Musings Of A Twig

Cold Feet

2010-07-23T07:48:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up with cold feet.

And cold arms.

And cold legs.

And a cold back.

It had nothing to do with the wedding.

Between falling asleep and waking up, I somehow managed to kick every single blanket off my bed. Considering I keep things tucked in, that must have been quite an adventure.

I'm going to be horrid at sharing a bed.

Twig Versus...the Curtains

2010-07-19T11:24:00.000-07:00

Also known as 'Adventures in Decorating'

Let it be known that I am a stubborn individual. If I decide that I am hanging curtains, then I am hanging curtains--even if it is 10 p.m., I have no ladder, and I can't reach the top of the window.

My dad told me not to break my neck. A neck brace in wedding pictures would look pretty silly.

I am a firm believer in measure twice, cut once. That sounds like a great idea.

In my case, I take it even further, to ensure no errors.

Measure 8 times. Forget first 7 measurements. Mark on 8th try. Eyeball, and decide that doesn't look right. Measure again. Mark in same place. Convince eyeballs that you are capable of measuring between two points. Repeat.

I love my power tools, but the drill requires being held at the right angle in order to make the screw go in. This is very hard to do when one is balancing between a window ledge, a chair, and a bed about a foot away.

My screws would go in about 1/2 an inch and then stop. And usually fall out.

I called to ask if it was remotely possible that our building had metal studs. I had heard of such things, and the extreme resistance I was meeting suggested that I was not dealing with wood.

He said it was likely. Grr...

I take a nail and pound it into the wall. Definitely wood studs. Maybe I'm just incompetent.

After a few moments of frustration and a few extra holes in the wall from the drill slipping (shh...I'll fix them later), I decided to improvise a little more. With a step stool. On the chair. (This is the part where my dad told me not to break my neck. He also said I had to share my newly acquired Ben and Jerry's if I wanted 24/7 on-call decorating support.)

Pound nail into the wall. Wood studs. 4 screws in the wall, one curtain up. Next window. Repeat, while balancing on couch, window ledge, and braced in the corner.

Next window. Pound nail into wall. On third hit, I hear a lovely 'chink' and see the nail go flying back.

Metal studs/braces/something metal in the corner. Grr...

The curtain is up...with 1 screw in a wood stud, 2 screws in sheet rock, and 1 screw rejected by the metal stud. I think I'll be rehanging that one later.

Technology Is Interfering With Snark

2010-07-02T12:05:00.000-07:00

I always try to be nice to real/human customer service phone people. More often than not, they're minimum wage workers who have to deal with people having issues (and half the time, they're not entirely fluent in the language we're abusing).

With that disclaimer, I will say that the same courtesy does not extend to automated phone systems. I am not above muttering at, insulting, abusing, etc. automated answering systems. It has nothing to do with the fact that I heard once if you start yelling at an automated system, they connect you with a real human. It's just more fun to take out pent-up-frustration on an inanimate object today.

I was thwarted today.

I spent an inordinate amount of time on hold, trying to get electricity set up for our new apartment. After practicing Morse code on the keypad trying to reach the correct option, I was connected with Jeremy. He sounded a lot like Microsoft Sam.

I never could tell if Jeremy was a real, live person, or a very intelligent automated computer with a slight accent. The responses were incredibly timed, mechanical, and did not appreciate my sense of humor or conversational skills...but every now and then, I wasn't sure. So I decided to behave...and a few hours later, I'm still not sure. That was either an awesome computer or a human with very poor diction and enunciation.

But I did realize how easy it would be to steal someone's identity. This person/computer never questioned me using the name "Joel" to set everything up. Muhahaha.

Now onto the internet connection.

Demi-Goddess Is Not A Compromise

2010-06-30T11:22:00.000-07:00

I just got my first set of business cards.

To my great disappointment, it did not have my requested title. My boss said he would not put anything with the word 'goddess' on my business card, and demi-goddess was not an acceptable compromise. I thought I was suggesting something halfway.

I guess I can live with the title, but there was another problem.

They don't have my real name on them. They have my first name, but the last name?

It technically isn't my last name yet, so I can't use them for a month.

Boy, that's weird. You'd think with 24 days to go, I might think about adjusting.

Seasonal Merchandise

2010-06-16T09:37:00.000-07:00

I will never understand how retail schedules work. Just when you think they make sense, everything goes haywire.

Where I live, we haven't exactly been experiencing summer...actually, we only had our first 80 degree day last week, and we're breaking records for the most rain. I think March had better weather. This is ridiculous.

The fact that swimsuits, patio furniture, and outdoor plastic picnicware has been available since March isn't unusual.

But clearing it out in June??? Summer hasn't even started, and the swimsuits and patio furniture are on clearance. Not getting restocked. Gone. Grr.

My Eyes are Scarred

2010-06-03T11:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Target, JC Penney's, Macy's, and every other place that stocks rompers.

Those are hideous. Please stop.

Nerdom

2010-06-02T11:14:00.000-07:00

I am marrying into a family of nerds.

I already knew I was a nerd. That’s been an established fact for years. I may not be the best at using computers, but I think I meet the qualifications for a nerd:

1. I started with good eyes. I had to get glasses due to eye-strain.

2. Favorite past-times involve a Windows 92 version of solitaire and conquering the world (blame Sid Meier).

3. I double as the family tech support.

4. I stay up late at night reading how to modify Windows 7 to make it more fun.

5. I play with Excel. It’s fun.

That last one clued me into the fact that I was marrying into nerdom. My fiancé and I were socializing (yes, nerds can be social) with his sister and brother-in-law. I pulled out an excel spreadsheet. We got excited, analyzed the uber-formulas in it, and ooed-and-ahhed over it. And then we laughed at our nerdom and read some Dilbert.

Exorcising the Gas Gauge

2010-06-01T11:01:00.000-07:00

I enjoy being detail oriented. At any given point, I can tell you how many miles to the gallon I got on my last tank of gas, as well as how many miles until I need to refuel.

28. 40.

Because I take great delight in this, I do not take great delight in my gas gauge lying to me. There have been many cold mornings where I will walk out to the 'E' light on my gauge gage...but I'm certain I can go another 20 miles before I'm actually out. (Did I tell you about that one time I made it 25 miles in a mini-van on the freeway with $3 worth of gas? This is why I now always keep spare gas money in the car.)

When my gas gauge lies to me, I tell it off. As an English minor, I tell it off creatively.

And as a Bible college ~~student~~ graduate, I can border on absurd.

For instance...Sunday morning. Time: 5 minutes later than it should have been. Weather: Cold and wet. Attitude: matching. Gas gauge: lying. Blurted: I rebuke thee. Work!

Surprising enough, it worked. And I haven't been fried.

Gradumatashons...

2010-05-26T16:29:00.000-07:00

and other grown-up activities.

1) I graduated from college. The ceremony was long. The diploma is pretty. I've never paid that much money for one piece of paper. And 4 years of homework...but who are we kidding? 3 years of homework, followed by 1 year of goofing off, because knowing how to goof off and still graduate is part of growing up.

2) Baccalaureate was cool. I spoke. I was a bad influence. I told college people to avoid homework. :)

3) I met with a florist to discuss weddings. Blue flowers are hard to find. No, purple will not work.

4) I work full time (or at least I'm in the office full time). Part of my job description includes social networking on facebook, youtube, and twitter. I love my job.

5) I got my ring resized from a 4.5 to a 4. Isn't growing up part of being grown-up? It's so hard to feel grown up in kid sizes and pink sparkles.

A Month and Two Weeks Later...

2010-05-04T11:41:00.000-07:00

I haven't blogged in a while, but I had a very good reason.

I got engaged. But that wasn't my reason.

I knew that getting engaged was a big enough deal in my life history that I really ought to record it, somewhere, to make up for my lack of memory.

Then I got this idea that the next blog post I should write would be to announce my engagement. And I never really felt like writing that one, so I've avoided blogging.

I'm starting to get back-logged with big life events, so it's about time I blogged about my engagement.

The end.

(Pictures to follow as a cop out. Stories to come later, if so desired. Those ought to be recorded, too.)

(Engagement photoshoot courtesy of Jared K.)

(For anyone who is wondering, I have a small hand. And a small body. Pretty much small everything.)

Go For Walk?

2010-02-23T09:09:00.000-08:00

My dog, a very typical lab, loves to go for walks. All we have to say is "Go for walkie?" in an excited tone of voice, and she'll be dancing in circles, barking, and chasing us around the house. She likes her walks--neighborhood exploration and all that.

Except that I have to bribe her to come with me.

She likes walks, but she hates running. She's gotten old. Or lazy. Or would really just rather smell the neighbor's bushes.

Either way, it makes running amusing. The first time I discovered this, it was several steps after I started running. She had planted herself firmly and was not moving. Since I still had the leash wrapped around my wrist, I planted myself firmly, too. We then had a tug-of-war for the rest of the mile. I won, but it was hardly worth it. Dragging a 60 lb. dog while trying to run...means that neither of us are running, to say the least.

The next time, I got smarter. She doesn't like running on a leash, so maybe she wants to run off leash. That worked for about a quarter mile...and then she turned around and sprinted home. Sure, leave me. Mutt. When she decides she's going home, there's no way I can catch her. Why can't she run like that when I want to run?

This time, I got smart. I bribed her. I took a large dog treat and left it in my hand as I ran. She spent the entire time chasing my hand (hehe...dumb dog), and therefore kept up with me without complaining. At the end, she got her treat, I got my run, and we were both happy.

I can't believe I have to bribe my dog.

Dangerous Combinations

2010-02-09T16:15:00.000-08:00

Today (while at work), I was called a 'troublemaker.' I confess--it's true.

The person doing said name-calling then listed why I was such a trouble-maker.

1. I'm almost a college graduate (4 months).
2. I'm almost 21 (2 weeks and a day, plus or minus a little).
3. I have spring fever.
4. I've been stuck inside and it's sunny.

I then volunteered a 5th reason:
5. I have a boyfriend and I'm twitterpated.

He dramatically fell back into his chair and threw up his hands. Apparently the combination above pushes me from redeemable troublemaker to...well, troublemaker, I guess.

Troublemaker. A fine title. I accept.

Change, Anyone?

2010-02-02T10:18:00.000-08:00

Apparently I don't use change enough...or I don't get out enough...or I'm a broke college student who doesn't even have a nickel to her name. Take your pick.

I received $0.30 back after a Starbucks run, and since I had absolutely nothing better (read: about 40 papers on my desk and 8 open documents) to do, I analyzed my change.

We have a new design on the nickel.

I very-excitedly showed this to my co-worker. She was starting to get excited, when I saw the date.

"2006?"

She looked at it, and then she gave me the "You're kidding, right?" look.

We've had a new nickel design for 4 years, and I just notice.

2006 was also the year I started college. Coincidence? I think not!

I need to get out more, but who ever uses nickels, anyways?

Car Bathtime

2010-01-26T10:03:00.000-08:00

It started as a great idea.

Doesn't it always?

When I bought my car, it had a rear door seal leak, which meant that the carpet in my trunk was usually wet. I finally got that fixed, and this weekend, I realized that the interior of my car was almost dry.

This weekend, the weather was nice and sunny. I was driving around with my sunroof open. My windows were open. The air was warm, and my car was drying out. I decided to leave my windows and sunroof open that afternoon to hasten the drying process. I could come back and roll up the windows once the sun left.

Except the whole remembering to roll up the windows...that didn't work out so well.

I woke up the next morning to rain. Hard rain. And a soaked car. Water was dripping in through the sunroof, the 4 open windows, and was pooling under my feet as I drove. My seat was soaked. The cupholders had puddles in them.

I'm back to the damp car stage...which is where I started. Better luck next suntime.

Do I Come Here Too Often?

2010-01-23T14:37:00.000-08:00

I'm now on first-name basis with the manager at the local Ulta.

I've only been there 3 times in the past month. It's just that she really likes me. And she links I'm cool.

It was something about me walking out with about $100 worth of hair and face stuff (most of which was not for me...) for $35 after sales and coupons. I didn't think I made that much of an impression, but we did talk for a while when she rang me up (it was about 30 minutes until closing, and I was the only one in the store).

She remembered me. I walked into the store today, and she asked me what amazing deals I was getting today. I laughed, grabbed 3 tinted moisturizers (normally $7 each) and got all 3 for $7.68.

I left, went to Old Navy, scored a killer deal (2 shirts and 1 dress for $7, would have been $40 before sales), and then remembered I forgot to get mascara at Ulta. That was the reason I went there in the first place.

I went back in. She asked what I had forgotten, and laughed when I told her what happened.

I then got 3 things of mascara, normally $4.50 each, for $3.68 total. She was impressed.

I was happy. My cosmetic budget has gotten much smaller, and I'm actually wearing make-up regularly. I win.

If you want the details (all of the Ulta promos end today), check them out on my Ulta shopping report.

Old Navy Coupons

2010-01-21T23:24:00.000-08:00

If you like Old Navy, and you like saving money, then you might want to stick around.

*crickets chirp*

I know I've been talking about Old Navy a lot, but this ought to qualify as a public service announcement. Old Navy gives out coupons every week...serious coupons...like 50% and 75% off.

Oh, so you came back, did you? Good. I like you better than crickets.

You just have to find the coupons. :)

Every Thursday, at this amazing website called Old Navy Weekly, they change the picture and where the coupons are hiding. Some combination of clicking will make a coupon magically appear.

The trick after that is getting the money to appear to go with the coupon.

The best I've done are the 75% off coupons, though I haven't gotten one in a few months. You can always get a 20% or 25% off coupon, so there really isn't any reason to pay full-price for anything from Old Navy.

Not that I ever did, but that's besides the point.

If you get sick of hunting, you can cheat and go to these blogs. They'll tell you where the coupons are hiding.

Engineer a Debt-Free Life
ThriftyGirl

Enjoy yourself, and if you have to deal with a shopping addiction in the future, it's not my fault.

National Oatmeal Month

2010-01-21T16:13:00.000-08:00

I don't know who decided it is national oatmeal month. I don't really eat oatmeal, so that doesn't really affect me. Oatmeal is just way too much work.

Kidding. I like oatmeal, and it's not too much work...but it isn't very conducive to happy morning routines.

Morning: Role out of bed. Grump. Shower. Sigh. Make-up. Oops. Hair. Ow. Clock. Dang it. Keys. Lost. Breakfast. In the Car. Traffic. Evasive maneuvers. Breakfast. On the Car. Arrival. Damage Control.

Oatmeal is out.

Unless you want to talk oatmeal cookies. It can be national oatmeal cookie month. I approve of those, and they're rather morning friendly (albeit crumbly).

Old Navy Score

2010-01-19T11:21:00.000-08:00

I have to gloat on this one.

Whenever I find good deals, I have a compulsion to share them with my friends. Most of my friends, however, probably won't share my enthusiasm over this one, so I guess it just counts as bragging. Or gloating. Or something in between. Either way, I'm excited. Ergo, I'm sharing it.

