DUH.

Just realized I had a post still listed as "edit" in my "Edit Posts" tab. Lo and behold, a pretty much complete update that I never posted.

Ah well. Here is a link to it in case you're interested. :-)

Bold Only the Truth:

I am a cuddler.

I am a morning person.

I am a perfectionist.

I am a night person.

I am an only child.

I am Catholic.

I am currently in my pajamas.

I am currently suffering from a broken heart.

I am okay at styling other people’s hair.

I am left handed.

I am addicted to my myspace.

I am very shy around the opposite gender.

I bite my nails.

I can be paranoid at times.

I currently regret something that I have said.

When I get mad I curse frequently.

I like someone a lot.

I enjoy jazz music.

I enjoy smoothies.

I enjoy talking on the phone.

I have a pet.

I have a secret that I am ashamed to reveal.

I have a tendency to fall for the wrong person.

I have all my grandparents.

I have at least one sibling.

I have been told that I am smart.

I have broken a bone.

I have Caller I.D. on my phone.

I have bathed/showered with someone.

I have changed a diaper.

I have changed a lot over the past year.

I have done something illegal.

I have friends who have never seen my natural hair.

I have had surgery.

I have killed another person.

I have had my hair cut within the last week.

I have had the cops called on me.

I have kissed someone I knew I shouldn’t.

Whoever Invented Tug-of-War Must Have Been the Fat Kid in School Who Always Got out First in Dodgeball

This Sunday through Wednesday will be our church’s 14th annual Missions Conference. This event is one of the biggest and best of Harvest; but, of course, it could never be made possible without the behind the scenes work done by the wonderful members of our church and its staff. We have families who, out of the goodness of their hearts, open their homes to allow the missionaries and their families to stay with them, eat home-cooked meals, and fellowship; ladies who spend all day in the kitchen cooking and baking for the conferences’ luncheon; a special music team that picks and practices the most amazing and inspiring music to minister; a group of decorators who every year come and hang the flags and trim the auditorium with the most tasteful and lovely accents; and staff and faculty who spend hours upon hours assembling programs, guides, bulletins, and schedules to ensure that all goes smoothly.

It is to be expected, I suppose, that with an undertaking of this magnitude, there will be chaos within the two days prior to the “kick off,” so to speak. So this year and last, I’ve taken the Friday before the Conference off so that I could come into the office with my mom. She is our pastor’s/ church’s secretary and is responsible for MUCH of the organization for these events. Sure, she doesn’t stand behind the pulpit or speak for the groups, but she composes, prints, and assembles the booklets/bulletins/announcements/etc. for those that do. Often she’ll stay until midnight the two nights before the event just to get everything finished. I come in to help with what I can – running places, folding things – whatever I can do to make her life easier.

This morning, I was able to sleep two hours longer than usual, which was a blessing. I got up, grabbed my towel and fresh clothing, and went to take a shower. I closed the door and locked it, then went on with my routine. When I finished, I unlocked the door and tried to exit. This is where the significance of my title comes into play. The lock, which got bent slightly when one of my family members, in a fit of anger, slammed the door while the bolt was sticking out. So when I “unlocked” the door this morning, the bolt didn’t come out of the wall the entire way. Our bathroom door opens inward too, so I couldn’t even through my body against it. So I tugged a couple more times with just my hand, then had to plant my feet and (with two hands) hold the knob and pull as hard as I could. This is how it must feel to play tug-of-war. In my opinion, there can’t be much skill involved: it seems to me that the team with the most weight behind them wins. The Biggest Losers would be the guaranteed winners. It took me four hard pulls before I was able to free myself from the bathroom. Hopefully this is no indication of how the rest of my day will go…

Sunday, Packed-out Sunday

Sunday, September 20th was our new church building's official first service and doubled as our church's annual Friend Day. I don't have time to post all of the background info needed to understand what an amazing day this was for Harvest, but suffice it to say that last March we took a special offering - just an offering - where people gave whatever the Lord led them to give: that night, we had brought in over $1.1 million dollars, plus an additional ~$2 million in "promise money," money pledged to be given in the future by church members. This was completely voluntary and this was the outcome. It's simply unheard of - unless God's on your side.

It's a year and a half later, and now we're occupying not only the school and office portion of the building, but we are able to transform the gym into an 800+ seated auditorium on Sundays and Wednesday nights.

It turns out we drew some attention our opening day: someone from the Valley News Dispatch wrote an article on the first service. The article can be read on their webpage by clicking here, but who knows whether it will be eventually deleted....so I'll post it on here as well.

Worshippers pack Harvest Baptist Church for first service in
Fawn
By Michael Aubele, VALLEY NEWS DISPATCH
Monday, September 21, 2009

Sunday's service at Harvest Baptist Church broke a common rule about moving a congregation.

Conventional wisdom holds that a congregation should not be moved across a natural barrier such as a river or "people will never show up," Senior Pastor Kurt Skelly told more than 1,200 worshippers who attended the first service at the church's new $5.5 million facility off Route 908.

During his 14 years with Harvest Baptist, he and other church leaders
have been forced by growth to move the congregation several times. This latest
move, however, is the first to break what Skelly described as a hard-and-fast
Bible college rule.

"Thank you for the unexpected," Skelly told the congregation.

Many members got their first look yesterday at the 40,000-square-foot
church, which sits on 28 acres.

Harvest Baptist formally started as a church ministry in 1983 with a
handful of people attending in a storefront along Constitution Boulevard in New
Kensington. When attendance grew, the church moved to Arnold. After several
years, it moved back to New Kensington.

The last place Harvest Baptist called home was along Kenneth Avenue in
New Kensington. Skelly said the congregation moved into the building in 2001 and
"outgrew that facility almost immediately."

Leaders decided to build a church in Allegheny County, across the
Allegheny River. In 2006, the church broke ground on land off the Route 28
expressway. Part of the property sits in Harrison, church officials said.

Members of the congregation said they were in awe of the expansive
building, which also is home to a church-run school with more than 120 pupils in
kindergarten through 12th grade.

Worship services are in what Skelly described as a "transitional room"
that doubles as a gymnasium. A standing-room-only crowd packed the facility
yesterday.

Church officials said Harvest Baptist typically draws 550 to 600
worshippers for a Sunday service.

"This is one of the greatest days of my life," said Bill Holland of
Saxonburg, who has attended the church for more than 14 years. "It's just
amazing to see what God has done with our pastor and the people in the
church."

Holland and other church members said they enjoy Harvest Baptist
because "it preaches the Gospel."

"The new building is exciting," said Gary Waddell of Freeport, a member
for nine years. "But I don't expect much to change. We come to hear the word of
God. We could meet under a tent, and I'd still be excited about the ministry
here."

Bruce and Sharon Ehrler of Cranberry planned to join the church
officially after yesterday's service. The Ehrlers said they had been attending
for about five months.

"We were awestruck the first time we came here," Bruce Ehrler said. "We
really felt God's spirit at work."

"It's a church that totally obeys the Lord," Sharon Ehrler said. "They
have a passion for sharing Christ here. Their faith is so evident."

Most worshippers appeared to be younger adults with new families.

Skelly said he believes that young families are turning to the church
because "they want answers" about things such as how to raise children or make a
marriage work.

More Than a Feeling

Okay, enough with the Boston jokes, because this is kind of serious to me...

