochures when she shook her head to the negatory, I know that she knows that it was all in good fun. And I admit that she is starting to grow on me, kleptomania and all.

*For more near-perfect pens, see The Pen Addict.

to read or not to read, vol. 4

2009-09-30T09:56:00.000-05:00

So, a week or two ago I wrote about a series of books that middle school girls are surreptitiously devouring. I then read volume one of said series and nearly died laughing, but also realized that I could never in completely good conscience encourage my own daughters to read these books until they were at least 30 years of age. Okay, maybe 21.

The point is that they are a little too much. I kept trying to imagine my oldest niece, Thinks She's GT, reading them with a flashlight at night and, seriously, it made me just a little uncomfortable. Especially when I imagined her father (cue shark music) picking one up and thumbing to the 'wrong' part, if you know what I mean. Scary.

So, I've spent the last week reading youth fiction like a fiend (substituting in an ELAR* class has given me both time, since the kids have in-class IR*, and an excellent reading list to choose from) in an effort to put together a top-notch collection of middle school must-reads.

(ELAR: English Language Arts and Reading; IR: Individual Reading... teachers have an acronym for everything.)

These are the best, so far. I've intentionally focused on successful series (with the exception of The Compound) because, as I've discovered of late while working in the library, lots of kids are open to reading, they just don't know what to read. Knowing that there is another book out there a lot like the one they just finished (and, miracle of miracles, actually enjoyed) seems to keep them in the habit. Feel free to add suggestions in the comment section.

1. The Lightning Thief (Riordan, 2005). I really, really love this book. Perseus 'Percy' Jackson is a sixth grader with a penchant for getting himself into all kinds of crazy trouble, putting it on freakishly bad luck until it is revealed to him that he is actually the forbidden love child of the god Poseidon and--gasp!--a mortal. Percy soon learns that being a demigod is not all it's cracked up to be. Among other annoying things, the peace of Olympus now depends on his ability to learn from the mistakes of Greek heroes past and complete a daunting quest that will threaten his very existence more that once. For grown-ups who've already suffered through the Odyssey, The Percy Jackson series (this is the first of five) is to Greek mythology what Sophie's World is to the otherwise confusing and somewhat dry history of philosophy: a fun, relevant, and refreshing way to--don't tell the kids--learn. (Action/adventure, ages 9+.)

2. The Hunger Games (Collins, 2008). This is one of those books kids actually go to the trouble of putting on hold, that's how hard it is to find an available copy in our school library! The Hunger Games takes place in a dystopic future where young people are forced to fight to the death in a gruesome permutation of the ancient gladiator games. Self-preservation is just the beginning. Those who move forward in the competition win life-preserving food, water, and supplies for their territories. Give in to the competion, and competitors risk losing their humanity. Resist, and they risk their lives, and the lives of those back home, dependent on the life-sustaining spoils of this strange war, who watch the entire televised event, waiting. It's intense. (Suspense/adventure, ages 12+.)

3. The Compound (Bodeen, 2008). Another post-apocalyptic "What if...?" Eli, now in his teens, is trapped underground in an elaborate bomb shelter designed by his genius/possibly mad scientist father. Though the structure was designed to provide safety for fifteen years (the time deemed necessary for the nuclear ash to settle), things begin to go awry around year six when Eli's fellow compounders, including his parents, begin to act strangely. Is it mere cabin fever or something more nefarious? Lots of twists and turns. No sequel, yet, but plenty of potential. (Suspense/adventure, ages 12+.)

4. Uglies (Westerfield, 2005). I just started reading this one and am already hooked enough to commit to the entire series. I admit that I was initially put off by the title and jacket because I assumed that it was just another girl-on-girl hate-fest. It's not. It's a futuristic (are we seeing a trend here?) look at what happens when society decides that technology trumps nature. In a world where every 16-year old is free to change his/her face, the Uglies are a band of dissenters who opt to keep what their mama gave them. The novel explores themes including acceptance, rejection, conformity, individuality, belonging, and beauty. I'll be busy through Christmas, at least. (Sci-fi/adventure, ages 14+.)

