Peace Out 2008!

Well, the time has come. It is now the very last day of 2008 and I am really not that sad to say goodbye. Now is the time to get pumped for 2009 which means a quick inventory and review of 2008 and projections for 2009. I shall begin.

I am still alive. Check.

Still have red hair. Check.

Still maintain appropriate levels of humor (most of the time), am relatively cute most days (super fly on all others) and am simply irreplaceable. Check. Keep that up. Done.

I had crushes on 23.5 boys, went on a dozen or so dates and kissed -?-.

I ate a lot of turkey sandwiches, Chipotle burritos, chips and M&Ms.

I drove 13,475 miles, killed one cat and 3 toads.

I semi-gracefully executed over 30 social events, hemmed at least 50 pairs of pants, repaired twice as many holes, baked over 1000 cookies, and danced my tail-feathers off for at least 100 hours.

I experienced a wide variety of emotions in 2008 from 'slap your face, slam the door' soap opera level to utterly boring lulls of hibernation.
2009 goal #1: Regulate emotional range so as to avoid extreme conditions much like hypothermia.

I spent a lot of money on clothes and shoes, many of which are still hanging in my closet...with original tags.
2009 goal #2: Don't buy things not needed just because they are the right size and have a 'sale' tag or are pink, purple, red or shiny gold.

I did not get enough sleep. (note: current blog time 2:27 am - oh dear)
2009 goal #3: More sleep.

I maintained moderately safe distance from huge amounts of trouble and managed to have good times at healthy LDS approved recreational funtivities. I decided that I prefer only moderate levels of drama created by myself and only slightly higher levels of drama discussed behind closed doors about others.
2009 goal #4: Maintain drama under level 5 and only levels 7-9 at safe distances for short periods of time.

I exercised a few times.
2009 goal #5: Exercise a few times +1

I attended 6 weddings, 4 bridal showers, 7 baby showers and one Eagle Scout thingy.
2009 goal #6: No more showers...of any kind, except the soapy ones in the morning, by myself.

Ok, that is enough with the goal making - I don't want to get carried away with high expectations or anything.

Looking back it seems 2008 was a pretty busy year. There were a lot of happenings in my general vicinity, most of which were unplanned, but they all proved valuable whether simply entertaining or profound life lessons. I certainly can't say 2008 was all peaches 'n cream but it wasn't all butternut squash either. Sure, there are some things I'd like to change and things I'd like to forget all together, but in the end I'm pretty sure I came out ahead with a bit of life capital left to make some good investments in 2009.
2009 goal #7: Make good investments, but if bamboozled and things start tanking, cut losses and run to Mexico.

Well 2008...audios sucka'! Peace.

Month of Mystery

As a friend pointed out today, no posts in one entire month. Sadness fills the internet.

What on earth have I been doing? I'd love to tell you that I've been busy with a new job, or boyfriend, or hobby, or world tour, or mudslinging campaigns, or religious sabbatical, or travels, or cooking classes, or reading, or even extreme sporting, but that's a negative all around. Truth is, I have no idea what I have been doing but it certainly has not been any of those things listed above and clearly not blogging. Still, I have evidence that I was doing things. My Discover bill was unusually high and I don't have any more butter in the fridge so I'm pretty sure I baked stuff. Baked and shopped. Well now, that actually sounds just like every other month. Hm.

Anyway, this past month of holiday blissfully craziness has just been one big fuzzy blur. It feels very similar to waking up from a deep dream where you aren't quite exactly sure what's real and whether or not Brad Pitt is actually waiting for you in the other room with breakfast...hm, yeah, those are nice. Or like when you arrive to work on Monday and the coworkers make some standing joke about your tardiness and then pry into your weekend details. Hm...I don't remember what I did. Oh really, they snicker, it was that good huh (wink, wink, poke, poke)? No, no, I'm the Mormon remember, this is certainly not a 'I got plastered so hard I don't remember anything,' just a normal 'I don't remember but it probably involved food'. Sorry to disappoint, again.

I hear short-term memory loss happens sometimes to people under higher levels of stress. I wonder what has caused so much stress that I can't remember a blink of the entire month. No, it can't be that for I hear that stress is usually the result of some kind of work or work-like behavior and I think it's already been established that I don't partake in any of that. There must still be another reason. Perhaps it was boredom, no one wants to remember boredom. Although this is not really likely either since everyone knows I'm pretty much just one cute ball of fun. It must be that something so traumatic happened I have cleverly blocked the entire month from my mind. I sure don't know what it was but it sounds like it was pretty bad so I guess it's a good thing I don't remember it. Phew. Or... simplest answer, maybe someone just slipped me unmarked pills or bonked me on the head. Jerks.

Well, here you have it, a new post and a mystery...unsolved.

Morale of this long rambling and inconclusive story: life happenings + blogging = form of journaling = following the prophets + remembering things = blessings + entrance into heaven. Doh!

Protect the Polar Bears!

I ran into Greenpeace again. This time they were trying to appeal to my animal loving side by encouraging me to save the bears of the far north. Perhaps, because I’m so cute, they think I have a special bond with other cute things. That might be a good theory.

But first, I’m not sure how cute polar bears actually are. Sure, they are fluffy and white but they are still actual bears and I’m a firm believer that past the age of enjoying little stuffed bears there are no more bears that are cute. Second, I don’t really know anything about polar bears, I mean, are they actually endangered? Do the Eskimos hunt them? Probably. Finally, if they are hunted by Eskimos I have no idea how I could personally save them. Oh if only we could stop global warming and Eskimos!

Anyway, one thing I do know about polar bears is they like Coca-Cola, especially around the holidays. So, for the first time ever, I decided to take Greenpeace’s challenge. I’m sending a case of the good stuff to my fellow cute friends chillin at the pole. I hope this helps with the whole endangered thing…and I sure hope they share with the penguins because they are cute too.

Cute, sappy...and so true

It is no secret that I enjoy cute, little things and I have yet to stop the rumors that I’m fairly skilled with crafty projects and such. It is also not a secret that I do NOT like sappy-cute-crafty things. I don’t care for motivational wooden plaques, feel good embroidery pillows, silly animal pictures with cheesy sayings, ridiculous generic forwards adorned with angels and I certainly don’t scrapbook. It’s just not my thing.

Sure, my own taste in craft projects might not suit another, but the brilliance is I don’t care. I know what I like…and I’m mostly ok with others enjoying the crap they like. Sometimes I feel bad if I gag when you show me your little puppy pillow embroidered with: “I wuf you”…but it is not my fault you have creepy taste.

