100 Things
There was recently a note going around the world of Facebook, requesting individuals to write down 25 “random” things about themselves. I obliged, but it got me to thinking about all the things we have to say about ourselves. In reality, I believe we each have many unique and interesting facets to our lives. Why limit a list about you to only twenty five? So, I’ve come up with 100 random, but true, things about me. I hope you’re sitting down—this might take a while.
1 I love a good sale and am a sucker for price reduction. I get really excited about paying a fraction of the cost for something, anything, fabulous.
2 Getting married to Adam was, in my opinion, the best decision I’ve ever made in my life. I can’t imagine my life without him.
3 I’m horrible at good-byes and ending conversations. I love to talk, but have a hard time figuring out when it’s appropriate to depart or stop talking.
4 At any given moment, there is always a wide variety of fresh fruit in my refrigerator.
5 I’ve never eaten brussel sprouts or chicken wings. I plan to die without experiencing either.
6 I am one of four children. There is a 16 year age gap between my oldest and youngest sibling.
7 I’m horrible at taking care of my hands and nails. I have ugly, raggedy-looking nails and dry, cracked hands. To me, a manicure is a pure waste of money.
8 I love vintage and vintage-looking jewelry. I love the quality and look of something old, even if it really isn’t. I also love that old things have a story to tell—even if I have to make it up.
9 I want to be the editor of a fashion magazine when I grow up. I love the thought of writing about fashion, attending shows and having access to the coolest new stuff.
10 I’d be lost without my dog. I think she’s great, even when she wakes me up in the middle of the night by whining until I pet her.
11 There’s nothing better than the excitement of having something new. I just love admiring and owning something that’s new—it’s one of the best feelings on earth.
12 I’m a terrible cook. I’m not patient and organized enough to be a skilled chef, which is why I married one.
13 I don’t like sports. I don’t care enough to understand or become interested in the world of sports. I mostly oblige because my husband has a love affair with all sporting events.
14 I’m extremely annoyed by people who use incorrect grammar when they speak. I often hold myself back from correcting them, but cannot resist my urge to cringe.
15 I’m always multi-tasking, but I’m not very good at it. I’m very easily distracted and incredibly forgetful.
16 I try on a minimum of five outfits every morning before work. Depending on my mood, things can get ugly in my search to find an outfit.
17 I never eat 3 square meals a day. I don’t like to be tied down by real meals that don’t include a bowl of cereal.
18 Although I realize their stupidity, I am a sucker for sleazy reality shows. I watch many, many of these shows; more than I’d like to admit.
19 As a child, I wished for nothing more in life than my own dog. At age eight, I got a little brother instead.
20 My hair is the true bane of my existence. It’s thick, curly and mostly frizzy on a good day. We’ve always had a love-hate relationship.
21 I can’t live without crazy shoes. Bright colors, obnoxious patterns and pointy toes are just a few of my favorite things.
22 I rarely wear bracelets, mostly because they are too big to fit around my ridiculously small and bony wrists.
23 I was a lanky, awkward late-bloomer with crooked teeth as a child.
24 I didn’t have my first kiss until high school. (See #23.)
25 Writing is, and will always be, my life’s passion.
26 I feel sorry for people who don’t run. I think they’re missing out on something great.
27 My biggest fashion splurge: a black pebbled leather, full-price Coach bag. My greatest fashion steal: a Kenneth Cole men’s watch from DSW for less than $40. Both play a starring role in my daily life.
28 Before I met Adam, I never hit the snooze button. Now, I’m a two snoozer every morning.
29 My biggest work-related pet peeve: people who call me instead of walking down the hall to talk to me. Seriously, would it kill you to walk 10 yards?
30 I’m very critical of others, but only behind their backs.
31 I would be late to just about everything without the aid of my cell phone calendar and audible reminders.
32 I cannot control myself around snack foods. I once I start eating them, I can’t stop—so I usually don’t even start.
33 I can’t sleep unless the closet door and all drawers in my bedroom have been closed.
34 I’m still afraid of the dark, even in my own home.
35 My favorite part of the weekend is drinking coffee.
36 I hate talking politics, but I believe abortion and the death penalty are wrong. I think if you want to own a gun and you’re a responsible person, you should. I believe the sheer greed of wealthy people has led us down this horrible economic path.
37 I always feel guilty spending a lot of money on something, even if it’s worth it.
38 I can’t wait to see what my blue-eyed, blonde-haired children will really look like. I can’t wait to kiss them goodnight and teach them everything I know.
39 I have a really small mouth. As a child, the dentist pulled out several of my teeth because there wasn’t enough room in there for all of them.
40 I could happily live the rest of my life eating the exact same thing every day.
41 I have no intention of ever owning one, but anything that involves cats is absolutely hilarious to me.
42 The only way I can fall is asleep is by laying on my right side, curled into the fetal position. I can’t sleep with pants on; they are just too restricting.
43 I hate mornings and despise getting up early. Coffee is really the only redeeming quality the morning has to offer. (See #35)
44 I didn’t really enjoy high school, but I loved college.
45 I’ve never broken a bone, but I have received a black eye after falling off my bunk bed in college.
46 I carry the stress of the world in my hands and mouth. When I’m under a lot of pressure, the joints in my hands ache like nobody’s business and my mouth blooms with canker sores.
