Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Here it is, Mom.
Okay okay okay... sorry for the delay. I've been catching grief over the lengthy suspense since my last entry (mostly from my mom) so here it goes.
We got the TV.
After bundling up in about 12 thick layers of Carharts, snow pants and polyproplane long john underwear (obviously not in that order) and packing enough chairs-in-a-bag to keep any proud soccer mom happy, we made our way to the already growing line at Circuit City around 10 pm on Thanksgiving.
We introduced ourselves to our "neighbors", a seasoned family huddled in their ice shanty and a seriously underprepared woman who packed only a bears fleece to protect her from the bitter 20 degree chill (of course, of course, it was the coldest night of 2007 thus far). We are 23rd in line. Then we pulled out the DVD player we borrowed from my mother in law, along with the longest, most captivating movies in our arsenal (Lord of the Rings trilogy, of course) and settled down into our sleeping bags. Just like camping. Except it was really really cold. And uncomfortable. And there weren't any marshmallows for roasting.
11:30 pm Due to previously discussed bitter cold, DVD player dies. We got through about an hours or so of LOTR
12:30 am I ran home for bathroom break
1:00 am I return with hot chocolate mix and boiling water in a thermos and chex mix
1:02 am Mike gets tangled up in his sleeping bag and consequently knocks over the thermos, causing it to shatter- boiling hot water pouring copiously over the sidewalk. Hot chocolate is ruined.
1:03 am-2:59 am Sleeping. Kind of. And shivering. Line behind us builds to about 100-125 people.
3:00 am Circuit City employees arrive on the scene. "China Man" (Not my name for him.... just a nickname the endearing crowd came up with) makes the fateful announcement that line is forming in the wrong direction, and according to fire safety or some other rubbish, everyone must move.
3:01 am China Man realizes his mistake as over 100 people run to cut in line. Those "all nighters", settled warmly into shanties, sleeping bags and folding chairs, some around mini fires, stare dumbfounded at China Man.
3:02 am Mike started swearing and yelling at China Man. Erin advises him to quit yelling and get in line.
3:05 am Erin, lugging all their crap, some how finds Mike in crazy swarm of people. We are now 100th in line.
3:06 am Erin lugs crap out to car... since China Man stated "fire safety". Angry customers start carrying on and threaten a riot. They advise police protection.
3:10 am Police show up. High schoolers that cheated everyone and ran to front of line start getting rowdy and obnoxious... which really endears them to the rest of the line.
3:30 am China Man makes another announcement that anyone who has left their chairs, shanties, ect in the original line can return to them and they will be allowed in the store first. Erin almost starts crying at the injustice of it all... but can't because she is too cold to produce tears.
4:00 am Circuit City employees start handing out impossibly small maps of the store (luckily, we pre-shopped)
4:30 am Vouchers are handed out for computers. Jerky Highschoolers claim all laptop vouchers and then turn around and attempt to sell them to others behind them in line. We are all freezing nearly to the point of biothermal shutdown.
4:40 am Circuit City employees start handing out complimentary notepads. Young woman behind us in line cackles with derisive insanity.
4.50 am Dunkin Doughnuts guy shows up with coffee. This is nearly 7 hours after we've arrived. No one buys coffee, instead they yell at him for not showing up sooner.
5:00 am Put our game faces on, at least 3 other couples around us in line are after our TV, by our estimation. Doors open.
5:05 am Erin has hands on 32 in Sharp TV... not our TV, but our price. Mike sets out to find a store employee to clarify.
5:06 am Two employees later, Mike waves Erin down to pick up the stereo. He's number 5 in line with sticky note in hand. Fingers crossed.
5:10 am TV is claimed, bought and paid for. So is stereo. There were only 8 TV's available. We drive around to back of building, load up our prize and head home.
5:30 am In bed. Sweet dreams of new beautiful, ginormous TV.
9:30 am Mike is up. TV is up. Success.
We got the TV.
After bundling up in about 12 thick layers of Carharts, snow pants and polyproplane long john underwear (obviously not in that order) and packing enough chairs-in-a-bag to keep any proud soccer mom happy, we made our way to the already growing line at Circuit City around 10 pm on Thanksgiving.
We introduced ourselves to our "neighbors", a seasoned family huddled in their ice shanty and a seriously underprepared woman who packed only a bears fleece to protect her from the bitter 20 degree chill (of course, of course, it was the coldest night of 2007 thus far). We are 23rd in line. Then we pulled out the DVD player we borrowed from my mother in law, along with the longest, most captivating movies in our arsenal (Lord of the Rings trilogy, of course) and settled down into our sleeping bags. Just like camping. Except it was really really cold. And uncomfortable. And there weren't any marshmallows for roasting.
11:30 pm Due to previously discussed bitter cold, DVD player dies. We got through about an hours or so of LOTR
12:30 am I ran home for bathroom break
1:00 am I return with hot chocolate mix and boiling water in a thermos and chex mix
1:02 am Mike gets tangled up in his sleeping bag and consequently knocks over the thermos, causing it to shatter- boiling hot water pouring copiously over the sidewalk. Hot chocolate is ruined.
1:03 am-2:59 am Sleeping. Kind of. And shivering. Line behind us builds to about 100-125 people.
