For one of the first times in my entire life, I was called brave today. And it felt amazing.
For once in my life, I took a major risk. I took a chance with my heart, in the hopes that something good would come of it. And, while it didn't work out as I had hoped, something good certainly came from it.
In the past 6 weeks, I feel as though I have learned more about myself than in the past year. And I can look back on each moment and not regret a single one.
I feel as though the bruises on a piece of my heart can now heal in a healthy way. The first time these bruises were inflicted, I let them fester. I let them slowly eat at the rest of my heart like a cancer - allowed them to harden and create a more cynical and non-whimsical person for years. I never allowed myself the luxury of purging the wounds and giving them air and letting them breathe so they could heal. Instead, I let them fester and then covered them up for my next relationship, which wasn't until 4 years down the road.
My relationship last year taught me how to have an adult relationship. It taught me that not all fairy tales come true, and sometimes two people just aren't right for each other - that breaking up does not have to mean hating each other for years. It can be done the right way, in the right time, so that both can take time to heal properly and then come together and be wonderful friends, knowing that, while you aren't meant for each other romantically, you were meant to be together for a time to create a relationship that can blossom as a beautiful, lifelong friendship.
Which led me to the decisions I've made thus far in 2010.
I pulled off the bandages from those bruises and I let them breathe. And, in doing so, I allowed their inflictor to come back into my life, into my heart, as a new person - the result of 6 years of growing up from both of us. We started as fresh as we possibly could, and I made the decision to jump.
It was so wonderful. I felt adored again. I felt needed. I felt...wanted. Which is not something I'm used to feeling. I soaked it up like a sponge, and it was amazing.
....but just not right.
Something felt off, and, because I couldn't put my finger on the precise reason, I ignored it. I waited for the anxiety to pass, I tried to just forget it and focus on the here and now and just enjoy our time together.
Then, I realized, that just as much as I should not have ignored the bruises, I should not ignore the gut feeling in my heart that it was not meant to be. And so, I made the decision to end it before waiting 6 months from now. So that we can salvage our newfound friendship.
And I have absolutely no regrets. No more bruises. They are still there, but they are now yellowing instead of deep purple and blue. They are healing.
And now, whenever I think of this person, because of this wonderful time we've had together, I will never again think of the first go-round and the bruises that it left me with. I will think about a dear, dear friend and how, though we have everything in common and can maintain a solid friendship, we just are not meant to be together.
And that...is something very good.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
You Can't Go Home Again
So, in a completely uncharacteristic move, I decided to be spontaneous and come to Athens. There's a jazz trombonist that Nathan and I stumbled upon in New Orleans on the Sugar Bowl trip of '07/'08 and we fell in love with him. He's playing here in town tonight, and Nathan invited me to go along with he and Alison. I wasn't going to come, because frankly, I've got too much to do and not enough time to do it in. Well, then Bill calls and says he's going, too, and doesn't want to be the third wheel. Needless to say, it did not take a lot of arm-twisting to get me to come.
I have six 2-page article reviews due on Monday, not to mention 3 books to finish before Tuesday. But I just could not pass this opportunity up. And, while it will be great to see some of my closest friends and hear some good music, I just found myself overwhelmed with the desire to get out of Villa Rica.
I know I'm where I need to be. I know I'm getting the degree that I want, and I'm fine with the workload that comes along with it. But, let's face it - I have never felt more alone in my entire life. I don't want a roommate, and it's nice living by myself for the most part. But, honestly. I wake up alone, I head to the library for work, where I have minimal conversations with Boss-Who-Hates-Me and my 2 co-workers, then I get locked up in an office and spend 5 hours in silence. Then I head to class, where I have some conversation with friends before it starts, then the only words I speak for the next 3 hours involve historical analysis. Then, after a few parting words, I head home to be alone again.
I'm not trying to complain. This is where I need to be right now, and I get that. But seriously, this week I just wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear - oddly enough, I wanted nothing more than to be alone, but at the same time, wanted to escape the loneliness that I constantly feel. That makes no sense.
It was just a dramatic week, and I've been thrust into a stupid situation that I can't do a thing about, even though something needs to be done. And, in the process, I feel like I'm betraying someone I love, knowing that even if I did tell them about it, it would do the opposite of anything good. I'm stuck.
So, I jumped at the chance to come back to Athens. It's like coming home, even though there are only a precious few people left to come home to. I love the familiar feeling of turning onto loop 10, driving past the places I used to hang out, live, and spend time with my friends. I love stupid things like knowing the right lane ends on College Station so I automatically go to the left. I love walking into a grungy place like ChooChoo and cracking up inside at all the ridiculous crap that went down in that place.
