Meryl's De-SCRIBE-tions

Merry Christmas 2010

2010-12-25T10:45:00.002-07:00

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!!

Love from Meryl and the cats (Spitter & Bootsie)

Era Now

2010-12-10T19:02:00.005-07:00

I love my blog layout. It makes me think of the English Victorian era, with their elegant script and lush gardens and ornate architecture.

But let me tell you, I do not think I would make a very good Victorian maiden. I'm way too much of a loudmouth and I'm politically liberal...I'd probably be burned at the stake or imprisoned for treason had I been alive back then.

Which is why I think I'd much prefer to be a hippie. A nature- and animal-loving, free spirited nomad with long, unruly hair and a brightly-colored wardrobe. Sounds like me, doesn't it?

There's one very important element that separates the life of a Victorian maiden from that of a Hippie: having the freedom to actively advocate for important issues.

And advocacy is what social work is all about.

If you think about it, today's social workers are basically modern-day hippies; both groups are notorious for advocating a live and let live lifestyle. It's all about peace, love, and access to resources for all.

Since starting graduate school, I have met many other "modern day hippies" like myself. My professors and my classmates have inspired and encouraged me to be the best I can be.

That said, I'm going to start making a stronger effort to advocate for causes that I care about. On the top of my list are these issues (in no particular order):

1) Equal opportunities for oppressed communities (hey, that rhymed!) - aka civil rights
2) Animal cruelty prevention (including hunting "for sport." Ugh!)
3) Keeping art and music in schools
4) Increasing the availability of Expressive Arts therapies as an alternative to traditional talk therapy (especially for children and the mentally ill)
5) Preservation/conservation of natural resources, including recycling

My priorities are definitely biased...everybody's are. People advocate for the issues that are closest to their hearts. And that's okay, because everybody has different interests, different priorities.

The important thing is to be true to who you are, Victorian maidens and Hippies alike.

And for me, being a Social Worker sounds like a truly perfect fit.

The best of all worlds!

2010-11-09T22:10:00.002-07:00

Today was a good day. It was fun!

I got to be a musician, an actress, and a social worker. The perfect combo!

Obviously I'm a social worker every day, or at least I try to think like one so I can contribute to my classes each night.

Tuesday is music day at work, and the kids always have a great time. They all wake up from nap saying "the music man is coming today!"
The last few months the kids have been working on learning the C major scale and solfege. Jason (the beloved "music man") has 8 little bells that he lets the kids play, and he goes through the whole scale with them and works on their aural recognition. The kids always have a blast, and they're learning so much!
I love music day, too, because each week is like a refresher course on stuff I haven't heard or practiced since my choir days. When I was in high school my choir teacher told me I had a "good ear," which basically means I can hear a note and sing it back correctly. What I have never been good at is identifying solfege at random. But today I did it! Jason was packing up the bells, and one of them dinged loudly. I knew right away that it was Ti. I said to the kids, "pop quiz! Who knows what note that was? I do, but I want to see who remembers."
When none of the kids answered (they are only 2 and 3, afterall!), Jason looked at me and said "Which one is it?"
"Ti," I said confidently, and grinned when he looked impressed. He asked me if I had taken music classes before or if I "just knew about music," so I told him about growing up in a musical family and taking choir all through middle and high school. It was fun, feeling like I was on the same level as a truly talented musician!

After work, I had to go to class. Today was the start of final project presentations, and I was in the first set of presenters. The assignment was a comprehensive interview and assessment of a "client." We were supposed to interview the client, identify their major presenting issues, and formulate a "treatment plan." The purpose of the assignment was to teach us how to properly assess clients and provide treatment recommendations. Talk about pressure! Eek!
I had terrible stage fright...the whole time I was presenting, I was praying that the professor wouldn't deem me an incompetent social worker and have me kicked from the program. This is where the acting comes in. I went up to the front of the room, took a deep breath, and started to talk. I talked about the client like she was my little sister, I made my professional assessment as though I really did know what was best for her. I spoke clearly, and I kept my eyes glued to my powerpoint slides so I wouldn't deviate from my talking points. I recognized the spots wehere clarification was needed before my professor asked for it, and I could tell that she was pleased. Basically, I rocked my presentation hardcore.
And the entire time, my hands were shaking and I couldn't feel my legs.
At the end of my presentation, the professor only had 2 little comments to make (the fewest of all the presenters!), and many of my classmates congratulated me on a job well done. I had fooled them all! Thank you, childhood spent performing on a stage!

