This week, my parents are celebrating their 37th wedding anniversary, an amazing picture of deliberate love. They came from very different backgrounds. Dad was the son of a Pennsylvania coal miner and Mom the daughter of a wealthy man whose means of income is still a bit of a mystery to me. When my grandfather first met Dad, hippie hair flowing, donning cut off shorts and a Jesus shirt, he was more than a little skeptical, but Mom and Dad were never skeptical.
Their love is steadfast. Each morning, they proclaim the same series of Bible verses and pray for their children. Throughout my childhood, they repeated much on a regular basis; as years pass and I am confronted with increasingly significant situations, I am thankful to have these nuggets for immediate application. In honor of them and the love for Sportscenter instilled by Dad, below are the top ten quotes I could not forget if I tried:
10. "I am fearfully and wonderfully made." This is extremely important for any teenage girl to remember and remains especially helpful on those mornings when I have three zits, droopy eyes and an extra bubbly butt.
9. "It's simple. There are four ways of spending money." What is the most inefficient way? Spending other people's money on other people, because you do not care about the quality or the price. This has been my economic stance for twenty years and will continue to be for the next twenty years. Yes, I was introduced to Milton Friedman's philosophy at age five.
8. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." This is usually followed by a deep breath and an action I could not do of my own will.
7. "Compete." Every point. Never leave a situation knowing you could have given more. My father's finest piece of coaching.
6. "People are idiots." This explains a lot of otherwise perplexing issues.
5. "Ideas have consequences." Guard your thought life, and purge poisonous thoughts before they ensnare you. Also, do not not be a communist, as that idea has extremely negative consequence.
4. "The greater the risk, the greater the reward." You are entitled to nothing and will not achieve great success within your comfort zone.
3. "Love is a decision, not an emotion." It is not flashy, but it is real, and it works.
2. "Be a leader, not a follower. The head and not the tail. A thermostat not a thermometer." This is their prayer for us every morning and each time we enter a new stage in our lives.
1. "God has not given me the spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." I recited this when I was six after a bad dream, twenty one moving to a new city, twenty three quitting my job, and every time I enter an uncomfortable social situation. Fear is crippling. But power, love, and a sound mind - these are liberating.
Thank you, Mom and Dad, for deciding to love one another for the remainder of your lives and to love and support your children with vigor. Thank you for exemplifying sacrifice and unwavering faith in a beautiful manner. Most of all, thank you for laying a firm foundation that continually drives me to improve. I am incredibly grateful to be your daughter.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Sunday, January 12, 2014
On Conquering the New Year
The turn of the new year marks a time for reflection and resolutions. Obviously, I plan to have taken over the world by the age of thirty but recognize this does not happen without intermediate improvements. Before carefully considering the necessary steps this year, let us honor a few highlights from 2013:
1) Feats of food: Chugged a mug of cheese, caught a cupcake in my mouth.
2) Beat the company co-founder in tennis.
3) Went the entire year without being pulled over for speeding. I got pulled over for swerving, lack of license plates and incorrect registration stickers*. But not speeding.
4) Discovered a new perfume, arguably more attractive than my ten year staple scent.
5) Did not take one picture with my hand on my hip, the most common of female poses.
It is clear 2013 was a success, but I think it important to look expectantly toward the future rather than rest on my laurels. As I set goals for myself, I keep in mind the rule of SMART: Such Magnificence Always Requires Tweaking. Below are the few I deemed most pertinent:
1) Make she a prude. Restore her dignity. This is an initiative originating in 2013 to be pursued with increased vigor this year. The proverbial she, in "That's what she said" is constantly degrading herself, further encouraging the objectification of women. I plan to change this perception by having her reference restraint. "Do not go there." "Closed for the evening." "Stop." Etc.
2) Invent. I am currently inclined to create an electric shock device I can place on the small of my back to fend off overzealous pursuers. There are two people allowed to touch that region. Me, when I have an itch or want to draw attention to my chest in an awkward manner, and my imaginary masseuse. Not you, idiot at the bar who thinks our mutual interest in IPAs is a green light for this presumptuous and possessive gesture. ZAP.
3) Make one full Epicurious meal. I will dice, mince, julienne, grate. I will whisk the butter, zest the orange. I will even traverse Thailand to acquire the random spice that I cannot pronounce, tastes similar to cayenne pepper, but apparently takes the meal to an entirely different level.
4) Separate the chaff. Literally. I will venture to a field, gather grains and remove the glumes. Perhaps this will be on the same journey to find the aforementioned spice.