I do not like shopping for clothes for me. (Some of you might be laughing.) Shopping for clothes in my size is like hunting for unicorns, except that unicorns are considered cool (as opposed to an anomaly or mishap of nature). I can still fit into girl's sized clothing, but most girls don't have to wear dress pants to work. My options in that department are somewhat limited (and I'm sick of baby pink with sparkles).

I have sung my praise for Old Navy before, and I'm doing it again.

I've wanted a pair of white pants for some time now (it's the masochistic side of me that likes playing with stain remover). I'm also cheap. Imagine my joy when I find the cutest white pants in--get ready--0 Petite. Who carries a 0 petite?* I love this game!

And the pants are $12. And I have a % off coupon. And a $10 rewards card. So basically, I just got white dress pants for $1 (plus shipping).

Aren't they cute? I'm very exited. They need to hurry up and arrive. And summer needs to come so I can wear white pants to work. I've had quite enough of this whole business of rain + muddy puddles = wet pant hems.

*American Eagle 00 does not count. Those were designed for people with no legs, hips, thighs, waist, or anything else. And American Eagle does not give me pants for $1. I pick Old Navy. They love me.

Driving Credits

2010-01-19T09:43:00.000-08:00

I do a fair amount of driving in one day.

Fair amount = I'm thrilled when I've only driven 250 miles in one week.

Fair amount = Most of those drives happen during rush hour.

Fair amount = Most of those drives take me over at least 1, and sometimes 3, major freeways.

Fair amount = Most of those drives involve stop-and-go traffic.

Today's driving = 1 hour and counting

Special thanks for today's driving goes to

Toyota, for making a car that zip-zip-zooms around traffic.
Car Toys, for selling me a stereo compatible with my ipod.
Lion King on Broadway, for releasing a CD and entertaining me on the drive.
ODOT, for keeping us safe by leaving trucks with blinkers in the middle of the freeway long after the accident is gone, thus ensuring that we don't speed and get a ticket.
The station wagon in front of me that had more bumper stickers than the souvenir shop at Cannon Beach, keeping me amused for at least 5 miles/30 minutes.
Freeway interchanges, directing the traffic onto a different freeway and leaving me with a mostly clear drive to work (in which I made up for the previous 5 miles of traffic).

Honorable mentions go to the drivers who like to tailgate and change lanes without signalling.

I Might Be Back

2010-01-18T20:54:00.000-08:00

I might be back, or it might just look like I'm back. I didn't make a New Year's Resolution to blog more, so blogging might happen past January 31.

In the meantime, life is quiet. I have 6 credits until I graduate--which basically means that I'm slacking through the semester. Homework? What's that? I'm working, which means I have funny stories (kidnapping and ransom of burger king bobble heads was last week's entertainment). My NFL bracket in the office is doing dismally, though that might be my own fault.

For anyone who hasn't heard yet, I have a boyfriend. He's tall, dark, and handsome. I like him. And we've been dating for two years now...so if you haven't heard yet, you might want to keep in contact with me other than through my blog. :)

My newest interests (subject to change with even newer-newest interests) include cooking + baking, home DIY projects (okay, I haven't done many on my own...I just piggy-back on my dad's or read about others), and money-saving stuff (couponing, random sales, etc).

Old interests still apply: chocolate, sleep, photography (though not nearly as often in college), reading, music, etc. You should come join me sometime, and I'll tell you funny stories while you're here.

Extreme Foresight

2009-09-09T07:45:00.001-07:00

Due to some great planning on my part, I have an amusing schedule.

I have 9 credits of upper division electives/required classes. This is fun. I like this.

I have 3 credits of online classes that I don't need to graduate, but do need to stay full-time. This is mostly fun. They haven't started yet.

I also have 1 credit of Freshman level classes. As in 100 level, once a week intro classes.

It's a very fun class. I like it, and it's almost worth the early morning start time.

It is kind of weird being in a class where I know almost no one. I've been at the school for four years, and I recognize two or three faces in a class of 60.

The upside/downside of that is...they don't know I'm a senior (unless they ask if I'm a transfer or a new Freshman, and I respond (c) other).

They also don't know I'm dating someone. This is causing great amusement. Somehow I get to find the wonderfully line between discouraging over-the-top-are-you-really-flirting-friendliness and what could just be very enthusiastic puppy-dog like friendship.

Perhaps it's time to break out the costume jewelry. This was something I didn't plan for.

Hot Chocolate Snobbery

2009-08-25T11:03:00.001-07:00

I have a confession:

I am a hot chocolate snob.

This might seem ironic for those of you who know my chocolate drinking habits. I like my hot chocolate thick (my boyfriend calls it sludge. I call it pudding in a cup). I like it chocolatey (not a brown crayon dipped in hot water flavor). I also like it to taste like real chocolate.

The last one is a stretch, considering my hot chocolate is usually made from a powdered mix when I'm already running late and need something to wake me up.

In the past, I would drink anything. We bought whatever Costco had, and I drank whatever we had. If I didn't like it, I wouldn't much of it (amazing how that lowers chocolate consumption--takes the fun right out of it). Eventually, I figured out how to fix hot chocolate: ignore the serving suggestion. It takes two packs (i.e. double what they suggest) to avoid the brown crayon taste.

Nestle's Rich Chocolate was my favorite. It actually tasted like chocolate (once you added enough powder).

Unfortunately, our office is out of Rich Chocolate, so I had to branch out. I tried Swiss Miss Milk Chocolate (with calcium--ooo).

I am a chocolate snob. It was gross. Icky. Nasty. Syrupy. Artificial. I could taste the fake sugar (that never quite dissolved) and the lack of cocoa.

I've been bringing my own hot chocolate to work. It helps in the Snob Department. Someday, I might even make real hot chocolate.

But then I might not be able to drink the instant stuff. That wouldn't be good.

My Midnight Guest

2009-08-13T09:19:00.001-07:00

I generally have no qualms about squishing intruders that come into my room after I declare myself to be 'asleep.' This includes (but is not limited to) spiders, ants, mosquitoes, flies, other critters, and my siblings.

Last night, however, I got one that tested my desire to squish it.

Something rustled my curtains. And thumped on the wall. And continued to thump up the wall.

It was a cute little frog, trying to climb the wall (but mostly sliding down the shiny new paint).

I like frogs, and it looked so scared. I would never squish a frog.

Instead, I trapped it in a vase and took it up to my mom, who was thrilled to see a frog in her house at midnight. (Can anyone sing "I'm bringing home a baby bumble..." Never mind.)

I then released the frog, as I was quite sure it was not my Prince Charming (#1, he didn't have a crown, and #2, I have my suspicions that he's not green).

Lesson learned: If you're as cute as a little green frog (no warts), I won't squish you. No matter what time you come in.

A Walking Disaster

2009-08-06T10:02:00.000-07:00

Mornings and I are not friends. Have I mentioned this before? No matter how long (or short) I've slept, waking up does not come quickly. It takes a long shower and an hour or two before I'm coherent and functional.

This morning was no exception. I did my usual 'sleep through the alarm clock' routine, followed by the 'how did mascara get on my nose?' routine, followed by the 'breakfast on my chin' routine. I did, however, manage to make it to work on time and in some semblance of togetherness.

Like that was going to last.

I left my hot chocolate cup sitting on the desk overnight, so I had a nice sludge of dried cocoa mix on the bottom (no, I didn't eat it for breakfast). It reminded me that I wanted hot chocolate, so I decided to wash it out with hot water (fastest) from the boiling-water-of-death spout.

Oh, and I washed my hand. And my pants-leg (that takes talent). And my foot. And the floor. And the counter.

And eventually I washed the cup.

The hot chocolate mix wasn't any more cooperative. It mixed with the hot water on the counter to form a nice paste. Fortunately, the brown matched the pants I'm wearing.

I don't know why I get up before 9 a.m. Someday it's going to kill me.

Twig Versus...The Sunglasses

2009-08-05T10:02:00.000-07:00

I have occasionally mentioned that I am rough on sunglasses.

No, let me correct that: Others are rough on my sunglasses.

My first pair of sunglasses broke spontaneously. No blame attached (except air pressure, possibly). They were sitting quietly on my desk when one of the lenses decided to go sky diving without a parachute. It was kind of strange.

My next pair was stepped on.

The pair after that succumbed to the forces of time and scratches.

The pair after that was stolen.

The pair after that was stepped on (okay, I might occasionally leave them on the floor).

The pair after that had the nose piece fall out...sometime when I wasn't wearing them.

The pair after that was sitting innocently on my face when they were smacked with a ball. Coincidentally, I have a scar below my eye.

The pair after that had a lens pop out...while sitting on a stack of books in class. Since it was fine arts, I amused myself my trying to put it back in for the next 45 minutes.

The pair after that was stepped on.

The pair after that had a nose piece fall off...sometime.

I'd say that I have really bad luck with sunglasses, but it might have to do with how I have been buying the same pair of sunglasses (though varying on the color) for many years. It's really hard to find a pair I like. Until recently, I could justify getting the same pair, even though they kept breaking: forces of nature or others were breaking them. They were still good sunglasses.

Last week changed that. I was taking off my sunglasses after driving and one of the ear pieces snapped off. In my hand.

I'm not especially strong, nor am I rough. I do not have huge hands or a death-grip. I wasn't in a hurry, and I didn't even do anything strange. I just took them off.

I now realize it's time to branch out and find a new kind of sunglasses...if I ever buy any again. Wish me luck.

Blond Moment of the Day

2009-07-30T15:39:00.000-07:00

I try not to have too many blond moments, but sometimes they just happen accidentally.

For instance, take today.

I was driving home for lunch, and I realized that my mom might not be home. I decided to check my purse, just in case I had left my keys at the office.

I waited until I was at a stoplight (you know, since I was driving), and I started rooting through my purse.

It took me several moments to realize that I obviously had my keys. They were in the ignition of my running car.

Vacation Numbers

2009-07-28T11:57:00.000-07:00

That's right. My family took its sometimes-regular "camping trip" last week. Here is the week in numbers:

Combined length of vehicle and ~~camping~~ condo-on-wheels trailer: 53 feet
Hours spent driving: 14
Nights in trailer: 6
Campsites visited: 3
Lakes visited: 5
Frogs encountered: 10,000+ (I do not exaggerate...I'll tell you about it sometime)
Mosquitoes encountered: @$%&
Mosquito bites (that swelled up like my past bug bites): 15+
Sleepless nights because of bug bites: 5
Pages read: 1300+
Backgammon games played: 32+
Yatzee games played: 8
Marshmellows roasted: 20
Temperature at lakes: 90+
Temperature at beach: 60 and windy
Pounds of sand left in car: 3
Times the dog shook off (after swimming) on me: 7
Wrestling matches in back seat of car: 3
Pillow fights: 5
Madagascar lines quoted (primarily "Shut up, you're so annoying!" and "Nature, it's all over me! Get it off!"): 103+

Despite all of this, however, I am not sunburned. Take that, nature.

Twig Versus...The Bug Bites

2009-07-17T09:32:00.000-07:00

As I was cleaning my car, I felt something poke my leg. Since I was standing right next to our deck, I figured it was a runaway stick, or a long piece of untamed grass, or something equally non-threatening.

A few hours later, I noticed a mosquito-sized bump on my leg. And on my ankle. Since I have a sweet-tooth and mosquitoes appreciate it, I didn't think anything of it.

That night, I woke up because the bites itched so horribly. I am a fan of sleep, so I ignored it and hoped it would go away. It was not the first time I woke up from mosquito bites, so I didn't think anything of it. After 40 minutes of not sleeping, however, I took drastic action.

I turned on a fan.

I then fell back to sleep and didn't think anything of it.

The next day, I decided to peek at the bites that had been bugging me...and they weren't mosquito bites.

Maybe they were, but it would have been from a Goliath-sized mosquito. My bites were about 2 inches in diameter and purple.

Most people would have freaked at this point, or at least been concerned, but I didn't think anything of it. After all, I have a love-hate relationship with bugs. I hate them, they loved me. I vowed I would kill any bug within arm's reach and got out of bed.

The bites were still insanely itchy, so I took drastic action. I took dissolvable Benadryl strips (like Listerine, except drugs mixed in with the mints), stuck them on my leg, and went about daily life.

That night, I put hydro-cortisone cream next to my bed. If I needed it in the middle of the night, I would be ready.

I needed it. I didn't, however, feel the need to turn on a light as I tried to smear it all over my ~~hand~~ ~~finger~~ ~~sheets~~ ~~knee~~ leg and ankle, because the light might wake me up. I then vowed to kill any bug I saw and went back to sleep.

The next morning, I did the benadryl strips again, but I was wearing a skirt to church--which meant I did not want big ugly blue strips on my leg...so I left them there and covered them with band-aids. It worked, right up until I had to take them off...the band-aids and the strips decided they were quite comfortable where they were, so we had a war...and the bug-bites won. The act of scraping off band-aid and benadryl made them itch.

At this point, I was ready to make bugs an endangered species.

That night, I went 'nuclear' on the bug bites. I put on benadry cream, followed that with cortisone cream, and then put about half an inch (thick) of benaryl cream on my band-aid and stuck it on the bug bites.

They were still purple the next morning, but they didn't itch.

Now, a week later, the purple has mostly faded, and they are not the size of my knee-cap...but they still look ugly. I wonder what it was...of course, even if I found one, I would have mutilated and killed it before I ever figured out what it was.

The World Is Out to Get Me

2009-07-16T08:55:00.000-07:00

Today, the world is out to get me. I am sure of it. Someone has hatched a conspiracy and coordinated the forces of nature (and other people) in an effort to get me.

Being the super-secret super-hero that I am, however, I have dodged all of their efforts.

First, it was the falling towel hook. I saw what it was up to...it was trying to eat one of my toes. Sensing its nefarious scheme, I moved my toes to a safe area and contained the towel hook. The threat has been neutralized.

After that, it was my dresser drawer. My knee was not so fortunate, but the drawer was ~~slammed~~ pushed back to where it belongs.

Next, it was my breakfast. It didn't go for the 'choking' method, or even the 'burning the tongue' method. It didn't even go for the ever-popular 'spill' option. No, it went for the 'nuclear explosion.'

I was sucking on my go-gurt (yes, I like those) as I got ready, ignoring the negative nutritional value, and schluuur-pop! it exploded on my face and on the floor--but when you have the lightning-quick reflexes of a super-secret super-hero fully expecting the go-gurt to do something, it makes it really easy to avoid getting any on your clean shirt and skirt. The go-gurt may have won the battle on my face, but I won the war (and the dog cleaned up the mess on the floor).

Next, I got in my car...and realized that my temporary title and insurance card were sitting on the table inside. Considering how my morning was progressing, I went back in and got them. That was uneventful.

