Yesterday I had my wisdom teeth removed. Overall it wasn't that bad of an experience. I am blessed with not the worst teeth in the world (no matter how poorly I treat them), so it was as easy as oral surgery gets. Today I'm mostly pain-free and mostly recovered. So where's the whine, you ask? Oh you know it's coming.
See, here's the thing. I am deathly afraid of dentists. I have a lot of anxiety about going to any doctor (except eye doctors, they're OK), but dentists seem to be what really get me. Dentists are right up there with bunnies, midgets, and clowns on the list of things that terrify me. I stopped going to the dentist for ten years after I moved out of my mother's house and she could no longer force me to go. I finally went back after having kids of my own, because I figure I need to set a better example. I've found a great dental team who are super friendly and caring, and they have no qualms about drugging me if need be. Over the last year or so, I have gotten to the point where I can almost be a normal dental patient. So I thought I could be a real grown-up and get all of this oral surgery stuff out of the way. Turns out, I'm not THAT much of a grown-up.
When I was a kid, I had more teeth than I had mouth, so I had to have numerous teeth pulled out. They started by pulling some baby teeth at the regular dentist. Not fun. Then they realized that wasn't really good enough, so they sent me to an oral surgeon to have some more baby teeth removed, as well as cutting the adult teeth out of my gums. Unfortunately, I remember a lot of the experience. Could be where that whole "dentists are scary monsters" thing comes from. So I spent most of the week before this wisdom teeth removal freaking the hell out. I spent the night before completely unfocused on anything with occasional bouts of bawling.
Which leads me to the REAL whine.... what were all those closest to me doing during all this? Well, my husband was stuck with me, so he had to be supportive. At first he tried to blow it off with a "it will all be fine," but once I started the crying he came to his senses and really started showing some support. My mom called to make sure I was OK. And a couple of facebook "friends" (you know, the people you are casual acquaintances with and like enough, but they're not the people you would think you'd call in an emergency) expressed support. But what about the rest of my family? What about my real friends? I realize that, in a rational world, EVERYBODY gets their wisdom teeth out and EVERYBODY survives. I realize that to the rest of the world this was no big deal and everyone was sure I'd be fine. But I wasn't! Yes, I am a drama queen. I have never denied that. Yes, I blow things out of proportion. But this was one of those situations where it really would have been nice to get a couple of text messages saying, "good luck" or, "thinking of you."
I have a really hard time being close to people. Mostly because they always disappoint me. Maybe that's me expecting more than normal people can offer. Maybe it's me not being a good friend in the first place, so they don't feel the need to be one to me. Maybe I'm just attracted to really flaky people. I don't know. All I know is it takes a lot for me to put you in the category of real friend. But I wonder, am I still too guarded, even with those I think are my real friends? Because, wouldn't a real friend understand how fucking scary this experience was for me? Wouldn't they know I needed support? Was I not clear on this? I don't know.
This little breakdown has been brought to you courtesy of prescription strength Ibuprofen. Not strong enough to keep a normal person from going to work, but strong enough to turn Steph into a sniveling idiot.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Yes Steph
Inspired by my friend Carolyn and reading the book Yes Man, in the past month I have been working on becoming a person who says "yes" to life more. I am a Yes Steph.
Of course, I'm not saying yes to EVERYTHING, but I am trying my hardest to say yes to the things I actually want to do. Here's the thing, as I've expressed before, I have a long list of things I have always wanted to do, but always found reasons not to do them. Here's how my mind works: Let's say there is an arts event at the local library. It would be a super cool thing to see. I'm totally excited that they are offering such a cool experience FOR FREE. So what do I do? I think. And think. And here's what my brain tells me. "Well no one will want to go with you. And you can't make Hubby go because who will watch the kids? You can't ask your family to babysit because it's a weeknight and they will have to work the next day. And you can't go alone. You won't know anyone. And everyone else will know other people. You'll be alone and no one will talk to you and you will feel awkward. Then it won't be very much fun, will it? Oh, and do you REALLY want to drive downtown AT NIGHT? You will get lost. Then you might get mugged." And so on and so forth.
So I have decided to start questioning all of those things my brain has told me. I am beginning to say yes to myself. Yes, it WILL be fun! Maybe I will make a new friend. And if not, it's not the worst thing in the world to be alone for a little while.
So far I've gotten lucky and I haven't been alone, I have had a friend to join me on my little adventures. So far I've been to a couple of concerts that I otherwise would have talked myself out of going to. I'm signed up for a couple of fitness classes that I never would have done before (come September, I will experience the pure hell that is fitness bootcamp-- I can't wait!). And I've learned to appreciate beer and wine. Sure, the line between connoisseur and alcoholic is very thin, but luckily I'm learning to balance my alcoholism with my fitness goals.
It's funny because I have spent so long telling myself that I CAN'T do things. No money, no time, no one to do it with, etc. But when you tell yourself you CAN, all of the sudden all of those excuses work themselves out. And if this can work with little things like taking a fitness class or going to a bar for a kick-ass concert, what else can it work for? What if, all of those life goals I have chalked up as unattainable really aren't? What if I COULD make money while being a stay at home mom? What if I COULD be good at educating my children at home? What if I COULD pay off my student loans, buy a new car, and have the money for a super great vacation? Maybe the world is my oyster after all.
Of course, I'm not saying yes to EVERYTHING, but I am trying my hardest to say yes to the things I actually want to do. Here's the thing, as I've expressed before, I have a long list of things I have always wanted to do, but always found reasons not to do them. Here's how my mind works: Let's say there is an arts event at the local library. It would be a super cool thing to see. I'm totally excited that they are offering such a cool experience FOR FREE. So what do I do? I think. And think. And here's what my brain tells me. "Well no one will want to go with you. And you can't make Hubby go because who will watch the kids? You can't ask your family to babysit because it's a weeknight and they will have to work the next day. And you can't go alone. You won't know anyone. And everyone else will know other people. You'll be alone and no one will talk to you and you will feel awkward. Then it won't be very much fun, will it? Oh, and do you REALLY want to drive downtown AT NIGHT? You will get lost. Then you might get mugged." And so on and so forth.
So I have decided to start questioning all of those things my brain has told me. I am beginning to say yes to myself. Yes, it WILL be fun! Maybe I will make a new friend. And if not, it's not the worst thing in the world to be alone for a little while.
