A Presidential Slap in the Face

In recent months I have become more involved in the happenings of federal government than usual. There are a few reasons for this change:

1. For the past few months (though they've felt like years), I have been working on a government textbook. I have come to understand so many interesting and useless bits of information about government. I might actually know more than I'd ever care to know.
2. I am supremely interested in the health care debates, as I am someone who is ever dependent on my health insurance. Probably much more so than most people my age.
3. And during mental breaks at work, I seem to find my way to the New York Times website.

Keeping up to date on political issues can be addicting and exhausting all at the same time.

So last night as my darling and I sat down to relax and watch the tube, you can image how intrigued I was to discover that the Oprah "Christmas at the Whitehouse" Special was being aired.

Oprah's tour/interview began in the oval office where president Obama presented his Christmas tree and shared thoughts on what he enjoys most about living in the Whitehouse, "The people's house," as he called it. (It's hardly the people's house, as few people get to enjoy it much more than during a quick tour.)

Next, Oprah met up with the First Lady, who was all but bedazzled. She wore giant diamond earrings and a large, pearl necklace that gathered to a diamond pendant. She did look lovely, but I couldn't get past her flashy accessories. She took Oprah on a tour of the Whitehouse to show her the many, many Christmas trees, garlands, and other LAVISH decorations. Now, don't get me wrong. I know it's tradition to decorate the Whitehouse in a beautiful fashion. But during a time of such economic crisis, don't you wonder if having personal decorators work on the place for FIVE straight days is a little less than necessary?!

I'm not naive enough to think that if the First Family took all the money that would have been used in decorating the Whitehouse and applied it to the federal deficit, that it would make any difference. BUT at a time like this, how can the First Family sleep at night knowing that our whole nation is suffering financially, many people are without jobs, homes, food, and other means of survival, yet they have DOZENS of Christmas trees, personal decorators, and a HUGE gingerbread Whitehouse created by any number of personal chefs?

As the interview went on, Barack and Michelle bantered about the cost and flashy-ness of Michelle's jewelry and her taste for fine things. When asked what would be different at the Whitehouse this year during Christmas season, Michelle responded, "We'll be having more parties." Then she went on to describe the 50,000 some odd guest list.

I am floored. And a little bit angry. During a time of financial crisis, when our national unemployment rate is at 10%, our government is participating in RECORD spending (which we will pay for), we're financing a decade-long war, and the average American is going without, the "most powerful" family in the world is flaunting their lavish life style in the faces of Americans. How do you think that makes us feel? The local food bank estimated that they would be empty by the end of the month. A national food drive campaign was organized to help the needy. Friends and family members are doing more this year for needy families than ever before... and the whitehouse is hosting more parties.

Shame on you.

During an opportunity to inspire the American public with a heart-warming Christmas message and examples of ways to give back to the country, the First Family failed. How different would our nation be if instead of seeing clips of bragging about gift-giving, and efforts to make the Whitehouse transformed into an elaborate Christmas village, clips were shown about things the First Family was doing to give back, ways they're simplifying their lifestyle during this time, or commitments they're making to help more people? Lead by example. The impact that the "most powerful" family could have had by doing something selfless and humble, something centered around integrity, during that special is immeasurable. Think of the trend that could be set by Obama to his many loyal followers if he chose to keep things simple this year. To save some money, give back, cancel hosting a party that will cost the people millions of dollars.

I guess the old adage applies to financial problems, too. "Out of sight, out of mind." Well, Obamas, I hope you have a great holiday living high on the hog this year, while us average Americans work our butts off to pay off the debt that you will leave us with for years to come. Happy holidays to you too.

The More You Read, The More You Know... Sometimes.

For some reason, I feel this need to try to go against the grain of what people would expect an "average" girl my age, in my circumstances to do. I don't know why. I don't know what I feel like I've had to prove.

The Harry Potter series hit its climax while I was in college. Though it's not a "girly" series, by any means, every girl I knew was knee deep in Potter hysteria. I refused to read it— until I taught elementary school. It was a survival skill I needed to remain hip with the kiddos. And I liked the series okay, especially the third book. But I won't admit that to many people.

Then there was the whole college scene of dating and every girl acting like she wanted only to meet boys, date, and find a boyfriend. I made sure I acted like I didn't care whether or not I dated, didn't care much about the boys I dated, and didn't hurt much when things ended badly— though I always felt more than I let on.