The other drivers on the road, however, were determined to make me need them. First, it was the school bus driver 'practicing' his route and waiting for all the imaginary kids. Then it was the lady digging through her purse at the stop-light (emphasis on stop). Then it was the older lady who didn't want to go more than 10 mph around the two-lane corner...or stay in her lane. Then it was the guy who couldn't decide if he wanted my lane or his lane at the intersection. Then it was the motorcycle who wanted to zoom-zoom around all the cars. Then it was the taxi driver who couldn't decide if he was going twice the speed-limit or half of the speed-limit.

I arrived in the work parking lot without any new dings on my car (it came with a few), and I assumed my adventures were over.

Silly me. It's only 9 a.m.

Twig Versus...The Scent, Part 2

2009-07-15T08:49:00.000-07:00

Certain air fresheners advertise themselves as 'odor removers'. I am not normally a fan of air fresheners (they give me headaches, and just smell unnatural), but I had to go to work and didn't have time to clean my car for a few days.

I took my little brother shopping with me to grab an air freshener. The 'odor removing' ones were almost sold out, so I assumed they worked. I had two choices left: cucumber melon and pina colada.

The cucumber melon was pretty good...but I didn't think it was strong enough to hide dog scent. My brother picked it up and immediately informed me I should get it 'because it smells like watermelon bubble gum.' That helped me decide.

The pina colada one was fairly strong, and it didn't smell half-bad. My brother told me that 'it smells like girly shampoo.' Between shampoo and bubble gum, I'll take shampoo.

I opened the pina colada and left it in the car overnight, hoping it would work its magic.

My dad opened the car door the following morning and cringed. "It doesn't smell like dog anymore. It smells like dog puke."

I threw out the air freshener, got real carpet cleaner, spent the next three days scrubbing and vacuuming, and got the worst bug bites of my life.

After four days, my car is clean and the air is fresh. Unfortunately, my bug bites are still the size of quarters (and a lovely shade of purple).

Twig Versus...The Scent, Part 1

2009-07-14T09:26:00.000-07:00

The mechanics of a car are the important part. If a car doesn't run, then who really cares how pretty the car looks?

That being said, my car took that to the extreme. The previous owner lived in a very urban part of town, and so she took the bus or walked everywhere. The car sat under several large maple trees, collecting sap, pollen, leaves, 'spinners', and bird poop.

Oh, and a window was smashed. And the paint was chipped from when she dinged a cement post in a parking lot.

Cosmetic repairs: $200

Not too bad.

The interior was in pretty good shape...no tears in the carpet, no tears in the seat, no major stains, no smoke smells...

Except for the dog.

I never actually saw the dog, but I spent the next three days cleaning up after it.

The white dog left a carpet of hair on the back seats and in the trunk. The scent of the dog...Pepe le Pew has nothing on it.

When we first saw the car, it had been sitting in 90+ degree sunshine for three days...windows shut, scent percolating nicely. I could barely stomach the car. When we came back a few days later, she had driven the car and left the windows open. The scent was tolerable, but still pungent.

Since I have a dog, I figured dog scent couldn't be too hard to get out of a car. After all, none of our cars smell that strongly of dog.

We vacuumed the car multiple times, duct-taped and lint-rolled all the hair, and used multiple carpet cleaners. And air fresheners.

Oh, the air fresheners...

The Buzz Bucket

2009-07-13T11:07:00.000-07:00

I haven't given much detail on the car I bought, mostly because I've been busy playing with it. And cleaning it. And fixing (the exterior of) it.

The mechanics of the car are amazing. It's a 2000 with less than 80K miles on it. The one previous owner babied the car to no end (and took it to the dealer for every bit of maintenance, for whatever that is worth). She gave me about 100 different receipts for it, along with service recommendations, original manuals and pamphlets, and any other piece of paper related to the car.

It wasn't exactly spotless on the inside (more on that later), and it had a broken window (from a smash-and-grab), and it was missing a stereo (guess what they grabbed). Still, with a few $$ worth of cosmetic repairs, I now have a great car. And I got a great deal on it.

(This picture really isn't very flattering. My car doesn't have that big of a nose.)

My dad told me that I had to come up with a name for my car. I personally think that naming a car is silly ('car' has always been a suitable title for me, even if the vehicle is a truck), but everyone else seemed fairly attached to the act of 'naming' my car.

I told my dad today that I have named it "Buzz Bucket."

It was not a moment of passive-aggressive behavior. Rather, I think it is a perfect name for a car.

Rav4's are notoriously underpowered. I say the hamster inside the wheel is too small. In Twig-Terms, that means the car 'buzzes' when I accelerate, zip around Tri-Met, or generally just go fast.

Since the dog was already nicknamed Fuzz Bucket, Buzz Bucket seemed like a great name for the car. In fact, it's a name I can use with great enjoyment.

Buzz Bucket it is. I have named my car--and the name is sticking.

The Scares of Cars

2009-07-09T09:13:00.000-07:00

I have decided the worst part of getting a car is not dealing with slimy salesmen.

It is not inspecting the exterior for disguised dents, rust, or other issues (which we found on dealership cars).

It is not inspecting the interior for cheap patch jobs, torn carpet, stains, or quick fixes to nastiness (which we found on dealership cars).

It is not trying to figure out if the car is a lemon.

It is not trying to find a private owner on Craigslist whose car is worth buying.

It is not negotiating or making an offer.

It is not figuring out a reasonable budget.

It is not cleaning the car after you buy it.

The scariest part is the DMV. I hate them. Hate hate hate, double hate, loathe entirely.

I'll have to tell you the story sometime. Right now it is too painful to recount. Too traumatizing. Too...well, anarchy or civil disobedience seemed like a very good option.

All I Wanted Was A Car

2009-07-08T10:08:00.001-07:00

I've had Brad Paisley's "All I Wanted Was A Car" stuck in my head all morning.

Unrelatedly, I bought a car yesterday.

Spammers

2009-07-07T10:08:00.000-07:00

Sometimes spammers annoy me. I'll open my inbox and get really excited. "13 new emails? Someone loves me!" Then I'll realize that most of them are for body upsizing or downsizing, feel momentarily insecure, and laugh at it.

Every now and then, however, they amuse me.

I stepped out of my office for about 2 minutes, leaving my email up and running while I did. When I came back, my screen had huge images of viagra pills and ads on it.

The window behind me functions just like a mirror. I can only wonder what the person across from my desk thought.

Dear Construction Workers,

2009-07-03T09:38:00.001-07:00

I'm sure the home improvement projects you are working on down the street will improve the value of the house. I'm sure that will improve the value of the neighborhood.

I'm also sure you are annoying.

Please do not use a jackhammer before 7:15 a.m. It is hazardous to my sleep, and therefore could be hazardous to your health.

Car Shopping

2009-06-29T09:15:00.000-07:00

aka... "Introduction to Con-Men"

I'm going to need to buy a car at some point in the next year, so I've decided to start shopping now. There is something incredibly enjoyable about walking into a car lot, test driving a car you like, and being able to walk away until the price drops more. The salesmen can't sell their cars fast enough, and I'm in no particular hurry to buy an overpriced car, so we all win. Except the salesmen, but sometimes I think they deserve to lose.

Saturday was one of those days.

I had been lusting after a car I saw online...a Rav4. It was originally listed at $9K (valued at $7K according to Edmunds), and so I was waiting. It wasn't selling, so every two weeks they would drop the price by $1K.

I liked the car. The pictures showed it to be a gorgeous blue color. It had all of the features I wanted (except a sunroof), and was a 5-speed manual. It had relatively low miles (for the year/price), and was supposed to be in great condition.

It was supposed to be in great condition. The website said it had no mechanical problems, no dents, no dings, no scratches, no rust, and no interior wear.

The price finally dropped to $7K, so I conscripted my dad into calling on the car for me. He's bought many cars and knows the games dealers play, so it's fun to make him call.

The person on the phone told him they were doing a one-day special--the car was $6K. And it was still in perfect condition.

On paper, it was the ideal car for me, and I was very close to being able to afford $6K. We decided to go see the car.

I thought we were going to a big-name dealer--they claimed to be a Toyota lot. What they forgot to tell me was that they were a dumpy used car lot with slimy salesmen who primarily sell Toyotas.

We pulled into the lot...it was not the car-lot that they had used for taking pictures of the car. Apparently they borrowed the Toyota showroom up the street.

Apparently they borrowed the car, too. Royal Sapphire Blue apparently means Emerald Green everywhere outside of the showroom (they told me it was the lighting). The one day sale ended about 32 seconds after my dad talked to the guy (or never actually happened...).

Oh, and it had a dent on the back. And was rusting. And had multiple mechanical problems. And the interior was not exactly immaculate.

On top of that, the salesmen did the 'limp fish' handshake. I hate those.

I did not buy a car from them. I do not plan on going back.

But I did have fun test-driving it. :)

Significance of Life and Hemingway

2009-06-29T08:53:00.000-07:00

Warning: the following post is written from the perspective of a cynical English student who had to write two senior thesis papers in the same semester...one week apart.

One of my papers was on a theory of irony and the book of Jonah. I loved that paper.

My other paper was on...well...

Because I go to a small school, the upper-division English electives are only offered every other year. Because I didn't feel like taking a 16 week class on Herman Melville, and because Intro to Drama was at the same time as a Bible class I needed, I got stuck taking two senior level classes the same year...the same term. (For an English minor, most people take one--each senior class includes a senior thesis).

One of the classes was on literary theory and criticism. It was amazing...thought-provoking...possibly life-changing...and is not going to be offered again. I'm glad I got it when I did. My paper on irony and Jonah was one of my best college papers yet.

The other class was a 16 week study on short stories, and while it couldn't compare with lit. theory and criticism, it was a decent class. I liked 6/7 of the authors we read, so I can't complain. The homework wasn't too bad for a senior level class, and I liked the people in the class.

The senior thesis, however...

Since we had 7 people in the class, we each got to pick one of the 7 authors for our senior thesis. I picked Hemingway, since I enjoyed his writings. We had to come up with original criticism (i.e. something that all English scholars from the publishing date of the story until the present time had not thought of), and then write 15-20 pages on that.

I was at a loss for ideas, so I borrowed one of the suggested ones: Hemingway's use of animals in his African stories.

To say I was less than thrilled would be accurate. I had nothing personally invested in the suggested topic and didn't really care what his use was.

I finished the paper, and I got a decent grade on it. At the same time, one must question the value of 20 pages on Hemingway's use of animals.

Does it really matter?

Conclusion: I am wasting my life on this paper. No one except the professor (who grades the paper) cares to see this, and I don't really care to write it.

Such is the life of a cynical English student who has nothing personally invested in the topic.

Lesson learned: Well, I'm not one of the OCD English students who would care about that topic, or the homo-erotic themes in Poe, or Chekhov's views on peasants. I like the stories...but I won't be getting a PhD in Literature anytime soon.

And I'm glad I never have to write on Hemingway again.

Twig Versus...the Strawberries

2009-06-26T10:15:00.000-07:00

Things I like: Fresh Strawberries.

Things I don't like: Strawberries that are so 'fresh' that they could masquerade at a wine-tasting festival.

Things I really don't like: Strawberries that masquerade as wine and have mold hidden in them.

I think the strawberries are trying to kill me.

In unrelated news, I have yet to learn from my mistakes. Score: Water bottle, 2. Twig, 1.

Shopping Adventures

2009-06-25T09:42:00.000-07:00

Also entitled: My Strangest Trip to Fred Meyer Yet

It is no secret that some of my shopping adventures can be...crazy, to say the least. My brothers have occasionally informed me that carts are not sponsored by Nascar, and since the masses of humanity also have to grocery shop, I get some fun people watching time.

This had to be my craziest shopping trip ever, which says a lot for me.

I was out of tea. I'm not one of the obsessive tea/coffee drinkers who goes into withdrawals when out of tea, but I've been out for a month now and it's really getting old. I decided to go to Fred Meyer over my lunch break (since they are the only people who carry the one kind of tea I like).

It took me a while to find the tea, so as I was wandering, I got to observe some of the masses.

A dad--obviously not a dad used to staying at home--was out shopping with three kids. He had a basket of groceries in one hand and a bottle of what looked like Sparkling Cider in the other. The two boys, 5 and 9, were not in matching clothes and had a horrid case of bedhead. They, like any boys would do, were poking each other and wrestling throughout the store. His daughter was skipping behind him, chanting, "You're drunk!" He would then respond, "No, I'm not. I'm intoxicated." They would both laugh and then repeat. (He was not drunk.)

Since they were heading towards the same section where I found the tea, I got to hear this refrain multiple times.

I found my tea and made a hasty get-away to the checkout lines. Two of the lines were fairly crowded, and one of the lines was empty. I naturally went to the empty one.

The lady standing there did not look at me. She was busy using a cleaning wipe on her phone, her register, the bar code-scanner, and anything else touch-able. She did look up to say she would be right with me...but she looked right past (or through?) me. She then continued wiping her phone, talking to herself (I think) the entire time. "Phones are disgusting. Everyone touches them, and no one washes them. They have more germs on them than the toilet. It just makes me sick to think about it." (Think What About Bob?)

As she was still cleaning her phone (obsessively is a mild understatement), Mr. "I'm Not Drunk" went sprinting past. "I left the baby in the car!"

The clerk looked up at me, horrified. She was turning red. "Did he just say he left the baby in the car?" I hesitantly nodded, not sure if she was entirely present and not really wanting to test my theory. "I can't believe he left the baby in the car!" She started yelling in my direction, though not at me. "It's 80 degrees, and he left the baby in the car? The baby could die in ten minutes! What kind of dad is that? I can't believe he left the baby in the car! That's absolutely horrid. Someone ought to do something! He left the baby in the car!"

I decided not to point out his three kids having a wrestling match about 10 feet away.

She handed me my change. "Sorry. That just makes me so mad!" I laughed nervously and walked back towards the door, thinking that was the strangest trip ever.

But wait--there's more!

As I'm walking out, an older lady collapsed on the ground (it was probably some point while the clerk was yelling, since I missed it the fall). There was quite the huddle around as I walked past, including multiple clerks, a couple people staring, someone calling paramedics--the whole deal.

I walked into the parking lot and spotted the paramedics pulling in. As I pulled out, I also saw Mr. "I'm Not Drunk," carrying a crying 6 month old and heading back to his other children.

What a trip.

More REI Adventures

2009-06-24T10:38:00.000-07:00

I'm not so mean as to leave you with that.

But I am mean enough to subject you to more REI stories. :)

Like I said, we left right before 7 a.m. on a Saturday. I was moaning and groaning and altogether cranky, but it was still fun.

When we arrived, the line was already stretched around the building. People had camped out all night waiting to get into the garage sale (more aptly named than I realized). My theory is that if they have the gear to camp out all night, they don't need to be at REI.

We met up with a bunch of other Multnomah students who didn't have anything better to do on a Saturday morning (sleep, anyone?), and we waited. And waited. And waited some more.

It was a fun wait.