Sidetracked…anyway, my best friend is a member of a card making club which she really enjoys and is rather good it. It is a form of scrapbooking that I’m not completely opposed to so I’m ok with it. Occasionally she shows me something that is a bit cheesy, she admits it and I just giggle. Overall, they are really beautiful and rather sweet and I enjoy getting them. Recently she posted one of the cards she made on her blog and for the first time I saw a cheesy, gag inducing quote that actually gave me a genuine smile:

“A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same”

This simple little quote described our friendship better than I ever could. Our friendship has lasted more than a decade because we truly know each other and we love each other despite and because of what we know. There are not too many people in my life I’d be prepared to say that about and without question she makes the top of the list. We have seen each other from laughter to tears and together we have forged through the wonderful and the despair. A friendship like this does not come along every day and when a cheesy but beautiful quote appears as a reminder you find yourself most grateful for the opportunity you have for them to be in your life.

I did not intend for this posting to be homage to my best friend, in fact I was prepared to bash more warm-fuzzy quotables, but perhaps this is long overdue. We are human, and honestly just not that easy to love sometimes. Some of us pose challenges because we are clueless, guarded, broken or quite simply a tad bit feisty but we all desire to be and have good friends. A true friendship is more than completing sentences or bursting into laughter by the look of an unspoken joke. A true friend loves you despite all faults and cares enough to patiently encourage you to overcome them. A true friendship stands the test of time, distance and change. As two peas in a pod, together, we have weathered all three. I am so lucky to have a friend like her that can make a cute, sappy quote mean something very real to me. I am proud to call her my best friend.

Little Purple Things

I finally caved last week and purchased a new iPod nano… a purple one. It is a very good purple and it suits me well. I can honestly tell you I purchased this iPod for two reasons: it’s small and it’s an amazing shade of purple. When I saw the ad release for the new generation iPods I was filled with glee – you put anything in the right size and color and I’ll buy it, so good job Apple. After my joyful purchase, a friend of mine generously loaded my new baby with some sweet jams and I drove home in high spirits singing and dancing with my new pretty purple pal entertaining both myself and fellow roadies.

It has been just over a week and I have proudly displayed it to everyone I know as if they have never seen one. That little electronic gem has brought me so many warm fuzzies. I feel slightly bad for my old fatty iPod because he just was never that pretty, but he has a new owner so I am sure he is just fine. BUT, the point is, the current joy. I am truly amazed at how happy I have been to get in my car after work and sit in traffic so I can play with my new friend -I actually look forward to it. Although this strikes me as somewhat strange I think the real reason is rather quit simple. It is the simplicity of it.

Recently I’ve been stressing in my life over huge things. I am starting to feel a tad older and daily more aware of things I thought I’d be doing by this point in my life and am not. Unfortunately, long ago, I approached these goals from the wrong angle, placing unnecessary time frames and silly expectations, so instead of standing as pieces of hope and excitement they have continually brought discouragement. Maybe I’m naive, but I guess I thought goals should be motivating and rarely discouraging, so…ooops.

While I know there is a place for long term goals and a genuine focus on the bigger picture I have spent far too much time recently overlooking the small things in life that bring happiness every single day. Thank you my pretty, purple iPod for reminding me of the little things that make life worthwhile on a very, very small and simple scale.

Election Exercise

I did not vote for a President yesterday. I did not care for any of the candidates and this whole campaign season has really been a huge disappointment. I voted yesterday because I can. I voted because years ago a group of inspired, wise, strong individuals fought for the right to be heard, to choose, to vote. I voted yesterday because just shy a century ago a few brave women stood up in a society telling them no and paved the way for me to have the right today to be heard, to choose, to vote.

My heart ached yesterday when I heard the indifference of some of my friends and colleagues. “Who cares, my vote doesn’t count anyway,” “I don’t like any of the candidates so it’s just not worth voting.” What a sad state our nation is in when today we are unable to appreciate the simple privilege of heading to a local polling station and casting a vote when there were so many willing to die for it. I refuse to take this for granted no matter how poor the ballot may look when I get to it. I refuse to silence myself by apathy. I will not pretend to think my individual vote will flip any election but it does not really matter because it is my vote and that is the most important vote to me.

Yesterday I voted simply to exercise a privilege given to me long ago by others who would not be silenced. I voted for them and I voted for me. I voted because I am woman and I voted because I am an American.

Protest Sin

On my way back from lunch today I passed a small group of individuals shouting at the top of their lungs. When I got closer I noticed a big yellow poster saying something about sin and then, in red, bold letters: Repent Now or Be Burned. Eek! Then I heard the guy tell a clearly drunken student they were out ‘protesting sin’ on this fine day. Amen to that is what I say. I think we should all protest sin more often, perhaps even every day, but maybe with something a bit classier than yellow poster board and sharpies. I’m thinking t-shirts.

That's My Spot!

This morning when I pulled into the parking garage there was a small red car just sitting there in my spot. When I say my spot, I mean exactly that, it’s MY spot. Every time I find a car misplaced there I feel a small burst of anger flood through my body and I make a little growl noise to myself. Grrr! Now, we do not actually have reserved parking spots in this garage but still I feel some sense of ownership over this spot. I mean, I’ve been parking there for over 4 years so I figure it must be some kind of common law privilege. But every month or so I go through the same thing – new people that don’t know they've parked in my spot and I have to inform them…in the nicest way possible. I’ve been saying forever that I want to put up a sign to announce to the noobs this location has already been claimed, please park elsewhere, but clearly my laziness outweighs the temporary flash of bitterness towards the spot stealer.

Last night I was watching Project Runway and there was a hilariously over-dramatic blow-up between two designers about a sewing machine. Apparently one of the designers had claimed a certain sewing station and found another designer had changed the thread and was using it! Gasp! I mocked them through the screen, of course, but found myself thinking I’d probably feel much the same way had it happened to me. After all, I was irritated with little red car this morning and I can remember being irritated when those annoying kids tried to sit at our lunch table in elementary school. I can also remember shaking my fist and mumbling under my breath back in college when I would walk all the way up to the top floor of the library only to find my favorite study/sleeping cube filled to capacity with a fellow student I would now despise forever. And…I find myself actually getting slightly flushed and disoriented when I walk into church and somebody is sitting in my row. What is happening here?!?!

Honestly, I don’t think my reaction is entirely unfounded and irrational; although it is probably way more intense than it should be, but that’s not really anything new for me. Since the beginning of time we have been sectioning off territory for specific groups of people or individuals and we fight over it…still…today. We want our own space and probably for some deeply ingrained reason – we need something to call our own. Currently, I have my cubical at work and my bedroom – this is MY personal area so don’t touch my stuff! As a human race or maybe just an American race we all want a bit of space dedicated just for us. It makes us feel secure, comfortable, perhaps even gives us a sense of control or power. I like and want all of those things and so I guess that explains the desire for retaliation when someone tries to take it all away from me by parking in my spot.