And so this instinct of mine, to defy what people would expect of me (though I don't always want to), has stuck with me over the years. And every once in a while, there is a trend that I'm truly, honestly, okay not following. One of which would be the Twilight craze. I love to read, almost as much as I love to eat Muddy Buddies, snuggle with my nieces and nephews, or write about my droning life events on here. But I simply cannot bring myself to read that series. After growing up on books like "Babysitter's Club," and "Sweet Valley High," I made a vow to myself to only read real, enriching literature after I was finally introduced to it in my high school years.

On my quest to become well-read with the classics, I was encouraged to read Orwell's "1984" by a number of people. I was told it would give me a lot to think about and that it was almost unheard of to not have read it, if I were to claim to be a fan of the classics. So, while in a book shop in Sienna this summer, I picked it up for the long, lonely journey home. (Which didn't end up being so lonely, thanks to a drunken Patrick Swayze look-alike in denim shorts and Dr. Martens boots. That's a story for another day.) Anyhow, I eventually read the book and eventually regretted it. It was a regurgitation of the many books written after it's kind. I should have re-read "Anthem" to get the same "Down with Big Brother" ideals in a much shorter page count, and with many fewer sexual references.

Since completing that book, I haven't had much time for reading... until this last week since I've been sick. I needed a light read. Something full of hope and big words on the page (I had a head ache). I picked up a book I'd purchased from the notorious book orders when I was a teacher and decided to give it a whirl. I knew the author's other books were about princesses and girls coming of age, but I needed something to read, and decided to tell no one I was reading this girly book. But I read it, in under a 12 hour period. Don't be too impressed, the print is quite large. It was written by a local author, Shannon Hale. And it was a well-written book loosely based on a Grimms fairy tale. It was absolutely wonderful. So much so that I publicly recommend it to you:

Book of a Thousand Days

And now, before I can bring myself to return to the world of Hawthorne, Orwell, Melville, and Thoreau, I return to my beloved copy of "Emma." Because it's okay to enjoy a girly book now and then... especially if it's written by an author acclaimed for her talents in capturing human emotions, the anguish of the clash of classes, and the essence of life in her time... and not some silly romance novel based on tension between demonic icons and frivolous girls with no backbones. (I know this, for I saw the first movie... as a favor to my best friend. For which she will be forever indebted to me).

Read on, Interweb. Read on.

May you find yourself engrossed in good literature. The kind that expands your mind, teaches you new things, and makes you a little more interesting. Because, hey, who wouldn't want to be a little more interesting?

Oh, Now I'm Just Angry

Apparently my last post was part of a trend in my blogging circle. Some friends of mine and I have been on a similar angry wave length within just a few short days of each other. If you're feeling angry and you need to laugh at someone else who is frustrated, please go here, or here.

I have just one more rant to add to my list of things I hate... just one more, I promise. Then I'll TRY my hardest to be un-grumpy. Though I make no promises.

Imagine that you don't feel so well. You're not dying or anything, but you certainly don't feel well. And maybe you haven't for a long time because your stupid so-called "doctor" let your little problem go unattended for so long that it escalated into a full-blown issue. (I'm using a lot of hyphens lately, aren't I? I apologize ahead of time if they start to get out of hand.)

So then you go see a new doctor who actually deserves his degree and his job, and who happens to have a personality, which doesn't hurt when you're working with people. Oh, and he's not creepy and doesn't have the molester vibe that the former doctor had. This new, smart doctor finds the issue and gives you lots of prescriptions to take to nip the issue in the bud (or is it butt?).

Anyhow, let's say you then take your prescriptions to be filled and when you pick them up the pharmacy tech says something to you along the lines of, "Did your doctor say anything to you about the price of the blah, blah, blah medicine?"

"No, why? How much is it?"

"Well, it looks like your insurance knocked $600 off the price, so you only have to pay about $370."

At this point you can't say what you're thinking or what you really want to say. You just politely say, "I won't be picking that prescription up today, I think I'll take my chances at dying. Thank you."

Would you be mad??!?!? I think you would. Because as I imagine this very thing happening to me, I get very angry! But I have a very vivid imagination.