No, really. A bunch of sleepy, cranky, smart-alecky students standing around downtown Portland with nothing better to do than provide running commentary on all of life? It was really fun. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and earned a new title. :)

We got inside, and I had my normal shopping hassles. "Do you carry kid sizes here?" Skeptical look. "No, I don't fit women's sizes." Confused look as person looks at me and realizes that might be possible. "I'm trying to find a rain coat or shell."

The kids' clothing was mixed in with everything else, and I am not a patient shopper. I helped all of the normal-sized people find stuff (because it's so much easier), and offered feedback on how it looked.

As we were walking out of the clothing section, I spotted a pink ball in the corner of one of the racks. I picked it up, and it happened to be a girl's rain coat...in my size.

It's pink enough that I don't have to worry about getting lost in the forest, or anywhere else. I could double as a feminine construction worker, but it was my size. And it was the only girl's coat at the garage sale.

It was a good morning...not that I plan on getting out of bed that early on a weekend again, but for a one-time thing? Sure, why not? I finally got a backpack that fits, I have a coat, and I had a lot of fun with friends.

Now all I need is a mummy bag--then I could comfortably sleep while waiting to get into the garage sale.

Except then I wouldn't need to go. Humph.

REI Adventures

2009-06-23T10:03:00.000-07:00

As I promised a long, long time ago (okay, it feels like a long time ago), I shall now begin a recap of my school-year adventures.

I went to REI.

The end.

(And there was much snickering from the blogger.)

Okay, it was a little more epic than that.

It was an REI Garage Sale.

The end.

Oh, and we left before 7 a.m. And I had the wrong address, but we still made it. And I was so cranky/smart-alecky that Multnomah's student body president called me a smart...something. I still take pride in that moment, and I'm keeping the title.

Interiors of Cars

2009-06-22T09:43:00.000-07:00

I am not an obsessively neat person. You might have already guessed this. I can be tidy, and very organized, but I am not neat.

Like any free-thinking female, however, I have an exception to every rule.

I like to keep cars neat. Clean. Empty. Organized. Pretty.

Perhaps this is a throwback to living in gang-land. Perhaps it's because I hate things sliding around as a drive. Perhaps it's because small spaces need to be neat (or else I go stir-crazy), and a car is small. Perhaps it's because I spend so much time in a car just sitting...and waiting...and sitting (traffic, anyone?).

Regardless of the reason, I have discovered that you can learn a lot about a person by looking at the interior of the car.

My brother has a 4Runner. For anyone who is wondering, I'm jealous. At the same time, the car fits him and would never work for me. The seats were fairly shredded (typical teenage boy first car), so he fixed them with duct tape. The back seat holds the role of duct tape and a few other car-fixer items. The trunk holds his baseball gear and a week's supply of used Gatorade bottles. It is not girl-approved, nor is it pretty. He is single and does not need a girl-approved car.

The mini-van is the 'adventure' car. This is a nice way of saying that it is used for muddy boys, park days, doggy adventures, and other activities that might get the F.O.R.D dirty. It has a collection of golf balls, baseballs, frisbees, and dirt.

The F.O.R.D is the family life car. The driver's seat is relatively clear. The passenger's seat has a collection of napkins (clean), tapes and CDs, cell-phone chargers, a phone directory, and water bottles. The middle row (girl's row) has all items necessary for life stuffed into the seat pockets: make-up, brush, mirror, body spray, occasionally deodorant, and even nylons and shoes. The back seat (boy's row) requires protective bunny suits: fast-food wrappers, socks, half-drunk pop cans, crushed fishy crackers, shoes, pants, swim trunks, shirts, sweatshirts, and occasionally boxers (???). My brothers could live out of the back seat for a week if they wanted to (and it looks like they did).

My truck is generally the cleanest car in the house. The driver's seat is empty. The passenger seat is likewise empty, except for the granola bars and beef jerky (for all the times I forget breakfast), and the map that I've actually never used. The back seats, however...

I should say that I do not ride in the back, nor do I store stuff back there. I claim no responsibility for the back seat, though what is in it usually affects me. Right now, the back seat has a collection of bungee cords, a sock (a lonely, single sock), a hand towel, and a squirt gun.

The squirt gun was an uninvited guest. I was taking a certain unnamed but possibly related boy, and he decided that my driving was boring. He also decided that the interior of my car needed to be washed.

And he had the nerve to leave it sitting in the back of my car, right next to the towel he used to try his hands off after he finished tormenting me.

Dear Old Navy,

2009-06-19T09:20:00.000-07:00

Thank you for carrying extra-extra-smalls in your shirts.

Thank you for carrying extra-small-petite-short pants.

Thank you for letting me order stuff online and return it in a store for free if it doesn't fit my misproportioned body.

Thank you for having free shipping for those who know how to work the system.

Thank you for remembering the little people in the world.

Murphy's Law

2009-06-18T08:50:00.000-07:00

My office phone doesn't ring too often. This is a fact that disappoints me.

It rings occasionally when I'm doing massive amounts of phone-calling and leaving voicemails...about one call-back for every ten voicemails (unless I mention the word 'grant' or something similar).

It rings occasionally when someone calls the main line--but it rings on everyone's phone, and Audrey answers those (since she's the official 'front desk' person) before I figure out that my phone is ringing.

Lately, however, my phone has been ringing. It hasn't just been ringing occasionally, but every day! They weren't people returning my calls, or people calling the general line. For no apparent reason, they dialed my extension and ended up talking to me.

As Murphy's Law dictates, they were all calling for directions to our workshops. As Murphy's Law would further dictate, I actually answered. And, as Murphy's Law requires, both Google Maps and Mapquest were having server issues that day.

It figures.

Death by Carelessness Cluelessness

2009-06-17T11:21:00.000-07:00

I tend to be a random, big-picture thinker.

Translation: I'm scatterbrained, usually disorganized, somewhat forgetful, easily sidetracked, and generally ~~apathetic towards~~ laid back to the detailed parts of life.

I also have been noticing random allergies.

Translation: I've known about them for a while, but I was too busy enjoying the chocolate muffin that made me feel miserable to narrow down what I might be allergic to.

Possible allergies: Dairy (still questionable), lactose (distinct from dairy, and also possible), dust (who isn't?), sunburns (snicker), mornings (snicker snicker), a few types of soap (a whole different story), nuts (well, they do strange things to me), white flour/sugar (even if I wasn't allergic, it's still bad for me...so?) and mold.

To actually know if you're allergic to something, then you have to either do allergy testing (no. absolutely no.) or narrow it down to the best of your ability while removing certain foods from your diet...a trial and error sort of thing.

I am now 100% certain that I am allergic to mold. Forget trial and error. Let's just go for error.

Mold is a fun one. It isn't exactly a common cooking ingredient...but it is.

--Yeast. I don't like bread, anyway.
--Mushrooms. I don't like those either, but for some reason, people keep cooking with them.
--Fungus? Really?
--Old fruit. Disgusting on so many levels (except banana bread).

Mold is also a common household visitor.
--Carpet in bedrooms below ground (i.e. mine)
--Showers (dorms)
--Water bottles.

The last one might not be common for you, but for a random person who has bad luck with water bottles?

I killed one water bottle in the dish washer. I killed another one by dropping it off the high ropes course at camp this summer. I lost another one. This is almost as ridiculous as my sunglasses.

I finally found a water bottle that I love/can't kill. It's one of the camelbaks with a straw, so I really like it. It doesn't leak when I knock it over in the middle of the night, I can't spill it down my shirt while I'm driving, and I can throw it around without breaking it.

I can also leave it sitting in the car for several days without adverse consequences...or so I thought.

Like I said...I left it in the car for several days. Several warm days. Several warm days in the sunshine. Several warm days in the sunshine with water in it.

I remembered it was in there several days later (a minor detail), and so I rescued it and rinsed it out. Since I was already running late (it was before 9 a.m.), it was a quick rinse, fill, and run out the door while carrying my shoes and breakfast.

I rinsed out the main part of the water bottle. I did not think to wash the straw. I got to work and was having a pleasant morning, typing away and munching on breakfast.

I then took a sip of the nice, cold water from my water bottle...and had an instant allergic reaction.

(By allergic reaction, I do not mean swell up and die. I mean sneezing, eyes watering, sneezing, nose running, sneezing, puffy eyes, sneezing, and more sneezing.)

At first, I thought I was allergic to water. That absolutely horrified me--I would be allergic to my body!--but then I figured it wasn't water.

I closely inspected the water bottle. I was definitely drinking water, I had rinsed the water bottle clear of any funny stuff, and...what's the black stuff in the straw?

Oh, that's gross. Very gross.

A lot of bleach and several cups of boiling water later, my water bottle is clean.

And I am definitely allergic to mold, in all its forms.

Very gross.

Camp Stories

2009-06-16T09:27:00.000-07:00

I never got around to sharing camp stories last year...so it seems appropriate to try this summer. Call it the one-year-camp-story series. (Not that it will last a year...or that I spent a year at camp.)

But it has been a year since I left for camp--almost to the day.

In honor of that, you can read my first/only post about lead staff training here.* I'll keep the stories flowing this summer, since I know you'll like some of them.

I might even post some pictures...if I can find them.

*This post only covers the first three days of staff training--we had 10 days. I'll post more stories...my second time on the high-ropes course, white-water rafting, hiking Sleeping Beauty, swimming in swamps, sinking boats, getting buried alive, and all sorts of other fun adventures.

Lessons Learned While Painting

2009-06-15T09:53:00.000-07:00

Though I still have yet to post pictures (or even charge my camera to take a picture), I feel that I ought to share some of the lessons learned while redecorating my room. Feel free to use whatever is useful, and then laugh at the rest.*

*Yes, these lessons were learned from experience.

1. For a normal person, preparation for painting takes twice as long as actually painting.

2. For a short person who has to move ladders and chairs around a room, preparation for painting takes six times as long as actually painting.

3. Boyfriends who are willing to help paint make painting seem like one of the best dates ever.

4. Tall boyfriends who are willing to help prep and paint can get twice as much done as a 5'1'' female balancing between the ladder and a foot wedged in the corner. And they can do it without hurting themselves.

5. Little brothers with paint brushes want one of two things: to paint smiles/faces on the wall, or to paint smiles/faces on their sister.

6. Drop cloths/plastic tarps should really be called slip-n-slides.

7. Paint on the bottom of foot=paint on carpet.

8. Light pink paint on white-ish carpet is invisible until it dries.

9. Dark pink paint on white-ish carpet looks bad.

10. White paint on white-ish carpet makes you realize the carpet is no longer white.

11. Water, if applied liberally, can get all wet paint out of the carpet.

12. Laundry detergent with stain remover can get most dried paint out of the carpet.

13. Paint left in the carpet was done intentionally and adds character to the room.

14. Just because something looks like it was taped in a way to prevent paint splatters doesn't mean the paint won't find some loophole and still get under the tape.

15. At first, the painter will be obsessively concerned with perfectly straight paint lines, exact corners, and no drips. After a few hours, that concern will be replaced with apathy (or paint in the eye).

16. Paint that looks like--well, it was ugly brown--in the can will look like that on the trim, no matter how you change the lighting.

17. Old-fashioned overheads from your dad's sermons make great borders around trim to prevent repainting the wall you just painted. Just make sure your dad is done with them.

18. When siblings come into the room, it isn't because they want to help. They really just want to laugh at all the ways you can contort your body to perfectly paint the area you really can't reach anyways.

19. See above for information about mothers coming into the room.

20. Do not ask siblings to clean brushes outside unless you want a mud puddle, dried paint on the deck/house, and a cracked paint pan.

21. Intentionally splattered/sponged light pink paint on a dark pink wall looks like an army of two year olds had a paint war on the wall.

22. Paint that is not mixed properly for touch-ups will be a different color than the rest of the paint on the wall.

23. Sanding wet paint is pointless. And messy.

24. It is entirely possible to seal a window shut with paint. It is also possible to seal a window open.

25. A project that was expected to take a few days will usually take several weeks. This is the rule of home projects.

I feel like I am much wiser because of the project. My room is much happier.

My desire to paint anything, however, is gone for a while.

My desire to paint a room with carpet (at least one without the really cool floor sticky covers) is gone forever.

Twig Versus...the ipod

2009-06-12T08:55:00.000-07:00

My ipod comes with this amazingly handy feature where you can shake it to shuffle the songs. It doesn't just shuffle the songs...it also shuffles artists, albums and playlists. Sounds useful. I checked into the different reviews--they said that the feature was convenient, and it wasn't so sensitive that you set it off while jogging (important).

After using the feature multiple times in one 12 minute drive, I have my own review. Rather than naming said feature "shake to shuffle," I propose the following names:

1. The "I just squealed my tires around that corner" indicator.

Apparently, the ipod can sense when the truck takes a corner quickly. And apparently it is programmed to punish the driver by switching playlists.

2. The "I hit my brakes too hard to prevent running through the yellow-light" indicator.

Slamming on the brakes is enough of a jarring motion to tell the ipod that you want to change songs. And artists. The ipod assumed that slamming on the brakes meant I wanted to switch from Selah's hymn CD to the Chicken Run Soundtrack.

3. The "I just emphatically put down my ipod" indicator.

After resetting your playlists multiple times, the ipod can also sense user frustration. And provoke more by making you need to reset your playlist again.

4. The "I'm 30 seconds from killing my ipod" indicator.

Assume several repetitions of above information. Infer appropriate response.

5. The "How much do I really want to listen to my music on the way to work" indicator.

Since having a war with an ipod isn't a good idea while driving on freeway rush-hour traffic...the ipod won the battle.

The ipod may have won the battle, but I won the war.

I disabled the stupid "shake to @#$% shuffle" feature. I don't know who thought that would be a useful feature.

I win.

Have I Mentioned I (Wrote) A Book?

2009-06-11T08:49:00.000-07:00

Okay, I've written a book. Most of you knew that, so *whoop-di-doo*.

What some of you didn't know is that I've written a book that actually has been published. And is selling. :-D

Okay, the observant among you might have realized that my name isn't on the front cover...but it is on the first page. It was one of those ghost-writing "Big Name Dude" with "Little Name College Punk." His name is Eric, he's a fundraising genius, and he's a good guy to work for.*

All in all, I enjoyed it. I think I'll do it again sometime.

And maybe get my name on the front cover. That would be cool, too. I wonder if I'll ever be a "Big Name Dude."

*Yes, I know I ended that sentence in a preposition. It's Thursday. I don't care.

Twig Versus...the Skirt?

2009-06-10T08:43:00.000-07:00

As mentioned, I replaced my boring old chair with a fun, bouncy exercise ball. It works really well for rocking, bouncing, rolling, squirming, and otherwise not holding still. Could there be anything wrong with the new arrangement?

Of course, I spent the first several days in my chair wearing jeans. The following week, since we had to be a little more formal for work when we weren't remodelling my office, I wore a cute skirt. A cute, knee-length silky skirt. A cute, silky knee-length skirt that slides around really easily.

