It’s an interesting thing to live alone. Most of the time I absolutely love it. It’s nice that things stay put (usually) where I leave them, and that the temperature is completely under my control. What? I don’t have control issues. Anyway. I enjoy being able to watch TV whenever, or sit all day with the TV off, reading or staring out the window. I get the bathroom when I want, and I have an entire apartment in which to store things. No sharing of space. I don’t do well with sharing. I failed kindergarten. (I didn’t really, but it sounds good. No, it actually doesn’t. What am I talking about?)
Anyways. When you live alone, you get very used to being alone. Duh, I know, but I think that living alone has helped me to learn to be alone other places as well. In college, I never liked going anywhere alone. It stressed me out if I had to go eat at the Commons alone. It’s still not my favorite thing to eat alone in public, but I have had to do it enough (partially because of my job), that it doesn’t really bother me. In college, if I had to go to the store, I would find a buddy. Now I prefer to shop alone. I feel like living by myself has forced me to become a more independent and self-sufficient person. Sometimes a little too self-sufficient.
Living alone can be very lonely. Today, after an absolutely terrible session, I just wanted to be able to come home and decompress with someone. Talk about what was going on, and then move on. Besides the practical side, like having someone to split rent and bills, I miss having a roommate. Someone to laugh with and chat with. Someone to share dinners with. Someone to know where I am.
I have had some of the best roommates in the world. My sister, of course, was my first “roommate.” We had some good years. We had tape down the middle of our room in Ackley, IA. Her side was always neat as a pin, while mine had very little floor visible. She used to enjoy forcing me to play school (she would let me go for "recess," complete my homework for me, purposely answering questions incorrectly, and then mark them wrong in a red pen) or kicking me out when she had friends over. I enjoyed putting her things out of place and annoying her by being sickeningly cute when she had friends over so they would want to play with me. We lived together until I was in fourth grade. Even back then, and despite her being a typical "older sister," I remember appreciating having someone else around. It was weird staying in a room by myself. Of course, I got used to it. In high school I had the whole basement to myself, but I could always hear my parents moving around upstairs.
Kaija was my freshman year roommate. We braved the new world of college together. We had our ups and downs, but we’re still good friends. Solberg 101 forever! (Wait…was that our room?) We always enjoyed having very unique names together. We bonded over it. That, and Honors Religion. And our matching gold chairs.
Sophomore year was the year of craziness. I lived with my dear friend Nik. She and I share a brain, and we had things in our room such as the ceiling of hotties above our desk, and our “face door,” which we created way before Facebook. We painted our loft with chalkboard paint and made people sign it when they visited. We played many pranks together. It was a good year.
Apparently this has turned into a roommate rundown. Don’t worry, there are only a few left. My junior year I lived with Kristen. (She just had a baby, by the way. Beautiful baby. :)) We had crabs (the hermit kind). Their names were Skohotentot and Skolinkenlot. I might have named them. We also had special plants called “living stones,” but we called them butt plants, because they looked like little butts. I also lived across from Kristen senior year, when we both had single rooms. We would leave our doors open and it was almost like we were still living together :)
Between my senior year of college and my first year of grad school, I lived with Heidi. Heidi was crazy. She is my only former roommate with whom I have no contact anymore. That’s all I have to say about that.
Going into grad school, I thought I was going to have to live alone. I was at a wedding for a woman who worked in the office where I did work study for four years, and was talking with some of the other student workers. One had graduated a year ahead of me. She was pretty awesome. Her name was Jill. Well, her name still is Jill, actually. :) It just happened that Jill’s roommate was getting married and she was looking for a new place to live. Just like that, I had myself a roommate. That was totally amazing, because I really couldn’t afford to live alone. It was double amazing because Jill turned out to be an awesome roommate and is still a dear friend. We used to sing together and just had really good talks. Oh how I miss my Jilly.
My last roommate was Sarah. It was a similar situation as with Jill. I knew Sarah in college, but we were never super close. However, we both happened to be looking for roommates at the same time and randomly found each other. Living with Sarah was almost like living alone, because our schedules were so opposite. There was just enough of that camaraderie to keep things from being too lonely though.
Long story short…roommates are great. I love living alone, but I think in the right place I would enjoy having a roommate again. A bigger place than my current apartment for sure. In fact, if all my former roommates could live in a house together, life would be perfect. Wait…
Or. I could just get married.
Wow, I need sleep.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Will we ever learn?
The past several weeks I have spent a lot of free time watching DVDs of the show "Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman." It's becoming a bit of a problem. You see, I'm a bit obsessed, and my apartment is not self-cleaning.
I love this show. I am so fascinated by history, not so much what happened, which is important, but how people lived in the past. We have so much technology and convenience now, I find it hard to imagine living without things like microwaves, cars, and hair straighteners. Where the fastest way to get a message to someone who lives across the country is by telegraph or pony express. And the news in the letter is weeks old by the time it reaches its destination. I can't imagine taking weeks/months long trips because it takes so long to get somewhere, or to say goodbye to someone knowing you may never see or hear from them again.
There is a place in Des Moines called Living History Farms, which is like a playground for someone like me. It takes you through decades of progress, how people lived in many different times. I love walking through the houses and hearing explanations of how people went about day to day living. Seeing how women were able to do the cooking and cleaning (yes, mostly just women, just a fact). Fascinating. Really. (Facebook friends, if you haven't seen my album from LHF, it is here.)
