Mar

Oatmeal vs. Pizza

My husband has recently, in the last few months, been getting back into his faith. He is Catholic and therefore can not eat meat on Fridays. This is the catalyst of what lead to the the minor skirmish known as “Oatmeal vs. Pizza”.

photo credit craveonline

It all started when we realized we both worked Valentine’s day. We decided to delay our Valentine’s date until the Friday we were both off of work. We had always wanted to go to this revamped bowling alley nearby. We heard the rumors of virtual reality video games and food there being top notch.

Then we checked the prices.

Twenty bucks for one game of bowling. We were stuck.

We didn’t know what to do for our date until the next day I went to work and my boss asked me what we had planned to do for Valentine’s day and she jokingly said, “Work?” When she discovered what we had originally wanted to do, she gave us tickets to two free games of bowling. I couldn’t believe it, it was kismet.

Everything was set in motion, we would wake up, go bowling, play some video games, eat some great food and let off some steam while acting like a bunch of oversized children.

On the 16th, we arrived at our destination, tickets in my wallet ready to play. We walk in the door to be greeted by a huge abstract sculpture of a bowler. Immediately on the right was the virtual reality we heard so much about, to the left was the restaurant. We didn’t realize, this wasn’t just traditional bowling alley food. This was a definite upgrade and worthy of a Valentine’s date.

We sat down, and admittedly our eyes were bigger than our bellies. The menu had options for someone like me, who is gluten free but misses the gluttony of being able to consume a whole pizza. They had items for him who needed to be meat free on Fridays.

We both ordered pizza, mine gluten free with my usual black olive, pineapple and chicken. His; a large veggie pizza. His pizza was glorious, it had every vegetable imaginable on it from artichoke, to peppers. Mine was presented on a flat pizza pan. His was presented on a metal stand, much like a trophy worthy of the winner of the Triple Crown, gleaming in the dimly lit restaurant, light reflecting off the greasy cheese.

As I was finishing the last few bites of my pizza, I looked up to realize he had only eaten half of it before he was full. This is abnormal for him. I started to not feel well, throat sore and beginning to ache all over my body. Suddenly I didn’t feel up to playing a round of bowling. I looked up badly wanting to join the baby-boomers listening to oldies and celebrating strikes in the alleys. We somehow managed to make it to the gaming area. There I knew I could sit and rest while he had fun playing some of the more physically intense games. We had fun but my body was tired. I was tired. It was time to go home.

His pizza was in the fridge for a couple of days. I was at home sick. It just sat there, tempting me to eat it, but I knew better. The gluten would send my already dizzy head from the cold into a further downward spiral. Avoiding it, I had to look for other options.

Oatmeal and soup.

Because oatmeal is relatively inexpensive I sometimes use it as a treat or eat it when I’m hungry before bed because it doesn’t weigh so heavy on my stomach. Needless to say I consumed a lot of the oatmeal as it was soothing my throat and warming me up while I was running a fever and having chills.

My husband came home from his job hungry. He heated up some slices of his illustrious bread dripping with marinara and veggie goodness. I was sitting on the bed watching some unimportant show on my tablet. Suddenly I couldn’t take my eyes off the pizza. He sat down and when both of his hands were occupied trying to settle in to eat I snagged a piece of artichoke.

It was delicious.

My eyes were on the screen of the tablet again, with me keeping visuals on the location of his pizza in my peripherals. When both of his hands were occupied once more, one holding the plate, the other feeding himself, I stole a black olive slice. He then uttered the words I will never forget.

“HEY! I don’t go dipping my fingers into your oatmeal when you’re eating!”

Yes, because oatmeal is the equivalent to a piece of Italian-American artistry conceived out of convenience and genius.

Yes, because you can walk into any restaurant and they will have entire menus written on their hipster chalkboards about how their oatmeal has components that were free range and raised in a good home.

Yes, because there are hordes of restaurants dedicated to the many various ways you can prepare oatmeal inventively and consistently make new and traditional dishes from it.

Yes, because oatmeal is America’s sweetheart.

NOT pizza.

What is something you and your significant other have had a disagreement or funny moment over?

Jun

I toad you so…

The other day my husband and I were off from work when my dad came into the room and asked, “Okay, so who can get rid of a snake and a toad?”

My husband and I looked at eachother and we leapt into action. While we were putting our shoes on I asked dad what his deal was with the toad. Ever since I was a kid he made it very clear he didn’t like snakes. The toad phobia however, was new to me. I questioned him about it.

“Oh, it’s that old wives tale that toads give you warts.”

“You know that isn’t true dad, right?”

“Yeah, I know but I still can’t help it.”

The snake was in the garage, the toad was on the front door thus trapping my father inside keeping him from doing gardening.

My husband and I went into the garage to extricate the snake. Secretly while all of this was going on I was fulfilling a life long dream of becoming Ace Ventura. Armed with a bucket, a stick to gently scoot it out of the way, gloves and tenacity we were able to coax it out. Then it would get scared and go back in the garage.

While our circus was going on my mom came out to get back to gardening. We kept telling her to stay back (we knew we had irritated the snake) when she calmly said, “I know,” unfazed by the snake trying to figure out what she needed.

My dad was staying his distance behind us.

My husband’s patience wore out with the snake so he finally picked it up, it promptly bit him on the glove and he released it into the driveway. He created some new dance moves while trying to keep the snake from going back.