There's a time when a thought becomes more than just a thought. A thought is defined as "a single act or product of thinking; idea or notion." Sure, you can use your imagination when thinking and have images play out in motion, but you don't feel thinking. Your body doesn't get warm, or get cold, and your eyes don't get goo in them. And as far as I know, real life events don't speed through your mind's eyes as if they're really happening, and then several hours later, truly happen.

Same with dreaming, right? Dreams may seem real to you when you're dreaming them; sometimes you even have lucid dreams (dreaming but knowing you are during the process). But I don't think it's normal to feel pain or texture when dreaming, or to dream things and have them happen later that day or month.

Or is it?

Yesterday morning, I woke up and hopped in the shower to get ready for church. I brought my Venus razor in with me to shave my legs. Afterwards, I decided it was high-time to change the razor head. I pushed the cute little eject button and the head popped off and into our open-ended waste bin. I clarify this because we have two waste bins in the bathroom: one for general things, like empty shampoo bottles or tooth paste tubes, nail clippings, etc. Then there is a second bin for things like Q-tips, tissues, personal items that need to be tossed - basically anything that our beloved dog Max could (and would love to) chew. That bin has a lid on it so that he can't stick his little hose nose in and pull anything out. We realized all too fast that he enjoys chewing things like that and would stick his head into the trash at night and pull things out, leaving a trail of trash for us to pick up in the morning. So, back to the razor: when I popped it off into the open trash bin, I seriously had what I'm guessing to be some kind of day-mare: Max sticking sniffing around for food, smelling something tasty, grabbing it with his mouth, but catching the razor up with it...chewing it, cutting himself, bleeding everywhere on our black and white tiled floor...

I blinked and it was over, but I was sweating. I grabbed the razor out of the bin and threw it in the other one.

Fast-forward to 6:30 that night. I had gone upstairs to get a flosser out of the upstairs bathroom's medicine cabinet - my dad had treated me to dinner for helping him on a job a couple weeks ago, and I'd had chicken (which ALWAYS gets stuck in my back teeth). When I got the the doorway, I saw a combination of paper and (what the heck?) a Subway paper wrap (you know - how they wrap the sub in that waxy paper with their logo on it?). Max had been sniffing around in the waste bin again. It was actually half-way tipped over, leaning precariously against the side of the sink, and the wrapper was torn to shreds. The sandwich must have been my brother's since there were remnants of sauce stained into our bathmat that the dog must have trampled into the threads. And then it hit me - that day-mare - Max eating out of the trash. He totally would have grabbed the razor.

Fast-forward to last night/this morning.

A woman gets into her car after loading the trunk with groceries. She pulls away slowly, she and her three children - a boy and two girls. Within seconds, there's a man - lanky, African-American, short braids sticking up like thick strands of hair - grabbing at the passenger door, trying to open it. She screams, setting off an echoing wave of terror in the back seat of her small compact vehicle. The man succeeds in opening the door, but the woman picks up speed, swerving through the parking lot in an attempt to throw him from her car door. He does, and she slams on the brakes, lurching to a stop. "HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP!" she screams, and two men - one tall African-American and one shorter Caucasian man - come jogging over to see what is the matter. The assaulter is limp on the ground. The shaken woman leans toward her still-opened passenger door to see if her attacker is injured or dead while the men get out their cell phones to call 911. She pulls her door shut, hits the "all lock" button on her door, and starts to cry. While trying to calm down her kids, the man is suddenly back at her door and trying to open it. She throws the car into drive to make her second effort to escape the man as he begins to run around the front of the car, probably trying to get to her door or window. She rams him, he falls to the ground, and the police cars arrive. She buries her face in her hands, rests her head against the wheel, and sobs uncontrollably while her kids do the same in the back seat.

Then I wake up, sweating, breathing fast, sitting bolt upright. I don't know what made me dream that...but I did. And it's not like every dream I have comes true, but I've been keeping a journal of the weird ones like this; and it turns out that a heck of a lot of them do. So now, something's making me want to watch the news late tonight...

Deep Conversations

Before starting this post, let me just say that I've honestly had a drafted post in my "Edit" file for weeks now on the making over of our upstairs bathroom. However, I've held off posting it since I still don't have the pictures to upload (for the extra flavoring).

Now, on to the post.

This is (nearly word for word) a conversation had by my mother and I in front of our local Family Video tonight, arguing over who would take back the movie:

The time - 10:30 p.m.

We're on our way to pick up my brother and need to return a rental by midnight. We're sitting in front of the movie shack - I in the driver's seat, my mom in the passenger's seat, closest to the building. There are no other cars in the parking lot, save for one silver pick-up truck. My mom is in her "pj's," a pair of pastel capris coupled with a robin's egg blue t-shirt. I'm wearing a pair of Nike shorts and a Pitt Zoo t-shirt. These are important facts, so pay attention. Now, on to the dialogue.

me: "You've got the DVD?"

Mom: "Yeah. Here."

"Well no, you go - just stick it in the return slot."

"No?!"

"Yes?!"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Look at me! I'm in my pj's!"

"So? I go INTO the store in my pj's all the time."

(look of horror) "Well I'm not getting out the car looking like this."

"C'mon, I'm in the driver's seat."

"So?"

"So?...I don't want to put the car in park."

"Uuuuugh..."

(two seconds of silence)

(unison) "You gonna go? NO!"

me: "Why'd you wanna come?"

Mom: "To keep you company?"

"Wha?...okay, come on. Just go stick it in the slot. You don't even have to go inside."

"But there's a guy in there!"

"Since when do you care?? You're married!"

"I'm in my pj's!"

"Those're barely pj's. I'm in shorts and a t-shirt, and I'll probably wear those to bed, so I'm in my pj's too!"

"I'm not going!"

"C'mon, please? I'll give you a quarter?"

(cocks head) "Uh, no."

"No really, a quarter. (silence) Okay, two quarters, both my own, too."

"What?! No!"

"Okay, three quarters....a dollar."

(silence) "No! Just do it yourself, you dork."

(gasp) "Are you serious? You wouldn't take a dollar to walk, oh, thirty steps to drop a movie in a slot? Are you crazy? You can pick the type of money, change or paper..."

"No."

(long pause)

"...would you pay ME a dollar?" (grins)

I ended up doing it. *sigh*

These Sleepless Nights

Last night and early this morning, I couldn't sleep. What little sleep I did get involved dreams such as hunting down a Grigori and saving a small child from a marsh-dwelling crocodile. Red flags should have been shooting into the sky when I (a.) couldn't sleep and (b.) kept dreaming about topics involving water since around 3:30 a.m. the whole family was sounded for by my dad into the upstairs hallway. I jumped off the bed and ran to the door. As soon as I opened it, it sounded like someone was taking a shower with the bathroom door open...no, like someone was taking a shower in the hallway. When I ran to the bathroom, I saw the problem: the cold water hose under the sink had burst and water was literally shooting straight out, hitting the back wall and toilet tank. My dad tried to tighten the valve to shut off the water running through the hose, but the knob had rusted itself open. So we all took shifts I stood there in the waterlogged bathroom keeping watch over a bucket I had rigged beneath the sink, careful to empty it when it got too full, while Dad worked his way through each room in the basement searching for the big-mama shut-off for the cold water. About 30 minutes later, the water slowed to a stop. He'd found the lever that shut off not just the cold water, but all the water. I emptied the bucket and made quick use of the mop that was propped in the hallway. After mopping up the bathroom, and went downstairs to investigate.