I also love the small town feel of Dr. Quinn. Everyone knows everyone else, and there isn't anything like TV or video games to distract, so they have to create their own entertainment. Dances and picnics are a regular occurrence. Now, I realize this is TV, but still. It's wonderful :)
We have come a long way from the world of Dr. Quinn. In some ways. In other ways, though, I feel as if we still have a long way to go. A constant frustration for me, and for Phyllis, who is borrowing the DVDs from me, is the ignorance. Again, I realize it's a TV show, but my guess is that things were actually much worse than they show. On the show, they want people to have compassion for their characters, so they give them some redeeming qualities and things usually turn out decently. Not so in real life. The way that Native Americans were treated is appalling. What gave anyone the right to come in and take the land? And then shuttle these people, who had lived on the land for hundreds of years, into small tracts of crap land and force them to live like white people. Really? They were called savages, but I think anyone with a brain can figure out where that title actually belongs. The show depicts cruelty and discrimination against Indians, blacks, hispanics, women...basically anyone who is different, or does things differently than expected.
And I don't feel like things have changed that much. How often do we make judgments about people before even talking to them? We see them and decide we know who they are before they have a chance to defend themselves. We think with our eyes, instead of using the wonderful blob in our heads. We assign them attributes based on cultural expectations and our own prejudices. We forget that people are people, no matter what they look like. That person you are avoiding because they're not good-looking enough may be the love of your life, while the person you're devoting your energy to may be the biggest jerk in the world. As much as we use our sight, we are blinded by it.
I don't really have anything else to say on that topic. Well, I have a lot, but I think that's enough. I started another more entertaining blog a few days ago. I'll finish that at some point soon. Right now, I have some more Dr. Quinn to watch. :)
I love this show. I am so fascinated by history, not so much what happened, which is important, but how people lived in the past. We have so much technology and convenience now, I find it hard to imagine living without things like microwaves, cars, and hair straighteners. Where the fastest way to get a message to someone who lives across the country is by telegraph or pony express. And the news in the letter is weeks old by the time it reaches its destination. I can't imagine taking weeks/months long trips because it takes so long to get somewhere, or to say goodbye to someone knowing you may never see or hear from them again.
There is a place in Des Moines called Living History Farms, which is like a playground for someone like me. It takes you through decades of progress, how people lived in many different times. I love walking through the houses and hearing explanations of how people went about day to day living. Seeing how women were able to do the cooking and cleaning (yes, mostly just women, just a fact). Fascinating. Really. (Facebook friends, if you haven't seen my album from LHF, it is here.)
I also love the small town feel of Dr. Quinn. Everyone knows everyone else, and there isn't anything like TV or video games to distract, so they have to create their own entertainment. Dances and picnics are a regular occurrence. Now, I realize this is TV, but still. It's wonderful :)
We have come a long way from the world of Dr. Quinn. In some ways. In other ways, though, I feel as if we still have a long way to go. A constant frustration for me, and for Phyllis, who is borrowing the DVDs from me, is the ignorance. Again, I realize it's a TV show, but my guess is that things were actually much worse than they show. On the show, they want people to have compassion for their characters, so they give them some redeeming qualities and things usually turn out decently. Not so in real life. The way that Native Americans were treated is appalling. What gave anyone the right to come in and take the land? And then shuttle these people, who had lived on the land for hundreds of years, into small tracts of crap land and force them to live like white people. Really? They were called savages, but I think anyone with a brain can figure out where that title actually belongs. The show depicts cruelty and discrimination against Indians, blacks, hispanics, women...basically anyone who is different, or does things differently than expected.
And I don't feel like things have changed that much. How often do we make judgments about people before even talking to them? We see them and decide we know who they are before they have a chance to defend themselves. We think with our eyes, instead of using the wonderful blob in our heads. We assign them attributes based on cultural expectations and our own prejudices. We forget that people are people, no matter what they look like. That person you are avoiding because they're not good-looking enough may be the love of your life, while the person you're devoting your energy to may be the biggest jerk in the world. As much as we use our sight, we are blinded by it.
I don't really have anything else to say on that topic. Well, I have a lot, but I think that's enough. I started another more entertaining blog a few days ago. I'll finish that at some point soon. Right now, I have some more Dr. Quinn to watch. :)
Sunday, July 11, 2010
A salon guidebook
I realize that to some people, trips to the salon may be boring or pointless. Why go to a salon when you can cut your own hair? they may wonder. Perhaps others worry about what a trip to the salon is like. What should I expect? you might ask. Anxiety can be especially acute when trying out a new salon. I have decided, as a public service, to put together a synopsis of what someone might expect on a trip to the salon.*
Trips to the salon are fantastic. Okay, so first you go in and they sit you in a chair and you get to wear a CAPE. They put it on backwards, but still, pretty awesome, right? And you're not weird, because EVERYONE is wearing a cape just like you, and no one makes fun of you for wearing it backwards. After that, they hand you this book with a bunch of different colors of fake hair (at least I think it's fake). You get to pick whatever colors you want from the book. I thought hot pink looked fantastic, but settled for a brighter red then normal and light blonde. The hairstylist disappears to "mix the colors" and leaves you all alone in a SWIVEL CHAIR. So great.