Books still on the reading list...

The Alchemist (Scott, 2007, sci-fi/adventure, ages 12+)
Found (Haddix, 2008, sci-fi/mystery/adventure, ages 10+)
I'd Tell You I Love You, But Then I'd Have To Kill You (Carter, 2006, spy/adventure, ages 13+)

For more titles, check out this "If you liked this, then you should read" read-alike database.

Happy reading!

time (mis)management

2009-09-29T16:45:00.000-05:00

I have a statistics exam in approximately 13 minutes. The good news is that it's a midterm... 4 weeks into the semester. Yep. Just realized that I'm in the "accelerated" class. I feel smarter already.

Here are some useful things that I've learned over the last four weeks:

1) Statistics can be fun.

2) Statistics can be used to calculate the probability of absolutely ridiculous hypothetical events. (See #1)

3) Standard deviation is not as hard as the following comic strip makes it out to be.

I mean, how hard is it to subtract the calculated mean of all scores from each individual score, square the difference, sum the squares, divide by the number of total scores minus one, then take the square root of all that? Geez.

3) Bell curves stink.

4) Guys who know how to calculate a z-score are sexy.

5) Wait. What's a z-score again? Crap.

dream journal

2009-09-27T08:43:00.000-05:00

Benadryl is having a profoundly strange effect on my slumber. I'll admit, I have extreme dreams as it is. They usually involve espionage, a member of the Hollywood elite, and at least one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Just kidding. I've never dreamt about anything "on a half shell." I have, however, often dreamt that that guy from the Rockford Files and I are smuggling children off some island in the Caribbean and returning them to their rightful parents, all under heavy gun fire. No casualties. We're pros.

I can almost always remember my dreams in vivid detail. Like when I dreamt that I had to take my high school Spanish class on a ski trip only to be snowed-in and then ignored until I finally grab the worst offender and punch him in the mouth, at which point everyone gets really quiet and I am finally able to tell the darlings that rescue helicopters are waiting for us on the roof. Then everyone cheers. Though COMPLETELY OUT OF CHARACTER, this dream ranks among my favorite because of its totally cathartic, deeply therapeutic value. Not that I'm condoning violence or anything.

Ah, but where does Benadryl fit it?

Well, this week, allergies struck. At first I was determined to sleep through them. Mind over hay fever. But I was waking up with swollen eyes and an itchy, scratchy nose and the desire to kick something really, really hard. So, Wednesday-ish, I started in on the Benadryl... with mixed results. Itchiness is gone and eyelids can once again open to full capacity, but really weird dreams are on the rise.

A sampling:

One night, I dreamt that I was insisting that someone tell Jack (the whiner from Lost?) that "the grey goose was in bloom." They (not sure who they were) responded with, "And all shall mend itself when the butterfly swoons." I have absolutely no idea what any of that means, though my inner Freud is determined to work it out. My only lead: Jack, who, if you didn't pick up on this earlier, I hope gets eaten once and for all by the Black Smoke in the final episode.

Later, I dreamt that I was at the mall when suddenly we were all given the command to evacuate because Germans were invading. Germans? I didn't have my dog, Daisy, with me and was really worried. Suddenly, a kindly German soldier appeared and handed me a package telling me that it was Daisy. Except that it wasn't. And I went all Daniel Day Lewis in Last of the Mohicans at the Water Fall on him and started yelling, "I will find my dog if it's the last thing I do!" Then we had ice cream, and I knew that my puppy was going to be alright.

Last night, I dreamt that it was Easter. No drama. Just that it was Easter and that we really, really needed to buy eggs and a dye kit and not forget like we usually do. Oh, and the Easter Bunny was there and told me that if I brought him chocolatey treats, then all my dreams would be fulfilled. But I didn't believe him. Hmmm. Now that I'm awake, that makes me kind of sad.

Maybe I should lay off the Benadryl for a few days.

