Old Sayings

December 23, 2013

Christmastime. A time for family and friends. For food and music and presents and joy. And a time for remembering those who are no longer with us, whom you miss dearly and still think of often.

I lost my grandfather my freshmen year of high school, and around this time of year I always find my thoughts straying to him. Perhaps it's the darkness of the days or just my own romantic tendencies. Either way, I find myself reminded of a wonderful man who was full of laughter, wit, and kindness.

My grandfather had a great passion for words, poetry in particular. He often sung while working, old ballads and folks songs, and was able to recite large passages of poetry from memory. He was also full of quirky old sayings that could be applied to many of the ordinary things in life. 

I was discussing a friend of mine with my mother recently who has been having some troubles with her manfriend. Although my opinion really doesn't count for much, as it is not my relationship, I was sharing some of my thoughts on her manfriend's decision to write my friend a letter detailing all the things that he thought should be fixed in the relationship. Besides the content itself, I was a little bit upset at the whole concept of making these demands in a letter. 

My mother turned to me and she said, "I once had a similar situation with a guy. I think I was trying to break up with him, and was going to chicken out and just write him a letter. I was at home discussing it with Mama when your grandfather turned around and said:

Say it with flowers

Or say it with mink

But whatever you do

Don't say it with ink!

And you know what? He was right."

So I thought I would share that with you all, dear audience. A small snippet of insight into the man that I miss so dearly around the holidays. Hope you all are enjoying your time with your families. Merry Christmas!

Apples to Apples

December 21, 2013

I don't know if all of you in my dear audience have played Apples to Apples before, but I spent a good two or three hours playing it today. And then I remembered my friend telling me of a similar game earlier in the semester. And I decided I must share it with you and put it on my Christmas wish list. 

The game is called "Cards Against Humanity." It's like Apples to Apples, but way nastier and more morbid. Apparently you can either download it online and make your own set or order it for $25... Here's the website below.

http://cardsagainsthumanity.com/

Try not to get too excited now folks. 

Traveling and Dancing

December 20, 2013

Today I drove for over three hours in a snowstorm. And my mouth still hurts like a summbitch. So although I dearly want to regale you all with a shining example of my wit and humor, I just don't have it in me, dear audience. So I'm going to leave you with the beginning of a story... A story that could have been me tonight, if I had gone dancing instead of traveling. I will leave it open-ended, so that I can imagine any and all of the tantalizing possibilities that could have come to pass if I had decided upon a different course and a different path (and if I hadn't had all my wisdom teeth yanked out a couple of days ago, but we will conveniently skip over that little detail...).

A Dance For the Night

She perched on the edge of her seat, eyes darting from face to face in the crowd, scanning the floor for a potential partner. The smooth lace of her dress slid against her thighs, delicately fluttering against her skin with each pass of the fan in the corner of the room. She couldn’t ignore the subtle itch at the base of her neck that was the unfortunate side effect that always followed the combination of an excessive amount of hairspray and sweat. Again she reminded herself not to mess with her elaborate, and slightly unfamiliar, up-do that she and her friends had spent a solid two hours tweaking and twirling into the exactly perfect position. Not that she didn’t expect her hair to come undone at some point throughout the night, but she always staved off that moment for as long as possible by personally forbidding herself to pet, caress, fondle, pat, stroke, comb, or otherwise touch her hair in any way. 

The slender belt of her dress slid to and fro beneath her ribs as she continued to fidget in her seat, searching for a position that didn’t involve her mostly-bare thighs sticking to the vinyl seat covering. The night had started out hot and muggy, which wasn’t being alleviated by the densely packed dance floor filled with sweating, heaving bodies. If it weren’t for the vintage clothing and the 1930’s big band music, one would think she was at a college rave instead of a community swing dance. Just as well though. As a new college student, she was practically entitled to go out dancing as many nights as she chose. If the type of dancing was less-than-typical, then so be it. 

Giving up avoiding the uncomfortably sticky vinyl, she slouched down into her seat, waiting for the current song to end. She had come here with a group of friends, and now found herself the odd one out as they all twirled and spun across the dance floor while she was stuck alone on the sidelines. With a sigh she dropped her chin into her palm, resigning herself to waiting out the song and hoping for better luck the next go around. 

Technically, she was fully capable of just going across the room and asking a guy to dance herself; yet every time she gathered her courage in both hands and began to rise and go across the floor to ask someone, a prettier and more outgoing girl swooped in like some kind of scavenging vulture and plucked her potential partner away, leaving her standing awkwardly alone again, with no sense of direction or purpose, which ultimately led to her quietly sitting back down and watching the dancers out on the floor with a wistful air. 

These kinds of things always turned out the same way, and at times she wondered why she even bothered. Even as the smooth tones of Louis Armstrong began to wind their way through the muggy atmosphere of the club, crooning of moonlit nights and dances by starlight, she heaved a sigh and quietly sneaked around the edge of the dance floor, searching for some relief in the cool night air. As she lingered on the sidewalk, watching the cars roll by in the night, she looked up at the stars, wondering when exactly life had begun to seem so grey. 

With a crash and a curse, a group of young men from the dance came stumbling out the door, laughingly ragging on each other the whole way, as she observed quietly from her street corner...

Dammit Dolls

December 19, 2013

'Tis the season. And all that jazz. Today I was out doing some Christmas shopping for my family (which I am over halfway done with, by the way) and I was observing all the varied and strange things people market around Christmas time.

You have to realize, dear audience, that I really don't like shopping for Christmas presents in mainstream stores like Walmart or JC Penny or any of those kinds of places. In fact, if at all possible, I try to avoid the mall altogether. I much prefer the antique, consignment, and local stores that have goods that not only support local businesses, but also offer items that are more unique and personal. 

However, sometimes "unique and personal" can be construed as just, plain strange. There was one item in particular that stood out. It was a box full of "Dammit Dolls."

I wish I had brought my camera, dear audience, because these dolls were truly strange. They were of the ragamuffin variety, complete with sewn-on faces and yarn hair. They didn't really have clothing, but were rather made of patterned fabric. Each doll had a little poem sewn to their front. It said,

Dammit Doll

WHENEVER THINGS DON'T GO SO WELL,

AND YOU WANT TO HIT THE WALL AND YELL,

HERE'S A LITTLE DAMMIT DOLL,

THAT YOU CAN'T DO WITHOUT.

JUST GRASP IT FIRMLY BY THE LEGS,

AND FIND A PLACE TO SLAM IT.

AND AS YOU WHACK THE STUFFING OUT,

YELL, "DAMMIT, DAMMIT, DAMMIT!"

And yes, dear audience. It was in all capital letters. I can't decide if this is one of the most awesome gifts ever invented or the saddest attempt at a marketing ploy I have ever seen. Either way, I'm considering it as a prank gift for one of my siblings. Here's to hoping she thinks it's as funny as I think it is. 


