Almost Time!

This post is simple.
And since a picture speaks a thousand words, I added a few words to the pictures.




Of course Harper decided she wanted to smell the paper first and then she was scared of the paper- weirdo and then I got the good shot.

Hurry up, ladies!!!

Christmas Came Early

How is it that Christmas arrived even early on Santa's sleigh this year?
People say that all the time, but never do i remember wanting fantastic, thick earplugs the week before Thanksgiving, just to drown out the incessant Christmas music everywhere I go.
I know a couple of you- eh hem- would listen to Christmas music weeks before Thanksgiving if I didn't constantly remind you how silly it is.
So for you, let this post be a countdown until Friday, the day you're allowed to listen to Christmas music and for the rest of you, who may be semi Grinchy when it comes to the crap they play all the time, let me remind you that you can engage in a Christmas drinking game: take a shot every time you hear a Christmas song you hate.
Here are my top five:

5. "Santa Baby"- Halloween is National Sluts Holiday- leave Christmas alone
4. "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer"- What jerk didn't walk their grandma home that night? And maybe if it didn't sound like a crappy country song, I could take it.
3. O, Christmas Tree"- only because no one ever knows the words, which is half the fun of singing!
2. "Batman Jingle Bells"- kid who created that when you should have been paying attention in school, originally you mocked an annoying Christmas song, but then your mocking became annoying.

Drum roll... (pardon the pun; it was intentional)

1. Little Drummer Boy- the movie sucks, the lyrics are annoying, everyone plays it like the world will explode if it's not played every three seconds and the "puh rump pumps" are like banging your head against a wall!

Maybe if we had Thanksgiving songs, Christmas ones would be less annoying. "O Pumpkin Pie" lyrics, anyone?

Jason is back!

That's right ladies and gentlemen, or probably just ladies.
Jason- or "daddy" as we affectionately called him from day one- is officially the new "Bachelor".
Let's all remember why we love him:
-He was way cuter than Jesse.
-Deanna didn't pick him, which made him the underdog, which makes us love him.
-He looked cute in a baseball hat.
-He lives in Seattle.
-His kid is way cuter than Deanna could have ever hoped to have with Jesse- awww, too bad they broke up. (Maddie so called that.)
-He totally became friends with Deanna first, which earned our trust- apparently not hers.
-Remember how sweet his family was? And how they all cried when he had to leave his son?
-His cheesy one liners and romantic idealism made us cringe, smile and squeal, all at the same time.
-There was something about him that caused us to say, "Deanna won't pick him, whore!" and "I hope they pick him for The Back next season!"
-Elle loved him on her show- instant winner, duh.
Well ladies, on January 5th, he's back and he doesn't have to wait for Deanna to choose the wrong guy. As Deb says, "let's hope he doesn't play any games."

I saw the first preview tonight, but can;t find it online. Anyway, click here to see more info and click here for the maybe sad, maybe entertaining video of Jesse telling us all about his broken heart.

Why the gym is more like a bar

In between Newsweekarticles at the gym, I realized that the gym is more like a bar.
I know, you're thinking they have nothing in common: one is a place to work off beer and the other is a place to drink it.
That's where you're wrong.
While the amount of alcohol consumed is significantly lower in a gym, so many other factors are shared.
For one, when I go to a bar, the ridiculously thick waft of perfume and cologne that shoots up my nostrils makes me wish that Tommy Hilfiger had gone into construction. Likewise, I almost died of suffocation today will running next to a lady sporting Prostitute Number 5.
Not enough of a similarity for you?
Do you ever notice that in a gym and in a bar the same creepy men are staring at every rack in the joint?
How about those dozens of people in the bar/gym who look more dressed for a magazine ad than a work-out or evening of drinks?
I personally love to catch those people who stand in the gym/bar and look for the perfect person to sit/work-out next to before committing to a location.
Think about the nosiy bar/gym goers...
Whether they're talking loudly so the girls at the corner booth can hear that they "really buffed up this week" or the dude is grunting in the corner of the gym after lifitng three times his body weight: show offs.
Both locations make you pay an insane amount of money to waste time and feel lousy about yourself when the girl with the raccoon eyes and balloon lips goes home with the number of the Matthew McConaughey's look alike.
Bars and gyms both play silly rave music hoping to entice people to remember that "THIS is the place to be!"
Finally, what gym and what bar doesn't make you think twice before going out in your boring jeans or crappy t-shirt because you never know who you'll run into?

One final note...
While at the gym, I saw Pres Bush on TV and although I drowned out his talking, he was making the weirdest faces. He squinted his eyes like models do. You know, "Smile seductively with your eyes", as Tyra always says.
Well, Mr. Pres, you did a pretty good job. I heard Tyra is planning on making a season of "ANTM: past presidents and old men" I'll be sure to give her your number.

Music and more

With the CMA awards on Wednesday, I thought I'd post three music videos that are tot fab. So, this post is more of a listening post, but in addition, let me tell you a little story...