On a completely unrelated note, I just wanted to say that I think our health care system is in tip-top shape. I'm couldn't be more pleased with the services offered to me and the fairness in pricing. [Insert sarcastic tone and eye roll.]

Oh. Boy.

You know those nights when you can't sleep... and you find yourself looking at an entire photo album of a friend of a very distant friend's on facebook... and you find yourself making judgement calls about the complete strangers in the album... Like, "Oh, she looks nice," "I'll bet those two are a couple," OR "I can't believe someone wore that outfit" (hey, I never claimed to be perfect)? Well, tonight, as I was doing just that, I came across a photo album of ridiculously beautiful girls in photos taken in various locations around Europe. And then I saw THIS caption under one of the photos:

"Chateau D'iff (spelled incorrectly)- the location of one of my favorite movies."

And then I had this imaginary conversation with this dolled-up girl that was full of frustration as I yelled in my head, "WHAT ABOUT THE BOOK? You know, the classic. The one with pages and words that you read... with your brain. Oh, you had no idea there was a wonderful, timeless, compelling book written before the movie? Because there was.... and it was written LONG before. Let me introduce you to what we simple folk like to call a 'library.' "

And then I decided I'm ornery and I should go to bed.

But seriously. You should read the book- if you haven't already.

Shoe Fly, Shoe

I have a problem. A real problem. And I think I might need help.

I have probably over 50 pairs of shoes. Really. And I only wear 4–5 of those pairs. The worst part is that I buy new ones to replace the worn, tattered, old pairs... and I still wear the old shoes. I have some sick emotional attachment to them.

For example, about two weeks ago, I bought a new pair of brown flip flops with some flowery-looking detail to replace these.

[insert picture of seven year-old brown leather flip flops with a flower print and worn foot marks]

I bought these on clearance when I was nineteen. Nineteen! They are obviously worn. If I don't hold my foot completely still in a certain position, you can see really stupid worn foot marks. However, these here shoes have been to Hawaii and on multiple trips to the California coast with me. Too many memories...

I have purchased a half dozen pairs of black flip flips over the course of the past few years. Yet, somehow, I still wear these.

[insert picture of seven-year old black flip flips with tearing straps and a chunk missing from one shoe]

I was given these for free when I worked at American Eagle... in 2002! They were also in Hawaii. And Island Park, Jackson Hole, St. George, California, Nevada, etc., etc. I can feel a permanent imprint of my foot when I slip them on my feet. I can also feel the ground when I walk in them. The straps are tearing from the shoe, and there is a chunk missing from the side of the left flop where a friend's dog took a bite out of crime... or out of my shoe. Not to mention, they're made of a spongey material and, well, they absorb things. You catch my drift. Yet I love them! And I wear them everywhere.

Then there was my other favorite pair of black flip flops that I only enjoyed for a short season.

[insert picture of moderately appealing black Roxy flip flops with pink hibiscus flowers on the heel]

They were well on their way to becoming the replacement of the afore mentioned black flops. I was just learning to love them, and was truly becoming attached to them, when they were violently (I can only assume, since I didn't actually see it happen) torn from the side pocket of my backpack in Europe this summer. Oh, if shoes could talk.....

THEN, there's these guys...

[insert picture of super cute brown hybrid trail shoes with pink detail]

Let's just say that this pair and I did NOT get along. And they met their fate in Spain, where I purposely left them to fend for themselves in the Madrid airport.... after spending a hundred dollars on them and only knowing them for 3 weeks. Hey, we all make mistakes.

Some people have emotional attachments to people, books, TV shows, friends, food. I have an emotional attachment to shoes— really old, worn shoes. And that's the way the cookie crumbles.

[images to come]

Danger is My Middle Name

So I was pulled over last Thursday, for the sixth time. How many tickets do I have, one might ask? The answer is complex, because I don't believe ZERO qualifies as an actual whole number. That's right, no tickets. Now, just to be fair, I should admit that I did have a ticket on my record at one time. It's been clear for some time now. The dialogue from the most recent run-in with the law went a little something like this:

Scene One: At a local Chevron about 1 mile away from place of residence and work. Parking lot and pumps are completely filled with cars of neighbors and old acquaintances. Suspect car has just entered the last empty parking stall and police car has torn into the parking lot with lights on and short siren noise. Police can remains parked behind suspect's car, lights on.

me: Hello

him: Did you know your car's registration is expired?