5) Rock a toothpick. It is in my blood; my dad constantly carried toothpicks until they were replaced by his pocket dental utensil, but I want to keep this old school. I picked up mint flavored toothpicks the other day and decided they are going to be my new prop. Providential timing, as my look was flirting with stagnation. I have not yet decided whether to introduce the toothpick to all aspects of my life or merely relevant social situations. Wherever I decide, the benefits are undeniable: it exudes provocative mystery, acts as a conversation piece, entertains me when I find my company bland; plus, it can be used as a weapon should someone pester me. Poke, poke.
6) Go to the dentist as I have not been in four years. Gasp. Relax. I can predict what they are going to say: "Your bottom teeth, the ones that no one sees, are a bit out of alignment, you have potential for a cavity to develop ten years from now, and if your mouth shrinks, you will not have room for your wisdom teeth. We recommend you take action immediately. Also, you should floss more." Never mind, I am taking this one off this list.
7) Perfect the ampersand. Though my chicken scratch penmanship mirrors that of an eight year old boy, I pride myself on exquisite symbols. I have beautiful tildes, appropriately spaced ellipsis and seductive curly brackets, but my ampersand leaves much to be desired.
8) Stop being awkward around Spanish speaking workers. I am a friendly person and generally engage all building employees in passing conversation. When interacting with Hispanic workers, however, my thought process goes something like this: "English or Spanish? I want to be considerate. Look to the floor while you decide. I do not want to assume they know English and have them flounder in conversation, but my Spanish is sub-par. If I start an actual conversation with them in Spanish, I will surely flounder. Ahhh we made eye contact." Then: "Hola. Como esta? Me llamo Anna. Me gusta queso. Adios!" Sheepishly be on my way...
In all seriousness, I do have goals for 2014 relating to my career, relationships, and physical prowess. I believe there is incredible merit in deliberately deciding directional focus*. If I reveal my focus in these areas, however, another may steal my insights and take over the world before me. I am certainly not about to give all that up on the Internet. That's what she said.
* Apparently, there is no month 15.
* As well as cool alliteration.
1) Feats of food: Chugged a mug of cheese, caught a cupcake in my mouth.
2) Beat the company co-founder in tennis.
3) Went the entire year without being pulled over for speeding. I got pulled over for swerving, lack of license plates and incorrect registration stickers*. But not speeding.
4) Discovered a new perfume, arguably more attractive than my ten year staple scent.
5) Did not take one picture with my hand on my hip, the most common of female poses.
It is clear 2013 was a success, but I think it important to look expectantly toward the future rather than rest on my laurels. As I set goals for myself, I keep in mind the rule of SMART: Such Magnificence Always Requires Tweaking. Below are the few I deemed most pertinent:
1) Make she a prude. Restore her dignity. This is an initiative originating in 2013 to be pursued with increased vigor this year. The proverbial she, in "That's what she said" is constantly degrading herself, further encouraging the objectification of women. I plan to change this perception by having her reference restraint. "Do not go there." "Closed for the evening." "Stop." Etc.
2) Invent. I am currently inclined to create an electric shock device I can place on the small of my back to fend off overzealous pursuers. There are two people allowed to touch that region. Me, when I have an itch or want to draw attention to my chest in an awkward manner, and my imaginary masseuse. Not you, idiot at the bar who thinks our mutual interest in IPAs is a green light for this presumptuous and possessive gesture. ZAP.
3) Make one full Epicurious meal. I will dice, mince, julienne, grate. I will whisk the butter, zest the orange. I will even traverse Thailand to acquire the random spice that I cannot pronounce, tastes similar to cayenne pepper, but apparently takes the meal to an entirely different level.
4) Separate the chaff. Literally. I will venture to a field, gather grains and remove the glumes. Perhaps this will be on the same journey to find the aforementioned spice.
6) Go to the dentist as I have not been in four years. Gasp. Relax. I can predict what they are going to say: "Your bottom teeth, the ones that no one sees, are a bit out of alignment, you have potential for a cavity to develop ten years from now, and if your mouth shrinks, you will not have room for your wisdom teeth. We recommend you take action immediately. Also, you should floss more." Never mind, I am taking this one off this list.
7) Perfect the ampersand. Though my chicken scratch penmanship mirrors that of an eight year old boy, I pride myself on exquisite symbols. I have beautiful tildes, appropriately spaced ellipsis and seductive curly brackets, but my ampersand leaves much to be desired.
8) Stop being awkward around Spanish speaking workers. I am a friendly person and generally engage all building employees in passing conversation. When interacting with Hispanic workers, however, my thought process goes something like this: "English or Spanish? I want to be considerate. Look to the floor while you decide. I do not want to assume they know English and have them flounder in conversation, but my Spanish is sub-par. If I start an actual conversation with them in Spanish, I will surely flounder. Ahhh we made eye contact." Then: "Hola. Como esta? Me llamo Anna. Me gusta queso. Adios!" Sheepishly be on my way...