XYZ

2009-09-26T02:03:00.000-05:00

I believe in tough love. Especially with tough kids. You've got to be fearless and tell it like it is.

Which is what I did today. It was moving and powerful and I was totally in the zone.

That's when the girl in the front row motioned me to her and told me that my zipper was down.

ambulance chasers

2009-09-25T08:04:00.000-05:00

Nothing like an unexplained ambulance in the neighborhood to get the people out and about. Seriously. This was better than a block party. Neighbors and passers-by milling about, sharing hearsay and other tidbits.

--Dude, this is better than the Super Bowl.

--I heard those firefighters are planning an areal entrance.

--Ooh... Wait. Why?!? It's a one-story house.

--Maybe the doors have all been jammed.

--They can't just break out a window?

--Maybe there's a gunman holding hostages?

--Ooh.

(The gunman theory spreads like wildfire.)

--Maybe a child climbed onto the roof and is too afraid to get down and the parents are at the movies with their phones on silent and the babysitter didn't know what to do so she called 911 but she was too hysterical to get the details right so that's why there are so many fire trucks.

--Or maybe a UFO landed on the roof, but then its gears got stuck and now it can't take off again and the 500 dispatched police units are a red herring to make us think this is just another neighborhood mishap when really it's an interstellar cover-up!

(Children's eyes grow larger and larger as they whisper stuff like 'Martians' and 'spaceship' amongst themselves.)

--Or maybe a child got stuck in the chimney.

--And now someone has to climb down to get her.

--Yeah.

--Yeah!

--YEAH.

--We need more intel. Let's try to get a closer look.

--Good idea. Uh oh. I see yellow tape.

--Ooh. I know. Recon. Send in The Kid.

(There really is no kid, so we scan the crowd for a child daring enough to cross the police perimeter, cunning enough to stay low, and smart enough to remember what s/he's seen and heard long enough to deliver reliable news back to the masses. Or, at least, to us. You know, The Masterminds With The Good Ideas. We settle on an intelligent looking 8th grader who just happens to be rather small for her age. This kid's got skills. She's back in a few.)

--Someone was barbecuing in their garage. No fire. No hostages. (Looking at me) No aliens--

--That we know of!

--Right. That we 'know' of. The neighbors called it in. The rest of the trucks came out so that they could log the outing as a training expedition.

--Huh.

--Huh.

--Hmmm... I'm still going with galactic cover-up.

--You think I can get extra credit for this?

--Yeah.

--Yeah!

--YEAH!

my life is average

2009-09-24T18:21:00.000-05:00

I have a new favorite website. They say their mission is to celebrate the mundane events that make our lives normal. Those whose lives are 'awesome' are encouraged to go somewhere else. Finally.

As for the submitters, I have a feeling that we would get along very well. We might even hang out if it weren't for the fact that I'm 35 and most of them are still in high school. Which makes 'hanging out' sound a little creepy.

Here's a taste of recent entries to get you hooked:

Today, I tried to ignore my homework to see if it would go away. It didn't. MLIA
Today, I saw a member of the marching band beat up a guy on the football team. I've never been more proud to be a member of the marching band. MLIA
Today, I was texting my sister and she asked me what I was doing. I was doing homework but accidentally replied with "ho work". She replied seconds later with "Use protection." MLIA
Today, I realized I had two kinds of body wash in my shower. Vanilla Sugar and Brown Sugar. I mixed them together because I don't support segregation. MLIA.
Today, I brought my old batteries to a special recycling centre. They gave me a slinky. I have never been more motivated to recycle. MLIA
Today, I got stuck in the attic. I shouted for someone to let me out. Then I noticed a box of dinosaur finger-puppets and I stopped shouting. MLIA

I can't wait for someone I know to misspell 'homework.'

For more, visit mylifeisaverage.com.

signs

2009-09-23T20:42:00.000-05:00

My dear friend Larry and I used to have a code word: SARS.