me: [small gasp] I had no idea. Is it really?

him: Yes. In fact, it has been for over two months.

me: [cheeks flush with embarrassment] I had no idea. I didn't get anything in the mail. I'm sorry.

him: May I see your driver's license and proof of insurance.

me: [hand him the requested items]

him: [returns to car]

[Moments later, the officer returns...]

him: Did you also know that your driver's license is expired?

me: I totally forgot.

him: Yeah, it's been expired for three months.

me: I'm sorry. I've just been so busy lately and part of that time I was out of the country.

him: While you were gone, did you have someone getting your mail?

me: Yes, my parents.

him: Hmm... I see that you have no record so I'm just going to give you a stern warning on the conditions that you go directly to the DMV to get this taken care of.

me: Okay, I will. I'm so sorry. Thanks so much. Have a nice day. [Thinking, "Yeah, right. Like I have time to go to the DMV. Little does he know my oil hasn't been changed for 1,000 miles over the suggested mileage."]

him: [walks away, expressionless]

Morale of the story: Be honest, play dumb (or in my case, be dumb), admit your wrong-doing, and you'll drive away with a clean record. This seems to be the pattern I've experienced through my many run-ins with the law. That's right... I'm dangerous like that. Look out world, this girl drives with an expired license... unregistered. [Insert mental image of Lloyd Christmas at the phone booth in Aspen giving one deep "she's unlisted" breath.]

The Perfect Storm

I have often joked that I'm a lot like a baby. It's pretty simple to keep me happy: I need to be fed often, well-rested, and have someone pay attention to me when I do something cute or funny. If one of these needs is not met, I get grumpy. If all three of these needs aren't met, I become a completely different person... hardly a person at all, actually. More like a bear.

Today just happened to be one of those days; I was sleep deprived, behind on a meal or two, and neglected and left at a computer to work all day. On top of that, add the fact that it was a Monday, a bad hair day, an impossible deadline at work was made even more impossible, it was almost 300º outside, I spent a good amount of time on the phone with and waiting at the DMV, and I couldn't find an outfit to fit the mood today. This, my friends, was the perfect storm.

Before you go thinking I'm one of those temperamental females who gets set-off easily with one little "bad day," let me give you some background info. Work has been insanely overwhelming lately. Like any other "retail" business, we have made many adjustments to soften the blows of the weak economy. Many of these adjustments included a loss of staff... really great staff. Not only are we short-handed, but we still have the same demands to meet with a skeletal crew of workers. I love my job. A lot. There isn't a day that I wake up and dread going to work. I realize that for this, I am luckier than the majority of the workforce. Unfortunately, however, the current demands at my job can be wearing to a worker who struggles with perfectionism and self-criticalness (I enjoy coining new words whenever I get the chance). So when the crap hit the fan with the deadlines at work today, I think I felt something in the back of my brain actually explode. Soon after that, I realized I was no longer productive trying to force myself to edit. I left work a bit early to head to the DMV and register my car... nearly three months late (that's a story for another day). After the run-around there, I gathered some items and headed to my church activity, of which I was in-charge. I got that rolling, head still spinning, and left early to do some "work." I had to stop off at the local Target to get one thing. They didn't have the one thing... but five pairs of shoes later, I was on my way home, in a slightly better mood (shoes: the all-American cure-all.)

On the drive home, while sipping my Coke slurpee, I heard something on the radio that made me laugh for the first time today: "Mr. football stadium wedding proposal guy." Although I don't condone drinking, I love a good Budweiser commercial as much as the next guy. Plus, it's been far too long since I've heard a new commercial from this campaign. Bravo, Budweiser. You may be slowly leading the next generation down a slow and painful path to a wasted life, but you've done something right: you broke my grumpy gus mood. And that's why I'm writing this post, and just how brain-dead I am... I'm encouraging you to search the corridors of this, the interweb, to find that commercial. Because I'll be darned if it doesn't make you laugh.

Good night, and good luck.

Can't Trust That Day

I've come down with a horrible case of the Mondays. I think if I were to go to a doctor, his/her remedy would go something like this:

"Pony tail, Beatles T-shirt, Hershey's Symphony bar (with almonds and toffee), flip flops, delicious left overs for lunch, and a whole lot of Rolling Stones on the ipod. Take two Advil, sleep all day, and call me in the morning."