Mission completed. Next we had to get the toad. Since he handled the snake, I figured I could get the toad.

The toad had wedged itself in the crevice between the door and the frame. It looked bored. So I spiced up it’s life by talking to it and gently trying to scoop it into my hands. It used to be so easy when I was 7, but in my older years, animals tend to be less receptive to me. Then again maybe that’s my perception giving way to the magic of childhood. The toad was stubborn. Like the snake, it too, had enough.

The toad performed a body slam to my nose, landing in the middle of my face with its crotch dangling by my mouth. A guttural shout came from the bowels of the defiant part of myself that thinks it’s the animal whisperer.

I flung my face down and to the left where the toad splattered itself by the nearest flower pot. Though it was unharmed it still made a satisfying sound for a creature that had the audacity to attack me with it’s nether region.

Meanwhile my parents were working on the garden, laughing, while my husband gave a sympathetic look and said, “Go wash your face.”

Now I know the real reason dad didn’t want to catch the toad.

Has anything like this happened to you? What did you do?

Jan

Dancing in the rain …with hallucinations

They say that life is learning how to dance in the rain. They say when it rains it pours. The last four months of 2015 my family and I experienced both aphorisms.

September started out wonderfully. My inner child came out to play during a lesson I was teaching on Jackson Pollock to young children. We slung paint, and danced to jazz on our canvases. Life couldn’t be better. I just had my birthday, my husband was back in school doing something he loved; things were looking up.

Two days later, I had come home from my second job, settled in for a nap when my phone kept going off. Finally I realized it was my husband’s work calling; he was on his way to the hospital. My parents and I rushed to the hospital, my husband’s parents came from over an hour away. He had a side effect from trying to complete extra credit for his religious studies program he just enlisted in. He was fasting, eating an egg during the morning and nothing else until sundown. The second day is when he went to the hospital. By the time his parents got there, he was still vomiting, and we discovered through the whole ordeal, he had received 5 concussions and a hairline fracture. Needless to say, this impaired some of his thinking.

When he was in one of his awake moments, I shared a special memory with him. He was wired up to all these different machines, they were used to monitor his heart rhythms, and his activity. He looked over at me and motioned with his fingers we should go for a walk. I looked at him and told him there wasn’t any way for us to do so until he got some rest. He then genuinely pouted like a 5 year old. Five seconds later he had forgotten he had just asked me to go for a walk. He then started his plea for going on a walk like this:

“We’re going go steal a chicken.”

I said, “And then what?”

He continued, “We’re gonna ask it whose it’s daddy is.”

“And then what?”

“We’re gonna steal it’s egg!”

“Oh really? Then what?”

“Then we’re gonna eat it.” He then gently thrust off the blankets while still being hooked up to machines and said, “Hurry, let’s get outta here before they’re on to us!”

After I told him he had to stay in the bed he pouted again and fell asleep. Later in the evening his father and I had to force feed him his dinner, time it it for each portion he was eating and we had to make sure he got his nourishment. His parents and I took turns watching him in the hospital, and once he was released, my parents watched him at night while I slept to continue working my two jobs.

He had many doctors visits after that, but it was that moment talking about the chickens that I remember the most. That and him remembering how to recite Hebrew words but forgetting our address. His brain is an amazing thing!

Once he was out of the hospital, he started healing and his mental alacrity was returning, things started going well, he was working extra hard and getting back on track with school.
I felt we were getting back to homeostasis. Then one morning before my second job, my healing husband comes rushing into our bedroom. Normally he lets me sleep seeing as I’m usually pretty worn out from working so much. He shook me by my shoulders and said the EMT’s were on their way and my mom was having a heart attack. As I peered out into the hallway, the front door burst open and the EMT’s were there with their supplies. I followed them down the hallway to find my mother sitting in my writing chair, completely drained of color, unresponsive. There wasn’t time to panic, by this time the sheriff had come through the front door and was reiterating everything they had just told my mother in the bedroom. They said if it wasn’t an emergency, they would go to the hospital without the lights and sirens on. They usually do this as not to alarm the patient. While my dad and husband were getting ready to go to the hospital I quickly called my boss at my second job, trying to figure out if I should call in. I explained the whole thing about the lights and sirens and mid-sentence with him I heard the sirens blazing, my mother was in the midst of having a full blown heart attack.

When we rushed to the hospital, we sat with my dad trying to keep our cool. The doctor came in saying they had put a stent in the blocked artery and that there were three more blocked arteries that would need to be fixed within the next week. We went in to see my mother and she was already full of color and more energy than she had been in previous weeks.

Within the next week she was scheduled to undergo another surgery in which they were supposed to place the stents in. When the doctor went in, she tried to put the stent in place ripping the artery. Mom would need open heart surgery. I went in after teaching that day to see her and we talked with the surgeon, all was well, she was in good spirits. The following week she had a double bypass heart surgery and she came home as good as new; or so we thought.

Blindly believing that all was well and everyone was good at home, halfway through my teaching shift my husband called with the bad news that my mother had fallen at home and was on her way to the hospital again. Later we found out she had had a stroke as a result of the heart surgery. Needless to say she was in the hospital for a while. It was during one of the nights that I spent with her that we began to have fun with it and “dance in the rain”.