Now, that part about us all rushing to Dad's aid when he hollered for us? Yeah, let me back up and clarify that a bit: when I got downstairs, I looked over the railing into the livingroom to find my brother, Rob, snoozing away. He'd been sawing logs through this entire ordeal. I saw a bucket in the middle of the floor and (knowing the answer already) yelled, "ROB! IS THIS BUCKET BEING USED?!" His whole body shot up straight and his eyes flew open. He looked around, looking slightly frightened. His eyes lazily met mine and he answered with a: "Uuggghhh, uh." And with that, he keeled right back over onto the couch. Incredible.

So while Rob slept away, I continued to assess the damage. Here, the water had flooded the upstairs bathroom, forcing it to flow through the upstairs hallway, down the stairs, and into the entryway, causing the now river of water to fork off towards both the livingroom and the kitchen, and from the kitchen down the hidden stairs and into the basement. It was a royal mess. Mom swept the water near the front door out onto the porch while all the mayhem of Dad in the basement and me upstairs with the bucket was going on. Finally, around 4:30, we all fell back into bed.

And yet I still couldn't sleep.

Useful Forwards (Yes, There Is Such a Thing)

I hate getting forwards. In fact, I generally move them to my trash folder without ever opening them if I see the "FWD:" in the subject line. But this morning I was sent this one* about WD-40 and was intrigued since the drummer from my dad's band just recently told me that the product would remove tar stains from our car. So if you have a problem, read on. WD-40 can probably fix it.

(*This is not the exact forward. Some grammar and spelling has been modified and corrected, and some extraneous content has been omitted.)

WD-40, or "Water Displacement #40." This product came about in an attempt to create a rust preventative solvent and degreaser to protect missile parts. It was created in 1953 by three technicians at the San Diego Rocket Chemical Company. Its name comes from the project that had been started to find a "water displacement" compound.. They were successful with the fortieth formulation, thus WD-40. The Convair Company bought it in bulk to protect their atlas missile parts.

NOTE: Ken East (one of the original founders) says that there is nothing in WD-40 that would harm you (so fret not as you read any uses that involve topical use).

Here are some common (and uncommon) uses:
1. Protects silver from tarnishing.
2. Removes road tar and grime from cars.
3. Cleans and lubricates guitar strings.
4. Gives floors that "just-waxed" sheen without making them slippery.
5. Keeps flies off cows.
6. Restores and cleans chalkboards.
7. Removes lipstick stains.
8. Loosens stubborn zippers.
9. Untangles jewelry chains.
10. Removes stains from stainless steel sinks.
11. Removes dirt and grime from barbecue grills.
12. Keeps ceramic/terra cotta garden pots from oxidizing.
13. Removes tomato stains from clothing.
14. Keeps glass and plastic shower doors free of water spots.
15. Camouflages scratches in ceramic and marble floors.
16. Keeps scissors working smoothly.
17. Lubricates noisy door hinges on vehicles (and doors in homes).
18. Removes black scuff marks from floors.
19. Displaces the moisture on your car's distributor cap and allows the car to start.
20. Gives a children's playground gym slide a shine for a super fast slide.
21. Lubricates gear shifts and mower deck levers for ease of handling on riding mowers.
22. Rids rocking chairs and swings of squeaky noises.
23. Lubricates tracks in sticking windows and makes them easier to open.
24. Lubricates the stem of an umbrella, making it easier to open and close.
25. Restores and cleans padded leather dashboards in vehicles, as well as vinyl bumpers.
26. Restores and cleans roof racks on vehicles.
27. Lubricates and stops squeaks in electric fans.
28. Lubricates wheel sprockets on tricycles, wagons, and bicycles for easy handling.
29. Lubricates fan belts on washers and dryers to keep them running smoothly.
30. Keeps rust from forming on saws, saw blades, and other tools.
31. Removes splattered grease on stove tops.
32. Keeps bathroom mirrors from fogging.
33. Lubricates prosthetic limbs.
34. Keeps pigeons off the balcony (they hate the smell).
35. Removes all traces of duct tape.
36. Relieves arthritis pain when sprayed on arms, hands, and knees .
37. Removes crayon marks from walls. Spray on the mark and wipe with a clean rag.
38. Takes the sting away immediately and stops the itch for fire ant (and other bug) bites.
39. Attracts fish. Spray a little on live bait or lures. Also, it's a lot cheaper than the chemical attractants that are made for just that purpose. (Keep in mind though, using some chemical laced baits or lures for fishing are not allowed in some locations.)

FUN FACT: New York's favorite use? WD-40 protects the Statue of Liberty from the elements.

So yeah, I think I'm going to go out and buy a can to keep in my purse.

P.S. The basic ingredient of WD-40 is FISH OIL.

Surf Girl Meets Turf Gril

Friday night was special for me, not only because my siblings were out of the house for the night (teen group version of "Survivor Man" = memories of what it was like to be an only child), but also because I had my first ever steak.

My mom found out about this while making a list of meals for the next week before sending me grocery shopping. "You mean you've never had a steak before? In your entire life?"

"Nope. Well, wait. There was that one time when [my Family Life Skills teacher] brought back a small piece of filet mignon from Ruth's Chris Steakhouse and let me try a bite....does that count?"

"Uh, no."

"Oh..."

"And you've never even ordered it when you've gone out to eat?"

"Well, no. I almost always order something spicy and/or seafood...I don't get that often, so I always like to get something with shrimp. I never thought to get steak."

"That's it. We're going to get you some steak Friday."

And so we did.

We were running errands that evening, so we headed out to Applebee's for their 2 for $20 deal. We both got the 7 oz. House Sirloin. I ordered mine medium rare, hoping they'd undercook it to a perfect rare; instead, I got it the other way around and ended up being delivered something that looked more like medium - there was very little pink. But I couldn't complain: I sunk my teeth into that piece of juicy, savory meat and let it linger there, clamped by my jaw, allowing the juiciness to flow freely into my mouth. It tasted amazing; better than I had imagined.

I opened my eyes - I hadn't even noticed I had closed them - and looked directly at my mom, grinning with satisfaction. "How could you keep this from me for so long?" I asked, with a frustrated but playful tone.

I couldn't finish it all, having eaten my fair share of our boneless buffalo wings appetizer plus the smashed potato side that came with my hunk of meat. But after two hours I attacked it again with just as much excitement. Maybe it's just because I'm new, but it tasted just as good cold.

It sucks having a picky dad and (so-called) vegetarian sisters (interpret "vegetarian" loosely...it's more like "vegetarian...except for bacon and pepperoni"). We have very little options when it comes to planning "carnivorous" meals. So now I'm definitely going to have to add steak to my eating-out menu.

YAY FOR STEAK!

New Favorite T-shirt Site!

it's called vigtees.com and their t-shirts are awesome.

My personal favorite can be found here.

They're a little more expensive than the other t-shirt sites I've found, but this shirt is totally worth it.

Introduction

It was late Saturday night - or, as some would say, early Sunday morning - as she climbed the stairs. She stepped softly, careful to keep her right wrist as steady as she could to keep her gigantic tea cup of hot water from tipping. She had boiled and poured it several minutes prior and was hoping that it had cooled sufficiently so that, once she reached her room at the top of the last platform, she could rip open her new teabag, place it in the cup to steep, and then sip from it soon after without burning her tongue. As she crab-walked her way up, she could not help but think that this was what it was like to feel "old," should one be able to properly define such a word. Her knees ached, but (in her mind) for all the right and most honorable reasons. She smiled inside as she realized she was wearing the prize she had earned at the same time she had earned the sore knees: the ten-hour volleyball tournament in Harrisville. She was still recovering from the severe sunburn she had received from that affair, but despite the pain she suffered that week (and the peeling she was still trying to get past), it was all worth it to her - even if all first place won was a t-shirt.