3:00 am Circuit City employees arrive on the scene. "China Man" (Not my name for him.... just a nickname the endearing crowd came up with) makes the fateful announcement that line is forming in the wrong direction, and according to fire safety or some other rubbish, everyone must move.
3:01 am China Man realizes his mistake as over 100 people run to cut in line. Those "all nighters", settled warmly into shanties, sleeping bags and folding chairs, some around mini fires, stare dumbfounded at China Man.
3:02 am Mike started swearing and yelling at China Man. Erin advises him to quit yelling and get in line.
3:05 am Erin, lugging all their crap, some how finds Mike in crazy swarm of people. We are now 100th in line.
3:06 am Erin lugs crap out to car... since China Man stated "fire safety". Angry customers start carrying on and threaten a riot. They advise police protection.
3:10 am Police show up. High schoolers that cheated everyone and ran to front of line start getting rowdy and obnoxious... which really endears them to the rest of the line.
3:30 am China Man makes another announcement that anyone who has left their chairs, shanties, ect in the original line can return to them and they will be allowed in the store first. Erin almost starts crying at the injustice of it all... but can't because she is too cold to produce tears.
4:00 am Circuit City employees start handing out impossibly small maps of the store (luckily, we pre-shopped)
4:30 am Vouchers are handed out for computers. Jerky Highschoolers claim all laptop vouchers and then turn around and attempt to sell them to others behind them in line. We are all freezing nearly to the point of biothermal shutdown.
4:40 am Circuit City employees start handing out complimentary notepads. Young woman behind us in line cackles with derisive insanity.
4.50 am Dunkin Doughnuts guy shows up with coffee. This is nearly 7 hours after we've arrived. No one buys coffee, instead they yell at him for not showing up sooner.
5:00 am Put our game faces on, at least 3 other couples around us in line are after our TV, by our estimation. Doors open.
5:05 am Erin has hands on 32 in Sharp TV... not our TV, but our price. Mike sets out to find a store employee to clarify.
5:06 am Two employees later, Mike waves Erin down to pick up the stereo. He's number 5 in line with sticky note in hand. Fingers crossed.
5:10 am TV is claimed, bought and paid for. So is stereo. There were only 8 TV's available. We drive around to back of building, load up our prize and head home.
5:30 am In bed. Sweet dreams of new beautiful, ginormous TV.
9:30 am Mike is up. TV is up. Success.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Cute picture... they're rare... so I am posting it!
Courtesy of our Best Friend, and photographer extraordinaire, Kevin Von Qualen. Google him and check out his site... he is AMAZING for weddings!
Tis the season
In about another week, dear friends, I will embark on my first true effort at holiday sale maddness. I will become just another willing and even eager participant in the psychotic phenomenom otherwise known as "Black Friday".
For those of you who know me well, you probably realize how unusual this is for me. I typically am a little bit of a "crowd" snob and refuse to partake in the shopping craziness the day after Thanksgiving. In fact, the term "Black Friday", itself, was completely foreign to me. I thought it was just something that had to do with the Great Depression... but desperate times call for desperate measures, kids.
Let me explain. My husband and I have decided to make our first official "real" grown up purchase. Besides our couch. Which, upon further consideration, perhaps we should have waited on that purchase. At least until our puppy was full grown. But anyways...
Well, everyone, we are buying a flatscreen TV. A 42 inch LCD moniter with a special option that will tint the screen according to the level of natural light in the room. Yeah, I know... it's a pretty big freaking deal.
I'm not much of a TV person. I mean, we don't even have cable. But it is really starting to get on my nerves that the three or so hours a week that I spend watching television are constistently being interrupted by our screen going out. By going out, I mean, just that... going out somewhere. I don't know where, but we've discovered through good old fashioned trial and error that if we jump with both feet right in this particular spot in front of our couch, there is about a 87% success rate of having it come back.
Why get such a nice tv, you ask? Why the heck not? That's what my hubbie always says. In truth, we were looking at the 36 inch, but my father-in-law said "Why not just go for the 42 incher?" and Mike, being the easily persuaded man that he is decided that that was enough reason for him.
So a few months back I caved in and we went to work. We called up our respective parental units and explained that this year, all we want is money. Really. True, we've said it before and probably didn't really mean it, but this year we're legit. Then the real struggle began.
The last few weeks have been spent scoping out underground "pre-black" Friday websites and coupon centers during my lunch hours and previewing our picks on the store shelves in the evenings. We've narrowed it down to our top contender, but there is no way in heck that I am writing it out here, in case one of you are my competition come a week from Friday.
So there I will be, 3 am on Friday morning. Fighting my turkey hangover with a hot cup of dunkin dougnuts coffee and plotting our route through the aisles to our prize. Perhaps, if the "nutty holiday shopping gods", in which I don't, of course, believe in, smile upon us, I will have a success story to share with you all!
Wish us luck!
For those of you who know me well, you probably realize how unusual this is for me. I typically am a little bit of a "crowd" snob and refuse to partake in the shopping craziness the day after Thanksgiving. In fact, the term "Black Friday", itself, was completely foreign to me. I thought it was just something that had to do with the Great Depression... but desperate times call for desperate measures, kids.