Yeeaah...bet you can see where this one is going.

The exercise ball and the skirt did not get along very well. It was like being on a slip-n-slide, except I was sitting at a desk and trying to write. It was like skating around in socks, except I wasn't on a wood floor, and I wasn't standing. It was like 'walking' on the sheet of ice we had in the ice storm last winter, except I wasn't throwing snowballs at anyone.

It made for an amusing day. I'm not sure how this impacts the long-term relationship, but it has provided more motivation to shorten those dress pants that have been hanging in my closet for a year.

Twig Versus...The Chair?

2009-06-09T10:24:00.000-07:00

It is no secret that I hate chairs. I would rather stand. Or sit on the floor. Or maybe even stand on my head. Chairs and I do not get along.

Perhaps it's because chairs were not designed for people with short legs. My feet dangle in standard chairs, which means the blood does not circulate to my poor little toes. My knees bear the weight of my lower legs, which means they start to ache if I don't keep them moving (read: twitching). My upper legs have an excess of blood that never made it down to my feet, which means they bruise easily...and they also ache.

Or perhaps it's because chairs were not designed for people who have short arms. If I sit in a chair properly, my arms do not reach the keyboard/laptop/pen and paper/whatever else I want to reach. I have to lean forward, but chairs weren't designed for that either. The curvy back design forces slouching when I lean forward, which leads to its own set of problems.

All in all, I hate chairs. Sitting in chairs for periods of 50 minutes at school is tolerable, at best. Sitting in a chair for hours at a time while at work ought to be against the Geneva Convention. Since no international aid groups are coming to my defense (do they think well-off office workers deserve the pain they get?), I had to solve the problem myself.

I bought a new ~~chair~~ seat-thingy.

As you can see, it's not really a chair.

But it's really fun. And amusing. And good for short people.

More information will follow as it is discovered.

I'm Still Waiting

2009-06-08T10:25:00.001-07:00

According to the Post Office, my ipod was delivered Saturday.

According to my impatient little hands, the ipod has not yet been delivered.

I did not get an invisible ipod. While cool, that's totally impractical. Instead, I had it delivered to the work address. We didn't know when it would come, and we didn't want it sitting on the front porch all day before someone got home from school/work.

It was delivered on a Saturday. Is God trying to teach me patience?

We drove down to work, thinking that we would be able to grab it. We never did find it, so we assumed that it was locked in the building's mail processing room and would magically appear Monday.

I came in this morning, looking at the mail slot for a tiny box. Forget the patience lesson. I think I'm being laughed at. ;)

I'm still waiting. Normally, the weekend mail appears around 10...but not today. For some reason, everything is running slowly.

I think it's because I'm still waiting for my ipod. It's amazing how slow life goes when you're waiting for something.

My Bedroom Is...A Bedroom

2009-06-06T20:17:00.000-07:00

I haven't lived at home for about two years, but since I'm going to be back for summer break (and possibly this fall), I figured my room was due for an update. After all, it had been about 10 years since we had painted it, and the last paint color...well, it was a mix of two or three different colors that we had left from painting the living room and hallway. It wasn't pink, tan, or white...but it was all of those.

Either way, I decided to paint my room (another blog post, another time). I bought paint the day I moved home, and we started painting two days later. We finished that day (it's a small room), and I finished the trim two days later (moving a ladder around takes a while when you're five feet tall).

That was 3 weeks ago.

My room originally had a queen bed, but that took up the entire room (okay, I had a foot of walking room between the closet and the bed). I rejected the bed, politely requesting a twin bed when I came home for break.

We took the queen bed out the day I got back, but we didn't have a twin bed. Or even a twin mattress. I ended up sleeping on the floor for a week before we got a mattress.

That was 2 weeks ago.

Due to extreme busyness, a state baseball championship that went 11 innings, and other life events, I had no bed. A mattress on the floor beats the floor, but sometimes I get sick of mummy bags sliding off of mattresses.

Today I finally got a bed. I'm blogging from my bed. I have unpacked the last box of stuff from school (stereo, speakers, light, and other computer stuff), and I feel like my bedroom is officially a bedroom.

My bed is soft. It has real sheets.

The speakers are blaring. My mother has been commenting on my music (she's upstairs). The clocks are blinking at me (okay, I'm not entirely done).

I like it. I feel like I'm home. It only took three weeks. :)

Monumental Threshold

2009-06-02T08:27:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I have just crossed a threshold of life. I am now officially a member of the 21st century.

No, I didn't get my first cell phone. My parents felt the need to ~~leash~~ bequeath an old one on me when I missed my first curfew (8th grade) and didn't have a way to tell them I would be back two hours late...after midnight. No, I hadn't heard of pay-phones, and yes, I was grounded--why do you ask?

No, I didn't get my first laptop. I did get a new laptop over Christmas break, but I'm not sure if that was a move forward in technology. Vista has only crashed a couple of times...this month.

But I did get an ipod. My very first ipod ever. I'm kind of excited.

Like "Ordered It Late Last Night and Came Back 10 Minutes Later to See If It Had Shipped." excited.

Like "Almost Payed Rush Shipping," because once your purchase is over $100 dollars, who notices $10 in shipping?

Like "Checked First Thing This Morning To See If It Shipped While I Was Sleeping."

I crossed a big threshold of life, but I think it's revealing a lot of the five-year-old impatience in me.

Blame School

2009-06-01T11:40:00.000-07:00

I will not say I neglected writing, mostly because that isn't true. One who has just written two (not one, but two) senior thesis papers cannot say that she has neglected writing.

School was great. I'm a senior, I passed all my classes, I wrote some really good papers, I became 'adjunct faculty' at Multnomah, I had a book published, I have an amazing boyfriend, I got to know the book of Jonah really well, I finally went to an REI garage sale (but still don't have a mummy bag), I learned and forgot the Greek alphabet and pronunciation, I handed off some WorldSeen responsibilities (and picked up a few more), I hiked up to the top of Multnomah falls (when it was iced over--so pretty), I took regular naps (every college student should--does wonders for attitude), and discovered my new favorite brand of chocolate (Alpenmelk--also does wonders for attitude).

I didn't blog, but you knew that. Now that I'm not in school (and therefore not busy...haha, haha), I might blog a little more.

After all, I have some funny stories for you. It would be a shame for you to never know what you missed.

A Politically Correct Epistle

2008-09-03T21:53:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, a certain person of the female physique had to write an epistle for a class. The following is what she wrote.

Paul, a volunteer worker of a higher power of his own choosing, by the cosmic coincidences of the universe,

To the community of fellow persuns who ascribe to membership within the fellowship of the higher power of their persunal preference.

Greetings and persunal harmony from my persunal preference of higher power to your own persun.

Ever since I heard of your willingness to follow the desire of your inner persun, I have not stopped my persunal desire to attain self-fulfillment. Your faithfulness to the sphere of guidance to which you ascribe has motivated me in my own persunal quest.

As you well know, each creature dwelling on this planet, whether human or otherwise, for we would not wish to commit specieal bigotry, is on a quest of persunal fulfillment. Each persun or creature may find their fulfillment in a variety of ways. Some may choose their fulfillment through protecting whatever natural or genetically modified (though still environmentally friendly and in keeping with fair trade agreements) resources they have plundered from their surroundings. Others on this quest may desire to prevent the exploitation of fellow persuns or creatures around them.

We do not wish to commit any form of prejudicial acts, for we know that only the unenlightened and intolerant of our time commit such offences against their fellow co-habitors of our planet. Only the enlightened will one day, if it is his or her desire, will reach persunal satisfaction and inner fulfillment. Remember that you, because of your surrounding conditions and hereditary genes (but through no persunal fault of your own) were once a member of such unenlightened planet-dwellers. It was only because of our genetic preprogramming, brought about by random chance, that we were able to reach our current state of enlightenment.

Therefore, as responsible persuns of such information, we must each make a persunal commitment to our own quest of enlightenment. We must not look down on the less-enlightened, knowing that it is only because of genetic conditioning that they have not reached the same plane as we have. We must treat them with the same respect and dignity that we give to all fellow earth-livers (including the smallest of the creatures that have made the persunal choice to go by the term ‘insect’).

Therefore, as a fellow persun embarking on this quest of persunal choice, I wish to suggest, while making no claims to my own superiority of knowledge, that you join with me in my persunal quest to protect the Mother Earth. I am not insinuating that the Earth is your mother; merely that I have chosen the Earth as my spiritual mother and desire to protect her. We, as the enlightened inhabitors of this ecological paradise (though tainted by the unenlightened), have a responsibility. This is not to say that we will be irresponsible if we feel disinclined to follow this path. Rather, it merely indicates that we have persunal interests that lie elsewhere and do not wish to hinder our self expression.

Though I desire to visit you and encourage you in your persunal journeys, I neither wish to harm the environment through my passage or hinder you in your expression of self through my visit. My desire to visit in no way implies that I have doubts as to your competence or have any persunal interest in you. I simply desire to commune with you, while maintaining the persunal distance that our individual quests require.

When you have finished this letter, which I have composed on all natural, recycled paper using tree bark ink, please recycle it and so continue the natural resources of our chosen persunal dwelling.

The fellow enlightened persuns around me send their greetings. May your self-fulfillment continue as you pursue whichever path in life you so desire. The blessings of your chosen higher power go with you, if you intend to go.

Yes, this really is a satire. :)

I'm Baaack!!!

2008-08-19T20:34:00.000-07:00

So...internet access this summer was a little more intermittent than I expected. And I was a little busier than I expected (as a camp counselor? No way!).

I actually got back last Friday...but remember my ongoing love-hate relationship with my laptop? It has the consistency of Old Faithful when it comes to crashing...so I had to take action. (Yes, I still have the same laptop. It just has a new mind. Renewing of the mind is biblical, right?)

Now that I have a new brain in my laptop and new found time, I plan on blogging again...at least more than I did this summer.

The summer was awesome. I'm glad to be back. Dorm life begins Thursday. School starts Monday. I'm excited.

I'll fill you in on all the camp stories eventually. I have enough stories to keep you busy for the rest of this year, and maybe next year. With any luck, I'll remember half of them. :)

Theologically Speaking

2008-07-16T18:49:00.000-07:00

"So...theologically speaking..."

The punk sat poised and ready on the couch, holding his book over my dad. "Theologically speaking, would I be in trouble if I smacked you with this book?"

My dad looked at him. "Theologically speaking? Do you mean theoretically speaking?"

"Yeah, that. Theoretically speaking, would I be in trouble if I smacked you with this book?"

"Yes. Theoretically, and theologically, and hypothetically, and realistically speaking, you would be in trouble."

Mornings as a Blond

2008-07-13T13:15:00.000-07:00

Did I ever mention I was blond? I could be wearing a wig, and they would know I am blond.

It started out innocently enough. Doesn't it always? After a weekend of visiting relatives, sleeping (or not...) on the couch, and daylight savings, I was determined to go to bed early on Sunday night. After all, I have a class at 8 a.m. on Mondays, and I didn't really want to skip it.

Okay, I did want to skip it, but I knew I shouldn't, so Sunday night, I dutifully set my alarm. As tradition for Monday mornings, it was set for 7:20 to the Shrek soundtrack. Lovely way to start the day. I then read a book, did a double-take at the clock reading 1 a.m., and decided to go to sleep.

Monday morning rolls around. I sleep peacefully. My roommate's alarm goes off at 7:50, and she wakes me up. "Are you going to class?"

*Groggy blinking, then bug-eyed glance at clock.* I had ten minutes until class and didn't really feel like rushing. "Um, no." *Rolls back over and tries to sleep*

Huh? Was my subconscious trying to tell me something? I sleep through the Chicken Run soundtrack (and occasionally through Beethoven's Piano Sonatas), but I never sleep through Shrek. It just isn't physically possible.

No, it wasn't my subconscious. It was my blondness. It didn't take me too long to figure out what happened, especially since my alarm went off at 8:20.

I love daylight savings.

Do you think my professor will let me have an excused absence on the basis of stupidity?

Originally posted March 12, 2007.

Blond Moment Prevention

2008-07-10T13:10:00.000-07:00

Yes, it is true. I have blond hair. I have been blond since birth. It is genetic. Blame my parents. I am blond physically and. . . physically.

Still, I pride myself on having some level of common sense. I may have blond moments regularly, but I try not to be stupid.

Today I bought my first hair device--a hair straightener (I'll spare you the comments from my brother and my dad on why a blond who does not have curly hair would need a hair straightener).

*curses plastic packaging*

I finally got the box open, and out came a six page instruction booklet, along with two paper inserts. One was the typical registration warranty. The next one. . . CAUTION: This product can burn eyes. No, really? What do you do, straighten your eyebrows? Maybe your eyelashes?

I toss that at an obliging sibling, and open the booklet. Page 1: Important Safety Instructions
Great. That has promise. Read all Instructions before using.
1. Keep away from water.
2. Do not use while bathing. I hate to break it to them, but you're not even supposed to use it with wet hair. In the bathtub???
3. If appliance falls into water, unplug it immediately. DO NOT reach into the water.
4. Never operate this appliance if it is not working properly. Duh.
5. Never use while sleeping. I'll let you figure out how that works. . .
6. The plates of this hair straightener are hot when in use.
7. DO NOT let eyes and bare skin touch heated surfaces.
8. Use the handle.

Do they think everyone who buys these things are blond? Or just competing for Darwin Awards?

Then it has a diagram with all the complicated parts labelled.
Handle
Heating Plates
On/Off Switch
Temperature Setting

Yup, that was complicated. I'm glad I know how to use this highly sophisticated and potentially dangerous object.

Originally posted January 27, 2007.

Raining Tomatoes

2008-07-06T13:07:00.000-07:00

Today I had a tomato fall on my head.

Yes, it fell. It was not thrown.

Yes, it fell on my head. I was not lying down. I was standing on my two feet.

Yes, I was inside. It's not like I was outside under some mutated tomato plant.

I don't know how these things happen to me. Or why. All I know is that a tomato fell on my head.

Christian Callings

2008-07-03T22:25:00.000-07:00

I was having a conversation with an older friend (who had been a teacher) about a week ago. It was very entertaining. . . and like most conversations, I didn't mean for it to be quite so funny. It just sort of happens.

We were talking about what I wanted to do after college, and I mentioned that it actually worked out well that I wasn't majoring in elementary education, because I wanted to teach junior high language arts. "Junior High? Why did you pick junior high?"

"I like that age group because_______ (I can't remember what I said, but I'm sure I had a few good reasons)."

"What about older elementary?"

"You can't interact with them at the same level. They haven't developed the same reasoning skills."

"What about high school? They can interact?"

"They're too old. By the time they're in high school, they think they know everything and aren't as moldable."

"Well, are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I've taught Junior High before and I loved it. It's a good age."

"You know that for most kids in school, junior high is the hardest transition they've faced."

"Exactly. They need good teachers at that age." Smile and nod.

"Well, I guess it's your calling."