In all seriousness, I do have goals for 2014 relating to my career, relationships, and physical prowess. I believe there is incredible merit in deliberately deciding directional focus*. If I reveal my focus in these areas, however, another may steal my insights and take over the world before me. I am certainly not about to give all that up on the Internet. That's what she said.
* Apparently, there is no month 15.
* As well as cool alliteration.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
6 Thoughts Regarding the Latrine
Lists seem to be the latest attention grabber. Thank you, Buzzfeed.
The list speaks to those driven by checking item after item, eliciting a feeling of success. Getting through point two is far more satisfying than paragraph two. Plus, there is a definite end which encourages the reader to press onward. I wonder if there are studies regarding the effectiveness of the number vs word in the title or which number draws the largest crowd. Maybe people are attracted to sleek numbers like 11 or 14, or maybe ones with healthy curves are more inviting - 23, 36 and the like. Research pending.
The whole idea of the list seems a bit too structured for me, but perhaps it will increase my already booming readership.
I have a lot of thoughts regarding public bathrooms, likely because much of my solid thinking occurs in the stall. It is a space of sweet solace from the hustle and bustle of online marketing, and due to the approximate six liters I drink per work day, I frequent it more than most. I think it a shame to keep profound nuggets confined to the latrine, and so I will share.
1) There are two types of people in the world. Those who avoid a dirty stall in disgust and those who remedy the problem. No one enjoys turning into a stall with a soiled toilet, whatever its contents, but rather than simply walking away, some choose to flush the toilet, sparing others from the site. If you do not make the two second sacrifice, the duty falls to another. With the exception of a legitimately clogged toilet, I encourage all to take this small step toward benefiting society.
2) There are three types of people in the world. Those who immediately ask for assistance in finding the bathroom, those who survey the landscape and seek guidance only if necessary and those who stubbornly wander aimlessly into the kitchen because they are too proud to ask directions. As a waitress at a restaurant with only one logical path to the restroom, I tired from those tapping my arm as I balance five martinis, inquiring of the bathroom's location in a panicked tone. I am not asking you to walk through a veritable maze to reach the restroom, but when the bar is in front of you, and the outdoors is to your right and behind you, common sense leads you on a leisurely, logistically certain stroll to your left. Godspeed, friend.
3) Once I find my way to public restrooms, I do not want to figure out which door I am to enter. Restaurants, hotels, bars: use your creativity to improve the overall ambiance, not to leave me guessing whether I am a horse or steer, chicken or rooster, queso or quesa. It can leave one quite confused.
4) I contend the bathroom is the cleanest space in the workplace. My office mates have the habit of walking around bare foot, but when venturing to the bathroom, most everyone wears shoes. I understand the negative stigma society places on the bathroom, and call me a hippie, but I have no problem going to the bathroom sans shoes if I am meandering about the office in that manner. After all, the bathroom is thoroughly Lysoled and disinfected every evening, whereas the carpet is vacuumed once a week. Even then, the fibers could be harboring countless germs. The potential of stepping in something unsavory is a defense for shoes, but since we are not at a dingy bar on a Friday night, the chances of this are slim to none. There are also those that say walking bare foot is disgusting at all times, and to that I offer a nod of acknowledgment.
5) I do not think automatic sinks are that neat. You cannot control the water temperature. I have been told all my life I am supposed to sing 'Happy Birthday' as I thoroughly scrub my hands under warm water, but since I have no control over temperature, the water is cold by the end of the first line. And the germs live on. I leave the bathroom with dirtier hands than bare feet.
6) Were I to be given the responsibility of office renovation, my highest priority would be the bathroom because of its level of intimacy. I have an ultimate vision of marble floors, granite counter tops, floor length skinny mirrors and a small waterfall. At the very least, I recommend stall doors extending to the floor, soothing music transporting one to the Enchanted Forest and a painted wall. I vacillate as to the color, but it definitely needs to exude serenity, so perhaps a taupe or mauve. The bathroom must be a place of refuge, not one of self conscience inhibitions.
Next time, please join me for 14 reasons why I am a better driver than 85% of Charlottesville.
The list speaks to those driven by checking item after item, eliciting a feeling of success. Getting through point two is far more satisfying than paragraph two. Plus, there is a definite end which encourages the reader to press onward. I wonder if there are studies regarding the effectiveness of the number vs word in the title or which number draws the largest crowd. Maybe people are attracted to sleek numbers like 11 or 14, or maybe ones with healthy curves are more inviting - 23, 36 and the like. Research pending.