For the first time in a long time my mother asked to take a picture, not just any picture, but a selfie with me. She decided since she felt gross we should burn up my phone with pictures of her eating banana pudding to send to my aunts to determine how gross the pictures could get. My battery died and we resorted to talking about the different hallucinations she was seeing. She was seeing beach balls, tin type pirate ships, and at one point had even been seeing the cartoon characters I used to draw when I was a child. One of our last moments before we fell asleep went like this:

“Do you see them?”

“Who?”

“That tiny couple…”

“What do they look like?”

“They look like figurines…they’re Irish”

I gently had to explain to her, as my Aunts had done previously,, that she was seeing things and they weren’t going to harm her. I will always remember this moment in particular, because it was the first time we accepted things as they were and just went with it. I will always remember that…and the morning after when she accused the nurses of running a liquor bootlegging distillery upstairs, but that is another story for another time.

What traumatic life events caused you to examine your life a little more closely and appreciate the small moments?

8 years ago Short URL 8 Comments

Uncategorized

concussion/heart attack/life/love/Marriage/memories/quirky/stroke/worst fear

Apr

The great gasp

Yesterday we were discussing Paradise Lost in my English Literature class. We were getting to the final chapters when the professor started talking about Adam and Eve and the moment before “the fall”.

He phrased what was happening in the story something like this, “Eve has just taken a bite from the apple. Adam looks at her and has the attitude of, ‘if you’re going down then I’m going down with you.” The professor then looked to me in the back and said, “If you’re Eve, should Adam eat the apple?”

I said, “I don’t know, I’d like to see where this is going.” Honestly I was a little embarrassed after getting called on and could feel my face getting warm. Also, I know he always has a trick up his sleeve as to where the story is going, because it’s not always what we think.

He then asked again, “Noooo, if you’re Eve and Adam says he’s coming with you, should he eat the apple?”

He was looking for an immediate response. A million things ran through my brain. I put it in context of my husband and I. My husband is pretty defiant, he would definitely be adamant about coming with me even though I was the one who screwed up. (He’s a chivalrous guy, what can a gal say?)

However, the class didn’t hear all the thoughts in my head, all they heard was an immediate reaction of, “Probably not, but I would say, ‘Thanks for the company!”

Almost 75% of the class gasped.

The professor took it the way it was intended and laughed. Obviously I know Adam shouldn’t have eaten the apple. I also happen to come from a Judeo-Christian background. However, there was no one to tell the class this along with my inner monologue of 5 seconds. Now to a class of up and coming literary professors and teachers I sound like a complete an utter heathen. Thanks John Milton.

Sep

Gross Domestic Happiness

My husband and I are moving. We are packing up the cats as we speak and teaching them how to meow in Dzongkha and Japanese.

In a former blog post I mentioned one of the five things people didn’t know about me is I wanted an assignment where I would travel and write about the destinations I’ve visited. Obviously on this trip my husband would accompany me to help document our activities. He is a professional photographer and the last time I took a picture I looked like this:

Granted this all sounds very much like “Eat, Pray, Love” but it would be quirkier, I’m traveling WITH my husband and not starting out single. Call it a “Couple’s Quest for Intrinsic Happiness”.

The truth is we aren’t really moving. We recently watched a documentary titled, “Happy” on Netflix.The entire film was fascinating and a couple of things stood out to me. Half way through the film the crew went to Bhutan and talked about the main concern of the country being “Gross National Happiness”. Whereas most countries concentrate on the amount of money they’re bringing in, what exports they can sell to who, and how to turn the income from the sale into goods for themselves, Bhutan realized what was truly important, their people.

The nation as a collective has decided not to concentrate on material concerns. The material concerns caused them to move established communities, upheaving a life they once knew, eliminate forestry cover and lose spiritual sites for a time. Gross National Product in turn was causing more harm than good so instead, they decided to pursue Gross National Happiness. Going into it they knew they wouldn’t be a nation of monetary wealth. They have only just started this endeavor and we have yet to see what comes of their pursuits. They believe the happiness of their people in turn will be rewarding, helping them lead prosperous, longer lives.

(It is a proven fact, the happier a person is and the people around them, the longer they live.)

This brings me to the next country we would like to move to, Japan. There are two reasons I would love to visit the island of Okinawa. The Okinawans have the longest living population in the world, most live to be one hundred years old. They farm together, eat dinner together and through the farming, provide gifts of food for their family and friends. This sounds like a dream to me, this is my first reason for visiting the beautiful island.

They interviewed elderly women at a local community center and the women spoke of “ichariboachode” (you are brother and sister even if you have met for the first time) and “monchu” (one family). Some of the women were captives in World War II. When they lost their families, they had their neighbors and communities to rely on. Everyone took care of each other.

My Grandfather was in the 6th Marine Division during World War II, went to Okinawa and helped rescue some of these women from the caves they were hidden in on the island. My Grandfather barely spoke of this, his heart was broken over the condition in which he found these women and children. When I spoke to my parents about this film my mother said some resonating words, “Your Grandpa would be so happy that in time these people found happiness.” She is right. This is the second reason I would love to visit Okinawa. In some way, by visiting, I feel it would bring closure to an issue my Grandfather had for a long time. By seeing with my own eyes, their happiness, and in turn letting them know he carried that burden with him for so long, it would be a meeting of happiness and healing for the parties involved.

My Grandfather in China circa1945

My Grandfather on a tug boat Circa 1943-1945 (?)

