Apparently, I'm a Cruise Director

Recently I attended a 3-day conference.  There were going to be tons of people there; tons of single people around my age that I didn't know.  The mere thought of it gave me anxiety.  Meeting new people...  [Gulp] SCAAAARY.

I remember when I first went to an event for singles.  It was this past January.  It was a religion class (for mid-singles, ages 31-45) held at a church, with a mixer afterwards.  I thought that a religion class sounded "safe" - like a "nice" place to meet "nice" and "safe" singles with similar beliefs, expectations, and goals.  I drove to the church.  I got to the parking lot.  I sat there, looking around at others emerging from their vehicles, entering the building together.  I kept thinking they already have friends; who is going to talk to me?  So -- I panicked and drove home.

A few days later I got a Facebook e-vite about a mid-singles choir that would be rehearsing following the religion class.  They would be singing for an upcoming Sunday Fireside.  I thought to myself, "Ok... I sing.  I guess I could do that."  Once again, I drove to the church for the religion class.  I made myself get out of the car and I walked into the building.  Many people seemed to already be in little groups. I panicked, kept my head down and I walked through the crowd, through the building, out the other side and back around to my car.  I sat there until it was time for the choir rehearsal to start.  For the next 8 weeks, I only went to the rehearsal.  Slowly, I began to make friends. Then I finally got brave to start attending the class, even though I usually sat by myself near the back.  I quickly learned that I loved the class, even if I didn't socialize much afterwards.  The mid-week inspiration was something I needed to help me get through my week.  All of a sudden I loved going, and I even started attending the mixers [briefly] afterwards.

Then one night, someone approached me about attending a dinner group for that weekend.  I decided to go for it. So, I met 15 other people around my age and we ate, we talked, we played games and I truly had fun.  I told some of them they should start coming to the religion class.  The next week, many of them showed up.

A new girl came and ended up sitting right in front of me during the class.  I could tell by her nervous glances around the room this was her first time.  I had a pretty good idea what she was thinking.  So, after the class I leaned forward and introduced myself to her.  She stayed by my side during the mixer as I introduced her to all of my other new friends.  She remarked how I seemed to know "Everyone"; I thought that was ironic.

A few weeks later I signed up for a day trip activity with the singles group.  I volunteered to be one of the drivers.  I figured, if I drove I could always be busy "concentrating" on the road and therefore not feel left out if no one talked to me.  When the cars met up at the diner to eat, I introduced my car-load to a few others I happened to know.  Then the following Wednesday, I introduced those new friends to my other new friends.  And that is typically how it's been since --I introduce myself to new people, especially if they are standing alone, and because I don't want them to feel like I did, I introduce them to everyone else I know.

Anyway - fast forward to this conference a few weeks ago.  I met lots more new people during this seminar or that workshop or this dinner, and I made several more introductions.  I skipped the final Saturday workshop to find some Excedrin at the nearby Target.  When I got back the workshop wasn't quite over.  I noticed a few people hanging out in the gym, so I went in there.  I talked to a few of the guys and they were preparing for a gaming session that was next on the agenda.  They were short one person and asked if I would help.  I jumped on that.  If I had a task, I could be busy with that and not feel left out.  As the different groups came in and out of my game, I met lots more people and later that night at the dinner, karaoke and dance, I introduced many of them to many others.

The Sunday evening, following the Fireside, there were refreshments.  2 girls I had met the previous day stopped me to ask me a question about the conference. When I gave them the answer the one said to the other, "We knew someone in charge would know!"  As they walked away, I had to laugh to myself.  I was not in charge of ANYTHING during the conference.  Why would they think that?

I walked over to some of my friends and mentioned how those girls mistook me for someone in charge.  One of my friends laughed and said, "Yeah -- we've been watching you.  You just gracefully move from one group of people to the other, making sure everyone knows each other; plus you helped with that game."  I shrugged, supposing that made sense.

When I told my sister about that last week she said, "So, you were like the cruise director; making sure everyone was having fun and no one was left out."

Later that night I attended a party where I didn't really know anyone.  I knew OF 2 of the girls there, but didn't really KNOW them.  So, I took a deep breath, shoved my anxiety down into the depths of my chest and walked up to someone standing alone and struck up a conversation.  As soon as I began to talk to her, I heard my sister's words in my head...  "cruise director".  

I don't know why I think "I" need to be the self-appointed cruise director.  I mean, really - who do I think I am?

Luckily a few more friends showed up and I could relax and just hang out like "normal" people the rest of the evening.

Dependent Variables

Recently someone told me my kids & I talk "funny". I was all, "funny?"

She replied, "Yeah. Your kids say things other kids don't say."

I guess I already knew this a little bit. I like words, I like learning new words and I like using the words I've learned. Certainly this has rubbed off on my kids. However, I blame my mother. I mean seriously, I never knew any of my friends' moms to say, "It would behoove you to clean your room today." Haha.

Since it's been pointed out that my family talks "funny", I've noticed it a bit more this week. I admit it probably does sound a little odd to those who don't really know our dynamics. Just today LittleDuckling asked if he could go to his dad's house. I said yes, as long as FunnyMan could drive him, since I was busy. He then asked if FunnyMan was going to just drop him off or if he was planning to stay at his dad's too. I said, "I don't know... why?"

He replied, "It's a dependent variable." Haha.

I understood perfectly what he meant. That was his way of telling me he wanted alone time -- away from his siblings. If FunnyMan was going to drop him off that was one thing. But if he was going to stay and hang out, that was something else entirely.

I guess we do talk "funny".

Emma & Em -- Who Knew?

Growing up I knew no other Emmas, except my great aunt, for whom I was named. Emma simply wasn't popular. My parents had very old-fashioned and/or scriptural names for all 7 of us. While all of the other kids at school were Jenny, Amy, Angela, Jason, Julie, Matthew, and Megan, we were Naomi, Emma, Rachel, Samuel, Sarah, Enos and Ruth. We were born between the 70's and 80's. And it's true -- we didn't have "popular" names. {{Top Names of the 70's}} {{Top Names of the 80's}} (Well, Rachel and Sarah were more common than the rest of ours at that time.)

As a side note, do you know that Baby Name Books get their entries from scouring the Social Security Name data base? I gave my daughter an original "made up" name and every year after she was born I googled it to see how quickly it would appear on a baby name list. It took 2 years. And now if I google it, I find people's blogs with their baby's pics and lo and behold -- that baby shares the same name as mine! Who knew?

Anyhoo--- So, my name was very uncommon for my generation. Maybe I wouldn't have felt like I stuck out, if we weren't the family that stuck out in our town. I mean, you have to realize that my mom had a new baby on average every 14 months. That's 7 kids in an 8 1/2 year time span. Additionally, for many of those years my parents owned this full-size red van with a hand-glider airbrushed on the side along with the iridescent words "West Winds" next to it. Everyone knew our van. Just picture this large family with quirky or unusual names gallivanting around town in this hippie-mobile. Could we be any more conspicuous? I think not.

Whenever older people would ask my name and I'd tell them, I often heard, "That was my mother's name" or "...my grandmother's name" in return. Once a German exchange student said that her dog back home was named Emma. Suffice it to say, I guess I always felt like I sort of stood out a little, when all I really ever wanted to do was blend in.

While there were at least a dozen Emilys at any of the schools I attended, I was always the only Emma. Something I noticed quickly was that many friends to the Emilys often referred to them as "Em". But I-- I was always just Emma. Just Emma.

The first time someone addressed me as "Em" was in college. It sort of caught me off guard and I wasn't sure that I even liked it. I never said anything to the person because she was such a close friend, and I knew that it somehow signified our close relationship.

When I was a newlywed and newly pregnant, there was a couples night at some friends of ours on campus. It was a small church university, so our church friends were also our school friends. Every Monday night we would rotate apartments and do things like share an inspirational message, play a few games, read from the scriptures and eat! It was on one of these Monday nights one of the other couples was asking us if we had any baby names picked out yet -- which we hadn't. Someone half-jokingly suggested if it's a girl to name her after me. Come to find out - in front of everyone at that very moment, mind you - that my spouse did not "care for" my name. So, here I already felt like I stood out - and now I felt even worse because I felt like my husband hated my name. I was young and naive, and yes, I took it personally.