To the rest of the world, SARS was a serious form of pneumonia, rumored to have been bio engineered by conspiring communists, that for several crazed months threatened to wipe out civilization as we knew it!

For Larry and I, SARS simply meant Something Ain't Right Syndrome.

We used the term in situations that required diplomacy and tact. For example, while in a district meeting to discuss life altering curriculum changes guaranteed to revolutionize our children's foreign language experience, one daring teacher began clipping her toenails. Rather than callously blurting out this unfortunate observation and risk drawing unnecessary attention to either himself or the obviously emotionally afflicted woman, Larry simply turned to me and said, "SARS three o'clock."

Okay, that didn't really happen. But I did once watch a woman pick and EAT her boogers during a Power Point* presentation. I didn't point it out to anyone because that would have been unprofessional, mean, and questionable Karma. However, I did think to myself, Ah. Classic SARS. I should really invest in some hand sanitizer.

*To be fair, boring Power Point presentations tend to bring out the SARS in all of us. Still, one should always assume that picking and eating anyone's boogers, whether in public or private, is ill-advised.

Something Ain't Right Syndrome doesn't just describe people. Places can be categorized thusly, as well. I was driving through a particularly shady part of Dallas the other night when I realized that I was getting a distinctly SARSy vibe. The signs?

1) There were more funeral homes than churches. This may not seem like a big deal to some, but in North Texas, where there are more churches than Ford F-150s, this detail is noteworthy. Among other things, it suggests that a whole lot of people die in this town.

2) There were more pawn shops than banks. I have a simple theory about the pawn shop to bank ratio. Banks good, pawn shops bad. Since when have you ever watched an episode of Law and Order where Pawn Shop Guy turned out to be totally legit with absolutely nothing to hide? I rest my case.

3) There was a liquor store on every corner, but not a Walmart in sight. Most upsetting is that I'm still not sure which was worse.

4) The motel with all the windows broken out appeared to be in operation. At least there were people coming and going. Hmmm.

5) The 7-11 had its own rent-a-cop. Seriously. I don't joke about tasers.

Yep. SARS. Definitely SARS.

new math

2009-09-22T22:22:00.000-05:00

Johnny needs an intervention.

"Whatcha got going on there, Johnny?"

"Oh, I'm solving this math problem." He's hunched over and scribbling, scribbling away.

"Interesting."

"What?"

"Nothin. I'm just studying your technique."

"Oh, I don't really have a technique." He's beaming.

I continue to observe as Johnny attacks decimals with complete abandon.

And by "complete abandon" I mean that Johnny has absolutely no idea what the heck he's doing.

Johnny, too, is aware of this small but significant detail. He doesn't care. Math class, he tells me, is fun. I'm a bit confused. A traditionalist in many ways, I generally operate under the "it's fun if I'm good at it" principle.

I continue to watch Johnny, engrossed, and something begins to click. Remember when you were a kid and you'd pretend to 'write' stories for your mom to decipher? I loved to spin tales about indian princesses and epic inter-tribal romances. I'd write and write and write. Writing was so much fun. And, seriously, my stories were the bomb. They looked something like this:

Um. Yeah. Now you know how Johnny approaches math.

I look over Johnny's numerical musings. For one question, he has to figure out how many friends he can take to the movies on a budget of $30 if each ticket costs $7.75. His preliminary calculation: 19. I ask him how he came up with this answer, and he shows me his "work" wherein he has devised a rather complicated formula that, we agree, is virtually guaranteed to find the wrong answer to any math problem that ever has or ever will exist.

Ever the master motivator, I commend Johnny on this impressive discovery and implore that he never, ever go into accounting. He pinky swears, and I then suggest that we attempt the problem again, this time using an experimental operation called division.

Johnny's eyes get really big and he starts to convulse.

"Me and division don't get along so well."
"I see," and I really do. Long division kicked my booty back in the days that preceded my TI-81 graphing calculator. "In that case, we're just going to have to guess."
"A-ha," he replies with relish. "I like the way you think." One eye brow goes up and he nods in a slow, meaningful way. You gotta love this kid's style.