47 Like my mother, I always root for the underdog. I love a good story of someone prevailing over adversity.
48 Like my father, I’m fascinated with the story behind everything. I love hearing about a great journey or fascinating tale; I love the history behind things.
49 I don’t like milk and never drink it. I opt for soy milk instead, but only in my cereal.
50 I eat 6 hardboiled egg whites every day. People at work think I’m crazy.
51 If I don’t have a pack of gum in my purse at all times, I start to panic.
52 I own two cell phones, which I find incredibly annoying.
53 The first time Adam came to visit me in college, he got a speeding ticket because I gave him the wrong directions.
54 I refuse to give up my cell phone’s “Cincinnati number,” even though I’ve lived in Sidney for 3 years.
55 I believe DVR is the world’s greatest invention. I’d marry it if I could.
56 When I like a song, I listen to it over and over again until I no longer like it.
57 People who brag about how much things cost annoy me. We all buy things and spend money, why tell everyone about it?
58 I think astronomy is a crock, but I’m a Leo through and through—from my mane of hair to my intense love of attention.
59Before I was born my parents couldn’t agree on a name for me, so they made a bet. If I weighed less than 8 pounds, I’d be Emily. If I was over, I’d be Jessica. Emily, my mother has always said, is a name for someone who’s tiny.
60 I have a lot of freckles, many in strange places. I have one on the palm of my right hand and two on the bottom of my left foot.
61 I scrunch my nose when I laugh.
62 When I’m nervous or stressed, I chew on my lips.
63 I love sarcasm—it’s the spice of my life.
64 I’m a collector of inspirational quotes. My screensaver is always a scrolling quote, which I change each week.
65 I think Wally Lamb is the greatest writer the world has ever known.
66 I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo, but felt I needed a good reason to do so. When my grandfather died, I found my reason.
67 I’m not a big fan of reading directions, which always leads to frustration.
68 I sometimes wonder if retirement is going to be really, really boring.
69 Life, I believe, is all about perspective. Changing your thinking can change your world.
70 No matter how many times I clean and organize my office at work, it never stays that way. At home, everything is neat and organized in its proper place.
71 Much like Pavlov’s dog, I’ve become accustomed to eating fruit and protein every 3 hours. I begin a slow decline into insanity when my schedule is interrupted.
72 I really, really love my job and look forward to coming to work every day.
73 I’ve always believed that a smile and being polite can take you far.
74 When I’m talking to someone with bad teeth, it’s all I can look at during the entire conversation.
75 I’ve always been jealous of creative people who can make things. I can describe and paint you a pretty picture with words, but I can’t make squat.
76 I will never carry a small purse—ever. I need a gigantic purse to hold everything at all times.
77 I’m a rule follower through and through. I don’t like breaking rules or being part of something that doesn’t follow them. It makes me really nervous.
78 Though I have no intention of ever moving back, I’ll always feel like I left a piece of my heart in Cincinnati.
79 I’m very impatient. When I get it in my head that I want something, I have a hard time waiting around for it to happen.
80 I’ve run three half marathons and collectively, they were the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I don’t think I could ever run a full marathon.
81 I hate being stagnant. In all aspects of my life, I have an inherent need to always be working towards something specific.
82 There was a time in my life when I wasn’t happy unless I was tan. Now, I regret all the sun exposure and curse my horrible decision every time I visit the dermatologist.
83 I ask a lot of questions about everything, especially during movies and Daylight Savings Time.
84 I am a maniac behind the wheel of a car. Once the engine starts, I’m a raging lunatic. Outside of the hunk of metal, I’m really quite meek.
85 I have very realistic, very strange dreams every night that I remember almost every morning when I wake up.
86 It’s taken me 25 years to realize that the people who have the most “stuff” aren’t always the people with the most happiness.
87 I believe the creative genius behind the Target Corporation is just that—a genius.
88Mice and snakes don’t scare me, but spiders and heights do.
89 I’m always in a rush, regardless of whether it’s warranted or not.
90 I’ve never been athletic or good at sports, but have an intense love of physical activity now that I’m an adult.
91 If I could only wear one color for the rest of my life, it would be black.
92 I’m supposed to wear glasses when I drive, but I rarely do. It hasn’t caused any problems—yet.
93 I think secretaries are the most under-paid and under-appreciated employees in the world.
94 I never notice someone’s eye color, but I always know what their hands look like. In a hand lineup, I could easily identify you.
95 In college, I chipped my right front tooth on a beer bottle; I told my parents I was drinking Snapple. I’ve had a cap on that tooth ever since.
96 Gin and tonic is, and will always be, my very favorite drink.
97 I like talking about myself, but hate being asked pointed personal questions in a public arena. I find it incredibly offensive.
98 I love dressing up, even when it’s not appropriate. If I had my way, I’d always be in high heels and something fabulous and completely un-casual.
99 I’ve always been incredibly nosy and interested in being in the middle of everything. In first grade, my teacher told my parents that I need to learn how to mind my own business. You could say PR was a calling.