Well, that’s just a little introspection for the day. Turns out, I’m possessive. I said it. There you have it. So, please, don’t take my spot!

Color Me Good

I love color and I love wearing it.

I shant give away any of my secrets but every day I spend a minute or so deciding what color I’m going to wear based entirely on how I’m feeling, who I'll be seeing or what I’ll be doing. It’s amazing how much a little bit of color can affect my mood and the rest of my life. There have been plenty of studies surrounding color; what they mean or what they might say about the individual. Although I don’t know enough about color theory to support it as a pure science, I certainly find it very fascinating and worth exploring further. After all, there is no denying the role color plays in the advertising world so color must do something.

Since I clearly ponder on color a lot, I happen to know of a fun little online color quiz. Now, I’ve never really given too much credit to personality tests and although I feel this is very similar to an all encompassing horoscope or some creepy fortune cookie that sorta fits my current perspective, I found these results eerily close to accurate on a simply basic level. Interesting:

Your Existing Situation: Easily affected by her environment and readily moved by the emotions of others. Seeks congenial relationships and an occupation which will promote them.

True

Your Stress Sources: Has an unsatisfied need to ally herself with others whose standards are as high as her own, and to stand out from the herd. Her control of her sensual instincts restricts her ability to give herself, but the resulting isolation leads to the urge to surrender and allow herself to merge with another. This disturbs her as such instincts are regarded as weaknesses to be overcome; she feels that only by continued self-restraint can she hope to maintain her attitude of individual superiority. Wants to be loved or admired for herself alone; needs attention, recognition, and the esteem of others.

True, give me more attention.

Your Restrained Characteristics: Believes that she is not receiving her share--that she is neither properly understood nor adequately appreciated. Feels that she is being compelled to conform, and close relationships leave her without any sense of emotional involvement. Circumstances are forcing her to compromise, to restrain her demands and hopes, and to forgo for the time being some of the things she wants.

Mostly true, but what is emotional involvement – sounds lame.

Your Desired Objective: Takes easily and quickly to anything which provides stimulation. Preoccupied with things of an intensely exciting nature, whether erotically stimulating or otherwise. Wants to be regarded as an exciting and interesting personality with an altogether charming and impressive influence on others. Uses tactics cleverly so as to avoid endangering her chances of success or undermined others' confidence in herself.

True, I am cleverly tactic.

Your Actual Problem: Has a fear that she might be prevented from achieving the things she wants. This leads her to employ great personal charm in her dealings with others, hoping that this will make it easier for her to reach her objectives.

True, I am most charming.

Your Actual Problem #2 (cause 1 is not enough): Greatly impressed by the unique, by originality, and by individuals of outstanding characteristics. Tries to emulate the characteristics she admires and to display originality in her own personality.

True, originality is my middle name when I’m not conforming to others I admire.

Ok, so that was fun but I’m not really sure what all of this means. If my preference to a certain color led the computer to identify all these problems I have why does it not tell me with which color to solve them all. It’s probably red, red is the best, good thing I have a ton of it.

So, now I’m wondering, what does color say about ya’ll?

Affirming the Earth

I work at a very large public university and every day I’m attacked by at least a dozen supposedly well intentioned students with ridiculous fliers and donation requests. On my way back from lunch today I heard the following simple seductions from a few of these human sidewalk barricades representing some obscure organization called "Greenpeace":

“I can tell there is a tree hugger underneath that fancy polo!”
“Hey, you look like someone in the mood to stop global warming!”

Surprisingly, these clever lines did not seem to work. I chuckled to myself, avoided any eye contact whatsoever and picked up my pace so I wouldn’t be forced to, yet again; tell them, “No, I would not like to save the world today.”

Truth is, I do want to save the world from utter destruction but I find it slightly irritating to be bombarded on my way to serve the man with these in-your-face guilt-tripping solicitations. Aside from pushing them down on the pavement there is little I can do to make them go away – something about free speech in a public place. Anyway, I really don’t like the feeling of wanting to avoid someone and for a second I actually feel bad saying NO but then I remember they just want the money I’m trying to earn to buy shoes and I don’t feel bad anymore. And also, I really don’t think my money is going to make the earth better anyway. Money just can not fix all the world's problems - everyone knows that.

Personally, when my 'problems' overwhelm me and I’m feeling a bit sad, worn down or simply ‘abused’, I perk right up when I receive compliments or accolades from my friends. I figure if this works for me it probably would work for the earth too. So, my simple suggestion for saving the world - while not annoying people as they walk to work - is to help the world feel better about herself. A happy earth is a healthy, self-confident earth.

I shall begin now, in a delicate yet forceful tone: “Earth, you are beautiful. You are doing a great job. Keep up the good work. We really need you.”

I think that will do the trick. A bit of affirmation goes a long way. Sometimes a little encouragement is all you need to keep moving with a smile. So, I’m gonna do my part to heal the earth and then next time those green shirt wearing hippies ask me to help them save the world I’ll just say, “No thanks, I already did that today but maybe you should too.”

I think tomorrow I will come up with a sweet earth cheer.

Yeah, you go earth!

Occam's Razor

: a scientific and philosophic rule that entities should not be multiplied unnecessarily which is interpreted as requiring that the simplest of competing theories be preferred to the more complex or that explanations of unknown phenomena be sought first in terms of known quantities.

I’m baffled, but somehow I’ve found myself surrounded by a group of friends who utilize Occam’s Razor daily and are experts at it. They quickly identify the simplest answer (which typically also includes the least amount of work) and push full steam ahead. There is no grey, only black and white. Everything is either a 1 or a 0...speaking in their own language. Despite my continual protests that no, there are some things that do actually require some thought and work, they manage to do just fine with minimal supervision – often to my amazement. For the most part their calm and simple perspective on life and its happenings works out just fine and they are in general, pretty darn satisfied.

In a recent conversation with a good friend who thinks only in terms of money, he said he couldn’t understand why people would buy more problems. I agree, why would I do that – it just doesn’t make sense. But still, l find that I often face an irresistible desire to make absolutely everything far more complex than it ever need be. In essence I willingly pay for more than is necessary on a regular basis. I find this rather ironic considering my rather obsessive tendencies to clip coupons, shop only the clearance racks and pick fights with the cashier who won’t adjust the price of a mis-marked item.

I’m not really sure what motives this overspending and although it strikes me as somewhat irrational, I am somehow convinced things just can’t possibly be interesting or accurate if they are too simple. It could be a ‘woman thing’ or perhaps even a redhead thing but there I am wasting precious time reading between the lines or making up my own lines entirely. (You know that annoying person in the theater who talks back to the screen with their own ‘additions’ to the plot line, yeah that’s me. Sorry.)