So far I've gotten lucky and I haven't been alone, I have had a friend to join me on my little adventures. So far I've been to a couple of concerts that I otherwise would have talked myself out of going to. I'm signed up for a couple of fitness classes that I never would have done before (come September, I will experience the pure hell that is fitness bootcamp-- I can't wait!). And I've learned to appreciate beer and wine. Sure, the line between connoisseur and alcoholic is very thin, but luckily I'm learning to balance my alcoholism with my fitness goals.
It's funny because I have spent so long telling myself that I CAN'T do things. No money, no time, no one to do it with, etc. But when you tell yourself you CAN, all of the sudden all of those excuses work themselves out. And if this can work with little things like taking a fitness class or going to a bar for a kick-ass concert, what else can it work for? What if, all of those life goals I have chalked up as unattainable really aren't? What if I COULD make money while being a stay at home mom? What if I COULD be good at educating my children at home? What if I COULD pay off my student loans, buy a new car, and have the money for a super great vacation? Maybe the world is my oyster after all.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Hooray for Staycations!
We've been staycationing since we got married, back before the term was cool (or at least before I heard it. For any other people living under a rock, a staycation is a vacation where you stay at home). I'm glad they finally gave it a hip name, because back in my day it was known as, "we're too poor to go anywhere but we had to use up this paid vacation time at work." The past few years we've had some pretty cool staycations. Usually we do one overnight trip and spend the rest of the week doing close to home days out. It's a great way to hit museums, parks, and all the other stuff you always forget about then wish you had time to see. Last year we had the mother of all staycations (for me, at least): a trip to the beach! We went to the Indiana side of Lake Michigan and played in the sand (it was a bit too cold that day for water), we stayed at a b&b, and we walked around the outlet mall. I could not have asked for a better time.
Maybe that's why this year's staycation seems so lackluster. Maybe the beach just could not be topped for me. What it comes down to is planning. Or lack thereof. We didn't plan on having a week together as a family right now, I was supposed to be taking a separate trip and Husband would stay here with the kids. But my plans didn't work out so we ended up with a week together. Now don't get me wrong, anytime together with my family is great, but as far as vacations go this week is kind of a bust. We didn't plan anything big, so we've just been waking up and saying, "ok, what are we doing today?" For some people this probably sounds great, but not me. I do not do well without a plan. Or rather, I do not do well with half a plan. If I could spend the entire week in bed with a big stack of books and a big bucket of cookies, I would be a happy camper. It's this idea that I somehow need to be entertaining, but don't know how, that bugs me. So I feel like this week is more stressful than a regular week, though at least we get to be stressed together.
And another thing: when did my kids get so spoiled? And I don't mean that in a cute way either. I mean, every day we have done fun, kid-oriented things, and every day we get whining and fighting and just a general disappointment vibe from them. I think things have gotten too entertainment focused lately. My kids have been indulged in their cases of the "Gimmes," and now we're paying the price. I think it's time to go back to the world in which entertainment was reading library books and drawing pictures and making cookies together every Monday. It sounds very quaint and old-world to a lot of people, but it's the way we lived a year ago. Somewhere along the way we've all gotten sucked into various adventures that have led us to feel like we need to go to Chuck E. Cheese or movies or whatever else all the time in order to have fun. Let me tell you: taking two preschool aged children all over the city and letting them hang out with a bunch of other preschool aged children is NOT FUN. When I figure out what is, I will let you know.
Maybe that's why this year's staycation seems so lackluster. Maybe the beach just could not be topped for me. What it comes down to is planning. Or lack thereof. We didn't plan on having a week together as a family right now, I was supposed to be taking a separate trip and Husband would stay here with the kids. But my plans didn't work out so we ended up with a week together. Now don't get me wrong, anytime together with my family is great, but as far as vacations go this week is kind of a bust. We didn't plan anything big, so we've just been waking up and saying, "ok, what are we doing today?" For some people this probably sounds great, but not me. I do not do well without a plan. Or rather, I do not do well with half a plan. If I could spend the entire week in bed with a big stack of books and a big bucket of cookies, I would be a happy camper. It's this idea that I somehow need to be entertaining, but don't know how, that bugs me. So I feel like this week is more stressful than a regular week, though at least we get to be stressed together.
And another thing: when did my kids get so spoiled? And I don't mean that in a cute way either. I mean, every day we have done fun, kid-oriented things, and every day we get whining and fighting and just a general disappointment vibe from them. I think things have gotten too entertainment focused lately. My kids have been indulged in their cases of the "Gimmes," and now we're paying the price. I think it's time to go back to the world in which entertainment was reading library books and drawing pictures and making cookies together every Monday. It sounds very quaint and old-world to a lot of people, but it's the way we lived a year ago. Somewhere along the way we've all gotten sucked into various adventures that have led us to feel like we need to go to Chuck E. Cheese or movies or whatever else all the time in order to have fun. Let me tell you: taking two preschool aged children all over the city and letting them hang out with a bunch of other preschool aged children is NOT FUN. When I figure out what is, I will let you know.
Friday, June 25, 2010
woe is me
I'm always amazed at the amount of personal information bloggers are willing to share. People are willing to share their innermost feelings with, basically, the entire world. I think I would have a problem doing that, if I actually thought anyone was reading my dribble. BUT, thankfully, I do NOT think anyone is reading my dribble, so I have no problem whatsoever.
On June 28, 2001, I miscarried my first pregnancy. Obviously this means we're coming up on the nine year anniversary of that. At that time I was twenty, a college dropout, living in my abusive boyfriend's mom's apartment, and had just quit my $8 an hour job. I was a real winner. My baby was a twelve week old fetus and already I was a candidate for Worst Mom of the Year.
I don't really know how miscarriages affect other people. I guess it all just depends on your situation. For me it was pretty much the worst moment of my life, and the day is burned into my memory forever. I mourn every summer around the time that it happened, and I mourn every January, when my angel would have been born had it made it that far. I remember that I didn't want a baby. I knew I was in a bad relationship, I didn't know how to get out, and having a child was only going to make it harder. I remember how sick I felt. I had terrible migraines every afternoon. I remember all the things I unintentionally did wrong, like eating bologna sandwiches. As much as I thought I didn't want a child then (or ever, really), I remember how much love I felt for the little miracle inside me. How for the first time ever, I truly believed in God, because there was no way such an amazing thing could happen without a higher power's hand.
I remember that the night before I couldn't sleep. I stayed up all night watching tv. I watched all the reruns of Seinfeld I could find, then watched Woody Allen's Crimes and Misdemeanors on cable. I didn't like it. I remember the indescribable pain, unlike anything I've experienced before or since (including the two live childbirths I've had). I remember the EMTs, and how kind they were with a scared kid. I remember that, even though I was scared and unprepared for motherhood, I never once felt relieved that my baby was dead. I only felt burdened and dead myself.
