hidden jewels of the world-wide web
February 25th, 2010
A couple weeks ago I was looking for an image of Jesus for my small group. I used the image search on google. This, my friends, was one of the first to pop up. Really? One of the first??
I kind of want to see this entire coloring book. What other bizarre theology would it be teaching? And where, oh where, would I find crayons such as these? Omnipotent yellow? I have no words.
we’re on a break
February 19th, 2010
Currently…I hate my dog. He has been a royal pain in my arse for the last couple weeks. At first I blamed myself, as I’ve heard dogs pick up on all sorts of things in their owners. I figured with my heightened sense of fear regarding the rapist at large, he might be reacting to my anxiety somehow. He has been nothing short of neurotic. Now, I know most of you who know the pup would argue he’s BEEN neurotic for quite some time. Whatever. To that I say, if he’s BEEN neurotic, then we need a new word for what he is NOW. For crying out loud, he’s out of control.
I’ll spare you the details of the poop I found in my basement a week or so ago…or his inability to sit still at night, choosing instead to pace and whine and pant for hours. I’ll jump, instead, to what I came home to on the last couple days.
Monday: he tried to get into one of the lazy susan’s in my kitchen, failing (thankfully) due to the child proof lock. He then knocked a basket off my countertop, spilling its contents all over the kitchen floor. I walked back towards my bedroom and noticed he’d found his way into the main bathroom. Here, he managed to uproot my new floor vent register cover from its proper home and – while he was IN THE BATHTUB – knock all of the shampoo bottles off the bar upon which they rested. There were also two piles of fresh vomit on my new dining room rug. Awesome.
But not as awesome as Tuesday.
Tuesday: he successfully got into the lazy susan, breaking the childproof lock. The basket was once again knocked off the counter…this time torn to shreds and thrown about the dining room. The knife block that is tucked into the back corner of my countertops was on its side and half the knives were no longer housed in it. Two of the magnetic spice containers on the side of my fridge were on the countertop….containers, mind you, that were stuck to the top of the fridge. ALL of the magnets and photos and concert tickets and 5-year-plans I post on the front of my fridge? On the floor. Oh…and all of the floor vent registers were out. And…he had been in the shower again. And….the pillows were no longer on the couches in my living room. MY NEW COUCHES.
So Wednesday? I decided we should take a break. Between the weather and the rapist, he honestly just hasn’t been outside enough. But I knew with my social schedule these last couple nights and the way things were escalating, my house was likely to be destroyed – literally – if he was left on his own any more. So, I took him to Pete and Macs. I’m not sure yet when I’m picking him up. I’ve instructed the people watching him to run him into the ground, exhausting him physically to the point he will beg for my mercy upon his return to the palace he lives in here. I also want it to be spring ASAP so I can have sunshine and above freezing temperatures so I can continue to walk the snot out of him, leaving him so spent physically he won’t have the energy to tear up my house. I might also need to call the Dog Whisperer. Anyone have his number? And…I might need a good number for a vet who will get me doggie prozac. When is a puppy supposed to start acting like an adult dog? He’s seven-years-old, for crying out loud.
the longest little string bean ever
February 4th, 2010
My little sis Janel had another baby last week. His name is Jeffrey Daniel – 7 lbs. 9 ozs. and 22 3/4 inches long. Yeah. Seriously. The nurses literally measured him twice to make sure they’d read that right. I looked back over the pile of baby announcements I’ve made over the last couple years and they’re all somewhere between 18 and 21 inches. I’m hopeful this isn’t to scale or something, otherwise this kid might be 8 ft tall when he’s 17. Regardless, he’s super cute and making women coo over him everywhere he goes.
I tell you what. My sisters were born to be mothers. Seeing them with kids just makes sense. I sat in a chair in Janel’s hospital room last week watching her care for this incredibly fragile human being and couldn’t help but feel like I was living one of those perfect moments, the ones that feel like “the world’s all as it should be.” I’m excited to see Jonathan become a big brother to him, and I can’t wait to find out what Jeffrey’s little personality is going to be like.