Let me explain. My husband and I have decided to make our first official "real" grown up purchase. Besides our couch. Which, upon further consideration, perhaps we should have waited on that purchase. At least until our puppy was full grown. But anyways...
Well, everyone, we are buying a flatscreen TV. A 42 inch LCD moniter with a special option that will tint the screen according to the level of natural light in the room. Yeah, I know... it's a pretty big freaking deal.
I'm not much of a TV person. I mean, we don't even have cable. But it is really starting to get on my nerves that the three or so hours a week that I spend watching television are constistently being interrupted by our screen going out. By going out, I mean, just that... going out somewhere. I don't know where, but we've discovered through good old fashioned trial and error that if we jump with both feet right in this particular spot in front of our couch, there is about a 87% success rate of having it come back.
Why get such a nice tv, you ask? Why the heck not? That's what my hubbie always says. In truth, we were looking at the 36 inch, but my father-in-law said "Why not just go for the 42 incher?" and Mike, being the easily persuaded man that he is decided that that was enough reason for him.
So a few months back I caved in and we went to work. We called up our respective parental units and explained that this year, all we want is money. Really. True, we've said it before and probably didn't really mean it, but this year we're legit. Then the real struggle began.
The last few weeks have been spent scoping out underground "pre-black" Friday websites and coupon centers during my lunch hours and previewing our picks on the store shelves in the evenings. We've narrowed it down to our top contender, but there is no way in heck that I am writing it out here, in case one of you are my competition come a week from Friday.
So there I will be, 3 am on Friday morning. Fighting my turkey hangover with a hot cup of dunkin dougnuts coffee and plotting our route through the aisles to our prize. Perhaps, if the "nutty holiday shopping gods", in which I don't, of course, believe in, smile upon us, I will have a success story to share with you all!
Wish us luck!
Monday, October 29, 2007
This past weekend...
I am working on putting up pics on my blog of things I've been up to...
This is from this past weekend. Our old friends from college, the Katerbergs, and their little girl, Abbie came to stay with us. We spent a super fun and super tiring Saturday downtown racing around in trolleys and trains and splashing around in the water room! (be advised: wear the proffered rain coats if you take advantage of all the children's museum has to offer!) Since our trip was "kid themed", we invited my youngest brother and sister, James and Bridget along for all the crazy-hectic fun.
This photo is from Christmas Eve Eve- last year... when our best friends, the Vonqualens came out to celebrate the holidays with toasty warm holiday treats.I realize that we are only days from Halloween... and that that is a pretty big deal for lots of people...
But it isn't such a huge deal for me. I am, of course, looking forward to those cuter then cute trick-or-treaters showing up on my doorstep in want of neighborly enablers to support their sugar habits... and its been highly entertaining scrolling through my friends various websites and checking out their costumes from their last-weekend parties all across the continental US.
Nevertheless, I, personally, am very eagerly looking forward to the day AFTER Halloween. On the day after Halloween the radio will begin playing Christmas music (at least those special seasonal stations will), and the temperature will surely start to drop and I will begin baking and crafting and watching copious amounts of White Christmas and Eloise at Christmastime, starring my very most favorite birthday-sharing buddy, Julie Andrews in all her "Nanny" spendidness...
And I just get giddy thinking about it. The Holidays.
I. Love. The. Holidays.
I love them because they are a celebration of my Savior, Jesus' birth. I love them because we get to give presents. I love them because we hang sparkling white fairy lights everywhere that make the world seem all glittery and beautiful. I love them because I can giggle guiltlessly at the Christmas Lobster in Love Actually. I love them because for some reason unbeknownest to the general population, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone is considered a Christmas movie and they even show that sweet kids movie on TV. I love them because we are permitted and even expected to completely gorge ourselves on high sugar, high fat, extra creamy, uber rich comfort foods.
I love them because it is a time of gratitude and fortitude and love and family and everything perfectly wonderful in the world..
If I had my say, Heaven would be a Currier and Ives Christmas Eve each and every day. And I am pretty sure that God reads my blog, so I think that it might be a done deal.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Anther milestone...
I have reached another milestone, my friends. I knew this was coming. In the back of my mind, I have been awaiting it's arrrival with bated breath. Dramatic, to be sure... but I can not say that I am exaggerating. Yesterday was a day like any other. Perhaps a little bit more dreary beause it was a Thursday, which happens to be my least favorite day of the week- but a typical day, nonetheless.
Until I came home and checked the mail.
An invite to my Godson's first birthday party was precariously perched right on top of that little pile of junk mail and Christmas catalogues.
I have been invited to a grown up birthday party for a little boy. It is one thing to have had close friends welcoming little babies into their families. It is quite another to be have those little babies become little kids and to have those little kids have birthday parties!
Don't get me wrong. As I type this, I am beaming. I am absolutely thrilled that Noah, who happens to be the absolute cutest little guy on the planet, is turning one. A little shocked that time has flown so quickly over the past year... but thrilled all the same.
