13 Things I Learned In 2013

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I think this family photo adequately displays lesson #11

1.     I prefer to gain weight rather than lose it. This must be true because I ended the year heavier than I started it. (2014 took care of that when it gave me its version of a New Year’s weight-loss plan called “The Diarrhea Diet.” Thank you 2014, for helping me lose 2013’s excess pounds! Should be at least a month before I put them back on again.)

2.     My dog has some sort of mutant gene that causes her to never die. Seriously, I'm sure every year will be her last, and yet…she’s still here. Shedding more stupid fur than ever. And forgetting that we feed her, then begging like a half-starved orphan puppy until we relent and feed her again, because imagined or not, the poor thing is hungry!

3.     My life can suddenly change direction without my express permission. When did this sort of disregard for my authority become okay? I think it’s high-time Life and I had a little chat about this.

4.     I’m a complete hypocrite about health. My grocery cart is one big contradiction and testifies against me every time I shop. And yet, I continue to buy my organic fruit and non-GMO corn and eat it alongside the processed lunch-meat and decidedly GMO white bread. I refuse to use food coloring, but Jelly Bellies are somehow exempt. And on and on and on.

5.     I enjoy reading my kids’ YA fiction as much or more than they do. In fact, now when I read an actual meant-for-adults book I'm irritated that I have to decipher covert symbolism, and remain confused as to whether I’m sympathetic to the complex protagonist or not. Makes my brain hurt! YA is the refined sugar of the reading world, and we all know how much I like sugar.

6.     No matter what my husband says (and you need to trust me on this one) I do not snore. He’s never been able to prove it, and I have witnesses who will corroborate my claim. It’s called “breathing heavily,” for those who’d like to know the scientific term.

7.     I don’t enjoy housework. Oh wait, I didn’t learn that in 2013—I’ve known that my entire life. Moving on….

8.     The pet store betta fish I was sure we'd be free of within a month has somehow survived the last six. Just like the wild frog that was supposed to kick the bucket when my daughter surreptitiously brought it home from a field trip. We were told, on good authority, that the creature would croak (no pun intended) within weeks of domesticity. We’re going on year 3 now. Lord, why? Why do our pets have such freakishly long lives?

9.     I can still sleep in like an adolescent. I'm not as skilled as a college student, mind you, but I give a pretty respectable teenage effort nonetheless.

10. After reading “Divergent” I decided my fear landscape would look something like driving a stick-shift in San Francisco rush hour traffic, followed by keeping a time log of my activities throughout the day, followed by being forced to wear belly-shirts, followed by eating Monsanto corn, and ending with “The Diarrhea Diet.”

11. The happiest place on earth really IS Disney World. I know this for a fact now. (Which leads to lesson 11A: This 30-something can still ride teacups like a boss!)

12. I’m strangely addicted to reading the comments at the end of internet news stories even though the human depravity reflected therein is almost enough to drive me to drink. (Why are people so mean? Why?)

13. And finally, due to homeschooling, I’ve rediscovered all sorts of elementary school knowledge that I’d forgotten long ago (probably shortly after I took the test on said information). Thus proving that there really is a lot of stuff you won’t use later in life. (But I kinda feel smart knowing it again.)

I'm Serious...No, Really!

I thought perhaps I'd try to write something serious for a change. You know, to show another deeper side of me. 'Cause I sure as heck wouldn't want anyone to think I'm a one-trick-pony, or that I don't have the needed maturity to tackle challenging subject matter.

So I'll just share what's been on my mind lately. I'm gonna freestyle a bit here, so bear with me as my profound thoughts flow freely from brain to screen.

Shame. Shame and prejudice. The shame that accompanies prejudice. Ugly, shameful prejudicity...prejudiceness...prejudicism...oh, whatever.

I feel I can speak out on this topic because I have a wart on my elbow. Now hear me out; this is a really ugly wart. (I would post a picture, but when I googled "warts"...{shudder}. Free advice: do not google warts.) Anyway, I've had it for at least 5 years now. My doctor says the wart will go away on its own, and if growing exponentially larger is part of this "going away" process, then she is absolutely right.

I've tried numerous remedies. Kombucha, garlic, tea tree oil, prescription wart remover, OTC wart remover, nitrogen, canola oil, and now, duct tape. This thing is stubborn like nobody's business!

You're asking what any of this has to do with shame and prejudice. I'm not exactly sure.... Hey, I said this was going to be free-style!

Okay, okay, I'll tie this all together. Just give me a sec.... Ah-ha! I feel shamed by the prejudice I experience from this wart. You should see how kids stare at it! I mean, it's sooooo shameful.

Ach. Never mind. I can't do it....