When the stylist returns, your dizziness changes from being due to excessive swiveling to being due to the fumes rising from the bowls of color. You may wonder why she is putting purple in your hair, but don't worry, it usually isn't the color it looks. Kinda like paint when you paint your wall and it looks a different color in the can but then isn't quite that color when it dries, except even more so with this because the purple turns your hair blonde, not just a lighter shade of purple, which is good, because I would love to have purple hair but it probably wouldn't be very professional. The stylist begins to paint your hair and wrap it in foil. It's fun to have someone play with your hair. Of course, the first part of the time your hair is in your face and it kinda gets stuck in your mouth and in your eyelashes and it gets kinda hot if you have lots of hair and you can't read your magazine because there's a giant sheet of hair in your face, but it's still nice.
If you have as much hair as me, you end up with about the equivalent of an entire roll of tin foil on your head and resemble one of those crazy people who thinks they can pick up alien frequencies with a tin foil hat. Silly people. I only pick up radio waves. So you rock out to the radio waves being directly transmitted into your brain, and ignore the strange looks you get as you stand up and start dancing. Seriously, these people are wearing their capes BACKWARDS and they're giving YOU weird looks? Sheesh. This goes on for about 30 minutes until it's time to say goodbye to your radio waves and get the foil removed.
The salon has these awesome chairs that have a sink actually attached to the top, so it's always at the perfect height. Plus, the stylist hits a button and a footrest rises from under the chair, so you're all sprawled out while someone else washes your hair. Pretty amazing. It's like something out of Star Trek. You can sit and pretend you're in some futuristic world getting your hair washed to distract you from worrying about your hair coming out with the foils. It happened once on Step By Step. It was okay on the show, though, because it became the style and then everyone wanted a bald spot. Somehow I don't think that would happen in real life, but it sure worked out well in a half hour sitcom.
The hair washing part is amazing. You lay there and they massage special potions into your hair. It lasts at least five minutes, probably longer. The mix of smells is intoxicating, and you start to think you're having your hair washed by fairies in a magical meadow. These potions make your hair smell amazing and it ends up all shiny and soft. Of course, this only lasts until you have to wash it again. It's kind of like being Cinderella, where the spell wears off at midnight, except you shouldn't shower at midnight because if you go to bed with wet hair it ends up all kinky and it might look like you have a square head if you can't get all the bumps out with a flat iron. But I digress.
You're taken back to a different chair, which also swivels, but you don't really have time to really enjoy it because the stylist doesn't really leave you alone again. You may wonder if she realizes something happened before... She takes out her scissors and proceeds to chop into the locks you have lovingly cared for for so long. It's a little sad, and it's okay to cry at this point. The stylist will probably ignore you, but if she doesn't, you can probably make up some story about flying hair landing in your eye. It's plausible.
After the cut, your stylist blows your hair dry (this may take a while if you have enough hair to cover three heads) and then puts some more potion in it. She flat irons it better than you ever could yourself, spraying something on it that makes it shiny and smooth. One final application of yet another magical substance really makes the hair shine, and it lays down smoothly. At this point, your hair will look the best it will probably look for the next six months, color bright, flyaways and curls tamed. It's enough to bring another tear to your eye, but I would advise against this, as you've probably already used the "hair in my eye" excuse and people start to look at you out of the corners of their eyes like you're crazy if you get too emotional too often. Especially in a hair salon.
You are asked to relinquish your cape, which you must do, or they probably won't let you come back. And you will be back. They will probably ask you to leave after you stare at yourself in the mirror for 30 minutes or so, so you should probably plan to have a good mirror in your car. Just be sure to hide it before you drive home. No need to cause car wrecks over fabulous hair.
My trip to the salon was a magical adventure. I hope yours is just as amazing! Good luck, and good hair.
*Of course, be aware that these trips vary according to salon and stylist used, and service requested. Please don't sue me if your trip is not as amazing as this guide makes it out to be.
Trips to the salon are fantastic. Okay, so first you go in and they sit you in a chair and you get to wear a CAPE. They put it on backwards, but still, pretty awesome, right? And you're not weird, because EVERYONE is wearing a cape just like you, and no one makes fun of you for wearing it backwards. After that, they hand you this book with a bunch of different colors of fake hair (at least I think it's fake). You get to pick whatever colors you want from the book. I thought hot pink looked fantastic, but settled for a brighter red then normal and light blonde. The hairstylist disappears to "mix the colors" and leaves you all alone in a SWIVEL CHAIR. So great.
When the stylist returns, your dizziness changes from being due to excessive swiveling to being due to the fumes rising from the bowls of color. You may wonder why she is putting purple in your hair, but don't worry, it usually isn't the color it looks. Kinda like paint when you paint your wall and it looks a different color in the can but then isn't quite that color when it dries, except even more so with this because the purple turns your hair blonde, not just a lighter shade of purple, which is good, because I would love to have purple hair but it probably wouldn't be very professional. The stylist begins to paint your hair and wrap it in foil. It's fun to have someone play with your hair. Of course, the first part of the time your hair is in your face and it kinda gets stuck in your mouth and in your eyelashes and it gets kinda hot if you have lots of hair and you can't read your magazine because there's a giant sheet of hair in your face, but it's still nice.
If you have as much hair as me, you end up with about the equivalent of an entire roll of tin foil on your head and resemble one of those crazy people who thinks they can pick up alien frequencies with a tin foil hat. Silly people. I only pick up radio waves. So you rock out to the radio waves being directly transmitted into your brain, and ignore the strange looks you get as you stand up and start dancing. Seriously, these people are wearing their capes BACKWARDS and they're giving YOU weird looks? Sheesh. This goes on for about 30 minutes until it's time to say goodbye to your radio waves and get the foil removed.