Over time it has gotten a little easier. At first I hated every single pregnant woman I met. I couldn't be around them. I compared all of them to myself, and tried to figure out why they deserved a healthy baby and I didn't. I tried to make impossible bargains with God. Dear God, I will give up all the good things I have if I can just have my baby back. Dear God, if you give me my baby back I promise you I will run away and never let that asshole know she exists. I'll protect her from him. I'll do anything if you just give me my baby back. But He didn't... Then eventually I met and married and got pregnant the right way. I was so scared. I didn't want to go through it all again. I didn't spend a waking moment not terrified until I started feeling my son kick. Then my worries slowed down a little. I've been blessed with two healthy sons since then, and for a while I stopped spending so much time thinking about my little one that wasn't. But for some reason this summer feels harder than the last couple. I wish I understood it and could stop it. I wish I could stop thinking about how old my boys' big sister would be. What she would look like or act like.
I've taken now to wishing my whole life had been different. That I'd never moved back to this area, never met that guy, never gotten pregnant. I wish I'd stayed where I was, followed the original plan, experienced a completely different life. If I had that alternate universe life, I wouldn't be so sad right now.... I know maybe that's not entirely true, and I know that if I hadn't experienced all the bad, I could never have had all the good I do now, but it's still hard sometimes.
And there you have it. My entirely too personal tale of woe. The end.
On June 28, 2001, I miscarried my first pregnancy. Obviously this means we're coming up on the nine year anniversary of that. At that time I was twenty, a college dropout, living in my abusive boyfriend's mom's apartment, and had just quit my $8 an hour job. I was a real winner. My baby was a twelve week old fetus and already I was a candidate for Worst Mom of the Year.
I don't really know how miscarriages affect other people. I guess it all just depends on your situation. For me it was pretty much the worst moment of my life, and the day is burned into my memory forever. I mourn every summer around the time that it happened, and I mourn every January, when my angel would have been born had it made it that far. I remember that I didn't want a baby. I knew I was in a bad relationship, I didn't know how to get out, and having a child was only going to make it harder. I remember how sick I felt. I had terrible migraines every afternoon. I remember all the things I unintentionally did wrong, like eating bologna sandwiches. As much as I thought I didn't want a child then (or ever, really), I remember how much love I felt for the little miracle inside me. How for the first time ever, I truly believed in God, because there was no way such an amazing thing could happen without a higher power's hand.
I remember that the night before I couldn't sleep. I stayed up all night watching tv. I watched all the reruns of Seinfeld I could find, then watched Woody Allen's Crimes and Misdemeanors on cable. I didn't like it. I remember the indescribable pain, unlike anything I've experienced before or since (including the two live childbirths I've had). I remember the EMTs, and how kind they were with a scared kid. I remember that, even though I was scared and unprepared for motherhood, I never once felt relieved that my baby was dead. I only felt burdened and dead myself.
Over time it has gotten a little easier. At first I hated every single pregnant woman I met. I couldn't be around them. I compared all of them to myself, and tried to figure out why they deserved a healthy baby and I didn't. I tried to make impossible bargains with God. Dear God, I will give up all the good things I have if I can just have my baby back. Dear God, if you give me my baby back I promise you I will run away and never let that asshole know she exists. I'll protect her from him. I'll do anything if you just give me my baby back. But He didn't... Then eventually I met and married and got pregnant the right way. I was so scared. I didn't want to go through it all again. I didn't spend a waking moment not terrified until I started feeling my son kick. Then my worries slowed down a little. I've been blessed with two healthy sons since then, and for a while I stopped spending so much time thinking about my little one that wasn't. But for some reason this summer feels harder than the last couple. I wish I understood it and could stop it. I wish I could stop thinking about how old my boys' big sister would be. What she would look like or act like.
I've taken now to wishing my whole life had been different. That I'd never moved back to this area, never met that guy, never gotten pregnant. I wish I'd stayed where I was, followed the original plan, experienced a completely different life. If I had that alternate universe life, I wouldn't be so sad right now.... I know maybe that's not entirely true, and I know that if I hadn't experienced all the bad, I could never have had all the good I do now, but it's still hard sometimes.
And there you have it. My entirely too personal tale of woe. The end.
Monday, June 21, 2010
One month (or 14 years) later...
OK, I took an accidental hiatus there. I can't really tell you what happened, because I had no idea so long had passed! I think I was in a funk and the world just kept on turnin' without me.
I'm here before you today because I had a moment of self-discovery today. I wish I had more of those. I wish, when I did have them, it were positive things I discovered. How does that saying go? "And if wishes were....." something... Point is, it just ain't happening.
Today's self-discovery goes like this. OK, wait, a little background on how this came about: I have this habit of reading EVERYTHING that people tell me to. It's a pretty new development. I used to be really picky about what I read. Then I realized I was running out of things to read. So now anytime anyone mentions a book, I immediately look it up and, if the library has it, I put it on hold and add it to my big stack. Luckily I no longer work in a bookstore, or I would do absolutely nothing but haunt the library. Or go in debt buying a crapload of books. Oh wait, that already happened.....
So a week or so ago a friend of mine mentioned a book. I don't know if she was even recommending it to me, she might have just been babbling. As soon as she mentioned it I hit the library's site and put it on hold. I didn't even realize it was Teen Fiction. Once I brought it home and saw the cover, I almost considered tossing it aside, but I thought, "what the heck?" Well, I couldn't put this book down. It was a modern-day Romeo and Juliet, except with a happy ending. It was totally formulaic, but sometimes that's just what we need. And if you're going to follow any formula, shouldn't it be the Romeo and Juliet formula?
I am a hopeless romantic. I am a sucker for a love story, for a happy ending, even for a sad ending as long as everything was sacrificed for love. So this book had me hooked. And then I finished it. And I put it down. And, though it had a saccharine ending, I felt kind of sad, and kind of angry. I kind of wanted to smack a teenage girl in the face and tell her that what that was, was total fiction. Life isn't like that. Love isn't like that. Love does not conquer all, especially when "all" is race or class wars and you're 18. In other words: I am a nasty, bitter old woman.
And the funny thing is, I found love and I married a super awesome guy. I have a great life and a great marriage, and I'm not even just saying that in a fake way. But he's someone I met after I'd experienced way more than I wanted to. I met him after I'd dealt with the heartbreak of losing my first love and many other, even more traumatizing tragedies.