(Seriously…look at how long those fingers are. They look like they’re made to hold a basketball. I’m just sayin’.)
Oh…who am I kidding? Like I can only post one pic. Here he is the one time I saw his eyes open.
He’s got my sister’s mouth…which means he’s going to have one super fantastic smile. See? Just look at where he gets it…
one small step for my brain, one large step for my checkbook
February 3rd, 2010
Much has been laid forth for 2010, and all by my own doing, I will admit. I’m a woman who likes progress. I thrive on forward mobility. Too much of staying in the same place and I go crazy. Not necessarily in regards to address – more in regards to personal development. I would like to blame my parents for this. Don and Susan are project-ers. I have grown up in a household where “how was your day?” is not answered simply by “good” or “okay”. Time is to be quantified – for task completion and betterment of life. My dad would spend Saturdays improving the house, and evenings tutoring us in math or physics. My mom earned her Masters Degree while working and mothering and wife-ing, all while also assisting with home improvement projects, tutoring us in English and history, serving on church committees and baking for Girl Scout meetings. Every morning as I would leave for elementary school, even through high school when I wasn’t rolling my eyes and tuning him out, I would head off to school hearing my father declare, “Another day in which to excel!” This, I tell you, has simply been a way of life for me.
I guess it’s a bit about nurture, and probably also a bit about nature. I’m a first born, and a meticulous overachiever to boot. I’m wired to be the Jason Bourne of personal growth. I’m kind of a machine. So it comes as little surprise to me I have a five year plan on my fridge, serving as a daily reminder of how I want to evolve and change into a better version of myself over time. Sure, some of these goals might not be seen as such by others, but I say seeing Bon Jovi in concert has vastly improved my life as I know it. I’m in the process of creating a new five year plan, as my last one “expired” in October 2009. I’m open for suggestions should any of you have ideas.
For now, I’ve decided 2010 is going to be yet another example of forward mobility. I’ve set in motion a three-part system for this:
1) Live as a vegetarian for 365 days (it’s true…one month down, 11 to go)
2) Read a book a month
3) Watch BBC news at least once a week (hasn’t really happened yet, but a girl can dream)
Now, these may seem like obscure choices for me as I set out to become a better woman. They all make sense to me, however, and that, friends, is what matters. I will share more later about points 1 and 3. For now, allow me to expand on point #2.
I’ve never been much of a reader. Mostly, I think, because I’m ADD and no one ever told me. My brain just starts wandering when my eyes hit a page, and before too long, I’m creating a grocery list in my head or wondering where I should vacation next. Unfortunately, for as much as I don’t naturally choose to be a reader, I feel like the older I get, the more I get rhythmic in daily routine. Being stuck in routine makes me feel like I’m not growing. And not growing makes me feel stupid. So I, therefore, have decided to become a reader.
As with most decisions in my life, I become a bit OCD. In the month of January, for example, I read three books. THREE. (Anyone hear a pattern here? Yeah. I know. First with quilts, now with books.) Two of them really shouldn’t count, though. One of them was by Nicholas Sparks. Another was a Christian thriller/romance book passed on to me by my baby sis. I will tell you, coincidentally, that reading the Christian thriller/romance book coinciding with the recent attacks in my neighborhood proved not be the best timing.
I wanted to get some practice under my literary belt so that I would be ready for February because my friend Jen and I decided to start a bookclub. I didn’t want to show up at our first meeting – the one we had assembled and called to order – and not be able to answer the “what’s the last book you read?” question with a more timely response. I mean, c’mon. Who do you take me for? So I read. And I read. And I read. “The Kite Runner,” by the way, was the only legitimate read from January. A huge step in the right direction after last summer’s Twilight obsession. Made me feel like a real grown up tween picking up something that an adult could carry around in public without shame.
