I, the ISFP, took the PPTI & am an ATPL. YUMM!

One of the things I miss most after being diagnosed with Celiac’s, is just good old pizza and beer night. And I’m not even talking about at home, $5 Little Caesars and Sriracha Sauce in one hand, Leinie in the other (of course this leaves the remote control firmly cemented between the knees).

I’m talking those nostalgic old times when some friends and we would get together and go grab a slice of pie on a Friday night. The question was never when we could find the time to do it, but always where we would go. For as many of us as there were, there were differing opinions on where to dine at. Me, I’m a fan of the Old Chicago Deep Dish Supreme, or anything from Pizza Luce downtown. Good beer selection, good pizza, good times. Even if we did all agree on a place to go, let’s say, for the sake of argument, Luce, trying to decide what we’ll have on the pizza once we get there is always a challenge. Macaroni & Cheese Pizza? No. Thai Chicken Pizza? Meh. I like a good, garlicky marinara, lots of Italian sausage and spicy pepperonis, oozing cheese, some bell peppers, onion and olives thrown in for texture and of course generous dashes of red pepper and parmesan cheese on top for good measure. Washed down with something really cold, in a big frosty mug preferably.

That’s why I was curiously intrigued when I read Minnesota Monthly’s article Pizza Perfect, touting the world’s first Pizza Personality Type Indicator. Like the article mentions it’s not the pizzas that are so different, really—it’s that the people eating them are.

And after taking the test, I learned I was an ATPL, or that is to say American/ Traditionalist/ Populist/ Luxurious. Eh? Here’s how MM described it: I’m a Lawn Chair Connoisseur (really, me? I’m not bookish or gourmet? Sad day.). Apparentely I “could spend a lot more money on luxuries if you chose to—but you don’t. It’s not that you don’t appreciate the good life, you just aren’t too interested in its trappings. Give you a warm coat, a working car, and a cookout, and you’re happy. Angst is for losers. Fire up the grill!” My pizza is Leonardo’s, in Mahtomedi. MM writes:

“Homesick Chicago transplants have been known to fly down to the Windy City for
a deep-dish pizza because Minnesota, for all its charms, tends to make deep-dish
pizzas that are either not deep enough, or, well, repulsive. It’s time for
homesick Chicago transplants to join hands, sing, and rejoice! There is, in
fact, one place in the Twin Cities that knows how to make a deep-dish pizza. The
place is called Leonardo’s, in Mahtomedi. Call ahead with your deep-dish
order because it will take Leonardo’s a good 40 minutes to cook their Chicago
stuffed pizza, as it should. When it’s done, though, you will have a heavy,
casserole-sized, well-cooked two-inch-deep pizza stuffed with Italian sausage,
Canadian bacon, pepperoni, mushrooms, black olives, provolone, mozzarella,
and—most important—a spicy, garlicky, thick, zesty, magnificent marinara sauce.
They don’t cut it for you—it would ooze everywhere—so don’t plan on sneaking a
slice in the car on the way home. But once you wrestle this thing into your
house, you’ll find it was well worth the trip to Mahtomedi. Put on your Cubs
hat, pop the top on a Goose Island beer, and dive into the best Chicago-style
pizza this side of Belmont Avenue.”

Ok, that makes perfect sense. And while I don’t put a lot of stock in little quizzes such as these, it did remind me of a few weeks ago, at camp, when I retook the Meyers-Briggs again, and saw how my personality & temperament had remained surprisingly constant in the few years since I took it in SHAPE class. Still an ISFP, the description of me as an “Idealist” seemed to fit well. “Idealists are enthusiastic, they trust their intuition, yearn for romance, seek their true self and prize meaningful relationships. Idealists pride themselves on being loving, kindhearted and authentic.” Yep, so far so good. “Idealists tend to be giving, trusting, spiritual, and they are focused on personal journeys and human potentials. Idealists make intense mates, nurturing parents, and inspirational leaders.” Okaaaay. I’m not so sure about the last part, I mean, I’m not yet anyone’s mate, parent, and as for leading, well I know a few under-10 year olds that let me rassle with them occasionally. If unambitious was a diagnosed four letter acronym, would it spell out S-L-A-C-K-E-R?

In any case, all this self reflection, at the prompting of just wanting to kill some time, has made crave pizza, a lot. It’s a good thing tonight I’ll be eschewing my introverted ways, and joining some friends for pizza before the last softball game of the season. Maybe if it doesn’t rain, we’ll have some F-U-N. Otherwise, tonight just might find me at home, with the sad consolation prize of Sriracha, Little Ceasers and a Leinies. S-A-D D-A-Y.

Snubbed

September 17th is set to be a big day at my house. That is the day that Kevin Smith will be speaking at the State Theater in all his baggy khaki short, tee shirted, overgrown facial hair glory. I’m so excited I could crap my pants, if it weren’t for that anal fissure.*

For those of you living in a cave, New Jersey native Kevin Smith is the acclaimed director of such movies as Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy (personal favorite), Dogma (the movie that introduced Buddy Jesus), Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back, Jersey Girl, Zack & Miri Make A Porno, and the amazing man who relaunched the Green Lantern with DC, as well as made major contributions in resurging Daredevil back into popular culture (Comics people. Come on, keep up!). In addition he is also the host/speaker of the wildly entertaining, piss on the sofa funny An Evening With Kevin Smith lecture & dvd series, wherein he visits sundry campuses and fields sometimes serious, sometimes wacky fans in a Q&A format. Having been a fan of this series, I can also say that he does great big, robust justice to the term Bunny Trail, as well. Big old, hour long, rambling, entertaining bunny trails.

Anyways, because I’m a big fan, and because I’m totally broke (I’ve taken a lot of unpaid time off this summer, apparently), a few weeks ago I emailed his team at the View Askew Universe, offering my blogging services in exchange for a discounted, or dare I even dream, free ticket to the show. I basically said I’d blog about the upcoming show and my thoughts on his other lectures, in exchange for said ticket. But sadly, I never heard back. Not a “No thank you.”, not a “Hahah, whatever, media whore.”, nothing. And so I thought to myself, surely they must not have received my email. I’ll just offer again. And nothing. Yet again, nothing.

Now, even a girl like me has her pride. Yes, a girl like me. One, who I’m coming to realize, doesn’t always act her age, bounces around, has a happy dance, skips, and apparently needs a hockey helmet and a bib to go in public. But that’s another post for another day (and probably the reason I’m falling off friendship cliff with every guy I meet). Nobody likes to be snubbed.

And so, because I said I would, I’m going to make good, and blog about the upcoming show at the State Theater, and how excited I am about it. I’m also going to spew my askew views, and call this post Snubbed. Because that’s exactly what I am. Now I know that my blog, entitled A Woman’s Right To Shoes, may not be the coolest, or hippest one out there. Nor does it probably adhere to the demographic market of Mr. Smith’s target audience – aka adolescent boys and men who live at home in their mother’s basement. But, I like to think that I’m a funny woman. Though the primary subject of a lot of my posts is Jesus, and my personal relationship with Him, it is He Himself that in His wisdom and glory when dreaming me up gave me a wicked funny sense of humor. Yes, sometimes it’s sick, and mildly inappropriate, and as my friend Krista is always keen to point out, I do enjoy poop humor a bit more than the average woman (ever ask me to sing the Poop Song from the Sarah Silverman Show season 1? Well you should). But, to get to the jist of it all, I am funny, and I do believe that my blog would be a good PR tool for promoting this show. I may be deluding myself, but two lattes by 1:00 in the afternoon will do that to you.