For one nation to realize the meaning of life is not in the possession of things but within ourselves, faith and each other is a huge step, I feel, in the right direction. I want to go with my husband to Bhutan and maybe accidentally get stuck between two prayer wheels, so I can say “It’s alright, I’m between prayers right now!”. I want to explore what makes the people of Bhutan happy and how they plan to ensure happiness for future generations.

I want to go to Okinawa and speak to some of the women who may have met my Grandpa. I want to ask them how through the sorrows of war they made the journey back to happiness.

I want to travel to the places I only heard my grandpa speak of and where my great-aunt would bring back souvenirs like a tiny bronze Buddha statue. Even though both my grandpa and great-aunt were devout Christians, they still saw the beauty in other peoples’ faiths and cultures. I want to see what they saw.

I want to see, understand and live happiness like the people in these countries. Maybe in turn if someone were to employ my husband and I to travel to these places, in writing the book about the experiences, it would help others to look within, reflect and see what their passion truly is, what truly makes them happy.

If any of my readers are from Bhutan or Okinawa I would like to know what you think about the representation of your countries in the documentary. Do you feel it is accurate? Do you feel you are intrinsically happy or are you still seeking it?

To my other readers, what makes YOU happy?

Jul

Admission by a quasi-depressed Quirky Girl

This month I started my first round of anti-depressants. This may come as a surprise to some of my family and friends, but in hindsight, it all makes sense. In 2008 I first noticed a dip in my energy levels, and several changes happening with my body.

I went to an OBGYN to see what the situation was and if she could help. This was my first and last visit with her. At the end of my visit she prescribed me a low dose anti-depressant claiming she was excited because it was the first one she could prescribe without having to give me a referral to a psychiatrist. She said if it didn’t work, she would have to refer me so I could get a stronger dose.

That night I took the meds along with some antibiotics. My body had a violent reaction. It felt like I was coming off of a drug rather than trying to start something to make me feel better. My body shook but I wasn’t cold. I had to quietly rock myself back and forth on the couch to stave off the volatile queasiness in my stomach while my family played a board game in the background.

The next morning my body rejected the pill. As I slept through the night and I slipped into unconsciousness I could no longer rock myself back and forth. Upon waking up, everything bubbled up inside of me. To paraphrase Robin Williams it was as if my stomach had said to it’s contents, “Alright, everybody out, there are only two exits.” So out everything came. When I could finally open my eyes, there in the wretched former contents of my stomach lied the pill I had swallowed the night before. The coating was gone, but the pill remained.

This started my fear of prescription medicines.

At that particular point in time, I finally found a doctor who figured out I had low T-4 hormones in my thyroid. As it turns out, having low thyroid hormones can also cause you to go into depression. This was the first doctor who listened to me and what I had to say. As an added bonus, she was also the one to discover I had two sizable tumors on my thyroid glands as well.

For a while, the new thyroid medicines worked. Then slowly the energy drop came, I had the bouts of feeling horrible, and inevitably, as a result of the depression, it felt as if I only had a few people in my life who understood what I was going through.

Later on as I was going through a divorce a friend introduced me to boxing. Boxing was a saving grace for a while. It helped me channel my anger and frustrations that came with the aftermath, however it didn’t completely help me cope or deal with life. No matter what you’re going through, you can only punch a bag so many times and exercise so many times before all the problems finally work their way out and you are a blubbering mess in a tightly curled up ball on your couch at 3:00 in the morning.

I tried kidding myself. I tried telling myself that I just had to deal with issues. I just had to get through it, push through and it will all be fine. Eventually I completely shut down and became anti-social. I quit talking to friends who had initially helped me through my first mess and then for some reason anxiety developed and there I was again, curled up in a ball on the hand-me- down forest green couch which crawled out of my child hood and into my adult hood with me.

I was in denial it was depression.

I had a few doctors try to tell me I was clinically depressed but refused to believe them. So I moved back home. I moved where it was safe and not a whole lot of people I grew up with knew everything I had been through. They knew the gist, but they didn’t know when I was married I was in denial about disguising my drinking as celebratory. They didn’t know my binging on the hard liquor was my realization toward the end of the marriage that everything about it had been crumbling at it’s base from the beginning. (By my own admission, it takes two to make a marriage and in no way am I saying I’m perfect and am not at fault with some things.) They didn’t know the hazy wash of alcohol over my brain cells meant I didn’t have to deal with something for an hour, or two, or if it was New Year’s Eve a solid possible eight hours followed by a 24 hour migraine. If my divorce was the earthquake, then the drinking was the tremors. They didn’t know I felt isolated even though I was very much loved by people at my former job. They didn’t know that even though I still had family in the big city that I loved, for some reason I couldn’t admit to them what I was going through. I was ashamed. I was ashamed my life had turned out the way that it had. I felt like a huge disappointment to everyone in the big city.

So, I moved home.

After moving home, my friends from childhood and my parents helped bolster me back up. My spirits became raised and even though I was geographically distant from my friends and family in the big city, my communications with them became stronger and they slowly understood the purpose for moving away, self preservation.

After I moved home, a slew of other problems had started to take place. The job I was offered was now on the line due to unforeseen circumstances, so I immediately started searching for another job( which I still have! ). About a month after getting the job, my Grandfather passed away, the month after that one of my best friends passed away. Things were looking pretty grim. It was as if life had sucker punched me, waited for me to fall, and then kicked me in the stomach while I was lying on the ground.