100 I’m not a big fan of candy, but every fall I become completely obsessed with candy corn. I consume many bags, and then retreat to a candy-free life when winter rolls around.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Thanks for the memories
Someone broke into our house today.
Our home, the place where we feel safe.
In broad daylight.
They kicked in the back door and walked right into the place we call home.
They took their time, looking through our lives and touching our things.
They opened doors, walked into the place where I sleep every night and began taking what they deemed to be valuable.
What was junk, they let me keep.
Then, they left it just as they found it.
I am, for lack of a more eloquent term, pissed. I can't say that what they took from me was of any significant value in the end, but it's the principle of the concept that has me angry. How dare you destroy my property, come into my home and take things from me? I wonder if, when they pawn off the antique jewelry and things that I cannot replace, they know how old and precious they were to me. I'd question if they look into the eyes of the woman in that antique locket as they shoved it into a pocket or rubbed a finger over her initials carefully engraved into the back. Or, if they lovingly spun that big green stone ring around their finger like I did as they wait for the pawn shop to assess its value. Surely they'll know that diamond heart necklace was a gift from my husband on our first Valentine's Day together.
When it was all over, did they walk home wondering how much money they'd get for what they had taken? I wonder if they looked around for someone who might have seen them. Were they nervous? Did they yell at my sweet dog as she barked her heart out at them in her cage? Did they think they'd get caught? Did they watch me pull out of the driveway this morning, waiting for me to leave so they could arrive?
The Sheriff's deputy told me who they suspected entered our home. Suspected who entered our neighbor's home and did the same thing to him last week. Gave me their names. Showed me where they live, just on the other side of the field behind our home. Told me how they probably did it in between their stints in the County jail. Then, told me they couldn't pin anything on them. Said they were "kids in their twenties."
I couldn't help but notice the irony. I'm a kid too, also in my twenties--with a real job and aspirations and the decency to respect the property of others. I wonder if those idiot pieces of crap and I have anything else in common.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
%$#&%@*(%&@#(!
A few Wednesdays ago was Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. As a general rule, this is a time of deep reflection, piety and servitude. Or, giving up cookies and everything that is great about the top portion of the food pyramid.
Growing up, for me it was a time to give up something that I really liked until I had that thing in front of me. Then, I’d find something else to give up. I’d proclaim I was giving up cookies until the Girl Scouts came to the door and then I decided cake was a much wiser choice. It was a pretty sweet gig until my religion-teaching mother caught on to my scheme. Now, it’s a great story to tell her sixth graders every year as Lent approaches.
These days, I’m way past giving up cookies and cake and changing my mind every week. I strive for more promising items that provide a bigger bang for my buck. When a raging pretzel addiction ruled my life in college, I gave them up for 40 days. It was borderline impossible. Last year, Adam and I decided to swear off all alcoholic beverages for Lent. It was pure torture. This year, it took some time for me to find something major to extinguish from my daily life. Once I decided on something, however, I quickly realized I had made a wise choice.
For the 40 days of Lent, I will abstain from using obscenities of any kind. I immediately knew I was onto something after explaining my choice to Adam. His reaction was priceless:
“Are you just giving up cussing at the dog or all cussing?”
Ouch. I guess I do primarily shout obscenities at the dog, though any injury or anger-inducing scenario usually invites a cussword or two. Wouldn’t you get testy when someone is vomiting on your off-white carpet? I thought so.
I have to wonder, though, how things progressed to this point. I haven’t always had such a dirty mouth, especially during my formative years, where cussing was strictly prohibited. When your mother is an English teacher (and your teacher for that matter), being polite and finding “the right words” for every occasion is a constant lesson. Being polite and having good manners was also a well-learned lesson in our home. In regards to expletives, I was taught that they are unnecessary; one can always find “better” words to use or perhaps no words at all if that plan fails. Not that my parents didn’t cuss, it was just a rarity and used in extreme conditions.
As a writer, the lesson of finding the right words is a constant. In my PR-focused world, I realize that words craft messages and feelings to the public, who forms their opinion around the things our organization does and says. I sometimes feel like a broken record, reminding my co-workers that life isn’t about what you say; it’s how you say it. Words are powerful tools and when you get them wrong, you cannot take them back. You have but one chance to show who and what you are, and what you say becomes the primary focus.
To me, writing is like painting a beautiful picture, ensuring the perfect blend of colors and textures accompany each masterpiece. Describing something so beautifully and carefully each time I sit down at my computer is like painting the Mona Lisa, regardless of the subject. Often, the subject isn’t all that wonderful or exciting—which is my favorite part.
I love both hearing and telling stories, which is what writing is truly all about. Why then, I wonder, do I have such a dirty mouth when it comes to the spoken word? As a general observation, when others curse it generally brings my perception of them back to a realistic standard. You can find someone truly charming and perceive them as quite elegant, only to hear them utter an obscenity and realize they’re just human. Or, they aren’t afraid to let others see them sweat. You know that pang of horror you feel when you realize you forgot something or made a major mistake? I sometimes feel that when I hear someone I hold in high regard utter something vile. Cursing—it’s the great equalizer.