The whole idea of the list seems a bit too structured for me, but perhaps it will increase my already booming readership.
I have a lot of thoughts regarding public bathrooms, likely because much of my solid thinking occurs in the stall. It is a space of sweet solace from the hustle and bustle of online marketing, and due to the approximate six liters I drink per work day, I frequent it more than most. I think it a shame to keep profound nuggets confined to the latrine, and so I will share.
1) There are two types of people in the world. Those who avoid a dirty stall in disgust and those who remedy the problem. No one enjoys turning into a stall with a soiled toilet, whatever its contents, but rather than simply walking away, some choose to flush the toilet, sparing others from the site. If you do not make the two second sacrifice, the duty falls to another. With the exception of a legitimately clogged toilet, I encourage all to take this small step toward benefiting society.
2) There are three types of people in the world. Those who immediately ask for assistance in finding the bathroom, those who survey the landscape and seek guidance only if necessary and those who stubbornly wander aimlessly into the kitchen because they are too proud to ask directions. As a waitress at a restaurant with only one logical path to the restroom, I tired from those tapping my arm as I balance five martinis, inquiring of the bathroom's location in a panicked tone. I am not asking you to walk through a veritable maze to reach the restroom, but when the bar is in front of you, and the outdoors is to your right and behind you, common sense leads you on a leisurely, logistically certain stroll to your left. Godspeed, friend.
3) Once I find my way to public restrooms, I do not want to figure out which door I am to enter. Restaurants, hotels, bars: use your creativity to improve the overall ambiance, not to leave me guessing whether I am a horse or steer, chicken or rooster, queso or quesa. It can leave one quite confused.
4) I contend the bathroom is the cleanest space in the workplace. My office mates have the habit of walking around bare foot, but when venturing to the bathroom, most everyone wears shoes. I understand the negative stigma society places on the bathroom, and call me a hippie, but I have no problem going to the bathroom sans shoes if I am meandering about the office in that manner. After all, the bathroom is thoroughly Lysoled and disinfected every evening, whereas the carpet is vacuumed once a week. Even then, the fibers could be harboring countless germs. The potential of stepping in something unsavory is a defense for shoes, but since we are not at a dingy bar on a Friday night, the chances of this are slim to none. There are also those that say walking bare foot is disgusting at all times, and to that I offer a nod of acknowledgment.
5) I do not think automatic sinks are that neat. You cannot control the water temperature. I have been told all my life I am supposed to sing 'Happy Birthday' as I thoroughly scrub my hands under warm water, but since I have no control over temperature, the water is cold by the end of the first line. And the germs live on. I leave the bathroom with dirtier hands than bare feet.
6) Were I to be given the responsibility of office renovation, my highest priority would be the bathroom because of its level of intimacy. I have an ultimate vision of marble floors, granite counter tops, floor length skinny mirrors and a small waterfall. At the very least, I recommend stall doors extending to the floor, soothing music transporting one to the Enchanted Forest and a painted wall. I vacillate as to the color, but it definitely needs to exude serenity, so perhaps a taupe or mauve. The bathroom must be a place of refuge, not one of self conscience inhibitions.
Next time, please join me for 14 reasons why I am a better driver than 85% of Charlottesville.
Monday, October 7, 2013
The Most Expensive Banana Never Eaten
A thirteen hour flight must be tackled with strategy.
1) Passport. After the dreadful displacement of 2011, I am so paranoid about losing my passport, I highly doubt it will reoccur. I routinely place it in the smallest pocket of my luggage and transport said luggage to my vehicle only upon the day of departure. Idiot proof - or at least Anna proof.
2) Clothes. The outfit must be the ideal balance between comfort and adjustable temperature, one difficult to strike. Sneaks are obvious, paired with calf length leggings, stretchy enough to reach my ankles should the plane ac blow vigorously. Clothing the upper body requires a bit more tact. I begin with a shelf bra tank top, knowing all to well the grating nature of under wire. Since society demands a certain level of discreteness, I layer a loose tank top to hide potential protrusions. The sweatshirt is a zip-up for ease of removal, and my look is completed with a loose head band to keep hair at bay while not tugging follicles.
3) Appropriate level of exhaustion. I begin the morning with a vigorous workout, spend four hours at the office and drive to Dulles. I entertain myself the first leg of the journey with John Grisham's latest work, knowing I can not concede to the seduction of sleep. Further, my final flight coincides with a bedtime of one o'clock in the morning, well past my usual time of retirement.