It's just a milestone, that's all. I mean, this is my first time doing this. The first of many, to be sure... for another couple close to us just had their first child this past summer and our dear friends from the southside are welcoming their first any day now... So I will be a seasoned party attender before I know it. Life carries on... and before too too long I will start collecting consumer reports of which hot toys are the safest, and I will find myself fighting the nutty crowds the day after Thanksgiving in order to procure a tickle-me-elmo or whatever is hot these days, to send to my littlest friends. And I'm looking forward to it. Really!
But still, yikes. :)
Until I came home and checked the mail.
An invite to my Godson's first birthday party was precariously perched right on top of that little pile of junk mail and Christmas catalogues.
I have been invited to a grown up birthday party for a little boy. It is one thing to have had close friends welcoming little babies into their families. It is quite another to be have those little babies become little kids and to have those little kids have birthday parties!
Don't get me wrong. As I type this, I am beaming. I am absolutely thrilled that Noah, who happens to be the absolute cutest little guy on the planet, is turning one. A little shocked that time has flown so quickly over the past year... but thrilled all the same.
It's just a milestone, that's all. I mean, this is my first time doing this. The first of many, to be sure... for another couple close to us just had their first child this past summer and our dear friends from the southside are welcoming their first any day now... So I will be a seasoned party attender before I know it. Life carries on... and before too too long I will start collecting consumer reports of which hot toys are the safest, and I will find myself fighting the nutty crowds the day after Thanksgiving in order to procure a tickle-me-elmo or whatever is hot these days, to send to my littlest friends. And I'm looking forward to it. Really!
But still, yikes. :)
Monday, October 22, 2007
I heart Dumbledore.
"I always thought of Dumbledore as gay... Dumbledore fell in love with Grindelwald, and that that added to his horror when Grindelwald showed himself to be what he was. To an extent, do we say it excused Dumbledore a little more because falling in love can blind us to an extent? But, he met someone as brilliant as he was, and rather like Bellatrix he was very drawn to this brilliant person, and horribly, terribly let down by him. Yeah, that's how i always saw Dumbledore."
-JK Rowling speaking at Carnagie Hall this past week
Of course. Of course. It is so obvious and perfect to me that Dumbledore would be gay. From the moment I first visualized his flambouyant purple suit in "The Half Blood Prince", I should have known it. I mean, it was blatently obvious that he and McGonagall never had anything going on... and not a single long-illusive mistress-in-hiding crashed his funeral, nor did anyone contact Rita Skeeter for an exclusive behind-the-wizard expose on his private affairs- which, given the drastic amount of digging around that our favorite love-to-hate reporter did in Dumbledore's past, one likely could have been coaxed out of hiding.
Did Rita Skeeter know that Dumbledore was gay? Did she recognize the relationship between the young Grindevald and Dumbledore for what it really was? I think yes. I think that she elluded to it... pretty obviously, too... but I am certain that, Harry, not inclined to read deep into romanticisms, would not of seen it for what it was. Hermione, yes, but not Harry. And what would that have mattered anyways? I don't think it would have made a difference. Harry was the King of Tolerance and he loved Dumbledore for loving him. As a son. Or grandson, or whatever.
Of course Dumbledore fell in love with Grindevald. And doesn't that just make everything all more tragic? It is one thing to be at war with your best friend, but quite another to be at war with your best friends and the love of your life. Was it mutual? I think it must have been at some level, for in the end, Grindevald refused to give Dumbledore over to Voldemort. His final, remorseful, act of love.
Love. The underlying theme to the entire Harry Potter universe. Love is the most powerful and misunderstood kind of magic. It can both make or break you.
Sometimes, as in the story of Dumbledore, it does both.
My complete respect goes out to JK Rowling. Personal beliefs aside, or perhaps, because of my beliefs, I say this... you have long written of tolerance, acceptance and unabashed love. You have taught generations to care and to stand up for what they believe through your charasmatic and reachable characters... my hypothetical hat goes off to you. Well done.
-JK Rowling speaking at Carnagie Hall this past week
Of course. Of course. It is so obvious and perfect to me that Dumbledore would be gay. From the moment I first visualized his flambouyant purple suit in "The Half Blood Prince", I should have known it. I mean, it was blatently obvious that he and McGonagall never had anything going on... and not a single long-illusive mistress-in-hiding crashed his funeral, nor did anyone contact Rita Skeeter for an exclusive behind-the-wizard expose on his private affairs- which, given the drastic amount of digging around that our favorite love-to-hate reporter did in Dumbledore's past, one likely could have been coaxed out of hiding.
Did Rita Skeeter know that Dumbledore was gay? Did she recognize the relationship between the young Grindevald and Dumbledore for what it really was? I think yes. I think that she elluded to it... pretty obviously, too... but I am certain that, Harry, not inclined to read deep into romanticisms, would not of seen it for what it was. Hermione, yes, but not Harry. And what would that have mattered anyways? I don't think it would have made a difference. Harry was the King of Tolerance and he loved Dumbledore for loving him. As a son. Or grandson, or whatever.
Of course Dumbledore fell in love with Grindevald. And doesn't that just make everything all more tragic? It is one thing to be at war with your best friend, but quite another to be at war with your best friends and the love of your life. Was it mutual? I think it must have been at some level, for in the end, Grindevald refused to give Dumbledore over to Voldemort. His final, remorseful, act of love.