I went to look at buying a dog from a shelter today, what an experience.
Deb (as my mom is affectionately called by some) and I drove out to Grass Valley- an hour from our house. We knew it would be in the boondocks, but I had no idea I would have a chance to cross four wheeling off my list of things to do before I die. Muddy water pothole after muddy water pothole, mom and I prayed that our drive would be worth it.
We get to the shelter and I'm SO excited to see my maybe dog. As I get to the counter to inquire abut Betty, or Bett I should say, the dude tells me that the lady behind me claimed her last week.
WHAT?!
Then why did a lady e-mail me last night and a dude call me today telling me she was an orphan?
Immediately I subconsciously thought of all kinds of reasons to not like the lady who was stealing Bett, so mean, I know.
Mom and I decided to wait around to make sure the lady really had Betty because the shelter kept saying, "Betty? Do you mean Benji? She looks like Benji." A No she doesn't and B. the reason we have names is so we can call things by them not by the type of thing they look like.
As Betty came out, mom and I looked at each other in shock: she was huge. A small horse, exaggeration yes, but she was not a small terrier. So, we left without a make believe small dog named Bett or a giant dog named Betty.
Note to self: ask shelter people to measure a dog to ensure length.




(You'll DIE when you see this one, girls!)


(This one is not country, but what is music without him?)

Monday 2: Honk if you're Superstitious

Americans are full of weird traditions- don't let a black cat cross your path, dress your kid up and let them take candy from strangers, eat an entire bag of chips while watching the Super bowl, watch American idiots try to fall in love in 6 weeks get together, break up and post it all over the net. (Deanna and Jesse- the most recent failing of The Bach.)
In addition, there is a strange tradition of believing weird coincidences. One being the belief that when the Washington Redskins win a game, the Republicans take a victory in the next day's election. Maybe it's the red, maybe it's our crazy love for football or maybe it was some drunk ass who made this up, gave some person 100 bicks to spread it around and here we are believing that a football game determines the fate of our country. On the other hand, when have we ever take voting in this country seriously? Unless of course it's for American Idol.
To my point, the Redskins lost tonight, which would mean that if we follow the superstition, which is correct 94% of the time, Obama will win the election tomorrow. While I wouldn't mind, okay, okay, while I would MORE than not mind if this came true, it got me thinking about the ridiculous superstitions we believe. Whether or not you want to admit you are a loyal follower, we all do things because traditional superstition asked us to: find a penny?
To kick off the second Blog Post Monday, below are 10 of the silliest superstitions I've heard, followed or scooped up in cyberspace.

1. A loaf of bread should never be turned upside down when a slice is cut from it. WHY? Will I die Do I need to follow this with all food- chicken, a bag of chips, a bag of lettuce?

2. If the groom drops the wedding band in the ceremony, the marriage is toast. What happens if the bride drops it? Does she get to con him into never leaving her? Does the relationship end if the girl drops the engagement ring? Maybe that's what happened with Jesse and Deanna...

3. If your clothes are on backwards, do not flip them or you'll have bad luck all day. My grandma taught me this one and to this day, if I have a shirt on backwards, I have to change my whole outfit. Personally, I think it was some stupid kid's way of getting a good laugh.

4. Start a trip on a Friday and you'll have great misfortune. I'm sorry, can you change the work week then?!

5. It is bad luck to light three cigarettes with the same match. Let's see, probably because a.) your finger will be burned to death and b.) if you're smoking that much you'll prob get canc.

6. Maddie this one is for you: Don't kill spiders; they're good luck. I'm blaming my bad career luck on ALL the damn spiders you've made me kill.

7. Don;t put combs or brushes on the bed or table. Hello??? Where should I out them?! Is that why all those afro people keep them in their hair?

8. Do not buy your husband shoes or he'll walk out of your life. HAHAHA So dumb, but you know I'll never want to buy my husb shoes someday. But, he better buy me some or we will be div.

9. I believe this one should be considered animal torture: To cure a cough take a hair from the sick person's head, put it between two slices of buttered bread, feed it to a dog, and say, "Eat well you hound, may you be sick and I be sound. What a jerk- how mean!!

10. This one is my personal fav only because we really do this in my house every year: on the New Year, do not let a red head be the first to enter your house or he/she will bring bad luck. What the hell did the Weasley family do???

This blog's for you

Lately, I've received a slew of attacks about my blog posting.
Not just my lack of it, but certain people want specific love sent just to them- what selfish whores. (Maddie, *cough* Jena *cough*)
However, if I did not love these unnamed people so much, i would not being doing THIS:
Ladies, and anyone else bored enough to tune in, every Monday night I will post a blog until you come to Lincoln in December.

Every week, the blog will be dedicated to you in some way, so you can stop hating me now and start bringing on the love.

Below you will find a video that will make you a.) LOVE me when you see who's in it. and b.) HATE me for the reason the video exists.

43 DAYS!

See more Ron Howard videos at Funny or Die

Another story...

Here is another work in progress for my Writing class. Feel free to waste time for which you should be studying (my partners in crime) or looking for cute boys in work (my dear old roommate who I will not name) and read the story. Mostly I posted it for mom (even though I already read it to her) and Granny (mostly) because I think you'll most enjoy it.
Topic: write a couple of pages about an eccentric member of your family.