She reached her room and made a right through the open door. Her wrist quivered a bit as she gently set the flower pot-sized mug down on the round, metallic coaster at the edge of her large, black wooden desk. She felt relieved to have made it successfully to her final destination of the day without spilling any scalding hot water on herself - she was, after all, carrying it with her opposite hand. Roaming about her desktop, her eyes finally fell on the sky blue packet of tea. She picked it up and read it to herself: "Harney & Sons. ORANGE PEKOE." What is "Pekoe"? she thought aloud. She turned over the now opened packet to read the description: "A classic Assam laced with Ceylon." A load of good that did me...I don't know what Assam is either. She shrugged and slowly tugged the teabag out by its string. Then, as if it were someone easing into a jacuzzi after a long day's work, she slid the teabag into the steaming cup of water, guiding it down the side until it finally rested flat along the bottom of the mug. Without lifting the cup, she leaned in and allowed her nose to linger just above her mammoth mug and the aromatic waves of heat that were now drifting upwards into her room to serenade her senses, both with the sweet smell and the warm yet intangible touch as it wafted against her face. She then sat down in front of her laptop (situated in the very center of her desk) and began to type a new and quite overdue blog entry.

Relient K!

I cannot even begin express how excited I am about this. I haven't seen RK in concert since my 17th birthday(!!!).

By the looks of the tickets site, it seems to be Toby Mac's tour (technically speaking) - the "Winter Wonder Slam" - but either way, it's still an opportunity to see Matty T and the guys live.

If you have no clue who I'm talking about, check out their website or YouTube them. Some excellent songs to search would include: "Pressing On," "For the Moments I Feel Faint," "Mood Rings," "Getting into You," "Be My Escape," "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been," "Must Have Done Something Right," "Deathbed," and "The Lining Is Silver."

This clip is their song "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been."

Cookin' up a Storm

So I was supposed to go to Kennywood today with some friends, but since it was a 70% chance of thunderstorms, we decided we'd rather wait for a day that was forecasted to be sunny so our $40 tickets would be worth while. I was so pumped to go though, so I'm kind of frustrated that it isn't POURING outside right now. (If Sammi ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.)

On a brighter note, my mom and I are assembling something of a cook-book gone cook-three-ring-binder. We're tired of the pages of all our cookbooks getting wet and wrinkled or splattered with food and such; plus, so many of the recipes we use have been altered over time that they're not even the recipe we use anymore. So we're typing them all up the way we actually cook/bake them then and keeping them in clear plastic sleeves so they stay nice.

So. If anyone is interested in leaving some favorite recipes in the Comments section of this post, feel free! Maybe I'll share some of my favorites.

Retiree

So this morning went as usual: I arrived at work around 7 a.m. with my small, soy white chocolate mocha in hand. I entered my office, turned on the computer, and logged in. But when I tried to open the office's network email, I couldn't log in for some reason. I decided it must be a fluke and instead tried to open one of our database systems to enter some data. To my surprise, I couldn't use that either. I figured the server must be down or that the computers had been updated and thought it might work better if I just restarted my computer. I did so, and was shocked to find that now I couldn't even log on to my user's account. Even more astounding was the a notice window popped up saying "Your account has been disabled. Please see your administrator for help." So when one of my co-workers got in, and paid her a visit and told her my problems. She pulled up a program and found my name. After a three-second pause, she said, "Huh, that's funny."

"What?" I asked.

"It says here that you're retired," was her reply.

I leaned forward from my seat and craned my neck around to view the screen; sure enough, I was listed as retired. It turned out that when I was changed from a "temporary employee" (through a group called Temp. Services) over to a "Pitt student employee" (same thing, but paid by someone else), the computer system was never notified and therefore decided my time here at UPMC had expired. I still can't figure out why it chose to do it that way though.

While I was waiting for my request for an account to be processed, I decided to walk down to the hospital and collect some data for the study. My dad, who works there, happened to be just leaving his office, and we had a chance to stop and talk. "So guess what?" I asked him, "Apparently, I'm retired!"

"Wow," was his response. There was a pause, then, "sooo....do you get a pension?"

I laughed and explained to him what had happened and that it was being taken care of while I was out. He sighed, and with a laugh said, "Sure wish I could retire!"

So now I'm back to work. Nothing's changed, just what the computer says. Though I feel a bit of that rush that Brett Favre must have felt the x-number of times he's come back from retirement. LET'S DO IT AGAIN!

Live...Sorta.

In response to some of my co-workers, I'm posting this video clip as a sample of my singing. It came up during a mini birthday celebration today that I sang at a wedding over the weekend and one of our doctors wanted me to sing an excerpt. Having already taken that first bite of cake, I knew she would be greatly disappointed with what she would have heard after that point. :-)

So here's an older music clip of me singing with a quartet; hopefully I will be able to upload the video of my performance at the wedding later this week. (For anyone interested in the song I sang at the wedding [because it is a beautiful song], it's called "I Will Be Here" by Steven Curtis Chapman.)

Why I'm the Favorite

REASON #1:
For months now, my brother has been on a Coldplay kick. And for the past several months, he's been saying how much he wishes Coldplay would come to Pittsburgh so he could see them live in concert. Thanks to the annoying (but in this instance, helpful) ads on Facebook, I noticed that they were coming to the Pittsburgh Post Gazette Pavillion at the end of May. Although his birthday is in August, I decided to get him tickets as an early birthday gift. But I was trying to decide how to tell him...I mean, it wouldn't be as fun to just hand over the tickets. So I spent a whole night doing nothing but Googling Coldplay lyrics to use as scavenger hunt clues for him. And when I say I went all out, I went all out. Needless to say, he had a blast looking for the clues. I was able to use the video recording feature on my dad's camera to film him looking, but I still haven't uploaded them yet. [[drat.]] So stay tuned for an "updedit" with the clips.

REASON #2:
I secretly requested Friday afternoon off for my mom so that I could take her (and my sisters) out to Alexandra's Tea Room as a surprise Mother's Day gift. We had such an amazing time: the food was delicious, the atmosphere was relaxing, the tea was fantastic, and the company was -- as always -- great. The first teas we selected were "Buckingham Palace Garden Party," "Goddess of Mercy Oolong," "Amore," and "Peach Apricot," but you can have as many different flavors brewed for you as you want. Here are some pictures from the trip.

And the Saga Continues...

Last Monday I received an email via my Pitt webmail from a mysterious sender "Duane Dangerous." Tuesday's class was canceled and we were to come Thursday "as scheduled," even though on the syllabus we were scheduled not to come. Confused as I was, I came anyway. Instead of my professor showing up though, a woman came to our class telling us that "[my professor] is gravely ill" and that she would be finishing out the term with us as our sub. We discussed possibilities for the final since it had not yet been assigned, and we all agreed on a take-home final that would be emailed to us the next week.

Fast-forward to Thursday the 16th. I get a Facebook message from a friend in that class saying our professor WAS BACK and ended up holding class for a party. I checked my Pitt webmail (which I never check) and sure enough, there in my inbox was the invitation to the class party along with 5 paragraphs-worth of essay topics for our new final that would be due the next week on Wednesday by midnight. I got this email Monday the 20th. Luckily I was able to write it and turn it in on time, but boy am I relieved to be done with that class.