Some people might call my spending habits exercising imagination or exploring creative thought processes but most of the time I think it really ends up being just a big headache machine...that I rent. I don’t like headaches and I certainly don’t want to pay for them so I figure I should be more like my simple minded friends (hm that didn’t come out right) and just refuse to buy more complications.

All things being equal, the simplest solution is the best solution...and hopefully the cheapest. Simple = Best. What a simply amazing concept. I will take one Occam’s Razor please…oh look it’s on sale!

Proof It

My sophomore year of college was an interesting one. It was a pivotal point in my life…unfortunately I happen to be really bad at pivoting. Anyway, I spent my first year and half of college preparing to enter the 5 year masters accounting program and then it hit me. There was no way I wanted to be an accountant, not a chance. I was just as surprised as anyone considering the fact that A) well, I mean, I was pretty good at it B) my mom and the majority of my extended family are CPA's and C) it was a guaranteed money job. But I could not deny the feeling, accounting was not for me. After I pulled the emergency brake on that train, my second semester was spent exploring a variety of other subject matter in hopes of finding anything else to grab my attention. Looking back I’m not sure why I picked these but nevertheless I enrolled in the physics of sound, computer science and history of math course.

I did horrible in all three. But by far the most shocking was the math course. Although I was a Calculus TA at the time and certainly capable of talking and doing math, I apparently missed the part in the syllabus where I had to actually turn in my work, oops. Anyway, aside from just not following directions, I learned a great deal from the course. Initially, I wasn't sure what to expect, History of Math, I thought to myself: I'm good at math, I like history, this will be an easy course and I will walk out of here with some sweet Fine Arts credits (yeah I'm still not sure how that works). Turns out, it was way more intense than it sounds.

The course was conducted by a brilliant visiting professor from India. His English was horrible. Luckily, Indians (well and everyone else really) like redheads so I got a lot of ‘specialized’ attention…for you know…translations and such. The very first day of class he says, “Who can tell me what pi is?” Almost instantaneously, a pompous little nerd in the front row shot up his hand and spouts off 3.14…..blah blah blah followed by a brief explanation of what it's used for. Oh great, I think to myself, not only am I not going to understand the professor but I've got “Mr. I know all things math” ready to save us all from our silent ignorance. But Prof India goes on, “Can anyone tell me where pi came from?” Front row Frank tries but is quickly shot down. That is not what he meant and for the rest of the class he proceeds to show us an elaborate proof - how exactly pi came to be. I am not positive, but I'm fairly certain my mouth stayed gaped and my eyes blink free through the entire process. After all, I knew what pi was and I knew how to use it but it never occurred to me that while I was using pi to solve other problems it too had such a journey of its' own. The rest of the course continued in this fashion...we proved theory after theory, yes even the quadratic formula. I learned more about math than I ever thought possible. Ever. It was truly amazing, but without question, it is way harder to prove a math theory than to simply use it.

Now, in my old age I have found in other aspects of my life I often know about the pi and sometimes even how to use it. I typically know what the general concept is, an overview or at least a basic understanding of what mystical equations I must utilize to get to that final answer. The tricky part is actually coming around to it, proving what pi is actually made up of. And also, as I have learned over the years, this ends up being the most important part. The answer is not going to change – it is how I get there that matters, how I proof myself. So, despite no longer having an Indian to guide my way, I shall proof forward and yes, oh yes, I will solve pi.

P.S. if you ever want to know the proof to the slope of a line, just ask me…about 7 years ago.

A Lion! Oh My!

Another tale of youthful innocence….

I spent most of my days as a youth in Arizona…in our backyard pool. We lived on the corner of a very busy street so we often had random ‘visitors’ wander into our yard. One day while my lil' bro and I were splashing about the pool playing ‘let’s see how long you can hold your breath under water while I sit on you’, we were interrupted by a ferocious creature who came charging in from the side gate. I shot right out of the water screaming, “A lion, a lion!” and ran in the house to get my mom – yes, I left my baby brother to fend for himself against the man eating lion. In response to my shrieks of pure horror she came bolting outside and to both our surprise there was my brother petting the lion! “Mom!” I screeched, “a lion, a lion, why is he petting a lion!?!” She, as a typical response to most of my reactions, burst into uncontrollable laughter, “Oh sweetie, that’s not a lion, it’s just a fluffy dog.” Now, to give myself some credit it was in fact a Chow and to this day I still insist they look exactly like lions.

We ended up babysitting this 'lion' for sometime until his owners finally came to rescue me from him. And yes, he did bite me many times, turns out – Chows are actually meaner than lions. Every time I came face to face with that dog and even today when I see a chow I remember that rush of pure terror that flooded my veins when I thought for sure that I was going to be eaten alive.

So what do we learn from this little anecdote? Well, I’m not exactly sure but it is a good story to tell at parties – trust me, when you add the gestures and facial expressions it’s a killer.

Ok so yes, I will provide a brief lesson. What I learned from my encounter with the lion was a real life application of the old cliché 'you can’t judge a book by its cover'. More specifically, I see it as a representation of life’s lovely little challenges. At first they come at us as fierce lions but in reality, and after we calm down, they are really just fluffy dogs – not too bad. Now, I don’t really like dogs because they bite and smell and I don’t really like trials because they are hard so no matter how you put it I’m still not a huge fan. Nevertheless, the basic point is things are often not as bad as you think they are…even if they do bite a little.

Just remember: take a deep breath before shouting lion or your mom will probably laugh at you.

Chocolate Chips, Divided

When I was a cute little Beehive (the ripe age of 12) I really got into baking. It was always encouraged because, as it were, I was pretty darn good at it. Anyway, one of my favorite recipes was Peanut Butter Bars - they are delicious. After the peanut butter, the next most important ingredient is chocolate chips, and the directions read: two cups chocolate chips, divided in half. So, being the eager baker I was, I followed these instructions precisely until one day my mom came into the kitchen and I exasperatedly proclaimed, “You know I love these peanut butter bars but they are sure a lot of work!” Why? She asks. “Well,” I explain, “I have to cut all these chocolate chips in half and it takes forever – I don’t know why but that’s what the recipe says.” She immediately bursts into tear jerking laughter as I looked up at her from my chocolate covered cutting board with the confused “redhead caught in the headlights” expression on my face. What? What’s so funny? She lovingly comes over, puts her arm around my shoulder and says, “Sweetie that means you divide the entire portion, one cup here and one cup there, you don’t actually have to divide the individual chips”. Oh.

I’ve made peanut butter bars a hundred times since (minus the extra work) but every time I pull out a bag of chocolate chips I chuckle to myself in memory of those more innocent days when I followed the instructions word for word but missed the point entirely. Today I find myself with somewhat the opposite inclination but typically the same outcome. I’ve gotten lazy, just skimming over things or only half listening. I haphazardly read for context not content and I often hear only flash* words to maintain focus or the appearance of comprehension but too often I walk away realizing I did not retain any of it. Sometimes it’s not completely my fault but more often than not it is my own impatience that leads me down the path of complete blanks or inaccurate assumptions.