Meeting the Unknown
Visiting a far away aunt and uncle or grandparent is like a rite of passage- leave home, spend two weeks looking at hundreds of yellowed photos, play cards with old people and leave thinking you’re so much older and wiser for having spent two weeks with the oldest people you know.
My rite of passage came the summer after 8th grade. I was on a plane from California to Ohio visiting my great great aunt and uncle. Aunt Daisy and I just got to know each other at my grandparents anniversary party- she was a breast cancer survivor, inching her way towards 80 while still carrying a drivers license and a love for cards that beat any opponents hand. She was really the reason I was going to Ohio. I was about to spend two weeks with a fun old lady whom I recently met, but was sure would show me a good time. Her husband, Uncle Wallace, was something of a question mark to me. The only things I knew about him could take up the space on his bald head: married Daisy young, likes God and does not like to be called Wally. Somehow my entire family called him Wally when he wasn’t around (which was never) so saying Uncle Wallace would take some discipline on my part. I arrived in Canton, Ohio slightly nervous to meet a mysterious man I needed to affectionately call Uncle.
At the time, there were not many men in my family- no one could seem to procreate anything but girls and the only men I had developed relationships with, besides my dad, were my kind, but gruff grandpas. The idea of spending two weeks with a man who may or may not want to spend time with me was slightly terrifying.
Nonetheless, I was excited for my trip and arrived at Aunt Daisy and Uncle Wallace’s three bedroom house, with a tomato garden bigger than their first floor, smiling. When Aunt Daisy and I arrived I remember seeing Uncle Wallace sitting in a corduroy covered chair the color of brown mustard. Aunt Daisy bellowed in his direction.
“Wallace. Wallace! Ali is here from California,” she said with her cleft palette as she touched my shoulder.
Uncle Wallace adjusted his hearing aide and looked up from his local newspaper.
“Oh, nice of you to be here, Allison,” Uncle Wallace said as he smiled at me while rubbing the top of his head. I smiled back and we both surveyed each other: him through his thick black, plastic framed glasses and me through young, bright eyes. I could already tell that despite the mountain sized distance between us, I found the quirky man in the plaid blue shirt and charcoal grey slacks amusing, if nothing else.
It didn’t take long for my curiosity for Uncle Wallace to develop. Soon after I arrived I unpacked my travel essentials in the guest room upstairs. I folded my clothes and placed them in the dresser, that probably had nothing in it for twenty year, and lined my toiletries on the vanity stacked with books with titles like Mommy Dearest, Lily’s Wish and Love After Midnight.
“Ali, I’m going to pick some tomatoes from the garden if you want to help,” I heard Aunt Daisy say between her Ohio accent and an excitement to have her daily routine mixed up for two weeks by a 13 year old.
“Okay, I’m coming,” I replied, while thinking of a way to mask the smell of emptiness, moth balls and dust that housed the room.
I galloped down the staircase and changed my gait to a calm walk a few steps before the living room. I immediately looked in the corner of the room to see if Uncle Wallace was quietly sitting in his chair, but all that sat in the corner was a tall clear glass filled with some sort of liquid that had a clone like resemblance to the chair it sat beside.
I shrugged my shoulders and walked into the kitchen to find Aunt Daisy.
“Um, hi Uncle Wally, er, Wallace, is Aunt Daisy outside?” I asked quietly, hoping I wasn’t disturbing him from whatever he seemed to be doing at the table.
“Yes, dear girl, she’s outside. Go through the mud room.” He didn’t look up from the disarray laid before him on the plastic tablecloth, but he tilted his head up as if to point like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz does.
A mud room. What was a mud room? This was my first indication that I might need to speak a new language to visit Ohio. I assumed his head tilt was my best clue, but paused before I walked away.
As I looked at Uncle Wallace, glasses pressed closely against his nose, hands working on a machine that I assumed he bought from some 22 year old sales boy looking to be employee of the month, I was struck by something large on his head. I walked past him, hoping to get a better look and saw that a thick piece of medical tape covered something the size of a golf ball. I walked through the mud room to the garden, anxious to ask the only person I really knew in Ohio who the man in the kitchen was.
After about five minutes of putting tomatoes the size and color of apples into old wicker baskets, I decided to casually ask Aunt Daisy questions about Uncle Wallace. The only problem was I felt strange asking her about the giant UFO on her husband’s head. Would she think I was silly or making fun of him?
“These tomatoes look so good,” I said. (I was off to a fabulous start.)
“We eat them like apples around here. I remember how much you liked them in California.” She smiled as she plopped another three in the basket I held.
“Yeah, I love them. Does Uncle Wally like tomatoes?”
“Oh yes, he likes most vegetables. Especially for those ridiculous smoothies he makes.”
“Tomato smoothies?”
“I know, he makes me so mad. All these years he tells me, ‘Daisy, we don’t eat enough vegetables. I need more vitamins.’” “So, I planted more tomatoes, cooked more vegetables. Then he tells me, ‘Daisy, I need more vitamins, I’m getting older and my skin needs certain vitamins to stay young.’” “This was three years ago- his skin was already old and nothing vegetables have can help an old man like him.”
I laughed. “Did you tell him that?”
“Of course I did, that old crow, but that made him angry, which made him want to get me angry. Something he’s very good at.”
“What happened?” I asked, as I put the basket down and picked a few tomatoes while keeping my eyes on the story teller beside me.
“The next day he goes out to buy some groceries- vegetables probably- and comes back in the house with some contraption. He didn’t need to ask what I thought of it because the moment he set it on the table my eyes told him:. He went on and on about how a Vegetable juicer/Smoothie Maker would take care of all his needs and how I could cook less vegetables now. I opened the cupboard behind him and showed him the five other contraptions he bought in the past two years for his skin, lack of hair, eyes and every other health reason he could make up.” She started laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” I asked, curious, although I had an itching to follow suit.
“Because it’s funny. I have no reason to be mad now. It’s funnier to see that old man in there reading about the benefits of squeezed vegetables, which I know don’t do a damn thing.”
We both looked at each other and smiled before returning to the hundreds of tomatoes that spotted the garden like giant baseballs.
I wasn’t ready to ask Uncle Wallace about his fascination for healthful foods, aging tricks, or even his love for church, but I knew that these two weeks would be a learning experience even if it was just through Aunt Daisy.
After a couple minutes of picking in silence, I bit the side of my lip and looked at my aunt.
“Aunt Daisy? Um, I have one more question about Uncle Wallace.” I continued to pick tomatoes, avoiding eye contact with her.
“You want to know what that damn thing on his head is, don’t you?”
I turned my head toward her quickly and nodded.
“Garlic cloves.”