"Yes," I say, mirroring his expression, "I thought you would."

Okay, so we don't really guess. I ask a series of leading questions and Johnny eventually solves the problem. (He can afford to purchase 3 tickets, which means he can invite 2 friends and still pay for himself). Seriously excited, Johnny declares that math is easy. And I won't lie, I'm just a little bit proud.

Johnny then proceeds to calculate the perimeter of a 5.2 x 3.5 shed. 2,493, of course.

It's going to be a long day.

girly clothes

2009-09-20T18:59:00.000-05:00

Something's--how shall I put this?--off about this guy's top. Oops. I mean, shirt.

No. I mean 'top'.

Is that rouching at the sleeve? The criss-cross is cute. Is that what guys are going for these days? Cute?

Yep. Something's definitely a little ... off.

why i blog

2009-09-19T08:37:00.000-05:00

to tell my story, because it's fun, because george clooney is busy, to dream, to stretch myself, it's my therapy, to be my own boss, to accomplish something, to connect, because it's cool, for the fame, for the thrill of the game, to challenge myself, so i can make stuff up, to get over my fear of rejection, to express myself, to be creative, as an outlet, to lie, to tell the truth

strength to overcome

2009-09-18T15:07:00.000-05:00

The following is an excerpt from this week's COUN 5610 discussion board. We were asked to read and comment on a chapter from AA's The Big Book (a guide to AA's version of the 12 steps). The purpose of the assignment was not to critique AA's program, but rather to identify components that we thought might be useful to our future clients.

A friend of a friend recently lost her job, her car, and her apartment after recieving her third DUI in six months. Even before the first DUI, she was struggling with mid-week hangovers, chronic tardiness, and other work and relationship difficulties. With the third DUI, she was mandated to either seek counseling or get an AA sponsor. She attends the meetings because they're free, but continues to maintain that she doesn't have a problem, that she's simply the victim of crazy drinking buddies and idiot cops. Last I heard, she was still drinking.

I'm beginning to understand that part of what escapes true alcoholics, at least early on, is that they simply cannot (or can no longer) relate to alcohol the way 'normal' people do. There is no cutting back. They simply have to quit. And this is difficult because it runs completely contrary to what they believe is 'normal'.

The desire for normalcy has got to seriously mess with an alcoholic's head. Every society expects, to some degree, a certain level of conformity. There is comfort in fitting it. In a society where alcohol consumption is considered by many to be a 'normal' rite of passage, making the conscientious choice to abstain, even in the absence of addiction, can be conflicting and troubling.

I should know. I abstain from alcohol for religious reasons, always have. (Yes, I'm LDS.) As a vulnerable teen trying to figure out who I was, I sometimes found it difficult to respond to those who challenged my beliefs, to those who suggested that my social life or, worse, personal development might be permanently side-tracked as a result of my obedience (never a popular theme among adolescents).

To the contrary, the discipline that came from living my religion (abstinence from addictive substances comprising just a small part of the bigger picture) has had a tremendously positive effect on my life.

Now, I realize that in my struggle redefine 'normal' I was spared the physiological agony that accompanies the struggle of an addict trying to get clean. And I don't want to minimize that or assume to understand what that's all about, because I don't.

What I do know and understand very well is that we all do battle with the spiritual complexities of life. Whether it's a Mormon girl trying to sort out eternal truths or a middle-aged alcoholic trying to get sober, the determination to fight the good fight, especially when that fight goes against the grain of what is deemed 'normal', has to stem from a spiritual place. A huge part of most successful addiction recovery programs is recognizing one's weakness and seeking stregth from a higher power. For me, relying on God as I engaged in the good fight led to deeper spiritual awareness and insight, better ways of thinking and coping. Those blessings have been a source of comfort, courage and peace as I've face life's delights and disappointments.