But here's a funny thing that happened. About 18 months before that, the movie, Kindergarten Cop was released. One of the little girls in the kindergarten class was named Emma. I had watched the movie during my senior year of high school and was quite surprised that a new movie would show a little girl with such an "old fashioned" name, and she was adorable too!

Anyway - it wasn't long after that movie that people started naming their baby girls Emma. It was sort of weird to me at first. I figured it was just a phase. By 1995 though, Emma was in the top 50 names and by 2000 it had reached the top 10. And then from 2003 - 2010 it has remained in the top 3. It is soooo odd to me that a name I did not like growing up, so many other people seemed to like. A few years ago, when I was with Big-D, he made the comment that he really liked my name. That shocked me and intrigued me too. He said the name "fit" me; that it seemed to resemble something pure and simple, yet unique and beautiful. After that, I began to see my name differently. I wanted to be a simple and pure, yet unique and beautiful person. I wanted to live up to my name all of a sudden.

The neighborhood I live in now is the longest place I've ever lived in my adult life - going on 8 1/2 years. As I have gotten to know a few people, they have called me "Em". Again, I didn't really like it at first. I sort of felt like, "What gives you the right to call me Em when I've introduced myself as Emma? If I had wanted to be called Em, I would have said my name is Em!" But again, I never really said anything, because I knew the intention was harmless, and they were just trying to be friendly.

It's only been in the past 2-3 years that I have really come to love my name. I understand its meaning and origin and for whom I was named much better now. And I kind of like being the only 30-something I know with that name. I guess as I went through my divorce and the whole, "re-discovering Emma" process, I have also come to learn that I like me and that if being me means I "stand out" sometimes -- so what? I'd rather stand out than blend in because it means I am being myself.

As far as "Em" goes, it has definitely started growing on me the past year. I don't mind it at all when close friends call me that. And I actually like it when men of "interest" call me that (hehe). Other than that though, when someone addresses me as Em, the voice in my head starts bobbin' at the neck, smarting off, "Oh no you di-unt; you don't knowwwww me." Hahaha.

And now, for your viewing pleasure, "Emma", from Kindergarten Cop!

To Be or Not To Be... Offended.

I offended someone. Big surprise. Probably not the first time, and I am almost certain it won't be the last.

I don't say that to be mean. I say it because it was bound to happen. Sooner or later we [probably] all say things that may offend someone else, even if it wasn't our intention.

That's the case here. It was not my intent to offend. I didn't even know the other person was having a bad day. He was laughing and joking with the rest of us in the group.

FAAACTUH: I poke fun at myself, I kid around with others and sometimes I am a bit sarcastic. But my sarcasm isn't to be mean. And normally, I do it in an obvious way (or what I perceive as obvious) so that they know I am only kidding. Like I said, though. I can also take it. I figure if I dish it out, I HAVE to be willing to take it.

For example, typically when someone teases me, I usually reply with, "As if that's my only problem." I wasn't always so laid back. But I suppose I finally came to a realization that it is not worth it to get upset or easily offended over the little stuff. Besides, I learned life is a lot more funnier if I can laugh at myself. Not to say I never allow my feelings to get hurt. Because on occasion I have and on occasion I do; mostly when I am tired.

As far as joking around goes, I am a big proponent of knowing your audience. For example, I probably wouldn't be sarcastic during a job interview or a funeral or someplace where it would be inappropriate. And typically I only venture into that side of humor when I really know the person well. However, my [often mis-interpreted] humor can sometimes manifest itself if I am feeling anxious around certain people, especially if I feel like I do not fit in. It can also kick in as my way of dealing with someone who completely irritates me.

Anyway -- back to the incident. He was laughing and joking in the group and he made some funny comments, one after the other actually, that really set up some nice comebacks for the rest of us. I thought we were all engaging in banter. There wasn't anything in his demeanor that led me to believe he was feeling anything but enjoyment.

Then -- 2 nights later -- in a text he tells me that *I* made him "sad". That he was feeling like the group was "kicking him while he was down." Immediately I said sorry. I told him that I was sorry we offended him and that if we would have known how he felt, we would have left him out of the joking around bits. I thought that would be the end of it. But no.

He proceeded to go on and on about it. It got to the point wherein I felt like he was trying to make me feel guilty about the entire ordeal.

I finally explained that sometimes I use humor and sarcasm in a new setting when I am anxious or when I am with really good friends because we know each other well enough to take it. I wasn't trying to make an excuse, only explaining the situation. I couldn't figure out why he couldn't let it go after I had already apologized. I think by this point I had texted "I'm sorry" at least 2 more times, so a total of 3!

His response to my explanation was more or less a line of questioning regarding my relationship with God. He basically said I should be praying a minimum of 2 times per day and reading my scriptures daily and that God could help me overcome such unhealthy habits.

Ex-SQUOOOOZE me?

Yep. You read that right. Am I wrong to think he was trying to manipulate me into feeling like a bad person because I UNINTENTIONALLY offended him?!?!?! Good grief! Oh and FYI -- personality traits are not the same as bad habits.

Like, how in the world would he even know how often I prayed or studied?!?!?! I wanted to bob my head and retort, "You don't know me!"

Instead, I politely but firmly replied that while my level of faithfulness is not his business I value my relationship with God and feel that I am in a good place, doing the best I can in this moment of my life, especially with everything I've got going on. I further explained that I will not allow the power of my happiness to be given over to anyone, and that I have finally come to a point in my life wherein I love me!

Yep. Ain't no shame. I love the person I have become!

Not to say I never make a mistake and I have things I am always trying to improve upon. I believe we can always be learning something. But using humor as a way to cope with life is how I do. It is a part of me. I come from a long line of story-tellers and funny people. It's in my genes. Not.Even.Kidding. Not that I am always funny either. Just saying... it's who I am and I LIKE it.

So, NEWS FLASH: I will NOT apologize for being me.

I did offer this as a solution: "I think it would be best in the future if you speak up and tell us if something is bothering you and I will know from now on that you are sensitive to sarcasm and I will refrain from using it. I think this is the only way we can successfully be friends."

His response was that he was "ditching" me as a friend but that he just wanted to give me feedback on my friendship abilities first, "just like a teacher would critique you on your writing," he wrote.

WHAT.EVER. Dude... seriously? Let me fill you in on a little secret. I WANT feedback from my teacher. In fact I PAY for it -- with Tuition. It's my way of ASKING for it. I don't recall ASKING you for Friendship feedback. Plus -- have you seen my FB friend list? Not exactly a shortage in the friend department. Not bragging. Just sayin'...

Oh - and one more thing... He was so bent on trying to "punish me" and make me feel guilty, that he couldn't even see how his accusations about me and my religious faithfulness might be offensive.

I think about all of the times I have been offended in my life. Most of the time I never even bring it up to the other person, because after I take some time to cool down I ask myself what their intentions were. And more often than not, I come away believing that people do not intend to offend.

People are just people. We all have different personalities. Some appreciate sarcasm while others do not. Some want to coddle and be coddled while others (ME) find it smothering. Some like to be blunt and to the point while others find that too harsh and mean. We have different personalities, ergo the likelihood of any one of us offending someone else exists.

Only once did I feel like someone was just lashing out to be mean and she continued to do it over and over. I finally called her on it. She ended up apologizing, for which I thanked her, and then - here is the key - I let it go!

Bottom line. I believe that if we get offended, it's our choice to take offense. Often times the knee-jerk reaction is not the best path. My knee-jerk reaction would have been to tell this guy that he had some nerve acting all self-righteous and how dare he question something so personal to me and who does he think he is and isn't he just the pot calling the kettle black, after all he just offended me!!! But I didn't say those things. I am no longer irritated and I do not hold grudges.