If I had a tattoo on my forehead...

If I could get a tattoo on my forehead these are options I would choose from: Keep in mind that some, but not all of these are meant to be school related.

-I'm 23. Are you jail bait, too old for me or the legit age for making out with?
-I. HAVE. MY. CREDENTIAL. I am not subbing because I'm waiting to be a real teacher or because I have this naive idea to change the world- i just get stuck making $90 a day.
-I'm laughing because small talk is awkward- let's stop.
-It would speed things up if I knew who you were voting for.
-Voting for a woman because she's a woman does not make you a bad ass feminist. Nor does it make me want to date you.
-The only reason I'm not yelling is because I don't want you to think you were cool enough to make the sub mad- I'm that stubborn.
-If it wasn't highly frowned upon for me to tell you to go to hell and then give you a referral, I would.
-Just because you KNOW my name is Ali and not Ms. Brown doesn't mean your friends think you're cool.
-I know you're stoned.
-I know you're not really going to the bathroom.
-You will be the cool one when high school is over.
-I don't really care if you listen to your iPod, but I am the lowest member of the school totem pole.
-Did you know baggy pants were out like 10 yrs ago?

I think I'm going to need a bigger forehead.

Ready for Scolding

I know!! I am the WORST blogger ever and deserted my faithful readers over the past few weeks.
Feel free to shoot me, bite me, kick me, curse me, hate me, or do anything else you want. However, if you would like me start posting blogs again, I suggest you refrain from doing anything that might impale my brain, eyes, or hands, as those are all crucial parts of blogging.
I moved into my lovely "suite" in Lincoln; I'm all settled, kinda sorta teaching for the district and am- wait for it- taking a full load of ONLINE (but just as much work as regular) classes. I know! However, it provides me the opportunity to get back on my parents health insurance (I should live in Europe) and I get to learn, which we all know is one of my favorite past times.
I thought that for my first returning blog I would post a piece I created for my Fiction writing class. It was only a one page piece and was sort of just a writing exercise, which will later be turned into a full short story, so bare with the lack of finish, etc. I'm not really looking for a critique- we do that in the online class, but if you can't keep your fingers from judging, then please feel free.
Keep in mind the prompt was to take some characters to dinner and have them talk about the food they eat.
Bon Appetit!
Also, expect to see these topics in several posts this week... Wine Parties, High Fructose Corn Syrup, more stories, and the myriad of annoying gym goers. I hope that leaves you intrigued.
Peace.

(Sorry for the length, but it was an assignment.)