In other news, my mom pawned off a bunch of assorted teas that she had acquired on me the other day - one of which was this white vanilla grapefruit tea by Harney & Sons. Conclusion: BEST TEA EVER. It was so smooth...like silk...the vanilla perfectly accented the hint of citrus from the grapefruit. Both existed harmoniously in this perfect sweet and fruity blend....sort of deal....or whatever. I can't even put it into words how good this tea was. All I can say is that you need to try some for yourself!

Mommy, guess what I learned in class today!

So today went as any other Thursday does: work for two hours in the mornings, then head to a long day of classes. My third class of the day is Advanced Shakespeare, and for the most part, it's pretty interesting. The professor is definitely young at heart - he has us addressing him on a first name basis, jokes around the entire class time, swears incessantly, and loves to show random films as long as they make even the smallest reference to Shakespeare. We all know he's a goof-off, but something was just not right today.

He made his grand entrance five minutes late, pushing his way through the desks rather than walking around them. He then proceeded to wrench the contents from the torn jeans he was wearing and throw them across the room, completely missing the table onto which he was (I'm assuming) trying to toss them. After fumbling with his manbag, he ripped a DVD from it and threw open the entertainment cabinet. The door kept falling shut, and this must have ticked him off because he kept slamming it back against the wall with his hand (and then eventually with his foot). Although the air conditioner was blasting, he decided to open all the windows to let in the forty degree air. The hair at the nape of his neck was wet with sweat, as was the back of the stained white tshirt he chose to wear to class. And even though his eyes were darting about wildly, he would suddenly begin nodding off (sometimes right in the middle of speaking).

He turned on the film (which was, by the way, Vincent Price's "Theatre of Blood"), stayed long enough to mutter a few incoherent phrases having to do with amphetamines and morphine, then left the room for the rest of the hour and fifteen minutes of class.

And this is the education I'm getting for thousands of dollars a semester.

April Fools!

So I stayed home from work this morning with a sore throat, stuffed up nose, and horrible cramps. I woke up somewhere around 10:30 and someone had left whatever channel "The Ellen Show" falls on. I sat up and slowly gained consciousness to it just as she did a segment where she surprises a fan of hers by giving them "Ellen Bailout Bucks." She has apparently been doing this for awhile now because it sounded like it has been a regular deal. So since the twins were still asleep, I ran to their room screaming and hollering "THE ELLEN SHOW! SHE CAME! ELLEN CALLED US AND THEY'RE OUTSIDE OUR HOUSE! C'MOOOOOOOOOOON! HURRY!" Lexi sat up, bleary-eyed, and Ali tripped to the window. "APRIL FOOLS DAY!" I shouted.

They both gave me a dirty look and fell back into their beds.

Tee hee.

Happy Birthday to Me...

Well, today marked the beginning of my 20th year of life...and it started out drippy.

I had my alarm set for 8:00 this morning to get up for church, but, as always, I hit the snooze a good two or three times. The third time, I noticed I could hear the rain...but I had been hearing the rain earlier -- just outside. This time it sounded like it was coming from inside. My mom and I had fallen asleep downstairs, so I (from the loveseat) called over to her on the couch: "Mom. Mom, wake up. Do you hear that?"

"Yeah, it's raining."

"No, I know. But something isn't right...it sounds like it's raining in here."

"Someone probably just left the window open; it's probably hitting the windowsill."

"No, Mom, you don't hear that? I'm saying it sounds like it's raining in the living room!"

*stops and listens* "Oh. Wow. Yeah..." *looks up* "OH MY GOSH, IT IS RAINING IN THE LIVING ROOM!"

And that's how the day started. I came downstairs to see my dad had stationed two buckets and a small pot under the three major drippy areas. He went outside later that morning and determined the leak to be a result of a bent-up shingle. ALL THAT FOR ONE FREAKING SHINGLE. So hopefully we'll get that fixed before the infamous "April showers" we're likely to be getting within the next couple days. [yikes]

Otherwise though, great birthday. Not one of those milestone ones like 16, 18, or (in the future) 21, but hey, I can't complain. After church I was able to take a nice nap, then headed out to get my free coffee that Caribou owed me. Turned out that I could make it ANY drink of ANY size. So naturally I got the biggest thing they offered, a large, of my favorite specialty drink - the white chocolate mocha. Ordinarily, I get it skim, but today I got it soy since it was free (HA! Cuz there's no way I'm spending an extra 35¢ on a drink just to make it soy). After that, we (my mom and I visited the Old Navy that was nearby. I, being the moron that I am at times, forgot to bring along the gift card that I got in the mail from my cousin, so all I could do was look around. Still, we had a good time. On the way back, we stopped at a local DQ to pick up my ice cream cake (my favorite). I told my mom that I wanted to pick what was written on the cake, and she agreed; but when I asked if I could get "Happy Birthday, you sexy thang," she said no. She also turned down "Happy One Year Away from Being Legal" and "Happy Birthday to the Awesome Daughter." Not sure why... :-)

So we had pizza for dinner, ice cream cake and coffee for dessert. I got (apart from some $) a green PINK tote, a pair of layered butterfly earrings, a v-neck Tink tshirt, and [GASP!] the first season DVD of my all-time favorite TV show. I also got this really cool homemade crown that said "Princess Sammi" on the front and "--> I'M AWESOME <--" on the back, but I gave myself that gift, so I guess that doesn't count. After gift opening, we played a few rounds of Catch Phrase, which is hilarious with my family. I've got two nearly deaf grandfathers and a grandma who can't help but spell the word out under her breath if you don't catch on fast enough - it's always so much fun. We walk away with so many inside jokes after every time we play it.

So now that I've walked Max, it's time to look for that episode of "Lie to Me" that I missed last-last Wednesday...thank God for Hulu.

Quote of the Day:

[commercial for the new Osbourne family show comes on]

Ali: I hate them. They’re so dumb. And Harry Osbourne is so creepy!

Me: Uh, Al? Harry Osborn is from Spiderman. And he was played by James Franco who is so NOT creepy. I think you meant…

Ali: Oh, yeah, right. I meant Jimmy. Jimmy Osbourne.

Me: Ali? It’s OZZY.

Ali: Oh.

Close, Ali. Very close.

T-SHIRTS!

As Skythrock would say, UPDEDIT:

check out this awesome tshirt site: Rethink Clothing.


I love t-shirts. In fact, I think I may have too many of them. There are just so many good ones out there though, you know? Band tees, funny tees, cute-tees (pun intended), team tees (especially Pitt!)...the list goes on and on.

It was only today that I realized just how many t-shirt websites I like to visit. Here's the short list:

• Woot Shirt
• Snorg Tees
• Loiter Apparel
• The Cotton Factory
• BustedTees

Anyway, tees are awesome. This is the one I most recently would die for: the Three-Eyed Owl.

Dream a Little Dream of Me...

Mama Cass sang it best...

Since Friday, I've been having moderate to freaking-awful pain in my right ear (and some in my left ear). Consequently, I had been taking copious amounts of Ibuprofen and lots of naps (to take my mind off the ache). The combination of the two resulted in, I'm not gonna lie, some majorly trippy dreams, one of which involved me (as some kind of operative for a secret in-the-know organization) being assigned the job of disabling a giant machine designed by the Priceline Negotiator (aka, William Shatner). He was, apparently, planning on overthrowing the U.S. government with his negotiating skilz with his next step being to destroy other nations with this machine he had built (which was coincidentally being stored behind a stage on which he was giving a big pep rally for his cause). So I was given orders to scale the gigantic hunk of metal and you know, clip all the right wires and whatnot, but for whatever reason, in my dream, I accidentally knocked one of the pieces off? And it fell into what very much resembled the Reflecting Pool by the Lincoln Memorial in DC? And nobody there seemed to notice or hear it? Yeah, strange....either way though, I got the job done and looked really cool doing it.