Truth be told, I think he was feeling like crap cuz things in his life aren't going his way at the moment. I suppose he needed someone to take it out on, someone to blame. Might as well be me, right? I will say this though... I do not like drama. And Man-Drama is even worse. Bleh.

So where does that leave us? To be or not to be offended? The choice is yours.

Does Size Really Matter?

Well, when shopping and buying in bulk many experts will tell you that, yes, size matters! It's how you get the biggest bang for your buck! Well, I am here to tell you that when it comes to certain products, I don't like the big sizes!

The one "super-size" I hate most is Peanut Butter. Wide-Mouth Peanut Butter Jars? Ugh! In fact, "hate" isn't even strong enough. It's safe to say I DESPISE it. Yes, it's true. I prefer to buy my peanut butter in normal, even SMALL jars. Why?

The first few dips are fine, but when you get about halfway down, it never fails. Getting peanut butter out of the jar is like diving in head first!

And while I prefer to use a small rubber scraper, the kidlets don't think twice about taking the knife to the jar. Then, not only do they get peanut butter up and down their arms, but somehow, they manage to get it up and down and all over the outside of the jar and lid. //Groans//

Henceforth, all wide-mouth jars of peanut butter have been banned from my house. I now wait until the much smaller kid-friendly jars are on sale 10/$10 and buy 20 of them.

Well, I don't know about you... but I feel better now! LOL!

Xanax, Prayer, and A Hundred-Grand Piano

Have I mentioned I have anxiety? I think I may have mentioned it once, or twice, or... a million times! haha!

About 4 weeks ago I went to my private piano lesson with my college instructor. After I do my warm-up scales she says, "Oh, I think I forgot to tell you that you will need to play a piece in front of a piano jury."

I'm all, "What? A JURY? What the heck's a JURY?"

She tells me that the jury consists of the head of the music department and the piano instructors. "Basically, it's a panel," she explains. Well, why don't they just call it a PANEL then, right? Seriously.

So, she tells me I can just perform the Sonatina I've been working on, and that the Jury is right before the recital. And just to be clear, I wasn't thrilled about having to perform in a recital either. But I knew the drill. I knew it was expected.

My instructor is awesome actually. Not only is she a rock star on the piano, she is also hilari-oso and approximately my age. So, going to see her for my weekly lessons was a lot like going to chill with a friend. We laugh-- a lot. Mostly, she'd laughed at me and my idiosyncrasies. But, it's all good. I'm a big girl, I can laugh at myself too.

So, throughout that week I worked a little harder on the Sonatina in addition to my recital piece, since now I learned I'd have to play them both. I go to my lesson three weeks ago and she says, "I think we are going to put you in the advanced recital group." I freaked. No way did I want to play in the advanced recital. My stomach churned. I asked if I could just play in the intermediate group. In my mind I was envisioning the advanced group to contain all of these virtuoso child prodigies. Li'l Beethovens or Tchaikovskys or something. But she assured me it would be fine.

Then three weeks ago she tells me, "Oh -- did I tell you you'd have to play scales for the jury too? How are your scales? Oh and your Sonatina needs to be memorized."

Well, I can play my scales, but I prefer to play them in the order of what's known as the "Circle of Fifths". Because I can just add 1 sharp each time and avoid the whole panic moment of "E Major? Crap! How many accidentals is that?!?!" But, the instructor says, "Well, they will just announce which ones they want you to play." Then I look at her and then ask, "Memorized? I don't really memorize. I mean, is there an app for that or something?" I rolled my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. The instructor laughs. Then she tells me to go ahead and run through my scales first.

Then, two weeks ago I gave my instructor a sneak-preview to How Emma Has A Meltdown. Normally I am not nervous during my lesson, but there were two guys in the room. They both had headphones on, plugged into electronic keyboards practicing. But how could I be so sure they were REALLY plugged in and that they weren't instead LISTENING to me!?!? I made several mistakes. My palms were sweaty and my breaths shallow. I finally stopped and said, "Sorry. Those guys are making me nervous." At that, the instructor got up and walked over to the 2 guys and tapped them on the shoulders. I thought how nice it was of her to ask them to leave. But -- that isn't what she did. Nope, she asked them if they wouldn't mind pulling up a chair right next to my piano so I could practice in front of an audience! Yes -- she did!

My mouth dropped. I let out a nervous chuckle. My instructor laughed and said to the guys, "This one? Yeah -- she's all about the drama." Ha! Can you believe that? I soooo started laughing. If I didn't love her I'd have been furious. But we became good enough friends that it was okay coming from her. Problem was, while I started the Sonatina in front of them all I could think of were things like, "What are these guys thinking? I wonder if they are better than me. They are probably better than me and are irritated that they have to use their practice time to sit and listen to me while I have an anxiety attack at the piano." And of course, I'd mess up and mutter something. The instructor called out, "Ah! No talking. If you stop or talk you have to start over." Well, needless to say I had to start over 3 times. After that experience she says to me, "Um. I am just going to tell the panel that I forgot to tell you to have your piece memorized. Bring your music and instead of working on memorization, work on the musicality. I just don't want you to freak out if you lose your place."

Good thinking.

So -- one week ago, give or take a few days -- was THE day. I had the Piano Jury @ 3pm but my recital wasn't until 6pm. While other students were going ahead of me for their juries, I paced outside in the hallway wishing I had a chance to practice on that specific piano beforehand. See, the jury and recital were not at the school. They were held in a performance room at a local piano store. And pianos are all different from each other. Some keys are sensitive while others are hard to play. So, practicing on the one you'll actually be performing on is always a good idea.

I think I said about a million prayers that day. I even took a half day off of work just so I could breathe a little easier. About 20 minutes before my "jury duty" I took about 1/4 Xanax. I knew a whole one would put me to sleep and I didn't know if a 1/2 one would make me too groggy to play. So, I took a 1/4. Then I said about a million more prayers.

It was my turn and I walked into the room and my instructor introduces me to the jury members and I ask, "Ok, what do you want me to do first?" She replies with, "Well, how far did we get on your scales?" I said, "Um, I think we got through all of the sharps." She then turns to the panel and says, "I totally forgot to tell her until the last minute she'd have to do scales." Then she looks at me and says, "Why don't you go ahead and play your piece first." So I announced I'd be playing the 3rd movement to Clementi's Sonatina, Opus 36, Number 5. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might leap through my chest. I sat down, took a deep breath and looked at the music. I tried to "hear" the first few measures in my head and then I went for it. At first I was a little nervous, but once I started playing, I realized it sounded really, really good. This was an awesome piano! At the end they told me it was flawless and great and the head of the department said that I "executed nice clean, crisp finger runs." I smiled and I said "I think this is a magical piano." Then they said that was all and dismissed me. They didn't even ask me to play scales. I could hear through the door that the students both before and after me had to play scales. How did I get off so easy?

Whew, one down. One to go. It wasn't worth it driving home and back in between as I lived about 30 minutes away and I didn't want to risk it with rush hour traffic. By 4pm I realized I was starving and was so nervous I had forgotten to eat lunch. I knew that if I didn't eat something I'd feel like passing out before the 6pm recital. I drove down the street and when I spotted the Cheesecake Factory, I figured I'd go and get a little sumthin-sumthin. After all, no kids! w00t! I sat at the bar and ordered my diet cherry coke, with real maraschino cherries and cherry grenadine flavoring. Yumm-O! I stared blankly at the golf tournament on the Flat Screen at the bar. I eat a little something and then start thinking about the recital. I think the bartender brought me a total of 6 Diet Cherry Cokes! I took another 1/4 Xanax because I could feel my nerves beginning to pulsate again. I think I said about another million prayers or so.

I make it back in time to sit through and listen to the 5 pm recital. I noticed that everyone seemed nervous and not one person played without a mistake. This did make me feel better. finally it was 6pm. I looked at the program. I was #5. The 4 before me all made a tiny mistake here or there. This also made me feel much better. It was my turn.

I walked up to the piano and pulled out the 6 pages I had taped together and spread them across the music rack. Then I took a deep breath and looked at the first few measures to get it in my head and -- ooops. It was upside down. I turned it over, producing laughter from the audience -- just a little tension reliever I suppose. I took another deep breath and began.