Right now, I'm sitting in my favorite plush leather brown chair in my favorite coffee place in the world, drinking the best coffee I've ever had. I finished my thesis in this place. This is where I first read Twilight. This is where I hung out with Dave. This is where Rachel works and sneaks me free coffee. I feel inexplicably home in this city, though I'd never in a million years move back.
It's like coming home, but in a removed way. This place was the perfect place for me to be in college, and when I come back, it's not to re-experience it. It's just...to steal a few minutes back.
I love the familiarity of what I'm doing. I'm waiting for Bill to get off work from driving campus transit buses, and I'll head to his apartment and he'll call me Big T and we'll solve the world's problems before Nathan and Alison get to town. I'll laugh at all the freshmen trying to get away with their fake id's tonight Downtown.
Maybe this makes me some form of an escapist, but I've been sitting here for 2 hours in this chair, with full access to my schoolwork, but I've been reading Twilight fanfic instead.
And I don't even care.
I'll worry about schoolwork tomorrow. Right now I'm home.
I have six 2-page article reviews due on Monday, not to mention 3 books to finish before Tuesday. But I just could not pass this opportunity up. And, while it will be great to see some of my closest friends and hear some good music, I just found myself overwhelmed with the desire to get out of Villa Rica.
I know I'm where I need to be. I know I'm getting the degree that I want, and I'm fine with the workload that comes along with it. But, let's face it - I have never felt more alone in my entire life. I don't want a roommate, and it's nice living by myself for the most part. But, honestly. I wake up alone, I head to the library for work, where I have minimal conversations with Boss-Who-Hates-Me and my 2 co-workers, then I get locked up in an office and spend 5 hours in silence. Then I head to class, where I have some conversation with friends before it starts, then the only words I speak for the next 3 hours involve historical analysis. Then, after a few parting words, I head home to be alone again.
I'm not trying to complain. This is where I need to be right now, and I get that. But seriously, this week I just wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear - oddly enough, I wanted nothing more than to be alone, but at the same time, wanted to escape the loneliness that I constantly feel. That makes no sense.
It was just a dramatic week, and I've been thrust into a stupid situation that I can't do a thing about, even though something needs to be done. And, in the process, I feel like I'm betraying someone I love, knowing that even if I did tell them about it, it would do the opposite of anything good. I'm stuck.
So, I jumped at the chance to come back to Athens. It's like coming home, even though there are only a precious few people left to come home to. I love the familiar feeling of turning onto loop 10, driving past the places I used to hang out, live, and spend time with my friends. I love stupid things like knowing the right lane ends on College Station so I automatically go to the left. I love walking into a grungy place like ChooChoo and cracking up inside at all the ridiculous crap that went down in that place.
Right now, I'm sitting in my favorite plush leather brown chair in my favorite coffee place in the world, drinking the best coffee I've ever had. I finished my thesis in this place. This is where I first read Twilight. This is where I hung out with Dave. This is where Rachel works and sneaks me free coffee. I feel inexplicably home in this city, though I'd never in a million years move back.
It's like coming home, but in a removed way. This place was the perfect place for me to be in college, and when I come back, it's not to re-experience it. It's just...to steal a few minutes back.
I love the familiarity of what I'm doing. I'm waiting for Bill to get off work from driving campus transit buses, and I'll head to his apartment and he'll call me Big T and we'll solve the world's problems before Nathan and Alison get to town. I'll laugh at all the freshmen trying to get away with their fake id's tonight Downtown.
Maybe this makes me some form of an escapist, but I've been sitting here for 2 hours in this chair, with full access to my schoolwork, but I've been reading Twilight fanfic instead.
And I don't even care.
I'll worry about schoolwork tomorrow. Right now I'm home.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Hug it Out
To preface, here is a picture of one of the best huggers in the whole wide world:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/majorb/4188545771/
So, you all know about the Celebrity Top 5 list. That list that everyone, consciously or subconsciously, keeps in their mind of the top 5 celebrities whom you'd drop everything for if given the chance. Admit it, you have one. I have one. It's just the truth.
Well, I also have a list of people that I want to hug. And not just any hug. No awkward side hugs or ones where you can't figure out where your arms should go or how long they should linger. I mean, full out, big bear hugs.