Beef and Crumpet
Jim opened the solid cherry wood door with one hand while answering the buzz on his Blackberry. He rolled his eyes as he entered the foyer. The last thing he wanted to do on a Friday night after flying from London to New York was eat at some up and coming wannabe Manhatten hot spot, but work was work.
He approached the host’s podium, “Yes, hello, my name is Jim Crumpet, I’m here for-” “Jim Crumpet from the International Food Journal?!” “Er, yes, I have reservations at 7 and I’d prefer if you wouldn’t mention my connection to the um, Journal.” “Yes sir. Excuse me. I’ll go see if your table is ready.” As the twenty year old hostess smoothed his gelled hair and quickly left the waiting area, Jim turned his head when he heard a loud laugh behind him. The man met Jim’s eyes, “Howdy.” Jim lifted his head as a hello before he turned and rolled his eyes.
The host came back with a huge grin. “Ah, Mr. Crumpet there seems to be a slight problem. We seemed to be overbooked at the moment.” “And that means what exactly?” Jim said, leaning his upper body over the podium. “It means I can put you at a table with someone else or you can wait, but it will be two hours.” “What?! Two hours? I have been on a plane all day, I’m starving and you want me to make small talk with some ninny or wait for two bloody hours?” Jim folded his arms across his broad chest awaiting an answer. “Yes, I’m afraid that is the case.” Jim exhaled heavily. He tapped his brown loafer and smelled a mix of salty meats and fresh tomatoes. He knew he had no choice. “Fine, I’ll share a table with someone.” “Okay sir, I’ll see if I can find someone willing to share.” As the host was about to saunter away, he stopped.
“Um, excuse me, I’d be happy to share a table, buddy.” The man behind Jim took off his cowboy hat as he spoke to the host. “Wonderful! If you’ll come this way I can seat you both.” The cowboy led the way and Jim shook his head. “I can’t believe this,” he mumbled as they passed plates of salmon and tangy dill sauce, sweet smells of sugar burning on crème brulee and the clatter of pots and pans in the open kitchen.
The host sat them at the table and handed them long black menus before quickly scattering off like a mouse.
Jim perused the menu quietly, up and down searching for an appetizer. “So, partner, whatcha thinking about?” the cowboy said, while stroking his 5 o’clock shadow. “Well, I’m obviously trying to pick an appetizer.” “Righto! I guess I’ll do the same.” “Uh huh,” Jim said while pausing his eyes on the third item on the menu: Artichoke and Olive Bruschetta, served with olive oil baked bread and broiled elephant garlic. Jim closed the menu and scanned the room looking for the waiter. He met eyes with a young woman with a long blonde ponytail. She walked over to the table, smiling, “Good evening, gentlemen! Welcome to La Fleur.” “Well thank ya, honey,” the cowboy said. “I’m ready to order a first course,” said Jim. “Okay, let me just get my pen and pad here.” “I’d like to start with a glass of your 2006 Chardonnay and the Artichoke and Olive Bruschetta.” “Excellent choice! And for you sir?” “I was going to have the same, you wanna share?” Jim hesitated, but thought anything to speed up the process would be best. “Fine, we’ll share.” The waitress smiled and closed her ordering book audibly. “Okay, I’ll be back with that wine asap!”
Jim tapped his fingers on the clean white tablecloth. “My name’s Dallas by the way. Dallas from Dallas.” He laughed at his own joke. “Jim, Jim Crumpet,” he said as he shook his rough hand. “So Jim Crumpet, where the heck ya from?” “From London, actually.” “London?! Well, that sounds mighty fine, and what do you do out there in ole’ London?” “I’m a food critic actually.” “Well that sounds spectacular. I’m in the food biz myself, yes siree. I own a cattle ranch out there in Dallas and I’m just out here promoting my beef to new restaurants.” “Oh, how lovely,” Jim added, thinking how foul owning a beef ranch must be. Dallas continued to talk about raising cattle, raising kids and “the good ole’ life” in the “Big State”.
“Okay boys, I’m here with your bruschetta and wines!” the waitress said short of breath while she tried to carry the heavy tray. “Finally,” Jim said, as he breathed in the vinegar smell of the artichokes and the warm smell of the toasted bread.
The waitress left the warm plate and the wine. Jim lifted his glass and sniffed the citrus smell of the wine. “Whatcha doing there, buddy.” “Well, I’m smelling the wine to catch the flavors before I take a sip.” “Huh, I just always go for it.” “How fascinating, but how can you truly taste the light orange flavor if you just ‘go for it?’” Jim asked, while using air quotes. “I don’t really taste that. It’s more, uh, it’s more like um sour.” “Well, that would probably be a little lemon too.” “Hm, well I say we dig into this bruschetta, here.” Both men scooped some artichokes and olives on a toasted piece of sourdough. “Yum, gotta love anything salty, especially if it’s beef.” Dallas laughed again while Jim orderly took a bite, sipped his wine and took a bite again. “I hate to keep asking you what you’re doing, Mr. Food Critic, but uh, why the back and forth?” Jim exhaled through his nose before he answered. “Well, to get the true taste of the food and wine I must pair them.” Dallas tilted his head and looked at him. “You see, the olives bring out a sweeter flavor in the wine. Try it.” Dallas took a large bite of bread and took a gulp of wine almost at the same time. “Huh. I don’t taste anything different, just makes my throat kinda burn, my man.” Jim lifted the right side of his lip in disgust. “It might help if you wait to drink your wine until you fully finish your bruschetta.” Dallas attempted to try again and Jim opened the menu. “Let’s just order soup, shall we?”

Check Yes or No

With our constant flow of information in the media, workplace, internet and politics, it's difficult to decipher just how we feel about a lot of issues that our thrown in our faces and dropped in our laps in this crucial time of skyrocketing gas prices, heat of war, and presidential changing of the guard.
So, if you'd like some help simplifying the energy crisis- if that's possible- and once and for all deciding how you want to take a stand, head to the link for a smattering of short articles about the energy crisis. The info gives you a quick glance at oil, energy and your money and provides knowledge on both sides of the fence. You can even submit a vote in the online poll and stack your answer up against other readers.
Just one more way to stay informed.

Got Tears?

I am a weirdo.
A big freak.
Messed up like no other.
Yes, I am aware that many of you are nodding and saying, "Yeah, I know, why the sudden realization?"
I'll tell you.
Tonight was my last night taking yoga from my fav yoga teacher. There were only two of us in yoga class tonight (we teachers pets love that one on one attention!) and it was a great ending class.
Afterward, I waited until the other slow poke student left so I could offer my "thank yous" to the teacher. (In typical teacher pet fashion.)
As I thanked her for introducing me to yoga- oh, if only she read my blog!- and told her she was my fav teacher out of everyone, I thought I was going to start crying.
Don't worry, I didn't, but my voice was slightly shaky and if I had not said to myself, "Stop, stop, stop- what the hell are you about to cry for?" I probably would have. But, teachers pets do not like to look vulnerable, so I held it in.
Are you kidding me? I almost cried over my last yoga class????
Oh, it gets better. The reason I know something is wrong with me- as if that's not proof enough- is my lack of emotion over the goodbyes I've been sharing the past week.
As I start to bid "so long, I'll be back soon's" to my homies, I've been utterly unflappable. The past two goodbyes- I forgot to hug one of them and with both I acted like I would see them next week. And I'm pretty sure they both examined me like, "Man, she has no idea she's leaving in two weeks" or "Alright, guess she doesn't really care she won't see me for months."
Sure, but when it comes to a yoga teacher I've none for a month, I freak out and get emotional.
What a whack job.

Nota Bena- This post is not meant as a pathetic "junior high girl- 'OMG, I'm so fat!' attempt to receive mass comments saying, "You're not an emotional wreck", "You're wonderfully okay", "You're not pathetic, you're amazing!"

What You Can Only Learn from a 3 Year Old

This week may have been less than perfect at work, but included some funny moments I thought I'd share.