For a short time life became good again, things were going well at work, I started dating my husband and shortly after we were married, my brain went berserk. Old things crept up. I started struggling with thought processes again. As I sat there, I could pin point all of the good things going right with my life, yet if a Freight Liner ran me over or a T.V. fell on my head or something, for some reason it seemed like that would be the better option, and my husband and family would be better off without me in their lives. I have no explanation for feeling this way.

Again I was ashamed.

It took me months before finally breaking into tears and admitting to my parents what was going through my head and that running in front of a truck was going to feel better than anything that had passed through my mind. Then as life would have it, my brain started playing tricks on me. It started feeling better.

The dark thoughts went away but were replaced by restless sleep, phantom aches and pains in the body.

The desire was there in my heart to go out, do my boxing routine, do the laundry, clean the house, but my mind had other plans. My mind demanded that I be tired and in pain 16 hours out of the day. It demanded I felt as lousy getting out of the bed, as lousy I had crawled into it.

Last month, my mother was perusing a website for a family member and stumbled across some medical information. All my symptoms sounded like Fibromyalgia. As a shot in the dark, I was desperate to do anything to feel better. I was willing to do anything to return back to the bubbly woman my husband fell in love with enough to marry her. I was desperate to be the friend my besties remembered who was the one you could always count on to make them smile when they were going through a tough time. I wanted to be able to focus on others rather than focusing on myself.

I made and went to the appointment last month. The doctor listened. She agreed it could be Fibromyalgia, however Fibromyalgia can go hand in hand with depression. The short version of the long story, she prescribed me anti-depressants. At first, I was dumbfounded. Even after I had told her the story of the pill coming out the same way it went in, she still suggested taking the medicine I had been dreading.

Reluctantly that night I took the pill.

It didn’t come up.

What did come up was three short rages of emotions, one in which my husband for the first time saw all the rage and anger that needed to work its way to the surface. The only thing he could do (or anyone could do) in that moment was stand in the kitchen and witness me screaming and cursing profanities at nothing particular while kicking a sandal I had just tripped on because I thought it had spited me. (For people who don’t know me, cursing is not my normal Modus Operandi.)

The next emotion came in the car when I called my doctor’s nurse back after she left a message the night before at her urging. She said the doctor couldn’t get the referral to the neurologist. We decided to wait a month and see how the medicine was working and if the Anit-depressants would help things in the meantime. After I got off the phone my eyes started leaking and I couldn’t control it. I was STILL in denial it was depression and thought my doctor was making excuses why I couldn’t see a neurologist. Then my husband had to talk me down. He understood all along what was going on but I didn’t.

Another small burst of tears came later in the day, and then I was done.

(By the way, did I mention all of this happened on his birthday?) This is a true testament to his character, he understands what it is like to feel pent up anger and rage and not know why. He understands that sometimes you have to get things out in order to feel better. He understood me…he too suffers from depression. I am not the type of person who would normally do an outburst on someone’s birthday and cause them distress. He knew that. I knew that and still couldn’t figure it out, but he already had.

Then I realized shortly thereafter, I was an Ogre. By that I am referencing the beloved children’s book and movie character Shrek who had many metaphorical layers. Once the pain started fading, I had a jovial conversation with my Mom and then separately with my Husband, they both said the same thing. With this medicine, there will be layers removed that have been built up over time. No matter what caused it, whether it was self imposed or caused by things in life, it will just take time, and for once I laughed during conversation. Luckily, I have people in my life now I am not afraid to show what lies beneath those layers. They understand I am not always the happy-go-lucky person everyone used to think I was. I try to be that person, I want to be that person, but it is going to be a while in getting back to that person who is no longer jaded by life or a victim to her own brain chemistry.

Once I quit feeling ashamed of my emotions and what I had gone through and admitted to myself not everyone can be an over-achiever, I realized being an Ogre wasn’t such a bad thing. If being an Ogre meant having layers, then that meant sharing similarities to other wonderful things like, Onions, or Parfaits.

What have you gone through that you have had a hard time admitting to yourself you needed help? How did you go about getting help?

10 years ago Short URL 8 Comments

boxing/dating/friends/Life/love/Marriage/Quirky/worst fear

admission/alcoholism/Depression/life/love/Marriage/quirky

Sep

A very Mindy Kaling Friday the 13th

It is days like this last Friday the 13th where I feel spoiled. It was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time and strangely it was on of all days, one of the few deemed as unlucky by many.

Thursday night on a lark I decided to share some love. I tweeted out to a supremely talented writer and actress to let her now how much her show has brought joy into my life within the last week or so. We will just say this, I have not belly laughed this hard since seeing Noises Off with my husband in Rolla, Missouri at the Ozark Actors Theater since our first date.

I tweeted to Mindy Kaling, “In my next life can I be @mindykaling ? #girlcrush #girlpower #themindyproject”. Figuring she would see it, knowing she had in some way made a difference in this person’s life with laughter, I never expected anything back. I just wanted her to know she was appreciated.

Then Friday morning, as per usual fair, I woke up, took my thyroid medicine and checked my Twitter. Low and behold, Mindy Kaling my new celebrity crush favorited my tweet!

I couldn’t believe it and I had only been awake about 30 minutes.

This was going to be a good day. Even if all odds were against me, I still knew I had put positivity out there and it was as if I was being rewarded with taking the initiative for putting it out there. I went to work in a good mood and through the course of the day as you tend to get focused on tasks you forget why you’re in a good mood but you just are.