Cussing should be like eating a decadent dessert—only in moderation and on special occasions, like your birthday. As for me, I’m realizing that inserting obscenities is a direct result of laziness and lack of consciousness. It’s become a part of me, part of how I express myself when I choose to not let my fabulous shoes do the talking for me. I think we could all stand to be more conscious about everything we do, from cursing to eating dinner and talking to others. Sure, it’s a lot more effort. But it also makes our lives much more meaningful. Don’t agree? Well, then you can just shove it up your…oops.
Growing up, for me it was a time to give up something that I really liked until I had that thing in front of me. Then, I’d find something else to give up. I’d proclaim I was giving up cookies until the Girl Scouts came to the door and then I decided cake was a much wiser choice. It was a pretty sweet gig until my religion-teaching mother caught on to my scheme. Now, it’s a great story to tell her sixth graders every year as Lent approaches.
These days, I’m way past giving up cookies and cake and changing my mind every week. I strive for more promising items that provide a bigger bang for my buck. When a raging pretzel addiction ruled my life in college, I gave them up for 40 days. It was borderline impossible. Last year, Adam and I decided to swear off all alcoholic beverages for Lent. It was pure torture. This year, it took some time for me to find something major to extinguish from my daily life. Once I decided on something, however, I quickly realized I had made a wise choice.
For the 40 days of Lent, I will abstain from using obscenities of any kind. I immediately knew I was onto something after explaining my choice to Adam. His reaction was priceless:
“Are you just giving up cussing at the dog or all cussing?”
Ouch. I guess I do primarily shout obscenities at the dog, though any injury or anger-inducing scenario usually invites a cussword or two. Wouldn’t you get testy when someone is vomiting on your off-white carpet? I thought so.
I have to wonder, though, how things progressed to this point. I haven’t always had such a dirty mouth, especially during my formative years, where cussing was strictly prohibited. When your mother is an English teacher (and your teacher for that matter), being polite and finding “the right words” for every occasion is a constant lesson. Being polite and having good manners was also a well-learned lesson in our home. In regards to expletives, I was taught that they are unnecessary; one can always find “better” words to use or perhaps no words at all if that plan fails. Not that my parents didn’t cuss, it was just a rarity and used in extreme conditions.
As a writer, the lesson of finding the right words is a constant. In my PR-focused world, I realize that words craft messages and feelings to the public, who forms their opinion around the things our organization does and says. I sometimes feel like a broken record, reminding my co-workers that life isn’t about what you say; it’s how you say it. Words are powerful tools and when you get them wrong, you cannot take them back. You have but one chance to show who and what you are, and what you say becomes the primary focus.
To me, writing is like painting a beautiful picture, ensuring the perfect blend of colors and textures accompany each masterpiece. Describing something so beautifully and carefully each time I sit down at my computer is like painting the Mona Lisa, regardless of the subject. Often, the subject isn’t all that wonderful or exciting—which is my favorite part.
I love both hearing and telling stories, which is what writing is truly all about. Why then, I wonder, do I have such a dirty mouth when it comes to the spoken word? As a general observation, when others curse it generally brings my perception of them back to a realistic standard. You can find someone truly charming and perceive them as quite elegant, only to hear them utter an obscenity and realize they’re just human. Or, they aren’t afraid to let others see them sweat. You know that pang of horror you feel when you realize you forgot something or made a major mistake? I sometimes feel that when I hear someone I hold in high regard utter something vile. Cursing—it’s the great equalizer.
Cussing should be like eating a decadent dessert—only in moderation and on special occasions, like your birthday. As for me, I’m realizing that inserting obscenities is a direct result of laziness and lack of consciousness. It’s become a part of me, part of how I express myself when I choose to not let my fabulous shoes do the talking for me. I think we could all stand to be more conscious about everything we do, from cursing to eating dinner and talking to others. Sure, it’s a lot more effort. But it also makes our lives much more meaningful. Don’t agree? Well, then you can just shove it up your…oops.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Good Enough
When it comes to how we feel about our bodies, it sometimes feels like we, as women, will never be happy. There’s always something that could be improved, from our pesky love handles that just won’t let go of the bulk to a muscle that we know is just waiting to pop out, if it weren’t covered by a layer of fat. Regardless of how hard we try or how well we eat, we always end up wishing for someone else’s body.
We’re all guilty of it: admiring someone with a ‘perfect’ body and wondering what it must be like to walk around every day looking so wonderful. We never consider, or see for that matter, the effort and pain that go into all that perfection. Maybe they spend hours each day at the gym or they have a personal trainer. Perhaps they never eat dessert, alcohol or carbs and inspect, weigh and measure every morsel of food that goes in their mouth. There’s no way to know, which is why we never really give consideration to the road leading to perfection. From where we sit, being perfect just seems to come naturally to some people.
Is there anyone who really and truly loves every part of their body? I haven’t met one yet, at least not one over the age of 5.