I think I’ve always been prone to taking the short cuts in life but ironically this has too frequently led down the much longer ‘scenic route’. I find myself standing in the middle of nowhere wondering exactly how I ended up there. Never good. So today, I will take a reminder from my little chocolate friends to slow down, be more patient and thorough at the beginning so I don’t bypass the whole point and end up hitchhiking the long road back.

Always keep in mind; you don’t have to cut all the chips in half individually, well, unless you just really need to chop something.

*flash words are words I find of interest...they change daily at whim.

Making the Man

Today my younger brother returned home from serving a two year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

As he came striding down the terminal, my mom and I began gleefully jumping up and down (yes, also clapping and screaming) while grandma stood on the sidelines shaking her head - apparently she doesn't want to claim us. Anyway, I saw coming down the escalator, a man I had never seen before, a man who had just accomplished something spectacular and he was glowing to prove it.

Just hearing him speak, you can tell how much he has grown. I'm sure he could go on for hours listing all the things he learned on his mission and how many ways he's changed physically, emotionally, spiritually not to mention all the lives he has touched. Of all the many wonderful things a mission does, changing the missionary is one of the most impressive. I myself have never served a full time mission and have often wondered what this kind of selfless sacrifice might have done for me. It takes a certain type of person to accept the intense commitment a mission requires and I never really had faith enough in myself for it. But there he is, standing with pure confidence in front of me, my little brother demonstrating what willingness to give in pure service is, and with that sparkling smile everyone knows he served well.

I recently had a discussion with a good friend about what it means to be a man. Despite my continual protests and shameless jabs, I walked away with an understanding that only the individual can decide when he truly is a man. Other people can sternly tell you, "you are now a man," but it is only when the boy himself walks the bridge to claim his manhood that it becomes real. Without question, a mission is one of the most difficult bridges but my brother crossed it, and he is now a man.

This is not the first of my family to serve a mission and it will certainly not be the last, but with each experience comes even more respect and appreciation for both my family and my church. Two years ago we sent off a 19 year old boy with a brand new suit and an eager heart and today he came home with 30 more pounds and an overflowing spirit of new wisdom and love. I stand in awe of him today, for who he is, for what he has done and for standing strong in faith. Even more, I stand in awe for his ability to do it all with such grace and then to still walk with the humility to ask what more he can do.

I love my brother. I often tell people he is the male version of me (minus the red hair), which I have always felt to be true and certainly explains our great relationship. Today, he is more than that - he is also a man and for his extraordinary example of strength I could not be more grateful.

Love Gambles

From everything I know, gambling is bad. I must confess to having a mini addiction to the lobster game in Vegas (man I love that dancing lobster) but gambling as a whole, I do not partake. It is just not worth it. Recently while enjoying the play list on my BFF’s blog I ran across a song by Ben Lee, Gamble Everything for Love. My initial reaction was ok, whatevs, gambling is bad so he’s crazy, but nice beat. He sings to me, “if you gamble everything for love you’re gonna be alright”. Interesting notion.

Truth be told, aside from gambling being pure evil, this has been the complete opposite of all my thinking since the beginning of time. Gamble for love? Yeah, I’ll take a shot in the head thank you very much. All my days, I have tried to stand strong against the sneaky forces of love by simply avoiding it all together. An easy technique which works for me: cleverly pretending to be in love with any male that walks my path. Man, there is nothing better than that sheer look of terror and awkward mumble when you tell some poor, unsuspecting boy you love them. I live for it. Yes, I am a bad person.

Gambling everything for love is certainly something I’ve never considered, but as my years are rapidly increasing, I am discovering that love might actually be the one thing I can’t risk not gambling for. A friend once taught me, and by friend I mean I don’t remember who, that anything worth having comes with a great deal of risk and the greater the risk the greater the reward. Turns out, this actually just ends up being a combination of a whole bunch of clever sayings from an assortment of individuals but I think it works here. Now, without question, I’d feel much better about the whole game if I was guaranteed a royal flush when the cards are dealt but I’m slowly realizing that even with questionable odds, the spoils are worth it. They say it makes the game more interesting anyway. Bottom line, I’m all in…as long as I don’t get the Joker.

Love is a risk, it is a gamble, but the prize…well it is priceless.

Pipe Dream

Back in the early 90’s I was obsessed with two computer games: Pipe Dream and Prince of Persia. I’ll save my Prince of Persia tale for another entry but I’ll just say this: I was really, really good and I saved that princess like a billion times…with record speed.

Pipe Dream came rushing back to memory just the other day when someone told me my aspirations to rule the world were nothing but a ‘pipe dream’. I thanked them for their support, crossed them off my “People I’ll Take to the Top with Me” list and then began sweet reminiscing of that silly game I loved so much. I can still hear the spectacular background music as it picked up tempo when the green goo neared the end of the pipe I was frantically trying to extend. I also remember the constant satisfaction I felt by beating my younger brother at yet another wholesome after-school activity.

When I look back on the game now, with a better understanding of myself, I think I know why I enjoyed the game so much. You see, Pipe Dream was a game that so cleverly combined all things I love. First: the challenge. There is nothing quite like begin thrown a good, clean obstacle which, with some decent effort, you can totally own. Second: creativity and imagination. Pipe Dream provided me plenty of right brain development opportunities as I swiftly crafted some pretty intricate and magnificent pipe patterns. Third: a great soundtrack. Excellent music really is the foundation for all things good. Music will instantaneously change my mood, get me moving and keep my going. Finally: success and reward. I make no false pretense for my desire of constant acknowledgment. Honestly, there are very few things more exhilarating than the joys following a conquest or in my case the flashy “You Win” banner and super happy music at the end of an intense game of Pipe Dream.

I miss those simple days when a video game alone could sustain my daily pursuits for excitement and fulfillment. Is it really any wonder that I’m constantly looking for a current, real life application of my animated childhood enjoyment? Today, being much older and indeed wiser, I find myself faced with particular difficulty in finding activities (specifically employment) that contain more than one of these passions as so liberally provided to me by Pipe Dream. It’s true, I might be held slightly back with misguided expectations that real life could actually be as good as Pipe Dream but I still think there is a chance. Just as I conquered Pipe Dream so many times I figure if I apply the same determination and if I can just find a ‘You Win’ banner to carry around for constant reinforcement; I can totally take over the world.

You may think my aspirations of taking over the world are just a pipe dream and you might be right, but I’m certainly willing to keep playing and I will do everything I can to keep the green goo from spilling all over the place.

Breakfast Smeakfast

As a general rule I don’t eat breakfast. It’s not that I don’t enjoy breakfast foods I just don’t enjoy the practice.