This good mood (which up until this month was a rarity as a constant state) was drawing people in to work. One of the regulars where I work came in for her usual smoothie. She was running late to her work as usual and when this happens we are typically graced with her loveliness.

One of my good buddies just happens to have a crush on the girl who always runs late. We had hatched a plan earlier that when this girl comes in I would ask him for a bag of spinach to bring over for the smoothie and sandwich bar. Luckily he caught my hint, and we just happen to have needed a bag of spinach. He managed to find a way twice to work his way over to my department.

The second time, I was able to help him segue into our conversation about doing good deeds and random acts of kindness for others around you. Pretty soon I was sort of edged out of the conversation when all of a sudden the girl who always runs late invited both of us to an event ironically held by the local station which also airs The Mindy Show. This had to be a sign.

The event involved a premiere of Sleepy Hollow coming out this fall, an inflatable screen, beverage pong (really it turned out to just be water, there were children invited to the event) and free Qdoba Mexican Grill. Eventually through conversation the girl asked my buddy to write the information down, which at this point he boldly asked for her number.

After she left the store, my buddy and I went to the back and did a happy dance in celebration of him finally getting a girl’s number he had been crushing on for a month and for finally getting off our butts and going out to do something with our lives.

After work my husband met up with my buddy and I at the gym and we had a great time. I texted my husband to meet us there because of the invitation we received by the girl who always runs late. I texted him everything we had been told, however later he told me all I really had to tell him about was the free food. Even if we weren’t able to hear or accurately see what was going on, we could at least mingle with those around us and for all tense and purposes munch on some free Qdoba Mexican Grill.

As it turns out, after the boxing work out my buddy was too tired and unkempt to his standards to do anything else afterward. He elected to go home and meet up with our new acquaintance another time seeing as he now had her number to explain his absence. My husband and I didn’t hesitate, we made a beeline for the free entertainment and food. We said goodbye to our friend and drove across the street.

Upon arrival and walking into the event we saw the pong table set up for the new show “Dads”. A few people were watching so we didn’t head over just yet. We found my new friend and we chatted for a bit and we made our way through the line to get free food. After we sat down, I realized they had an empty spot at the pong table.

Having never played before I quickly sat my plate down and asked my husband to join me. We played, each getting a chance to make three shots. What we didn’t realize is the winner would get a free shirt. I was doing well at first but then started to progressively get worse. My husband eventually won and the hostess asked what shirt I wanted. This was nice for a change, winning for losing! In order to commemorate the night I asked for the shirt featuring the Sleepy Hollow logo and a funny slogan with blood splatter on the front. My husband then asked for a shirt which came packaged in a pizza box promoting the cartoon line up on our local station. My shirt came in handy as it was getting colder throughout the night and it had long sleeves.

We went back to our chairs and met some interesting people, some which were battling with their grabby 5 month old grand baby. There were the parents of said baby who were unwilling to discipline. There were crazy kids swimming in the cold water at the pool and there were people who were accidentally setting off their car alarms. Then, there was us. We were finally glad to be a part of an event where people were just happy you showed up. We were happy to be there, under the stars enjoying free fun and for once, going on what felt like a date.

There we sat, under the stars with complete strangers, all watching the premiere of Sleepy Hollow. We all made cracks and comments at the beginning only to find ourselves actually enjoying the plot line the further we dug into the show. After the festivities, we went home and did what any other fun loving sane couple would do; we watched The Mindy Show.

It was a great Friday the 13th and it all started and ended with a good mood caused by Mindy Kaling.

What put you in a good mood for a whole day? What celebrity always manages to make you laugh no matter what?

Sep

This teacher publishes comic books successfully.

The title of this blog is a six word sentence I have chosen for my future. These are the six words, I will bring to fruition. Before making the predicate part of the sentence a reality, first I must become the subject.

Today’s daily post challenge on WordPress is to come up with a six word sentence describing your future.

In recent months I’ve been praying and meditating on what to do about a major life decision. Life has been a bit difficult financially here of late therefore causing me to re-plan my original life blueprint. A lot of people my age are having to reroute their lives as if they are a satellite navigation system in their car.

As you know I majored with a degree in Fine Art. This isn’t exactly the most stable degree, especially in an economy like this one. Having a bit of a dilemma I’ve had conversations with people about my life plan as now it’s not just my life but I share it with my husband.

Curiously my Mother-in-law and I were having a conversation one day when she suddenly said, “Have you thought about teaching…” Honestly years ago I had considered becoming an art teacher but due to unforeseen reasons that plan didn’t work.

I had my heart intent on changing the world one classroom at a time through art, by helping children understand the importance of art. I wanted to teach them it was o.k. to think differently and be in the likes of tortured but wonderful and humorous companions such as Van Gogh and Frida Kahlo. I wanted to teach them to see the world through a kaleidoscope of colors, not just black and white. I wanted to teach them to think and see differently and learn people can speak many languages by communicating through the visual arts.

My Mother-in-law finished her sentence, “…English?” This was the first time anyone had suggested teaching something other than art to me. This was the seed planted in my brain that slowly started sprouting this summer. Suddenly I realized my gift of being able to communicate with children and awkward junior high kids may not be lost. My parents have always seen my gift with children and knew I had something special.

Then the second sign came a few weeks ago. My husband received a call from a best friend. He didn’t tell her everything that had been going through my mind, the questioning, the self doubt about the possibility of teaching something which in essence is my second language; art always has and always will be my first language. She told him over the phone, “She would make a great middle school teacher.”