So, get ready world, because in the next few days I plan on taking A Woman’s Right To Shoes down the testosterone alley, and blogging about Kevin Smith’s body of work (it, like the man himself, is shall we say, well-rounded). I plan to do a few movie reviews, and more importantly, comic book reviews, and who knows what else. And if you’re reading this, and have made it thus far without becoming grossly offended by anything I’ve said, then maybe you’d like to come with me on September 17th, to the State Theater, and we can see Kevin Smith yak at us live for a few hours. BTW – can you spot me a $20 for the ticket?

*For those of you who think I just copped to having an anal fissure online, I don’t. It’s an inside (Ooohheee, no pun intended) joke, for those in the know. And if you don’t get it, you don’t know. And if you do, then you know that there is nothing wrong with my bum. ‘Nuff said.

RomCom Roast!

Anyone who knows me, knows that I’m not a “Chick Flick” kinda girl. Matter of fact, I kind of detest them – feeling like they set up unrealistic and unattainable expectations of romance and relationships for women. Truth be told, in real life there are no magic moments of being swept off your feet by a prince on a white horse, and riding off into the sunset. If only there were. Movies aimed at a young, female demographic play ruthlessly and unabashedly on the voids that the fall of mankind has left in the male/female dynamic. Because they play so acutely to the warped sense of worth, value, adoration and longing in young women today, they can be addictive and deceptive. And frankly, I don’t need movies to play with my emotions, and create in me a sense of longing for something that no human man can ever fulfill. I can do that pretty well on my own, thank you.

That being said – there are a few movies in this genre that I actually do like. Just a few though. In a huge fit of irony, most of them fall under the category of “Worst Chick Flicks Ever” as rated by Entertainment Weekly magazine. A few, however have also fallen under their “25 Most Romantic Films of All Time”. For the most part though, any of the movies that I do like represent a more realistic view of love and relationship, or at least have some plot twists that accurately depict the realities of life and the human spectrum of emotion and relation to another person. I may pretend to be a hard-nosed cynic, but I think that deep inside resides some glimmer of hope for my own prince to come riding up on his horse. Even if said horse does end up crapping on my lawn during his “we should just be friends” speech.

My Top Five Favorite Romantic/Chick Flicks, and my justification for their very existence, in no particular order, are as follows:

The English Patient (1996) – Life never works out the way you want it to. That’s a given. And in this story, by the time Katherine Clifton and Count de Almasy, a Hungarian mapmaker working for the Royal Geographic Society, meet and fall passionately in love, life has already thrown them the curveball of her marriage to a friend, for the sake of companionship and convenience. Add on top of that the political stresses imposed by World War II, a jealousy-enraged, suicidal husband (played by RomCom staple Colin Firth), and the inevitable death and misery (including amnesia and disfigurement) that accompany their story, and here’s a tale that truly shows that sometimes, things just don’t pan out they way they should. The sparks of chemistry and romance that exist in the interim however are beautiful and haunting. Or maybe that’s just the exotic locale of North Africa. Anyway, in the end, one man’s relentless devotion to the woman he loves is masterfully portrayed through his painstaking and ultimately life-altering trek through the dessert in a vain attempt to save her life, and eventually collect her remains. The scenes of Katherine waiting for him in the cave, writing by a dying light amongst the swimming figures painted on the walls are unforgettable and poignant. And this doesn’t even touch on the charming story of French-Canadian Hannah (played sweetly by Juliette Binoche), his eventual nurse, and the strapping Sikh land-mine diffuser she falls for, as she nurses Count de Almasy through the end days of his life in a deserted Italian villa, drawing out his memories while trying to determine his identity. Even if I wasn’t a pushover for anything epic, dramatic or set in World War II, this movie would win my attention with the bathtub scenes, the Christmas dance scene (“Swoon, I’ll catch you.”) and Naveen Andrews floating in mid-air amongst the ruins of a muraled church.

The Painted Veil (2006) - Who doesn’t love Edward Norton? Yet, even for all his acting chops, it took this movie for me to ever see him as a credible romantic lead. And though he’s a stellar actor, it wasn’t his looks, or his performance even, that flipped that switch in my mind. It was the underlying emotion and smolder he subtly portrayed as a man in love, jilted but faithful, that changed my perception. Well that and the fact that this breathtaking, sumptuous movie was a labor of love for him that took him years to produce. The Painted Veil is the story (A W. Somerset Maugham adaptation) of Walter and Kitty Fane, newlyweds who married for convenience, and without strong knowledge of the hidden character (or lack thereof) of their mates. Shortly after being married and moving to Shanghai, Walter discovers that vain and shallow Kitty is carrying on an affair with a dashing and handsome diplomat. In an act of revenge and prevention, he accepts a job studying a deadly cholera outbreak in war-torn inland China. Dragging Kitty along with him only serves to further sever their precarious marriage bonds even more. But as each of them work through the cold, loveless partnership that they’ve found themselves in, amidst the hardships of pestilence and the complexities of cultural barriers, they find that the turbulent challenges they’re facing are enough to grow their love into something deep and meaningful, something it ought to have been in the first place. The Painted Veil, to me, is a story that shows that true love must be worked on, and can develop naturally within the confines of respect, care, intentionality and virtue. It’s about the truth that sometimes we choose to love as an action, rather than focus on whether or not we feel it as an emotion. Love, in this movie, is a virtue that must be cultivated and worked on, and the hardship that accompanies marriage prove a fertile ground for it to bloom. Virtue, in fact, is a theme in this film that is addressed in one of my favorite lines “As if a woman has ever loved a man for his virtue.” This line never fails to remind me of a nugget of truth that my old pastor, Pastor Steve, once pointed out. That is, that any two people, purposefully devoted to the Lord, and willing to work at love, can get married, and have a successful, and loving relationship. It’s exactly what Kitty’s mom tells her, at the beginning of the movie. Only Kitty, in her idealistic, romantic notions, fails to see the point, and replies “Please Mother. The idea that any women should marry any Tom, Dick or Harry, regardless of her own feelings is simply prehistoric.” No, not prehistoric, just self-sacrificing, which is exactly what the Painted Veil paints, in a large, complex and romantic way.

Say Anything (1989) - Maybe the reason I love this movie is that it was the film I saw on my very first date, back in 8th grade, with the rebel bad-ass pre-teen Neil. Nostalgia runs deep. I think there’s a lot more to it though, because at it’s core it’s a story of two slightly mismatched people discovering that adoration and commitment can transcend social boundaries and expectations. Let’s face it, Lloyd Dobler (played with such innocent naivete by a young John Cusack) is one of the greatest male romantic characters in all of film history. Really, if you ask me, this is one of the greatest romantic movies of all time. What’d I say about nostalgia? Lloyd is a lovestruck, yet deeply faithful, aspiring kick-boxer/high school grad, who doesn’t “want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career.” He also doesn’t “want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed.”. You know, as a career, he doesn't want to do that. Which makes him a very unlikely match for Valedictorian Diane Court (Ione Skye). Having fallen hard for her in high school, he pursues her the summer after their graduation, while she is trying to determine a path for her future life. His future life consists solely of just being there for her. As her tells her father, at one point “What I really want to do with my life - what I want to do for a living - is I want to be with your daughter. I'm good at it.” And throughout the movie, as she struggles with decisions and revelations, he does exactly that, proving that the most romantic thing a man can do for a woman is just pursue her. Couple that dedication with the iconic image of him making a stand for their love, boombox balanced overhead, blaring Peter Gabriel's ''In Your Eyes,'' outside her window in an attempt to win her back (I cry every time), and you’ve got the makings of a truly great, mildly realistic love story. To this day, it remains one of my all time favorites, and I guess I have 8th grader Neil to thank for that.