There were other strange dreams, but it would take a long time to post them all. So instead, I wish you all a Happy St. Patrick's Day and enjoy this hilarious YouTube video done by one of my favorite "kid" stars, "Fred."

The Frog Prince

I was listening to my Keane CD "Under the Iron Sea" while I was getting ready this morning and the track "The Frog Prince" came on.
It reminded me of an old boyfriend for whom I assembled a scrapbook. Some of the themes included the whole frog prince/knight in shining armor plus princess concept, and I had the cutest sticker collection that I bought for it of these frog princes/knights/princesses portrayed by little cartoon kids. It was adorable. But when I think about it anymore, a feeling of anger follows a smile. Guess that's what happens.

An old fairytale told me
The simple heart will be prized again
A toad will be our king
And ugly ogres our heroes

Then you'll shake
Your fist at the sky
"Oh why did I rely
On fashions and small fry?"

All promises broken
Feed your people or lose your throne
And forfeit your whole kingdom
I'd sooner lose it than still live in it alone

Your prince's crown
Cracks and falls down
Your castle hollow and cold
You've wandered so far
From the person you are
Let go brother, let go
'Cause now we all know

Soon, someone will put a spell on you
Perfume, treasure, sorcery, every trick they know
You will lie in a deep sleep
That's when...

Your prince's crown
Cracks and falls down
Your castle hollow and cold
You've wandered so far
From the person you are
Let go brother, let go
'Cause now we all know

Happy Spring Break to me...

With the submission of this paper, I thee (Spring Break) wed...

Symbolism in The Crying of Lot 49 and The Scarlet Letter

Who would have ever thought there could be so much meaning placed in such inanimate objects as an uber-geometric doodle of a “muted” horn or a red and gold piece of “A”-shaped fabric? In nearly all of the books our class has read during the course of this semester, there has been at least some semblance of symbolism (or some similar literary device) in each of the stories that all of us could identify. Having said this, I feel that two of the more recent books we have read, Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49 and Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, have exhibited not only copious amounts of symbolism, but also have displayed it in ways that (though I’m sure the authors never intended this) are relative to one another.

I would first like to discuss the “main” symbols and their meanings (and by “meanings” I mean “potential meanings, or lack thereof” since, in many cases, we are never explicitly told what they mean). I would first like to establish them as symbols of fixation. In Pynchon’s Lot 49, the muted horn surfaces fairly early on as the object of Oedipa (the main character)’s obsession – from the moment she first spots the horn penciled onto the bathroom wall (Pynchon 38), she is from then on consumed by curiosity and desire to find out what it means. Both likewise and in contrast, in Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter, the Puritan townspeople are obsessed with Hester (the main character)’s ornate crimson “A” that has been sewn front and center onto her dress and constantly mock, chastise, and shun her because of it (at least in the early part of the book). However, their fixation over the scarlet letter is not one of curiosity – everyone knows that Hester wears the letter as a symbolic reminder of the sin she has committed: adultery.

As stated previously, I would like to present some of the meanings given to these symbols throughout both books. The muted horn seems to claim multiple meanings since it has multiple groups using it as their trademark. What Oedipa feels is that it belonged to the “Trystero,” an old mail distribution organization. She believed that, after following the trail that horn left, she had possibly uncovered the centuries old conflict between the Trystero – a fictional company dreamed up by the author – and its rival company, “Thurn und Taxis” – a company which actually existed. The muted horn also served as the symbol for some sort of swingers group (being advertised on the wall of a bathroom) looking for free love and multiple partners, and again as the “emblem” for the anonymous inamorato’s “society of isolates (Pynchon 94).” Although we are given several various possibilities for the use of this symbol, we are never made known of its initial working use or of its original purpose. We could assume that its origin was that of the Trystero, but the book is so chaotic and wild-goose-chase-esque, that it is hard to tell; we are left dangling. We react similarly to Hester’s “A” in Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter in that the author never actually comes right out and says that “A = Adulteress” (or some such form of the word). I believe, however, that we can assume it is what the author wanted us to at least think it to mean. Plus, it is what the townspeople believed, and they are mightily responsible for many of the opinions produced throughout the book (of Hester’s betrayal of loyalty to her husband, of her pride, of her inability to raise her child well, etc.). On the other hand, further down the road when Hester begins to reintroduce herself into society as a working member, the townsfolk change how they interpret the meaning from “Adulteress” (assumedly) to “Able” – by that, we can guess they mean any number of things: “able to overcome adversity,” “able to make herself useful,” the list could go on and on. By the end of the story, the people of the New England town see her “A” as a symbol to be revered. So just as in The Crying of Lot 49, the symbol of The Scarlet Letter morphs in and out of different meanings, taking on new definitions constantly.

I would like to focus next on the way symbols contrast the themes (perhaps not the themes, but certainly possible themes) of their respective stories. In The Crying of Lot 49, I see a major theme of “chaos” throughout. Moving away from the muted horn, I would like to postulate the idea that the story’s “Maxwell’s Demon” can serve as a symbol of order. The issue with the Demon is that it cannot be operated because it requires a certain unattainable level of communication (or a “sensitive” person). Since another theme would undeniably be “a breakdown in communication,” I feel as though this supports my theory when including this idea of a theme, as well. In The Scarlet Letter, I see the theme of “human frailty and sorrow” handed to us at the closing of the book’s first chapter (Hawthorne 46). In contrast, the rose is portrayed as a symbol of endurance and hope, or as the author would phrase it, “some sweet moral blossom (Hawthorne 46).” Just as Hester’s “A,” we are never actually told the true significance of the rose, though it is mentioned a few more times within the story; yet, like so many things in The Scarlet Letter, Hawthorne seems to like to keep some matters a secret from his audience.

Lastly, I find a similarity in the use of evocative names by both authors, whether it be blatantly intentional (like Pynchon) or perhaps not intentional at all (like Hawthorne), though we don’t know. In Pynchon’s work, the mailing system “W.A.S.T.E” is in fact a “waste” of time since only a few people actually know of it and because its users are required to deliver mail once a week even if they have nothing to say. The main character’s name is “Oedipa,” which is strikingly similar to Sophocles’ character “Oedipus,” a Theban king whose curiosity got the best of him when he dug too deep trying to find answers to a crime which turned out to be one of his own. His unearthing of the information drives him mad; likewise, Oedipa feels as though she either is going insane or perhaps already is insane by the end of her story. Her doctor, Dr. Hilarious, lives up to his surname as he does, in fact, go insane by the end of the book. The Crying of Lot 49 is rife with sexual references, and Pynchon does not limit the boundaries of said references. Oedipa’s husband Mucho’s radio station, for example, is named “KCUF,” which if read backwards, spells out a vulgar word. Mike Fallopian’s last name is an obvious reference to a part of a woman’s anatomy. Professor Dribelette, whose last name resembles the word “dribble,” is a weak character that gives information to Oedipa in spurts, much like the meaning of “dribble,” a weak, unsteady stream of saliva. Stanley Koteks shares his last name with a brand of feminine supplies. John Nefastis’ last name is fairly close to the word “nefarious,” which means “extremely wicked” – a definition I think I would happily apply to the man after he tried to force Oedipa to have sex with him. The list could obviously go on and on; there is a trick to each character’s name. In The Scarlet Letter, however, I only found a few. Hester, I noticed, is very close to the name “Esther,” a Biblical heroin, if you merely move the “h” down between the “t” and the “e.” Since Hester is the heroin of this story, I feel this to be a possible play on the name. Her husband, who decided to take on the alias name “Chillingworth,” did do his share of “chilling” the other main characters of the book, and even the townspeople since they soon were fearful of him and thought he was the devil. Dimmesdale’s name – who, if you take the first three letters of his name, you get “dim” – seems to suggest his “dimness” or weakness (physically, emotionally, etc.). Finally, there is Hester’s daughter Pearl whose name we know to be intentionally symbolic from Hester who named her thus because she was her only treasure. I also see a subtle Biblical reference in Pearl’s name that evokes allegorical device—the “pearl of great price” used in relation to Christ purchasing us on the Cross, or salvation.