P.S. I found the website for them. Here it is, dear audience.

www.dammitdolls.com

And here's a picture of one of them. Don't worry, they come in a variety of colors and sizes, so you can individualize them for the whole family!

Jiminy Christmas, aren't they ugly little things?


P.P.S.
Ok, dear audience, brace yourselves! Apparently, there are a couple different versions of the Dammit Doll poem!

Ok, I swear I'm done...

Wisdom Teeth

December 18, 2013

Today I got my wisdom teeth removed, and can officially say that I am not allergic to general anesthesia. I would like to share with you some witty story about how I acted when they brought out from the anesthesia after surgery, but I don't really remember most of it, my mother was the only person with me (and she never tells, which is fortunate for me, I suppose) and then I proceeded to sleep all afternoon. And then eat dinner and sleep most of the evening. You all are lucky that I decided that I should probably get ready for bed so my face doesn't break out, or I would have fallen off the wagon again and taken another week to get back to posting. 

As a side note, my entire lower jaw and chin area are still completely numb... I wonder if I should be concerned...

Another thing I have realized with these wisdom teeth is all the wonderful things I am not going to be able/have to be careful about eating for the next 1-2 weeks. To torture myself, and because I am really enjoying posting pictures, I am going to show you guys some of the foods that are on my food "wish list" for Christmas that I am not allowed to eat.

Cinnamon Rolls with Icing

My favorite Christmas candy... Divinity

Although, I usually forgo the nuts.

Ribs. With an inhuman amount of BBQ sauce.

Salty caramels.... The ones that melt in your mouth.

Triscuits (preferably Garden Herb) with specialty cheese.

Great. Now I have the munchies.

Happy Holidays, Dear Audience!

Learning to Deal With Reality

December 17, 2013

I don't know about you, dear audience, but each of you probably has a pretty good idea of what kind of person you are or want to be. This is usually defined by several different ideals, things you hold important in life, and one of the strangest and hardest things to accept is when one of those ideals shifts and you realize that maybe you aren't who you thought you were. 

I say this because today I got my final grades for the semester, and I got a C+ in a class that I was pretty sure I was going to get a B in... Remember when I was saying that organic chemistry was kicking my butt? Well. It kicked my butt. Next up, biochemistry. 

My GPA is still relatively high, and I received A's in all my other classes this semester, but still... That C+ has me so distracted I can't focus on anything right now. I'm still trying to deal with the fact that I am a person who receives a C+ in organic chemistry... 

In other news, I'm getting all four of my wisdom teeth pulled tomorrow. I'm considering the wisdom (haha) of writing a post while all dosed up on the happy pills they are going to give me for the pain. We shall have to wait and see. 

Road Trips Zap Me Like An Electrical Socket

December 16, 2013

Hello, dear audience. Today I cleaned my house, packed my things, and drove for five hours. I'm toast. So, in lieu of an exciting post today, I am going to leave you with pictures of adorable snowmen and a promise that tomorrow my post will be three times as awesome as it usually is (or I shall perish in the attempt). 

 Because he's just too adorable...

If The Sandlot and Frosty the Snowman ever had a love child...

The Snowmen army... Kind of like the storm troopers off of Star Wars 

To the kid who made the BEST SNOWMEN EVER...

On Men and Women

December 15, 2013

I found an interesting link on Facebook today that I thought I would share with you all. This doesn't directly correspond with my experience of gender roles, but I thought it was thought-provoking. And it also commanded a use of poetry that I will probably never understand, but am fully able to appreciate.

Without further ado...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zQucWXWXp3k

On Religion and Zombies

December 14, 2013

So a while ago my roommate and I found a pamphlet underneath our door. It read:

Do you believe the dead can live again?

Would you say...

Yes?

No?

Maybe?

I later learned that it was a pamphlet from the LDS church promoting their faith and religion and other such things. Which makes sense, I suppose. I mean, the picture on the front had a couple standing together looking at pictures of their family on the wall, whom I assume are deceased and they miss greatly. However, I conveniently overlooked this subtle visual cue. So guess what I thought the pamphlet was for?

Zombies.

This isn't as strange as you would think it is. At school, there is an event that they put on twice a year where some people are designated as zombies and they ambush the "humans" around the school and turn them into zombies too. Last human standing wins. The event lasts for an entire week or so, and some people really get into it. Nerf guns. Camouflage clothing. Headbands reminiscent of Rambo. It's pretty awesome. So when I saw the pamphlet, I thought it was something like that. Oh no. Totally wrong.

It's kind of funny though, when you think about it. Here the purpose was to promote religion and my first thought was undead, decaying monsters. I wonder if that says something about me...

Anyways, I got such a kick out of it that I made some adjustments and taped the pamphlet to our door (partly because they kept coming back and giving us more pamphlets, and I wanted them to know that, yes, we DID get their pamphlet). It read something like this...

Do you believe the dead can live again?

Would you say...

(X)Yes?

No? 

Maybe? 

Zombies... Duh.

I am quite aware that this is not a high point on my road to maturity. So, I'll eventually take the pamphlet off the door. And then store it in a box so I can take it out years later, look at it, and chuckle a bit. Because even though I don't mean to be disrespectful to any religious folk out there trying to spread their beliefs, I still thought it was pretty dang funny.

Friday the 13th (of December...)

December 13, 2013

Today is Friday the 13th. Of December, I'll grant you, but it is still a legitimate Friday the 13th. 

I've always had mixed feelings about superstitions and such things. Part of me (the part that loves to read fantasy books and was convinced that I was going to get a letter from Hogwarts) really wanted to believe in all of these superstitions. And part of me was the eternal skeptic who sat back with their arms crossed and scoffed. The end result was a child who decided to believe in her own superstitions, which included, but were not limited to, believing that a black cat crossing your path actually brought good luck (and how could they not, cats are adorable!). 

I mention this now not because I have had any encounters with black cats recently, but rather because I sat down to take my last final of the semester today only to have my professor go up to the board and write:

Today is Friday the 13th.

Good luck.

I thought this was a little mean-spirited. Especially when you are handing out an exam that was all short answer and essay-type questions and happened to be like six pages long. Just saying. All you gods of academia out there, you can be real turds sometimes. 

So happy Friday the 13th everyone. Hopefully all the vibes of cheer and goodwill from Thanksgiving and Christmas will have canceled out that unlucky Friday the 13th vibe and I will have passed my exam. Keep your fingers (and toes) crossed!

So Close...

December 12, 2013

So I've been sitting here for the last fifteen minutes or so, racking my brains for what super-amazing topic I'm going to wow you all with today, dear audience. I am sad to report that I can think of nothing awesome happening in my life. Or at least nothing that a large number of people would also agree is awesome. I was tempted to cop out and just fill this entire post with some of my favorite quotes from books I've been reading, but I decided against it for two reasons. First, I'm pretty sure you all have something better to do with your time than read a compilation of quotes that I have randomly selected with no theme or point whatsoever. Second... I'm too lazy to type all the quotes out. Yep, it's that bad folks.