I often wonder what it would be like to go back to being a child again, basking in the happiness of my lack of body consciousness. Remember what that was like? You never gave consideration to how big your butt looked in jeans or whether your belly pudge was visible in your outfit. Your body was a vehicle to propel you to the other side of the playground, not something you inspected in the mirror for cellulite. It was that pure innocence, that lack of awareness that you were primarily judged by your looks, which made being a child so beautiful.
Once that great time known as puberty arrives, things quickly change from innocence to awkwardness. Your physical attributes were up for judgment and soon the thoughts about how others viewed you became painfully real. My chest wasn’t big enough (OK, maybe it was non-existent), my legs were too skinny, my hair was too crazy and my face had far too many zits. You could say I was quite the looker. Life sometimes deals us a painful hand when we don’t fit in; it’s just part of the process.
Today I look back at junior high and high school as one big, however painful, lesson. The wisdom that comes with growing older makes me realize how much time I dutifully wasted on trying to impress boys and wishing, even praying every night, that I had a bigger chest. Did I seriously think God had time to consider my chest size?
Being so self-conscious, lamenting over not having a butt and attempting to tame my crazy hair was the equivalent of treading water in the middle of the ocean. Simply trying to stay afloat, just getting by, gets us nowhere and after a while, becomes very tiring. It is truly exhausting to spend every waking hour feeling self-conscious about your body.
The adult world, in reality, isn’t all that much different than our junior high and high school tribulations. We’re still primarily judged by our looks and inspected for our flaws on a daily basis. Some of us still feel really, really awkward about our bodies. The difference is we’ve already gone through it once and we now have the maturity and quick-thinking to formulate snappy comebacks and witty one-liners to those same bullies from our playground days. Heck, even those things that you once considered to be terrible aren’t so bad once you let 10 years pass. The pair of stilts I call legs don’t look half bad these days, but the zits still don’t seem to be in vogue just yet. I’m still holding out hope, though.
We’re all guilty of it: admiring someone with a ‘perfect’ body and wondering what it must be like to walk around every day looking so wonderful. We never consider, or see for that matter, the effort and pain that go into all that perfection. Maybe they spend hours each day at the gym or they have a personal trainer. Perhaps they never eat dessert, alcohol or carbs and inspect, weigh and measure every morsel of food that goes in their mouth. There’s no way to know, which is why we never really give consideration to the road leading to perfection. From where we sit, being perfect just seems to come naturally to some people.
Is there anyone who really and truly loves every part of their body? I haven’t met one yet, at least not one over the age of 5.
I often wonder what it would be like to go back to being a child again, basking in the happiness of my lack of body consciousness. Remember what that was like? You never gave consideration to how big your butt looked in jeans or whether your belly pudge was visible in your outfit. Your body was a vehicle to propel you to the other side of the playground, not something you inspected in the mirror for cellulite. It was that pure innocence, that lack of awareness that you were primarily judged by your looks, which made being a child so beautiful.
Once that great time known as puberty arrives, things quickly change from innocence to awkwardness. Your physical attributes were up for judgment and soon the thoughts about how others viewed you became painfully real. My chest wasn’t big enough (OK, maybe it was non-existent), my legs were too skinny, my hair was too crazy and my face had far too many zits. You could say I was quite the looker. Life sometimes deals us a painful hand when we don’t fit in; it’s just part of the process.
Today I look back at junior high and high school as one big, however painful, lesson. The wisdom that comes with growing older makes me realize how much time I dutifully wasted on trying to impress boys and wishing, even praying every night, that I had a bigger chest. Did I seriously think God had time to consider my chest size?
Being so self-conscious, lamenting over not having a butt and attempting to tame my crazy hair was the equivalent of treading water in the middle of the ocean. Simply trying to stay afloat, just getting by, gets us nowhere and after a while, becomes very tiring. It is truly exhausting to spend every waking hour feeling self-conscious about your body.
The adult world, in reality, isn’t all that much different than our junior high and high school tribulations. We’re still primarily judged by our looks and inspected for our flaws on a daily basis. Some of us still feel really, really awkward about our bodies. The difference is we’ve already gone through it once and we now have the maturity and quick-thinking to formulate snappy comebacks and witty one-liners to those same bullies from our playground days. Heck, even those things that you once considered to be terrible aren’t so bad once you let 10 years pass. The pair of stilts I call legs don’t look half bad these days, but the zits still don’t seem to be in vogue just yet. I’m still holding out hope, though.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Did I do anything last year?
When an old year ends and New Year begins to peek over the horizon, we can’t help but reflect back on our successes and failures throughout last year’s calendar. Personally, I am beginning to think that I really didn’t DO anything in 2008. Or, perhaps, this year just pales in comparison to all the stuff I did the year before.
In 2006 and 2007, a lot of big things happened:
I moved
I purchased a home
I got married
I got a dog
I got a new job
In 2008, I…uh, um did projects around the house? Wait, what did I do? Surely, there was some major accomplishment or accolade during those 12 months. One cannot go an entire year without doing something noteworthy, can they? Upon further inspection, I have concluded that rather than major accomplishments, I instead had small victories along the way.