Then came the third sign, this is the one that has been a constant. My friend of 12 years has said to me numerous times since 2007 I need to bite the bullet and become a teacher. She witnessed my gift first hand when we worked together and I basically babysat children in the fitting room of the store we worked. She even enrolled my help the weekend of her wedding sitting me next to the most talkative children of her family knowing full well we’d be in full on conversation mode before the adults even broke into the festivities. Last week something private happened (which I won’t discuss here) and I texted her about it. My phone buzzed, I quickly looked at it to see my third sign in text form. Her response was, “Become a teacher.”

I couldn’t believe it, three signs. People have always said things come in threes.

I finally sat down and told my parents of my plans a few weeks ago of how I might be going back to school next January. The more I talked about it the more excited I became. As I sat there, I started hatching lesson plans over the belief I would share a common interest with some of my students; comic books.

Comic books were my gateway into becoming a better reader, writer and… artist. What better way to combine three of my loves? Then it came to me to teach my future imaginary students how to write a comic book. Then the plan became more elaborate, why not combine this project with the art students who will help illustrate it for them if they can not illustrate it themselves? Then this lesson plan also integrates communication skills, because as we all know, what the writer and the artist sees are not always the same thing.

The excitement over exploring this lesson plan made me think of another plan, why not publish these books? We could combine all of the books the students made, and then publish them so all students and anyone who wanted to purchase them could. All of the proceeds would then go back into the school’s pockets.

This morning, as I rode in my car, I did my usual prayers. I prayed for my family, my friends, my co-workers. Then I asked God for another sign. This might seem demanding to ask considering I had already received three signs. Basically I said, “Look, I know you’ve sent these signs, but I want to make sure I heard you right. Please if you are sending me a sign, make it to where I know and please help me to listen to you.” I like to be certain of things now in my older age. I’ve grown tired of not looking before I leap, there is too much at stake now to leap without eyes.

I think my response sign came a few hours later at work this morning. My friend was helping a mother and her young daughter at the counter. I was on the other side and happened to see the young girl whose head didn’t even reach the counter. Strangely she reminded me of me in first grade. She had been dressed by her mother but so much of her personality was bursting at the seams it was hard to keep herself in the assumed pristine condition she was dressed in when she left the house. Seeing this bubbly young girl, I made my way over to her and said, “High five!” She was in the middle of eating a morsel of a pear and quickly shoved the pear in her mouth as she exuberantly gave me a high five with the pear residue still on her tiny fingers. She quickly said, “Hang on, I have to wipe the pear off my hands!” Without skipping a beat, with one swipe on her shirt she then quickly slapped my hand as an affirmation of excellence in being true to who you are.

I had to make my way to the back to put something away and then made my way to the computer to print off tags. I heard some commotion on the other side of the restaurant when suddenly I found the little girl standing on the other side of the counter looking at me with her innocent eyes. She said, “Hey you’re really pretty today.” Taken back by her kind words and her uninhibited way of delivering them, I quickly made sure to compliment her on her shoes and outfit, but before I could even get the words out about her outfit she held up her entire leg to show me a different angle of her shoes and exclaimed, ” My Nana got them for me!”

I then asked her, “So have you started school yet?” Her reply, “Weeeelllll YEAH!” As she tried to unfurl her story as fast as she could, her mom told her they were limited on time and would come back. The little girl and I made plans to talk about her school next time she came in with her mom.

A few seconds after they had left I looked across the room to see my friend behind the other counter where she loudly said, “I think you are going to be canonized as the patron saint of children.”

I think this was the gentle sign reminding me of my gift of gab with children. This was just the conversation needed to persuade me the other three signs were a message for me to become a teacher. I already knew I was going to write, draw and publish comic books, I didn’t realize I would be putting on an extra “hat” in the process, but it’s a wonderful feeling.

How do you see your future? What is something that has been calling you but it has taken you a long time to notice? What was your blue print you had planned and what changed it?

P.s. I googled the patron Saint of children and it’s this guy…

I’ve always thought it would be cool to have his job!

Aug

The Daily Prompt: The Inner Light

Everyone starts their blog for a myriad of reasons. A long time ago when everyone communicated through Myspace, I sort of had a blog on there to keep up with friends. Then as we have all become familiar with changing times, the latest fad in social media networking changed and everyone made the leap to Facebook. Unfortunately, the new writing format didn’t appeal to me on Facebook when I signed up in 2006. It would be a while before I returned to writing.

In 2010 I was put in touch with a small publishing company in St. Louis and as part of the requirements for being considered for a novel submission, you had to be a prolific writer on your own blog. The idea of having my own space to write about everything and anything was appealing to me. Eventually my idea for a novel (pitched as a graphic novel at the time) was turned down, but it opened up the door for me to consider myself a writer and develop my craft. I continued writing on the blog, most of it was absurd and a halfway attempt at being funny and witty. Then I went through a divorce and unfortunately the blog was one of the few places I was still attached to my ex. I could no longer blog about my personal life which became the main subject of that particular blog without getting some form of feedback from him or some former associates.

I was careful about the information I posted, censoring myself was new. I yearned to be lyrically free, to be verbose and to spring forth with ideas like I once did. Every story had a hint of being stifled, leaving my readers to read between the lines, some who knew me personally and some who did not, probably causing some confusion.