Out Of Africa (1985) - Taken from the diaries and writing of real-life Danish baroness Karen “Isak” Dinesen Blixen (Meryl Streep), this epic movie chronicles the years of her life spent in Africa, as a plantation owner. Much more than just a love story, Out Of Africa is the story of one woman’s growth and discovery, both of herself, and of the namesake continent. At the onset of the movie, Karen agrees to marry her dead lover’s brother, the Baron Von Blixen, since he needs money and she needs a title. With the money from their marriage, her philandering husband buys a plantation for them, in Kenya, where he intends to raise cattle. World War I breaks out and conflict comes to Africa shortly thereafter, tearing him away from the farm, and from the wife who his slowly growing to love him, despite his cheating and indifferent ways, and leaving her to fend for herself and the farm. Enter adventurer Denys Finch-Hatton (Robert Redford) with his Ralph Lauren wardrobe and his new-fangled Mozart playing gramophone. Above all, he cherishes his freedom and rugged independence while he vocally despises the cultivation of Africa’s natural beauty and wildness happening around him. A romance between the two ensues, as he slowly begins to find roots helping her on her farm, and she accompanies him on safari multiple times. The epic scenery, breathtaking shots of flying in a biplane over a flock of pink flamingos, and the enduring romance between the two lovers are part of what makes this story so memorable. But even more so, watching Blixen’s character develop strength, independence and fortitude as she negotiates and interacts with the Somali natives, learns the in’s & out’s of running a coffee plantation on her own and faces struggle after struggle (from her husband giving her Syphillis, to losing the people she loves to death) is what makes this movie stand out as something unique, and beautiful. With a haunting score and sweeping, incomparable scenery, this epic love story embodies all that’s truly great about grand romantic movies. Yet in the end, it is the romance with Africa that stays with you, just as Blixen’s words convey why: “If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?”

Return To Me – Yes, the premise is highly implausible. After losing his philanthropic wife in a car accident, Bob Rueland (David Duchovny) coincidentally falls in love with the anonymous recipient of her donated heart, only neither of them know it. Yet. And yes, Minnie Driver can be sometimes only mildly tolerable, whining and moping around with a distorted sense of her own looks (no one can see that scar anyways!). But what I really like about this movie is that it’s strongly intergenerational, and accurately depicts the nuances of the support system of varied friend/familial relationships in a person’s life. Very few romantic comedies ever do this. Grace Briggs (Driver) is a young woman who lives with her grandfather, and associates mainly with his slew of geriatric, yet oddly hormonally driven friends. Her best friend is a married with kids older woman, tied to the realistically brutish James Belushi. The dynamics of their own marital bliss (?) serve to reflect a true enough portrait of married life, including Bonnie Hunt’s believable human emotions (i.e., frustration and bitter loneliness) while still maintaining some sentimental romantic qualities of their own. All of these character’s manage to depict, with accuracy and depth, yet entertaining sentiment, the multitude of ways that people’s outside relationships bear weight on their romantic decisions and eventual consequences of those around them. Add to that the fact that this movie isn’t overly stylized or sexual, but gentle and gradual in developing the bonds between the two main characters, and it’s as wholesome and family friendly a RomCom as you can get.

And now, because all this foo-fooness has caused me to throw up in my mouth, here is my list of the all-time worst, misleading, incredibly fluffy, blonde and dumb romantic comedies of all time. I realize there might not be five on the list, I actually haven’t seen that many RomCom’s to begin with, so if my lists are short, maybe it’s a good thing. Oh, and be warned – some of these may be on your list of favorites, and I’m about to skewer them alive. So sue me.

P.S. I Love You – Really? After weeks of bitter mourning for your dead (albeit totally hot) husband, just a few letters are enough to snap you back to reality, hard enough to justify drunken karaoke and trips to Ireland?? This movie is completely inplausable. Hillary Swank is unsympathetic, which is tough for a young widow to pull off. And there’s not quite enough of Gerard Butler or Jeffery Dean Morgan to justify this piece of overly emoting fluff. One critic said it best when he wrote “PS I Love You is a teary, unabashedly sappy, romantic comedy with every element as purely calculated to appeal to a heterosexual woman's romantic fantasies as an episode of "All My Children."

Must Love Dogs – More of a bad sitcom, than a bad movie (though it was that enough as well) this overly wrought turn at depicting the search for love past your twenties seems contrived, underutilizes it’s talented cast, and has hardly a sympathetic moment.

That one with Jennifer Aniston where she plays tennis and is from Pasadena. AND I’m FROM PASADENA!! This one is so bad that I can’t even remember the name of it – I must have blocked it from my mind.

The Break-Up (2006) - It’s tough for me to knock this one, due to Vince Vaughn’s ever towering presence. Yet, instead of a emotionally detailed story of marital complications, this movie left me feeling sick to the stomach at the trite and catty ways that the characters use to make each other miserable. Specifically Jennifer Aniston. Call me old fashioned, but shouldn’t her character have worked just as hard at making their relationship work, as she did on ruining it or exacting payback on a vacant and non-present Vaughn? All this movie managed to do was show two people demonstrating the glaringly obvious ways that time and sin have driven men and women from their natural and God-given purposes in relation to one another. He was unconcerned and distant. She was naggy, catty and bitter. Watching their heartless bickering and incessant mind games for two hours was far from funny. It was downright depressing and cynical.

BTW - Do we see a Jennifer Aniston trend starting here?

Ok, for the sake of brevity, and because I desperately need a nap, here are my two last runners up:

Maid In Manhattan (2002) - Jennifer Lopez had more chemistry with a can of Pledge than with Ralph Fiennes in this flop. His take on a senator was like watching paint dry, and are we really supposed to believe that she would not get found out in vetting, for the poseur that she was.

How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days (2003) - Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson piddle their way through this RomCom that wasn’t particularly romantic or funny. Watching the movie made me cringe as I felt trapped in their farce of an irritating, cliché ridden relationship. And all the lies, in the end, made for a morally bankrupt show rather than a sympathetic plot twist.

So there you have it folks – my opinions loud & clear. Enjoy! And don’t forget to go see 500 Days of Summer, the anti RomCom romantic comedy starring Zoey Deschanel (who I want to be when I grow up) this weekend. J Shameless Plug!

Insomnia Makes You Write The Weirdest Things

So, lately, and I'm talking for like over a week, my Gmail status has been "Tell Him". For those who don't know, it's a Colbie Caillat song I happen to really like. But I feel like it's so much more than that. And that is all I'm saying about that. For now.

I guess I should have started this post with a great big old warning that this is going to be muy mucho aleatorio y loco!! Oh yeah, I have insomnia, and despite what that perky little pharmacist at Target told me today, Cough Syrup with Codeine is NOT making me sleepy, it's having quite the opposite effect. Affect. Effect. You get the picture.

So, here I lay, all cuddled up at the C's, housesitting, listening to some Marvin Gaye & Sublime (it is NOT true that I have total stoner taste in music, btw), and so many weird things are running through my head. Is my tummy ache actually from not eating? Should I be blogging right now? Who knows? I guess we'll find out, right?