Love. The underlying theme to the entire Harry Potter universe. Love is the most powerful and misunderstood kind of magic. It can both make or break you.
Sometimes, as in the story of Dumbledore, it does both.
My complete respect goes out to JK Rowling. Personal beliefs aside, or perhaps, because of my beliefs, I say this... you have long written of tolerance, acceptance and unabashed love. You have taught generations to care and to stand up for what they believe through your charasmatic and reachable characters... my hypothetical hat goes off to you. Well done.
Friday, October 19, 2007
In my defense.
"Why Georgia," by John Mayer
Might be a quarter-life crisis / Or just a stirrin' in my soul / Either way / I wonder sometimes / About the outcome / Of a still verdictless life / Am I living it right
I just wanted to defend myself to the masses for my teenie little breakdown earlier this month. I'm much better, now... by the way. I'm embracing my 25-ness. Except when I forget that I'm 25. I did do that the other day. There seems to be a mental block... but it was corrected. And I'm okay with it. I like being 25.
I. Like. Being. 25.
That being said, I ran across something today (okay, I'll admit, I googled it- to lead you to believe that it just jumped out at me would be blatent lie and I'm too old to tell white lies). Do me a favor and google "quarter life crisis" and click on the wikipedia link. Scroll down the "emotional aspects".
There. Uh huh. See! I knew it wasn't just me. There is a perfectly appropriate and psychologically recognizable reason for why I freaked out.
I can't say that everything has righted itself. I mean, I still feel a little displaced and unsure how to proceed in my life. But one thing that has occured to me (likely due to my new-found wisdom): I can no longer compare myself to my peers nor my parents. Times are different. Circumstances are varied.
Life works on a strictly case by case basis.
Might be a quarter-life crisis / Or just a stirrin' in my soul / Either way / I wonder sometimes / About the outcome / Of a still verdictless life / Am I living it right
I just wanted to defend myself to the masses for my teenie little breakdown earlier this month. I'm much better, now... by the way. I'm embracing my 25-ness. Except when I forget that I'm 25. I did do that the other day. There seems to be a mental block... but it was corrected. And I'm okay with it. I like being 25.
I. Like. Being. 25.
That being said, I ran across something today (okay, I'll admit, I googled it- to lead you to believe that it just jumped out at me would be blatent lie and I'm too old to tell white lies). Do me a favor and google "quarter life crisis" and click on the wikipedia link. Scroll down the "emotional aspects".
There. Uh huh. See! I knew it wasn't just me. There is a perfectly appropriate and psychologically recognizable reason for why I freaked out.
I can't say that everything has righted itself. I mean, I still feel a little displaced and unsure how to proceed in my life. But one thing that has occured to me (likely due to my new-found wisdom): I can no longer compare myself to my peers nor my parents. Times are different. Circumstances are varied.
Life works on a strictly case by case basis.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
The trouble with sweet stuff
Seriously, now... what is going on? I have been a completely irrational cranky pants for the last two days and this morning I started to cry because Mike ate my birthday smiley face cookie and threatened to eat my apple doughnut if I didn't get to it.
Not kidding.
There are horrible tragedies going on right this second all over God's creation and I'm have a melt down over baked goods.
How totally ridiculous.
Anyway, I ate the doughnut just now and it was fabulous. Way to make a decision, Erin. Thatta girl. Baby steps.
PS Has anyone ever heard of "Cerberus". Extra credit if you can tell me what it is. Besides the name of my little sister's new pup. Good thing it isn't a child, or he might have grow up to have a complex. :)
Not kidding.
There are horrible tragedies going on right this second all over God's creation and I'm have a melt down over baked goods.
How totally ridiculous.
Anyway, I ate the doughnut just now and it was fabulous. Way to make a decision, Erin. Thatta girl. Baby steps.
PS Has anyone ever heard of "Cerberus". Extra credit if you can tell me what it is. Besides the name of my little sister's new pup. Good thing it isn't a child, or he might have grow up to have a complex. :)
Monday, October 8, 2007
confession of ignorant young american
Hello. My name is Erin and I am a celebrity gossip addict. And I hate it! I really really do! Not enough to stop, I suppose. I mean, how does that saying go? "You really have to want to change..." And I don't. But I do. Does that make sense?
I can't stand that I hungrily devour the high-end tabloids (at least I have the presense of mind to avoid the "bat boy found in southern missouri" articles) while I'm standing in line at Meijers. I pretend (okay, maybe I'm not completely pretending) that I am just super anal and have to have all my groceries grouped together by frozen/refridgerated/pantry/paper goods/ bathroom items (which, by the way, is really a key organizational tool that everyone should try at least once), but really I'm just taking my sweet time decifering for myself whose "secret-celebrity-cellulite-covered-thighs" those are in the grainy Maibu Beach shots. I'm pretty good at figuring it out, too... I mean.... those uber thin party girls didn't get that way from working out with a trainer. More like subsisting on iceburg lettuce (which everyone knows, holds no nutritional value) and martinis. Who am I to judge though? My cellulite situation is no better off.