Our first book for bookclub is “The Happiness Project” by Gretchen Rubin. Jen and I are excited about it. I will admit I was drawn to the book mostly because the cover reminded me of “Flight of the Concords.” In the end, however, it was the favored choice from the dozen options Jen and I mulled over last night at the local Barnes and Noble. In the gloomy month of February, I can use a bit of sunshine – even if it’s just sunshine in the form of bright, yellow font. I’m that desperate.
Tonight, a fantastic group of women joined together in my new living room to launch said bookclub. I think it’s going to be a grand way to spend a couple Tuesdays a month. I mean, other than the unfortunate, unintentional double-booking with the LOST premier tonight, I can’t really think of a better way to spend a gloomy, cold, February Tuesday. Especially if it makes my house a less likely target for the Waldo rapist with a half-dozen cars in my driveway.
I will say, however, that buying new hardback books is definitely proving to be an unwelcome addition to a very tight budget here these days, as my unexpected master bathroom project has literally proven to be twice as expensive as originally estimated. I am planning on becoming a regular visitor of my local public library in hopes these books will be available. I might have to take the city bus to get there, since I won’t be able to afford gas. And I’m probably headed towards an entire year of eating tuna and mac-and-cheese. The important thing, though? I’m not going to be stupid. My reading muscle will be well exercised and my commitment to self-improvement will be nurtured.
reason #134 why i love my dog
February 2nd, 2010
There’s a serial rapist in the Waldo area of K.C. these days, stalking and attacking single women who live alone. He learns their patterns, their comings and goings, and well…sometimes chooses to wait for them in their living rooms upon their return home. Sometimes he waits for them in their backyards, until they open their backdoors to let our their dogs and then, well…forces his way in. It is literally freaking me out.
I haven’t been sleeping very well, waking up to every sound my house makes as the wind blows against my old windows. Even when I am able to drown out the creepy sounds, I have been dreaming about it all. Just two nights ago I woke up from the deepest part of sleep with my heart in my throat when I, in my dreamlife, had been getting ready in my main bathroom (since my master bath is under renovation…entry to follow soon). I was putting something away in the medicine cabinet and closed it shut, only to (as the door was closing) see his reflection appear in the mirror. It was like a scene out of a thriller movie. There he was, propped casually against the door jam, smirking smugly knowing I was trapped. CREEPY DREAM!! I shot straight up in bed, looked at the alarm (it was 4:17 a.m.), and wondered if this was somehow God’s way of warning me the rapist was in my house. Kodak, meanwhile, was peacefully asleep – not that he would hear anything anyway, regarding a possible break-in, since I can only fall asleep to the sound of white noise, so the loud hum of a space heater lulls both of us to sleep each night. Kodak wouldn’t notice anyone was actually inside my house until he was opening my bedroom door. Now, he might rip the guy to shreds once he opened said door, but this theory has never been tested before. It’s a little disconcerting knowing he would probably only raise his lazy head off his dog pillow and sigh, annoyed he’d been interrupted from his sleep, and then roll back over so he would rest more.
My father talked to me tonight on my cell phone as I entered my home after an run to the Plaza with a friend, listening to me as I checked every room, closet, shower, and storage area for creepers. The coast was clear. He did it last night as well. I’m not sure why this makes me feel safe, or why I would choose to subject my father to hearing me freak out at the realization that I wasn’t alone. I am a cruel, cruel daughter now that I think through how traumatic that would be for him. I guess I just think that he would be able to call the cops knowing I was in distress. Anyway…regardless…having him talk me through the rooms of my house every night makes me feel safe – or not alone, which is half of not feeling safe. Weird logic, but perfect sense when we’re discussing a serial rapist targeting single women who live alone.
In all seriousness, I’m a little on edge around here, not sure if I’m really needing to feel fear at this level. I keep almost all the house lights on at night so I don’t have to wonder what lies in the shadows. I’m also thankful for studio props that I can steal for a couple weeks – it’s great having access to vintage wooden baseball bats I can slide under my bed. My dad thinks a gun is a bad idea. We’ll see. I mean, seriously – you get in my house, I will take you down. That is if I wake up in time. This Ambien makes me sleeply.