The salon has these awesome chairs that have a sink actually attached to the top, so it's always at the perfect height. Plus, the stylist hits a button and a footrest rises from under the chair, so you're all sprawled out while someone else washes your hair. Pretty amazing. It's like something out of Star Trek. You can sit and pretend you're in some futuristic world getting your hair washed to distract you from worrying about your hair coming out with the foils. It happened once on Step By Step. It was okay on the show, though, because it became the style and then everyone wanted a bald spot. Somehow I don't think that would happen in real life, but it sure worked out well in a half hour sitcom.
The hair washing part is amazing. You lay there and they massage special potions into your hair. It lasts at least five minutes, probably longer. The mix of smells is intoxicating, and you start to think you're having your hair washed by fairies in a magical meadow. These potions make your hair smell amazing and it ends up all shiny and soft. Of course, this only lasts until you have to wash it again. It's kind of like being Cinderella, where the spell wears off at midnight, except you shouldn't shower at midnight because if you go to bed with wet hair it ends up all kinky and it might look like you have a square head if you can't get all the bumps out with a flat iron. But I digress.
You're taken back to a different chair, which also swivels, but you don't really have time to really enjoy it because the stylist doesn't really leave you alone again. You may wonder if she realizes something happened before... She takes out her scissors and proceeds to chop into the locks you have lovingly cared for for so long. It's a little sad, and it's okay to cry at this point. The stylist will probably ignore you, but if she doesn't, you can probably make up some story about flying hair landing in your eye. It's plausible.
After the cut, your stylist blows your hair dry (this may take a while if you have enough hair to cover three heads) and then puts some more potion in it. She flat irons it better than you ever could yourself, spraying something on it that makes it shiny and smooth. One final application of yet another magical substance really makes the hair shine, and it lays down smoothly. At this point, your hair will look the best it will probably look for the next six months, color bright, flyaways and curls tamed. It's enough to bring another tear to your eye, but I would advise against this, as you've probably already used the "hair in my eye" excuse and people start to look at you out of the corners of their eyes like you're crazy if you get too emotional too often. Especially in a hair salon.
You are asked to relinquish your cape, which you must do, or they probably won't let you come back. And you will be back. They will probably ask you to leave after you stare at yourself in the mirror for 30 minutes or so, so you should probably plan to have a good mirror in your car. Just be sure to hide it before you drive home. No need to cause car wrecks over fabulous hair.
My trip to the salon was a magical adventure. I hope yours is just as amazing! Good luck, and good hair.
*Of course, be aware that these trips vary according to salon and stylist used, and service requested. Please don't sue me if your trip is not as amazing as this guide makes it out to be.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
My new career in haiku
I need to make a quick clarfication. My last post was originally supposed to be funny. The many "loves" of my life, because I very easily slip into infatuation. I never went through that "boys are ucky and have cooties" phase. I have been boy crazy pretty much since birth. Hence my lifelong desire to be Cinderella. I love love stories, and I'm sure I will love love if I ever experience it. I did get a little deep, and I stand by the statements I made, but I didn't mean to sound uber depressed, so I apologize if that's how I came across! I do appreciate all the comments and messages on my blog and on Facebook. You guys are great. It's good to know so many people are there for me! At least if I end up a spinster, I know I'll be a spinster will A LOT of friends ;)
Now, I can't just write a post about that. Well, I could, but it would be boring and I might start to lose the few readers I have ;) So.
Today I was driving back to work with Phyllis (we went to let the guys in with my fixed TV!) and there was a truck that drove by with something on the back that *almost* rhymed. We both thought it rhymed (even though it didn't really) and I came up with a brilliant new career move. I am going to paint work trucks. With haiku. For example, the company who fixed my TV is Messerly TV. For them:
Messerly TV
We fix your TVs, yo
So give us your dough
(Actually, I didn't have to pay for my TV repair, and they were very helpful and wonderful to work with. Never once did they demand "dough")
My friend Nik's husband is a Schwan's man. maybe they need a new logo..
Here comes the Schwan's man
With a truck full of great food
Order some now, please
There is a commercial on for Hamburger Helper. I don't know if they have a truck, but they should. And this is what it should say:
Hamburger Helper
It sometimes tastes like cardboard
But it sure is cheap
I could do commericals too, or print ads. Maybe the CW wants to advertise for Star Trek. I would if I were them.
To boldly go where?
Where all the coolest kids are
Watch Star Trek at twelve
I could even do a slogan to advertise for referrals at work!
Helping your kids cope
Hooligans and angels too
Orchard Place is fab
Maybe I should do something about the depressing ASPCA commercials.
Don't hurt your pets, please
They just want to love on you
Not cry on TV
Okay I'm done. I could do this all night. Seriously. I'm officially obsessed with haiku. And, is the plural of haiku, haiku?
Now, I can't just write a post about that. Well, I could, but it would be boring and I might start to lose the few readers I have ;) So.
Today I was driving back to work with Phyllis (we went to let the guys in with my fixed TV!) and there was a truck that drove by with something on the back that *almost* rhymed. We both thought it rhymed (even though it didn't really) and I came up with a brilliant new career move. I am going to paint work trucks. With haiku. For example, the company who fixed my TV is Messerly TV. For them:
Messerly TV
We fix your TVs, yo
So give us your dough
(Actually, I didn't have to pay for my TV repair, and they were very helpful and wonderful to work with. Never once did they demand "dough")
My friend Nik's husband is a Schwan's man. maybe they need a new logo..