I consider myself an affectionate person. Hugs really are like a shot of happiness for me. I have had to come to terms with the fact that not all of my friends are affectionate like me, but that doesn't mean I don't want to hug them. I'm talkin' to you, roommate! :)
Anyways, I have a list of celebrities that I would give anything to hug. The standards aren't necessarily high - I am a self-declared hug whore. I'll dish 'em out to anyone who's willing. Unless they haven't bathed or something. I'm talkin' to you, RPattz...
Regardless, there's a growing list of celebrities whom I would love to meet in person, have a conversation with, and give a big hug to. There is not a priority list or ranking of any sort...but here's just a few.
Julie Andrews. The woman is a goddess, honestly. She's won a Nobel Peace Prize. She sings like an angel. And she single-handedly tamed seven rebellious children and managed to win the heart of their overbearing and standoffish father. And rule a fictional country that's famous for things like pear-flavored popcorn. This woman is amazing.
Simon Cowell. Don't be shocked. I love him. He says what everyone is really thinking. And he says it with an accent. I have a thing for sarcastic British guys. Plus, I think he could benefit from a hug after dealing with Paula Abdul for 8 seasons.
Adam Shankman. He's just precious. When he talks about getting goosebumps from watching a dance routine, I get goosebumps myself. I especially love it when he tears up over them. He is just filled with so much passion for what he does. I'm also curious to see if he would spin me out of the hug and proceed to lift me in a way that only little Mollee achieved on SYTYCD.
Neil Patrick Harris. My goodness, I wish he didn't play for the other team...
Zooey Deschanel. No words necessary. I want her wardrobe, too. I feel that after some form of physical contact, I could be in a less awkward place about asking her to give me all of her clothing.
Oh, and Taylor Lautner, Joshua Jackson, John Krasinski, George Clooney, and Hugh Dancy.
You know you were curious.
[Tentatively] Back on the Wagon
So, as addictive as blogging is, even the best of us fall off the wagon. My last post was in October, and after that, I finally figured out what the big hubbub about "graduate school" is really about. So, I had to devote time to that. Plus, with the holiday season and finals and everything...
Ok, Ok, I forgot I had a blog. That's the truth. Boo for me. I remembered this morning, though!
And my boss isn't here today. And no one else is working in Special Collections with me today. I'm all alone in this windowless cement place, and therefore no one can yell at me for slacking a bit. Which, after an incident last semester, I have been frightened of doing. I call this incident "Internet-Gate 2009"
Preface:
My graduate research assistantship is, in a word, boring. It just is. It's the grunt work that everyone has to do before they get anywhere, and I appreciate that and understand its necessity. However, I literally spend 5 hours per shift erasing and relabeling file folders, and removing staples, and making copies of post-it notes. That, my friends, does not make time pass quickly.
We have computer access during this 5 hour time frame, and we have been told we are allowed to check our mail/facebook/etc. Well, after sitting at a desk for 5 hours, every so often, you need a quick 5 minute reprieve. So, I'll glance at Perez Hilton and see if Amy Winehouse is out of rehab, or if Joe Jonas is really back with Selena Gomez or if he's still writing T-Swift love songs. Or, I check out my personal favorite blog, www.2birds1blog.com (the language is horrendous, but it is laugh out loud hilarious). Now, these are all in no more than 5 minute increments. I do not, by any means, spend all day looking at these sites and not getting anything productive done.
Cut to November, when the computer in the main office gets an internet-based virus.
My boss pulls me and my other co-worker into her office and chews us a new one, and won't let us defend ourselves. Even though it is an internet virus that any computer IN THE ENTIRE 3 FLOOR LIBRARY could have contracted because of the connected system...it's clearly our fault. She then checks the internet history and chews us out even more, once again, not letting us defend ourselves.
Couldn't help it, I went home and cried.
My boss is your typical librarian. Pinched lips, narrowed eyes, glasses, slicked back bun, only weighs 90lbs, etc. She's very passive aggressive and, quite frankly, just makes me uncomfortable. However, I don't like it when people are mad at me. So, as a result, I did not touch the computer or the internet for the next 6 weeks until the end of the semester.
However, I'd like to take this moment to thank eb3 for teaching me something bout computers and therefore how to delete browsing history. Just in case.
And then, on our evaluation sheets for the semester, she gave us, on a scale of 1-5, all 4's...with a 3 in the area of "ethical and professional behavior." SERIOUSLY?! Ugggh.
Therefore, I've decided that I will stick it out for this semester, then go ahead and take the massive pay cut and be a TA for next year. This pins-and-needles thing just isn't working for me. And also, I need some human interaction. This office makes me feel cut off from existence. And, I already live by myself - I'd prefer not to work by myself.