I swear -- that piano really is magical. My piece was an awesome piece full of varying dynamics and tempos, but this piano really helped to bring those things out. My heart stopped pounding after about the 3rd measure and I was able to just get lost in the piece. It was like I completely forgot about the audience. I mean, I knew they were there, but it was like they were just a dream or something. They didn't seem real enough to me at that moment.

Prior to that moment, I had never played that particular piece without at least one mistake. I should mention that since that moment I haven't either. But IN that moment, I nailed it. I played it better than I had ever played it before. It was miraculous, I swear. At the end, I couldn't help but look right over at my instructor. She was grinning from ear to ear and looked as if she might just cry. Which of course then made me feel like crying. I could tell she was excited for me and was proud of me. And truth be told I was excited for me too. I went back and took my seat and no one after me, save it one other student, performed their piece without a mistake.

When it was all over my instructor rushed over to me and hugged me and told me that was awesome. I told her it was that magical piano. She then said, "Well, it better be a good piano. It costs $100,000!" Whoa, right?

I don't know if I will ever perform a piece mistake-free again. But I will say this, a little Xanax, lots of prayer and a hundred-thousand dollar piano goes a long way!

Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes

How do you measure a year?

I was talking to a friend of mine the other day and had a realization. It's been a year, a year of being "commitment free".

When I was in middle school, I had little "flings". Not really Boyfriends in the sense of the word because I couldn't date. But boys who declared we were "going together". Then after a few weeks, I'd decide another boy was cuter and move on, hehe. Once I could start dating, there was always a certain someone at any given time; even if that time was only a week or two. My first serious boyfriend wasn't until my senior year. We broke up right before I went to college, and then I was single all of 7 months before getting engaged.

So, because I was young when I got engaged and then married, I never really had a REAL dating life or a lot of dating experience as a young single adult. I don't fret over it nor feel like I missed out; it just is what it is. Anyway, after my divorce, I hadn't planned on getting back into the dating scene for at least a year. Because I thought it would be good for me to learn how to be single; like for real.

But, I didn't quite make it a year. Things happened and in under a year I had a connnection with someone; someone I would have loved to have had a future with. It was back and forth, up and down, on again off again for two years. But it's no fun hanging on to something wherein the other person can't even express his feeling for you. I was tired of being "stuck", not progressing. The only thing sitting on the fence does is make you a good fence sitter. Moving on.

Now, maybe it's because my school schedule got really hectic. And I do think that is part of it. But I also think I realized through that experience that I give my heart over way too quickly. Because I am a "people person" and I love the affections of and attention from others it's hard for me to be single. So, I decided I needed to just learn how to be alone for a while. I still mingled and dated. But no commitments. Then again, maybe it's just the simple fact that no one asked, haha! (Well, not the right person anyway.)

So, now I can say it's been Five Thousand Twenty-Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes since I've been committed to anyone. Yay me. Now --- I'd like a boyfriend, please! Hehe... kidding...sort of. Lol!

For your viewing pleasure... From the Musical RENT...

Indulgence

Good? Bad? Heck if I know... but I do know that sometimes I just gotta!

'nuff said.

Well, THAT Was Awkward!

Have you ever went on a date with someone and the whole thing ended up being so awkward, or worse - horrible, and you vowed to never go out with that person again? Yep... I've had my share of those.

But this is even worse...

Let's say you run in to that person again, let's say at someplace you least expect like, ohhhhh - I dunno, in a group setting of sorts. And let's also say that someone is in front of the group giving instruction and perhaps you haven't heard a word that was said because you were so caught off guard by this said person from your past you sit there instead thinking, wondering, asking yourself, "What is he doing here?" And then, "I wonder if he'll recognize me..."

And then let's say perhaps you turn around for a brief moment and he catches your line of sight and you can tell by the look on his face that he recognizes you and you really just want it all to go away, because you are really not interested. So instead, let's say that perhaps you pull your best poker face and pretend you've never seen him before as to hopefully deter him from starting up a conversation.

Yeah.... let's say THAT happens... Talk about AWKWARD!

So--I May Have ADHD

A few weeks ago, on a Wednesday my eyes were hurting - like really bad. Allergies probably. That and the fact that I hadn't really been sleeping all that well; worse than normal to be honest. Anyway -- knowing me, I am positive I was guilty of rubbing my eyes several times throughout the week. By Thursday afternoon I noticed that my right eye was completely red and bloodshot. By Friday morning, my right eye was puffy and drippy. Nice. An eye infection.

Well, you know how eye infections go. They can be highly contagious if they're caused by a virus, considering the amount of times we subconsciously touch our eyes. We rub our eyes, type on our keyboard, rub our eyes, exchange money from our hands, rub our eyes, hand someone paperwork. Yep... gotta be careful with eye infections and "sharing" them. And of course, the ultimate would be Pink Eye. I didn't think it was pink eye. But, just to be sure, I went to the Insta-Care first thing that morning.

I sign in and wait. I people watch. I notice that everyone in the waiting room at the moment is an adult. I also notice that practically everyone is watching the Big Screen TV mounted on the wall, even though it's Playhouse Disney. I start wondering if they are watching just because it was on, or if they are really interested in what Handy Manny was doing. I chuckle to myself.

Then my name was called and I disappeared behind the door, following the nurse. She took my blood pressure, but the little band thingy hurt and then it stopped halfway and she had to do it again. I was fairly certain that she gave me the child-sized one, cuz it was squeezing the daylights outta my arm. I wanted to scream -- OWWWW! But, I held it together. I just kept telling myself, "It'll be over in a sec. It'll be over in a sec. It'll be over in a s--- WHAT? SHE'S STARTING IT OVER? WHAT THE ---?" Yeah, I'm pretty calm like that.

She then takes me around the corner, down the hall, around another corner, through a set of doors, and I am beginning to wonder if we are going to need some sort of security clearance to get where I need to go. She has me stand at one end of the hall and she walks down to the eye chart. She says to me, "Cup your hand over your right eye, and read this [points] row."

I read, "DECFGA."

She then says, "Now your left."

I read it again, "DECFGA."

Then she says, "Now both."

At this point, I start to laugh. She had been telling me which eye to COVER. Not which eye to read with. So, when she said "Now Both," I, being the Smart Alec that I am, cover both of my eyes (yes -- I did) and say, "This Chart was made in China." I uncover them, she sorta gives a half-laugh, like she is not really sure what just happened. Above all, she didn't seem impressed.

I think I muttered something like, "Oh Sorry... moving on. DECFGA."

She takes me into the room. I start to sit in one chair and she says pointing to the other, "Sit over here so I can see you while I type." I figure she must be typing my symptoms into the computer and she wants to look at my eye so she can describe it. I mean, I really don't know why else she would have said, "...so I can see you while I type," unless she has paranoia about people staring at her behind her back, or stealing tongue depressors or something. So, I move to the other chair and say, "I suppose I oughta remove my glasses."

She looks at me like, "why?"

I explain, "So you can look into my eyes." I don't know why I said it like that. It just sort of came out. Again, she sort of let's out a half-chuckle like she is just beside herself with what to do with me.

"Well, maybe I should remove MY glasses so you can look into MY eyes," she says while pretending she is gonna take her glasses off. She laughs to herself and then proceeds to type. I shrug my shoulders, and put my glasses back on. She tells me the Dr. will be in soon as she leaves me alone with my thoughts in the little cold room.

Not all good. My thoughts were basically along the lines of -- did she think I was hitting on her? Was she hitting on me? Did she just think I was weird? or a basket case?

Soon the Dr. emerges, looks at my eye and tells me he wants to put some yellow dye in my eye and look at it under a blue light. He puts the dye in and hands me a Kleenex to wipe any drips. I wipe the drips and upon pulling the Kleenex away, notice the yellow is BRIGHT yellow. He turns the light off and tells me to rest my chin on the chin rest in front of me. I do. He begins his exam and is talking about something, maybe what he is looking for or looking at. But all I can think about is the yellow dye.