Here comes the Schwan's man
With a truck full of great food
Order some now, please
There is a commercial on for Hamburger Helper. I don't know if they have a truck, but they should. And this is what it should say:
Hamburger Helper
It sometimes tastes like cardboard
But it sure is cheap
I could do commericals too, or print ads. Maybe the CW wants to advertise for Star Trek. I would if I were them.
To boldly go where?
Where all the coolest kids are
Watch Star Trek at twelve
I could even do a slogan to advertise for referrals at work!
Helping your kids cope
Hooligans and angels too
Orchard Place is fab
Maybe I should do something about the depressing ASPCA commercials.
Don't hurt your pets, please
They just want to love on you
Not cry on TV
Okay I'm done. I could do this all night. Seriously. I'm officially obsessed with haiku. And, is the plural of haiku, haiku?
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Tis better to have loved...
I found out recently that my first love is now married. And not to me. *Sigh* I was four when he asked me out. We were taking turns riding his tricycle, and as he rode in circles around me, he said those words. "Hey, wanna be my girlfriend?" How could I say no to such a romantic suggestion? We were together until kindergarten, where he met "the other woman," Vanessa. Of course, I had my own interests to deal with in the boy who brought me an entire bag of seashells and gave everyone else just one after his trip to the shore. Oh kindergarten...
I left it all behind me when I moved from New York to rural Iowa. In first grade, there was Rusty. We shared a birthday and had to decide who was going to bring treats when. He was such a gentleman and agreed to let me have our actual birthday. What a charmer. In third grade came Steve. He was shorter than the other boys, but just too adorable. Plus, my best friend liked his best friend, so it worked out rather well.
Another move left me without a crush until 7th grade, when they actually started getting serious. I mean, these were the days when you might actually talk to the boy you liked or sit next to him at lunch. In 7th grade, a tumultuous year (as many middle school years are), I fell in love with a boy we nicknamed "The Voice." His voice changed into that deep baritone before any of the other boys in our class. I loved to hear him talk. Of course, when he spoke to me, I forgot how to use my tongue and just stared at him, mouth gaping, looking like a fish gasping for water. Very attractive, I assure you. My love was short-lived, however, and one day in gym The Voice leaned over and made a rude comment about me to a friend. Poof! No more crush. Which is good, because weeks later we were assigned to be seated at the same table in library study hall and he yelled, "NO!!!" quite loudly. I'm pretty sure that isn't a good basis for the start of a relationship.
There have been several infatuations/loves/crushes since then, but of course I am not going to disclose them on here, as many of them are still my Facebook friends, or friends of friends, and some things are better left a secret. What isn't a secret is the fact that I am a romantic. For a team building activity, my coworker had us each cut out pictures from magazines that we thought represented each other. Mine consisted of weirdness, happiness, dancing, and romance. I have mentioned before that I want to be Cinderella. I don't think it's wrong to want the fairy tale, as long as it's grounded in reality.
I have long since had an idealized view of love. Of course, that has matured as I've grown older, and especially as I went through the education and experience to become a marriage and family therapist. I know love is hard. It takes sacrifice and compromise. And bravery, because the ones you love the most can hurt you the worst. I have awesome examples of love in my life. My parents, grandparents, and siblings show me all the time how to make things work, and that things aren't perfect in love. So in theory, I know a lot. But despite all my infatuations, despite my strong feelings of something, I don't think I have experienced that thing called love, constantly elusive to me.
I am thinking right now of my metaphor for my "love life," and I'm not going to share it on here, but if anyone is interested, let me know. I will share it in private. It involves desserts. On a conveyor belt. Which prompted me to call it my "conveyor belt of love," which coincidentally become a cheesy dating show that was on for one episode last year. Oh I am laughing a lot right now.
Anyway.
As more and more of my friends fall in love, get married, have kids, it makes me think about the whole idea of love and family. I love being single, but I also have a desire to be married and have a family. I mean, I would be an awesome housewife. Sometimes I clean. And I'm great company. PLUS, I can cook. I mean, just tonight I was trying to figure out what to eat, and I came across macaroni and cheese. Boring, right? No way! Using my wits and what I could find in the cupboard, I turned that boring kid's meal into a stellar pasta dish fit to serve at a fancy dinner party! (You can so serve tuna casserole at a dinner party.) See what I mean?
Sometimes I wonder how much to believe in fate. Is there just one person out there for each of us? If so, how could we fall in love so often? And why do some of us never fall in love at all? How many times have you been in love? How did you know it was love? And how do you know it will last?
I left it all behind me when I moved from New York to rural Iowa. In first grade, there was Rusty. We shared a birthday and had to decide who was going to bring treats when. He was such a gentleman and agreed to let me have our actual birthday. What a charmer. In third grade came Steve. He was shorter than the other boys, but just too adorable. Plus, my best friend liked his best friend, so it worked out rather well.
Another move left me without a crush until 7th grade, when they actually started getting serious. I mean, these were the days when you might actually talk to the boy you liked or sit next to him at lunch. In 7th grade, a tumultuous year (as many middle school years are), I fell in love with a boy we nicknamed "The Voice." His voice changed into that deep baritone before any of the other boys in our class. I loved to hear him talk. Of course, when he spoke to me, I forgot how to use my tongue and just stared at him, mouth gaping, looking like a fish gasping for water. Very attractive, I assure you. My love was short-lived, however, and one day in gym The Voice leaned over and made a rude comment about me to a friend. Poof! No more crush. Which is good, because weeks later we were assigned to be seated at the same table in library study hall and he yelled, "NO!!!" quite loudly. I'm pretty sure that isn't a good basis for the start of a relationship.