And what about those fake celebrity news shows on at like six o'clock at night? I tell myself that I really should flip the channel during the next commercial break to the "World News" or "Nightly News" or whatever. I mean, I am single-handedly feeding every angry (and rightfully so, I might add) foreigner's argument that young Americans are self-centered and clueless about real issues. Such as third world poverty and the war in the middle east. But as shallow as it may seem, I soak up the sordid affairs of infamous hollywood actresses with much more ease and interest then I do the daily activities of the Jihad.
Don't get me wrong. I do make an effort. I was a sociology major, for Pete's sake. I lived, breathed and frequently quoted opression on both the world wide and national scale for several years. I listen to NPR on my morning commute and scan CNN, BBC and MSN.com each and every lunch hour to assure that I am up on my current events. I try to break the image, honestly I do.
I just find People.com and EW.com considerably more to my liking.
Each and every day, I am clicking through the photos under the headings of "caught in the act" or "they do it, too". I'm facinated with the proof that these unobtainable celebs drink coffee and walk their dogs and buy spaghetti noodles. Just. Like. Me.
But here is where the overwhelming guilt comes in. Princess Diana. One careless and sinister act and I have been forever shamed. I can shake my head with the rest of the world, mourning such a horribly tragedy, and yet in the same moment, click on yet another revealing site. I know it is terrible. And wrong. And pathetic. But there it is for you. I still do it.
And some of you may judge me. Some of you are way above such lowly obsessions. I tip my hat to you. Good for you. You are among the few either truely strong-willed, or those that in my husband's words "could really care less"... I admire you most fervently.
But for the rest of us... I fear we are at a loss.
I can't stand that I hungrily devour the high-end tabloids (at least I have the presense of mind to avoid the "bat boy found in southern missouri" articles) while I'm standing in line at Meijers. I pretend (okay, maybe I'm not completely pretending) that I am just super anal and have to have all my groceries grouped together by frozen/refridgerated/pantry/paper goods/ bathroom items (which, by the way, is really a key organizational tool that everyone should try at least once), but really I'm just taking my sweet time decifering for myself whose "secret-celebrity-cellulite-covered-thighs" those are in the grainy Maibu Beach shots. I'm pretty good at figuring it out, too... I mean.... those uber thin party girls didn't get that way from working out with a trainer. More like subsisting on iceburg lettuce (which everyone knows, holds no nutritional value) and martinis. Who am I to judge though? My cellulite situation is no better off.
And what about those fake celebrity news shows on at like six o'clock at night? I tell myself that I really should flip the channel during the next commercial break to the "World News" or "Nightly News" or whatever. I mean, I am single-handedly feeding every angry (and rightfully so, I might add) foreigner's argument that young Americans are self-centered and clueless about real issues. Such as third world poverty and the war in the middle east. But as shallow as it may seem, I soak up the sordid affairs of infamous hollywood actresses with much more ease and interest then I do the daily activities of the Jihad.
Don't get me wrong. I do make an effort. I was a sociology major, for Pete's sake. I lived, breathed and frequently quoted opression on both the world wide and national scale for several years. I listen to NPR on my morning commute and scan CNN, BBC and MSN.com each and every lunch hour to assure that I am up on my current events. I try to break the image, honestly I do.
I just find People.com and EW.com considerably more to my liking.
Each and every day, I am clicking through the photos under the headings of "caught in the act" or "they do it, too". I'm facinated with the proof that these unobtainable celebs drink coffee and walk their dogs and buy spaghetti noodles. Just. Like. Me.
But here is where the overwhelming guilt comes in. Princess Diana. One careless and sinister act and I have been forever shamed. I can shake my head with the rest of the world, mourning such a horribly tragedy, and yet in the same moment, click on yet another revealing site. I know it is terrible. And wrong. And pathetic. But there it is for you. I still do it.
And some of you may judge me. Some of you are way above such lowly obsessions. I tip my hat to you. Good for you. You are among the few either truely strong-willed, or those that in my husband's words "could really care less"... I admire you most fervently.
But for the rest of us... I fear we are at a loss.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
So wrong.
Wow. I know I read a lot of books... possibly some would even call it an excessive amount... but only rarely do books affect me in such a way that I can't stop thinking about them. "The Time Travelers Wife" did this. So did the final Harry Potter. And Barbara Einrich's "Nickled and Dimed".
But right now, I am in the midst of reading "The Kindness of Strangers". It tells the story of a family that fosters the little boy of their long-time friends- who had been secretly sexually abusing him for years. It doesn't take place in the ghetto. It takes place in upper middle class suburbia. And it is shocking. I mean, I know this stuff happens; I've even been assaulted myself. Maybe that's why I can't shake this sick-to-my-stomach feeling that set in. I don't know. It's so wrong to do that to a child.
So, on my way to work, I saw this little girl waiting at her bus stop and all I could think was that one in every six AMERICAN women are sexually assaulted some time in their lives. What are the chances that she will remain unscathed? One in six. And that's only to say that she hasn't been already assaulted. Fifty-nine percent of assaults are never even reported. Especially those of children.
I would recommend this book to anyone... it is incredibly moving and I think that it disrupts the perfect bubble of safety that we surround ourselves with. Which is good. But be warned, it isn't for the faint of heart. People persevere, but it is tough to think that a child would even have to.