I suppose this is a common symptom of finals week. I have almost made it to the end. I am so close! But not quite there. Some people are blessed by the gods and goddesses of academia and are finished with their finals early in the week. Some are cursed like myself to have finals all the way up until the Friday of finals week. I envy those lucky souls.

Like my roommate, for example. I walked into the apartment this afternoon after an intensive organic chemistry study session that was making my brain throb to find that the entire apartment reeked of nail polish. I walk into my roommate's room to find her sprawled out on her bed, laptop on her lap, all four limbs splayed in different directions. 

"So, what you up to?" I asked, rubbing my temples in a futile attempt to relieve the throbbing behind my eyes. "And why does our entire apartment reek of nail polish?"

"Oh, I was bored and didn't know what to do, so I decided to paint my toenails! Then, when I was finished, I still didn't know what to do so I just put a coat of clear polish on my finger nails."


If looks could kill.

"Come here and let me tell you what I think of you being that bored," I said to her, visions of strangulation and dismemberment running through my head. 

It is intensely demoralizing to be working that hard and come home to find someone that bored. I realize that she probably worked just as hard as I did, and that her finals just happened to finish before mine, but it doesn't mean that it made my impulse to strangle her any lower. 

However, I only have one more day to go, and then I'm free for a whole month. Just one more day. Here's to the almost-there feeling that we have all been tormented by at one point or another and hoping that it doesn't drive me crazy before I can finish this semester. 

Also, let's hope that the smell of nail polish eventually dissipates from our apartment, because it is really not helping my headache. 

On Days When You're Wishing of Summer...

December 11, 2013

Sometimes,  when the days outside get dark and chilly and I spend my days cooped up inside studying for finals that I just want to be over and done with, I get nostalgic for the days of summer.

Warm days. When I could walk outside in the dirt without any shoes; when in the afternoon a dip in the lake is refreshing rather than hypothermia-inducing  (yes, some people up here still jump in the lake in the winter; this suicidal tendency has been dubber the "polar plunge"); when bonfires are aesthetic rather than essential at ten at night. 

So, in remembrance of the days of summer, I wrote a small passage describing a small moment in summertime that I find myself missing now, in the dark of winter.

On Sunny Afternoons By the Lake

Sunlight glinting off the water,
Gently warming every surface,
Slowly browning all my skin.

The breeze flicking through my notebook,
Gently stirring through my hair.
The water slapping 'gainst the cliff side,
Slowly crashing in the air.

Steady crunching of my crackers,
Silent slurping of my glass.

Is it green or is it blue?
Look more closely,
Nothing there.

Sizzle slowly in the sunlight,
Pad with caution down the dock.

Far off rumbling of the motor,
Gliding swiftly through the water,
Each splash glistening mid-air.

Gradual release of all my tension,
Each vertebrae popping 
At the ease
Of long-stiff muscles in my shoulders,
Down my back,
Like clicking keys.

Note: I would like to make a disclaimer right now that I have never, nor shall I ever, understand the form and function of poetry. Any choices I made in writing and formatting this quote-on-quote "poem" (read quotation mark hand gestures) were made for no other reason than I simply thought it looked better that way. Thank you.

On Goals and Wishes...

December 10, 2013

I was looking through some of my writings from this past summer and I came across a entry that I had wrote that was in the form of a wish list. I bring it up now because we are immersing ourselves in that season that inspires wishes and resolutions and reflection, and I thought that I would share with you all some of my own goals and aspirations. 

Also, I would just like you all to know, dear audience, that in terms of progress I have already accomplished numbers four and twelve on this list, which fortifies my resolve and gives me hope that maybe some of the other items aren't so unattainable after all.

From an entry on August 11, 2013...

You know, it’s strange sometimes. I realize that we are supposed to condition ourselves to not getting exactly what we want. I think it would be slightly unhealthy for a person to spend all their time wishing to be someone they’re not, for things they don’t have, for things that cannot happen. And yet sometimes, I feel like we need to allow ourselves some time to ruminate on all those things that we wish for, the times that we dream of, the things we wish we had. Maybe that would give us a little bit more purpose in our life, a little more direction to our day. And so occasionally, I dip into the wellspring of my desires and wallow in my dreams, if only for a little while. I guess today is just one of those days. 

And so, in keeping with the traditions of childhood and a lifetime with organized family shopping, I have decided to make a wish list. Some of the things on my wish list can be easily given as birthday presents or small favors; some of the things are slightly more intangible. And some shall probably never happen, at least not in the near future. But that’s okay, because we are allowed to dream beyond our limitations, our expectations, and our qualifications. So, without further prevarication, here is my wish list, at this point in my life, of all the things I desire deep in my soul. 

Paige’s Wish List

1. Chacos. I have always wanted a pair of chacos. Sturdier than flip flops yet better ventilated than tennis shoes. And accompanied by epic tan lines. 
2. A tea rack or display case of some sort for my vast collection of tea. Somehow it seems criminal to possess such a fantastic array of tea and have it be confined to a dusty kitchen cupboard. I want to be able to openly peruse the entirety of my collection, and let others do so as well. 
3. A collection of audiobooks. The impetus for this impulse was the excerpts from Eloisa James’ (or Mary Bly, whichever you prefer) Paris in Love memoirs on her website. But I want to amass an entire collection, which I can listen to in the car on drives or put on a stereo in the tub. To hear all of these wonderful worlds in the voice of a stranger. There is an inexplicable appeal to that which I find desirable. 
4. Someday I would like to have a henna tattoo. One which is intricate and elegant, most probably on my ankle and leg. Do I want a permanent tattoo? No way. I am much too fickle to be able to pick a single design to have on my body for my entire life. Yet there is some attraction in the concept of having an image wrapped around my body, an intimate embrace between me and my ideas, for the entire world to see.
5. A date. I would like for someone to ask me out on a date. A fun, relaxing, easy date where I don’t have to worry about expectations or appearances, where I can spend time with someone just because I want to get to know them. I don’t want to seriously date them, or worry about them making a move on me when I’m not comfortable with it. I just want someone to think that I’m interesting, and take the time to get to know me. To reassure me that yes, someone is paying attention. 
6. I want to get my cartilage pierced so I can wear those earrings that connect to the regular piercing and the cartilage piercing. Also, I want to put a hoop in my ear like a pirate.
7. Someday, I would like to have permanently clear skin. So I can touch my face without feeling like a Braille book and wash my face without any pain. That would be a wonderful thing. And it saddens me when some people can’t appreciate the boons they have been granted. 
8. I need to get some new heels for dancing. The soles are peeling off my current heels, and I fear that in the near future they will need replaced.
9. I want to cuddle with someone. Snuggle. Whatever you choose to call it. I just want… someone to sit on the couch and watch a movie with. Someone to put their arms around me and play with my hair. To hold me on their lap and hold me tight. Afterwards, I’ll probably want to crawl under a rock and die, but at this point, I really just want to cuddle with someone, and my cat just isn't cutting it.
10. For many years now, it has been a dream of mine to have a professional back massage. Not for any medical purposes, or because my back is aching or out of place. I just really want the total relaxation and comfort that comes from a legit back massage. Without me having to do anything in return. Can you imagine how wonderful that would be? To get a back massage and know that no one is expecting one in return? 
11. Nothing sounds as sweet right now as peace of mind. Free from worries of school, family expectations, housemates’ needs and social engagements. No nagging little thoughts in the back of your mind prodding at your conscience. 
12. I want two cats. I realize that they are extra work, and less space, and more than a little adjustment. But it also means two cats to play with, to watch grow, to love. And there is nothing I love so much as loving animals. 
13. An antique desk. I can see it in my mind now. A small, elegant, little desk at which I can sit down and work on my homework or answer my correspondence. A little place all my own that lets me sit up and face the day, encouraging me to live my life to the fullest, bolstered by the craftsmanship and loving care that went into the construction of the desk made so long ago. How delightful to have that many years supporting you and holding you up.
14. One of these days, I am going to order elaborate, personalized stationary. I will save it for extenuating occasions, and when I sit down to write on it, I will know that what I am writing is memorable and important, and thought through with care.
15. I would love to have a day bed.  How quaint would it be to have your afternoon nap on a day bed? 