When I was a teen, I read too much and watched too many sappy movies (and soap operas). I had grandiose ideas about the world and about love. I believed all that stuff about how true love would come and it would be great and I would marry my high school sweetheart. And that you could put someone through all those trials and make them jump through hoops, and if they REALLY loved you, they'd do it. But it turns out, they kind of won't.
If I were writing a novel aimed at teenage girls, here's what I'd say: it doesn't have to be complicated. Sometimes love can just be fun. And you're young and have no responsibilities, so why not just let it be fun? It won't always be that way. I wish I hadn't been such a melodramatic child. I really regret that I didn't enjoy my First Love. I long to go back and have a relationship that isn't complicated by bills and kids and work and baggage; all those responsibilities that come with being a grown-up and being in a grown-up relationship. I wish I could go back and tell my teenage self not to be such a drama queen and not to over-think EVERYTHING.
So for every young girl out there, and maybe for every old girl, I dunno: Enjoy love. Make it fun. Don't worry about what will happen tomorrow. Don't test people unnecessarily. Just because your dad abandoned you doesn't mean every man will. Look for the best in people, not the worst. Recognize that your first love (and maybe many other loves) probably won't work out, but don't worry about it, just enjoy every single minute you have of it while it's there. Don't miss out on any opportunity (unless, of course, it's illegal; then just weigh the pros and cons) because you WILL regret it later.
I am bitter. And ashamed. And regretful. Life isn't a novel. Sometimes that's good, sometimes bad. Some things don't have happy endings. But, then, some things do. My life has taken many strange turns over the years. Most of them tragically dull compared to the lives of the characters in my stories, but strange all the same. Then one day I guess the gods decided they'd had their fun with me and would give me a rest, and they sent me a soul mate. I tried to make everything complicated with him too, but somehow it all settled down into this life, with this person, in this city, with this house. And somehow, though it's all incredibly "normal," it is unexpected and satisfying. Hmm, maybe I'm not quite so bitter after all.
I'm here before you today because I had a moment of self-discovery today. I wish I had more of those. I wish, when I did have them, it were positive things I discovered. How does that saying go? "And if wishes were....." something... Point is, it just ain't happening.
Today's self-discovery goes like this. OK, wait, a little background on how this came about: I have this habit of reading EVERYTHING that people tell me to. It's a pretty new development. I used to be really picky about what I read. Then I realized I was running out of things to read. So now anytime anyone mentions a book, I immediately look it up and, if the library has it, I put it on hold and add it to my big stack. Luckily I no longer work in a bookstore, or I would do absolutely nothing but haunt the library. Or go in debt buying a crapload of books. Oh wait, that already happened.....
So a week or so ago a friend of mine mentioned a book. I don't know if she was even recommending it to me, she might have just been babbling. As soon as she mentioned it I hit the library's site and put it on hold. I didn't even realize it was Teen Fiction. Once I brought it home and saw the cover, I almost considered tossing it aside, but I thought, "what the heck?" Well, I couldn't put this book down. It was a modern-day Romeo and Juliet, except with a happy ending. It was totally formulaic, but sometimes that's just what we need. And if you're going to follow any formula, shouldn't it be the Romeo and Juliet formula?
I am a hopeless romantic. I am a sucker for a love story, for a happy ending, even for a sad ending as long as everything was sacrificed for love. So this book had me hooked. And then I finished it. And I put it down. And, though it had a saccharine ending, I felt kind of sad, and kind of angry. I kind of wanted to smack a teenage girl in the face and tell her that what that was, was total fiction. Life isn't like that. Love isn't like that. Love does not conquer all, especially when "all" is race or class wars and you're 18. In other words: I am a nasty, bitter old woman.
And the funny thing is, I found love and I married a super awesome guy. I have a great life and a great marriage, and I'm not even just saying that in a fake way. But he's someone I met after I'd experienced way more than I wanted to. I met him after I'd dealt with the heartbreak of losing my first love and many other, even more traumatizing tragedies.
When I was a teen, I read too much and watched too many sappy movies (and soap operas). I had grandiose ideas about the world and about love. I believed all that stuff about how true love would come and it would be great and I would marry my high school sweetheart. And that you could put someone through all those trials and make them jump through hoops, and if they REALLY loved you, they'd do it. But it turns out, they kind of won't.
If I were writing a novel aimed at teenage girls, here's what I'd say: it doesn't have to be complicated. Sometimes love can just be fun. And you're young and have no responsibilities, so why not just let it be fun? It won't always be that way. I wish I hadn't been such a melodramatic child. I really regret that I didn't enjoy my First Love. I long to go back and have a relationship that isn't complicated by bills and kids and work and baggage; all those responsibilities that come with being a grown-up and being in a grown-up relationship. I wish I could go back and tell my teenage self not to be such a drama queen and not to over-think EVERYTHING.
So for every young girl out there, and maybe for every old girl, I dunno: Enjoy love. Make it fun. Don't worry about what will happen tomorrow. Don't test people unnecessarily. Just because your dad abandoned you doesn't mean every man will. Look for the best in people, not the worst. Recognize that your first love (and maybe many other loves) probably won't work out, but don't worry about it, just enjoy every single minute you have of it while it's there. Don't miss out on any opportunity (unless, of course, it's illegal; then just weigh the pros and cons) because you WILL regret it later.
I am bitter. And ashamed. And regretful. Life isn't a novel. Sometimes that's good, sometimes bad. Some things don't have happy endings. But, then, some things do. My life has taken many strange turns over the years. Most of them tragically dull compared to the lives of the characters in my stories, but strange all the same. Then one day I guess the gods decided they'd had their fun with me and would give me a rest, and they sent me a soul mate. I tried to make everything complicated with him too, but somehow it all settled down into this life, with this person, in this city, with this house. And somehow, though it's all incredibly "normal," it is unexpected and satisfying. Hmm, maybe I'm not quite so bitter after all.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Maybe it's just me...
I recently had the opportunity to see my favorite musical artist, Butch Walker, perform at a bar. It was pretty much amazing. It's kind of a blessing and a curse that I love Butch so much. You see, he's not well known in these here parts. Which is nice because it earns one "cool points" to love someone that no one else has ever heard of. And then when he does perform here you get an amazing, intimate setting, because he couldn't exactly fill up a stadium here. But it's a curse because he doesn't show up here too much. Why would he? There are a million other places he could go to play to a lot more adoring fans. I really hoped, given the intimate setting, that I would have the opportunity to meet the guy. I met him once many many years ago (the beginning of the obsession), but haven't had a chance since I've discovered his art (not just the hotness that a teenage girl focuses on-- who cares if he writes thought-provoking lyrics? He's dead sexy!). Well, unfortunately, it didn't happen this time. That's alright, I still got a great show, even if I have no "me & Butch" photos to post on my Facebook. But it got me to thinking... what would I say to him if given the chance?