There have been several infatuations/loves/crushes since then, but of course I am not going to disclose them on here, as many of them are still my Facebook friends, or friends of friends, and some things are better left a secret. What isn't a secret is the fact that I am a romantic. For a team building activity, my coworker had us each cut out pictures from magazines that we thought represented each other. Mine consisted of weirdness, happiness, dancing, and romance. I have mentioned before that I want to be Cinderella. I don't think it's wrong to want the fairy tale, as long as it's grounded in reality.
I have long since had an idealized view of love. Of course, that has matured as I've grown older, and especially as I went through the education and experience to become a marriage and family therapist. I know love is hard. It takes sacrifice and compromise. And bravery, because the ones you love the most can hurt you the worst. I have awesome examples of love in my life. My parents, grandparents, and siblings show me all the time how to make things work, and that things aren't perfect in love. So in theory, I know a lot. But despite all my infatuations, despite my strong feelings of something, I don't think I have experienced that thing called love, constantly elusive to me.
I am thinking right now of my metaphor for my "love life," and I'm not going to share it on here, but if anyone is interested, let me know. I will share it in private. It involves desserts. On a conveyor belt. Which prompted me to call it my "conveyor belt of love," which coincidentally become a cheesy dating show that was on for one episode last year. Oh I am laughing a lot right now.
Anyway.
As more and more of my friends fall in love, get married, have kids, it makes me think about the whole idea of love and family. I love being single, but I also have a desire to be married and have a family. I mean, I would be an awesome housewife. Sometimes I clean. And I'm great company. PLUS, I can cook. I mean, just tonight I was trying to figure out what to eat, and I came across macaroni and cheese. Boring, right? No way! Using my wits and what I could find in the cupboard, I turned that boring kid's meal into a stellar pasta dish fit to serve at a fancy dinner party! (You can so serve tuna casserole at a dinner party.) See what I mean?
Sometimes I wonder how much to believe in fate. Is there just one person out there for each of us? If so, how could we fall in love so often? And why do some of us never fall in love at all? How many times have you been in love? How did you know it was love? And how do you know it will last?
Sunday, July 4, 2010
A great synopsis of greatness
This past weekend I accepted an invitation to go along with my sister and her family on a mini-vacation to the Amana Colonies area in Iowa. I was super excited because I haven't been on a vacation in ages, and the plan was to stay at a hotel with a WATER PARK. I mean, seriously, could it get any cooler?
Yes.
When we got to the hotel, there were a bunch of CORVETTES in the parking lot. Apparently they were part of some organization out of Illinois. I scoured the drivers for my future husband, but alas, the youngest of them appeared to be in their 50s. Bummer. Oh well.
Maddy and Allie were so excited to be at the hotel. We couldn't check in yet, so we played on the wooden playground. Allie hung out the windows and I ferried Maddy across the monkey bars. Emily and Martin played too. On the tire swing. It was awesome. Finally, we got to check in. Dinner at the hotel was so delicious I took a picture of it. The chicken was shaped like a heart. Awesome.
We played at the water park for a while. Maddy was fearless, going down the slides she was just barely big enough to ride, and jumping off the side of the pool like a pro. She just passed level one of swimming lessons. My favorite part, however, was the whirly pool. No, not the hot tub/whirlpool. It was a round pool off the main pool that carried you around in circles. Kids were trying to swim against the current, but I just put my feet up and swirled forever. It was awesome. I can now say that I have an idea of what it feels like to be a turd.
Ahem.
Friday we went into Coralville. We were sitting in the food court and Allie was chowing down on her pizza when she announced, "This is the best day EVER!" which Maddy followed up with, "I've always wanted to take a vacation in Iowa!" I made some snarky comment under my breath along the lines of, "You don't hear that every day," and Maddy looked at me and said, "That's only because I usually don't say it out loud." Touche, little one, touche.
In the mall there was a children's museum. I've decided that when I get rich I am going to replicate it for my children. So much fun. I wish I had someplace like that when I was little! Even Martin enjoyed playing in all the different areas. We learned about grocery shopping and making pizza, doctor's offices and the post office. The girls even put on a puppet show for us. Afterwards we watched people skating in the indoor ice rink by the food court, and wandered the mall. I found super cute little yellow ballet flats. It really was the best day ever, especially with more time in the whirly pool later on.
Now, in the hotel, I got the privilege of sharing a bed with my five year old niece, Maddy. Sharing a bed with a five year old is an interesting experience. They notoriously move a lot, and Maddy is no exception. It didn't help that I had joked about cuddling with her. While I love to cuddle when I'm awake, when it's time to sleep, I prefer not to be touched. I always joke that when I get married I will have to get bunk beds. So that first night, no sooner did I try to get to sleep, but Maddy was attached like a monkey to my back. I tried to scooch her back over and she just rolled right back, as if there was a magnet pulling her to be as close to me as humanly possible. My sister got up and tried to move her several times in the night, as did I, but it didn't work. I think she was trying to sleep on me. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep that night, and certainly not good sleep. The second night was better, since we had a talk before bed. "But I just like to cuddle with you, Auntie Rena!" she said sweetly, big brown eyes open wide. She's too too much.