This first segment is "Things a three year won't understand"

Abby wanted to play band today. She of course was the lead singer and I was the drummer. Mean while I was also playing catch with Sam- drummer and ball player- multi-talented!
At one point I started singing along with Abby, and with all the sass she could muster, she said, "Ali, I'm the singer. You're the drummer." Which I followed with, "Dude, Abby, I'm pulling a Karen Carpenter without the eating disorder." She of course totally side stepped whatever I said, and some of you might too, but I'm hoping there are some loyal Carpenters fans out there who will catch my drift, mom.

Also, when you tell a three year old that you're giving her a ponytail because Gabriella has one in High School Musical- when you're secretly just doing it because you want to and you can't think of a better excuse- then she'll truly believe that Gabriella's ponytail looks exactly like hers and she'll want one every day.

Finally, I didn't know until today, but you can bleed and get high blood pressure from a haircut.
As I was getting paid at work tonight, Abby decided she'd like to do my hair and give me a haircut. All of a sudden she said she needed gloves and tissues. When I inquired she said, "Because, Ali. You have high blood pressure and you're bleeding!!! I can't get blood on my hands and I need the tissues to stop the blood." After several minutes of applying tissues with pressure on my shoulders she said, "Oh my God, the bleeding stopped, finally."

Freakin' kid is so funny. I just wish you could all experience her hilarity with her famous eye roll, head bob and attitude voice.

*If you can't see, I have another new blog just below this one- be sure to read that one too!*

Harbored Love and Knocking on Death's Door

Do you remember my initial adventure with Yoga?
Let me remind you of my annoyance with having to breathe, people who don't wear socks and all the ridiculous sex moves that had ridiculous animal names.
Yeah, well, almost a dozen classes have passed and yesterday I tried something new- Ab Lab.
Oh my God- it was hell.
No, literally, Im pretty sure I visited Hell. This is how I thought it would go-
Me stupidly thinking, "Hey, Al Brown, you've lost 95 lbs. Go to the Ab class because you are obsessive about flattening your stomach and you're fit now, so it won't be that hard."
Oh, silly, silly Ali.
This is how it really went-
I walked into the class with about 12 people already lying on their mats- half of them with a reason to be there, a quarter of them pretending that the 3 carrot sticks they had for lunch, "made me so bloated that I HAVE to do something about it!" and the other quarter wearing half shirts so that they could look at their stomachs after every move to, "See? I totally see my stomach flattening already!!" Idiots.
The only thing I noticed besides the annoying people were these things:
1. The fact that I will never be "that girl" who can breathe, smile, look hot and not sweat while working out- talk about a sport.
2. Cardio instructors are bitches. Poor girl, it was so not her fault. But, as soon as she walked in with her perfect outfit, great hair, perky voice and, "just breathe through the move, c'mon class, let's end on a tough one! You can do it!" (Please tell me you read that with a cheerleader voice?) I though, "I hate her."
As class proceeded (it was only 30 minutes), but as the slut teacher said, "Oops, we already are a minute late, we'll have to make that up!" I caught myself saying YOGA GIRL things!!!!!
Such as...
"That's not how we breathe in Yoga." or when the teacher says, "Arch your back up and head down, then back down, behind out, head up" I thought, "Actually, that's called cat and cow in yoga."
GASP!!!!! Can you believe I was turning cardio into yoga??!! What is wrong with me?I HATE yoga. It's so hard, and a pain in my ass and I can't bend and breathe and "love my body as a temple" and "Namaste"everyone. And in ab lab you keep your shoes on and people are rude, so you don't have to talk to them, but I missed yoga!!!
In yoga time flies. It's like it doesn't exist.
In Ab Lab, I look at the clock every three minutes and enter a fit of laughter when the girl next to me says, "Fucking shit" after every new set of ab work, but she doesn't laugh with me. (In yoga, they would laugh. Then they'd shut up for the rest of class, but still they'd laugh.)
There was no great 15 minutes of stretching and every time the bitch told me to breathe I couldn't do it because I'd be in some awkward ass position with my leg in the air and my "abs contracted" and my arm around my head doing a push up and my eyes focused and my breathing centered on the pain (the pain is everywhere!!!). Well, really that would mean my face looked like a tomato, my eyes were popping out of my head and I was about 0.5 cm- instead of 2 inches- (I'm not Jesus) off the ground because I was dying.
Oh, oh, oh aaaaand- she had the nerve to call the "Child's Pose" the sit back position. Excuse me????!!!! It was a classic Child's Pose- duh.
So, apparently, I suck at Ab Lab, and I'm secretly in love with yoga.
I know, Yoga and peanut butter with Oreos- who would have thought?

Linked

From time to time I'm going to create a post with at least 2 articles, books, songs, etc. whose content is in some way linked.
They will usually provide opportunities for reading, learning and maybe a little entertainment.
Today's idea comes from the article on my internet homepage- cnn. More than anything, human interest stories are the articles I enjoy reading and today's article is just that.
READ the story of the 10 year old girl in Yemin (insert Chandler/Janice/Friends jokes here) who was married off before American kids can even do long division.
I hope this story has not become standard for you. Release your immunity to this type of story and check it out.

The LINK I'm creating for this story is the novel A Thousand Splendid Suns- by the author of Kite Runner. I finished it a few weeks ago and cannot deduce if I like it more or less than Kite Runner because they're just different from one another. Suns holds the same backdrop as Runner, but it's characters are mostly female and the story creates a great intertwining of characters that may or may not slightly be expected.