Now, before you waste your time trying to point out the various flaws in my thought process let me just say I’ve heard it all before. I’ve heard countless individuals (both smart and not so much) talk of breakfast as the "King of Meals" – it’s the most important meal of the day, the one meal you should never skip. Breakfast brings your body to life; kick starts your day…blah blah blah. I’ve also read and listened to plenty diet professionals reiterating the counter-intuitive strategy that eating a nice hearty breakfast everyday will actually help you lose weight – yeah right Kellogg’s. I’ve reviewed countless studies on the matter and I do not doubt any of their claims just the application to me, as in, it doesn’t. I must confess to finding a certain level of legitimacy in the concept of breakfast as a whole. I don’t think it’s a bad thing and I’ll be sure to feed my kids breakfast every day, however, I choose not to partake in the morning ritual and my reasons are four-fold:

First: my body, like my mind, refuses to function properly before 10 am and if you make me eat breakfast chance is I will throw up on you.
Second: I never have time for a decent breakfast; I’m lucky to make it to work on time. Now, if I had a personal chef, things might be different.
Third: anytime I do manage to grab breakfast, within the hour I’ll be hungrier than ever and forced to eat again before lunch. What a waste. Sidebar: here is my beef with those crazy dieter’s theories. Tell me, how can I really lose weight if breakfast makes me so hungry I end up eating twice what I would have for the day?
Forth: I don’t like to do things that “may” be good for me just because random people say so…on principle.

There, I’ve said it – cleared my conscience. I just don’t do breakfast. Now go on, defend the ritual if you must.

Mind Over Matter

When I was a wee lass I possessed magical powers. True story. I was obsessed with the TV show Bewitched and then of course Sabrina (the teenage witch) and I was positive that by a crinkled nose or wiggled finger I too could make stuff 'happen'. I remember sitting in the school yard wiggling my nose with my index finger (no telling what that must have looked like) sending out my spells to bring Jake right to me and force Dawn to trip on her stupid face. I never could get my magic to work on them but I 'made' plenty of other things happen - recess bell ringing - which kept my dream alive. To this day I occasionally catch myself thinking those special powers reside within and that I can control anything by a flip of the wrist - people, things, it matters not. Needless to say, the success rate on this is rather embarrassing.

A friend of mine is forever telling me I can do whatever I put my mind too and every time he does I just want to punch him in the face...but I don't...because he's right. The qualification is, you can really only put your mind to those things in which you actually have control, basically yourself alone.

So, how does one convince your mind that you CAN do anything without making ridiculous assumptions that converge on other people or things out of your stewardship? My guess: the idea remains the same but the thought process must change. I can't really make Jake come to me but I can make myself get up and talk to him and that's a pretty good start.

Luftmensch

Luftmensch: an impractical contemplative person having no definite business or income.

Oh to be a luftmensch, a luftballon if you will, floating through life without a care at hand – free of any obligation and all things mundane or tiresome. At times I imagine how it might feel to be so completely insouciant and not responsible for or to anything, anyone. How enticing to embrace only all things sweet and simple, those pure joys of life…ahh hot air balloons. I can almost feel the breeze between my toes as my body drifts above the frenzied world, no restraints of time or destination. Feeling lackadaisical, enjoying unabridged breaths with pure freedom in my grasp, all troubles below disappearing and then…oh wait, there’s a DSW*! At that very moment I’m brought back down, quickly reminded how much I enjoy other things in life, like shoes. With this simple recognition a rush of other thoughts enter the picture like how I need money to buy them and that I need a job to have money so I can buy them. Hm. Welp I guess aspirations of a luftmensch will have to remain in my dreams. Truth told, it’s not so bad to have both feet on the ground...in a great pair of heels, and as it goes, “we’ll all float on okay” anyway.

Luftmensch: word of the day – state of my heart.

*For men folk who may not know, DSW is one of the most amazing shoe stores of all time.

Rodomontade

I ran across this fun word today and so I will share some of the happy thoughts it brought about. For those, like me, occasionally vocabulary challenged I shall provide the definition to ensure complete same pageness:

1 : a bragging speech
2 : vain boasting or bluster : rant

I’ll go ahead and acknowledge the negative connotations but what a great word! Plus, it describes my daily pursuits. I decided long ago that my ego was just far too big to rely on others to fill so if I wanted to keep it bursting at the seems I alone was going to have to do something about it. My simple solution now has a great word: rodomontade! Surely, there is a good and very bad way of proceeding with this technique. Some of my fellow ‘rodomontadies’ push way too far, coming across rather conceded and are usually repulsive. I, on the other hand, find a happy, safe medium in humor. For certain, it’s a sneaky humor, the result of ridiculous statements or exaggerated skills which I likely don’t actually possess. It matters not what I go on about, with my rodomontade I stroke my ego and thereby maintain a level of contentment albeit unrealistic view of the world. But I’m good with that. Go on, give it a try and tell me if it doesn’t make you feel better. And if you can’t think of anything to brag about yourself feel free to brag about me...I will take it!

Procrastinating Princess

This week my professor cancelled my evening class and called it a “work day”. There is no doubt in my mind this was a generous offering intended to give those of use who are diligent enough to start the dreaded semester project a good chunk of time to draft up a big fat ‘A’. In my case, however, instead of hearing “work day” I hear “play day!” Without question I should certainly be spending the day doing exactly what I’m sure at least one of my classmates is doing but I won’t.

With this acknowledgement I suddenly realize how poorly I manage my time on a regular basis. One would think someone so intelligent and organized, like myself, would surely be smart enough to make sufficient time to get things done…and done well. But no. In an ever failing attempt to rationalize my actions I must simply admit one thing – I’m a procrastinator…but at least I’m darn good at it. After all, it’s truly a rare occasion in which I arrive early or even on time to any event and I don’t remember a single time in my entire academic career I finished an assignment before it was deadline due. I’m right there, 11:59 pm hitting the SUBMIT button. I am in fact a Pretty Pretty Procrastinating Princess.

Being a PPPP, I’ve learned to work exceptionally fast under pressure and I always, typically with the help of some miracle, manage to crank out work sufficient for my needs. No doubt, there is some skill involved, but it has recently come to my attention, somewhat harshly, that perhaps this technique is getting a little tired and by tired I mean me actually being tired…all the time. As it goes, I figure I must somehow become a Punctual Princess but, being that I’ve so long been the wicked stepsister to this seemingly perfect character, I have no clue how to go about it. I would imagine her actions would be basically opposite of mine so that’s a start. BUT what if Punctual Princess me ends up being worse? What if in fact it’s the procrastinating itself that brings about the best fruits of my labor? This would be tragic. I guess there is only one way to know for sure - a scientific experiment and on that note I shall put the shoulder to the wheel and start on the research paper that is due tomorrow.