And that, was [Internet-Gate 2009]
And, for my next entry, I will delve into the social historical importance of Watergate and how, as a result, anytime there is a major incident, people in America tend to just add a "-gate" to the end of it.
Not really. That would be such a boring entry. I'll probably post again before I leave though. It's too quiet around here.
Back on the wagon. Go 2010.
Ok, Ok, I forgot I had a blog. That's the truth. Boo for me. I remembered this morning, though!
And my boss isn't here today. And no one else is working in Special Collections with me today. I'm all alone in this windowless cement place, and therefore no one can yell at me for slacking a bit. Which, after an incident last semester, I have been frightened of doing. I call this incident "Internet-Gate 2009"
Preface:
My graduate research assistantship is, in a word, boring. It just is. It's the grunt work that everyone has to do before they get anywhere, and I appreciate that and understand its necessity. However, I literally spend 5 hours per shift erasing and relabeling file folders, and removing staples, and making copies of post-it notes. That, my friends, does not make time pass quickly.
We have computer access during this 5 hour time frame, and we have been told we are allowed to check our mail/facebook/etc. Well, after sitting at a desk for 5 hours, every so often, you need a quick 5 minute reprieve. So, I'll glance at Perez Hilton and see if Amy Winehouse is out of rehab, or if Joe Jonas is really back with Selena Gomez or if he's still writing T-Swift love songs. Or, I check out my personal favorite blog, www.2birds1blog.com (the language is horrendous, but it is laugh out loud hilarious). Now, these are all in no more than 5 minute increments. I do not, by any means, spend all day looking at these sites and not getting anything productive done.
Cut to November, when the computer in the main office gets an internet-based virus.
My boss pulls me and my other co-worker into her office and chews us a new one, and won't let us defend ourselves. Even though it is an internet virus that any computer IN THE ENTIRE 3 FLOOR LIBRARY could have contracted because of the connected system...it's clearly our fault. She then checks the internet history and chews us out even more, once again, not letting us defend ourselves.
Couldn't help it, I went home and cried.
My boss is your typical librarian. Pinched lips, narrowed eyes, glasses, slicked back bun, only weighs 90lbs, etc. She's very passive aggressive and, quite frankly, just makes me uncomfortable. However, I don't like it when people are mad at me. So, as a result, I did not touch the computer or the internet for the next 6 weeks until the end of the semester.
However, I'd like to take this moment to thank eb3 for teaching me something bout computers and therefore how to delete browsing history. Just in case.
And then, on our evaluation sheets for the semester, she gave us, on a scale of 1-5, all 4's...with a 3 in the area of "ethical and professional behavior." SERIOUSLY?! Ugggh.
Therefore, I've decided that I will stick it out for this semester, then go ahead and take the massive pay cut and be a TA for next year. This pins-and-needles thing just isn't working for me. And also, I need some human interaction. This office makes me feel cut off from existence. And, I already live by myself - I'd prefer not to work by myself.
And that, was [Internet-Gate 2009]
And, for my next entry, I will delve into the social historical importance of Watergate and how, as a result, anytime there is a major incident, people in America tend to just add a "-gate" to the end of it.
Not really. That would be such a boring entry. I'll probably post again before I leave though. It's too quiet around here.
Back on the wagon. Go 2010.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Ode to Joy
I should be writing a paper, but I'm avoiding it. Which means I am living up to my tagline's promise--I write here when I should be working.
Fall break has officially come and gone. It was, in a word, uneventful. But nice, nonetheless. Friday I went out with my best friend from high school and she let me unload all of my emotional frustration on her over some strawberry margaritas at Chilis. Afterwards, we decided we didn't feel like thinking anymore so we went back to my parent's house and watched Twilight. Absolutely no thinking necessary. Saturday was spent watching football. 11 straight hours of football. I did not even get out of my pjs. Today, I woke up and headed straight to Shepherd Spinal Center in Atlanta, which is the topic of the blog post for the day.
I have mentioned before that Michael (aka eb1, aka "Bagman", aka "Gooch" [a name I will never call him cuz it grosses me out for some reason]) is in Shepherd Spinal doing his rehab after his motorcycle accident. The approximately 3 of you who read this have certainly seen my constant updates and statuses (stati? status'?) over the past month or so in regards to his condition. He is, without a doubt, one of my dearest friends and up until last Sunday, I was in a constant state of emotional wreckage for 3 straight weeks.