No, That's Not An Easy Button

That angry red spot in the middle of my face? Yeah, that's a humongous high school throw-back zit. And, yes, it hurts. Hurts like a mother.

So go ahead and stare next time you see me; you have my permission. 'Cause there's no point in trying to avert your gaze. The monster practically begs you to admire its awesomeness. (And has an amazing resistance to concealer might I add.)

Stupid dummie-head juvenile hormones...I'm supposed to be a grown-up now....

FYI

As you can see, I'm in the middle of revamping my blog. I'll keep you posted if I end up scrapping this one and starting fresh, or if the remodel is enough to suit my needs. Stay tuned! (And do tell me what you think, won't you?)

Up Yours, Upchuck!

Puke makes me wanna puke. And I've been having to clean up the stuff a lot lately. Our dog, Carson, has been graciously providing me with oodles of opportunities to fight my gag reflex in the last week.  (I suspect it's all the cat-poop she's eating out in the yard-- or something else equally delicious. Whatever it is, it's brown, chunky, and contains bits of yard waste.) Huge yard + no fence = one giant doggie buffet.

But what I really want to know is; why do dogs always have to find a spot of carpet to puke on? Our upstairs is completely hardwood floors except for an area rug and a few foot-wiping mats by the doors. Yet she has managed to land 75% of her vomit on the aforementioned carpeting. Why, why WHY? The only time she's managed to spew on the hardwood is when I've seen it coming and tried to get her outside first-- but there's no doubt in my mind she was aiming for the rug. She just loves pukin' on that rug....

So, is it just my dog who prefers to make my clean-up job infinitely more difficult, or is it a universal canine trait? Just curious....

And don't worry, she appears to be doing just fine now. (Well, as fine as an ancient boxer can be, that is.)

Checking In!

Yes, I'm still alive.
No, I haven't forgotten about my blog.
Yes, I've been busy (come over sometime and see the new place!)
No, I'm not going to post today.
Yes, I will soon.

Much love to all those who faithfully check! But for now, why not just amuse yourselves by going through some old posts? (Or do I flatter myself by assuming that will amuse you?)  Anyway, I'll be back soon-- promise. :)

Mmmm, Mmmm, Good!

If I weren't darn sure I'm not pregnant, I'd wonder.  'Cause how else do I explain the ravenous cravings I've been having for pickled jalapenos, and roasted seaweed.  (Not together, of course, but...hmmmmm, might make for a very funky Asian-Mexican fusion.)

Sad But True...And Hilarious

I was going to write something witty to accompany this little map of the world, but find I cannot improve upon it in the least!  (Well, okay, I would change the verbiage in the yellow European section, but alas, I cannot.  Forgive that part....)

One Word: Yikes

I was introduced to the show "Hoarders" last night.  For your information, I will be busy the rest of today cleaning my entire house.

Penalty For Popsicle Sticking!

Hubby is relaxing on our couch watching sports and happened to flip the channel briefly to hockey.  I don't know anything about hockey except that whenever I've attended a live game, I'm surrounded by belligerent drunks as two teams of heavily padded men beat the snot out of each other.  And that's why when I heard the term "icing" I had to stop and ponder it for a moment.  I mean, icing doesn't sound like a very manly term for a rough and tumble game.

Can you imagine if off-sides in soccer was called "meringuing"?  What about if a false start in football was "frosting"?  Or if a foul in basketball was called a "ganache"?

I know, I know-- icing refers to the ice which hockey is played on.  But I can't help but conjure up images of buttercream and whipped fudge when I hear it.  Makes me giggle.  Yeah, hockey just lost a few macho points in my book for that one.

Dreamocide

Maybe it was the effects of being up until 4:00am.

Maybe it was because I was with three of my favorite girls in the world-- two sisters and a cousin-- and spirits were high.

Whatever it was, when I look back at how hard I laughed (until I cried) after admitting that I sometimes dream about murdering people.... I'm wondering if it's actually not funny?

Dang-- I can't be the only one! C'mon, show of hands, how many of you peeps occasionally beat, stab or strangle folks while in REM? (What if they really deserved it?) Anyone wanna get all Freudian on me? 'Cause I'm pretty sure it might mean something.

In any case, I want to put everyone's mind at ease that I've never, ever murdered anyone while conscious. Like, not even once. And that's a pretty good track record if I do say so myself. So no worries, you're relatively safe while in my presence. (You're less safe if you enter my subconscious at night, however. Just sayin'.)

The Nose Knows

If you've eaten garlic in the last 24-hours I can probably smell you from two feet away. And for some reason, peeps have been eating a lot of garlic lately. I'm not sayin' stop, mind you, just...remember that mints are your friend.

Help, Sis!