Life was fun today. I definitely needed it!

And to top it all off, one of my kids at work totally cozied up to me while we were out on the playground...it was random, and I wasn't expecting it. It was definitely a Crazy Cat Lady moment, because my first thought was of Spitter. I guess I'm just super used to my kitties snuggling up to me, but not the kiddies at work. Ha ha.

Tomorrow I get to "table" at an outreach event as part of my internship...I think it's going to be fun!

Time is...money?

2010-11-01T10:20:00.005-07:00

In today's crappy economy, both money and jobs are hard to come by.

In fact, I have seen job advertisements for full-time positions that are "volunteer only," aka unpaid. When I first came across such a posting, I almost felt offended. I thought, who is going to work full-time for no pay? Nobody can afford to do that these days!

But then I tried thinking like a social worker might (gotta put that tuition money to good use!).
My thought process changed to: perhaps the company cannot afford anymore paid positions, but still desperately needs the help. I'll bet the company feared that everyone would have the same reaction I initially had, but took that chance anyway.

But, amazingly enough, I know people (ok, one person. Maybe two) who have taken jobs as full-time volunteers, "for the experience" (of the position, not working for free).

At first I was amazed by the decision, even somewhat baffled.

Then I felt guilty for feeling that way. I don't volunteer at all, and I use my insanely busy schedule as an excuse.

But here's the thing. In some ways, being "too busy" to volunteer is a valid reason. And here's why:

Lots of places have started requiring a volunteering time commitment. Every application I have looked at (because I really do want to volunteer, when I can!) said things like "Must be willing to commit to a four-hour shift once or twice a week" or "Must be available to volunteer for 6 months minimum" or just provided a list of specific daily time-slots for people to fill.

Such stipulations cause huge issues for people like me, who just don't have enough free time to promise 8 hours of volunteer time a week, or don't have a clue what their life will look like 6 months from now, or have a schedule that can't accomodate the specific hours requested. What ever happened to saying "I have a free hour today, I think I'll go help sort food boxes."

In my opinion, restricting a person's ability to make their own time commitment makes volunteering seem more like a chore than an altruistic act. And nobody likes doing chores...so what's going to happen to volunteering?

And what if I want to volunteer with more than one place? I have a wide variety of interests...maybe I'd like to pick up some litter in the park, then walk a couple dogs at an animal shelter, then read to a group of kids during story time at the library.

But if each of those places requires a 4-hour shift every Saturday morning for at least 6 months...there's no way can I pull that off (and get through graduate school). How am I supposed to pick between helping the environment, animals, and children? (Oh, and getting my homework done).

I get overwhelmed just thinking about it, then end up not volunteering anywhere. And that doesn't help anybody.

I know that there is extensive training involved with becoming a volunteer, and that without the training, productivity would turn into chaos. And for corporations that rely on volunteer efforts, it is crucial that the volunteers be "on board" with the company long enough to make an impact.

As my mom said to me when I brought up the issue: "That's why most volunteers are older, or retired." They're the ones who have that kind of time.

I get all that. But I still don't think it's fair to people my age who are committed to helping now.

I suppose I could do "short term" volunteer opportunities, I think those usually only last a day...fundraiser events maybe? I'll have to look into that.

I'm exhausted.

2010-10-18T22:08:00.002-07:00

Whooosh!

That, my friends, was the sound of the last two months flying by.

If you've been wondering why I've disappeared, allow me to lay it all out for you:

Three days of the week (Tu, W, Th) I’m out of the house from 9am till 9pm. Count 'em folks, thats 12 hours. A day.

Monday and Friday I’m only gone for 9 hours, which actually helps the week go by relatively quickly.

Let's breakdown those hours, shall we?

In one week, I have:

16 hours at my internship
15 hours at work (still at Montessori)
12 hours spent in class (4 classes)
4 hrs of driving time

47 hours.

That's a full-time job.