Translation? That would be the Christian way of saying it makes no sense to me, but you're stubborn enough that I can't talk you out of it, so we'll let you live with your ideas.

Originally posted November 18, 2006.

No, Really?

2008-06-30T22:22:00.000-07:00

I'm fairly certain Microsoft thinks we are all idiots. (The fact that we are all helplessly dependant on one man's invention might suggest that...but that's beside the point.)

Anyways, I'm fairly certain Microsoft thinks we are all idiots. Either that or they are determined to frustrate us to the point of dumping their system.

(Actually, we've already reached that point of frustration. When friends have a screensaver that flashes blue and displays fatal error, you know some things happen way too often.)

But I digress again. Didn't we just finish 12 years of school? And didn't we just voluntarily agree to four or more years of school, in the name of preparing us for life?

How is it that Microsoft, living in an age where computers are the norm, thinks we need step by step instruction?

Login page: "Please type your password here." No, really? How many other text boxes are there?

I may complain about the system, but the fact that I'm here blogging in a Microsoft designed program and Windows computer might erase all credibility. :)

Originally posted November 13, 2006.

Grocery Shopping With Twiggie

2008-06-26T22:16:00.000-07:00

It came. I could avoid it no longer. I was out of food.

Well, I still had top ramen left, but that wasn't enough. I was out of the basic breakfast essentials (for all the mornings I oversleep. . . 13 out of the last 14). The refrigerator was empty. I had no yougurt, milk, or junk food. What was to be done? (hint: read the subject)

I pull into the store parking lot, and immediately, the trip goes downhill. "Great. I'm going the wrong way down a one way parking lot. I know, I'll cut through the parking spaces. . . hey! What idiot stole my idea? And why did they have to park there? What is this, a parking lot or an obstacle course?"

So I found a spot, and I went in the store. Short trip, so I should find a basket. They didn't have any. I guess Winco doesn't expect you to be able to carry your purchases around. And there is something psychological about having a cart. . . it looks so empty, so you just feel obligated to put more in than you intended to purchase.

I grab a cart. Knowing that the one closest to me was probably cursed (I have a long history with carts, and the wheels that should be attached thereto), I grabbed the second one. It was also cursed, having only three working wheels, and a driver who had a hard time steering. I rounded (did you know carts can burn rubber?) the corner, and temptation struck me from all sides. "Ooo. . . they have double chocolate muffins on sale. . . and chocolate chips. . . and other assorted junk food. . . no! I am resisting temptation. I am on a twenty dollar budget. I will resist temptation."

I round the next corner at breakneck speed and slam on the breaks. Please note that I do have elderly grandparents, and I do feel sorry for them. . . especially when a teenager rounds the (blind) corner, narrowly misses them, and gives them a heart attack. Feeling bad, and not wanting to pass them, I decided to duck down the next aisle, because I assumed the one after it was the one I wanted. If only I could read signs...but I didn't have my glasses with me. Oops.

I ended up going back and forth between three aisles, simply because I couldn't read the signs. I finally get to the aisle I want. "Granola. . . where is the granola. . . they only carry two brands? They're both ridiculously expensive! Where is the competitive market? There are better selection and prices at the corner store by our house! No, I'm not getting any of this. I'll have to do without."

I keep walking down the aisle. . . and have to face temptation again. "They have Cocoa Puffs on sale. . . why do they have to have Cocoa Puffs on sale? I like Cocoa Puffs, and I already have Oreos in my cart. No, I must resist."

I am not, by nature, an impulsive shopper, nor am I an impulsive shopper by conditioning. Rather, I have long-existing desires that I am always refusing...it just looks impulsive from the outside. I then turn the corner. . . and there is the same older couple! (I don't think they noticed me as I skidded to a stop and turned around. . . did I mention I'm in heels?)I then head over to the bulk section and attempt to find granola. I'll spare you the pain. I had one lady laughing at me. . . but I couldn't help it! They were new bins, and I had never used them before. Why don't they come with instructions? (Place bag below spout. Lift Handle.)

I have my granola, and it's half the price of the other stuff. I'm happy, and I move onto the refrigerated section. "Why do they put the milk I want on the bottom shelf in the back? And why did someone have to put her cart in front of the only shelf that has the milk I want while she looks for her milk?"

She gets her milk, and I get mine. I then move down to the yogurt. "Why do they have to put the yogurt I like on the top shelf? Do they think I'm tall or something?"

Standing on tiptoes in heels while leaning into a refrigerator may not be the smartest thing I've ever done, but I survived. I then move onto the juice. "Where is the Odwalla, where is the Odwalla, where is it? I know they carry more than orange juice here. . . I just have to find it."

So I move onto the specialty beverages. . . "No, I don't want beer." (quick u-turn in heels. . . right). "Ok, pop. . . sobe. . . tea. . . coffee. . . water. . .this isn't working."

I go ask someone. "Other end of the store, far corner." Right where I started. So I go back to where it was. "Is this store an obstacle course? They don't need five caution things and one cart, and two boxes on the floor."

I found the Odwalla and made my way to the check-out. Final total: $20.31

Originally posted October 26, 2006.

Middle Eastern? I'm Blond!

2008-06-21T22:07:00.000-07:00

To the best of my knowledge, I am a natural blond (physically. . . actions speak for themselves). To the best of my knowledge, people in the Middle-east are not normally blond. To the best of my knowledge. . . my last name is not middle eastern!

We have had a long history with this problem. It first happened to my dad. . . pre 9/11. He was younger, had reddish hair, and was coming through customs after a long day of traveling. It was late, and the customs agent probably was not eager to be working the graveyard shift. He, without looking up, stamped my dad's passport, and said (quote), "Fark. . .Farku. . . Farkuehar? Is that Iraqi or something?"

(Actual response) "Look at me. I have red hair. Do I look Iraqi?"~end of recorded conversation~

Then, after 9-11, it happened to my mom. (no, this one was not recorded in detail).

Then it happened again, and I got the privilege of witnessing it. We were at the eye-doctor, and had been there for a while (try moving 4 kids through fast, all requiring some form of lenses, and you get the idea). As my mom was paying, he looked at the last name and said, "I want to guess middle-eastern, but your kids don't look middle-eastern."

*insert correction of pronunciation and history here*

Gee, thanks. Even if my name is spelled like it, at least they can see we're blond! ;)

Then today. . . I happened to be wearing a tan beanie, if only because I didn't feel like waking up enough to do my hair. We're leaving class, and a guy comes up to me and says, "Far-ku-a-her? Is that middle eastern?"

"No. It's actually Scottish."

"Scottish? Far-ku-a-her doesn't sound scottish."

"It is." I pronounced it for him. "It's originally Gaelic."

"Really?"

I was getting slightly annoyed at this point. The guy asking me...20-something, pot-belly, anger management issues, and couldn't take no for an answer when I said I would not date him. "I don't look middle-eastern."

"No, but your grandpa or something could have been. Are you sure it isn't middle-eastern?"

"It's Scottish."

"Oh. You know, your hat looks Muslim."

Dude! I've had this last name my whole life, and I've even done research on the name. It is from Scotland, is originally Gaelic, was changed when my ancestors came to America before the War for Independence, and means beloved son. Trust me, IT ISN'T MIDDLE EASTERN.

Thank you. If you'll excuse me, I have to go water my camels or something.

Originally posted October 19, 2006.

CDO

2008-06-17T21:57:00.000-07:00

I do not deny it. . . I am a first born child who has an order for everything, and if I don't have an order for something, I'll make it up.

That being said, family members thought this joke (in the newest Reader's Digest) was appropriate (the brother will be left unnamed, but you have a fifty-fifty chance, and that drops to guaranteed if you know anything about the reading styles of my brothers).

"I have CDO. It's like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, except that it is in alphabetical order."

I don't know why this brother of mine thought the joke worked for me.

Still, I do not have this disorder in a practical sense. . . my room is still a mess, my desk is. . . well, I'm assuming it is still there, because something is holding all that junk up, and my closet. . . God invented doors for a reason.

Originally posted October 17, 2006.

Camp Adventures With Thumper

2008-06-14T18:14:00.001-07:00

Greetings from camp! I sit here sunburned, bug-bitten, and full of very good food. (And possibly sore...but more on that later...)

We arrived for staff training bright and early Thursday morning, and the fun hasn't stopped since then. We left within 10 minutes of the official arrival time
--blindfolded and with none of our belongings.

We returned the next day. It was cold that night. :)

But not too horribly cold--after having our blindfolds removed, we went on a scavenger hunt to find appropriate camping gear, and then spent then night outside. It was super fun, and definitely memorable.

The following day we did a low-ropes course (hence the soreness). For one of the activities, the six lead staff each had to swing from one platform to another...except then myself and another guy were blindfolded (do we see a theme?). That was really fun. I only knocked someone over once.

Then today we started on the high ropes course. *Insert scary music here* First we learned all the safety stuff--we're going to be doing it with campers. Then we got to try the zip line.

Except that there was no elevator to the zipline. We had to climb a tree (with staples) to reach the zip line platform. Remember how much I hate heights? Well, I had to climb 30 feet up in the air. I hate heights...but I wasn't about to say no (in front of all these people?) And I really wanted the zipline...so up I went. Even though my knees were visibly shaking.

It was fun, and it was so totally worth it.

Thus ends the staff training...so far. We still have another week of training, so I probably won't be on the computer again until next weekend.

I can't wait to find out how it goes. :)

No Right Answers

2008-06-13T22:00:00.000-07:00

What do you say when someone says, "I just lost twenty pounds."?

Is it, "Really?", thus implying you can't tell? (ouch)

Is it, "Congratulations!", thus implying _______________?

Is it, "So?", thus implying you really couldn't care less about a formerly well-rounded individual?

Is it, "Cool, dude.", thus implying that you are a punk with no linguistic skills?

Or is it other? (If you choose this, you better come up with a good one and what it implies.)

I have no idea. If someone loses 20 pounds, I am quite impressed. Just please don't tell me. I won't know what to say. :)

Goodbye, Cruel Heels!

2008-06-12T20:59:00.000-07:00

I might have mentioned that I'm short...or that I use heels to compensate for some of my shortness. It's not like heels make me tall...the biggest heels I wear still put me two inches away from average..but at least my pants don't drag on the ground when I wear heels.

Actually, I could just hem my pants...then they wouldn't drag on the ground, regardless of shoes. Until now, however, I've been too lazy to hem my pants. Why hem them when I could wear heels? It's not like heels are uncomfortable, and they don't hurt me.

I take it back. They actually do hurt me...though it took me a year...maybe two...possibly three...to figure it out.

Okay, maybe more than three years. I've worn heels for the better part of my life (since 8th grade, that is). That's about 6 years...average of 2 inch heels.

I realized that it actually might be affecting me when it felt weird to go barefoot. In fact, it felt weird to do anything other than stand on my tip toes.

Then I realized that I couldn't really stand on one foot any more...unless I was on my tip toes. That was a problem. I really didn't like that. I used to do cartwheels and such on balance beams...and I had a problem balancing on one foot?

So I decided to go a summer without heels. Here, three weeks into this summer without heels, I'm back to my normal balancing self. Hmm...coincidence? I think not.

I shall not abandon heels entirely. I cannot abandon heels entirely. I like them too much. :)

But I'm not going to wear them every day for more than five years. That could be a problem.

Maybe just every other day.

Summer Reruns

2008-06-11T20:05:00.000-07:00

You know how all the TV shows repeat themselves over the summer? And then start a new season right about the time I'm supposed to start studying again?

(Well, first off, that's lame. But keep reading.)

I've decided to borrow their idea, lame though it may be.

I'm leaving for camp shortly. I still don't know how regular my internet access will be, but I do know that I won't have much time for blogging. I will do my best to update with stories from camp, but the regular blogging...well, it won't be very regular (not that it ever was). :)

But I have a solution. I'll do reruns--not blog posts that you've already seen, but pre-Musings blog posts (i.e. before I had a blog-blog posts). Brilliant, right? You get new blog posts, I get to play at camp, and everyone's happy.

And so now I'll go find those old blog posts. :)

And while I'm at camp, keep commenting--I really want to hear from all my friends. :) You can email and write, too.

Though I'm still not sure what I think of that whole writing thing...after all, they make us do strange things to get our mail. But you wouldn't let that stop you, would you? ;)

My Poor Water Bottle

2008-06-10T19:41:00.000-07:00

Did I mention I'm going to camp? And I'm pretty excited about it? (And that you should comment if you want to be on the email list, or if you want my mailing address?)

It's true. In between the excitement of camp, I've actually been preparing for it--sunscreen, flip-flops, sunglasses, all that stuff.

I figured a decent water bottle was in order. After all, I don't want to be dehydrated, and I have a feeling that water fountains are kind of limited at this camp.

Being the CDO type of person that I am, I comparison shop for water bottles. It has to be durable enough to last the whole summer. It cannot absorb the nasty stuff around it (i.e. swamp water). It must have some form a pour spout (i.e. so I don't spill it down the front of my shirt). It must have a wide enough mouth for ice cubes. It must fit in a car cup holder, or in a backpack. It must be dishwasher safe (because I am lazy). Above all, it must look cool.

I found one. It was a very nice water bottle (and on sale. I love Target). I bought it and sent it to the dishwasher.

Except that it was too tall for the top rack of the dishwasher. After some hemming and hawing, I decided that the bottom rack of the dishwasher would be safe. I arranged it so it absolutely could not fall through the cracks and get stuck on the heating coils in the bottoms (we've lost many plates and cups to those things). I then went on my merry way.

Someone rearranged the dishwasher...and did not pay careful attention to the location of one water bottle with an attached lid. I came home from a walk to smell smoke...and burning plastic...and dishwasher. Uh-oh

Sure enough, the water bottle had fallen through to the heating coils. The lid had been cooked off of the water bottle and was slowly melting away (think Wizard of Oz...it's melting! It's melting!). By the time my water bottle had been recovered...well, it was beyond recovery. In fact, it went straight to the trash can.

Poor little water bottle. After all that comparison shopping, too.

I guess I'll just have to go buy another one.

Divine Messages

2008-06-09T19:56:00.000-07:00

Also entitled: The History of Twiggie's Sunglasses

So I got a divine message from God. Actually, I got two of them, but one of them is more important than the other one. I'll let you pick which one is best.

Today during Communion, God sent me a divine message (this was reaffirmed by my father).

Let me back up. Last July, I invested in my first 'real' sunglasses. They were very nice sunglasses. I then took them to a summer Bible camp.

They were stolen. At a Christian camp. Not good.

The day after we got home from camp, our family was leaving on a two week road trip, so I hurried out to the store and bought myself the identical pair. Please realize that the previous pair lasted less than a week, and so when I survived the first week without my sunglasses disappearing, I was feeling pretty happy.

I came home. The sunglasses survived. They actually lasted a month.

A month into school, I dropped my backpack on them. Fortunately, only one lens popped out, so I popped it back in, lived with the scratches, and moved on.