But right now, I am in the midst of reading "The Kindness of Strangers". It tells the story of a family that fosters the little boy of their long-time friends- who had been secretly sexually abusing him for years. It doesn't take place in the ghetto. It takes place in upper middle class suburbia. And it is shocking. I mean, I know this stuff happens; I've even been assaulted myself. Maybe that's why I can't shake this sick-to-my-stomach feeling that set in. I don't know. It's so wrong to do that to a child.
So, on my way to work, I saw this little girl waiting at her bus stop and all I could think was that one in every six AMERICAN women are sexually assaulted some time in their lives. What are the chances that she will remain unscathed? One in six. And that's only to say that she hasn't been already assaulted. Fifty-nine percent of assaults are never even reported. Especially those of children.
I would recommend this book to anyone... it is incredibly moving and I think that it disrupts the perfect bubble of safety that we surround ourselves with. Which is good. But be warned, it isn't for the faint of heart. People persevere, but it is tough to think that a child would even have to.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
For the K/Caties in my life...
"I am confident they will do well together. Their tempers are much alike. They will be cheated assiduously by their servants. And be so generous with the rest, they will always exceed their income." Mr. Bennet (Pride and Prejudice)
My good friend (and more often then I would like to admit, "lifesaver"), Katie Freund commented that I should write up a little snippit about being too nice. At her suggestion, I grinned in the rememberance of several lazy afternoon trips to the mall spent griping about the our too-gentle dispositions and the grief they caused our poor, unstable, teenaged hearts.
Ah the curse of being too nice. Is it a curse? I guess at one point in my life, I thought it was. I actually recall a particularly hideous poem that I wrote, back when I did things like that, that was entitled "the cuteness factor". The first line went something like "the cuteness factor is my curse...". I'm not kidding. Anyways, it was absolutely awful and to save the world from having to suffer through any further prose, I promptly ended my carreer as a poet. But not before a friend of mine made a copy of it for his poetry portfolio, which means there is incriminating evidense of my old self out there somewhere.
He was a El-Ed major, if that says anything about the quality.
Anyhow, I no longer feel that way about being nice. So I'm nice. So I like to make others happy, even if, at times, it comes at risk to my own happiness. Some may call me a people pleaser, but I don't think that is accurate. I won't go to any lengths to make others happy. For example, if my husband was like, "Erin, we could really use some extra cash, and I hear that strippers make a killing on the weekends... " Of course, I would never stoop my morals... not that Mike would be happy having a wife as a stripper anyways, so I suppose that isn't the best example, but it is all I could up with this early in the morning.
I don't mind doing things for other people. Really, I don't. I like scratching Mike's belly until he falls asleep. I enjoy baking chocolate chip cookies for my step dad. I get a kick out of taking Bridget and James to the pumpkin farm and I love sending those stupid hallmark e-cards. Furthermore, when the dishes pile up at work, I don't mind being the one to wash them, and I certaintly don't care if other people bank on me being the one to do it.
What I do mind is when people see my efforts as a sign of weakness. I think that if there were one title in the english language that gets me riled, it would be "push-over". I can't begin to tell you how I hate that. Why does our society take something so refreshing and turn it into something less then desireable? Like life is one giant dramatic game of "Survivor". Whatever, if that's what it takes, call me Push-over. Thats me, Erin the Push-Over. That's kinda funny.... reminds me of "Alexander the Great" or "Attilla the Hunn". Sorry, if I spelled that wrong, history is only a hobby for me.
At any rate, I like my sunny personality. And yes, I do have a sunny personality. Some would argue that my last entry sounded slightly bit neurotic and anxious... but it was writing folks. Geesh. I like being 25, okay?
And I'm not just saying that to make you all happy.
My good friend (and more often then I would like to admit, "lifesaver"), Katie Freund commented that I should write up a little snippit about being too nice. At her suggestion, I grinned in the rememberance of several lazy afternoon trips to the mall spent griping about the our too-gentle dispositions and the grief they caused our poor, unstable, teenaged hearts.
Ah the curse of being too nice. Is it a curse? I guess at one point in my life, I thought it was. I actually recall a particularly hideous poem that I wrote, back when I did things like that, that was entitled "the cuteness factor". The first line went something like "the cuteness factor is my curse...". I'm not kidding. Anyways, it was absolutely awful and to save the world from having to suffer through any further prose, I promptly ended my carreer as a poet. But not before a friend of mine made a copy of it for his poetry portfolio, which means there is incriminating evidense of my old self out there somewhere.
He was a El-Ed major, if that says anything about the quality.
Anyhow, I no longer feel that way about being nice. So I'm nice. So I like to make others happy, even if, at times, it comes at risk to my own happiness. Some may call me a people pleaser, but I don't think that is accurate. I won't go to any lengths to make others happy. For example, if my husband was like, "Erin, we could really use some extra cash, and I hear that strippers make a killing on the weekends... " Of course, I would never stoop my morals... not that Mike would be happy having a wife as a stripper anyways, so I suppose that isn't the best example, but it is all I could up with this early in the morning.