Basic picture from my seat on the bench:
Michael is probably the only guy on the planet that I don't have to walk on eggshells around. I can get mad at him for stuff, disagree with him vocally, slap him for being an idiot, cry over something stupid in front of him, etc, etc. and I never have to be ashamed for it. He loves me unconditionally, and I love him for it. He's awesome. He's also the type that I could go for a year or so without any sort of communication, and as soon as we hang out it's like a day hasn't gone by. So, this past year has been just such a year. I was busy working, he was busy doing his thing; we hung out like twice, but our schedules were just crazy. Well, in July he and I found ourselves in a similar post-relationship phase, so we met up at Taco Mac to just talk about our lives and all that. For the first time in about 5 years, we had some time to actually hang out on a regular basis and be honest-to-goodness friends again (not that we weren't, but only seeing someone once a year makes it hard).
So, just when things were all cool and we were making plans to hang out and get big groups together to do stuff...I get the text from his younger brother, Scott, on my way to Athens for the UGA/Arizona State game. I was an absolute wreck from then on out; even though there was nothing I could do to help and I knew it. I kept in close contact with Ellen, his girlfriend, over the next week or so and began praying like I had never prayed before that, though we know it's a very long shot, he may walk again one day.
However, through all of this, I think my biggest fear was that the goofy, ridiculous, totally lame and funny side of Michael would be lost somewhere as a result. And, though I kept in close contact and Ellen said he was fine, I still couldn't believe it until I saw it for myself. He was given the transfer from the tiny hospital in Southern Alabama (he was on his way to Panama City when he had the accident) up to Shepherd's Spinal Center in Atlanta, and we found out that Sundays he was open for visitors.
He is exactly, exactly, exactly the same. I know that if I were in his situation, there's no way I would be able to handle things the way he is handling them. The doctors and nurses have noticed, too- he said today that they say he's in a remarkable mindset: "You seem to have totally grasped this reality but you are still so hopeful." And that, my friends, is Michael in a nutshell.
Last week was spent joking around, and he and his dad has us all in stitches. Today, he was cracking jokes and threatening to run over our toes if we stepped out of line. In the cafeteria, his dad challenged him to an "obstacle course" by pushing tables out of the way and putting random chairs around. Michael shifted his electric chair into 4th gear and whizzed past us and around the chairs in expert fashion, leaving us all in tears we were laughing so hard.
Oh, and when his dad buzzed his hair last week, he definitely cut out a heart shape into the back of Michael's head and is pretending that it happened naturally because he's been laying down so much. Brilliant.
Anyways, the point I'm trying to get across, other than just how awesome Michael really is and how anybody who gets to spend time with him is very lucky, is that he has a spirit that I admire and strive for. It's an infectious, all-consuming, from the inside out kind of pure joy that I can barely grasp, even in the best of situations.
Keep praying for him and his family, and for his rehabilitation. Cuz he says if he's still in a wheelchair for next Halloween, he wants to go as Christopher Reeve and be as unpolicitally correct as possible....Lord help us all. haha
Fall break has officially come and gone. It was, in a word, uneventful. But nice, nonetheless. Friday I went out with my best friend from high school and she let me unload all of my emotional frustration on her over some strawberry margaritas at Chilis. Afterwards, we decided we didn't feel like thinking anymore so we went back to my parent's house and watched Twilight. Absolutely no thinking necessary. Saturday was spent watching football. 11 straight hours of football. I did not even get out of my pjs. Today, I woke up and headed straight to Shepherd Spinal Center in Atlanta, which is the topic of the blog post for the day.
I have mentioned before that Michael (aka eb1, aka "Bagman", aka "Gooch" [a name I will never call him cuz it grosses me out for some reason]) is in Shepherd Spinal doing his rehab after his motorcycle accident. The approximately 3 of you who read this have certainly seen my constant updates and statuses (stati? status'?) over the past month or so in regards to his condition. He is, without a doubt, one of my dearest friends and up until last Sunday, I was in a constant state of emotional wreckage for 3 straight weeks.
Basic picture from my seat on the bench:
Michael is probably the only guy on the planet that I don't have to walk on eggshells around. I can get mad at him for stuff, disagree with him vocally, slap him for being an idiot, cry over something stupid in front of him, etc, etc. and I never have to be ashamed for it. He loves me unconditionally, and I love him for it. He's awesome. He's also the type that I could go for a year or so without any sort of communication, and as soon as we hang out it's like a day hasn't gone by. So, this past year has been just such a year. I was busy working, he was busy doing his thing; we hung out like twice, but our schedules were just crazy. Well, in July he and I found ourselves in a similar post-relationship phase, so we met up at Taco Mac to just talk about our lives and all that. For the first time in about 5 years, we had some time to actually hang out on a regular basis and be honest-to-goodness friends again (not that we weren't, but only seeing someone once a year makes it hard).