So, like for the first part, how I've completely changed so much in the last few months. Chalk it up to growing, but I feel like a mellower, more at-peace-with-her-surroundings kind of Trin. I think a lot of it has to do with things I'm increasingly more grateful for. My flatmates. The way they all bring me joy, on a daily basis. That I feel served in the kindest, most thoughtful ways by my friends, and I feel totally loved by the people I know, and spend time with. I'm seeing God work in the life of a good friend, who I've been praying for for like 2 years now. I'm in community, and can see it all around me. Is community a matter of proximity, and does one feed the other? That's another post for another day, seriously.

Next on the list, I'm becoming a total hippie!! I ordered the stuff today to make my own rainwater barrel! How awesome is that. And I'm composting now. And not just that, but my roommate R (for Roommate of course) is composting too! I'm turning other people into hippies. I jest. I have been reading up on sustainable living, and I'm even organizing my very own backyard campout night (besides another one I'm attending next weekend). Last week I spent the entire week at camp, which was amazing, and I found myself using phrases like "nutrient rich soil" and "pesticide free produce" during the cooking classes I taught. The kids looked at me like I was smoking said nutrient rich soil, but I just smiled ignorantly and turned their attention back to the amazing chocolate dipped marshmallows we made.

Oh, and yeah, I think my maternal clock is boomboombooming me a wee bit too much these days, but it seems like everywhere I look there are adorable little baby boys running around with big goofy smiles, floppy hair and that drunken toddler walk that makes me laugh.

But enough of that.... I miss being at work. That in itself is almost a miracle statement. Who misses working? But I miss getting things done and being good at something. And let's face it, at work I have full confidence that I rule the roost of the Rimage lobby quite sufficiently. For the sake of my pour lungs, ribs and roommates (who are probably tired of hearing me hack all night), I hope this bronchitis goes away soon, so I can get back to the grind of things and stop wearing jeans and flip-flops and hippie chick shirts all day, and start looking like a proper Banana Republic wearing office girl again!

Ok, I said this was going to be random and rambling. And since it's almost 2, and I'm still fighting insomnia, this is nothing if not crrrazzy. I'm a sleep loving hippie.... I need to get me some bedtime!

Bruises

Sometime in the last week I've done something very bad to my shoulder, both my pinkies, two spots on my left arm and one on my left thigh. Soreness and bruises have resulted. Did I just get beat up last night, and forgot it somehow? Those Taco Tuesday's, you know they can get a little out of hand.

At least my ego remains intact, as usually that's the first to show signs of wear & tear, when it comes to me. I have learned all too well to live life humbled and laughing at myself. I'm ok with it, but I'm sure it must rob me of some minor form of dignity and gracefulness.

I'm not a graceful person, in the physical sense, to say the least. If there is food to be spilled, it's on my clothes, something to be knocked over, it's at my feet, as are my glasses now as well. And oops, did I just kick them across the room? That's just me. Some women, and men too, for that matter, were born with a swanlike gracefulness. Me? Well, let's just say I'm more Lucille Ball than Audrey Hepburn.

I think I need my own comedy show. An odd mix of Jackass and Carol Burnett. Or close to. But can it be in New York please? I can't do a show in the Midwest - my family would never watch it.

If I had to pick a city I was made for, Los Angeles would not be it. Though this morning, after walking the dog, and feeding him, and trying to reason him out of unnecessary barking, I did mention to R for Roommate that I miss LA sometimes, when it's a great summer day out, and I remember that in my hometown, they were all great summer days.

Memories of LA have been flooding me recently, and I don't know if it's the weather - though I can't imagine it would be with this crappy rain (just kidding Mr. Weather, my garden needs it). I think part of it has been reconnecting with old friends, and what not. Yesterday, something monumental happened on facebook (wow, irony!). I requested an old friend, as my FBF (facebook friend) and she said yes.

Now, this may sound suprising, like "Why, wouldn't she?" but this is someone I haven't talked to in 13 years, and who turned her back on me, and our lifelong friendship, when I became a Christian. We had been best friends since I was 11, and her friendship was one of the hardest things for me to lose. Somehow, I always thought she'd stick by me - I thought we were friends through thick and thin, and that included religious differences.

For those of you that are not familiar with my testimony, or how I came to Christ, here's the Cliff Notes of it. I was born & raised a Jehovah's Witness, and was one till I turned 21. As a JW, I had no other friends than other JW's, since they are very adamant about only associating within their ranks. Everyone I knew, friends, family, boyfriends, were all JW's. The year I turned 21, I came to know the Lord (awesome story how, but for another time), and left being a Jehovah's Witness, to pursue my newfound faith. I lost every person I knew, with the exception of my mother, and a few family members.

Years later I look back on that time, of being pulled out of a cult, and stripped of all I used as my identity, my security, my life, and I thank God immensely. How good He was to save me, and my life has never been the same. But I miss those people sometimes, and I always, always missed A.

Yesterday, as I was on facebook, chatting with another old, mutual friend (someone who also left the JW cult, 5 years after I did), I saw A in her friend's section. Sheer boldness gripped me spontaneously and I sent her a friend request. Sometimes I can be a bit impetious, and I look back on my decision to leave the JW cult as impetious, but well grounded in God's grace and will and destined plan. I can only hope that trying to reestablish contact with her will be equally blessed. And today, when I saw that she accepted my friend request, a glimmer of hope sparked in my heart, that hopefully, this could be the beginning of a great friendship, once again. Wouldn't that be awesome?

Anyways, this is a lot of words to say so little something. I'm clumsy. I sometimes miss LA (the beach mostly), and I pray that God works in the hearts of my friends, from so long ago, to draw them to Himself, and back to friendship for me. Today, bruises abound on my body, but 13 years ago, when I lost my friends, it was my heart that was so damaged that it's taken this long to recover. No matter how much more damage I manage to incur, I rest secure in the knowledge that it's my God who heals me. Heart, mind, soul, shoulders, pinkies, arms & thighs. True Story.

Am I Off My Rocker?

So, here's what I've been up to this past week - WOW!

The past seven days have me learning a lot, from Roommate R (more like Roommatee ARRRGGHH!!) about communication, and worth. As in, I just want to hang some freakin' curtains and have pretty things around the house, but I need to compromise because I'm not the only person living in this house, and when I can't do the things that I want to do (because they're my gifts therefore I want to do them) my sense of value and worth drops exponentially, and I feel like crap. *And breathe.* But if I would just take a step back, communicate instead of hiding my thoughts and feelings in fear (of misunderstanding, or unappreciation), then I'm sure things would be ok. I have major issues, and I'm learning to deal with them, and work through them, and I'm grateful all the time for the Lord stretching me and growing me and for R being patient and not telling me to my face that I'm mental.

Besides that, I have applied for a professional writing position. And I really hope I get it!! It's for a website directed at residents of the Twin Cities, and I applied for a position writing a Dating & Relationships column. Now is the time for those of you who just peed your pants with laughter to go change your Depends.

Ok, back now? Great, because seriously, I want to be the Carrie Bradshaw of Minneapolis. I do! I'm so excited, and I know I might be jinxing my chances by even mentioning it, but how awesome would that be. WHO has more hilarious first date stories than I do? No one!!

But, the fact of the matter is, I'm not dating anyone right now, and the last relationship I was in broke my heart like the distended femur of a car-crashed zombie. (Speaking of the Zed-word, I'm reading World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War right now, but more on that later). As I thought about my qualifications, or lack thereof, for this column, the one thing that glares me in the face tauntingly is my own lack of love-life.