So I'm sure at this point, you're all saying "well, at least you have your weekends!"...

...Not quite.

On the weekends I'm in my house all stinkin' day, doing all the homework I was too tired to do during the week.

And get this.

All my professors said to expect "about 3 hours of homework a week" per class.

So tack an extra 12 hours of homework time, and suddenly my hours have catapulted from 47 to nearly 60.

However.

Just about all my assignments are research papers.

So you have to take into consideration the hours of required reading, the research, the outlining, and the time spent perfecting the APA formatting and citations...and that's all in addition to actually writing the darn thing!

So yeah, 12 hours of homework a week is actually a gross understatement.

And the number of hours added to my 60 hour week are too depressing to calculate. Here's an anecdotal example instead:

On nights when I do work on homework after coming home from my internship/work/classes, there have been occassions when I am still awake at 5am (which I like to call "working overtime." You have to have a sense of humor in these situations, haha).

The resulting measly 3 hours of sleep I end up getting that night sabbotage my ability to function the following day, which snowballs into a weekend sitting around like a zombie and not working on the other bazillion hours of homework Ihave.

The above scenario has been my life. On repeat. For the last 9 weeks.

And there are still 7 weeks to go before Christmas break.

What have I gotten my self into????

Oh yeah, graduate school.

And please do not tell me to quit my job. The ASU School of Social Work tried that tactic already, because my insanely full schedule is so difficult to work with.

But I had to take out a lot of loans to pay tuition and other expenses, so that extra little bit of money each month is helping me offset the impact of the payments (with interest) I will have to start making after I graduate in a year and a half. It also allows me to have some semblance of a social life, on the rare weekend when I'm not sitting, half-conscious, with books and papers spread out over the table and cramped fingers from turning pages and typing endless word documents.

You probably won't hear from me for another two months...so until then, I say goodnight.

Stop monkey-ing around

2010-08-18T19:42:00.000-07:00

The other day I was talking with my dear friend Kelly, and she mentioned something about not always enjoying talking to grown-ups.

I responded with, "we are grown-ups, darlin'."

Kelly's retort was a Golden Truth: "Well, it sure doesn't feel like it."

From there we launched into a conversation about my impending "quarter-of-a-century life crisis" birthday. My 25th. Which is in September.

Kelly and I have been friends for 13 years. We were mischievous, dorky sixth graders together...and when we hang out nowadays it's hard not to forget that we're that much older. Because we don't feel all that much wiser.

Weary, sure. But wise?

You tell me:

I didn't think so, haha.

Kelly has a fancy-pants job at a nice hotel. I'm about to start graduate school so I can add a few fancy-pants letters to the end of my professional job title.

In sixth grade Kelly and I frequently ditched class in the afternoon in favor of doing flips off the monkey bars or mentoring the K-1-2 kids a few corridors down. I worked hard on my homework, but I played harder.

These days I'm working so hard to keep up with everything, I have hardly any time to play at all. I know that any "monkey" business in the MSW program will get me "terminated" from the program (as they say over there).

I know what you're going to say: "it's all part of being a grown-up."

Ok, fine. So then when am I going to start feeling like this grown up I have supposedly become?

Tell me, those of you who have been doing this "grown up" thing longer than I have...did you feel this way when you were my age? Do you still feel this way?

Do we ever really "grow up," or do we just learn to exhibit "business hours behavior" until the bell rings (or the clock chimes) and "happy hour" begins?

Ugh. It's tiring, trying to to navigate my way through the Land of Being a Grown-Up. I don't feel remotely ready to be making this journey. But here I am. Here we all are, or must eventually be.

One of the hardest adjustments I've had to make since arriving in the Land of Being a Grown-Up is convincing my night-owl personality to spend a decent amount of time in the distant Land of Nod.
Recently my dad and I discussed this unpromising proposition:

Dad: "So no sleeping in tomorrow?" (referring to the fact that this is the week I've had to start being downtown by 8am)
Me: "No, I don't think I'll be sleeping in for-"
Dad: "The rest of your life?"
Me: "-the rest of my life. Yeah."

I guess the only bell I can look forward to hearing for the next 40 years is the one on my alarm clock!