Read both pieces for more knowledge on the women, problems and sometimes unexpected beauty and love of the Middle East.

Yoga Update

Alright, yesterday I successfully (I actually don't know how you measure success in yoga) completed my 8th yoga class.

Some things have not changed- I still have a difficult time using the mats because of all the gross sweaty people who've used them before me. Since I constantly think about the gross mats, my level of concentration hasn't really improved. Although, my mind has gone from, "Breathe... I have so much to do tonight, yesterday was so fun, I really need to get that CD" and a continuous five minutes of uncontrollable thought to, "Breathe... oh my gosh I hate these mats, someone is breathing loudly, oh right I should be breathing, inhale..." Basically, I've cut my five minutes of tangents down to about a minute.
Beyond that, I really have noticed the physical strength yoga provides- my back hurts less, which is great since my rack and the fact that I sleep on a futon are always making me a bit uncomfortable, my downward dog is always improving; I'm holding the position longer and deeper and it's seeming less like a creepy sex pose- don't worry there are plenty of other yoga poses I'm learning that I feel should be reserved for the bedroom.
The biggest change (which will never happen again!!!!!) occurred at my 6 pm class last night. After a busy weekend and great "bachelorette party halter top shopping at the Loft", I booked it over to the 6 pm class. At the time I was wearing jean shorts and flip flops- which needed to be changed, but had my upper half ready to go. I looked at the clock and realized I had 10 minuted to get there, park, change, run to the room and "pre-relax". I knew 10 minutes would be about 5 minutes shy of what I needed. I dumped pre-relaxing (I suck at it anyway) and changing. This meant that at a long red light I unbuckled, took off my shorts and changed into gym pants- awkward. I didn't get time to put on sneaks and socks, but I figured I could manage that while beginning class. I did not have time.
I went to yoga in bare feet. I know.
Well, this is what I know- everyone does that. Everyone is not me,
I tried to calm myself down, which went something like this, Me:"I hate feet, I cannot be barefoot. When you're barefoot they make you do toe stretches." Mind:"You have to do them with socks too." Me: "But I don't have to see feet when the socks are on!" Mind: "Relax, it's one class. No big deal."

I'm telling my mind and I'm telling you- I am never never, never going without socks again. I was hyper aware of all the feet around me. People touch their feet, we had to spread our toes yesterday, which I REALLY hated and remember my mat germ issue? SUPER elevated when I realized my bare feet were all over bare feet essence.

Yoga may help me with strength training and maybe even one day I'll be able to, as they say, "keep my thoughts on and about what''s on my mat", but I will forever more wear socks to class.

Memorable Nannying Moments of the Week

3 things Sam said...
(Out of the blue at the park he says,) "Ali, when are you going to get a boyfriend?" "Ha, when you find me one Sam." "It's not my job. All you have to do is make out with a boy and you'll have one, so go do it." Maybe I should take his advice...

"Sam, is your brother going to marry his girlfriend?" "I hope not!" "Why?" "Cuz I have enough sisters as it is- I don't need anymore- even if they're only my in-laws!!!!!"

(Sam lost the baseball we were playing in the pine tree.) "Oh man, I smell like pine!!!! I'll never get a girl. All I'll get is a squirrel!"

2 things from Abby...

(Sam and I played baseball- all week!!!!- and I started singing "We wanna pitcher, not a belly itcher" and she said...) "we want an itcher not a belly Bitcher!"

At the post office I told Abby to stand on any of the blue tile squares near me and wait patiently, which she did (yes!) but there was a crazy kid behind us running around and his mom said, "Get over here. Look at that girl? Can't you stand like her all nice and patient?"

My work here is done.

ATTENTION POR FAVOR!

Every year, my lovely hometown of Lincoln puts on a contest called "The Best of the Best". It highlights local businesses that are the stars of our community.
This year, my mom has an opportunity to WIN in the photographer category! Please help her out by following the directions below and voting for her (anyone from anywhere may vote!)
If you've never seen her work (you've obviously never read any of my posts that gush about how great she is) so check her out HERE!
Please vote asap and pass this on to anyone who has seen any of her pics or to whom you can introduce her pics. Leave a comment to let me know you've voted.
Thanks for help!
Here's what to do...

Okay everyone, here is a contest I could have a very good chance of winning-but only with your support!!! This is a contest that is held in Lincoln every year and names the winners as "The Best of the Best" in town. If you'd like to help me win, please follow this link and fill out the fields at the top, then just go down to "photographer" and put my name, "Debbie Brown-owner of Debbie Brown Photography" in the appropriate field. If you fill out the form you have a chance of winning a prize as well! http://forms.placeropolis.com/?form=lincoln_bob

Thank you so much for your support!!! FEEL FREE TO PASS THIS ON TO ANY OF YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY WHO MAY HAVE ENJOYED YOUR PHOTOS!

Thanks again,

Debbie

P.S. If you have a chance, let me know if you voted :)

Debbie Brown Photography
916-645-3356

www.debbiebrownphoto.com

BLOG site is www.debbiebrownphoto.blogspot.com (bookmark this and check back weekly for information and photos about all sorts of things!)

Still in Love

Not much to say in this post. Just wanted to share the news article about the Brit who fled the country after murdering his wife and kid. Seriously, dude.
Despite this weirdo I'm still totally in love with The Brits (search for one for me to marry, ok?) and want to go to England so, so, so badly.