The second to last blog entry on my old blog was about getting a job back in my hometown and looking forward to the new adventure in an old familiar place I needed to move away from in order to grow up. The blog entry after that; I wrote about my grandfather’s passing. This is where I stopped. My life had taken a sudden turn. The job I had blogged about became a wash forcing me to look for a new job in my second week of being back home and now suddenly my grandfather had passed. It seemed as if my grandfather’s death was the finality of not only the blog, but solidified my life would be completely different. In terms of how to put it, it was the end of my era in St. Louis.

A month or so later one of my best friends passed away from Thyroid cancer. Life had become difficult. I was struggling to not think about family and friends in the life I left behind in the big city, feeling like I was missing out, feeling in a way, sort of alone and like I let them down by not being there for them in their final moments.

The itch to write came back. I wanted to connect with others, but didn’t want as a result to have any contact with my ex and any former cohorts due to me writing about my life. My grandfather and my bestie wouldn’t want me to write in fear. They loved me for my crazy self, the girl who always wore a smile and a flower in her hair. Being in a funk and depressed was not going to get me any closer to finding that woman I was and the woman I wanted to aspire to be in the future.

The solution for me, was to start this blog. Originally, I started out under the pen name Quirky Girl as a way of hiding. The funny thing about this blog, through writing it, I made the decision to make it positive. People talk about the effects of positivity and how it can change and influence your life. Making this decision to write something positive, influenced me to think more positively in my life outside of this blog. I became a tiny bit more social again, I started making friend requests on Facebook, as some of you know; which lead to my marriage to my amazing husband. However, had this blog not been posted to my Facebook, my husband might possibly have never taken an interest in me. As he put it, “When I read your blog I realized there was something going on between the ears.” Being positive lead me to all of this.

I made the conscious decision to write something positive, if being positive wasn’t going to happen the day I happened to be inspired to write, then at least it would be somewhat humorous. More importantly, to combat the loneliness, this blog was also a tool to connect with others and hear their thoughts on topics no matter how ridiculous they were. I was used to only getting a few hits here and there. The whole goal was to be a ghost writer and work the hard way trying to gain a following and gain readers. I liked the idea of famous anonymity. If fellow Missourian Samuel Clemens could write as Mark Twain, then maybe I could accomplish something similar.

Suddenly one day while I was out and about grabbing a sub sandwich I checked my phone to find my blog had blown up. WordPress made my blog a viral hit for a couple of days. I realized I could no longer hide, I couldn’t be afraid of people enjoying what I had to write and the ridiculous adventures that happen. If my ex found out about the new blog, then so what? He’s not going to find out anything new, except I’ve developed a fear of automated air fresheners and have recently been remarried in the last year.

The moral of this story dear readers, is when you have a light, you have to let it shine. You can’t hide it from the rest of the world, this is one thing you have taught me over the last year and I thank you for the lesson. Be you, be bold, be brave, be bright, be love.

Why did you start writing?

This is me, no longer hiding…HELLO WORLD!

Jul

Dumb is forever

Hopefully with this blog entry I can explain my absence and tell a story for the writing challenge here on WordPress. Since May my husband and I have been working on trying to get ourselves organized, getting things together in order to have a garage sale to kickstart our relatively new life together.

Instead it turned out to be; him slimming down his book collection and me rummaging through my entire childhood. As a child, not realizing it, I would not only be forcing myself to momentarily get in the way of my future, but I would force myself to come to terms with my past, my awkwardness, my dreams, my reality…my quirks.

Among the things in the basement, I found the awkward five by seven school photos I gave to my grandparents.

Growing up, I went from being a semi normal looking kid…

to looking like the child Weird Al Yankovic could have had with Amy Grant had they married.

Seventh grade is an awkward stage for most people. Some people do fine in school and don’t worry about a thing. In my case I hated my school photo, and hated being a giant nerd. However, I had friends who appreciated me just as I was. At the time it didn’t seem like they liked me; usually after lunch. Why you ask? All because of a boy. A boy, they threatened to tell I had a crush on him. I distinctly remember four of my friends stealing my lunch napkin I used to blot my lipstick on, taunting me, threatening to write my number on the porous paper product and slide it between the slots in his locker. They never officially told me if they followed through with it, but that horrifying day they made me believe for sure they had.

As you can tell from the above paragraph, there was a severe amount of trauma involved in just finding a few photos. This is what I’ve been dealing with and my husband has unfortunately had to deal with it by my side. We find more things, I will hold said object and suddenly be transported to a time where the main worry was if my friends were going to embarrass me so badly I wouldn’t be able to survive third hour science class the next day and face the boy they came to call, “helmet head”. They called him this because his shiny dark hair formed a spherical protection unit around his gigantic brain.

Apparently I was so blinded by his giant brain that when I had a moment to finally read my junior high diary to my husband, we realized I painstakingly wrote about how this guy my friends teased me about had a “nice personality”. As a seventh grader who looked like Weird Al, I realized television’s Judge Judy was right, “Beauty fades, dumb is forever”. There is nothing worse than a boring person with a pretty face. If I could I would tell my seventh grade self there was nothing to worry about, not only in the future would I get the guy with a good personality, but he would also be cute and help me sort through my awkward past; physically and mentally.

Don’t let anyone fool you, being awkward builds character…and distracts you from getting any work done. Period.

What is something of yours you have found that has transported you back in time? Was it a good experience or bad?

Diary of a quirky girl

Tag Archives: Marriage