No more monkey bars for these girls!:

A Hairy Situation

2010-08-10T13:30:00.007-07:00

When I was about 7 years old, I gave myself a haircut.

Well, technically, I just gave myself bangs. Really choppy ones.

Really, really short choppy ones. Using a pair of blunt craft scissors, I slashed them into what I thought would be a really nifty "angular cut."

Immediately afterward, I realized the truth: I looked awful.

I was more afraid of getting in trouble with my parents than I was about getting ridiculed at school.

I tried to hide my evidence by keeping my left hand clamped tightly to my forehead. I'm right-handed, so I figured I better keep that hand free to go about my business like nothing was amiss.

Have you ever tried to slice an apple one handed?

Yeah. Don't.

My mom noticed my odd behavior right away and asked me what was wrong.

I told her I wasn't feeling well and that my head hurt.

You may recall that my parents are lawyers. They are trained to persecute liars.

You may also remember that I'm a pitiful liar.

So my ridiculous gaffe was discovered within 5 minutes of the perpetration.
I honestly don't remember what happened after that, except that by my next school picture my bangs were slightly grown out. I've never cut them since.

Until now. Today I decided that nearly 20 years is a long enough time for my bangs to be in exile.

But this time I let a professional make the cut.

I've actually known Alaina for quite some time; she did "Sweeney Todd" with my dad back in our theater days. I haven't seen her in ages, so it was really fun to catch up and re-bond over our mutual love of long hair!

I left the house looking like this:

**My "no makeup, boring hair, dull-and-sad-face" pose**

And look at me now!!

**My "full makeup, awesome haircut, bright-and-happy face" pose**

I feel so stylish! Alaina did a "bang" up job!

To explain my poses:

I always make fun of those "improved appearance" infomercials (acne medicines, face lifts, etc).

They are so staged, and I can't help but feel somewhat insulted that the producers of those commercials think people don't notice the stylistic changes between the Before and After photos.

The "Before" photos always feature boring hair, unsmiling faces, and dingy clothes.

The "after" photos are clearly taken under glaring lights and pounds of makeup and hair product. Not to mention the extreme color-saturation and photoshopping. Of course the "After" photos are going to look better...smiling faces are always more attractive!

The set up is so obvious, and it drives me crazy!

Anyway, I love my long bangs!

Thank you, Alaina, for making me feel like an infomercial "After" photo...even if it was just for a personal photo shoot before I went to work!

Chit-chat, stop that!

2010-06-04T08:59:00.012-07:00

Social pleasantries are everywhere, in every culture.

The irony is, most them are used to mask social indifference.

Take this North American gem, for example:

Sarah: "Hey, how's it going?"

Mary: "Good, thanks. You?"

Sarah: "Fine, thanks."

This entire phrase is just a long, drawn out "hello" between two people who most likely have nothing else to say to each other.

Which is why it's so awkward when "How's it going?" gets wrenched out of the 'casual greeting' category and unceremoniously stretched into a mini therapy session.
You know, when the conversation goes more like this:

Sarah: "Hey, how's it going?"
Mary: *shrugs* "Alright I guess."
Sarah: "Oh...is everything okay?"

Mary's deviation from the social norm is embarrassing for poor Sarah, who is only following up with the conversation out of social decency.

You could even say that "How's it going?" is a rhetorical question, since it does not invite a "real" or "true" answer.

And what exactly is "pleasant" about that, I ask you?

In my opinion, I think society should come up with a phrase that acknowledges the other person but does not potentially mandate a follow up. How about this:

Sarah: "Hey, Mary! Good to see you!"
Mary: "Same to you!"

If Sarah and Mary happen to meet up in passing, this exchange would require nothing more than a slight pause in pace. "How's it going?" could then be saved for a more opportune moment for a real conversation.

I suppose you could call "Good to see you!" a 'social compromise,' since the exchange is still pleasant but doesn't necessitate a further social contract.

I, for one, would appreciate such a compromise, since I really enjoy hearing about people's lives but don't have the luxury of conversing at length at any given moment (nor, I suspect, does anyone).

What do you say? (And, yes, I really want to know the answer!!)

**Disclaimer: I am NOT saying that "How's it going?" is an insincere question; I'm just observing that a lot of the time the question is a conversational reflex. I myself am prone to falling into the "How are you doing?" trap, as both the asker and the responder.