I ran a half marathon, a 5K, a 10K, completed a triathlon and attended many, many weddings. I put new handles and hinges on every single cabinet door in our kitchen. I realized it takes 3 hours to put new handles and hinges on every kitchen cabinet door. I refinished and painted an entire kitchen’s worth of cabinets, painted a 400 square-foot room, mastered the art of painting stripes, became an aunt for the second time and found out a third time is soon coming.
I dropped a gym membership and purchased a treadmill and a bicycle. I gained a new boss (twice) and aided in my second (unsuccessful) levy campaign. I bought four bedrooms worth of new carpet, helped install crown molding and (successfully, after the second try) installed two overhead light fixtures all by myself. I put new doorknobs on every door in my house. I bought new countertops and a front door and screamed as water poured from the ceiling. I rolled my eyes at the hole it left that still greets me daily.
I started a new business venture and planted a vegetable garden. I mowed the lawn on my own and stained the deck. I pulled weeds, planted flowers and laid mulch. I trimmed hedges, got a nasty sunburn and painted the mailbox post, front porch and garage. I agreed to purchase a 90-lb. solid concrete bulldog wearing a football helmet. I gasped at just how much water was in the basement and shoved a lot of moldy carpet out of a really tiny window. I enjoyed destroying a bathroom with my gloved hands and a sledgehammer. I dreamed of how great it would look someday. I nearly fainted when I realized how expensive a new bathroom is. I fell deeply in love with coffee. I let the dog lay on the furniture and rushed to “tidy up” before people came over. I organized the garage, cleaned out closets and felt really, really good about it.
I turned 25 and remembered 10 years ago when 25 was old. I gained muscle, went cold turkey on eating pretzels, drank less alcohol, drank more water and grew up a little. I gave up my one Red Bull and protein bar a day habit. I forced myself to eat grapefruit and I liked it. I held babies, heard many baby announcements and considered what it might be like to have one of my own. Then, I realized how much I like to travel and do whatever I want, whenever I want (sorry, mom).
I went to Chicago, Michigan and Cincinnati. I made plans to visit Baltimore and Colorado. I realized how expensive new brakes are and how un-squeaky they sound. I realized it’s OK to only own two hand-me-down television sets, neither of which have plasma screens. I understood why no one wanted to watch a football game at our house.
I logged many miles on the road, some painful, most enjoyable. Some involved tears, others running from dogs and cars. All meant something.
I’m sure I have missed a small accomplishment or two, but I am already beginning to feel like less of a failure. Then again, there’s always 2009 to make up for lost time.
In 2006 and 2007, a lot of big things happened:
I moved
I purchased a home
I got married
I got a dog
I got a new job
In 2008, I…uh, um did projects around the house? Wait, what did I do? Surely, there was some major accomplishment or accolade during those 12 months. One cannot go an entire year without doing something noteworthy, can they? Upon further inspection, I have concluded that rather than major accomplishments, I instead had small victories along the way.
I ran a half marathon, a 5K, a 10K, completed a triathlon and attended many, many weddings. I put new handles and hinges on every single cabinet door in our kitchen. I realized it takes 3 hours to put new handles and hinges on every kitchen cabinet door. I refinished and painted an entire kitchen’s worth of cabinets, painted a 400 square-foot room, mastered the art of painting stripes, became an aunt for the second time and found out a third time is soon coming.
I dropped a gym membership and purchased a treadmill and a bicycle. I gained a new boss (twice) and aided in my second (unsuccessful) levy campaign. I bought four bedrooms worth of new carpet, helped install crown molding and (successfully, after the second try) installed two overhead light fixtures all by myself. I put new doorknobs on every door in my house. I bought new countertops and a front door and screamed as water poured from the ceiling. I rolled my eyes at the hole it left that still greets me daily.
I started a new business venture and planted a vegetable garden. I mowed the lawn on my own and stained the deck. I pulled weeds, planted flowers and laid mulch. I trimmed hedges, got a nasty sunburn and painted the mailbox post, front porch and garage. I agreed to purchase a 90-lb. solid concrete bulldog wearing a football helmet. I gasped at just how much water was in the basement and shoved a lot of moldy carpet out of a really tiny window. I enjoyed destroying a bathroom with my gloved hands and a sledgehammer. I dreamed of how great it would look someday. I nearly fainted when I realized how expensive a new bathroom is. I fell deeply in love with coffee. I let the dog lay on the furniture and rushed to “tidy up” before people came over. I organized the garage, cleaned out closets and felt really, really good about it.
I turned 25 and remembered 10 years ago when 25 was old. I gained muscle, went cold turkey on eating pretzels, drank less alcohol, drank more water and grew up a little. I gave up my one Red Bull and protein bar a day habit. I forced myself to eat grapefruit and I liked it. I held babies, heard many baby announcements and considered what it might be like to have one of my own. Then, I realized how much I like to travel and do whatever I want, whenever I want (sorry, mom).
I went to Chicago, Michigan and Cincinnati. I made plans to visit Baltimore and Colorado. I realized how expensive new brakes are and how un-squeaky they sound. I realized it’s OK to only own two hand-me-down television sets, neither of which have plasma screens. I understood why no one wanted to watch a football game at our house.