There are so many "your music changed my life" cliched kind of things. All of them would be true, but that's not really the most biggest thing I would want to tell him. I COULD tell him about how dead sexy he is and how I would make his baby if he wanted me to, but I'm pretty sure he's heard all that before. What I would REALLY want to tell him (and what would really ensure that I would not be getting freak-nasty with any rockstars that night) is that when my boys were babies, I sang his songs to them every day. The first song either of them ever danced to was "Freak of the Week." My two and four year olds recognize his voice when it comes on. They can sing along to the more appropriate music. Some of my favorite memories with my children involve his music. One day when my kids are grown and they remember the good things about their childhood, at least a couple of those things will involve Butch Walker.
So what I would tell Butch is not how cool I think he is, or how much I love his music, or how happy he makes me. It's how cool my kids think he is, how much they love his music... OK, and how happy he makes me. Does it make me SO OLD that, if I had the opportunity to speak to this particular rockstar, I would talk about my children? Probably. Maybe it's better that I DIDN'T get that opportunity.
There are so many "your music changed my life" cliched kind of things. All of them would be true, but that's not really the most biggest thing I would want to tell him. I COULD tell him about how dead sexy he is and how I would make his baby if he wanted me to, but I'm pretty sure he's heard all that before. What I would REALLY want to tell him (and what would really ensure that I would not be getting freak-nasty with any rockstars that night) is that when my boys were babies, I sang his songs to them every day. The first song either of them ever danced to was "Freak of the Week." My two and four year olds recognize his voice when it comes on. They can sing along to the more appropriate music. Some of my favorite memories with my children involve his music. One day when my kids are grown and they remember the good things about their childhood, at least a couple of those things will involve Butch Walker.
So what I would tell Butch is not how cool I think he is, or how much I love his music, or how happy he makes me. It's how cool my kids think he is, how much they love his music... OK, and how happy he makes me. Does it make me SO OLD that, if I had the opportunity to speak to this particular rockstar, I would talk about my children? Probably. Maybe it's better that I DIDN'T get that opportunity.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Ode to Coffee
I've been reading Starbucked: A Double Tall Tale of Caffeine, Commerce, and Culture and I love it. At this point it is discussing the history of Starbucks. It reminded me of my own history of coffee, which I shall share with you now.
I grew up with grandparents who drank Folgers religiously. Grandpa had been in the military in Alaska as a young man, and the only way to keep warm was through nasty government issued coffee. Grandma had been on Weight Watchers at a time when the only approved drinks were water or black coffee. I was around it a lot but never ventured a taste-- the smell was bad enough! My grandparents affinity for cheap coffee turned not only my young self but also my mother off of the stuff, so it was never in my house. When my mother married my stepfather, he brought Maxwell House with him. The stuff smells no better than Folgers, so still this was not something that interested me. I grew up in a world of Pepsi, there's no need for nasty coffee when you have Pepsi!
So this brings us to high school in the mid to late 90s. I remember the first time I was introduced to our local coffeehouse, The Coffee Scene. I was in love. It was truly the most magnificent place I had ever seen. It was full of young, hip people, sipping drinks, playing board games, reading poetry, smoking. It was immediately a world I wanted to be a part of. Of course, I got some sort of fruit and cream concoction. It didn't even have coffee hidden in it, it was pretty much just pure sugar. That probably ruined my hip coffeehouse cred right there. I did not become a regular at the Coffee Scene, but the impression it made on me never faded.
That was a time before Starbucks had taken over the world. To my knowledge we didn't have one in our town. We did get a couple of bookstores with cafes in them. This is where I experienced my first coffee beverage: an Irish Creme Mocha. Pretty much pure sugar again, but this time it made me feel mature and "in the know." The bookstore cafe never offered that rush that I got from the Coffee Scene, but it offered tasty hot beverages and I didn't get that feeling of inadequacy I got from visiting the real coffeehouse (looking back I know that the Coffee Scene didn't really deserve feelings of inadequacy- I know many a lame high schooler that went there- but at the time it seemed way too cool for me).
Fast forward a couple of years. The whole college thing hadn't worked out for me and I needed a full time job. I had no skills and very little work experience. I had always loved books, so I was visiting the big chain bookstore looking for solace and on a whim I filled out an application. I was offered a job and given my choice: open on the book floor (you have to be in by 7 a.m.) or open the cafe (you have to start at 8 a.m.). I had never had another coffee beverage since my occasional aforementioned mocha in high school, but 8 is better than 7, so I chose the cafe. Again, I fell in love.
I have never experienced any other job I love as much as working in the cafe. I stayed for as long as I could. I loved my customers, I loved the art of drink making, I loved stocking the bake case... I seriously loved everything about that job. Well, I could have done without cleaning table bases, but nothing is perfect, right? I took my job very seriously. Even though I had never had coffee before, I tried every drink offered to me. I knew customers would come in and ask my opinions, and I wasn't going to lie. So I developed a taste for all of those specialty coffee drinks. Of course, my favorites were the ones that were full of sugar and not much coffee. My absolute favorite was the white chocolate mocha.
I can still taste those white chocolate mochas of yesteryear. It didn't matter to me that I had a bad relationship with my family, that I'd quit college and ruined my chance at a good life, that I had no money and no home, when I took a sip of that white chocolate mocha I just felt happy. It brings tears of joyful nostalgia to my eyes just to think of it now.
I met some of my best friends in that cafe. I met my husband in that cafe. When my oldest son was a baby, I took him to that cafe every week, where I would drink a cup of tea or a soy latte and meet up with friends. In recent years my life has changed. With two young children, it's harder to be able to sit with a drink and friends. We moved further away from that particular cafe (not that there aren't 20 others between here and there). There are many reasons I don't do the whole coffeehouse thing anymore, but I still love it passionately. I would absolutely love to support independent coffeehouses, but those are few and far between. I used to pretend I hated Starbucks because they crushed the indie shops, but I don't really. I love Starbucks. I love that they offer happiness in a cup. I love that if it weren't for Starbucks, I wouldn't know that I love coffee in all forms (even black) and I wouldn't know that the coffee business is the business I want to be in (someday).