I don't mind doing things for other people. Really, I don't. I like scratching Mike's belly until he falls asleep. I enjoy baking chocolate chip cookies for my step dad. I get a kick out of taking Bridget and James to the pumpkin farm and I love sending those stupid hallmark e-cards. Furthermore, when the dishes pile up at work, I don't mind being the one to wash them, and I certaintly don't care if other people bank on me being the one to do it.
What I do mind is when people see my efforts as a sign of weakness. I think that if there were one title in the english language that gets me riled, it would be "push-over". I can't begin to tell you how I hate that. Why does our society take something so refreshing and turn it into something less then desireable? Like life is one giant dramatic game of "Survivor". Whatever, if that's what it takes, call me Push-over. Thats me, Erin the Push-Over. That's kinda funny.... reminds me of "Alexander the Great" or "Attilla the Hunn". Sorry, if I spelled that wrong, history is only a hobby for me.
At any rate, I like my sunny personality. And yes, I do have a sunny personality. Some would argue that my last entry sounded slightly bit neurotic and anxious... but it was writing folks. Geesh. I like being 25, okay?
And I'm not just saying that to make you all happy.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Coming of Age
Coming of age. What a seemingly grand and perfect ideal. It just screams romance, and I don't mean in the lovey way... I mean in the grand and perfect way. I mean in the "of course it's grand and perfect, I'm coming of age" way. In fact, this is my new mantra as I am counting down the days. I'm not actually the "mantra chanting" sort of girl, never have been... but perhaps it is something that you take up when you "come of age". (aside: I read that someone out there is keeping a blog on inappropriate quote use and I am willing to do my part to help in any way that I can)
I will turn 25 in just under 5 days. I will be settled smack dab in my twenties. In just under 6 days, I will encounter my first akward and unsteady steps on the other side of the "Roaring, Raging Twenties" mountain. I will be this much closer to turning 30. THIRTY.
My best friend from high school, who incidentally is all hopped up on ephoric baby vibes, as she is 8 months along with her "first", turned 25 last week, and therefore has become my impromptu "coming of age mentor". Once you start chanting mantras, you must have a mentor. It's an unspoken rule.
"It's called a quarter life crisis." She says.
"Really? There's a name for it? That's depressing."
"Well, you know... it's like what college graduates go through when they are newly released into the real world."
"I graduated like 4 years ago."
"Yeah, well, that's what it is, anyway."
Quarter life crisis. As in the hipper, junior version of the midlife crisis. As in, we, the Sociology Majors of America, have decided to create yet another label to scar society, this time taking aim at our young adults... listen, kids, you've made it through the prebubecent whoas and adolecent turmoils, but before we can allow you completely out into the wild... we have just one more little challenge...
You will second guess your career, the career that you began only a few short and promising years ago. You will go to concerts and complain the music is too loud and listen to NPR radio and your way home from work. You will become addicted to caffine, try to quit, and take it up again to avoid the withdrawl. Your body will get soft and mushy, and not in a good way. You will dress in old faded alumni sweatshirts and faded jeans on the weekend and ann taylor loft on the weekdays. You will live for Friday, not Thursday. You will attend graduations, bachelorette parties, baby showers, and baptisms all in the same weekend. You will reverse rolls with your parents on a regular basis and people will stop telling you that you are too young for things. And that will make you sad, which is unexpected. Worst yet, you won't be able to ride roller coasters anymore.
And when you have sucessfully made it through this trechorous era of your life, your reward? Turning 30. Awesome.
I will turn 25 in just under 5 days. I will be settled smack dab in my twenties. In just under 6 days, I will encounter my first akward and unsteady steps on the other side of the "Roaring, Raging Twenties" mountain. I will be this much closer to turning 30. THIRTY.
My best friend from high school, who incidentally is all hopped up on ephoric baby vibes, as she is 8 months along with her "first", turned 25 last week, and therefore has become my impromptu "coming of age mentor". Once you start chanting mantras, you must have a mentor. It's an unspoken rule.
"It's called a quarter life crisis." She says.
"Really? There's a name for it? That's depressing."
"Well, you know... it's like what college graduates go through when they are newly released into the real world."
"I graduated like 4 years ago."
"Yeah, well, that's what it is, anyway."
Quarter life crisis. As in the hipper, junior version of the midlife crisis. As in, we, the Sociology Majors of America, have decided to create yet another label to scar society, this time taking aim at our young adults... listen, kids, you've made it through the prebubecent whoas and adolecent turmoils, but before we can allow you completely out into the wild... we have just one more little challenge...
You will second guess your career, the career that you began only a few short and promising years ago. You will go to concerts and complain the music is too loud and listen to NPR radio and your way home from work. You will become addicted to caffine, try to quit, and take it up again to avoid the withdrawl. Your body will get soft and mushy, and not in a good way. You will dress in old faded alumni sweatshirts and faded jeans on the weekend and ann taylor loft on the weekdays. You will live for Friday, not Thursday. You will attend graduations, bachelorette parties, baby showers, and baptisms all in the same weekend. You will reverse rolls with your parents on a regular basis and people will stop telling you that you are too young for things. And that will make you sad, which is unexpected. Worst yet, you won't be able to ride roller coasters anymore.
And when you have sucessfully made it through this trechorous era of your life, your reward? Turning 30. Awesome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)