I believe the same rewards--comfort, courage and peace--are available to anyone who is willing to get real about life and put in the work to change the things that simply are not working. Not everyone needs counseling to accomplish that goal, but most of us need something. As I consider the importance of a God in my own life, I am reminded of Christ's words to the woman with the issue of blood: Thy faith hath made thee whole. Faith. Not just belief or catechism. This woman left her bed, went out in search, and, upon finding, did what she had to to navigate the crowd and actually touch Christ's robes. Hers was faith in action and it took a lot of work. To an addict, adding that kind of faith the the rest of the recovery equation can only be a positive.

Makes sense to me.

shhhh!

2009-09-17T10:08:00.001-05:00

Weird stuff happens in the library. Or maybe it's just weird people.

Yes, I've been subbing this week. And it's been fun... checking holds, collecting fines, reminding 12-year-olds that this is a serious place of learning and not a "how many swear words can we find in a school book?!?" free-for-all.

Plus, libraries--not unlike other incredibly cool havens for the super good looking--have their regulars. No joke. We have kids who come to the library, like, ten times a day. One of our regulars likes to browse the periodicals. He asks the same question every time he swings by.

"Are we allowed to check out magazines?"

"Only past issues."

Blank look. "Past issues?"

"Issues that predate the current month."

Mild panic. "Pre... date?"

"You can check out any magazine as long as it isn't in that special plastic cover thingy."

Relief. "Oh! The plastic thingy! Okay."

Oh, and that book in the science section about the history of the potato... I'm now personally acquainted with the kid who keeps checking that baby out. And it's not what you think.

"So, I see you've checked out Potatoes: The Starch That Rules... uh, six times."

"Yeah."

"Any particular reason?"

"Not really."

"Writing a report? Doing a project? Trying to harvest its DNA?"

"What? No."

"Okay." Pause.

"Are you gonna give me my potato book or what?" He's actually beginning to fidget.

More pause while I pretend to inspect the book's suspiciously near-perfect condition. If I've learned anything from my counseling classes and CSI: Miami interviews, it's that waiting is key.

He breaks. "Okay. There's this girl--"

"Enough said. I hope she's worth it cuz, seriously brah, being seen in public with this book would be highly ill-advised under any other circumstances. Good luck. And I mean that."

"Thanks."

My absolute favorites are the innocent looking girls who are secretly addicted to the Georgia Nicolson series by Louise Rennison. Oh, the blushing and diverted eyes when they come to check out. The problem (and primary cause for Code Mega-Red discretion) is that these books tout scandalous titles like Angus, Thongs and Full-frontal Snogging.

Yes, I was appalled, as well. And intrigued. I started reading immediately.

The Georgia 'confessions', for those who haven't had the pleasure, are a delightful and slightly naughty mix of Bridget Jones' Diary and Dear God It's Me, Margaret, with a few heaping spoonfulls of Sweet Valley High thrown in for good measure. They are fast-paced, full of Britishisms (which only adds to their novel cultural value, if you ask me), and hit on every teen issue known to... well... teens. I read one the other day while waiting for Magazine Boy to finish reshelving all the periodicals he had pulled during visit #7. It was actually quite hilarious (the book, not the reshelving--that was torturous) and, just as the dust jacket promised, I laughed out loud... several times. Now that I've read the entire first volume, I will say that there are some rather grown-up kissing parts... parents, beware. Still, nothing that your daughters won't be able to handle by the time they turn, oh, 25. Gurinder Chadha (Bride and Prejudice, Bend It Like Beckham) has made a movie which, I'm told, focuses on the more innocent parts of the first few books of the 9-book series. I love Gurinder Chadha. I really hope the movie doesn't disappoint.

As for the library, I'll be back next week. I would try to sneak in a camera so that I might better capture the whole experience--for science, of course--but am pretty sure I'd either end up in jail or barred from ever teaching again if I got caught. Nope. Better to rely on my totally unbiased, highly accurate, and completely fact-based mental notes. And poetic license. I'll be sure to pass on the juicy bits either way.