So, just when things were all cool and we were making plans to hang out and get big groups together to do stuff...I get the text from his younger brother, Scott, on my way to Athens for the UGA/Arizona State game. I was an absolute wreck from then on out; even though there was nothing I could do to help and I knew it. I kept in close contact with Ellen, his girlfriend, over the next week or so and began praying like I had never prayed before that, though we know it's a very long shot, he may walk again one day.
However, through all of this, I think my biggest fear was that the goofy, ridiculous, totally lame and funny side of Michael would be lost somewhere as a result. And, though I kept in close contact and Ellen said he was fine, I still couldn't believe it until I saw it for myself. He was given the transfer from the tiny hospital in Southern Alabama (he was on his way to Panama City when he had the accident) up to Shepherd's Spinal Center in Atlanta, and we found out that Sundays he was open for visitors.
He is exactly, exactly, exactly the same. I know that if I were in his situation, there's no way I would be able to handle things the way he is handling them. The doctors and nurses have noticed, too- he said today that they say he's in a remarkable mindset: "You seem to have totally grasped this reality but you are still so hopeful." And that, my friends, is Michael in a nutshell.
Last week was spent joking around, and he and his dad has us all in stitches. Today, he was cracking jokes and threatening to run over our toes if we stepped out of line. In the cafeteria, his dad challenged him to an "obstacle course" by pushing tables out of the way and putting random chairs around. Michael shifted his electric chair into 4th gear and whizzed past us and around the chairs in expert fashion, leaving us all in tears we were laughing so hard.
Oh, and when his dad buzzed his hair last week, he definitely cut out a heart shape into the back of Michael's head and is pretending that it happened naturally because he's been laying down so much. Brilliant.
Anyways, the point I'm trying to get across, other than just how awesome Michael really is and how anybody who gets to spend time with him is very lucky, is that he has a spirit that I admire and strive for. It's an infectious, all-consuming, from the inside out kind of pure joy that I can barely grasp, even in the best of situations.
Keep praying for him and his family, and for his rehabilitation. Cuz he says if he's still in a wheelchair for next Halloween, he wants to go as Christopher Reeve and be as unpolicitally correct as possible....Lord help us all. haha
Thursday, October 15, 2009
My 2 Cents...
...on the "Balloon Boy."
I don't have too much time right now. Getting ready to head out to Carrollton for movie night with some people from church--"Cheesy" Movie Night to be exact. After the initial contest ended in a tie between Kyle and I, we participated in an intense game of rock, paper, scissors to see who got to pick the movie. My prowess at a game that is based solely on chance won out. So we're watching "That Thing You Do!" Doesn't get much cheesier than that.
Anyways, here I was promising you my take on the balloon boy and I went off and tangentized.
In the words of my mother:
"I would hug his neck, then beat his a**"
While watching the hullaballoo on CNN, I was concerned for the boy. I prayed that he'd be okay, I held my breath as the balloon finally hit the ground.
Oh,wait. He's not in there. I wasted my whole afternoon watching with baited breath and...nothing. Wtf. Then, my concern shifted to hoping that if he had fallen out, it was before it had gotten too high.
Let's face it, regardless- he would not have been able to survive that altitude and lack of oxygen and overexposure to helium. So, now we all hoped that he was okay and maybe only suffered a broken leg or something.
An hour passes.
Oh, wait. The little bugger was hiding in his garage THE WHOLE TIME. Seems little Falcon (yes, his name's Falcon. That's almost worst than Apple. And that's saying something, Gwyneth.) untethered Daddy's weather balloon and felt bad and went to hide in a box in the little attic in his garage to avoid getting in trouble.
Now, I can relate to this child. One of my earliest memories (those of you that know me, know that I retain the ODDEST range of information. I don't know why I remember the things that I do, or how I do it. But it makes me a good history major.) I tangentized again.
One of my earliest memories is this:
In the house I grew up in, we used to have to walk through the kitchen and then through the dining room to get to the living room. My mom would therefore leave the day's mail or anything else of relevance on the fancy dining room table for my dad to pick up as he breezed through the door after a long day of work. She would also leave his medication there so he wouldn't forget to take it.
Well, one day, 5 year old Tiffany got curious about one of the pills. It was two different colors and looked like a mike 'n ike. So, Curious Me decides to poke and prod and see if I can separate the two colors...I mean, what on earth could be in this pill? well...I succeeded and broke the little pill in half and powder spewed on the dining room table. Oops. Me, being brilliant, used my tiny little fingers to push the powder into a little line (I just realized that it could have resembled a line of coke. Um. Moving on.) and then placed the two empty plastic-y halves on top of the powder.