4) Food and water - yes, even the bare essentials require a systematic approach. I choose not to risk the entrance of foreign substances into my digestive track when the only place of relief is a 1'x 2' box that smells either sterile or foul. I have a simple sandwich and banana for dinner. Prior to boarding my marathon flight, I buy a two liter water, easily transferable to my own dispenser, to avoid dehydration. Although I plan on sleeping through this entire flight, I need to be prepared for an onset of insatiable hunger. I choose a granola bar, dried fruit and a banana (which I have trouble justifying because I already had one banana), pay the reasonable price of twenty dollars, and meander confidently aboard.
5) Generally I have no issue sleeping in any position amidst copious amount of noise, as numerous professors can attest. Leaving nothing to chance, however, it is time for the piece de resistance - pharmaceudicals. I swallow half a sleeping pill as instructed by a friend, curl into a cozy ball and enter blissful rest.
After ten hours of sleep, I awake with only three hours remaining. Those passed quite smoothly with a cup of coffee and an omelet. Despite my aversion to airline food, I find the odds of infecting eggs is quite slim so I partake. The fleeting thought of a banana passes through my conscience but makes a quick exit.
The plane lands at 6:55 AM New Zealand time, and I disembark with a spring in my step, knowing I had conquered the travel woes of others with ease. I even have the mental wherewithal to buy alcohol at the duty free shop. There is a deal on the desired rum, 2 for $69, a veritable steal. My spirits heighten.
I continue on my trek to customs, disregarding the sign prompting me to rid myself of all biohazards, focused on an exhilerating destination. I smile widely at the agent, knowing my vacation is within reach, and when asked about the food I claimed, I reassure him it is merely granola bars for my sister. All processed. Nothing fresh.
I place each bag on the conveyor belt for x-rays, including my purse, which I consider odd since it has already been through a security check point in America. The yellow satchel comes through the machine, and the following exchange ensues.
Agent: Is this yours?
Me: Yes
Agent: You are aware of all contents of your purse?
Me: Yes
My head: What if the sleeping pill is actually illegal? Should I confess it?
Agent: Your customs sheet is correct?
Me: Yes
My head: Why do they make me fill this sheet out when I first am roused? Alright, I will come clean regarding the half sleeping pill.
Me: I do have a pill in there.
My head: I hope this does not parallel Brokedown Palace, landing me in a New Zealand prison the remainder of my life. What could be in there? Perhaps the family man playing tetris beside me was not as innocent as he seemed.
Agent (pulling out a banana that is now passed ripe): Please come with me.
Me (rolling my eyes): You have got to be kidding me.
Agent: This is a biohazard.
My head: Your face is a biohazard.
Me: I bought this at a Starbuck's, I forgot about it, please have mercy on me.
Agent: Please read this.
I read and am informed I owe the small fine of $400, the tinge of which was lessened slightly upon realizing that was only about $340 US dollars.
Me: Do you enjoy doing this?
My head: Do you realize you are only in this position because you could never be a cop, or even a traffic cop? There are real criminals out there and you are enacting a sick power trip on an innocent, health conscience girl. You are adopted and your parents do not even love you.
Silence.
Me: Sugar.
I am happy to assure you New Zealand has been compensating for this rude welcoming with wine, food and gorgeous scenery. As for my relationship with the banana, I had a nibble of a friend's yesterday. Though I have faith our fire will be rekindled, it will certainly take time to heal the wound inflicted by the most expensive banana never eaten.
1) Passport. After the dreadful displacement of 2011, I am so paranoid about losing my passport, I highly doubt it will reoccur. I routinely place it in the smallest pocket of my luggage and transport said luggage to my vehicle only upon the day of departure. Idiot proof - or at least Anna proof.
2) Clothes. The outfit must be the ideal balance between comfort and adjustable temperature, one difficult to strike. Sneaks are obvious, paired with calf length leggings, stretchy enough to reach my ankles should the plane ac blow vigorously. Clothing the upper body requires a bit more tact. I begin with a shelf bra tank top, knowing all to well the grating nature of under wire. Since society demands a certain level of discreteness, I layer a loose tank top to hide potential protrusions. The sweatshirt is a zip-up for ease of removal, and my look is completed with a loose head band to keep hair at bay while not tugging follicles.
3) Appropriate level of exhaustion. I begin the morning with a vigorous workout, spend four hours at the office and drive to Dulles. I entertain myself the first leg of the journey with John Grisham's latest work, knowing I can not concede to the seduction of sleep. Further, my final flight coincides with a bedtime of one o'clock in the morning, well past my usual time of retirement.