Saturday was a long day of shopping in Williamsburg at the outlet mall. I got a lot of good deals, but I am so not a shopper and it totally wore me out. In fact, I slept 12 hours last night just to try to recover. Insane. While we were shopping, I heard a couple of girls talking about some shoes they found. One goes, "Wow, these are cuter than crap." I tucked that statement away and shared it with Emily and Martin later. We decided that there are actually a lot of things that are cuter than crap. We made a list. For example: grass, cows, road signs, the road, computers, meat, my cell phone, toilets, water, mail, toenails, and Allie's boogers. So I really have no idea how cute those shoes actually were.
I had a fabulous time. I've spent today, Independence Day, sitting on my couch watching movies. It's been a good day, really. I can already hear the fireworks people are setting off outside.
Yes.
When we got to the hotel, there were a bunch of CORVETTES in the parking lot. Apparently they were part of some organization out of Illinois. I scoured the drivers for my future husband, but alas, the youngest of them appeared to be in their 50s. Bummer. Oh well.
Maddy and Allie were so excited to be at the hotel. We couldn't check in yet, so we played on the wooden playground. Allie hung out the windows and I ferried Maddy across the monkey bars. Emily and Martin played too. On the tire swing. It was awesome. Finally, we got to check in. Dinner at the hotel was so delicious I took a picture of it. The chicken was shaped like a heart. Awesome.
We played at the water park for a while. Maddy was fearless, going down the slides she was just barely big enough to ride, and jumping off the side of the pool like a pro. She just passed level one of swimming lessons. My favorite part, however, was the whirly pool. No, not the hot tub/whirlpool. It was a round pool off the main pool that carried you around in circles. Kids were trying to swim against the current, but I just put my feet up and swirled forever. It was awesome. I can now say that I have an idea of what it feels like to be a turd.
Ahem.
Friday we went into Coralville. We were sitting in the food court and Allie was chowing down on her pizza when she announced, "This is the best day EVER!" which Maddy followed up with, "I've always wanted to take a vacation in Iowa!" I made some snarky comment under my breath along the lines of, "You don't hear that every day," and Maddy looked at me and said, "That's only because I usually don't say it out loud." Touche, little one, touche.
In the mall there was a children's museum. I've decided that when I get rich I am going to replicate it for my children. So much fun. I wish I had someplace like that when I was little! Even Martin enjoyed playing in all the different areas. We learned about grocery shopping and making pizza, doctor's offices and the post office. The girls even put on a puppet show for us. Afterwards we watched people skating in the indoor ice rink by the food court, and wandered the mall. I found super cute little yellow ballet flats. It really was the best day ever, especially with more time in the whirly pool later on.
Now, in the hotel, I got the privilege of sharing a bed with my five year old niece, Maddy. Sharing a bed with a five year old is an interesting experience. They notoriously move a lot, and Maddy is no exception. It didn't help that I had joked about cuddling with her. While I love to cuddle when I'm awake, when it's time to sleep, I prefer not to be touched. I always joke that when I get married I will have to get bunk beds. So that first night, no sooner did I try to get to sleep, but Maddy was attached like a monkey to my back. I tried to scooch her back over and she just rolled right back, as if there was a magnet pulling her to be as close to me as humanly possible. My sister got up and tried to move her several times in the night, as did I, but it didn't work. I think she was trying to sleep on me. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep that night, and certainly not good sleep. The second night was better, since we had a talk before bed. "But I just like to cuddle with you, Auntie Rena!" she said sweetly, big brown eyes open wide. She's too too much.
Saturday was a long day of shopping in Williamsburg at the outlet mall. I got a lot of good deals, but I am so not a shopper and it totally wore me out. In fact, I slept 12 hours last night just to try to recover. Insane. While we were shopping, I heard a couple of girls talking about some shoes they found. One goes, "Wow, these are cuter than crap." I tucked that statement away and shared it with Emily and Martin later. We decided that there are actually a lot of things that are cuter than crap. We made a list. For example: grass, cows, road signs, the road, computers, meat, my cell phone, toilets, water, mail, toenails, and Allie's boogers. So I really have no idea how cute those shoes actually were.
I had a fabulous time. I've spent today, Independence Day, sitting on my couch watching movies. It's been a good day, really. I can already hear the fireworks people are setting off outside.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
It's an addiction
I love books. I'm reading the book "Inkheart" right now, and the main characters love books as much as I do. Every time the author goes into a description of why they love books, it's like I'm reading my own thoughts. It's the idea that there are so many stories out there to be told, and in a book, you get to be a part of them for a while. In a book, you can travel the world and beyond, you can fight dragons and fly with fairies. You can escape to a world beyond your own for a little while. What I love so much about books is that the characters, the people, come alive in my head however I want them to. Reading is an exercise in creativity, something that is sorely lacking in other areas of life.