In conclusion, I would like to clarify that not everything I have stated is solid fact; much of it is opinion. Yet I feel that much of the purpose of symbolism is that the reader is to take it in and decide for himself whether or not there is more to it than just its surface meaning. In both stories cases, I believe the authors have done just that: wrote riveting works that serve as excellent works of literature for both audiences – those who take the text at face value, and those who like to read between the lines.

Works Cited

Pynchon, Thomas. Crying of Lot 49. New York: Harper Perennial, 2006.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter. New York: Penguin Books, 2003.

(PS: Posting this, I didn't feel like going through and re-italicizing everything, so you can just imagine it to be there since it didn't copy over.)

More than just a picture...

I'm willing to admit that I didn't find these cool pictures all by myself -- they came to me in a forward. But I was just so amused by them, that I took just a few of my absolute favorites (there were a lot more) and decided to post them here. Enjoy!

This is incredibly entertaining...

1 - Follow the link to a site of random articles drawn from Wikipedia.

The first random Wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to this Quotations page.

The last four or five words of the very last quote on the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Follow the link to Flickr for their explore the last seven days photos.

The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover (unless you're uncomfortable with the nature of it...I got one of those the first time I did it, go figure).

4 - Use Photoshop or similar to put it all together.

5 - Post it on your site, be it Blogger, Xanga, Facebook, etc. with this text in the name of the band and the album name.

Have fun!

Oh, and here's my latest --

Band: Dora's Dream

Album name: Using Truth to Deceive the Public

The Walk

(experimenting with some second person perspective writing…)

She stepped onto the escalator marked “DOWN” and, due to state of her sopping (and now sagging) pant legs which had worked their way underneath her shoes, nearly missed her footing. She steadied herself by grabbing on to both sides of the moving staircase and thought to herself That was a close one – I have a feeling rolling down these steps would hurt much worse than tumbling down the wooden ones at home. She was having a relatively good day, all things considered, and not much was going to get her down that Friday afternoon. Pittsburgh’s wintry weather streak had finally been broken and that day and the previous one had been a comfortable fifty degrees. For Friday, however, there was some off-and-on rain tacked on to the forecast.

She reached the bottom of the last escalator and exited the Victoria Building. As she did so, she flipped open her phone, scrolled down through her list of previously called numbers, and hit “SEND” when she reached the contact “Dad.” After a short wait, she heard the cheery voice of her father on the other end. “Hello, Sammi!” he greeted. “Hey, Dad, how’s it going?” she asked.They chatted back and forth as she walked, heading down towards Fifth Avenue. About a minute into the conversation, she cut herself off mid-sentence: “Oh crap, wait a minute – it just started raining out of nowhere.” She dug deep into her tote bag, if one could even call it that anymore. It was more like a threadbare, faded, stained sack with an “Alice in Wonderland” theme in silver on its black canvas body; but it was her favorite. Her fingers stumbled across the parachute-like object that she recognized as her umbrella and yanked it out of the depths of her bag. “Man,” she continued, “it’s been really off and on today, the rain. One minute, it’s fine; the next, it’s a torrential downpour.”

She wrapped up her conversation with her father then pocketed her flip-phone so that she could better grip her flimsy, two-dollar miniature umbrella. The wind whipped all around her as she turned left onto McKees Place. Denying it the pleasure of doing it for her, she rested the thin pole of the umbrella against her forehead to keep the wind from sending it back and hitting her in the face. She looked down and examined herself as she trudged through the rain: her brown velour pants were now even more wet than before, soaked all the way up to her knees. Just my luck again, she thought. Every time I wear these, it rains. And every time, the material sops up all the water like a sponge. She also noticed that she not only picked the wrong pants to wear, but also the wrong shoes. Her green plaid Chuck Taylor “lo-tops” – also canvas, like her shabby tote – were absorbing just about as much of the rain as her pant legs, as though they were in some kind of strange competition. She rolled her eyes to herself as she reached the revolving door to her office building. As she made the half-circle to enter, she let out a sigh of relief, knowing that within a few moments she could rid herself of her wet shoes. She boarded the elevator and rode it to her floor.

She proceeded to her office suite, unlocked the door, and headed straight for her office. When she finally stepped through the doorway, she tossed her bag onto the chair nearest her, rolled up her pant legs, pulled off her shoes and socks, and plopped herself into her own seat. Bending down, she turned the knob to activate the little fan she kept underneath her desk for the summertime and aimed it at the wall next to her; then, feeling resourceful, she propped her shoes against the wall, draped her socks over them, and adjusted the fan so that it was angled in her footwear’s general direction. Then, leaning back in her chair, she began to type.

I found my calling...

You can become a super hero too here.

Blank.

So I decided to update, but for the first time ever, I'm at a loss. Usually lots of fun and exciting things are floating around in my head and I have but to reach in and pull something out. But alas, nothing is coming to mind today.

In fact, I'm at such a loss for words, I actually went back through my Twitter feed just to see if anything really had happened that I had just forgotten. But nothing! (Well, lots of things, but nothing worth writing home -- or on this blog -- about.)

Then this came to me:

Setting: last night in the car, in the drive-thru of DQ.
Ali: So Saturday was fun - we went to [our volleyball coach's] house for a pizza
party then watched a DVD of our tournament in Indiana!

Lexi: Ali. It's "TOUR-na-ment," not "TER-na-ment." Gosh.

Ali: Nuh-uh, it's "TER-na-ment." Anyway, you can say it either way, right?

me: Al, I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be "TOUR-na-ment." Think about it - it's spelled like "tour"...like, "going on a tour."

Conversation continues throughout wait...

DQ worker: Here's your order!

me: Thanks...could I get another straw? This one has a hole in it....well, three holes actually, but one isn't supposed to be there, haha.

DQ worker: Sure! [hands me a new straw]

me: Okay, and one more thing.

DQ worker: Okay?

me: T-O-U-R-N-A-M-E-N-T. How do you say that?

DQ worker: Uh, "TOUR-na-ment"?

me and Lexi: YES! Ali: WHA?! But...!

me: Thanks for that - have a nice evening!

I think we pretty much made her night. She had the biggest grin on her face and was still laughing when I drove away from the window.

PS: if anyone was wondering, I ordered the 4-piece buffalo chicken -- they have excellent dipping sauce there -- and a mocha MooLatte.

Sick.