Two weeks ago, I went snowboarding with my sunglasses. They survived the *ahem* amazing faceplants and tumble routines I did, only to be crunched when I dropped them...in the snow. Go figure. It's a cruel irony.

We were leaving for CA on a choir tour in about a week, so I went out and bought myself an identical pair...I'm a creature of habit.

They survived the entire choir tour. They survived my spring break. Since today was rather sunny, I wore them while driving to church. I then put them on the floor next to my purse. They survived my brother crawling over me. They survived the stand-up-sit-down church activities.

Then came Communion. God always speaks during that, right? We get up and go to the table, and I come back, right after my brother has gone over to his seat, and my sunglasses have been stepped on. Not just lens-popped-out stepped on, but broken in half, no longer in one piece stepped on. They lasted 10 days! Am I cursed or something? I blamed my brother. Who wouldn't? (Hyper)Active 12 year old crawling around the seats, and he was the only one I saw walking in our row. I then spent the rest of the service trying not to be mad at him for crunching my sunglasses.

After the service, I collected my sunglasses, put them in my purse, and turned to leave. Someone pulled on my purse. I assumed it was a kid and kept walking. They pulled harder, so I turned around. It was someone who I didn't know, and who was sitting at the opposite end of our row. "I am so sorry. I didn't see your sunglasses, so I stepped on them and totally crunched them."

Um, yeah. So it wasn't my brother.

After the service, my dad interpreted the divine message for me."You're just not supposed to have sunglasses."

While I might agree with him, I learned something else.

Don't jump to conclusions, even if the evidence points somewhere, until you know all the facts.

Even More Cartoons of My Life

2008-06-08T10:29:00.000-07:00

I don't know where my brothers get these ideas, but they think I exist to cook and do their laundry.

Just yesterday, David threw a pile of dirty clothes down to the family room.

I stared at him. "You missed the laundry room."

"That's what you're for."

[Insert incredulous glare here]

"You're a woman, aren't you? And don't women like doing laundry?"

The scenario repeated itself about an hour later. I was standing in the kitchen, hunting around for a snack. David walked in. "I'm hungry. Make me food."

[Insert incredulous glare here] "Make you food? Do I look like a short-order chef?"

"You're a woman, aren't you?"

I have no idea where he gets these ideas. It's not like he gets any encouragement from me.

The Joys of a Jump Rope

2008-06-07T17:34:00.000-07:00

Every now and then, I go on an exercise kick--just for the fun of it. They usually last through the summer (i.e. while I'm bored to tears at a desk job/going stir crazy at home), and then fall by the wayside during school.

As I was wandering through the toy section at Target the other day, I noticed a jump rope. That would be perfect for my latest feather-brained idea of exercise. Jump ropes are great exercise, and I can do it inside (because it's always raining), and it doesn't take up much space, and it's cheap! What could go wrong?

I had no second thoughts, or moments of second-guessing, or regrets. I took it home, tore open the packaging, and immediately tried it out...tried to break my elementary school record and all that stuff (I got to 100).

Whaddya know, it works just like any other jump rope.

Okay, I guess that works. After all, what did I want it to do? Double-dutch on command?

Then my brother came downstairs. He was enthralled with my new purchase--he had never had a jump rope. It looked cool. Being the loving older sister that I am, I handed him the jump rope--and told him to beat my record. *Giggle*

He had to restart his count each time he stopped. Oh, it was amazing. I think the farthest he got was 52--and then had to restart counting.

This might seem mean-spirited of me, but it really isn't. This is a matter of survival. My brother rivals the Energizer Bunny when it comes to his activity levels--and I'm usually on the receiving level of these things. Anything that I can do to drain his energy is a gift from God.

The jump rope was amazing. He jumped rope for almost an hour (Energizer Bunny, anyone?) before he got bored. Not tired--bored. He then chased me around the house for half an hour.

He's still fascinated with the jump rope. I've gotten him to use it several times since then, and each time, he tries to break my record. He isn't any closer than he was.

But it burns his energy. Joy. I love it when he expends energy--on an activity other than chasing me or throwing me to the ground.

My New Super-Power

2008-06-06T19:15:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning with an unusual super-power.

I have done all sorts of different (read: time-wasting) "what's your super-power" quizzes while I was bored, I've imagined what super-power I would have wanted, all that stuff.

Today I woke up with a super-power...and it was one that never made the list. In fact, I don't remember asking for this one at all.

I was able to make the room spin in circles. And I didn't have to move.

I was just lying there in bed, staring at my clock, when I realized it was moving...and I was not. Then I realized that if I rolled over, the bookshelf would take its turn spinning. And the ceiling would spin. And the pillows would spin.

I closed my eyes and tried to restart my day. Maybe I was dreaming.

Nope, same super-power. I was able to make things spin.

I took my shower, thinking that if the water was warm enough, the super-power might leave. Nope. It stuck with me. I was destined to be the Spinning Super-Hero, or something like that. I could make the shower nozzle spin in circles--without me moving. The shampoo would spin in circles around my feet. Even the drain could spin (which is impressive, considering it is in the middle of a square shower).

Then I realized the super-power had a downside. I was not able to turn it off. I was stuck with it until it decided to leave me. Or regift itself on someone else.

Bummer. Forget this whole super-hero thing. I'll stick with my normal life, thank you. No spinning super-powers for me.

It took the hint and left several hours later. Those several hours were more than enough to convince me that I enjoy being a powerless human being.

My Pics

2008-06-05T17:11:00.000-07:00

I know I've uploaded a few photos on here...and if you ever feel like killing time, here's a few more. If nothing else, you can put a face to the name to the story to the...whatever. :)

I'll keep adding more--now that it's summer, I should have time to go through my last two years of pictures...right?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/musingsofatwig/

A Fitting End

2008-06-04T10:45:00.000-07:00

(This is the last entry on my jury duty. I promise. Even I'm bored of it, so I'm going to assume you guys are.)

We showed up the next morning and began deliberations--without waiting for a lawyer or a judge to be ready for us. We had 9 questions--5 of which involved a dollar figure that 9 jurors had to approve.

Actually, it didn't take that long. In fact, deliberations was the best part. Half of the group was a teacher of some form, and the other half...well...we were all comedians. And I was already the designated 'kid' of the group (with an attention span to match), so I was allowed to have fun and squirm as much as I want. When everyone else is at least 10 years older than you, and 9 out of the 11 other jurors are married, a 19-year-old college punk seems pretty young.

So we deliberated. And deliberated. It went very quickly--the fore(wo)man would ask, "Does anyone have any objections?" We only ever had two objections the whole time.

And I got to be one of them. Oh, I was so proud of myself. It was still one of my favorite moments. :)

I raised my objection--briefly, because it was question 6 out of 9 and we were very close to the end.

One of the older ladies on the trial turned to me. I'll let you decide if she was condescending.

"Well, I can understand your feelings, dearie, but we can't let emotions determine the outcome."

*Cough* Emotions? Feelings? Me? Dearie? *Coughs again*

I took a brief moment to explain the logical deductions that led me to my disagreement. I also suggested (in fact, it might have been the first thing I mentioned) that emotions had nothing to do with it--this was just basic common sense.

Glorious moment. I swayed the entire jury--to a unanimous vote on my side. It was amazing. A little emotional dearie swayed the entire jury. *Giggles*

That was the end of the excitement (or lack thereof) in the trial. We handed the verdict to the judge, we waited, and we went home.

A fitting end. But next time--I want something better. It doesn't even have to be a criminal case--just no 40-something year old ladies having a fight over puff balls.

The End of the Trial

2008-06-03T10:35:00.000-07:00

After Mr. Cherry's 45 minutes of closing arguments, Lawyer Stiller decided to keep his brief. If it wasn't for that whole unbiased thing, I would have picked his side then.

He took 20 minutes. Sure, it was a bit long, but compared to Mr. Cherry's 45 minutes of misspeaking, it was really short (lawyer time short, remember?).

The judge then had to read us the instructions. He had to read them impartially, not giving any weight to either side (read: monotone).

He had to read--in a smooth, monotone voice--instructions for 20 minutes...and we were already extremely antsy. After that, the bailiff sent us back to the jury room and told us to begin deliberating.

10 minutes later, the judge came in. He was going home--which meant we were going home...and coming back tomorrow morning to finish deliberations.

Fortunately, day 3 was short...and the timing was up to us. We didn't have to wait for lawyers or judges or witnesses, or anything like that.

They had to wait on us. [Insert sinister laugh here]

More Cartoons of My Life

2008-06-02T09:26:00.000-07:00

I'm an English minor. I want to be an English teacher.

I laughed at this. Then I considered it's implications. And I laughed again.

Inner...er...Outer Laughings

2008-06-01T10:17:00.000-07:00

You might have gathered from this blog that I have a twisted sense of humor. I can sit in a courtroom for 2 days and still find something to laugh about--whether it's the constant scowls on every one's faces, the snoring coming from the juror behind me, the obvious boredom of the judge, or just my own ruminations.

After Mr. Cherry lost my attention, I lost myself in my inner monologue. It was quite amusing--I provided a running commentary (from my own warped perspective) on the closing arguments, and then proceeded to give play-by-play descriptions of the witnesses in the room.

Then I burst out laughing at myself. In the middle of Mr. Cherry's closing arguments. In the middle of his sentence. At a time when there was nothing funny happening.

Actually, I think that was the best moment of the trial. He looked at me--even more red than he was--trying to figure out what was so funny. Admittedly, I was the youngest on the trial by at least 10 years (maybe 15). I made no attempt to hide my boredom.

And he didn't know what to make of me. It was perfect. I love messing with people's heads--especially when they have years of schooling under their belt and try to play the crowd.

Maybe I'm just a jerk like that. Oh, it was fun.

Unfortunately, my outburst did nothing to slow Mr. Cherry's pace. He kept right on talking...for another 20 minutes.

By this time in his closing arguments, he lost us all. It was after 5 p.m., and except for the guy snoring behind me, we were all quite ready to leave the cramped jury box. And the jury room. And the courthouse.

But he kept talking...so we all made a point to stare at the clock. It was a unified, spontaneous declaration of boredom.

Mr. Cherry missed it and kept right on talking--but at least we were in agreement on our desire to be done. That might speed up deliberations.

The Closing That Never Ends

2008-05-31T10:08:00.000-07:00

As mentioned, Mr. Cherry was oblivious to the hostile jury in the room. He took his jolly-old time with the witnesses, with approaching the bench, with his short lawyer breaks, and all that other stuff. The guy took 3 stinkin' hours on one witness.

Then came his closing arguments. He mentioned at the beginning of the trial that closing arguments would be longer than opening arguments--and opening arguments were 30 minutes.

It was 2:30 p.m. when the lawyers finished their witnesses, so we had great hope that we would indeed be done in two days. Even if each lawyer took an hour, we could still deliberate in less than 3 hours and be done with the whole case.

Well, the lawyers weren't ready for closing arguments. They had to approach the bench and clarify some matters.

The judge then dismissed us back to the jury room to wait while the lawyers cleared up final legalese before closing arguments. He told us it would be a longer break, but we needed to wait in the jury room.

A longer break? Considering our short breaks were 20 minutes, we weren't expecting too much from these lawyers...so we all settled into our chairs, opened our books, and got comfortable.

30 minutes later, we were still waiting. 45 minutes later, we were still waiting. An hour later, we were still waiting. An hour and a half, we were still waiting.

Finally, after 2 hours of sitting in a 15 by 20 conference room, the bailiff lined us up to return to the courtroom.

It was 4:30 p.m. We were a very unhappy jury. We even attempted to communicate this unhappiness to the lawyers.

All of us were squirming in some way, shape, or form (for me, that meant my entire chair was spinning). The majority of us had already shut our notebooks. I was (again) sitting with my arms crossed, slouching, and had removed my glasses--as Mr. Cherry was looking right at me. "Come on, make me care. I dare you. I'll listen to the first 10 minutes. If you don't say anything new after that, or if you keep mixing up the facts, my attention span is gone."

After ten minutes, Mr. Cherry still hadn't figured out his client's name. I could recite the facts from the case better than he could. I could summarize the case--and the dollar figures they wanted--in approximately 5 minutes.

He was still talking after 30 minutes, so I tuned out and enjoyed my own conversation with myself.

Lawyer Time

2008-05-30T09:52:00.000-07:00

Yes, the courtroom drama continues. :)

While the lawyers were picking potential jurors, the judge asked if it would cause us any significant hardship to stay for a two-day trial.

At this point, I didn't know what the trial was, so I was still kind of excited. Three lawyers, five witnesses, and two days? It should be a good one.

Then we got the rest of the information...and I realized I was in for a long two days.

Mr. Cherry said we would be done around lunch of the second day. Lawyer Stiller didn't comment on the length of the trial. The judge and the bailiff said two days.

But when lawyers give a time, they really mean that time plus half of it again. If a lawyer says he needs a ten minute break to prepare for his next witness, we'll be back in 15...or 20...occasionally 30 minutes. If the judge says show up at 9, he really means that the lawyers will be ready for you at 9:30.

If they say it's a two day trial, what they mean to say it's a three day trial: two days of testimony, and then the next day we can deliberate.

Whee. The jury easily spent 5 hours waiting in the jury room for supposedly 'short' breaks. Add to that a lame trial and an extra day (to the extra day we already got), and you had some hostile jurors in the box.

Mr. Cherry was fairly oblivious to this fact.

Cartoons of My Life

2008-05-29T09:20:00.000-07:00

Ever tried to get an answer from a stubborn person who really doesn't want to give an answer?

I liked this cartoon. :) I don't always like answering questions.

(Click to enlarge it.)

Judged Pathetic

2008-05-28T09:30:00.000-07:00

(We now resume our courtroom drama.)

The lawyers finished their lawyer-speak and let the judge brief us on the case.

"This case is a civil dispute involving a Pomeranian."

A what? You've got to be kidding me. We have a lawsuit, with three lawyers and 5-ish witnesses, over a Pomeranian? It's an electrocuted cotton ball! (But...stereotypically...all of the female witnesses in the room were Pomeranian breeders or showers...and all looked like the typical, middle-aged single yap-yap dog owners that they were. Humph.)

Okay. I'll wait a little longer to see if it gets any better.

If better really means worse, then it did get better. The first lawyer (Mr. Cherry) decided to give us his take of the trial during opening statements...and took half an hour. Any excitement that was trying to survive was immediately drowned by disdain. Mr. Cherry then mentioned that he would complete the rest of the details during his closing arguments...when he had more time. Whee.

Then Lawyer Stiller gave us his take on the trial. He was much more articulate, etc., but...he didn't really have a case. When it comes down to "She said, she said," and your witness isn't all that big on countering the evidence Mr. Cherry has, you can't do too much.