When I ask the question I want to mean it...I want it to be more than a social pleasantry. I always feel bad when I ask "How's it going?" just in passing (especially if I'm in a hurry to get somewhere), because I end up having to beg out of the conversation if the other person says something other than "Good, thanks." In my opinion, it's better to invite the other person out for coffee or lunch and ask "How's it going?" then!

Woe is me...and everyone else.

2010-05-07T09:50:00.008-07:00

I have a lot on my plate right now.

I'm excited because...

*I started a new job this week, as an afternoon teacher (part-time) at a Montessori school.

*I recently received confirmation of my enrollment as a full-time student in the ASU MSW program for the Fall 2010 semester.

*I recently signed up for 2 summer school courses (Statistics and HPA), which are prerequisites for my MSW program. They're both online.

But...

*I recently discovered that half of my Fall semester MSW courses are only offered during times when I will be at work.

*Part of the first-year curriculum is participating in a field-internship. It's 2 days a week, all day (8a-5p). Unpaid.

*I can't afford to work only 3 days a week and still pay my tuition (unless I take out a loan, but I'm really trying to avoid that).

*I'm not even sure my job would let me work only 3 days a week. When you're a teacher, you can't exactly ask for a sub 2 days out of the week every single week!

*Only one of the courses is offered as an ASU summer course, and it' still right in the middle of my work day.

*If I have to switch to part-time student status, I think I have to re-enroll all together. Can I do that when the enrollment deadline was in March?

*If I'm a part-time student, I'm pretty sure I'm no longer eligible for financial aid.

*Without financial aid, it will be nearly impossible for me to keep up with tuition payments in a timely manner.

So...

At the moment I'm caught between a rock and a hard place.

I'm confident that everything will work out the way it's supposed to, but for now I feel pretty overwhelmed with it all.

I made an appointment with a MSW program adviser to talk about my options and get everything sorted out. I'll see her on Thursday.

In the meantime...

I'll research other coursework options and make tons of lists (even if they prove totally moot. Lists are how I cope!)

I'll pray that I can get a field placement with weekend hours.

I'll try not to think about the fact that I'm pretty much looking at 2-3 years of school with zero days off.

If you think that I'm over-analyzing each of these issues, you might be right.

But does it really matter if you're right?

No matter how stressed out I feel, I know that everyone else is struggling to cope with their own inconveniences, too.

I'm sure those of you reading this have your own problematic roadblocks.

Regardless, it's not fair to compare one set of struggles to another. Circumstances are different for everyone, but stress is stress. Sure, one person may have higher stakes, tougher barriers...but that doesn't make the other person's struggle any less overwhelming.

I have had this hurtful phrase thrown at me twice now, from people I sought for support:

"Well, such-and-so is going through the same thing, and she works full-time and has a kid."

I can't tell you how much I loathe that comparison.

It's a slap in the face, the sting of which lingers even after the echo is no longer ringing in my ears.

No, I don't have a full-time job or a child to support.

I have a wonderful family who does not demand of me financially, though I know my contribution would be greatly appreciated during this economic crisis.

We're all fighting some battle. There's a dragon in everyone's way, even though they all look different. Mine is tall and casts a long, dark shadow down my path.

But the size of the dragon shouldn't matter.

The circumstances surrounding your stress shouldn't, either.

The person who buckles under a seemingly less amount of stress is not the weaker person. She should not be made to feel like her stress, her struggles, are of less value than someone else's just because her circumstances are different.

"If she can do it, you can do it."

That's always the punchline of the rebuke from above.

So now not only do I feel stressed and overwhelmed by my own circumstances, I feel guilty for feeling that way because someone else's problems are supposedly more significant than my own.

Maybe my social ettiquette skills are outdated, but I'm pretty sure that a guilt-trip is not the way to lend encouragement to someone seeking support.

Don't get me wrong. I am well aware that there are people who have it way worse than I do. I hear people make comparisons all the time. Stuff like:

"I feel bad about complaining about my job today. Bobby's dad just got laid off." (I've never met anyone who loves their job 100% of the time).