What's in a Word?

December 9, 2013

Did you know that when someone asks me to tell them what a word means or give a definition, I always give it in terms of synonyms rather than an actual description? It's funny the way the mind works sometimes. I suppose that means that my thoughts are based more in relations between objects and ideas rather than in individual components or descriptions of the subject. 

In some ways, I suppose this is beneficial. In others, I think it can be slightly misleading. I guess it's just one of the ways that I am reminded that "knowing" is a nebulous and intangible concept that is continually morphing and recreating itself. 

This entire line of thought came about when I was trying to identify my mood this evening. For me, it's simply not good enough to say, "I'm tired," or "I'm unhappy," or "I'm depressed," or (conversely) "I'm happy." There is too much ambiguity in those kinds of words. Not enough specificity. If I say I'm sad, I immediately think, What kind of sad? To what degree? In what stage? From what source? So, with only myself, my vocabulary, and my relational tendencies, I decided that I felt "maudlin." 

Then of course came that nagging little suspicion in the back of my mind. Does that actually mean what I think it means? In my mind, "maudlin" sounded like it perfectly fit my mood. The roundness of the sound, the heavy weight it carried on my tongue, the dark tone it inspired, it made me think to myself, Yes, I feel quite maudlin at the moment. Yes indeed.

But still, the nagging doubt, so I took advantage of the wonder of knowledge and technology and looked up the exact definition of "maudlin." From the online Merriam-Webster Dictionary, an Encyclopedia Britannica Company, the definition is:

maudlin- showing or expressing too much emotion especially in a foolish or annoying way; drunk enough to be emotionally silly; weakly and effusively sentimental

This was definitively not what I had in mind when I was thinking of the word "maudlin." The emotional and sentimental component? Yes. The foolish and/or annoying component? Not so much. So I searched for other words that would more precisely encompass the tragic, profoundly upsetting sadness that I was feeling. This is what I found.

somber- very sad and serious;  having a dull or dark color; so shaded as to be dark and gloomy; of a serious mien; of a dismal or depressing character; conveying gloomy suggestions or ideas

saturnine- very serious and unhappy; cold and steady in mood; of a gloomy or surly disposition

And I was dissatisfied with both of these choices. They are perfectly respectable words that fit what I was trying to describe much better than my previous choice. And yet. And yet. 

And yet I was still stuck on "maudlin." Perhaps because the sound reminded me of similar, dark-sounding, tragic words, such as "macabre" and "morbid." Maybe I'm just having a small affair with the letter "m" this evening. Because there was some small part of me that didn't want to accept Merriam-Webster's definition tonight. For me, "maudlin" no longer carried its foolish and trivial connotation that was spelled out in that definition. Tonight, its very intonation carried with it a great and heavy sadness, the kind that makes you question the truths of your life and the beliefs you hold dear. The kind of real emotion that simultaneously makes you want to charge out into the world and protect all the innocence and at the same time shy away from its daunting presence which hovers over you like some great and terrible cloud. 

What's in a word, dear audience? Does it truly matter whether or not the emotion that I relate to this word is the same as what was defined by some British linguist probably hundreds of years ago? Is that any more the true definition than what I had previously held as the true definition in my own mind? 

I was reading one of my new books that I recently bought on sale over Thanksgiving, called The Thirteenth Tale. In it, one of the main characters received a letter from an author who was infamous for never giving a true accounting of her life to biographers. Each time she was asked about her life, she would spin a new tale, until it almost became a rite of passage for any journalist or biographer to go visit her and say, "Tell me about yourself." 

This author (the character, not the author of the book herself), wrote this passage to the main character which stuck with me. She wrote,

"My gripe is not with lovers of the truth, but with truth herself. What succor, what consolation is there in truth, compared to a story? What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney? When the lightening strikes the shadows on the bedroom wall and the rains taps at the window with its long fingernails? No. When fear and cold make a statue of you in your bed, don't expect hard-boned and fleshless truth to come running to your aid. What you need are the plump comforts of a story. The soothing, rocking safety of a lie." - pg 5, The Thirteenth Tale

At the time, I had a challenging time wrapping my mind around this concept. Typically, I am of the mindset that many times things would turn out better in the end if one simply faced the facts of life and accepted them. This subversiveness (at least in my mind) was not only completely unhelpful to a person, but also actively detrimental to a person's state of being. It followed a similar vein to my very solid belief in personal responsibility. 

But now I have a new lens from which to view this proposed philosophy towards truth and reality and their purposes in our minds and our lives. Because sometimes maybe it doesn't truly matter what the world deems is truth or fiction, what is correct or incorrect. When it is something internal, when you are frozen inside yourself, "a statue in your bed," you don't really give a fig about anything Merriam-Webster or any other authority has to say. What is true for you, in that moment, is as real as any thunder and lightening that damages your property and frightens your children. And perhaps, that says something about this nebulous nature of knowledge and truth that we always seem to think we have figured out. To sound completely cliche and unoriginal, "The wise man knows he knows nothing, the fool thinks he knows all."

So, for the moment, I shall remain "maudlin," despite disagreements on the behalf of Merriam and Webster. To be blunt, they can currently go shove it. Whatever "it" may be. 

I suppose I should mention what brought me to this maudlin state. Wouldn't want you to think that I am needlessly despondent, dear audience. To be perfectly honest, my roommate and I decided that tonight would be a good night to watch Schindler's List together in lieu of studying for final exams. I think that sometimes a person simply needs to confront that kind of sadness, to remind ourselves why we are here and what we are trying to accomplish. Of course, it's entirely possible that we are both decidedly strange, but I suppose that has already been established, no? 