Yeah, I could blather on about relationships no problem - because basically they consist of all the same elements, whether it's romantic, or platonic or familial, etc. But dating? I'm so painfully unqualified for that topic right now, that it's almost a matter of humiliation. Except that it's funny.

So, even though I've been praying about it, of course, (doing the whole "I don't get it God... I'm not a total dog. I'm kinda funny. What gives?" thing), I decided I'm gonna give online dating a try. Again. I'm sure I'll have hiliarious antics to tell about all the horrible ways this is going to go wrong, and in all honesty and sincerity, I have absolutely no high hopes for meeting someone this way. Really, I just kind of need material. So keep your fingers crossed and get ready to have your funny bones tickled, because tonight, I just signed up on both Match.com and Chemistry.com.

Is this wrong of me? I mean, ethically? Since I, in all sincerity, have no expectations of anyone actually wanting to date me, it's not like I'm leading anyone on. Therefore, I see no problem with it. But if there is some glaring moral imperative staring me in the face here, and I'm glazing right through it, I expect you, my readers, to please let me know. After all, I may be undateable, but that doesn't mean I want to be a total jerk.

Ok, on to more fun, and exciting, topics. ZOMBIES!! Heeeheeee. I'm reading the amazing book, World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, by Max Brookes. And honestly, it's knockin' my home-knit socks off. Written from the perspective of a journalist (albeit fictional), who has survived a world-wide epidemic of Zed's, this book explores more of the human vs. human aspect of war and pestilence than it does the living dead. A great read for anyone who's interested in the concept of man's destruction at his own hand. Or as my least favorite New Jersey housewife put it last night "Dialogue & Dialect". Ummm, yeah.

Well, time to head outta the Prairie-Brary and head home for some dinner and light (hah!) reading. But before I go, I guess I should check my inbox in case anyone has emailed me for a date (Hah some more!!). Thanks for reading, and thank you for your support.

I Bet Nobody In History Has Ever Licked The Liberty Bell

So, I think I might be totally obsessed with How I Met Your Mother. Here’s my top ten list (Letterman inspired, ahthankyouverymuch), of Top Ten Signs You’re Watching Too Much HIMYM:

10. Every time you see a great picture of NPH (and the fact that you know who NPH is, should be a big clue in itself), all you can think is “too bad he’s gay”.

9. You compare every guy’s calves to Jason Segals.

8. Someone says you’re being a “Ted” and you’re like Puhleeze…. I’m not even that lame.

7. You start telling babies to “Suit up”, “Snowsuit up” and even “Flightsuit up”.

6. You go around introducing all your friends by saying “Have you met my friend (insert name here)?”.

5. You can only hope that someday, you too can be a Lilypad to some hot guys’ Marshmallow.

4. You know all the words to “Let’s Go To The Mall”, by Robin Sparkles.

3. You can’t say the word “legendary” without meaningful pauses and the phrase “wait for it”, anymore.

2. You’re constantly challenging your friend’s to Slap-Bets.

And the number one sign you know you're watching too much HIMYM is...... wait for it, it's gonna be, yep, legen....dary ....

1. Your main goal in life is just to stop being sad, and be AWESOME instead. True story.

Ridiculously Silly Fictional Crushes

So, I’m totally addicted to those Facebook quiz’s. You know, the ones that are like “If you were a kind of cookie, which would you be?” (Snickerdoodle), or “If you were a type of Laundry Soap, which would you be?” (Snuggle), or “If you were a Infectious Bacteria, which would you be?” (Ummm, not sure, Tuberculosis maybe?? Ringworm?).

Anyways, at the Prairie-Brary today, I saw one that was “Which Fictional Character Are You?” (I’d like to think Elizabeth Bennett-Darcy, but probably more like Pippi Longstocking, the brunette version). And that, coupled with the fact that I’m still thinking about Jason Segal’s calves got me to thinking, I should come up with a “All-time Favorite Fictional Crushes” list. So, in the spirit of it’s Friday and I want a margarita on a deck, here’s my daydreamy-I-don’t-feel-like-working Fictional Crushes list. The Top Ten version. And I promise you, Edward Cullen is nowhere near it.

10. Josh Lyman (The West Wing). He’s ridiculously smart, can hold a witty, reference laden, intelligent conversation in speed-talk mode, never missing a beat or a clever retort He’s patriotic, idealistic and determined, kind of awkward but really sweet in the end. Yeah, he’s definitely my favorite Democrat.

9. Eliot Stabler (Law & Order SVU) – A man dedicated to upholding his own strict code of justice, while in constant balance/tension with his deep sense of faith and spirituality? With a big heart for his big family? And a protective spirit for the women in his life? And tattoos?? Come on, he’s a hero’s hero. A man’s man!

8. Jack Shepherd (Lost), tied with Walter Fane (The Painted Veil). One of my favorite quotes from The Painted Veil is when Waddington is telling Kitty (Walter’s wife) that his mistress, Wan Xi, loves him, because as she says “He’s a good man”. And Kitty, shallow, stubborn Kitty says “As if a woman has ever loved a man for his virtue.”. To which, in my mind, I always answer “What else is there to love a man for?” Give me a man who is good, heroic, and can always be counted on to do the right thing, and I will give you my heart in a quivering puddle in return.

7. Jim Halpert. Think of all the fun we’d have pulling pranks on people and going to baseball games! What a riot! And he likes artistic women to boot!

6. Michael Scofield/Lincoln Scofield…. Can we just get a third brother here, encompassing the best of both of these Prison Break hotties. Michael’s eyes/cerebralism & Lincolns jawline all wrapped up in a non-felon/fugitive brother?

5. Bruce Wayne – ok, ok, I know that in the end I’d either get my heart totally broken, or my head ripped off my body by bad guys. But there’s something so exciting about the danger element, and that dark, dark, mysterious personality combined with the undeniable sense of vigilante justice. Bruce Wayne is a man that can get things done. Yeah, I’d totally date Batman.

4. Colonal Brandon (Sense & Sensibility) – Even when Marianne snubbed him as a dull, older man, choosing the flighty, disloyal charms of Willoughby instead, he managed to wait patiently by and prove his worth. He remained constantly devoted to her, sacrificially so, and eventually proved that even the most stoic and serious of men can hide a romantic past and a doting heart.

3. Mr. Darcy (Pride & Predjudice) – oh yes, even with a name like Fitzwilliam (what do you call him? Fitz? Will? Fitzbill?), Mr. Darcy is the thinking woman’s romantic hero. Passionate, full of integrity, honest, intelligent, a flawless verbal sparrer and possessing a willingness to look beyond a crazy family? Not to mention that his recent cinematic embodiements haven’t been too hard on the eyes. Yet, for all his excellent exterior qualities, it’s Mr. Darcy’s inner character that I admire most.

2. Marshall Erickson (How I Met Your Mother) – the goofiness, the quirkiness, the unabashed sensitivity, the Minnesotan background, the calves, people, the calves. I have a fierce soft spot for Jason Segal, and it’s all in part to his character, Marshall on HIMYM. I’m telling you, it’s the calves.