And RAN. Oooh, i hid in my room, confessed my sin to my stuffed Rajah and my fish Posey and good gracious I was sick over it for the next 2 hours. I could feel the sweat pouring down my face as my dad walked through the kitchen. I crept halfway down the stairs, still hidden by the wall, and held my breath. Here is what happened:
Mom: Here's the mai-Oh! Your pill exploded!
Dad: Huh. That's funny. I wonder how that happened?
Mom: Tiffany? Sweetie? Do you touch Daddy's medicine?
*thump thump thump down the stairs*
Me: I'M SORRY!!!!!! I DID IT AND I'M SORRY!!!! PLEASE DON'T TAKE AWAY MY DINNER!!!!
*I then collapsed onto the floor in (if I do say so myself) a perfect imitation of Belle in the dungeon after he drags her father off and she realizes she didn't get to say goodbye to her dad and then cries as the Beast decides to show her to her room*
they laughed at me. But, apparently this was traumatic enough to be etched into my memory.
In other words, oooooh I hope that kid gets an actual beating. Cuz at least I didn't get CNN to track my indiscretions. Yikes.
Also, I can't wait to see which sousaphone shows up at the trumpet party dressed as a big silver weather balloon. Kellyn, please keep your eyes open and report to me.
Off to movie night.
I don't have too much time right now. Getting ready to head out to Carrollton for movie night with some people from church--"Cheesy" Movie Night to be exact. After the initial contest ended in a tie between Kyle and I, we participated in an intense game of rock, paper, scissors to see who got to pick the movie. My prowess at a game that is based solely on chance won out. So we're watching "That Thing You Do!" Doesn't get much cheesier than that.
Anyways, here I was promising you my take on the balloon boy and I went off and tangentized.
In the words of my mother:
"I would hug his neck, then beat his a**"
While watching the hullaballoo on CNN, I was concerned for the boy. I prayed that he'd be okay, I held my breath as the balloon finally hit the ground.
Oh,wait. He's not in there. I wasted my whole afternoon watching with baited breath and...nothing. Wtf. Then, my concern shifted to hoping that if he had fallen out, it was before it had gotten too high.
Let's face it, regardless- he would not have been able to survive that altitude and lack of oxygen and overexposure to helium. So, now we all hoped that he was okay and maybe only suffered a broken leg or something.
An hour passes.
Oh, wait. The little bugger was hiding in his garage THE WHOLE TIME. Seems little Falcon (yes, his name's Falcon. That's almost worst than Apple. And that's saying something, Gwyneth.) untethered Daddy's weather balloon and felt bad and went to hide in a box in the little attic in his garage to avoid getting in trouble.
Now, I can relate to this child. One of my earliest memories (those of you that know me, know that I retain the ODDEST range of information. I don't know why I remember the things that I do, or how I do it. But it makes me a good history major.) I tangentized again.
One of my earliest memories is this:
In the house I grew up in, we used to have to walk through the kitchen and then through the dining room to get to the living room. My mom would therefore leave the day's mail or anything else of relevance on the fancy dining room table for my dad to pick up as he breezed through the door after a long day of work. She would also leave his medication there so he wouldn't forget to take it.
Well, one day, 5 year old Tiffany got curious about one of the pills. It was two different colors and looked like a mike 'n ike. So, Curious Me decides to poke and prod and see if I can separate the two colors...I mean, what on earth could be in this pill? well...I succeeded and broke the little pill in half and powder spewed on the dining room table. Oops. Me, being brilliant, used my tiny little fingers to push the powder into a little line (I just realized that it could have resembled a line of coke. Um. Moving on.) and then placed the two empty plastic-y halves on top of the powder.
And RAN. Oooh, i hid in my room, confessed my sin to my stuffed Rajah and my fish Posey and good gracious I was sick over it for the next 2 hours. I could feel the sweat pouring down my face as my dad walked through the kitchen. I crept halfway down the stairs, still hidden by the wall, and held my breath. Here is what happened:
Mom: Here's the mai-Oh! Your pill exploded!
Dad: Huh. That's funny. I wonder how that happened?
Mom: Tiffany? Sweetie? Do you touch Daddy's medicine?
*thump thump thump down the stairs*
Me: I'M SORRY!!!!!! I DID IT AND I'M SORRY!!!! PLEASE DON'T TAKE AWAY MY DINNER!!!!