Will it stain my eye yellow? Like the white parts? Will the white of my eye be stained YELLOW?

"...no damage to the corneas..."

And if the dye does stain, how long before it wears off?

"...corneal ulcers..."

Am I going to look like the stray cat found in the alley with one pink eye and one yellow one? You know the kind that lives off of the Chinese food found in the dumpster? Am I going to look like a freak? Am I ---

"I'll give you a prescription for some antibiotic drops. Don't wear your contacts for a week and call me if it gets worse or if your vision becomes blurred."

I nod my head and take the script from him. I felt almost dazed as I walked out. It all happened so fast. That's the thing about Dr. visits... you wait and wait and wait and when they finally join you in the little room it takes all of five minutes.

I take the prescription to the pharmacy. I see my cute little neighbor lady from around the corner. "Do you still have that nasty cough?" she asks.

I nod and say, "But I'm actually here for my eye."

Cute little neighbor lady extends her arms and says, "Poor thing -- I think you need a hug. I can tell you have just been overwhelmed lately."

I sort of chuckle. "Why is that?" I ask.

"Well, you've been sick and now this... It's no wonder your Christmas Tree is still up."

It's true. It was merely 3 days until Valentine's when this conversation took place and my tree was still up. "Oh yeah..." I sort of replied. Guess I had forgotten about it, sort of.

My prescription is filled and I head back to the office. Then the questioning began... "Well? What did the Dr. say?"

Ohhhh.... crap. I didn't really have an answer. "Um..." I stammered. "Something about ulcers and prescription drops," I say, holding up the bag to prove I actually had them.

They give me a puzzled look to which I reply, "Ok, I admit. I sort of forgot too listen. I was too distracted by the yellow drops staining my eye."

Yep. They laughed at me. Two of the ladies are older than me, about my Grandma's age. They just thought that was the funniest thing ever. So, of course I had to tell them the whole story, and they told me to google what I did remember of the conversation.

It turns out that I had corneal ulcers caused by a bacterial infection, most likely from rubbing my eyes. Apparently, according to all of the websites I read, it is quite common for contact wearers. I did remember the Dr. saying that there was no damage to the corneas, so I was glad to find out we caught it in time. The one lady suggested that from now on I ask the Dr. to write down the diagnosis, y'know... in case I forget to listen again.

They were still laughing about it a few minutes later, and I admit I laughed with them too. I said, "I think it's because I am back on my migraine meds. It makes me feel like I have ADHD."

To which the one asked, "Well, is your Christmas Tree still up?"

Ohhhhhh..... shut up. Haha.

Someone Should Teach them to READ

The other day I had to go straight from work to school. Problem. I really had to pee. Second problem. I had already left work. Third problem. The drive to campus is at least 20 minutes, and the luxury of time is not on my side when one has a bladder as small as a bird, such as I. Not to mention the potential problem if I had not stopped and had gotten into any sort of accident, or heaven forbid a coughing fit on the way to class. The chances of NOT peeing my pants??? Well, let's just say they were slim to none; especially as I have had Bronchitis since around Christmas, and the Doctor predicts another 3 weeks or so of the intense coughing fits.

However, my house is in between work and the freeway entrance. Problem solved! Swing by the house and tinkle! Easy-peasy, right? But, once I am home, I decide my skirt and stockings are not as comfy, nor as warm as my jeans.

So imagine if you will, me -- doing the "pee dance" while running around shedding both the skirt and the stockings. (FYI -- the pee dance is a real thing. If you don't believe me, check it out {HERE}, {HERE}, or {HERE}).

Then just as I race to the bathroom, the door bells rings. Not once, but twice. I let out a "You gotta be kidding me!", thinking it was one of my kids or something. I mean, who rings twice, consecutively like "Ding-Dong, Ding-Dong"?? I race to the door and peep through the peep hole (Best Invention EVER!) and see that it is the Dish Network guy with a clipboard.

As I ignore his ringing, I run to the restroom, muttering under my breath things like, "I don't have time for you, Dish Man! Can't you see my "No Soliciting" sign? Let me guess -- you're gonna try and tell me you're NOT selling me anything, but you just want to *INFORM* me about the services in my area... sorta like the stunt the Siding Dudes tried to pull last week."

By the time I had finished my business and scurried to my car to leave, the Dishman had left too. But seriously... I am soooo tired of "sales" people trying to tell me they are NOT trying to sell me something. I mean, really? What is the point of them coming then? I know it wasn't a service call since I do not even have dish!

I did tell the guys from a few weeks ago (who were just letting me know they were offering FREE quotes on siding) that as much as I wasn't concerned about siding, I surely didn't want to waste my time listening to a spiel about something they WEREN'T trying to sell me.

They were sort of caught off guard. The one looked at the other like, "Well, now what?" I wasn't rude or anything. I was very polite in fact. But when they just stood there with the deer-in-the-headlights look, I took it as my cue to continue; try an educate them, if you will.

"Not only are you NOT going to win my business by trying to sell me something while pretending NOT to sell me something, but you also insult my intelligence if you think that I am going to believe that you are out here outta the goodness of your heart. {{insert chuckle here}} (Light chuckles seem to help me not feel so mean, hehe.) You're certainly not working for free. So clearly the only reason you'd be at my door at nearly 8:30 in the evening when my door is obviously marked "no soliciting" {{points to sign}} is because you are desperate for a sale."

Again, they continued with the deer-in-the-headlights look. I think one may have even dropped his jaw at this point. And finally, I simply smiled and said, "Good night, gentlemen." and shut the door.

I felt empowered, because I didn't have the exhaustion of trying to argue with a salesperson. It totally bugs me that they are not adhering to the sign. I mean, seriously... unless you are a friend, family, neighbor, the census taker, the pizza delivery guy (with a free pizza!) or someone in a volunteer search party looking for a body that someone may have stuffed in my basement while I was at work (which actually happened -- the search party part, not that someone put a dead body in my basement part), then please do not come a knocking at my door.

Maybe I oughta get one of these signs...

The Cat Hates My Bra

Now before you start thinking something ridiculous, like I tried to put a bra on my cat, let me explain.

Recently in the same week, the underwire broke in 2 of my bras and began precariously stabbing and poking me in places I'd rather not be stabbed and poked. So, as any other normal woman would do in a time like this, I had to pull the wire out.

Well, this was a bit of a pain since the onset of the second case began while driving to class. Once on campus, I made a mad dash to the ladies room, took off the thing, momentarily surrendering the girls to freedom, and proceeded to pull the wire out of the hole from whence it poked. The problem was that the break only occurred in one cup. I would have loved to pull the wire from the other cup, but there was no way to do it without a pocket knife or some other MacGuyverish method. Nope. That underwire was airtight and sealed for life. So, back the girls went into subjugation, albeit in lopsided form, and off I went to class.

And then, as if the angels were smiling down on me from heaven, the note on the classroom door indicated that class had been canceled for the evening. Now, normally, I would have been a bit irritated that I had left work a little early to make the twenty minute drive to campus and fuss over parking just to find out it had been canceled. However, on this particular day, I had my girly appointment beforehand, which was actually a little further south than the school. So, in essence, class that night was actually on my way home.

Anyway, so now that the night had left me free, I decided to head on over to Kohl's as they are one of the only places with a high probability of having my bra size in stock. I go in, I search for the bras and come up a bit short. I can find two bras one size too small. Well, actually, the size I normally buy seems to be one size too big. I wish they sold a size in between, as that would be perfect. Anyway -- like I said before, this was the second underwire breaking in a week, so I was a bit desperate, and tired. I snatched the 2 nearly-too-small ones from the rack and make the purchase.

Once home I changed into my jammies and settled in for some homework. Where were the bras you ask? Okay, here is where I admit to being a little negligent. They were still in the Kohl's bag, which hung on my bed post. I suppose I was in a hurry to relax and get something to eat when I got home, that removing the tags and tucking the bras away in their proper lingerie drawer seemed a task a bit more arduous than I wanted to take on at the time. Hence, there they hung.