To sum it up: coffee very good, Starbucks pretty good, independent coffeehouses even better (if you've got one, go support it!), Steph an addict.
I grew up with grandparents who drank Folgers religiously. Grandpa had been in the military in Alaska as a young man, and the only way to keep warm was through nasty government issued coffee. Grandma had been on Weight Watchers at a time when the only approved drinks were water or black coffee. I was around it a lot but never ventured a taste-- the smell was bad enough! My grandparents affinity for cheap coffee turned not only my young self but also my mother off of the stuff, so it was never in my house. When my mother married my stepfather, he brought Maxwell House with him. The stuff smells no better than Folgers, so still this was not something that interested me. I grew up in a world of Pepsi, there's no need for nasty coffee when you have Pepsi!
So this brings us to high school in the mid to late 90s. I remember the first time I was introduced to our local coffeehouse, The Coffee Scene. I was in love. It was truly the most magnificent place I had ever seen. It was full of young, hip people, sipping drinks, playing board games, reading poetry, smoking. It was immediately a world I wanted to be a part of. Of course, I got some sort of fruit and cream concoction. It didn't even have coffee hidden in it, it was pretty much just pure sugar. That probably ruined my hip coffeehouse cred right there. I did not become a regular at the Coffee Scene, but the impression it made on me never faded.
That was a time before Starbucks had taken over the world. To my knowledge we didn't have one in our town. We did get a couple of bookstores with cafes in them. This is where I experienced my first coffee beverage: an Irish Creme Mocha. Pretty much pure sugar again, but this time it made me feel mature and "in the know." The bookstore cafe never offered that rush that I got from the Coffee Scene, but it offered tasty hot beverages and I didn't get that feeling of inadequacy I got from visiting the real coffeehouse (looking back I know that the Coffee Scene didn't really deserve feelings of inadequacy- I know many a lame high schooler that went there- but at the time it seemed way too cool for me).
Fast forward a couple of years. The whole college thing hadn't worked out for me and I needed a full time job. I had no skills and very little work experience. I had always loved books, so I was visiting the big chain bookstore looking for solace and on a whim I filled out an application. I was offered a job and given my choice: open on the book floor (you have to be in by 7 a.m.) or open the cafe (you have to start at 8 a.m.). I had never had another coffee beverage since my occasional aforementioned mocha in high school, but 8 is better than 7, so I chose the cafe. Again, I fell in love.
I have never experienced any other job I love as much as working in the cafe. I stayed for as long as I could. I loved my customers, I loved the art of drink making, I loved stocking the bake case... I seriously loved everything about that job. Well, I could have done without cleaning table bases, but nothing is perfect, right? I took my job very seriously. Even though I had never had coffee before, I tried every drink offered to me. I knew customers would come in and ask my opinions, and I wasn't going to lie. So I developed a taste for all of those specialty coffee drinks. Of course, my favorites were the ones that were full of sugar and not much coffee. My absolute favorite was the white chocolate mocha.
I can still taste those white chocolate mochas of yesteryear. It didn't matter to me that I had a bad relationship with my family, that I'd quit college and ruined my chance at a good life, that I had no money and no home, when I took a sip of that white chocolate mocha I just felt happy. It brings tears of joyful nostalgia to my eyes just to think of it now.
I met some of my best friends in that cafe. I met my husband in that cafe. When my oldest son was a baby, I took him to that cafe every week, where I would drink a cup of tea or a soy latte and meet up with friends. In recent years my life has changed. With two young children, it's harder to be able to sit with a drink and friends. We moved further away from that particular cafe (not that there aren't 20 others between here and there). There are many reasons I don't do the whole coffeehouse thing anymore, but I still love it passionately. I would absolutely love to support independent coffeehouses, but those are few and far between. I used to pretend I hated Starbucks because they crushed the indie shops, but I don't really. I love Starbucks. I love that they offer happiness in a cup. I love that if it weren't for Starbucks, I wouldn't know that I love coffee in all forms (even black) and I wouldn't know that the coffee business is the business I want to be in (someday).
To sum it up: coffee very good, Starbucks pretty good, independent coffeehouses even better (if you've got one, go support it!), Steph an addict.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Listing
Over the years I have made many, many lists. I looooooove lists. Currently I am working on a list of goals, I guess. Now that I have successfully accomplished the whole Bachelors Degree thing, I need to figure out what I want to do next. If I don't I'll end up eating bon-bons and watching soap operas. So here's a few of the things that are currently on the list of things I want to do.
Things I Want to Do
1. Read. A lot. Done and done. I have 2 current goals in this category: a) to read all the books I have checked out from the library, and b) to read all the books I own. The hard part of this is that I keep adding more books to both of those goals, making it an endless process that can never be completed. However, I'm trying to become a little better organized on this front and maybe I can make some headway. I've been turned on to a site called GoodReads which is amazing, though I am still figuring out how to navigate it. I'm hoping to create a couple of lists on the site to help me keep track of the hundreds of books I currently have floating around. You can check out my profile at http://www.goodreads.com/profile/stephaniemblack .
2. Learn a language. I'm not overly picky about which language. I've been particularly interested in Russian, Gaelic, and most other totally useless languages. Husband would love for all of us to learn Mandarin together. Fortunately, my library offers a really cool language learning feature on its website. Unfortunately, none of the aforementioned languages are offered. So my new goal is to learn Latin American Spanish.
3. Take classes. Lots and lots of classes. I never want to stop learning. I am interested in just about everything. Even things I didn't think I was interested in, it turns out I am. I'm hoping to start finding all those free discussions and classes that the library and other community establishments offer and taking advantage of them. Non-profits are fizzling out, they just don't have any support by the people or by the government (at least around here), so it's important to take advantage of all the cool programs they offer while they can still offer them.
4. Bake my way through Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook. I have wanted to do this since I got the book in 2005. Just start at the beginning and bake every single recipe. I'm thinking rather than try to do a new recipe every day, maybe one a week would be more practical. The recipes aren't exactly low-cal, and they often call for ingredients that are either difficult to find or expensive (or both), so trying to rock through it too fast is just going to make me even fatter than I already am, and even poorer.
5. Get active. I have got to be one of the laziest human beings in the world. I bought a Wii Fit, thinking if it was for a video game I might actually move around a little. That lasted about two weeks. My goal is to do something other than sit in front of my computer or behind my book or whatever it is I'm sitting with. I just need to stop sitting. There are two physical things I have always wanted to do: Kickboxing and Yoga. I'm not too interested in much else. But kickboxing would very clearly kick my ass currently. So I think this goal needs to be broken up into many smaller goals. Mini-goal number one: just move for thirty minutes every day, even if that means just pacing back and forth across the house.