4) Food and water - yes, even the bare essentials require a systematic approach. I choose not to risk the entrance of foreign substances into my digestive track when the only place of relief is a 1'x 2' box that smells either sterile or foul. I have a simple sandwich and banana for dinner. Prior to boarding my marathon flight, I buy a two liter water, easily transferable to my own dispenser, to avoid dehydration. Although I plan on sleeping through this entire flight, I need to be prepared for an onset of insatiable hunger. I choose a granola bar, dried fruit and a banana (which I have trouble justifying because I already had one banana), pay the reasonable price of twenty dollars, and meander confidently aboard.
5) Generally I have no issue sleeping in any position amidst copious amount of noise, as numerous professors can attest. Leaving nothing to chance, however, it is time for the piece de resistance - pharmaceudicals. I swallow half a sleeping pill as instructed by a friend, curl into a cozy ball and enter blissful rest.
After ten hours of sleep, I awake with only three hours remaining. Those passed quite smoothly with a cup of coffee and an omelet. Despite my aversion to airline food, I find the odds of infecting eggs is quite slim so I partake. The fleeting thought of a banana passes through my conscience but makes a quick exit.
The plane lands at 6:55 AM New Zealand time, and I disembark with a spring in my step, knowing I had conquered the travel woes of others with ease. I even have the mental wherewithal to buy alcohol at the duty free shop. There is a deal on the desired rum, 2 for $69, a veritable steal. My spirits heighten.
I continue on my trek to customs, disregarding the sign prompting me to rid myself of all biohazards, focused on an exhilerating destination. I smile widely at the agent, knowing my vacation is within reach, and when asked about the food I claimed, I reassure him it is merely granola bars for my sister. All processed. Nothing fresh.
I place each bag on the conveyor belt for x-rays, including my purse, which I consider odd since it has already been through a security check point in America. The yellow satchel comes through the machine, and the following exchange ensues.
Agent: Is this yours?
Me: Yes
Agent: You are aware of all contents of your purse?
Me: Yes
My head: What if the sleeping pill is actually illegal? Should I confess it?
Agent: Your customs sheet is correct?
Me: Yes
My head: Why do they make me fill this sheet out when I first am roused? Alright, I will come clean regarding the half sleeping pill.
Me: I do have a pill in there.
My head: I hope this does not parallel Brokedown Palace, landing me in a New Zealand prison the remainder of my life. What could be in there? Perhaps the family man playing tetris beside me was not as innocent as he seemed.
Agent (pulling out a banana that is now passed ripe): Please come with me.
Me (rolling my eyes): You have got to be kidding me.
Agent: This is a biohazard.
My head: Your face is a biohazard.
Me: I bought this at a Starbuck's, I forgot about it, please have mercy on me.
Agent: Please read this.
I read and am informed I owe the small fine of $400, the tinge of which was lessened slightly upon realizing that was only about $340 US dollars.
Me: Do you enjoy doing this?
My head: Do you realize you are only in this position because you could never be a cop, or even a traffic cop? There are real criminals out there and you are enacting a sick power trip on an innocent, health conscience girl. You are adopted and your parents do not even love you.
Silence.
Me: Sugar.
I am happy to assure you New Zealand has been compensating for this rude welcoming with wine, food and gorgeous scenery. As for my relationship with the banana, I had a nibble of a friend's yesterday. Though I have faith our fire will be rekindled, it will certainly take time to heal the wound inflicted by the most expensive banana never eaten.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Three Years!
Hey there, friend. I just group skyped with my sisters for the first time, and it was fantastic. There are a lot of wonderful people in my life, but I do not think I will ever laugh as hard with anyone else.
You know what's crazy? Tomorrow marks my three year anniversary in Charlottesville. I thought I would let you know, as I plan on celebrating so will be unable to offer a provocative reflection the day of. I know you will miss my pontifications, but fear not, there will be more wistful musings in the coming weeks - I can feel it. For now, I will give you some brief life updates since last we spoke.
I was recently promoted which is a testament to God's faithfulness; I sincerely appreciate the path he lay for me thus far, and am excited to continue walking it purposefully. I am also hoping this position will eventually give me the authority to restructure our bathrooms. Corporate bathrooms should be a place of solace and relaxation, but because of cultural stigmas associated with certain matters, it can become an uncomfortable burden a worker should not have to bare. My solution is threefold:
1) Doors extending to the floor to hide incriminating feet
2) Soothing music, easily accessible via iPod, to ease the employee's disposition
3) Varied paint and tile colors, further contributing to the overall ambiance
Even if this authority is not granted, I see myself growing abundantly.