Fast forward to the morning after. No, not THAT morning after. The morning after I had hung the bag with the bras on the bedpost! Okay, so I am up and getting ready for work, etc. and I go to retrieve one of the bras and I notice the bag had been tossed from the bedpost and both bras shamelessly strewn across the floor.

"What in the world?" I wondered. I went to retrieve the first one and upon grabbing it noticed it was wet! I flipped on the overhead light to get a better view, and right there in the middle of the inside of the cup was a bright yellow pee stain! I'm not gonna lie. I was a bit taken aback at the obvious assault one of the kittens had inflicted upon my cup! Looking at the evidence, this was obviously a hate crime; an act of violence brought upon my bra. But the question is WHY?

As I quickly checked the second bra and to my relief found no urination, I began to piece together the logic formed in the 5 centimeters of my kitty's brain. I am pretty sure I even know which cat did it. This cat, the suspect, as I now refer to her, has demonstrated slightly quirky behavior since coming to our home.

For instance, she doesn't like to be picked up or held and is afraid of everything. On the other hand, she clamours for attention too. She will walk up to me just to be near me and start purring. I haven't even offered her a scratch behind the ears and she's purring! One move to reach for her and she dashes out of sight. I suppose that might be enough evidence right there to prove I have magical powers. Yes, the power to comfort my kitty from a distance.

The only thing I am left to assume is that she became extremely jealous of the bra, sensing that it too held magical powers. I mean, it's true that the bra is there to offer me support. And it's something I keep close to my heart. It's like a good friend that way. And the magical part? Well, I don't know many other vessels wherein I can roll the girls up and tuck them in and yet somehow make them look "normal", do you? Yep. Purely magical.

All I can say is this behavior better not keep up. I mean, she can't go around peeing on every new object I bring into the house.

Love, not hate, kitty. Love.

Ode to the Annual

Thin gowns. Paper sheets.

Stirrups for my cold, bare feet.

Long deep breaths to get me through.

Scraping, pressing, turning blue.

Poking. Prodding. Felt for lumps.

Going in cup. Asked about dumps.

Nothing personal; it’s part of the ride

Of getting checked from all inside.

A few more years, then getting squished

Will be added to the dreaded list.

Wish me luck, feel my pain,

At least condolences you could feign.

Once a year, it’s my fate.

3pm today; it’s a date.

Wash Your Hands!!!

In honor of the cold & flu season I thought I'd share some funny "wash your hands" signs that have been found posted in various companies.

Ummm... why the Quotations around "Wash Hands". Is this like one of those "winks"?

What ELSE were they intending to wash?!?!

This is too funny! Either a prank or someone really trying to drive the point home!

REALLY?

Ok -- to me, it isn't the graffiti on the wall that makes this funny. It's that someone wrote "ROSE" across the top. Like, "Rose -- This means YOU!!!" hahahahaha!

HAHAHAHAHA! Yeah, if you're gonna do the job, do it right!

UMMMM..... I am not sure how YOU wash your hands, but I usually leave my top on!

Winter BLAHs

I am not a fan of winter. I am not a fan of snow. I am not a fan of dark and gloomy days. I am not a fan of cold. It's bad here too because when the inversion hits, everything is foggy and smoggy, and you can't even hardly see the mountains.

In the winter is when I feel depression tugging a little harder and hanging on a little longer than at other times. It often starts before Thanksgiving and I start to get this feeling that I want to crawl into bed, cover up and not come out until Spring. One lady accused me of having no Christmas Spirit. It's not that. I love the holidays -- the true meaning of the holidays, anyway. I love spending time with family when they come. But it's just the gloomy feeling of... I dunno... everything.

I made it through Christmas and the kids and I enjoyed it. I forced myself to get the tree up and decorated. One of these days, I will force myself to take it down. But in my defense, today - January 6th - is the day of the Epiphany. So, technically, in old Christian traditions your tree is supposed to stay up through today anyway. Regardless, I am going to try really hard to take it down before March... which is what happened a few years ago, haha.

I am a believer that I am in charge of my own attitude. I can get up and choose whether to be happy or not be happy. I am the one who chooses my reaction or pro-activeness to the events that will take place today. And, for the most part, I'd say I am pretty good about staying upbeat and positive. But that doesn't mean I still don't have this... feeling.

I can't really put it into complete words. And I know that men especially have a hard time understanding. Whenever I try to talk it out with a guy he doesn't really "get" it and usually tries to give me advice to FIX it. (Why can't men just listen and then comfort without trying to FIX it?) But like yesterday for example, it was a great day. I had fundings and closings and new orders at work. I went to lunch with a great group of people. I ate the best salad and made the best cinnamon rolls. I checked online and saw that all of my financial aid paperwork was finalized for the semester. I had a relaxing evening. And yet, there was this lump in my throat all day. The lump that forms when you are on the verge of tears. That lump. I have that on most days when I feel like this. And yet it isn't like there is any one thing that is making me want to cry. And usually, I avoid people when I get like this, to minimize any trigger for tears.

I don't like people to feel sorry for me -- so please do not leave the "I'm sorry you're feeling that way" comment. I just blog about it, because perhaps it helps me make more sense of it in some way. I don't take medication for it because I don't feel it is severe enough and I am not a good pill swallower. Having to swallow pills makes me have anxiety, haha. But I do what my counselor has referred to as "talk therapy" and I find it helps. I guess that is more of what this is, "talk therapy" by way of "blog therapy". I know I must be rambling... and this may or may not make sense.

Anyway -- back in "the day" when I was married had a good job and 2+ incomes, I often shopped. People joke about "retail therapy", but it's a real thing. When I'd feel down, finding something on sale was a quick pick-me-up. Often times, the purchased items weren't even for me. Nonetheless, I felt better. Well, that's not an option anymore. So, I am back to the "talk therapy". I don't like talking too much about it, because again, I don't want the pity. Also, I don't like being a Negative Nelly and feel like I'm whining or something. I tend to keep it in if it isn't funny or positive or upbeat.

I am hoping that once school starts up on Monday I will be too busy to be fully aware of this gloomy feeling hanging around my head and my heart.

Anyway -- so that is why I haven't been "around" the blogosphere lately. Just don't really feel like doing much of anything... just feel like staying in bed, all day with my jammies on.

It's a good thing I need the money, or I'd probably be ditching work. haha.

Anyway, that's it. The end.

Christmas Crazy!

So, it sort of went down like this.

I wasn't sure that I'd be able to give my kids much of a Christmas this year. I was stressed. I was worried. I had gotten them a few things throughout the year, like a $10 pair of jeans from Gap when they had their back-to-school sales or a pair of $7 shoes from the outlet mall on black Friday. Then there were a few books I had found for 50% off at last years book fair and the PJ's I found at the Old Navy Outlet for $7 a few months back. So, I did have a few things. But we're talking very few things.

I had received a few things from others to help fill the gaps. It was a huge burden lifted. And yet, I still felt like I was providing a very inadequate Christmas for my kids. I know that isn't the real meaning of Christmas. I know that my kids are not the selfish type and that they will be grateful for anything I give to them.

But as a single mom whom rarely has extra cash, it seems like we do without so much the entire year. The one time I want it to be special and to give a little more is now; at the holidays.

So, here it was, 2 days before Christmas and I received a child support check I wasn't expecting. We're not talking thousands of dollars here, or even half that amount. But it was a little extra and I wanted to get some nice things for my kids. I got off work early and from 1:30pm - 10:30pm I went Christmas Shopping.

Let me brief you with a little history. I am the type of person that is usually done with Christmas shopping even before Thanksgiving. I am the type of person that has everything wrapped when the tree goes up the day after Thanksgiving. And I don't do these things because I am extremely organized or anal or anything like that. (Well, perhaps a little.) I do these things because I am the type of person that has anxiety at times. I am the type of person who doesn't care for large crowds, driving through the snow late at night, feeling the pressure of looking for that perfect item which is sold out because it is on everybody else's Christmas list too. These things give me stress and trigger anxiety. So, I avoid them like the Plague.