*For more about Georgia Nicolson, see Cassie Van Arsdale's review at teenreads.com.

i want a kitten...

2009-09-14T08:29:00.000-05:00

...so bad.

apparently

2009-09-12T17:36:00.000-05:00

Apparently, the members of my family use the word apparently in a manner that is, apparently, excessive.

This has got me paying entirely too much attention to my speech.

Why is it that we use this word so much? Is it a generational thing or a systemic problem? What does it even mean? Should we be alarmed, try to eliminate it from our lexicon, or try to reduce its use? Or, as I hope will be the case, is our excessive use of the word apparently actually an integral part of our family's undeniable charm?

Taking those questions in order...

#1: I have no idea why we use this word so much. As is often the case, I choose to blame one or both of my parents.

In answer to question #2, the overuse of 'apparently' is a systemic problem that knows no generational bounds. I use the word apparently at least five times every day. My mother used it thrice in a single phone conversation. 9-year-old Thinks She's GT (and probably is) used the word at least four times. (She possesses a highly adaptive vocabulary of which we are all quite proud.) And my 6-year-old nephew, Big Mess, used the term twice during a recent sleepover. (He's still working to master the word's many nuances. Give him time.)

As for question #3, recent attention to the word's use has revealed at least six different and distinct connotations. (Feel free to add additional meanings in the comment section at the end of this post.)

1. To editorialize. This one is, by far, my favorite. It is used to convey something akin to I'm about to repeat something that was clearly the brain-child of a complete and utter moron. As in, "Apparently, So-And-So decided that it would be a good idea for the entire family to go on a 14-day cruise together." Rephrased, "Some complete and utter moron decided that it would be a good idea for the entire family to spend two freaking weeks on a boat, trapped, as it were, in the middle of the ocean with no escape. Um... How many different ways do I have to say three day limit?"

2. To take the place of a question. Why is it that we avoid straight-forward dialogue and clearly worded questions? I don't know, but the interrogative 'apparently' allows for exactly the kind of passive-aggressive avoidance upon which every dysfunctional American family thrives. For example, "Ah. We are apparently eating with our hands these days." Or, in other words, "Who was supposed to set the table? What are we, a bunch of slacker chimpanzees? Chop chop."

3. To be ironic, or flat-out lie. "Wow, you are apparently quite the budding artist." Decoded, "This is the most hideous thing I've ever seen. Please burn it. Now."

4. To soften the blow. "Mom and Dad have apparently decided that it is time for you to embrace adulthood and explore your independence." Rephrased, "They're cutting you off. Better get used to ramen noodles and generic shampoo. Sucker!"

5. To reveal a surprising piece of game-changing information or gossip. "Well, she wasn't that interested at first. But, apparently, his family owns a large and lucrative chain of ice cream parlors along the eastern seaboard and, well, you know how passionate she is about ice cream." No need for clarification. Somebody found their Sugar Daddy and that's all we need to know. Let's pray he has a single brother.

6. To suggest duplicity. "He didn't return any of my calls for three days. Apparently, his cell phone died and he couldn't find his recharger." In plain language, "Girls, it's time to let the air out of someone's tires."

We use apparently the normal way, too, to mean "it would seem" or "the evidence suggests." Why, just the other day, after relaying an embarrassing road trip incident, I uttered the phrase, "Because I am, apparently, an idiot." The evidence of my alleged idiocy? You don't really want to know (meaning, of course, that you will not rest until you do know), but I'll give you a hint. It involved a car balanced precariously atop a concrete lane divider, all four wheels spinning wildly in mid-air, and a heroic guy with a tow chain and a monster truck who just happened to be passing by. It was, apparently, my lucky day.

So, what is to be the fate of this important part of my family's lexicon? I really can't say. I have, however, been trying to use the word apparently less often. This effort has, I admit, put some strain on my poor brain, forcing me to question the efficacy of such a lame goal. And it's not just the force of habit. Rather, I find that I am somewhat emotionally attached to the word. So what if I use it too often? This is who I am, who my family is, who my children's children will someday be.