So there we have it. Top 5 goals of the day. I'm sure I have a lot more to add to it. Which is good because if we're not striving for goals, what are we really doing? I encourage anyone who may be reading this to think about what you would like to accomplish, and do something small to get yourself on the way to that. Until next time, happy listing.
Things I Want to Do
1. Read. A lot. Done and done. I have 2 current goals in this category: a) to read all the books I have checked out from the library, and b) to read all the books I own. The hard part of this is that I keep adding more books to both of those goals, making it an endless process that can never be completed. However, I'm trying to become a little better organized on this front and maybe I can make some headway. I've been turned on to a site called GoodReads which is amazing, though I am still figuring out how to navigate it. I'm hoping to create a couple of lists on the site to help me keep track of the hundreds of books I currently have floating around. You can check out my profile at http://www.goodreads.com/profile/stephaniemblack .
2. Learn a language. I'm not overly picky about which language. I've been particularly interested in Russian, Gaelic, and most other totally useless languages. Husband would love for all of us to learn Mandarin together. Fortunately, my library offers a really cool language learning feature on its website. Unfortunately, none of the aforementioned languages are offered. So my new goal is to learn Latin American Spanish.
3. Take classes. Lots and lots of classes. I never want to stop learning. I am interested in just about everything. Even things I didn't think I was interested in, it turns out I am. I'm hoping to start finding all those free discussions and classes that the library and other community establishments offer and taking advantage of them. Non-profits are fizzling out, they just don't have any support by the people or by the government (at least around here), so it's important to take advantage of all the cool programs they offer while they can still offer them.
4. Bake my way through Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook. I have wanted to do this since I got the book in 2005. Just start at the beginning and bake every single recipe. I'm thinking rather than try to do a new recipe every day, maybe one a week would be more practical. The recipes aren't exactly low-cal, and they often call for ingredients that are either difficult to find or expensive (or both), so trying to rock through it too fast is just going to make me even fatter than I already am, and even poorer.
5. Get active. I have got to be one of the laziest human beings in the world. I bought a Wii Fit, thinking if it was for a video game I might actually move around a little. That lasted about two weeks. My goal is to do something other than sit in front of my computer or behind my book or whatever it is I'm sitting with. I just need to stop sitting. There are two physical things I have always wanted to do: Kickboxing and Yoga. I'm not too interested in much else. But kickboxing would very clearly kick my ass currently. So I think this goal needs to be broken up into many smaller goals. Mini-goal number one: just move for thirty minutes every day, even if that means just pacing back and forth across the house.
So there we have it. Top 5 goals of the day. I'm sure I have a lot more to add to it. Which is good because if we're not striving for goals, what are we really doing? I encourage anyone who may be reading this to think about what you would like to accomplish, and do something small to get yourself on the way to that. Until next time, happy listing.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
My Newfound Confidence: or, How I Answered the Phone
Today, I did something I have not done in YEARS. I answered the phone!
You would think this is an exaggeration, but it's not really. We always have Caller I.D., and if you are not my brother, my husband, or my mom, I probably will not answer the phone for you. I don't answer the phone if I don't recognize the number, I never call anyone (except the aforementioned people), half the time I won't answer the phone even if I DO recognize the number, for fear of not being able to probably communicate.
You see, I don't know that it's that I ever really thought myself stupid, just ill-prepared. One (at least, this one) never wants to come across as confused, now does one? So it's better to not answer the phone, let that person state their business on the answering machine (or better yet, email), then I can think about it and decide the correct thing to say. At that point I will either email them in response, or I'll make my husband call them back and give them the answer they need.
Well, over the past two days we have had this little repairman drama going here. See, it all goes back to our buying our house in September. The house advertised these great perks, the one in capital letters being, "IRRIGATION SYSTEM!" Sweet, sprinklers! I'm not all about lawn pride, so honestly I didn't care that much, but the husband thought it was pretty cool. So we move in, and we can't turn them on. Oh, and did I mention we get this letter from our water company telling us we need the backflow tested (whatever the hell THAT means)? Well, we got that letter right after we moved in, and with all else going on I kind of ignored it. And since we couldn't figure out how to turn it on anyway, it didn't seem to really matter much. Husband was a little annoyed, but it was almost fall anyway, so we just didn't worry about it.... And now it is spring.
We get ANOTHER letter from the water company telling us we must report our test results to them. So we have the city's water guy come out, and he tells us that he doesn't know how to turn them on, and when we figure it out we should call him back and he'll test it for us. Now, Husband and I are kind of lazy people sometimes, and very confused most of the time, so this whole process has already taken a couple of months. We finally call an independent repair guy, who was supposed to come look at it yesterday. And didn't. And Husband, who originally set all this up, is out of town. So it all falls on me to deal with. So I actually CALLED to find out where he was! This is pretty huge for me, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I received a call back yesterday from a "cellular call" (which I NEVER answer) and yeah, I totally answered that. Then I did the same thing again this morning. I'll tell you what, I felt so capable all of the sudden!
I'm not quite sure if this burst of confidence has come from the fact that Husband is out of town and I have no other choice, or if I have my pride in myself in general. My college degree symbolizes so much for me. I was a smart girl growing up, then I grew up, and then I was stupid. I made mistakes and fell into a life I didn't want. I was working retail and watching many people whose IQs were about half of mine make good on their lives. They went to college, got degrees, and started careers (most of them as teachers-- not sure what that's about). And here I was making them coffee. (Side note: I LOVE making coffee. Nothing brings me greater joy than working in the coffee business, and I know in my heart of hearts that's where I want to be, and, God willing, I'll be there again someday.) They looked down on me, and I looked down on myself. I was so ashamed of myself for letting my life get so out of control. It's one thing to CHOOSE to make a career out of selling coffee or books or some other form of retail, it's quite another when you're doing it because no "real" job will take you.
Then I met and married my husband. And I thought, "it's OK, I don't need a degree. I don't want to work, I just want to be a wife and mother." So true. Not working is the best. I love being a wife, though I suck at keeping up with laundry and dishes, and I really love being a mother. But I still didn't feel complete. I loved to read, I loved to learn, I could hold my own in conversations on many intellectual subjects. But I was very self-concious. I had that "what, you think you're better than me?" defense going on.