I logged many miles on the road, some painful, most enjoyable. Some involved tears, others running from dogs and cars. All meant something.
I’m sure I have missed a small accomplishment or two, but I am already beginning to feel like less of a failure. Then again, there’s always 2009 to make up for lost time.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
We're finished...well, sorta
If homeownership has taught me nothing else, it’s that the work is never done. You fix or replace one thing, only to find another waiting in its place. Or, updating one item leads you to realize just how terrible others are. Example? Our kitchen.
You may recall our summertime painting extravaganza, what with the laborious hours with paintbrush in hand, new handles and hinges and other varied tasks. You may also recall that we painted our cabinets off-white, which looked quite terrible against our already-terrible white laminate countertops and cream-colored walls. It was a major fashion faux pas if I’ve ever seen one in a kitchen.
Fast forward four months and a lovely sight greets me as I make my oatmeal each morning. It’s pure heaven. I love the brown walls, yummy grayish-brown Formica countertops and the fact that everything no longer clashes. The journey to Wednesday’s new addition wasn’t easy, but it was totally worth it.
Adam and I spent Tuesday evening unscrewing and removing the old counters, which was much, much harder than we had ever dreamed. You see, the genius who installed our kitchen cabinets put in the cabinet bases, attached the counters with countless screws and THEN finished out the sides of the cabinets. What this meant for us was it was impossible to remove the countertops, which were firmly attached to the cabinet bases and inaccessible from the outside. After some cussing and head scratching, we realized that surgery was our only option. With Adam’s jigsaw in hand and my fingers in my ears, we began cutting holes in the countertops to access the screws below. It was ALMOST comical, mostly because it was impossible to find the screws by blindly feeling along the splinter-encrusted boards. This is how I developed my newest nickname, “The Screw Whisperer” due to my uncanny ability to locate each of the many, many screws by hand.
After that hour-long ordeal, my next favorite task was up: hauling out the 20-foot slab of laminate to the garage. I’m just as strong as I look, so there were a lot of “breaks” involved in moving the counters less than 5 yards into the garage. There’s nothing stranger than a kitchen without a sink and countertops. I spent the rest of the evening catching myself before I threw a half-empty glass of water into the hole where a sink once resided or putting my cell phone on a counter that doesn’t exist. Really, I’m a huge fan of change. Huge.
I dreamt of horrible countertop-related disasters that night, only to be awoken by “The Call” to arrange for the district’s 2-hour delay due to the incredibly icy roads. School was eventually cancelled entirely, and Adam and I spent roughly 15 minutes that morning staring at the ceiling and trading possible horror stories.
“What if the truck with our countertops crashes and they’re ruined?”
“What if we have to live with no sink for a month?”
“What if they forgot a piece and have to drive back to Columbus?”
Also, what if we’re extremely paranoid? Everything went off without a hitch, and the counters were installed in roughly an hour’s time. My favorite part was watching them fuse the two pieces together with a contraption that appeared to be from a mad scientist. There were numerous paddles, wires and gauges that created an incredibly seamless joining of two separate pieces; very impressive.
After wiping the counters off at least four times to rid them of the dust that had set up shop, I stood back and was amazed…at how terrible the walls look.
You may recall our summertime painting extravaganza, what with the laborious hours with paintbrush in hand, new handles and hinges and other varied tasks. You may also recall that we painted our cabinets off-white, which looked quite terrible against our already-terrible white laminate countertops and cream-colored walls. It was a major fashion faux pas if I’ve ever seen one in a kitchen.
Fast forward four months and a lovely sight greets me as I make my oatmeal each morning. It’s pure heaven. I love the brown walls, yummy grayish-brown Formica countertops and the fact that everything no longer clashes. The journey to Wednesday’s new addition wasn’t easy, but it was totally worth it.
Adam and I spent Tuesday evening unscrewing and removing the old counters, which was much, much harder than we had ever dreamed. You see, the genius who installed our kitchen cabinets put in the cabinet bases, attached the counters with countless screws and THEN finished out the sides of the cabinets. What this meant for us was it was impossible to remove the countertops, which were firmly attached to the cabinet bases and inaccessible from the outside. After some cussing and head scratching, we realized that surgery was our only option. With Adam’s jigsaw in hand and my fingers in my ears, we began cutting holes in the countertops to access the screws below. It was ALMOST comical, mostly because it was impossible to find the screws by blindly feeling along the splinter-encrusted boards. This is how I developed my newest nickname, “The Screw Whisperer” due to my uncanny ability to locate each of the many, many screws by hand.
After that hour-long ordeal, my next favorite task was up: hauling out the 20-foot slab of laminate to the garage. I’m just as strong as I look, so there were a lot of “breaks” involved in moving the counters less than 5 yards into the garage. There’s nothing stranger than a kitchen without a sink and countertops. I spent the rest of the evening catching myself before I threw a half-empty glass of water into the hole where a sink once resided or putting my cell phone on a counter that doesn’t exist. Really, I’m a huge fan of change. Huge.