When It Gets A Little Nippy

December 8, 2013

It's been a little chilly the past week or so. More than chilly. I think the technical term is freezing. Below freezing.

I was on Facebook the other day and I saw an acquaintance post something along the lines of, "If I had to choose between giant insects and long, cold winters, I would still choose the winters." I think it was supposed to be a comment on the poster's willingness to put up with frigid winters in exchange for safety from large invertebrates, but when the weather is like it has been the last week, I begin to warm up to the idea of the insects.

I drove to work at 6:30 in the morning and my thermostat in my truck said -13 degrees Fahrenheit. -13. That's kind of chilly. The funny thing is, when I drove home from work later that afternoon, the thermostat had dropped to -17 degrees. How exactly does that work? Isn't it supposed to be colder in the morning? 

I was walking the dogs today at work thinking about what it would have been like to live exactly where I do a hundred or even fifty years ago. Realize that when it's at least 10 below outside, the walks with the dogs tend to be rather short. Still, even with that consideration, 10 minutes was about my limit before my fingers began to freeze inside my gloves. And then as I was scurrying back to the warmth of the house with the dogs as fast as I could possibly go, I thought about what it would  be like to live in this kind of weather back when there wasn't any electric or gas heating. And it wasn't a very comfortable picture.

So I would just like to say that I am very thankful for modern technology in relation to its ability to keep me and all my extremities toasty warm. After all, I'm quite attached to my extremities. 

It Was Bound To Happen Eventually...

December 7, 2013

It finally happened.

Okay, so maybe it happened way before I thought it was going to happen, but I'm still saying that I called it. I fell off the wagon.

Of course, as soon as I fell off the wagon I decided that I was going to commit to falling off that wagon. Which is why, dear audience, this is coming to you approximately one week after my last post. If I was gong to screw up my self-imposed resolutions, then dammit, I was going to screw up. No half-assed screwing up for this blogger. No sirree. 

On the metaphor of the wagon though, I just have to share with you all an extremely amusing conversation I had with my sister about halfway through my week of slacking off on this blog. It kind of went something like this....

Sister: You are getting really far behind on your blog!!! (Notice the multiple exclamation points...)

Me: Sorry, fell off the wagon for a while :) (Note the ingratiating smiley face meant to convey my sheepish grin of shame)

Sister: A while being FIVE days... That's quite a while to be off the wagon. I'm pretty sure if you were a settler on the Oregon Trail you'd already be a pile of bleached white bones...

Me: Dude, no. I'd have joined the Indians by now. No need for wagons.

Sister: The snakes and coyotes would've already got you. Face it. Your blog life is nothing but a mere warning for future promising bloggers.

Me: Ouch. No holds barred there.

Sister: Can't blame me. Been waiting for a while ;) Leaves me time to look for good word choice and stinging comments. And you made a promise to to yourself so nothing should I say should be as hurtful as your own disappointment in yourself... Just saying ;) 

(I would like to make a note here that when she includes those winky faces in her text messages I can picture in my mind the exact smug grin that's on her face while she's texting this. And it makes me want to growl like a grizzly bear that just got shot in the face with a can of pepper spray. So, Sister, if you're reading this right now.... Grrrrrrrrrr.............)

Me: What are you, my therapist? (This was not one of my better days...)

And from there the conversation deteriorated into subjects that aren't quite as amusing as our extended "falling off the wagon" metaphor. But I would just like to add, in the spirit of Thanksgiving and Christmas and all those warm and fuzzy holiday feelings, that I am extremely grateful to be part of a family that gets me well enough to extend my metaphors throughout our entire conversation and still manage to bicker with me while doing it. 

Speaking of Thanksgiving, how was mine, you ask? Fantastic. Busy. But fantastic.

I'm not going to bog you down with a whole bunch of details, but I'll just say in passing that I managed to exchange a boatload of family gossip (why else do you gather for holidays?), play two games of pickup hockey (one with legit equipment and skates and one with a rock for a puck and tree branches for hockey sticks; I'll let you guess which one was more fun. Here's a hint: I am abysmal at ice-skating), I got my windshield replaced, I went to the movie theater more than I should have, I went dancing on Black Friday rather than going shopping, and I even managed to sleep in one day. 

Oh! I also have an update. Remember my story about getting stalked on the interstate by a truck full of college kids? Turns out that I actually knew the driver (who I didn't manage to catch a glimpse of the entire time), and the whole "stalking" incident was simply him honking his horn and trying to wave to me. Yep. Majorly embarrassing. Maybe I should stop taking these long car trips with only my cat for company... I think I might be becoming a little strange...

Oh. Last point. I so did not hear him honking his horn. So, in my defense, it totally seemed creepy and not at all like he was trying to get my attention. I even got him to admit that his horn is old and not very loud. So there. 

Here's to hoping that it will be a while before I fall off the wagon again. I definitely don't want to become snake and coyote fodder. Although, I'm still of the opinion that I would have joined up with the Indians and become a warrior with my very own war pony. Just saying.

On Thanksgiving and Lists

November 28, 2013

So here's a fun fact: I just figured out how to work the delay timer on this blog. Let's all geek out with me as I celebrate my successful discovery!

Erhm... Anyways... My point is that I am writing this blog post ahead of time, as my family is journeying into the vast expanse of nothingness for Thanksgiving (a.k.a. Central Montana) and I won't have Internet access again until Friday. Props for family gatherings.

So, for my Thanksgiving day blog, I thought I'd make a couple of lists. First, what I'm thankful for. Second, all the food I'm going to eat. I'll let you decide which is more interesting.

Things For Which To Give Thanks:

1. Access to the Internet, so I can broadcast all of my insignificant thoughts and problems all the way around the world.
2. A large family that always keeps me occupied and on my toes.
3. A group of really awesome friends that call me on my crap and feel that same need I do to analyze our lives in excruciating detail.
4. A motley crew of furry friends that both keep me company and keep me entertained.
5. A society that loves to celebrate special occasions and holidays with an excessive amount of food :)

Things Of Which To Eat Heartily:

1. Mushrooms stuffed with crab meat and shrimp (and I get the honor of making them...)
2. A perfectly golden-brown turkey 
3. The accompanying stuffing to the aforementioned turkey
4. A veggie tray
5. A cheese tray (complete with Triscuits; in my opinion, much more appetizing than the veggie tray)
6. Mashed potatoes
7. Corn on the cob
8. Homemade bread
9. Dessert. Of any kind. Except pumpkin pie, because it's nasty

I'm sure that I could extend both of these lists until they caused your browsers to freeze trying to load them, but I will refrain, dear audience. I hope that you all have a lovely Thanksgiving, and if you are not from the US, than have a perfectly lovely day anyways. 