I will read books about just about anything. I enjoy mysteries, trying to solve them along with the characters. I enjoy fantasy, where worlds are spun from words that create new perceptions and expectations. I love stories about love, all kinds of love, friendships, romance, family love. I love stories written in first person, where the reader is privvy to every thought in the main character's mind, and ones where the point of view hops from person to person, making the reader feel like some omniscient being watching from above as the story plays out. Books bring out crazy emotions in me, I cry along with the characters, feel anger and frustration, and even fall in love a little with each book I read. I love going into libraries and old bookstores. The smell of books is intoxicating. If they made a perfume called "Old Book," I would definitly buy it, just to spray on my new books ;)
I have watched several movies based on books lately. "Inkheart," of course. Also "Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief," and the first two "Twilight" movies. (The third comes out tonight at midnight! I'm going tomorrow night, and I'm super excited!) It's fun to see your favorite characters on the screen, to see beloved stories come to life. There are several problems though. I mean, what happens when the characters are a far cry from how you picture them? I don't mind Robert Pattinson, but he is definitely not how I pictured Edward from Twilight. And if you only see the movies and don't read the books, you miss out on so much! Since you can't have a five hour movie (at least not one people would sit through), it's necessary to cut characters and plot from the book. There are all these layers that are missing, and much of the richness and creativity are lost. Another problem is the need for movies to add so much action. I remember being super upset with the fourth Harry Potter movie, when they cut an entire important storyline and put in a five minute dragon chase sequence. But I suppose that's what people want. Which is why I'm glad I can always go back to my books.
I will read books several times over. I have read the Twilight and Harry Potter series (I don't know how to make that plural) several times each. I am planning to read the Percy Jackson series again soon. Each time I discover something new about the characters. Some people think it's weird that I read books over, especially so many times, since I clearly know what is going to happen. But for me it's like going to visit old friends. I miss them. Weird, I know, but true.
I could care less if a book is considered "literary." It drives me nuts when people write these depressing books with big words and are given higher praise than those who write in a more relateable way. In my creative writing course in college, most of the stories turned in were depressing and dark. The first one I turned in wasn't. I write for teens/young adults. I got the most ridiculous comments because of it. Stephenie Meyer is often ridiculed for not being "literary" enough, and for having a poor writing style. Guess what. She has several best sellers and a movie series based on her books. I don't think she cares!
I have started working on my novel again. Hopefully I can finish it out, and who knows, maybe I will get lucky and get published someday. It would be my dream to be able to write for a living. I know it probably won't happen, but it's fun to dream. There are so many stories in my head just waiting to be told. They won't be "literary." I write like I talk pretty much. I want my books to be something people can read and really get into the story, rather than stumbling over difficult words and odd phrasing. It may not always be grammatically correct. I often end sentences with prepositions. And I giggle every time ;)
So. The point is, nothing can compare to books. I am completely addicted to them. If I'm in the middle of a good book, I will go on very little sleep in order to read just one more chapter (or five). If I had to choose between only reading or only watching TV and movies, reading would win. Every time. No contest. Gosh I'm a nerd.
I will read books about just about anything. I enjoy mysteries, trying to solve them along with the characters. I enjoy fantasy, where worlds are spun from words that create new perceptions and expectations. I love stories about love, all kinds of love, friendships, romance, family love. I love stories written in first person, where the reader is privvy to every thought in the main character's mind, and ones where the point of view hops from person to person, making the reader feel like some omniscient being watching from above as the story plays out. Books bring out crazy emotions in me, I cry along with the characters, feel anger and frustration, and even fall in love a little with each book I read. I love going into libraries and old bookstores. The smell of books is intoxicating. If they made a perfume called "Old Book," I would definitly buy it, just to spray on my new books ;)
I have watched several movies based on books lately. "Inkheart," of course. Also "Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief," and the first two "Twilight" movies. (The third comes out tonight at midnight! I'm going tomorrow night, and I'm super excited!) It's fun to see your favorite characters on the screen, to see beloved stories come to life. There are several problems though. I mean, what happens when the characters are a far cry from how you picture them? I don't mind Robert Pattinson, but he is definitely not how I pictured Edward from Twilight. And if you only see the movies and don't read the books, you miss out on so much! Since you can't have a five hour movie (at least not one people would sit through), it's necessary to cut characters and plot from the book. There are all these layers that are missing, and much of the richness and creativity are lost. Another problem is the need for movies to add so much action. I remember being super upset with the fourth Harry Potter movie, when they cut an entire important storyline and put in a five minute dragon chase sequence. But I suppose that's what people want. Which is why I'm glad I can always go back to my books.
I will read books several times over. I have read the Twilight and Harry Potter series (I don't know how to make that plural) several times each. I am planning to read the Percy Jackson series again soon. Each time I discover something new about the characters. Some people think it's weird that I read books over, especially so many times, since I clearly know what is going to happen. But for me it's like going to visit old friends. I miss them. Weird, I know, but true.
I could care less if a book is considered "literary." It drives me nuts when people write these depressing books with big words and are given higher praise than those who write in a more relateable way. In my creative writing course in college, most of the stories turned in were depressing and dark. The first one I turned in wasn't. I write for teens/young adults. I got the most ridiculous comments because of it. Stephenie Meyer is often ridiculed for not being "literary" enough, and for having a poor writing style. Guess what. She has several best sellers and a movie series based on her books. I don't think she cares!
I have started working on my novel again. Hopefully I can finish it out, and who knows, maybe I will get lucky and get published someday. It would be my dream to be able to write for a living. I know it probably won't happen, but it's fun to dream. There are so many stories in my head just waiting to be told. They won't be "literary." I write like I talk pretty much. I want my books to be something people can read and really get into the story, rather than stumbling over difficult words and odd phrasing. It may not always be grammatically correct. I often end sentences with prepositions. And I giggle every time ;)
So. The point is, nothing can compare to books. I am completely addicted to them. If I'm in the middle of a good book, I will go on very little sleep in order to read just one more chapter (or five). If I had to choose between only reading or only watching TV and movies, reading would win. Every time. No contest. Gosh I'm a nerd.
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