1. Gilbert Blythe (Anne of Green Gables & subsequent books) – Without a doubt, Gilbert Blythe was my original Fictional Character crush. I remember first laying eyes on him, during a “movie day” in Mrs. Parras’ 6th Grade classroom. It was fictional crush at first sight. There was something so smug about his self-assuredness, yet his soft spot for Anne was readily apparent, and it drew me into to an appreciation of his character and eventually Lucy Maud Montgomery’s books. Throughout, he was patiently devoted to Anne, and never encroached on her independent spirit. And he was a doctor. With curly, dark hair. I think the thing that strikes me most about Gilbert & Anne’s relationship, to this day, however, is that it was always based on a mutual admiration of friendship and comraderie before romance. The admiration and respect that Gilbert had for Anne, and let’s face it, his dark curly hair and the twinkle in his hazel eyes, had me at hello, and for that, he is my number one favorite fictional character crush.

TBT's - Three Things That Bring Me Joy

haven’t done these in a while, TBT’s. Right now, here are ten things that are bringing me joy this week:

My best friend in the whole wide world, the one person who’s seen me at my worst stages of life, and loves me despite the ugliness, and encourages me, and is my biggest cheerleader, and who speaks truth into my life like no one else can, and who I actually listen to, Kari, is coming into town this weekend, and I have the great privilege of making her dinner at my place. Seriously, folks, to say that I don’t develop deep relationships easily (cough, cough, AT ALL) would be the biggest understatement of this blog. Kari is probably my longest, deepest friendship, and is living proof that I can do it - I can maintain a real, long-lasting friendship and not scare people away!

Could this weather be any nicer? I’m so working in my garden and getting those flowers planted tonight!! And I’m so going for a drive at lunch, for no other reason than to get outside! Speaking of my garden, I walked outside this morning to go to work, and a little bunny scampered away from my garden. So, I looked over, to my vegetable bed, to see what he had wrecked havoc on, and there, crouched all Thumper style, was his partner in crime, Other Bunny, sitting in my veggie patch, with, get this, sugar snap peas still hanging out of his mouth. Really Mr. Bunny? I was very upset. Even at the cute little fuzzy bunny. I told him so, too. Anyone listening would’ve thought I was nutso, but it came out like this “Mister Bunny! What are you doing in my garden?? You rotten little bunny, you’re eating my peas aren’t you? Oooh, Mister Bunny, you are in BIG trouble!” and then I shooed him off with the BCBG platform wedge that was dangling from my hand, because I hadn’t put on my shoes yet.

I got the chance to be at camp this weekend. Camp, which you’ll read in a forthcoming post, I promise, was amazing, and I didn’t want to leave, it was that wonderful of an experience. So, since I did have to leave, I made sure that I signed up to come back soon, and so, this brings me joy – I’ll be spending a week down at camp in June, working with the Senior High campers!! According to Debbie, the camp chef, I’ll be working with the kids to do an exercise very similar to Iron Chef, where they are given a secret ingredient (or ingredients) and then have to make something out of it. I’m so very excited – I get to go back to camp!

And, when I was down at this weekend, I had time to spend with two amazing people, E & S, my fabulous part time roommates. We had car lessons, and not just any car lessons, mind you, but I taught them how to drive stick. I got to teach them to drive stick!! Years from now, they’ll look back and say that they learned to drive stick from none other than me. I made a significant impact for good in their lives!! That was probably the highlight of my time down there. The four of us in the car (Ok, Josiah was in the backseat, machine-gun-giggling), laughing, screaming, praying for our lives, laughing some more. Me, trying the hardest I ever have, to display patience and grace and more patience, as I taught them and sadly recalling my own mother trying to teach me years ago, and scaring the bejeezus out of me with her mean, discouraging yelling, and then doing just the opposite for these two, even as S almost ran us up an embankment in front of Dave’s house.

Today, those are just three of the things that bring me joy. Enjoy!

Think Pink - Aka Thing I Saw Last Week

So here, finally, by popular demand, is a retelling of the incredible thing I saw last week.

So, I was on my way to work, Wednesday morning, and as usual I was running late. As I was approaching 62, off of Highway 100 heading South, I noticed that the traffic was going really slow on the right hand side. I figured there must be an accident or someone pulled over, and everyone was stopping to gawk, or rubberneck. As I approached closer, I found out that they were indeed stopping to gawk and rubberneck, but this was no accident. It was a definite train wreck.

There in the right hand lane, on Hwy 100, was this girl – this fat girl – on a pink scooter. Not just pink, but pink pink. And not just fat, but fat fat. And she wasn’t just on a pink scooter, she was mostly hanging off the sides of the pink scooter. It was like a big pink Hostess Sno-Ball on a pink flexi-straw. In a pink velour track suit. All pink. Cute little ghetto track suit, all in pink, just like her scooter. And here’s the best part, wait, wait for it, because it is le-gen-dary…. She had all this long blonde hair flapping all over the place, going crazy in the wind. I thought to myself, how can she even see to drive in that thing, with all that hair going everywhere? But as I pulled closer, which has hard, because everyone had slowed down to stare at her, it turns out , it wasn’t her hair at all. She had on a pink helmet, the same pink as everything else, and on the side, attached with two big pink bows, were fake blond pigtails. Flapping in the wind. It was so priceless that I only wished I had my camera with me at the time. Someone needs to get a picture of this girl, seriously.

Here’s the deal though – kudos to her for flying her freak flag high. I’m sure not that brave. I’d not be caught anywhere but on the sofa in a pink track suit. And yes, sadly, I do have one, though it’s not velour, and it’s from J.Crew, and it’s this distressed vintage kind of tee-shirt knit, and it’s got a hoodie and some yoga pants, and it’s more pink pink than pink. And now I’m thinking that it’s time to meet the garbage, because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to wear it again in good conscience. Seriously though – girlfriend was not worried about the fact that she was only going about 35 or 40 on the highway, and she sure wasn’t worried about what people thought of her. She was just doing in her thing, bright and early in the morning, all matchy-matchy, and it was hilarious. All I can say, now, is good for her. I can only wish I had that kind of courage and confidence. You go girl!

The Greatest Hits

Ok, so in light of the completely dramatic emo nature of the last few posts (stinking men!!).... here are a few of my favorite posts from years past. If you haven't read them already, I'd say give it a whirl. They're amusing, sometimes funny, sometimes poignant, and a good change from listening to me kvetch about some guy who doesn't deserve me.

Happy Trails, T

Funny
Marcus The Produce God
What This World Is Coming To
Oh By The Way
I Love Lucy - Just a note on this post .... I later realized, and we're talking much later, that the squirrel fighting I was referring to wasn't fighting at all. It took the wildlife wisdom of cousin D, to teach me that what I thought was fighting was actually mating. EWWW!!!!
The Problem With Polygamy - It's More Than Just The Clothes
A New Pest Problem
A Truly Sensitive Subject & A Very Serious Post
That Which Does Not Kill Me...
489 Reasons To Endorse Celibacy


Kinda Brainy
Lessons On Love, Submission & Elephants
Some Of My Favorite Things (Geek Alert)

Touching
Something Much Bigger Than Me

There you have it folks.... till next week, when I get back from camp, enjoy!!

A Change Of Perspective

Last night, after a really cathartic drive home, in which every window was down, I was scanning Hwy 100 for cops (already got one speeding ticket there), and where 93X was as loud as I dared to crank the limits on my poor little speakers (I do like me some Kings of Leon), I came home and collapsed on my favorite chair and cried my eyes out. I called up my friend M, who's more of a sister than a friend, and just cried, and bawled like a baby while she was at Target. In the midst of the sniveling, snotty tears, I got a tap on my shoulder and when I looked up, there peering around from behind the corner is my roommate's extended arm, beer at the end of it. I took it, thanked him & went back to crying.