It got even 'better.' :) Mr. Cherry called his first witness--the plaintiff, mind you--to the stand, and proceeded to question her. Unfortunately, he couldn't keep her name straight. This trial has been in the makings for two years, and he can't keep her name straight. Mr. Cherry proceeded--at least a dozen times--to call his plaintiff by the defendant's name.

Lawyer Stiller, in true comedic fashion, produced a large sticky note, a large pen, and began keeping a tally of each time Mr. Cherry messed up his client's name.

Aside from bringing a few moments of laughter to the court, I don't think this helped Mr. Cherry's case.

Summer Playtime

2008-05-27T07:30:00.000-07:00

I'm going to camp in two weeks, and I'm pretty excited about it. I mean, talk about the ideal summer job.

"Here. Your job this summer is to play with kids. Do whatever they do (within reason). Have fun."

Sure, it's a 24/7 job (and if they had a way to add more hours to the day, we would be working them), and I don't exactly get weekends off (though we technically do?), but I think it's going to be the best job I've had, or possibly will have. It's like being a teacher, only more fun and with no paperwork! :)

That being said, I'll probably be absent from my blog for a while. I'll try to keep you guys updated on my summer happenings, but I make no promises. Like I said, it's not like we get a lot of time off.

And along those lines...I would LOVE to hear from you guys this summer, even if I'm not blogging. I'll have an email prayer update newsletter story time thingy, and I can receive lots of paper mail.

Yeah...about that mail stuff...it's like any other camp. They make campers do strange things for their male. And they're even meaner to the counselors. But I still want mail. :)

If you would like to be on my email list (however sporadic it may be), and/or if you want my mailing address, leave me a comment. Pretty please. :) With a cherry on top? (If that's your thing.)

I leave June 11 and will be back in the middle of August. It's going to be so much fun!!!

I'll probably post more details later. Until then, send me your email. I'll send you my mail. It will work out amazingly. :)

A Sorry (Law)Suit

2008-05-26T08:58:00.000-07:00

As previously mentioned, it took me about one minute of lawyer-speak for me to lose my enthusiasm for the case. The first thing they asked was, "Have you ever entered into a contract? A non-written contract?"

Whee. We have a trial about an oral contract. We have a trial of "He said, She said..." except it was all "She saids." I was no longer excited.

I mentioned there were several scowling witnesses in the room. All were female. It was a glorified cat fight. I definitely was no longer excited.

Then the lawers started asking more questions. "Do any of you have experience with dog breeding? Or dog showing?"

Whee. It wasn't a glorified cat fight. It was a glorified dog fight. I was no longer even considering excitement. I was now desperately fighting apathy.

It got better after that. The lawyers removed two people--I was not one of them--and then the bailiff swore the rest of us into jury service. Call it civic duty. Call it pressed into service. Either way, we now had 12 people sitting in spinning chairs.

And I started twitching. Bummer if you sit next to me.

Not Mason's Trial, Either

2008-05-25T08:42:00.000-07:00

The bailiff-type-person selected 22 of us to be released from the dungeon and travel up to the fourth floor of the courtroom. I had no idea where I would be in the list, but 22 people...and only 12 would stay. I was kind of excited.

Then the bailiff-type-person led us the back way up to the fourth floor--we were actually going to a different building, so we got to go through the tunnels. And the boiler rooms. And the fire exit stairs. And all that cool stuff. I was kind of excited.

Then we got to the courtroom and lined up. I was number 8 out of 22...unless I said something stupid, I was on whatever trial we had coming. I was kind of excited.

5 scowling witnesses (yes, scowling. Just wait until I get to them) and 3 lawyers tried to have a staring contest with us. Witnesses--I was kind of excited. This could be good.

I lost my enthusiasm right about the time the lawyers started talking. The first guy...well...slightly overweight, balding, and red like a cherry. Oh, and he couldn't speak well, either--not like he had a stutter...more like a, um, you know, a jr. higher who wasn't all, i dunno, concerned with articulation.

The other lawyer could speak a little better--and he looked like Ben Stiller. I don't know if he meant to style his hair like Ben Stiller's, but it was pretty hard to keep a straight face when he started moving around, talking, gesturing, all that stuff.

Then they started asking us questions. It didn't take us all that long to figure out this wasn't a criminal case. It wasn't even an interesting case.

In fact, it shouldn't even have been a case. And I lost my enthusiasm. I was no longer kind of excited.

So I crossed my arms, slouched down in my chair, and waited for the lawyers to convince me that their trial had some significance.

I'm still waiting.

Not Grisham's Jury

2008-05-24T08:41:00.000-07:00

You know how sometimes, things look super-cool in movies and on TV, but they can be kind of disappointing in real life? Like how Perry Mason gets his trial done in one hour, and the trial is dramatic? Or how John Grisham gets an interesting trial, with some action, or a controversial case?

I had my jury duty this week. First time ever...and I was kind of excited. I was number 20 out of 359, so I figured I would be on a trial...and I was kind of excited.

Of course, then I saw that I had to leave at 7 a.m. to get to the courthouse on time...and I was not excited.

Then I had to wait outside in the rain--because the courthouse is very punctual and wouldn't dream of unlocking the doors 3 minutes early for the 20 people waiting outside...and I was not excited.

Then I had to go sit in a basement room...in uncomfortable chairs...for an hour of jury orientation...and I was not excited.

Then I got selected for a trial pool...and I was excited again.

Perhaps I just had to get through the behind-the-scenes stuff to get to Perry Mason and John Grisham's trials.

And so began my jury duty.

$hrinking Feet

2008-05-23T19:53:00.000-07:00

It's fairly common knowledge that I'm small. I clear 5 feet by about half an inch. Everything I wore today was from the girl's section. I'm small. I know I'm small.

But I didn't know I was this small.

I used to wear a women's shoe size 6. That worked out nicely, as every store carried a women's 6.

Then the shoe industry resized their shoes...and I became a size 5. That still worked, as most stores carried a size 5 (Target included). I was okay with being a size 5.

Then the shoe industry resized their shoes...again...and I no longer fit into women's sizes. I am now a girl's size 2.5. A two-and-a-half. I haven't been a size 2.5 since fourth grade. I wore a size 3 in 6th grade. I wore a women's 6 in 8th grade. My feet haven't grown since 8th grade...but they haven't shrunk, either. I promise. I may not be growing, but I'm not shrinking.

Well, the shoe industry may be resizing all their stuff, but I got a perk out of the deal. I can now wear children's shoes again.

Sure, it occasionally can be frustrating to have to sort through glitter, butterflies, hello kitty, hannah montana, et. al., to find a decent pair of shoes, but I do get a perk from the deal.

Girl's shoes are half the price of women's shoes. At least there is some redeeming value to the re$izing of the $hoes.

I'm Out of Excuses

2008-05-23T12:31:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's true. I haven't been blogging for a while.

Yes, it's true. Summer break started last Friday.

Yes, it's true. I just finished jury duty.

Yes, it's true. I actually do have something about which to blog.

Yes, it's true. I'm just being lazy.

Yes, it's true. I've run out of excuses...so I'll actually start blogging again.

Maybe I'll start blogging about those excuses I don't have.

If You Can't Spell It...

2008-05-18T17:09:00.000-07:00

I will readily admit that spelling is a gift. If it was not for the spell-check, you would be in no doubt of my lack of spelling skills. I can place a comma exactly where it belongs, or use a red pen to find your split infinitives and passive sentences, but I cannot spell when I write. My brain focuses on other things...not spelling.

If someone asks me how to spell a word, I can usually spell it right...if I think about it. As everyone in our house has an aversion to the dictionary, we often ask each other how to spell words.

But sometimes we ask how to spell...um...words that we should know how to spell. Case in point:

Younger sibling: "How do you spell stupid?"
"Um, how do you think it's spelled?"
(All insertions of sibling's names at this point have been censored. Because you saw that one coming, didn't you?)
"S-t-u-p-e-d."
"Um...no."

I just find it really ironic that someone would spell stupid wrong. But maybe that's just my twisted sense of humor.

Tag...I'm It?

2008-05-10T23:37:00.000-07:00

You might have noticed that I haven't been blogging recently. I haven't--that might be part of the problem--but I'm okay with that. It must be something about summer...or school...or finals...or sleep...or lack thereof...but something is keeping me from being too overly concerned about cyberspace depression or missing person alerts.

But enough about my excuses. Let's talk about me. :) (I have a good reason--Lani tagged me. Talk to her if you don't want to hear about me.) Apparently everything in this tag comes in a group of 4, which works really well for my family.

4 Jobs I've Had
1. Secretary/Bottom-of-Office Totem Pole
2. Journalist
3. ESL Curriculum Writer
4. Babysitter/Nanny

4 Movies I've Watched A Lot
1. LOTR (Yes, all 3. Every 6 months.)
2. Italian Job
3. Home Alone
4. Pride and Prejudice

4 Places I've Lived
1. SE side of the city
2. Very SW side of the city
3. Slightly SW side of the city
4. NE side of the city

Yes, this is true. I've lived in the same city my entire life. Including college. But I love travelling. Really.

4 TV Shows I Watch
1. Psych (just finished the first season, thank you very much)
2. Hogan's Heroes
3. Andy Griffeth
4. Bill Cosby

4 Places I've Been
1. Italy
2. Greece
3. Mexico
4. Southern US (yes, all 4 of these require a passport...or should.) :)

4 Favorite Foods
1. Chocolate. Duh.
2. Strawberries...in any form.
3. Chex Mix
4. Teriyaki Beef/Broccoli

4 Places I Want to Visit
1. Austria--Think Sound of Music
2. New Zealand--Think LOTR (do we see a theme?)
3. Washington, DC (no movies--just really cool stuff)
4. New York (see above)

4 Exciting/Upcoming Year Events
1. Saying "G'bye" to teenage years--it's taken long enough. :)
2. Summer camp!!!
3. Figuring out how to swing dance...gracefully...somehow.
4. WS Veteran status--I'm already excited for next fall. :)

So there's my first post in a while. If I ever come up with the ~~discipline~~ time to start blogging again, I'll give you something a little more interesting. Promise.

Due to an Extended Twiggie Absense...

2008-04-07T18:05:00.001-07:00

I would like to introduce a guest blogger.

That's it. Here ya go.

* * *

Why hello world (and all who dwell therein) I am one of Twiggie's *ahem* friends, and I'm here to help. So far today, I have had an emotional breakdown (over a green eyed guy), a really good idea (involving entrepreneurship as it relates to third world countries), supervised some work (while leaning on a lawn mower), and had an argument with God - which I'd like to think I won . . . but we shall see. . . .

All this to say, I think I am perfectly qualified to run the world.

So vote me-Hobbes-for president!

Curses on the Ides of April

2008-03-28T13:48:00.000-07:00

Today I decided that filing my taxes would be a good idea. By good idea, I mean necessary. That's all I can say for them.

I sat down, pulled out the form that the IRS sent me, and filled it out. It took about an hour.

Then I realized that I don't qualify to use the form they sent me. I'm a "self-employed" contractor.

I then spent half an hour searching for the correct form, only to be convinced that the government really doesn't want my money. If they did, they would make it easier for me to send to them.

A Wii Collision

2008-03-27T22:08:00.000-07:00

I've heard that Wii's are potentially dangerous. Remotes flying, crunched TV's, strained muscles, all that stuff.

My dog can attest to that. She thinks Wii's are really dangerous.

I didn't throw the remote at her. I didn't even step on her.

No, I punched her. Hard. I wasn't even boxing.

I was bowling. There should be warnings everywhere when blonds bowl.

It was actually her fault. The TV is several feet off the ground, and the dog is...not. I was looking up. She was down. I swung my arm back, going for the spare. I sent my arm flying forward, certain that I would get the spare.

Except for one 70 pound collision. And that's only the dog's side of things.

She decided she wanted attention from me, and she got it...a full-on punch in the ribs. It's the first time I've ever punched something...and it hurt!

Well, it's a given that it hurt her, but it hurt me, and she's got lots of padding. I was just going for a normal spare when the dog walked in the way.

I didn't get a spare. Instead, I got a sore elbow. And a dog that won't come near me.

I'm not sure which is worse.

Incriminating Ring By Spring

2008-03-24T10:17:00.000-07:00

Today, on the first day of my spring break, I decided to show up to the office and actually do something (not to say I don't do things on the other days that I just show up...think about the mayo packet.)

I think I was in the office for an hour before one of the guys asked me how my degree was going.

I, being the non-morning blond female, took him literally. "Well, I'm passing all my classes, and I'm three credits away from being a junior, blah blah blah."

You know that grin guys (especially little brothers) get before they cause trouble or say something funny?

He had it. "I mean you Bible college degree. Do you have a ring yet?"

I could have laughed it off right there. I should have laughed it off right there. One would think that I would have laughed it off right there.

But no. I am a non-morning blond female. "What have you heard?"

His grin widened. "What should I have heard?"

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just have this really bad habit of thinking before I speak. I know nothing. I said nothing incriminating. It was just a curious question. Just a curious question.

A Mental Spring Break

2008-03-20T13:56:00.000-07:00

Today has been a glorious day.

It started last night--well, technically this morning. I decided I was skipping my 7 a.m. class (first time this year!!!), so I spent half an hour drafting a creative email to the professor comically explaining my reasons for skipping (I needed to either study for a midterm or study the insides of my eyelids).

I then turned off my alarm clock. What an amazing feeling.

Yes, today has been glorious. I got out of bed around 10:30 and studied for the mid-term that I had at noon. I spent 20 minutes studying for said mid-term and 20 minutes taking said mid-term.

I then had a leisurely lunch. And skipped another class.

What a glorious day. Spring break officially starts tomorrow at 2:22 (because the professor always lets out late), but mine started last night.

Well, technically this morning. But close enough. :)

In Loving Memory

2008-03-14T21:51:00.000-07:00

It is with great sorrow that I report a death.

My blue pen died today.

It was a good pen. We had been through many things together: class notes (and note-passing), doodling, test taking, body art (never on me...), and, of course, homework.

The pen was faithful and hard-working to the end. Only this week we went through two mid-terms. If only I had known it was so close to the end--perhaps I wouldn't have pushed it so hard.

The first mid-term was Wednesday. It was a blue-book test, so I had to use the blue pen (yes, I'm OCD. Why do you ask?).

That mid-term went well, so I decided to use it the next day for taking notes--3 pages of notes.

The notes went well, so I decided to use it on my next mid-term--and, coincidentally, it involved a 4 page essay question.

My faithful blue pen never complained. It worked hard to the end--through notes, through mid-terms, until it had given me all it had to give.

It died suddenly and tragically while editing a paper.

May my faithful blue pen find more rest in a trash can than it ever did in my hand. Farewell, blue pen.

And We're Off

2008-03-06T15:42:00.000-08:00

Today I embark on a journey. A perilous journey fraught with music, movies, and talking.

But I do not embark alone. We shall travel together, present together, and leave together. We will survive.

(In case you didn't translate that, the WS team is headed out on a road trip today--prayers appreciated. I'll see y'all next week!)