I dreamt of horrible countertop-related disasters that night, only to be awoken by “The Call” to arrange for the district’s 2-hour delay due to the incredibly icy roads. School was eventually cancelled entirely, and Adam and I spent roughly 15 minutes that morning staring at the ceiling and trading possible horror stories.
“What if the truck with our countertops crashes and they’re ruined?”
“What if we have to live with no sink for a month?”
“What if they forgot a piece and have to drive back to Columbus?”
Also, what if we’re extremely paranoid? Everything went off without a hitch, and the counters were installed in roughly an hour’s time. My favorite part was watching them fuse the two pieces together with a contraption that appeared to be from a mad scientist. There were numerous paddles, wires and gauges that created an incredibly seamless joining of two separate pieces; very impressive.
After wiping the counters off at least four times to rid them of the dust that had set up shop, I stood back and was amazed…at how terrible the walls look.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Have you seen my motivation??
Winter does crazy things to me. It makes me feel like there are at least 23,849,732 things I’d rather do than run or submit to exercise of any kind. It’s almost as though winter has completely stifled my will to be anything but a couch potato. Then again, knowing my fate is running on a spinning belt in the basement may have something to do with it.
The summer me would shake her finger at the winter me, what with my affinity for the couch, sweat pants and snuggly socks instead of technical tees, merry outdoor jaunts and stretchy running tights. All I want to do is snack on roasted almonds while watching a mindless reality show; where’s the crime in that?
Last year, we dropped our moderately-priced memberships to the YMCA and instead invested in home exercise equipment and a treadmill. We’ll work out at home, we said while the sun wasn’t setting at 5 PM and snow was just a distant memory. Now, I drive home in the dark and despite Rudi’s whines at the sight of my running shoes, I begrudgingly head to the basement to submit to a 45-minute spin on the treadmill if the mood hits me. If I said it hasn’t gotten old, I’d be a big ol’ liar.
Exercise is a funny thing; it seems like an awful task until you get started. Memories of how good it makes you feel and look come flooding back almost immediately, causing you to wonder why you avoided it in the first place. It’s the getting there that becomes the difficult part, especially when it means heading below ground to your home’s basement.
Living in a locale where sidewalks are non-existent and the speed limit is 55 MPH also tends to cramp my style in the winter months. I mean, when it’s dark and snowy outside, I place a priority on my life rather than how muscular my calves will look in my fab new shoes at this year’s Christmas party. When desperation gets the best of me, I throw on my reflective vest, pack up the dog and we drive “into town” where they have technological advances like street lights and sidewalks. What in tarnation are them fancy things?!?
Truthfully, when the conditions are just right, running in the cool winter’s night is a spectacular outing. The Christmas lights are glowing, the air is nice and crisp and we have the well-lit sidewalks to ourselves. My sweet Rudi dog also proves to be an excellent navigator on these trips, ensuring both she and I avoid patches of ice with the greatest of ease. We operate like a well-oiled machine, watching carefully for cars and leaping after squirrels and cats when they cross our path. Nothing compares, however, to our daily jaunts in the warmer months that keep us both in the greatest of shape.
So, for now we’ll daydream about how nice a springtime run will feel from the couch while watching the Hills. Care for a roasted almond?
The summer me would shake her finger at the winter me, what with my affinity for the couch, sweat pants and snuggly socks instead of technical tees, merry outdoor jaunts and stretchy running tights. All I want to do is snack on roasted almonds while watching a mindless reality show; where’s the crime in that?
Last year, we dropped our moderately-priced memberships to the YMCA and instead invested in home exercise equipment and a treadmill. We’ll work out at home, we said while the sun wasn’t setting at 5 PM and snow was just a distant memory. Now, I drive home in the dark and despite Rudi’s whines at the sight of my running shoes, I begrudgingly head to the basement to submit to a 45-minute spin on the treadmill if the mood hits me. If I said it hasn’t gotten old, I’d be a big ol’ liar.
Exercise is a funny thing; it seems like an awful task until you get started. Memories of how good it makes you feel and look come flooding back almost immediately, causing you to wonder why you avoided it in the first place. It’s the getting there that becomes the difficult part, especially when it means heading below ground to your home’s basement.
Living in a locale where sidewalks are non-existent and the speed limit is 55 MPH also tends to cramp my style in the winter months. I mean, when it’s dark and snowy outside, I place a priority on my life rather than how muscular my calves will look in my fab new shoes at this year’s Christmas party. When desperation gets the best of me, I throw on my reflective vest, pack up the dog and we drive “into town” where they have technological advances like street lights and sidewalks. What in tarnation are them fancy things?!?
Truthfully, when the conditions are just right, running in the cool winter’s night is a spectacular outing. The Christmas lights are glowing, the air is nice and crisp and we have the well-lit sidewalks to ourselves. My sweet Rudi dog also proves to be an excellent navigator on these trips, ensuring both she and I avoid patches of ice with the greatest of ease. We operate like a well-oiled machine, watching carefully for cars and leaping after squirrels and cats when they cross our path. Nothing compares, however, to our daily jaunts in the warmer months that keep us both in the greatest of shape.
So, for now we’ll daydream about how nice a springtime run will feel from the couch while watching the Hills. Care for a roasted almond?
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