I spent a good part of the night last night crying. Today, I still can't say why. There was just this anger that built up in me volcanically, at the realization that I can't, in my own power, make anything happen that God doesn't want to happen. And that, I think, hit me like a stone pillar to the gut.

I don't really care about the UCE that much.... romantically that is. I mean, I know deep down in my heart that I would never in a million years want to marry him. Why would I want to be that miserable? If I was miserable and felt alone and ignored when we were just hanging out together, why would I want to tie myself into that situation? And though he never gave me the honor of defining what I was to him, other than telling me how wonderful, and great, and beautiful and talented he thought I was (empty words really), in my heart I guess I knew he never really wanted to be with me, and I didn't want to be with him either. So, why then, did finding out he's in a relationship hurt that much? I know, know, know full well that he doesn't care about me!! So why have I even bothered to care about him?

Or was it really just pride? Anger? A lot of things other than a broken heart, that got to me last night? I really think that's what it was. My pride was wounded that someone that I thought should be an easy catch had moved on. I was so very angry because the Lord was once again showing me that His plan is not my plan, or desires, and really showing me the leaky faultiness of my plans and schemes. Here was my fallback plan (he was truly kind of a back of the burner Plan B), going all up in smoke, and the Lord was saying "You should never have had this plan to begin with. Embrace my plan for your life, and know that I am good". It was a lesson I've not been wanting to learn for a while.

But last night, as I sat on the front porch stoop at a friend's house, enjoying community, just being with other women who I love, and who are awesome and special, I realized that I have all I need right here. As M and I walked home and talked and processed she reminded me to be thankful for the way this door has closed, and with such finality. I've been asking the UCE to close this door for sometime, and his lack of respecting my wishes had finally wore me down into thinking he always had to be there in my life, in the background, "just as friends". Well no. This was God saying "you don't need this friend... you're moving on kiddo!" The Lord had done something extraordinarily good, something I couldn't do in my own power, and the hurt I had truly felt was His extraction of something bad out of my life.

This morning I woke up, yeah, still with the flu, but grateful, joyful and thankful that I no longer have to carry around with me the "what could've beens?" of his friendship. I'm done. Finito. Finale. Arriverderci amigo, you're in my life no more! I'm so happy and relieved. And though God's plan is still one I'm asking Him to conform my will to, one less obstacle in the way is a great place to start. And for those of you who might say I'm taking a harsh view towards someone, a person that God still loves and has a plan for, yeah, you might be right. But I trust in God to work in His life, apart from me. I've prayed for the UCE countless nights..... let God make him grow.

Anyways, without the joy of friendship and community and being able to be authentic with the people in my life, whether it's a roommate just wanting to watch a movie or three great women sitting on a porch last night, I don't think I would've seen this for myself for a long time. There's something to be said about driving fast, music loud, but the true blessing in all of last night's emo girl drama came from God using the people around me to cheer me up, offer me a beer and just chat for a while amongst some cloves. It really gave me a renewed perspective. And that brings me joy.

A Moment Of Extreme Vulnerability

Ok, so I know this post is going to be all awful and vulnerable sounding, and maybe even a lot Emo. But I am me, and this is where I process, and if as a reader you can't handle it, then don't read my blog ok? Ok, sorry, that's just me being defensive, because, something happened tonight, and I'm hurting & I just want to cry. I always do that - my first instinct is "fight". Second is "hide". Lastly comes "run", and it's usually to some good Bruce Springsteen if I can find it. By the time this post is done I'm sure I'll be in hide mode, wishing I hadn't written it. Hopefully 3/4 of a tank of gas and a pack of cloves will get me running far enough to get my head straight before I have to go home.

So, my heart is seriously breaking right now, and maybe in a weird way all over again. I'm sitting here at the Prairie-Brary, and I'm fighting back tears. It could be the flu, it could be I'm just a girl and this is what we do, but I'm really, really hurt. But here's why:

That oaf, that turd, that jackass of a jerk-man, the UCE is seeing someone. I think it's his ex-girlfriend, the idiot that came before me (me, you know the other idiot). And it's Facebook official (y'all know how serious that is!) And it's not like I'm so crazy about him that I pine for him every day. And it's not like I think he's the one for me, or who God wants me to be with, or even that he's that great to begin with. But something in me just broke today when I opened up my facebook, and there it was. He's in a relationship. God almighty, how my heart just dropped into my stomach. WHY??

Maybe it's just my gut reaction to the fact that he doesn't really care for me. No matter how he smooth talked me, or charmed me, or how affectionate he was the last time we saw each other, I guess it's just the knowledge that it was all a game and a joke to him. He was the Elvis-haired King of Mixed Signals. One day he'd be charming and affectionate, and be doing everything to lead me on, and then he'd dissapear back up to the frozen northen tundra, and it'd be as nothing ever happened. He knew how bad it hurt me, because I was quite honest in telling him. But it never stopped him from just doing it over and over and over again. I told him so many times that if he really cared he'd leave me alone, like for good, and ask him not to toy with my feelings, and he'd say he was so sorry, and blahblahblah, but then the next time he was in the cities, it would happen all over again. And to think that just three months ago I fell for this same old 'schpeel all over again. How could I have been that stupid?

So maybe my moment of vulnerability isn't me telling the world how he broke my heart one final time today, as much as admitting what a fool in love I've been. A stupid, ignorant, blinded fool of a girl! I know better than that. I trash-talk girls like that. I have tried to never be that girl. And he made me break not all, but a lot of my rules.

Anyways, that's it. Today, I went on facebook, and I happened to see that he had a status update, and there it was, staring me right in the face. He's in a relationship. By the way, the first thing I did was to click on her name, to pull up her picture. I mean come on, I may try to be smart, I may try to be godly, but I am just a woman after all. And you know what? She's not even that cute! I mean, I know I'm not Cleopatra (or am I? haha) but she's got fake dyed hair, and a cat! Ew!

In the end I take this small consolation, and trust me, right now, it is microscopic - This was the last redhot bamboo splinter of pain that he gets to drive under the fingernails of my heart. I am done. Done, done, done. D-O-N-E, done. Wait, ok, not 100% done, I just have one more thing I need to get out, and since I'm at the Prairie-Brary, and this is the best I can do ........

................JEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Whew. Too bad that didn't feel that good. Right now, nothing is going to feel good. I just need to get in my car and drive and cry. That, that might feel good. Sorry for the emo vulnerability y'all... but that's all I have for now.

The Taming of the Shrew & Other Shakesperean References

Ok, so in all fairness, I wrote this on Friday, with every intention of posting it then. Then the flu happened this weekend, and here I am just posting it now. Just pretend with me ok?


Urgh... it's been quite a day. The day started out really good, it really did. I got up early to get some reading done, and felt good about that, especially considering I got two big chapters wiped out before 7 am. I am wearing my adorable Gap Bell Jeans (supposedly their biggest "bell" yet), and a very hip looking purple cardigan and my favorite tribal-looking accessories. It's a really good look today, I must admit. I did try a little harder this morning, as I am going to an authentic Mexican dinner & tequila tasting tonight. And not that there's anyone there I'm dying to impress (there's not, trust me), I'm just excited about the dinner in general. And, adorable S, one of my wonderful part-time roommates, entertained me this morning with her Boondy rap, on the way out the door. Boondy is a fictional character that we've sort of adopted at 4335. If our house had a house band, which we don't yet, but if we did, it would be strictly covers of Flight of the Conchords songs, by the band members, Boondy, Voldie, Mohinder and the Hiphopopotamus. That's our code names. I'm Mohinder. Don't ask. "There ain't no party like my Nana's tea party... heeey, hoooo".