Backup Plan

Right after my freshman year at college my roommate and I had to move apartments. We were going back home for the summer and just wanted to store our stuff for a few weeks. We boxed everything up and planned on leaving it in the apartment’s storage cages. Problem: we waited until just a few hours before our flight to make the transfer and it was, of course, locked. Everyone had left. Screwed we were. We asked our friend to come over and help us move the boxes somewhere else but we had no clue where…and we left out that information. As soon as he realized our predicament he shook his head, starred us both down and said in a rather piercing voice with outstanding gestures, “What’s Plan B? What’s your backup plan? You always have to have a backup plan!!!” We burst into a shameful laughter and to this day we’ll often recite this phrase to remind us of our pure lack of planning skills and freshman stupidity.

Since that pivotal moment in my life, I’ve tried to always keep a decent backup plan handy. I'm certainly an advocate of both the philosophy and practice. But too often I get caught up in the moment, incapable of thinking beyond the present and I find myself standing in front of a locked door with no chance of jimmying it open. Quickly I’ll realize the error of my ways and inevitably that voice will enter my mind. I know! Backup plan! Where’s my backup plan!?! That annoying voice is always right but why is it that I only hear it after I get locked outside?

Little Leprechaun

In honor of St Patty’s Day I thought I’d share just some of the reasons why I’m often mistaken for a leprechaun:

1. The obvious – I have luscious red hair, natural as can be.
2. I’m 5 ft tall – basically already a dwarf.
3. I’ve got a rather high-pitched voice - come on, admit it, you know when you imagine a leprechaun talking they sound like a chipmunk.
4. I’m very very sneaky and super good at hide and seek.
5. I’m giddy for all things gold.
6. I enjoy bouncing around a wee bit.
7. Green looks amazing on me – it’s as if I were born to wear it.
8. I’m sorta unpredictable.
9. Rainbow is my favorite color.
10. Despite my vocal protests I really am just looking for someone to catch me and share my gold (awww).

Fair Play

Warning: Sentimental Posting

Earlier in the week I took part of the annual tradition: the Texas Fair and Rodeo. There's no shame in saying that my mom guilt me into the excursion by labeling it a "good family bonding activity". I mean really how does one ever get out of that? I'm not sure what made her select the rodeo for our family time but I think it had something to do with the animals. Moms and baby sheep - what can you do?

The trip was off to a great start in the family suburban on the long drive out to the middle of nowhere. My little brothers were in the back playing DS and I was reading so yeah - that's bonding right? Next, we arrive to the fair grounds only to wait in a ridiculously long line where there was only one person selling the tickets and yet there were 5 people standing around waiting to take the tickets you just bought. There was definitely something wrong with that picture. We overpaid for our entrance fee despite having called prior to confirm it would in fact be cheaper to purchase the tickets at the gate - nope, not true - liars! After entering the gates and taking a big whiff of what I can only describe as the 'rodeo smell' we head off to yet another line to get the coveted wristband. With this gold shimmering slip of paper we could now walk the grounds like rock stars getting on absolutely any snap-n-play ride we wanted! And so we proceed with the fair. Still now, I can't really put my finger on it but there is just something slightly off about the people that work at the fair and rodeo. It's never a surprise, just fact. But then again this really only adds to the overall experience - I mean you can't say you've done the fair without actually talking to a few genuine carnies.

Despite my initial protests, it happened, more than once - bursts of laughter left my lips. I was having a great time and so was the rest of the clan. But it wasn't until I was hanging upside down in the Fire Ball with nauseous levels rising exponentially by the second, it occurred to me that it wasn’t the actual rodeo I was enjoying at all - it was in fact my family bringing the grin to my face. My mom was right. We spent a nice day with each other just laughing, chatting, and eating. It didn't matter that I stepped in a ton of poo and that she made me comment on all the pretty little cows sitting in their cages. We were together and together we had an amazing day.

Rodeo recommendations:
Skip the Fire Ball. Yeah it looks way cool but I'm tellin ya...just walk away.
Try the chocolate dipped cheesecake on a stick but don't eat the hotdogs.

BA in BS?

Communication Studies - my undergraduate degree. It also happens to be one of those degrees in which the moment you drop the title all heads will tilt and then: “Oh, that's interesting...and so what is that exactly?” What a good question – Communication Studies – yes, what is that? I graduated just under 5 years ago and today I still can’t honestly tell you what it really means with much confidence. I can, however, tell you with complete confidence that I'm a college graduate. I met all the requirements to obtain a degree recognized by some high board of intellectuals who have been given, almost mystically, the authority to determine who gets that little piece of paper with the gold seal. Hooray, I have a golden ticket!

The problem is what in the world does this golden ticket get me? I mean, I am now fully qualified to hold any number of middle management positions for the rest of my life. Good times. But did I really push through 4 years of college to now sit in a small cubicle, all day, rattling off the same speech over and over to convince some administrative person that yes, receipts are required for reimbursements. I mean really, are you serious?

Truth is, even though I sometimes question the practical implications of my degree I don't really feel like it was waste at all. I enjoyed my educational pursuits very much. All my upper division classes were filled with theory, in-depth reasoning, and discussion. It was brain heaven and I soaked up every minute of it. There were a lot of other things too; like how to live off $5 a week, that contributed marvelously to my overall development. There is no telling where I'd be without this degree but the struggle now is that I feel as if my job, the job I got because of the degree, has put me in brain hell. I've got to get out. So the real question is - what do you do with a degree you enjoyed obtaining but that doesn't put you anywhere in the real world you want to be? My flawed solution - graduate school. And so it begins again.

Turkey Sandwich

So yeah, I’m a turkey sandwich kinda girl. Aside from the ridiculously frequent chocolate indulgences, the TS is my comfort food. Yeah, I know it’s a little weird but I’m ok with it. This is how I see it: a turkey sandwich is always safe. I can go into any restaurant, anywhere, anytime and there’s always a turkey sandwich. Well, except for the Mexican places in which case I order the chicken enchiladas which if you think about it is really just the Mexican version of the turkey sandwich.

Recently, I went out with some girlfriends to a nice Italian place. They ordered this crazy appetizer assortment of weird cheeses and meats and then expected me to eat it. I said listen, my taste buds are super shy and sometimes they get really miffed tying crazy stuff. My palette then became the topic of conversation as they forced me to consume the plate of unknown - and yeah it was all pretty good. The consensus was because I never try anything spicier than mild canned salsa or deli turkey my taste buds are like tender little babies and as such quickly suffer from sensory overload. Give em too much and they don't know what's going on. But basically, they agreed, I've done it to myself.