You know you need a pedicure when...you're walking barefoot on carpet and your feet act as Velcro. In desperate need of a foot file here!

Lights, Camera...Action!

Such interesting, interesting things you discover when you find the homemade videos your daughter and her friend absent-mindedly left on your computer after they'd secretly whisked it away for their enjoyment. Interesting indeed.

Nothing horrendous, mind you, just...interesting. Definitely have a pre-teen on my hands!

Reflections....

Most of you know by now that hubby's dad passed away last week after having suffered a massive heart attack. Although he was an older gentleman, it was still quite a shock. We always thought of him as a tough old bird (think Clint Eastwood) even when rheumatoid arthritis began to ravage his joints and he got a dose of the gimpies. But heart problems? Not even on the radar.

Seeing my husband lose a parent; hard. But death has a way of making you reassess life. What's important, what's not, what's right, what's wrong.... And I've decided to make a deliberate recalibration of my values, because while looking at life through death's eyes, I saw some characteristics in me that needed changing. I've been getting too caught up in desires that don't matter; the size of my house and the furnishings in it, gadgets and newfangled devices I'd like to own, losing weight and fantasizing about various plastic surgeries that could propel me toward that end, moving up in the world, insecurities, anxiety, pride, envy, I could go on but I've embarrassed myself enough.... But all of a sudden, that stuff seems so petty. So worldly. So...far from who I want to be.

If I were to die tomorrow, would a tummy tuck be considered amongst my greatest achievements? Will getting in the last zinger of an argument win me favor with my Maker? What if I never look as cute as you do in jeans and despise you for it-- will that enhance our friendship? Will I get to Heaven and think, "geez, my only regret is not having a house as big as The Jones's"? Somehow, I think not....

So, if anyone's interested, here's what I came up with to combat, well...me. It's the renewed order of my values:

A. God.

B. People.

Pretty simple, really, but I need simple because I'm just not wired to handle complicated for more than a few seconds.

A no fail plan? Ha! Please! Any plan where I am the primary player is bound to stutter and sputter along, like a student driver working a manual transmission for the first time. It's gonna be a bumpy ride!

But I've been reminded that death can arrive at any time for any of us (not trying to be morbid here, just tellin' the truth), and when it comes for me, I don't want to be caught feverishly pursuing desires that are contrary to A and B. It's not about the things themselves, mind you, it's about my motivation. My priorities. My heart.

'Cause hey, if a surgeon ever offers me complimentary liposuction, a university begs hubby to come on staff so they can pay him a hundred grand a year, we can afford a nicer home in a great neighborhood with stellar schools, etc, I will accept that as God's generous blessing! Thank you, Jesus! And if I never reach the level of attractiveness our society deems worthy (and it seems less and less likely with every year I get older), hubby gets fired, and our home is flooded without our having the appropriate insurance coverage, I will accept that as well (albeit less graciously, I s'pose).

In the meantime, however, as life goes along the way it does; the good and the bad all mixed in together, it is my intention to pursue loving God and people first and foremost. Everything else is just...everything else. Because at the end of my life, only one thing will matter, and that is hearing these words: "Well done, good and faithful servant." (With or without a tummy tuck.)

Flasher

You know you've become one of the mature crowd when you bring home the top you bought in the junior's department and notice the tag on it reads "dress". The thing hardly covers my ample backside. This, my friends, is why people like me are supposed to stay out of the junior's department. From now on, I'll stick with the misses' section, where tops that hit me at my hips are meant to be worn with pants underneath. Lesson learned.

No, No, After YOU

Regardless of whatever road rules might normally apply, when a man in a motorized wheelchair comes blazing out of Lighthouse for the Blind's parking lot, you stinkin' get out of his way-- 'cause he pretty much owns that street (whether he sees you or not). But it does make one wonder....

C'mon Kids, Lock Those Knees!

There is perhaps only one thing more painful than attending an elementary choir/recorder concert. And that is sitting next to a grandma who likes to sing along with the children, whether or not she knows the songs well enough. And to make matters worse (or at least far less entertaining), none of the kids actually fell off the risers during the performance-- although a few came pretty close.

But on the bright side; it was all over in about 45 minutes and I got to sit next to my buddy during that time! (Still, I can't help but think that a good ol' fashioned fainting would have really enlivened the evening.)

Sin Cerealy, Nona

Note to self: when writing an email it's always very important to do a quick proofread before sending it off. That way, when you accidentally type "Hellp!" instead of "Hello!", you won't alarm your recipient.

After-Smell

Just so you know, it takes over a week to get the coffee smell outta your hair after you've tried to dye it with said coffee. Hmmmm, I'm adding that to the list of homemade hair-dye cons.