I admitted to myself that I went back to school for two reasons: 1) all I ever did was read books anyway, I might as well get some credit for it, and 2) we all need a backup plan. You just never know what will happen in life. I have a secure relationship with my husband, and I don't plan on him leaving me anytime soon, but you just never can tell what will happen. I was pretty sure that going back to an $8 an hour retail job wasn't going to cut it should I ever need to be the provider for my family. Having a degree provides me with some better options. But what I actually got was so much more. A sense of pride I haven't had since I was in high school. The belief that I can accomplish anything I set out to do. The knowledge that no one is better than me just because they have a little piece of paper and I don't.
OK, now of course there's some of you that will say they never were better than me, and that having a diploma means nothing, and on some levels I can totally agree with you. But for whatever fucked up psychological reason, that's how I felt before, and this is how I feel now. And I feel good enough to answer the phone. And that's pretty damn good.
You would think this is an exaggeration, but it's not really. We always have Caller I.D., and if you are not my brother, my husband, or my mom, I probably will not answer the phone for you. I don't answer the phone if I don't recognize the number, I never call anyone (except the aforementioned people), half the time I won't answer the phone even if I DO recognize the number, for fear of not being able to probably communicate.
You see, I don't know that it's that I ever really thought myself stupid, just ill-prepared. One (at least, this one) never wants to come across as confused, now does one? So it's better to not answer the phone, let that person state their business on the answering machine (or better yet, email), then I can think about it and decide the correct thing to say. At that point I will either email them in response, or I'll make my husband call them back and give them the answer they need.
Well, over the past two days we have had this little repairman drama going here. See, it all goes back to our buying our house in September. The house advertised these great perks, the one in capital letters being, "IRRIGATION SYSTEM!" Sweet, sprinklers! I'm not all about lawn pride, so honestly I didn't care that much, but the husband thought it was pretty cool. So we move in, and we can't turn them on. Oh, and did I mention we get this letter from our water company telling us we need the backflow tested (whatever the hell THAT means)? Well, we got that letter right after we moved in, and with all else going on I kind of ignored it. And since we couldn't figure out how to turn it on anyway, it didn't seem to really matter much. Husband was a little annoyed, but it was almost fall anyway, so we just didn't worry about it.... And now it is spring.
We get ANOTHER letter from the water company telling us we must report our test results to them. So we have the city's water guy come out, and he tells us that he doesn't know how to turn them on, and when we figure it out we should call him back and he'll test it for us. Now, Husband and I are kind of lazy people sometimes, and very confused most of the time, so this whole process has already taken a couple of months. We finally call an independent repair guy, who was supposed to come look at it yesterday. And didn't. And Husband, who originally set all this up, is out of town. So it all falls on me to deal with. So I actually CALLED to find out where he was! This is pretty huge for me, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I received a call back yesterday from a "cellular call" (which I NEVER answer) and yeah, I totally answered that. Then I did the same thing again this morning. I'll tell you what, I felt so capable all of the sudden!
I'm not quite sure if this burst of confidence has come from the fact that Husband is out of town and I have no other choice, or if I have my pride in myself in general. My college degree symbolizes so much for me. I was a smart girl growing up, then I grew up, and then I was stupid. I made mistakes and fell into a life I didn't want. I was working retail and watching many people whose IQs were about half of mine make good on their lives. They went to college, got degrees, and started careers (most of them as teachers-- not sure what that's about). And here I was making them coffee. (Side note: I LOVE making coffee. Nothing brings me greater joy than working in the coffee business, and I know in my heart of hearts that's where I want to be, and, God willing, I'll be there again someday.) They looked down on me, and I looked down on myself. I was so ashamed of myself for letting my life get so out of control. It's one thing to CHOOSE to make a career out of selling coffee or books or some other form of retail, it's quite another when you're doing it because no "real" job will take you.
Then I met and married my husband. And I thought, "it's OK, I don't need a degree. I don't want to work, I just want to be a wife and mother." So true. Not working is the best. I love being a wife, though I suck at keeping up with laundry and dishes, and I really love being a mother. But I still didn't feel complete. I loved to read, I loved to learn, I could hold my own in conversations on many intellectual subjects. But I was very self-concious. I had that "what, you think you're better than me?" defense going on.
I admitted to myself that I went back to school for two reasons: 1) all I ever did was read books anyway, I might as well get some credit for it, and 2) we all need a backup plan. You just never know what will happen in life. I have a secure relationship with my husband, and I don't plan on him leaving me anytime soon, but you just never can tell what will happen. I was pretty sure that going back to an $8 an hour retail job wasn't going to cut it should I ever need to be the provider for my family. Having a degree provides me with some better options. But what I actually got was so much more. A sense of pride I haven't had since I was in high school. The belief that I can accomplish anything I set out to do. The knowledge that no one is better than me just because they have a little piece of paper and I don't.
OK, now of course there's some of you that will say they never were better than me, and that having a diploma means nothing, and on some levels I can totally agree with you. But for whatever fucked up psychological reason, that's how I felt before, and this is how I feel now. And I feel good enough to answer the phone. And that's pretty damn good.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Here we go again....
I love blogging. LOVE IT. Unfortunately, my chronic perfectionism does NOT love it. See, I try to come up with a schtick. Anybody can write about their boring-ass life, right? And unless you're already famous, guess what, nobody cares about your boring-ass life. So when I create a blog, it has to have some angle. First, it was about being a newly converted Mormon (yeah, that didn't work out-- the blog nor the life choice), then I went on to a super fun look at finance and saving money known as Hooray for Budgets. I still love finance and budgeting, and I definitely love saving money, but the cold hard truth is that I do not have something to say about it every day. And you know how it goes. You realize you don't have anything worth saying on a certain subject for a few days, then all of the sudden you totally forget you were supposed to be talking about that at all. Sadly, that is what happened with Budgets. So here we are, trying it again. No tricks, no themes, just whatever I decide I should be talking about right now. Am I that interesting? Debatable. On one hand, I'm a stay at home mom in the almost-suburbs/ almost-ghetto of an almost- big city in the midwest. Not sounding promising. On the other, I'm interested in everything and I'm flaky as all hell, so I tend to do things that others might not do (and it's probably better not to). That does not by any means mean that I'm a daredevil. Nooooo way. I don't do scary things. I literally just do things that no one else would ever think was a good idea. Like, I just graduated college, but I don't want to get a job. Most people wonder, "why would you go in debt (insert a five digit number here) dollars if you don't want a job?" My answer? I just wanted to. I decided having a degree would make me happy. Does it make sense given my current life situation? No. But it's pretty cool to have a degree!
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