One of Those Mornings

November 27, 2013

I think I mentioned this in passing in a previous post, but earlier this month there was a huge storm and a branch from the cottonwood tree in my yard fell right on my windshield. Oddly enough, there were no dents on the frame of the truck, but the windshield was cracked so hard that I could feel the broken glass on the inside. Then, of course, it got hella cold, and the crack spread across the entire windshield. 

So, today, along with scheduling routine maintenance, I also went to get my windshield replaced. It was nine in the morning, chilly, snowing, and I went across the street to a local diner because all of my various relatives had commitments and couldn't come pick me up, and let's face it, no one waits for over thirty minutes in a waiting room if they have somewhere else they can be. 

I walked down a street with no sidewalk, crossed at the crosswalk, walked across the front lawn of the diner (because sometimes I am lazy like that) and went inside and got a table for one. 

It's strange; there is such a stereotype about people who get tables for one. They are lonely losers, depressed souls who don't have anyone in their life to accompany them on something as simple as a morning expedition to the diner. But I don't think that's always the case. I think sometimes, it's good for a person to just be present with themselves. 

And as I was sitting there in my corner booth, at a quarter past nine in the morning, watching all the cars race by as the snow drifted by the window, sipping hot tea and nibbling on some sausage links, I thought about how perfectly wonderful the world is. How wonderful my life is. In that moment, all the stresses and worries in my life were inconsequential. In that one moment, I was perfectly content with where and what and who I was. 

I then proceeded to sip quietly at my tea (with cream and sugar, of course) and read my novel, making annotations in the margins and casually listening to all the conversations in the diner as people went about their mornings. I think all of us need to have a morning like this, once in a while. Where it's just you, your thoughts, and the world, all casually bumping together like rubber ducks in a kiddie pool. 

On Time and Distance

November 26, 2013

I spent a lot of time in the car today. A mind-numbing amount of time. With just me and my cat to keep myself occupied (aside from the occasional car full of college kids that managed to make me feel stalked while driving 80 mph on the interstate), this left an excess amount of time to dwell on many things... Mostly all the problems in my life. However, I devoted a good thirty minutes trying to pretend that those problems don't exist, so instead I'm going to touch on some of the other thoughts I had that aren't directly related to all of my personal issues.

Thought #1: The aforementioned stalking incident. A ghetto truck filled to the brim with college students (or college-age young adults, if we want to be technical about it) spent a good half an hour "stalking" me on the interstate. I really can't think of another word for it. First they zoomed up behind me and passed me going at least 10 mph over the speed limit (awkwardly turning in their seats and staring at me as they passed), then they slowed down until they were right next to me (I was doggedly facing forward pretending they didn't exist, so I can't say whether or not they were still staring), and finally they proceeded to slow down and sit on my bumper for the next thirty minutes until I got sick of it and sped up until I lost them. 

Thought #2: Apparently, all ruminants are not always friends. Sometimes you wonder what it would be like to be the lone deer in a herd of over thirty-five antelope. This is a true story. I was driving, looked over into a wheat field, and saw a huge herd of antelope all staring at one mulie buck that was nonchalantly picking his way through the herd and across the field. I thought, Is this the Great Prince of the Wheat Field?

Thought #3: Is it easier to think of your trip in miles or in minutes (or seconds, or hours; whichever unit of time suits your fancy)? I guess I never really thought of this before, but all my life I have thought of travel length in terms of time rather than distance. I wonder what this says about my concept of space? 

Thought #4: In Montana, it is a given that if you're trying to get anywhere that's worth going, you are going to be in a vehicle for at least an hour, minimum. A four to six hour car trip is regarded as a fairly typical drive, and is really nothing to brag about. I don't think it occurred to me until my senior year in high school that this was not how everyone in the world regarded car trips. My aunt had an agricultural exchange student from the UK who was staying with her a couple of years ago, and when he heard that I had a three and a half (almost four) hour drive home, he almost fell out of his chair. While I might think nothing of driving a six to seven hour round-trip in a day, to him it was utterly astonishing. So I guess what I'm saying is that the world isn't always as big as it seems when you're in Montana, which is sad, in a way. 

Thought #5: I could never, ever, ever, EVER, consider trucking as a career option. Aside from the fact that I have a tendency to become extremely carsick if I'm not driving, and have been known on occasion to get carsick WHILE I'm driving, there is also the boredom factor. Let's face it, you can only listen to so much music and books on tape. And unless you have a mega-chair, after about three hours your butt is pretty much permanently cramped. 

Since I have plans to do a lot more driving over my Thanksgiving break, I will have ample time to revisit these thoughts of mine, along with those problems that I'm currently pretending don't exist. Safe travels to all of you out there on the roads or up in the airways this Thanksgiving holiday.

On Housework and Motivation

November 25, 2013

I realize that by the time I post this it might technically be November 26th, but we're just going to ignore that because I'm still operating under the impression that it is the 25th because I haven't gone to bed yet, and that's going to have to be good enough.

You know, my motivation for getting things done kicks in at the strangest time. I just spent the last three hours cleaning my apartment. This isn't because I have been super busy all day or that I've had previous commitments (in fact, I woke up at about three this afternoon, giving me a total of 13 hours of sleep... Oops...), but rather because I wasn't motivated to get anything done until like 9:30 pm. 

Between the two of us, my roommate and I have spent the last three hours or so cleaning out the fridge, taking out the garbage, doing all the dishes (which pretty much includes every dish in our cupboards because we haven't done dishes in a while), and cleaning our rooms. 

I now have all my dirty clothes, blankets, and towels packed into three black trash bags in preparation for being taken home over Thanksgiving so I can use my mother's washer and dryer. I know. Typical college student. In my defense, I think that the laundry machines in our apartment building are either going to spontaneously combust or eat all of my clothing soon, because there is just something not right with them. Also, I think that more hair is actually added to my clothing after I've washed it compared to how it was before it went in, which is gross on a number of levels. So I'm hauling all my laundry back home, to a set of laundry machines that I know and love, and which I can personally vouch do not add hair to my clothing when I use them. 

I am beyond stoked that I get to start Thanksgiving break tomorrow. Hopefully it won't be too stressful and there will be no major family drama. Of course if there is, that's just more entertainment for you, dear audience. I will keep you posted. 

And When You're Cruising Around On Facebook...

November 24, 2013

Okay, so today's post is going to be relatively short. I was cruising around on Facebook and I saw this video that someone posted of this guy leaving a voice mail for his friend and witnessing a car accident between a guy and four old ladies. Not to sound cliche, but this literally (and yes, I mean literally, not figuratively) MADE. MY. DAY. 

I want to be this awesome when I'm an old lady... Enjoy!

P.S. I am aware that this might not be completely true, and it is possible that the guy made the whole thing up... Do I care? Hells no. It's still freaking hilarious. 