Sorry for the lack of posts over the past week. I went home last weekend and had loads of fun. (See photos on my facebook profile or my mom's blog.) I promise to come back with a couple posts over the next few days. Expect some overdue blogging on some AMAZING literature, commentary on radio and a nannying post or two.

Happy Hump Day.

Namaste

Yesterday I sat in the parking lot of my gym after finishing up a phone call with Nicole. For about 15 seconds my mind fought with itself over my desire to leave the gym and skip my workout. (I think I have these feelings about 1-2 times every two weeks: not bad. However, I always quickly remind myself that in a short period of time I'll be required to look better than good in a silk green bridesmaid dress.) Get out of the car, once you're inside you won't want to leave. After telling myself that line I begrudgingly walk in and check out the class schedule for the day. Being that Sam had a 5:15 baseball practice I made it to the gym a little after 6 and actually arrived in time to take an evening class like the rest of the world who gets off at a decent hour.
6:30 class: Yoga (for all bodies) For all bodies: so does this mean that the room won't be packed with 5'2" girls who popped out of their equally small mothers breathing deeply, calmly saying namaste as their first words and ever so cooly twisitng up like a pretzel whenever asked?
I decide that maybe this yoga class will be a better way to ease me into my workout for the evening. I do a quick 10 minutes of running on the treadmill and head into the room at 6:25. Just enough time to stop sweating, breathe normally and check the fellow yogaers. Yogaers? Yogais? Yogaites?
So far so good. Only two other people in the room: a normal looking couple who are not doing anything annoying like sharing a mat or holding hands while they synchronize their breathing. (In fact, I didn't even know they were a couple until the end of class when the guy asked the woman what they should have for dinner. That's cute.)
By the time I get a mat and a yoga brick and look over to see my fellow classmates are barefoot while I take off my shoes but decide there is no way I'm taking off my socks, my teacher arrives. She looks just like a yoga teacher- as if I know what they look like, but she does: cropped hair, the definition of yoga pants, calm, quiet smile, but not all bouncy or energetic like an aerobics instructor. She passes out those strap things and as she passes me one she quickly suggests that I might like to find one of the longer mats instead of the typical work out mat I've chosen out of habit from all my crunches. "Oh yeah of course" I say. Darn, I screwed up already. Because of course in my head that's a mess up for the student that I always am.
As class begins, about three other women filter in and we begin by breathing. A lot of breathing. Breathe? I don't breathe. I mean, I breathe but I don't, ya know, breathe. This is the extent of my thought while breathing: I've been running for twenty minutes, thank God my ipod is on and there isn't a soul in the room because I sound like I'm dying.
"Listen to the music and focus on the patterns of your breathing. Think about only the space of this room," she says. Think. Interesting music, definitely couldn't run to this. I wish I was listening to the new Wheezer CD right now. I need to buy that when I get paid. Paid- only two days. Then i get to go home, yay! Home, I love my new room. "Keep your thought on this space." Right, this space. Yoga. How many calories do you burn doing yoga? Does anyone know? Amanda loves yoga. Maddie took a yoga class once. Damn this thinking is hard. haha, I wonder what this would be like if Maddie and Jena and I were taking yoga together. I would definitely not be focusing. They're not even here and I'm not focusing. "Now that you've released your negative energy and entered this space..." Wait, I'm not done!
Breathing goes into stretching. "Stretch the heels into the earth." she says. "Turn your body and feel the stetch in your spine- an organic movement." I think this means press the bottoms of my feet into the floor and when I turn my back my spine shouldn't feel like I'm breaking it in half.
As class continues we move into the classic- downward dog. Even a yoga virgin like myself knows what that is- a creepy Cosmo name for a yoga move. More specifically, all your weight feels like it's in your arms and hands while your feet are parallel to one another and your ass is sticking straight in the air- awkward. This of course is the time of class when the teacher goes around to correct or compliment everyone's position. Shit, this hurts, but does it look right? My upside down head glances at those around me to see if I'm doing it correctly. No luck because all the blood is rushing to my head and all I can focus is on the pulsating. Oh, and the seizure like shaking of my jello like arms. Now my teacher is hovering over me mumbling something about shifting. Shift? Shift what? I feel like I'm going to topple over and your soothing voice makes me want to scream, "I don't do yoga! I can't breathe, I can't focus, I run, that's it."
Throughout the rest of class we move in awkward positions and do some ab workouts. She keeps giving these ab moves fancy Eastern names that I can't even remember. It's called a sit up in cardio world.
"Everyone lay down and stretch from your arms to your toes. Feel the sun and the earth and your heart..." I've tuned out but know this is the last five minutes of class where you get to close your eyes and do nothing, yes! "As you relax, stay focused on your breathing. Inhale all your positive energy and exhale your negative thoughts while I pass out some eye masks." Eye masks? Eye masks which have been used by countless other people which means their eye sweat is all over it. So now I can't focus on positive energy crap because I'm thinking about the exact second she's going to lay an eye mask on me and I'm going to jump up like a kickboxer and refuse to wear it. I feel her coming towards me, but not with an eye mask- with a kleenex. Oh thank God. She's using a Kleenex as a protective layer.
After five minutes of heaven I wish her voice was saying we could sleep there for the rest of the night, but it is time to sit up and bow while she makes eye contact and says namaste (who the hell thought of that as the Yoga slogan anyway?) to each one of us. I think we're supposed to say Namaste back, but I find that awkward and quietly whisper thank you (like the cardio girl that I am) instead.