Speaking of God, I have been considering the human body lately. Mainly, just my eyelids. I would like to suggest they be fashioned a bit thicker, so when I lay down for a nap, it is not interrupted by a momentary white flash across my television screen.
Also related to the new job, I have officially turned in my server's apron... for now. We have a deep, passionate history, and I am extremely sad to bid that part of my life a temporary adieu, but for the sake of mental stamina, it is necessary.
This past weekend I was acting coordinator for a friend's wedding. It was my first Virginia wedding, and as suspected, the vineyard views were simply breathtaking, although I was reminded that I cry more during sporting events than I do at weddings. My favorite part was probably having the opportunity to greet guests and encourage them to "enjoy the nuptuals." I also caught the bouquet, but this does not fit with my four year plan. Why four years, you ask? In four years, my niece and nephew will be of perfect ring bearer and flower girl age. That's all. I do know should I ever saunter down the aisle, I will be wearing a huge smile and will give my dad a very large hug.
I have a new temporary goal: spur the NSA to knock on my apartment door after generating suspicion. More to come on my progress.
I know this post is super disjointed, but I did not want to neglect you in the midst of the chaos that is the end of summer. I will offer more cohesive thoughts soon.
You know what's crazy? Tomorrow marks my three year anniversary in Charlottesville. I thought I would let you know, as I plan on celebrating so will be unable to offer a provocative reflection the day of. I know you will miss my pontifications, but fear not, there will be more wistful musings in the coming weeks - I can feel it. For now, I will give you some brief life updates since last we spoke.
I was recently promoted which is a testament to God's faithfulness; I sincerely appreciate the path he lay for me thus far, and am excited to continue walking it purposefully. I am also hoping this position will eventually give me the authority to restructure our bathrooms. Corporate bathrooms should be a place of solace and relaxation, but because of cultural stigmas associated with certain matters, it can become an uncomfortable burden a worker should not have to bare. My solution is threefold:
1) Doors extending to the floor to hide incriminating feet
2) Soothing music, easily accessible via iPod, to ease the employee's disposition
3) Varied paint and tile colors, further contributing to the overall ambiance
Even if this authority is not granted, I see myself growing abundantly.
Speaking of God, I have been considering the human body lately. Mainly, just my eyelids. I would like to suggest they be fashioned a bit thicker, so when I lay down for a nap, it is not interrupted by a momentary white flash across my television screen.
Also related to the new job, I have officially turned in my server's apron... for now. We have a deep, passionate history, and I am extremely sad to bid that part of my life a temporary adieu, but for the sake of mental stamina, it is necessary.
This past weekend I was acting coordinator for a friend's wedding. It was my first Virginia wedding, and as suspected, the vineyard views were simply breathtaking, although I was reminded that I cry more during sporting events than I do at weddings. My favorite part was probably having the opportunity to greet guests and encourage them to "enjoy the nuptuals." I also caught the bouquet, but this does not fit with my four year plan. Why four years, you ask? In four years, my niece and nephew will be of perfect ring bearer and flower girl age. That's all. I do know should I ever saunter down the aisle, I will be wearing a huge smile and will give my dad a very large hug.
I have a new temporary goal: spur the NSA to knock on my apartment door after generating suspicion. More to come on my progress.
I know this post is super disjointed, but I did not want to neglect you in the midst of the chaos that is the end of summer. I will offer more cohesive thoughts soon.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Lessons from a Protein Shake
I have resolved to remove processed sugar and alcohol from my diet this week, imposing a more regimented self discipline than the usual, "only eat half a bag of Powerberries*." Protein shakes are a great supplement because they
1) Contain, you guessed it, protein, which aids in the post workout recovery process and
2) Taste like a milkshake when I close my eyes and dream
I prepared said indulgence last night and, lacking motivation, did not rinse the cup. Tonight I revisited the vessel with the same lackluster mentality but realized it must be cleaned. Unfortunately, the residue had settled, rendering the scrubbing process infinitely more irritating. I experienced the same frustration when I cleaned my bathroom Sunday after no less than three three months. I now understand the reasoning behind my mother's once a week cleaning schedule.
So how do we apply this lesson to life as a whole? Maybe it is to clean more often, although I highly doubt I will touch my bathroom in the next month. As I begrudged the residue for accumulating, I realized it was not the residue's fault but rather my neglect. Often, we tarry out of laziness, be it in commitments, patterns of behavior or any other aspect of daily life. This only exacerbates inward conflicts, and by not confronting these immediately, we passively permit them to become a larger nuisance than necessary. Clean out the filth at the onset, and one will have a much cleaner kitchen.