But this year, I had no choice. I just didn't have the money until yesterday; until two days before Christmas. I went to Target. I went to Kohl's. I went to Hobby Lobby. I tried to get as much as I could without having to go to you-know-where. Yes, my dear readers, I tried to avoid going to Wal-Mart.

It's not that I hate Wal-Mart. I just hate Wal-Mart when there are tons of crazy people pushing and shoving and rummaging and making a mess and hogging up the aisles, and not being friendly. (Which is why I also avoid it on Saturdays too.) However, my efforts - as good as they were, were to no avail. I had to go to Wal-Mart.

I had a list, I checked it twice. It still did not seem like enough. I tried to mentally go over the items tucked away in my closet at home and I could barely recall a thing. And the things I did recall seemed a bit lame. It was loud. There were kids riding the display bikes up and down the aisles. There was a woman chewing her husband out for waiting until the last minute to pick something out for his mother. There was a man complaining to his wife that she was going over budget and "did the kids really need that?" I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I started to feel the cerebral arteries throb from behind my eye sockets. I started to feel sweaty and clammy all at the same time. My chest felt tight and my heart was palpitating a bit stronger with each tick of the clock. I was suffocating in my own anxiety.

I told myself to knock it off. I told myself it's no big deal. Then I freaked out and asked myself, "But will it be enough? Will they like it? I don't even know what the heck I am looking for!" And yes, dear readers. I told myself these things OUT.LOUD. I had become one of those Wal-Mart Crazies!

I found an empty aisle near the automotive section. I pulled my cart in, leaned against the handle and started to rub my temples. A young kid, barely 18 years old looking, came down the aisle about a minute later with a push broom. I began to move my cart, asking if I was in his way. He replied no, and asked if I needed any help with anything. I confessed, and like a big girl, I didn't even cry. Nope. I was able to hold it together as I said, "I'm having a bit of a panic... I can't remember a thing I have for my boys and I fear it's all quite lame. I want to get something cool for them; something they will think is totally awesome." I and did. After all, I think a kid should feel excited about his main Christmas gift.

The boy with the broom set it off to the side and said, "Well, let's go see what we can find." And within about 10 minutes I had something for each of my boys that was guaranteed to be a winner. And, I didn't have to spend nearly as much as I thought! The Super-WalMart Broom Boy was my Super Hero that night. Or at least in part.

As I made my way to the check out stands, I'm not gonna lie. I had my own stroke of genius too. I looked at my cart and I thought about the stuff I had waiting in the car and at home in my closet and realized I still had hours of wrapping that lie ahead. I made a beeline over to the Christmas Aisle and bought bundles of gift bags and gift boxes. Normally, spending $18 on gift boxes would seem asinine to me. But, this was my sanity we're talking here. I think my sanity is worth a mere $18.

By the time I got home and unloaded my car and unpacked it all into the living room, it was midnight. I took my shoes off and propped my feet up and began an online conversation with a friend of mine from Idaho. Chatting while wrapping seemed to helped the time pass. He finally bailed out around 3:30 in the morning. And guess what? Well, this little anxiety problem of mine? Yeah, I sorta passed it on to a few of my kids.

LittleDuckling couldn't sleep. He continued to come upstairs and ask if I was still wrapping. He asked if I needed help. I knew that he was so excited to see I had come home with multiple shopping bags that his anxiety was getting the best of him. I threw a blanket over his gifts and allowed him to come in and help me "wrap" things up, so to speak. We finished by about 5:30 this morning.

I realize I probably could have waited until morning to start. And I realize that this probably doesn't make much sense unless, you - like me, have issues with anxiety too.

But the good thing is, now I can breathe. And I will be able to sleep tonight, this Christmas Eve and feel joy that I was able to give Christmas to my children.

From my family to yours... Merry Christmas!

The Spirit of Giving

Are you one of those people? Y'know the ones... the ones that come up with something cute and clever each and every holiday to give to your neighbors? Yeah... I used to be that person too.

But times have changed, dear readers. I am too busy and too broke to be handing out neighbor gifts. I stopped doing them about 2 Christmases ago. I thought perhaps that since I've stopped giving, I'd stop receiving too. But I haven't. Sure, some of the givers may change a little from year to year. But I have many neighbors who give without expecting something in return, and their thoughtfulness is appreciated. Seriously... how cool are they? Yup. Pretty dang cool!

Some of the cute and clever things I have received over the years... Once I received a cute whisk filled with Hershey's Kisses and a tag saying, "We WHISK you a Merry Kiss-mas!" I've received a plethora of cookies with tags saying things such as "From your COOKY neighbors" or "From your CRUMBY neighbors." I've received Jolly Time Popcorn with sentiments wishing me a Jolly Christmas. The list goes on and on of cute and clever things.

Then there are the slightly odd ones... a light bulb wishing me a Merry and BRIGHT Christmas. True. I could and would probably use that light bulb at some point down the road. I guess it just struck me as odd because it wasn't a "treat". It just seemed so... utilitarian. I mean, could you imagine a husband getting his wife a new vacuum or broom with a tag saying, "Hope this Christmas SWEEPS you off your feet"??? Yeah. Word to the wise... if any man ever gets me a vacuum for Christmas -- I don't care HOW clever he is-- I will be cutting him off from any "benefits" for an extended period of time. And for the record, if I ever lose my senses and ASK for a vacuum, there'd better be a dazzling bracelet that comes with it! ;)

Another odd and totally utilitarian gift I received one year was a bundle of twine. The saying was a bit of a stretch... something like May All the Christmas Joy be 'Twine this holiday season! Yeah. Lame. I 'bout wanted to hang myself with the rope. hehe.

I would hope that neighbors wouldn't feel the pressure to give to me. I had a friend once who was panicked because she didn't have enough money for neighbor gifts one year. So, she rummaged through her storage closets and found everyday items and came up with clever sayings. I'm beginning to think she was the one I got the twine from. Haha. But seriously... Sharing with neighbors shouldn't be that much of a stressor. I'd rather spend time in good conversation than receive an annual utilitarian "gift".

Then there is the gift of the chore. One year I received an empty stocking. In it were instructions for my family stating "between now and Christmas find ways to serve those you love. Then, as you complete each act, write them on a piece of paper and fill the stocking. On Christmas morning read through each of these acts together and talk about how these are the true gifts of Christmas." I get it, I do. I mean, it IS a nice sentiment, but I am a really busy person and sort of have my holiday activities already planned out. And if my family wanted to do an activity like that, fine. But don't try to pass it off as a "gift".

I received a similar gift in the form of an empty box one year. We were supposed to fill the box with the deeds of service we performed and then on Christmas Eve wrap up the box and stick it under the tree as a gift for Jesus. Again -- nice family lesson on Christmas. But if I want to do an activity like that, I will. I don't need someone to TELL me to do it and then try to pretend it's their GIFT to me. I dunno... in my book, a gift should not be an assignment. Perhaps I've got the wrong attitude?

I didn't really want to mention this, but since we're on the topic it's sort of hard to avoid. So, let's go there dear readers. The gift of the less-than-savory treat. I think we've all been the receiver of this a time or two. It's the neighbor who either can't cook but thinks she can, or just some odd-tasting thing that you are just sure is from a different culture.

Growing up, we had this neighbor... she sorta reminded me of the Hallmark "Maxine". She was older, short gray hair and ALWAYS had a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth. She smoked while she did her yard work. She smoked while she cleaned her house. She smoked while she cooked. Heck! I wouldn't be surprised if she smoked while she showered! She would bake us these scrumptious looking cakes and bring them over all the time. The holidays were no exception. And, whichever of the kids lost to "rock-paper-scissors", was the one who got to sample the cake first. And as per usual, the frosting tasted like cigarette ash. Once the disgusting face was made, with accompanying gag reflexes, the rest of us would follow in-suit after swiping our own fingers through the frosting just to be "sure" the sibling was correct. And he always was. The frosting always tasted like two inches of crisco & cigarette ash. Always.