Contemplations on the Nature of Curse Words

November 23, 2013

As I was walking the dogs in the dog park at work today I got to thinking about the nature and application of curse words. It mostly came about because one of the labs was trying to eat something it really shouldn't be eating (I know, I know, it's a lab, what should I expect?) and I was calling the lab some improper names. It should be no surprise that the lab failed to respond to these monikers, which of course made me that much more frustrated.

Now, before you get on my case, I would like you to know that these words that I was calling the lab were "dork," "dumb butt," and other variations on that particular theme. So, on a scale of "big doo-doo head" to "mother-effer," the name wasn't actually that atrocious. And yet, one look at those sad, brown eyes and I was feeling all sorts of guilty for calling a lab that was shoveling another dog's feces into it's mouth a "stupid dork." Why was this, I wondered...

Then I thought way back, back to the dark days of daycare and when I first learned about curse words. Now, I'm not sure about all you people out there with stay-at-home moms (or dads, I suppose), but I learned a lot of my most important childhood lessons at daycare. For example, keying junk cars and proceeding to smash out their windshields with large rocks is a big-time no-no. (For the record, I wasn't the one who did the keying and/or windshield smashing. That was our local grade school delinquent. He was also responsible to the felling of several of the neighbor's aspen trees. He was quite a character.) Another one of the staples that you learn at daycare is a variety of curse words.

The funny thing is, back then, curse words had a completely different weight than they seem to nowadays. If you called one of the boys a doofus, some feelings were going to be seriously hurt. Same goes for "dork," "stupid," "weirdo," and, heaven forbid, "idiot." To tell someone to shut up was asking for a confrontation. There were numerous lovely euphemisms for shut up... "Shut your trap," "stuff it," "shut your pie hole." Now that I think about it, I still use a lot of these expressions.  

It wasn't just that the curse words were a lot milder (I still remember my mother telling me that I could say "this stinks," but never "this sucks"); it was that the words held a lot more power back then. If someone called you stupid on the playground, this was a BIG DEAL. Yes, the capital letters matter. Even if it was in passing, rather than directly accusing, such as "don't be stupid" versus "you're such a stupid girl," it still really hurt. And yes, I will admit that my feelings got hurt once or twice on the playground, although you never would have caught me dead admitting it then. 

And then I thought of myself nowadays. I will be the first to admit, mine is not the cleanest of mouths. If I stub my toe or have a huge cottonwood branch land right on my windshield (true story), I am chanting a litany of, "Eff, eff, eff... Effing effer, effity eff!" (On a related tangent, I have decided that the "eff" word is the most versatile curse word in the English language. Think about how many parts of speech that verb can be transformed into... If it wasn't so vulgar, it would be almost admirable.) One of my favorite expressions? "No shit Sherlock." Or, even better, "And then shit hit the fan." 

It's funny, because as soon as you think that you have encountered all the curse words that there are to be had, you find another variation, combination, or new word in general that makes you sit back and go, "Huh." Example? When I was in high school, I was a part of the concert choir. I usually stuck with people either in cross country or the honors program, so there were many people in choir who I only met in choir class. And let me tell you, choir people can be crazy. 

We were at a workshop/festival and I was sitting in the audience because the director was working with another section of the choir. One of the senior girls was sitting in front of me, and I'm fairly sure she was on something that day. Don't get me wrong, sweetest girl ever, fantastic singer, funny as hell, but she must have been on crack or pot or sloshed or at the very least on a coffee high, because she had an inordinate amount of energy and absolutely no mind-to-mouth filter. The weirdest thing about this whole experience is that typically she never talked to me. But that day, she turned around and began chatting me up. She asked how my day was, if I had any plans that weekend. Then she leaned over and stated, "Asshat." 

That was it. Asshat. I was so dumbfounded I forgot to even be offended. I was too busy trying to figure what kind of insult "asshat" was. Seriously. If any of you out there can tell me exactly what the crap that is supposed to mean, I would appreciate it. So I ended up being more amused than anything. I think she called me an asshat at least three or four more times before we had to break for lunch. And I couldn't for the life of me explain to you exactly what prompted her to call me that. I didn't even talk to her enough to merit being called a retard, much less an asshat. So I chose to be vaguely amused and treated the rest of the conversation as a social experiment. How many times will the slightly-insane senior call me a ridiculous curse word before she either gets bored or comes up with a new variation?

So when I was sitting there looking into the brown eyes of the penitent black lab who was trying to consume a disturbing amount of dog shit, I couldn't just sit there and call her a dork. It was too much like that time I made a boy cry on the playground when I called him a stupid doofus. Or something of that nature. In my defense, he was a little crybaby anyways... Moving on... My point is, isn't it strange how the spectrum of curse words can apply to different times and situations in our lives? I call my roommate a dork because she can't walk in a pair of high heels, and it's an endearment. I call a lab with soulful brown eyes a dork, and I feel like the worst kind of bully. Sometimes I am amazed by all the intricacies that are contained in a genre of words that are, by nature, quite vulgar. That's English for you folks.

On The Perfect Bonfire

November 22, 2013

Tonight I had the pleasure of going to a bonfire with some of my fellow Animal Science students. 

I have been to a few bonfires in my time. When I was little, these were all mostly family camping related. However, I have discovered that in college nothing is more popular than a bonfire. The bigger the better. In fact, the colder the better. Apparently in college the best time for a bonfire is right after a big snow storm. I think this is because it is that much harder for the smashed college students to light the forest on fire when the surroundings are buried under a foot of fresh, wet snow. Of course this also means that it is that much harder to get the bonfire lit in the first place, but hey, who doesn't love burning copious amounts of gasoline? Although it does make your marshmallows taste a little questionable...

Tonight I found that the most uncomfortable part of a bonfire (besides the gasoline-flavored s'mores) is keeping various parts of your anatomy relatively warm at all times. When you face the fire, your face is warm, your hands are warm, but your backside gradually begins to resemble a popsicle. Turn around, and your backside is toasty warm and your nose begins to ache with cold. There's just no way to win. If I was in charge of the bonfire, I would actually have two bonfires lit, with enough space in between for people to stand and simultaneously warm both sides of themselves. 

Interestingly enough, throughout this entire ordeal the one part of your anatomy that remains cold constantly is your toes. It doesn't matter how good your snow boots are or how many pairs of socks you wear. Eventually it is your toes that are going to prompt you to abandon your attempt to enjoy the outdoors and retreat into the warm safety of the house (or truck, or sleeping bag, or whatever is handy).  

Here's to my still-frozen toes. Happy Friday :) 

When You Feel Like Getting Dressed Up...

November 21, 2013

Today was one of my incredibly lazy days... I literally didn't wake up until after one in the afternoon. It's at times like these I am simultaneously frustrated and oddly proud of myself for acting like a normal college student. I don't know about you, oh audience of mine, but when I wake up that late in the day, it pretty much guarantees that I won't be getting anything productive done. And sure enough...