The thought of the evening is brought to you courtesy of an out-of-the-apartment room mate and a perfect summer night on a patio. The last two posts portray an attempt at insightful perception, so I promise the next post will be about something silly.
*If you know not the power of these morsels, do yourself a favor and pick up a bag from Trader Joe's. They may change your life.
1) Contain, you guessed it, protein, which aids in the post workout recovery process and
2) Taste like a milkshake when I close my eyes and dream
I prepared said indulgence last night and, lacking motivation, did not rinse the cup. Tonight I revisited the vessel with the same lackluster mentality but realized it must be cleaned. Unfortunately, the residue had settled, rendering the scrubbing process infinitely more irritating. I experienced the same frustration when I cleaned my bathroom Sunday after no less than three three months. I now understand the reasoning behind my mother's once a week cleaning schedule.
So how do we apply this lesson to life as a whole? Maybe it is to clean more often, although I highly doubt I will touch my bathroom in the next month. As I begrudged the residue for accumulating, I realized it was not the residue's fault but rather my neglect. Often, we tarry out of laziness, be it in commitments, patterns of behavior or any other aspect of daily life. This only exacerbates inward conflicts, and by not confronting these immediately, we passively permit them to become a larger nuisance than necessary. Clean out the filth at the onset, and one will have a much cleaner kitchen.
The thought of the evening is brought to you courtesy of an out-of-the-apartment room mate and a perfect summer night on a patio. The last two posts portray an attempt at insightful perception, so I promise the next post will be about something silly.
*If you know not the power of these morsels, do yourself a favor and pick up a bag from Trader Joe's. They may change your life.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Embracing Square One
Hello, square one, we meet again. I will warn you, I have also met with a glass of wine and five episodes of Scrubs this evening. That show always draws a tear or two to my eyes, so yes, you may expect an introverted pontification. Possibly a tangent as well.
My sister had a child recently, Mabel Josephine. The child is absolutely darling, and I expect she will emulate her mother's joyous spirit. Consistent with her nature, Lydia already has an abundance of nicknames for the child, her current being Zupertine. I think this sounds like an empire, probably because the pronunciation is akin to Byzantine, applicable because Mabel exudes stoic regalia. Upon questioning the nickname, Lydia informed me that this is one of many the child will receive. This is simply her 'Zupertine Phase.' But of course.
Lydia has always amplified the significance of phases; when I was in high school, she suggested wearing different perfumes so as to harken memories when that scent and I met again. Indeed, every time I smell Angel, I still remember sitting in the gym on a Tuesday morning in an oversized Bowling Green hoodie. I love it.
Let's bring it back. While Lydia's parenting technique may result in Mabel's response to a plethora of obscure references, it leads me to my thought of the evening. Life is full of phases, beginnings and ends. Whether in work, school, relationships or hobbies, very few aspects of our lives remain constant. For instance, I had a month stint where I was determined to be a history buff, which was quickly severed by the realization of reading required to be a history buff. Recognizing the fleeting nature of phases allows one to first fully appreciate certain certainties. More importantly, it allows one to glean insights from each phase that will further empower you in the next.
No nickname will be worthless. No perfume's scent will fall on hollow nostrils. No phase is without purpose. And each square one is different than the previous, so approach it as such, with vigor renewed by increased experience.
My sister had a child recently, Mabel Josephine. The child is absolutely darling, and I expect she will emulate her mother's joyous spirit. Consistent with her nature, Lydia already has an abundance of nicknames for the child, her current being Zupertine. I think this sounds like an empire, probably because the pronunciation is akin to Byzantine, applicable because Mabel exudes stoic regalia. Upon questioning the nickname, Lydia informed me that this is one of many the child will receive. This is simply her 'Zupertine Phase.' But of course.
Lydia has always amplified the significance of phases; when I was in high school, she suggested wearing different perfumes so as to harken memories when that scent and I met again. Indeed, every time I smell Angel, I still remember sitting in the gym on a Tuesday morning in an oversized Bowling Green hoodie. I love it.
Let's bring it back. While Lydia's parenting technique may result in Mabel's response to a plethora of obscure references, it leads me to my thought of the evening. Life is full of phases, beginnings and ends. Whether in work, school, relationships or hobbies, very few aspects of our lives remain constant. For instance, I had a month stint where I was determined to be a history buff, which was quickly severed by the realization of reading required to be a history buff. Recognizing the fleeting nature of phases allows one to first fully appreciate certain certainties. More importantly, it allows one to glean insights from each phase that will further empower you in the next.
No nickname will be worthless. No perfume's scent will fall on hollow nostrils. No phase is without purpose. And each square one is different than the previous, so approach it as such, with vigor renewed by increased experience.
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