One year one of my Latino neighbors gave us some sort of homemade suckers. One lick and one of my children realized it was a red hot chili sucker. Yikes. Though I appreciated the sentiment of wanting to share their culture with us, a little warning would have been nice before my two-year-old came running and crying, flinging drool everywhere, proclaiming "hot! hot! hot!"

Inevitably, there always seemed to be some treat from a family member, friend, or coworker wherein its savor doesn't match up with their good intentions. And just what do you do in a case like that? Nothing except smile, nod and say a heartfelt "thank-you", for it truly is the thought that counts. No way would my mother have ever told the neighbor lady to quit bringing over her cig-ash-crisco-cake. We knew she brought it to us because she cared about us.

And while I do think that most of the time gifts are given with good intentions (even if they aren't the greatest), there will probably always be those duty-bound, obligatory, gifts that just seem to suck the life out of the true meaning of the holidays. One of my neighbors said that her landlord gave her a pair of scissors for Christmas. Wow. She was less than thrilled, to say the least. Follower, Robblogger said that his father's neighbor used to bring him stacks of old newspaper at the holidays. Really? Seems a little strange. Not sure what THAT was about.

PartyGal and I were talking about this feeling of obligatory gifts just the other night. She works for a jeweler. This man has money and LOTS of it! What could she possibly give him that he doesn't already have? And furthermore, her gifts appear more like mere tokens compared to the extravagant things they give; she can't compete with that. One year she suggested they draw 1 co-worker's name and just get something for that one, instead of stressing over a half-dozen or so gifts. It was agreed. They all drew names. She showed up for work the morning of the gift exchange and guess what -- they ALL had still bought something for EVERYONE, while there she sat with her one small gift. That made her feel much worse than before.

I was talking to a colleague of mine the other day about coworker gifts. He said that his office no longer does gifts for each other. Instead, all year long they pay $5 monthly "dues" in order to wear jeans on Fridays. Then, at the end of the year, the money is used to purchase gifts for residents of a local nursing home. It's been such a success and he said that the spirit of Christmas is much more "present" in presents like that.

By no means is this my soapbox on which I stand proclaiming foolishness or accusing commercialism of anyone that does choose to give gifts to friends, coworkers or neighbors. No, dear readers. This is merely an observation of how some things, as others, are often taken to the extreme.

I have some of the best neighbors in the whole wide world and they give to me throughout the year. Their generosity at the holidays is no exception. I feel loved and taken care of and watched over. I know that I will probably never be able to repay them all, but I hope to one day pay it all forward.

Giving, so that those whom receive will want to give too. I think THAT is the spirit of Giving.

Seriously?

Recently one of my brothers recently read a conversation thread I posted on Facebook. He responded that he was surprised by this "silly" side of me. He further explained that he always pegged me as being "serious".

Serious? Me?

I suppose if someone doesn't read my blog or Facebook updates they might think I am serious all the time. I guess if they have never been to a social gathering with me, they may not know of my gregarious nature, or know that I laugh so hard I can't breathe, and may even risk a bout of incontinence. If they've never been to a Girl's Night Out or on a date with me, they might not be aware of my perfectly-timed, semi-inappropriate, slightly risque "that's what she said" type comments.

I guess if all they ever see if the gal doing homework, or her church calling, or the desk part of her job, or the fact that when I want to achieve something I buckle down and go after it... I guess they might perceive me as serious... maybe.

I mean, don't get me wrong. Being serious isn't always a bad thing. There is a time and a place for it for sure, just as there is a time and a place to be silly. It's just that I have always felt a little more down-to-earth than "serious".

Which then begs the question... how do others perceive me?

The Power of My Hat

I'm not kidding. I think there are special powers in my hat. Ok, so I've always wanted to be the kind of gal that can pull off wearing a hat. I never have been. I mean, I guess I can wear a ball cap with a pony tail and look okay... but I've always wanted to be able to wear a cute hat!

My daughter has always been able to wear hats -- ANY kind of hat too. Check it out...

She is sooo stinkin' cute in her hats and all it sorta makes me sick! hahaha! Just kidding...

So recently I found a hat that I like and that I thought I could actually pull off. But it was waaaaay more than I was willing to spend. Then I found one at Kohl's on clearance that was the exact same style AND I had my 15% coupon on top of that! So I bought the hat. I actually loved it so much, that when my friend gave me her coupon I went back and got another in different colors.

Anyway, so I usually wear my hats on Tuesdays because that is the day I take the Train down to Trax which then drops me off right in front of my class at Library Square. It's gotten colder and because it's a 4 1/2 hour class, it is freezing by the time I leave and I wanted a hat to help keep me warm.

What I've found is that there is magic in these two hats. Seriously. When I wear the hat, things happen to me that don't normally happen to me.

Case Study #1

More people will strike up conversations with me on the train than before. Before the power of the hat, people just left me alone. But with the hat? Oh, they are just a talkin' and a talkin'. Magic.

Case Study #2

Also, last week I got stuck at work and missed the first two trains. I was able to catch the third train, which usually doesn't get me to the hub in time to catch the connection that gets me to class on time. BUT -- like I said, the hat is magic. The train was on time and somehow got me to the hub earlier than scheduled and I caught an earlier Trax connection and walked into class just as the instructor was starting! Magic.

Case Study #3

After arriving in class we were told about our upcoming group project. I was approached by two others to be in their groups, but for reasons I will blog about at another time, I wanted to be in a different group with someone else. I did not want to approach this individual because we have never even spoken to each other in class. But, from his comments, I knew we would work well together. Well, guess what! I wore the hat and after class HE approached ME and asked if I would like to form a group with HIM! Again ~ Magic.

Case Study #4

Yesterday a guy from the train tried to flirt with me. It was almost too precious. I shall blog about that too later this week. But, it was the power of the hat. I'mma guessing he just couldn't resist the power! hahaha!

Case Study #5

Each time I wear the hat I've been told I look younger than I am! w00t! In my class I was telling someone about when I was a freshman in college the first time around in the Fall of '92. He was all... wait. HOW OLD ARE YOU? Of course I didn't tell him, silly boy. I figured if he really wanted to know some basic math might help. But he said, and I quote, "You don't look a day older than 28!" 28? Ok, I'll take it! Then, last night on the train a man was trying to start up a conversation with me and said something about how he wanted to watch a movie or do something exciting for the weekend and we got to talking movies and concerts and musicians. He asked me about a musician. I said I never heard of him, but I think my son has. Then he asked how old my son is and I said 16 and he said, "Wow. I thought you were in your twenties!" TWENTIES? Wow! It's the hat. I'm not gonna lie.

Magic. Yup. There is some sort of power in the hat. Can you borrow it? Nope. It's mine! All mine! Bwahahahahahaha! Oh, but I will tell ya that if you're lucky you can get one of these magical hats at Kohl's for 40% off right now. :)

Talk About It Tuesday

What's bugging you lately? Let's talk about it! After all, it's "Talk About it Tuesday!"

Things that bug me:

Because my FB status is "single" I get all sorts of singles ads on my FB side bar. One says, "Would you like to meet attractive men?" I mean, really? What kind of question is that? Ummm... no. I think I'll try one of the ugly ones... I'm sort of tired of the hot, sexy, attractive ones.

When I don't need to be anywhere early and yet that is the one morning I find myself wide awake at 6am! Grrrrr....

Wet towels on the bathroom floor.

When I forget to turn my phone on silent and my friend calls me while I am at church and everyone turns to look at me just as I remember my phone is tucked securely into my bra strap. Yeah... that bugs.

When people write sentences and don't bother using correct punctuation or any punctuation for that matter it's hard to know whether they are making a statement or asking a question the only statement I believe them to be making is that they are too lazy or too ignorant to know how to punctuate a paragraph correctly wouldn't you say if not at least they should remember from third grade the appropriate places for periods.

So, there you go -- that's what's bugging me lately. How about you? C'mon, don't be shy ~ It's Talk About it Tuesday! :)