The funny thing about unproductive days is that as soon as you give yourself permission to get absolutely nothing done all day, you don't know what to do with yourself. I woke up after one, and by four I was laying in the middle of my living room staring at the ceiling saying to my roommate, "I don't even know how to begin..." The thing is, there are a hundred and one things I probably should be doing, and absolutely nothing that I want to be doing. Does this mean that I get the things done that I should be doing? Psshhh... Come on, do you even know me at all?

So what ended up happening was I watched a lot of The Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother, all while still in my pajamas, laying around the house, occasionally torturing my cat. And yet, I still wasn't quite happy. 

See the thing is, I have been craving Top Ramen all week long; I've been legitimately dreaming about it. So I decided that it was about time that I went to the store. But every girl knows that you can't just throw on a pair of pants and drive to the store. Oh no. If you're going to be out in public, you've got to put your face on. And for some strange reason, I was overcome with the irrational whimsy to go above and beyond simply putting my face on. This really didn't make much sense. I was only going to be in Safeway for a total of 15 minutes, tops. There was an almost 100% probability that I would see absolutely no one that I knew. And yet...

So this is me, going to Safeway at seven at night. Just picture it. I had my face on (mascara included, not just foundation and cover-up), a button-up dress, my nice down coat, my fancy boots and white tights. Yes. Tights. I don't think I've worn tights like these since Easter when I was like ten years old. I've been branching out in terms of clothing. I'll probably regret it looking back in ten years, but for the moment it makes me feel "oh-so-pretty." The crazy part of this entire thing? I still wasn't quite satisfied.

I have a theory, oh audience of mine. See, this entire lazy day, I wasn't quite happy when I was dressed down and still in my pajamas, yet I also wasn't quite happy when I was all dressed up. The time that I was happy? After going to the store and changing back into sweats after getting out of my cute button-up dress. I think it was the act of going from dressed-up to comfortable couch potato that let me truly relax. Isn't it strange how the process and transition of dressing up and down is more fulfilling than the actual outcome itself? 

Oh who are we kidding here? It was totally the Top Ramen. Best. Food. Ever.

The First Snow of the Season

November 20, 2013

I've noticed a gradual shifting of the posting time of my blog during the past few days. I apologize for this, dear audience. Maybe some small part of my mind is rebelling against this daily habit and pushing the posting back further and further until I am right on the border of breaking my resolution. 

This isn't something new, I fear. It might be possible that it stems from my fear of commitment, whether in relationships or resolutions. Or it might be a reflection of my fear of failure. I have to admit, I am quite pleased with some of my posts from this past week, and it is hard to press publish on a blog post that I feel is inferior to my prior efforts. And yet, I don't think I can handle the pressure to write progressively better blog posts.

So, if you would be so kind, oh audience of mine, I would like your permission to fail. Not continually, I assure you; just every once in a while. Once in a while let me write a post that you can look at and think, "Wow, this is a load of crap. And you graduated high school English?" Let me have a crappy post that won't drive you away from this blog forever, dear audience, just every once in a while. I admit, these crappy posts might possibly be concentrated into a period of successively crappy posts, but just bear with me on it, because I swear that I will eventually come back with something that is worth reading. 

Now on to bigger, better, and wetter things. Like the fact that the first snow of the year has finally come. Okay, maybe that's not precisely true. It has indeed already snowed this season. However, being from Montana, I refuse to count a snowfall that doesn't bring out the snowplows. If I counted all of those snows, Montana's winter would last from September to June. Which is just too depressing for me to contemplate. 

Let me tell you a little bit about a true "first snow."

• For one, it has to be snowing hard enough that the entire front of your jacket is white by the time you manage to walk to class. It also has to be sticky and wet enough to keep your jacket vaguely damp for the next 4-5 hours. 
• It is a given that the snowplows will be out on the roads, along with a plethora of ice (because seriously, when does road maintenance ever truly get rid of ice?) and an abundance of sand that does little to nothing for the traction on your tires. 
• If you don't have to shift into 4-wheel drive or commandeer the help of your roommate to push your vehicle out of the driveway, it is not a true "first snow."  
• If you can still see the dead grass and dog poop in your front yard, it hasn't snowed hard enough yet.
• After a true "first snow," you will have resigned yourself to having ice coating some part of your vehicle until approximately mid-April. (You are exempt from this qualification if you park your vehicle in an actual garage. Lucky bastard.)
• During the snowfall, you will have seen no less than 3 minor car accidents on your way to class/work/home/the grocery store. This number is doubled if you live in a college town where you have a whole bunch of Californians and Floridians pretending like they know how to drive in winter conditions. (It's strange how many Floridians Montana actually attracts... I'm pretty sure if I grew up in Florida, I would only be vaguely aware that Montana even existed.)
• Most importantly, the true "first snow" of the season will mark the end or significant reduction of both bicyclist and pedestrian traffic on the roads. This is negated if you live in a college town. Apparently kids in college get a kick out of sending motorists into cardiac arrest by choosing to ride their flimsy bicycles down the middle of a recently-snowed-on-and-unplowed road. At dusk no less. One of these days, my cat-like reflexes won't be enough to save you, you crazy hippie, and I will have gained an elaborate and unwanted new hood ornament. 

On Bedrooms As Mood Rings

November 19, 2013

I was just thinking today, as I was striving assiduously to accomplish nothing at all, that one's room can reflect a number of things about one's state of mind. Maybe this isn't true for all people, but it seems to hold true for myself. When I am feeling outgoing and productive, my room is orderly, my bed is made, my floors are vacuumed and my room generally feels lighter and more presentable. When I'm feeling lazy, unmotivated, or depressed, my room becomes a walking landmine, with clothes thrown every-which-way, a bed that resembles nothing so much as a bird's nest, and stacks of books and schoolwork strewn across the floor. When it reaches this state, my room resembles some kind of primitive (if quite comfortable) cave. I sometimes feel like my bedroom is some kind of convoluted mood ring, without the color chart but with all of the aesthetic value. 

The strange thing is, I find some kind of perverse pleasure in this constant flux of my room. I think that one of the most prevalent reasons that I wouldn't enjoy having a personal maid is that I would lose this connection between my room and my mood swings. And I really don't have a very high tolerance for people sifting through my stuff... And I'm also too broke to hire a maid... On to other things.

My point is, I have always been fascinated by what people's spaces reflect about their personalities and moods. When people look into my room, I like to think that they see more than just a slob (although, I wouldn't blame them if they did, because my room can get quite messy, dear audience) and rather looked past it to see someone who values comfort and familiarity, who can't quite handle constant perfection, who sometimes feels the need to hide from the pressures of the world. 

But who knows, they might just see an unorganized hodgepodge. I figure that I won't worry too much about it. At least, until I manage to snag a boyfriend who would feel the need to hang out in my room; that might be enough to motivate a makeover. But I guess we won't know until it happens, will we?