Apparently is apparently here to stay.

local attractions

2009-09-09T09:12:00.001-05:00

I've recently come into an extremely valuable piece of information. Seriously. We're talking PhD dissertation topic. Here it is: There are way more cute, single guys out and about in the middle of the day than in the evenings.

I know. Mind blowing.

I can tell you're not as impressed as I had hoped. Just hold on. I'm about to explain.

Some critical questions: Why are these attractive men in their mid to late thirties out and about in the middle of the day? Are they unemployed? Don't they work?

Like I care! Sadly, having taken entirely too long to figure out the whole flirting thing, I--a healthy and adequately proportioned female in her mid thirties--am now left with somewhat slim pickings, namely Hairy Mole Over Third Eye Guy and Possibly Unemployed Guy. With PUG, at least my children have a chance at good looks.

Just kidding! Not only are these "out and about in the middle of the day" guys good looking, they also appear to be employed. And single.

So, why don't they come out at night? Well, it seems that this ilk of man, like most men actually, prefers the calm comforts of home after a long day's work. However, during the day, they find satisfaction and balance in the occasional mid-afternoon respite away from the office. A little diversion to help break up the day. Grab a sandwich or, for the metrosexual, a fat-free bran muffin. Run a few errands. Pop into Half-Priced Books.

Even more fortuitous for me, single women (me being the future exception) seem to operate in a manner exactly opposite that of their male counterparts. (This is not a joke. During my several mid-day outings over the last two weeks, I have observed far fewer obviously single women--no rings or kids--than seemingly single men--no rings, kids or extraneous gut matter. I also see lots of guy groups of all ages lunching out, but relatively few younger girl groups doing the same. It's interesting. Curious. A head scratcher, even. Is this just the McKinney lunch scene, or a pattern of larger scope and significance?!?)

I'm going to go out on a limb and blame Lean Cuisine. Thanks to LC, we working girls can cook, eat and clean up after ourselves in less than 7 minutes... without ever leaving the office. The blasted office.

And what about our weekend routines? While we're running our Saturday errands, the single guys--having already run their errands during the week--are at the lake or the ball game or shooting pool in some guy's garage.

We are clearly very different creatures. The question on my mind: With such different habits, how are we ever supposed to meet?!?

On a Tuesday afternoon, that's when! Check it out...

Bachelor #1. I saw this guy at the UPS store shortly after noon. He appears to be a small business owner who supplies various... supplies... to other small business owners. He was mailing a package to his dad in Connecticut. (This is important. He's a city boy... which , if I'm lucky, means he probably isn't gonna want to leave me every deer season then bring home some poor animal with the expectation that I actually learn how to cook it.)

Bachelor #2. How about this guy? I caught sight of him at Cafe Brazil. He was indulging in a little lunch-hour karaoke before heading back to the lab where he designs and tests orthopedic inserts. I know. Sounds boring. Well, let me be the first to say, I'd love to be that kind of bored.

Ah, and now for Bachelor #3. He's an off-duty firefighter who enjoys a good book during his down time. We met at Borders. I'm not sure how I feel about being married to a guy who gets his kicks from defying death, but who cares? The point is, he's available. And he's read Tolstoy. And he works out 5 days a week. You do the math.

So, what does all of this mean?!? It means that I need to run more middle-of-the-day errands. Go to a matinee on a Tuesday. Drop off my mail on a Wednesday. Have lunch out on a Thursday (down with Lean Cuisine). You get the idea.

It also means that I need to start wearing make-up earlier in the day. And actually doing something with my hair.

proof

2009-09-09T00:05:00.000-05:00

...that God loves Texas best.

Rice Crispie Treats, September 6-7, 2009

2009-09-07T14:29:00.000-05:00

1) Measure the crispies.

2) Slowly stir the marshmallows and butter.

3) Taste test.

4) Resist the puppy dog eyes.

5) Group shot.

6) Almost there...

7) Got it!