I’ve been thinking about my taste buds a lot and wondering if my safe turkey habits pop up anywhere else in my life. I think I’ve found a few. For the most part I think it's ok to play it safe. It's nice to know what you're gonna get but at the same time I don't know what other amazing things I'm missing out on. So here it goes, I think I'm gonna try to step out of the safe zone and maybe add a little ham...oh or roast beef!

Sizzle

For the first time in 2008 it happened, I got sunburned. As a typical ultra-light-complected redhead, bright red skin is nothing new for me. During the summer months my skin maintains an almost constant shade of pink which in some respects is a pleasant break from reflective white; however, I wasn’t ready for the pink cycle to begin so early in the year. Usually I can luck it until April before I pull out my enormous supply of SPF but along came a bright, sunny day and I was too eager…ran right out into the world without protection. Luckily it wasn’t too bad this time but it was as if the sun was giving me a little reminder to begin the daily regimen of dousing my skin in SPF 100 before even considering stepping outside. Thanks buddy.

I’ve been reeducated on the incompatibility of redheads and sun many times, it’s a tough lesson. Just last year I spent a good part of the summer drenched in Aloe Vera for I made the biggest redhead mistake, I went to the beach. It’d been quite some time since the sun cooked me so bad my skin actually bubbled and I had forgotten just how painful it is – yeah no, it’s not normal. Oh and not to mention how disgusting you look and feel. I spent two days sprawled out in bed unable to move and had to shower with a shirt on so the water wouldn’t tear off my blistered flesh for the next week – ah such good times (and you’re welcome for the imagery). The truly saddest part of it all is I was in fact wearing sunscreen on the beach, I mean I wasn’t suicidal. The problem is when you combine water, sand, blazing sun and a redhead what you have is a steak. Fact. Now, it may be rather entertaining to watch the poor redhead as she hyper-colors* in the car ride home but despite how fun it is to touch the bright red skin and time how long the white finger prints will remain on the surface keep this in mind: Yes I’m sunburned and yes it hurts so please stop poking me!!!!

Time it takes to burn a redhead with sunscreen: 30 min
Time it takes to burn a redhead without sunscreen: 1.5 seconds

*although I am unable to trademark the term ‘hyper-color’ I can clarify the usage. The term hyper-color references the change occurring between the actual sun burning and the physical demonstration of that burn. It’s rather amazing. The skin will change colors right before your very eyes from pasty white to light pink, pink, hot pink, red and occasionally all the way to purple – and yes, yes I’ve been purple.

Contagious

About a year ago a friend sent me a link to an interesting and hilarious website dedicated solely to the disbursement of helpful information regarding the ‘gingerkids’ aka redheads. I recently ran across this website again and one of my favorite FAQ’s is “Are we contagious?” Being an inquisitive person, I decided to address the issue on a more serious note. Contagious – yes we are. But is it possible our potency is wearing thin?

There have been millions of redhead studies throughout time but today I focus on a groundbreaking study conducted by the Oxford Hair Foundation. Based on their scientific findings, redheads will drastically decrease by 2060 and could be extinct by 2100. {gasps} The problem is we are one big recessive genebomb – no one really knows when a gingerkid will pop up and there is a chance that even those of use already red won’t produce any more. Turns out only 4% of the world’s population carries the red-hair gene. Now I’m not really good will all the genetics but I know those ain't the kinda odds you bet on. We are quickly loosing the battle to those dang dominant brown-hair genes!

So there are plenty of other articles refuting this horrific declaration but I find myself feeling a strong sense of obligation – as if it’s my life duty to protect our race. I must provide heirs to ensure redheads will always be available for the world’s viewing pleasure and overall general happiness. In order to secure a redheaded family, there is only one guarantee: two redheads must mate. So this is now my mission and I’m off on the hunt...to save America.

Gift of Gab

Rather recently (within a week’s time), I was told by two separate individuals in two entirely different situations that I have the “Gift of Gab”. Now, I must admit my initial reaction was that of the abrasive persuasion – I mean naturally, right. To me the term ‘gab’ carried some seriously negative connotations. Someone who gabs is annoying, trivial and subpar in both intelligence and humor. In all honesty I have no idea where this definition came from, sometimes I just make things up and so I was immediately repulsed by this comment. After a few minutes of unnecessary accusations in extremely high decibels, I was pulled down from my misconceptions. It was in fact a compliment, Steph. Talking to people is a good thing.

One must qualify: like any other gift it must be used (correctly) to provide gratification. Using the gift of gab recklessly is a hazard of which I’ve suffered many, many times. Note to self: some thoughts are really better just left up there. When used properly, however, the gift of gab can set others at ease, turn awkward situations into interactive comedy clubs and reinforce a level of personal communication that has too often disappeared these days.

An overused saying comes to mind: "Better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt." In my case this is absolutely true. There is no way anyone would ever doubt that I say stupid things, it’s a daily habit. The beauty is the stupid things don’t really hurt if you’re quick enough to move on to topics of a more humorous, irrelevant nature. I call this the “Topic Tango” * and if it were a competition there would be a plethora of gold cups on my shelf. Keeping people on their feet is just what I do (and yes, I will always try to lead). Sometimes people are lost in the transition but most of the time there is enough gabbing to maintain appropriate levels of both intrigue and entertainment. It’s a skill.

Because of this wonderful gift you can always count on the redhead in the room to have something to say – you just may not care to hear it. From now on I’ll continue to embrace my gift and although it may never be perfect I’ve got it so I’ll be sure to share it...whenever and wherever.

*Topic Tango is a trademark phrase. Keep in mind the analogy can only go so far. Use with caution and don’t get all crazy with it.

Temper Tantrum

People often associate redheads with inexplicable fits of rage or outbursts of fiery fury. I’m not gonna lie I am asked, rather frequently, if I have a temper. The answer is yes, yes I do and I’ll be the first to admit it.

Now, I’m not sure exactly if the red hair is nature’s way of providing a warning label to the innocent or if the hair is the physical manifest of the inherent boiling core; but it’s true, I am a firecracker in both appearance and temperament. Embracing true red-headedness means you have to appreciate the explosive nature of our character and as a breathing testament to this surprisingly accurate stereo type I do my best to live up to the ever growing expectations. I've learned to cut down my reaction time to record breaking levels which allows me to provide an optimal range of both irrational and humorous tirades at the slightest provocation.

Most of my close friends have learned to gage the ‘redbomb’ temperatures and once this skill is mastered it's rather easy maintain a safety zone in which everyone can enjoy an environment of light giggles and playful banter. TIP: the eyes are a thermometer to the soul - you can always tell how hot the core is by how fast the eyes are flashing flecks of fire. Unfortunately if you are close enough to obtain an accurate reading... you're in the danger zone.

Some say my firecracker personality is precious at a distance and others are truly terrified. Truthfully you don't need to be afraid of me you just need to put on some flame retardant gear.