*I then collapsed onto the floor in (if I do say so myself) a perfect imitation of Belle in the dungeon after he drags her father off and she realizes she didn't get to say goodbye to her dad and then cries as the Beast decides to show her to her room*
they laughed at me. But, apparently this was traumatic enough to be etched into my memory.
In other words, oooooh I hope that kid gets an actual beating. Cuz at least I didn't get CNN to track my indiscretions. Yikes.
Also, I can't wait to see which sousaphone shows up at the trumpet party dressed as a big silver weather balloon. Kellyn, please keep your eyes open and report to me.
Off to movie night.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Judgement Day
Yes, I purposely tried to wait until after midnite so that my blogs would be on different days. Like I said, I'm addicted to things easily. Also, I've been meaning to start a blog for awhile now and therefore I have several entry ideas in my head that I'm just dying to spew out. (that sounds disgusting. But I'm writing stream-of-conscious here.)
Plus, I live by myself. In Villa Rica. And it's almost fall break. AKA, there's not a lot for me to do right now.
Ok. One of my constant struggles in daily life is trying not to judge a book by its cover. I would not call myself a judgemental person by any stretch, at least not in a cruel way. However, some people just kind of ask for it.
For example:
Plus, I live by myself. In Villa Rica. And it's almost fall break. AKA, there's not a lot for me to do right now.
Ok. One of my constant struggles in daily life is trying not to judge a book by its cover. I would not call myself a judgemental person by any stretch, at least not in a cruel way. However, some people just kind of ask for it.
For example:
- If you walk around on campus with a GT hat and a UGA shirt on, I'm going to think you know nothing about sports, or you do not care the proper amount for either team at least.
- If your pants are practically falling off your body, I'm going to think that you're a bit gross.
- If you spell words incorrectly, especially getting the there/they're/their or your/you're confused...I'm gonna be judging you a bit.
- If you decide to fix something on your umbrella before class, and that entails putting the handle in your mouth and biting something off of it...(no joke, happened today)...there are no words.
- If you try and criticize things I love by saying you know what you're talking about and you honestly don't. (i.e. I'm a huge Florida fan....No, I don't know their QB is, though...but UGA sucks!)
- If you don't think that Edward Cullen is a tad overbearing and psycho, I'm going to be concerned for your future relationship stability.
- If you say the word "supposably" instead of "supposedly"...I cringe.
- If I let you out in front of me in traffic and you don't wave, I'm going to call you a jerk in my head.
There are many more. That ended up just being kind of a list of pet peeves. My bad. But wait! There's a lesson in this! I promise!
So, on a quick other note, when it comes to trends and fads, I usually fall behind the times. For instance, I didn't like the song "Single Ladies" til it was on Glee, and it was on the charts like 5 months ago and I didn't care for it. I got into Vera Bradley about a year after everyone else did, along with Twilight, The Office, and So You Think You Can Dance. So, imagine my surprise when my dad got me this really cute giraffe print computer bag for grad school- and when I get to campus, the print is EVERYWHERE!! Half the girls at UWG are walking around with these bags! So, a part of me is kind of excited-YES for finally being on time for SOMETHING (Congrats, Tiff, you're just like the rest of them! Normalcy!) Hah.
This was not a major life moment like I am making it out to be. It was really just a split second amusing moment where I kinda went "heh" to myself and smirked, and then went about my day in the Library.
However, last week, I was walking to class and saw this group of sorority girls (I have nothing against sorority girls. I was apart of an all-girls organization for 5 years, I know how awesome they can be). But these were those obnoxious, overly stereotypical sorority girls. Kinda broke my heart for them, cuz I'm sure they're all nice girls-they just walked by me and squeaked and giggled and they all had the same bag as me. Oh, giraffe print. I love your apparent appeal.
I continue walking to class, scolding myself in my head for judging these girls as some brand of bimbo and sit down with my latte and comment to my friend that my new boots kind of hurt my feet. And she looked at me and said "Were you in a sorority at UGA?" And I coughed a bit and said "No, why?" And she looked me up and down and said "well, I mean, you've got the bag, the heeled boots, and you're sipping your latte before class...I just assumed."
Whewwwwwwwww I felt JUDGED. I shook my head and said vehemently that I did not have anything against sororities, but that they were just not really my scene.
And it totally taught me a lesson. Yes, there may be some misguided sports fans and people who can't spell, but they're probably really awesome people who deserve a second look and to be seen beyond some silly label. So, don't judge people. And don't sell out. They just might end up being your best friend. (Thank you, Joey Potter)
The more you know *shooting star*
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