So last night I passed out way earlier than usual (around 11:00). I figured that maybe I was just really worn out from the long session I had with a research study in which I had enrolled, which another thing entirely.

Monday afternoon, I had my first appointment with a researcher who was doing a one-time study with the students from my Intro. to Psych. class for credits. I'm not real big into the idea of studies, but it's a requirement for the course (yeah, required to volunteer...hm). So I spent an hour and a half playing "Cyberball," looking at ink blots, and deciphering recipes (where I have to guess what the meal would look like after made), all done on the computer. Turned out that it wasn't a "visualization" study at all but instead was a "ostracization" study. What the bloody heck did you need to have us look at shapes and recipes for an extra hour then??? Very annoying, and quite a waste of my time, in my opinion.

So today I woke up with a headache, just like yesterday. I took 400 mg Ibuprofen and went to work, then went to class at 9:00. I was still SO tired though. I actually fell asleep in class. Between my first class (West. Civ.) and my next class (American Lit. Traditions), I tried to take a nap. I did, but it didn't do the job. By the time I got to class, I was sweating bullets, and twenty minutes into class, I had to run out for fear of wretching all over the Israeli nationality room's floor. So I bussed it home and crawled right into bed. I ended up sleeping from 1:30 to 6:30, got up and watched American Idol with the family, and am now so wide awake that I don't know what to do with myself. So I'm about to watch the season premiere of Burn Notice that I'd missed. Hopefully that will tire me out since I've got to get up again at 5:30. *sigh*

Of Spicy Subs and Juicy Jumpers

As I said in my previous post, I've set up my class schedule so that I can work eight-hour days on Monday and Friday, have off Wednesday, and have all my classes on Tuesday and Thursday. While it's nice to be able to work without interruption and have that extra day-off like a mini-weekend, the whole classes-from-nine-to-five is pretty intense. I'm so glad they're all fun classes, because if this were my schedule last semester, I think I would have blown my brains out by now.

Because of these long Tuesdays and Thursdays, I no longer have the luxury of riding home with my dad those evenings. Usually we commute back and forth since he works at Magee Hospital (and I work only a block over from him). It's always worked out well because I've made a point to schedule everything to end by 4:00 so that I could leave with him. So how do I get home now? The public transit system, of course.

I'm no germaphobe, but I'm not gonna lie: those buses are sick. There's gum, graffiti, and God-knows-what everywhere. It's populated by crabby old codgers and creepers. Did I mention creepers? (...so then what does that make me? *shudders*) The bus stops aren't much better: it seems like 75% of those waiting at my bus stop are freaking chain smokers. And, as Fate would have it, no matter which direction I choose to angle myself away from that corrupt fog, the wind blows it right into my face.

[I despair, I really do.]

In the past, when I'd get fed up with it, I'd just step inside the Subway (restaurant) that's on that block to save my lungs. Unfortunately, the little Indian manager caught on to me and actually stepped out from behind the counter to tell me so. About five bus stop waits later, I figured it out: to get in and be allowed to stay in, you've got to buy something. Ah, I now see how his foul little mind works...

So since then, when I have to take the bus and I know it's going to be awhile, I just pop in, buy myself a flavored Aquafina, and chill by the window sipping my water like a good girl until my bus comes. Occasionally, I'll even by dinner (turkey bacon sub with lettuce, green peppers, cucumbers, and lots of jalapenos) there since I don't get home until 7:00 now. Although, I'm not even sure if I'd have to do even that anymore. There's a new manager, at least for the new time I get down to the bus stop. It's always the same two guys working now: two Hispanic guys, about my age, who look almost identical (and who do they look like? ADAM RODRIGUEZ from CSI: Miami!). And they both speak crystal-clear English, but only when waiting on customers. Otherwise, they're chatting fluently in Spanish to one another. The first time this happened, I have to admit: I felt uneasy. Hey, wait a minute? What are they saying that they don't want me to understand? Is there something on my face? *checks*

This Tuesday when I came back, same thing. Only this time the other guy took my "order." While making change though, he kept shooting me these sheepish grins (that and -- again -- speaking casually yet intensely to his co-worker in Spanish). Finally, after having taken his blessed time making change for $1.50 out of $2.00, he held out the two quarters, palm facing up (presumably so I had to pick them out of his hand) instead of just dropping the money into my hand. He then looked up at me, blushing, and said (and I quote): "I -- I love your sweater...it's....very....JUICY!" Taken aback, my head jerked downward almost involuntarily to remind myself of what I was wearing: a fitted hooded hunter green knit sweater with other colors stitched in around the cuffs and neckline, which plunged deeper than I guess I'd noticed before. Could he have meant "juicy" as in "sweet"? Like the way we use it now as "cool"? Or is he referencing...? Nahhhhh...OH GOSH.

"Um...thanks!" I mustered awkwardly. Flustered and blushing, I shot an absent glance towards the store front as if there were a teleprompter over there waiting for me. "Gotta go...uh...thanks...er, for the water...I mean..." At that point I figured you've dug the hole already, you idiot -- now don't throw yourself into it! and just darted out the door.

"Juicy."

Yeah...

NEW POST?! COULD IT BE TRUE?!

Yes, 'tis true. So let's dive in.

I'm finally a sophomore, so I guess I should change that in my profile. :-)

This semester, I'm taking:
*Western Civilization (History)
*American Literary Traditions (Literature)
*Advanced Shakespeare (Literature)
*Introduction to Psychology (Psych.)

I'm only taking 4 classes this time so that I can stay home and help my sisters with their homeschooling, which is working out nicely.

I'm about to run to class, so here's a paper I just pounded out in the last half hour (feedback is welcome). Hope to post again soon!


Wealth and Social Strata

I think it was the lyrics of the song Gatsby’s pianist played – “The Love Nest” – that said it best: “One thing’s sure and nothing’s surer/ The rich get richer and the poor get – children.” Such was the case in the early 1900s society; such was the case for Jay Gatsby and Daisy Buchanan.

The first time we meet Daisy, we are told that she’s married to a real jerk, Tom, and that she has a young child. Daisy reflects on when she first had the baby that she had wished the child to grow up to be a “foolish girl” since the foolish women wouldn’t notice or care that their husbands were having affairs. Even though Daisy was considered “sophisticated” and “fashionable” (her husband had gone to Yale, was successful, and they lived in East Egg – a ritzy area), she felt poor in that there was an emptiness inside her.

Gatsby, likewise, had everything a man could wish for, yet had not the only thing he wanted in life: Daisy. In fact, the whole reason he even bought that gaudy mansion by the Sound was so that he could show off for Daisy and feel closer to her (staring out at the “enchanted” image of the green light on the dock). When he left for war (if I was reading this correctly), it seemed as though he lost his purpose in life and didn’t care whether he lived or died. It turned out that he, in his depressed state, led a group of men into a heated area of battle and made it out alive; he was even decorated and rewarded. That, combined with what his family left him and the business he conducted, made him a very wealthy man; he was able to turn his dreams of success into a reality (which is what, I’m guessing, makes him “the Great Gatsby”). This is something he really enjoys showing off, perhaps too much. Because of that, I feel as though Gatsby’s dreams of fame and fortune came true but then got in the way of his dream to be with Daisy. I think Nick – or F.S. Fitzgerald – is both directly and subtly implying that when the pursuit of happiness and the pursuit of wealth collide, something’s got to give. Both were rich by society’s standards, but when they looked inside their hearts, they were as poor as peasants.