Anyways, all this to say, it started out great. But by the time I got to work, it was rapidly descending downhill, like a California mudslide after fire season. Down, down, down we go.

The craptastic start downhill started at the Eden Prairie Starbucks, at the EPC Mall. Now I should really know better than to go there in the mornings, as the place is usually packed out with the kind of people that annoy me, but alas, I still haven't learned. This annoyance covers the majority of the soccer mom's in there, with their perfectly foiled highlights and their perfectly bleached teeth, and their perfect toned, tautness in their perfect Juicy Couture sweat suits and their perfect Coach bags,and oh barf! But sadly, it even extends to the women behind the counter, who are unparalleled butt kissers to most of their customers. I say most, because it doesn't include me. In their defense, I must hand it to these gals - they know everyone's names and drink orders. But the unctuous way in which they grovel to the customers they are on a first name basis with is nauseating. Do they really know or care about "Chris", in front of me in line enough to be grinning that foolishly as they brown-nose him, and recite his drink order, which they proudly know by heart? Or are they merely vying for a decent tip? Or are they really just so entranced with these cut-rate versions of bourgeois suburbanites, that they treat them like celebrities? Trust me, I worked in a coffee shop/bakery for about a year, and none of us cared that much about the customers that came in regularly that we would grovel and preen them like that. Maybe we were the "Waiting" version of coffee shop staff, but somehow I doubt it.

Anyways, by the time I left there with my Cinnamon Dolce Latte, I was already slightly peeved. But not enough to let it get to me, or ruin my day. Little did I know that all of that was about to change shortly. As I was driving along the perimeter of the mall (while still on the mall premises), this woman, this awful, typical Eden Prairie woman, in her awful, typical Eden Prairie SUV, pulls out of the TCF parking lot, and turns left into the lane next to me, to drive along the perimeter also. Except, that instead of turning left and staying in her own lane, the left one, she immediately, in the turn, continues into the right hand lane, which I'm in, and proceeds to run me off the road, and up the curb, and into the grass, and manages to clip my bumper in the process. All while I'm laying on my horn trying to get her attention so she stays in her own *CENSORED* lane. So, there I am, halfway up the curb (the front half, to be exact), yelling and cursing (yes, I admit), and she keeps on driving. She hit & ran me!!!

OMG was I pissed. Because as I was sitting there, I could see her looking at me in her rearview mirror, and in a brief flash of time, our eyes met. I am convinced that in that moment in time, she knew that I knew that she was going to just keep going, and drive on. And that's what she did. That's exactly what she did. So, what what did I do? Well, I gassed it, and I got off the curb, and I caught up with her of course. And when I got parallel with her, I rolled down my window and motioned her to pull over, and stop. Now, I know my face was probably beet red at this point. Unlike Lady Gaga, I have no Pokerface, none whatsoever. But, I was trying to keep calm, and maintain some composure, because I knew that if I didn't my temper would get the best of me and I'd say something I'd regret and most likely start an argument with this Barbie, and that would only lead to me punching her in the boobie, Ana Farris style (please tell me you've seen the House Bunny, folks!). And I am mad - I mean really mad (have I said that already?), but I was really trying to not let it show in my face. So by the time she finally pulled over and we both exited our cars, and she gave me this blank, vapid look like "What?", I had calmed down enough to tell her nicely "Umm, you hit my car". To which she replied... oh man, get this... "Really?"

Now come on, what is it with these women? These arrogant, entitlement driven women, who drive around the suburbs acting like they own everything, including the road. Honey, you may have paid for your boobs and paid for your nose (or maybe I should clarify, your daddy did), but you haven't paid for the road, and so I still think I deserve my fair space on it. I know this is going to sound bad, and I know just how bad this is going to sound, but I am really so sick and tired of these blondes. (Wait, that's not fair. I'm pretty sure those were bleach foils.) I know it's not fair for me to say that, because I'm classifying a behavior into a larger stereotype. And some of the women I love most or think are hilarious are blondes, like J or L or Ana Farris or Amy. But for the most part, yes, I am tired of them as a whole.

My roommate "R" (for roommate) and I have had this discussion many times, and he's convinced I just don't like any women that aren't brunettes. I told him he's wrong though, I do have a healthy respect for redheads. I think though, that he might be somewhat right. He & I have had the whole Angelina vs.. Jen debate, and I do stick to my guns here, and say that I believe Angelina can do no wrong. I have no valid answer for why Jennifer Anniston just annoys me, but she does. She just does. Yet, intelligent, classy brunettes like Jennifer Connelly or Eva Mendes are ranked as some of my favorite actresses. Looking at my favorite actresses, I can't say that two blonde makes it to the list, though one redhead does. Lucille Ball. But come on, who doesn't love Lucille Ball?

Anyways, all this to say I'm highly prejudicial, but prejudices and stereotypes, in my opinion, need at least some basis for becoming so, and in my case, it's women such as the one who hit me today who feed that fire.

Speaking of fire, and my temper, and brunettes - so this week, before work at the Dunn Bros, one morning, I took, on Facebook, the quiz "Which Shakespearean Character Are You?" and the result was hilarious indeed! Apparently, I'm Cleopatra, temptress off men Roman. Sexpot of the Shakespearean scenes. Yep, me. Hahah! Ok come on, I may be of the superior hair color, but to take it so far as to say "Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety; other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where she most satisfies....", that might be going a bit far.

Yet, upon further pondering, I would have to say that there are some base elements of her character, whether fictional, or historical, that I can relate to. She had a Mediterranean look, so I'll give you that. And supposedly she was very intelligent, and a good reader of human nature, and used that to her advantage. Okay.... She was reported to be manipulative, but that's one characteristic I try to stay away from, as it does strong disservice to my faith and who I want to be as a woman. She was in love with two very rich, powerful men, and held sway over them with great prowess. Ok, maybe not that part so much. But she is called the most complex female role in all of Shakespeare, and not that I'm bragging or anything but I would say I have certain levels of complexity. Kinda. She is frequently vain and histrionic. Ok.. Yes, that I admit to sometimes. And according to the quote "I saw her once, Hop forty paces through the public street, And having lost her breath, she spoke and panted, That she did make defect perfection, And breathless, pour forth breath." she was quite the drama queen with a talent for performance. Have you ever seen me tell a good story, particularly about one of my many first date blunders??

Ok, so all this Cleopatra comparison aside, I guess today I need to take a great big look at who I want to be as a woman. Do I want to emulate women of this world, whether long dead and gone by asp, or still here with us, Stepford examples of rudeness and vanity and inconsideration? Or do I want to pave my own way, be an intelligent and godly influence and sister to S & E, those adorable young women I live with, or Beef, across the street? That takes a lot of hard work and forethought. It means controlling my temper, modeling patience and mercy to people around me, and keeping a joyful heart even amidst querulous attitudes about clipped bumpers and blondes. I may not be rich, or beautiful, and I may not have plays written about me, a legend among women, but who I am, and who I want to be is more than Gap Bell jeans and a Starbucks. I am rich and beautiful in the growth of Christ like character, and the price He paid for my soul. And all the silver SUV's and Shakespearean lines in the world cannot rob me of that. I'm so happy to be proud of who my Christ is making me. It's not blonde, and it's not royal, but I think it's rather good.