Happy Monday!

For Lack of a Better Post...

Sometimes I experience a sort of writer's block in blogging. When this happens I usually just post something completely random to get the creative juices flowing again. (Not that I would presume to call myself creative. But you know what I mean.)

I like to to eat Swedish Fish as much as the next guy/gal. I have eaten them for years. But it wasn't until just recently that I made an earth-shattering discovery about this candy that has forever changed the way I feel about the fish of Swede.

No, it's not that they're surprisingly high in calories. (I only pretend to count calories. I see other people do it so often that I pretend to care and check labels so I can kick it.) It's the fact that when eating Swedish Fish, you never completely chew them! It's as if you just chew them for as long as your jaw can take it, then make a conscious decision: "Well, I've been chewing for some time now. I guess I'll give it a swallow and see what happens." This must wreak havoc on our digestive systems! But I'll steer away from all topics digestive.

Then there's the remnants-o-fish that linger in your teeth throughout the remainder of the day. Some people may look at this as a perk, but I find it annoying.

And finally, there's the fact that this same problem, not knowing when to swallow, also applies to one of my most favorite candies... Tootsie Rolls! How can I go on enjoying these candies when I'm no longer ignorant about their consistency and potential digestive problems??

Then there's The Bachelorette.....

I have received some interesting feedback on facebook regarding the fact that I've never seen an episode. And here are the reasons why:

1. I never have time to watch TV. If I do, it's to catch a few minutes of the history channel while I eat something.

2. What woman in their right mind wants to watch another unhumanly-beautiful woman get swooned over by a number of ridiculously attractive single men? Really though. :)

3. True love doesn't develop in front of cameras, in a restricted amount of time, with makeup artists, stylists, and producers on hand. Real love happens in real life.

4. I don't like shows that fill mine and other girls' minds full of fanciful ideas that will inevitably lead to our making fools of ourselves in dating with unrealistic, media-based ideals.

However, I do understand the need for people to have an "escape" and simply be entertained by TV shows. And if that's the purpose The Bachelorette serves, so be it. Just don't talk about it around me.

Take it from these guys...

Dating would be a lot less bothersome if the time I spent with boys I date was more like time I spend with my nephews. Dates are hit and miss; nephews are always fun and ALWAYS make me feel good. In an effort to help the many helpless boys in the world (bless their hearts), I have compiled a list of things I love about spending time with my nephews. When taken to heart and applied to dating, these tips can be oober helpful and improve success rates in dating— I golden guarantee it! 

Go ahead, give it a whirl.

1. Laugh at the lame jokes I tell

2. Sing along to songs I make up about you

3. Talk about how much you miss your mom when you're out with me

4. Believe everything I tell you

5. Get so excited about going out with me that you can't finish your dinner

6. Let me choose what music we listen to

7. Make fake siren noises and tell me that I'm being pulled over

8. Fight with another person at the movie theater about getting to sit right next to me (or on my lap)

9. Hold my hand tight during scary parts of the movie

10. Laugh ridiculously hard at really, really lame parts of the movie

11. Get really excited about something you saw in the movie and talk on and on and on about how you're going to make it happen in real life

12. Tell me that I look boo-tiful, even when I probably look like a boy

13. Sing "You Are My Sunshine" with me while we're grocery shopping

14. Push the buttons for me on the credit card machine at the check out

15. Offer to share your mushy, sticky banana with me and look sad when I don't want a bite

16. Believe that your dad really could fly to the moon if he wanted to

17. Ask me to verify anything that you're not sure about

18. Let me play with your toys

19. Make me cards and pictures out of colored glue, glitter, etc.

20. Get sad and cry at the end of the night when the date has to end

Freckle Juice

So last night I had an appointment with my esthetician. I've been seeing her every couple months for quite a while now. Last night I laid down on her little bed thingy. She got everything ready to go, turned toward me and exclaimed, "Whoa! Um... I have some bleach I think you need to start using on your face to help control your freckles." All of a sudden I was flooded with memories of reading Freckle Juice in third grade and wondering, while reading it, if there really was a way to rid myself of freckles. After all these years, I've finally accepted my freckled self and now a licensed professional is telling me there is an actual product that can gradually bleach away my freckles. Where was she when I was nine?!


But seriously, as an adult, who worries about having freckles (because now I kind of am)?