"Did you hear about Mary? She flunked her classes. I guess I shouldn't feel bad about my 'C' anymore." (For a student working to earn college scholarships, a 'C' grade can be devastating).

Bobby's dad and Mary will definitely have a steeper hill to climb to recovery from their stresses.
But I don't think anyone should ever feel guilty about having stressful moments in their own lives.

Venting about stress is how we cope. It enables us to work through the issues, overcome them, and move on. Bigger stresses definitely equal a longer recovery time, but the key to any recovery is a support system. It shouldn't matter if the issue is big or small; everyone needs a pat on the back or an encouraging word once in a while.

With all that said, I leave you with these parting words of wisdom:
"If someone comes to you complaining of a hangnail, don't mention that your own arm is broken." (Seriously, I want to get that printed on a fortune cookie or something!)

"That is whack!"

2010-04-25T15:36:00.024-07:00

If you think about it, we live in a pretty backwards society. We seem to have forgotten what's truly important.

I did some research on annual salaries, and what I discovered astounded and appalled me:

Teacher: $40,000

What they do: Act as academic, social, and emotional mentors. Encourage learning.

NFL athletic coach: $85,000

What they do: Induce unhealthy competitiveness. Create sore losers.

**Can someone please explain to me why the ability to kick a football is valued as more than twice as important as the acquisition of knowledge???**

This one really gets me...

Social worker (medical social worker, specifically): $55,000

What they do: Provide social and emotional support. Act as advocates for the well-being of others.

"Reality TV" stars (Real Housewives, specifically): $1,500,000

What they do: Pick fights and act catty. Gossip and lie about others.

**Those frickin' rich bitches are paid nearly THIRTY times more to behave badly towards others than I will be to help improve the quality of life for countless hospital patients?? Excuse me?????**

There is something so wrong with these numbers!!!!!

Party! Party! Party!

2010-04-18T12:43:00.009-07:00

One of my favorite Life Phenomenons is when your presence becomes requested everywhere, after a long time has passed of being requested nowhere.

Does that happen to anyone besides me??

My last few weekends have been eventful, but certainly not overwhelmingly so:

Last weekend I house sat for a family friend. (I locked myself out of the house (and my purse/car keys inside), but luckily there was a spare key! Unfortunately I didn't know that until I had walked home (luckily I only live a few blocks away!), called my mom about the original key, then had my dad drive me back to Todd's house after learning the location of the spare!)

The weekend before that I went to a family get-together/birthday party for my 8 year old cousin, Tia. (she made me watch a bunch of annoying orange YouTube videos with her. She got a couple others to play Go Fish with a deck of tiny playing cards. Her birthday cake was shaped like a cartoon dog, made by her awesome mama!)

The weekend before that I went to a job interview (Saturday) and had a massage (Sunday). (Nothing much to report about either of those activities!)

But the worse case scenario of this particular Life Phenomenon is when everyone requests your presence at the same time. Or rather, they all want you to be somewhere at the same time on the same day.

And that's what happened to me this weekend.

Saturday (yesterday), to be exact.

Saturday (April 17th) happens to be the birthday of one of my closest friends, so for the last few weeks I had been sitting on my heels waiting to hear about any party plans.

Well. I certainly got word about a party...but not for Andrea!!

After my mom and I returned from CA, my cousin Kelly got the idea to put together a family sorting party/fashion show event. She sent out the invite: 4pm on Saturday 17th. Of course I RSVPed!!

A few days later, I received an invitation to an engagement party for an old, dear friend of mine from my community theater days! I haven't seen her in 2 years, so of course I said yes to that, too! It's hours: 7pm-10pm on Saturday the 17th.

And then, about a week ago, I received an invitation to my friend Staci's birthday party. Her birthday is actually on Sunday (the 18th--today!), and I admit I wasn't expecting her to have a Saturday party. But her party was slated for 3pm-9pm on Saturday the 17th. She happens to live way out in Surprise, AZ (aka "BFE"), which is nowhere near me (Phoenix), Kelly (Tempe), or Adele (Scottsdale).

So now I'm looking at my planner, and this is what I see for April 17th:

Andrea's birthday!!

3-6p: Staci party

4-?p: Cheney sorting party

7-10p: Adele party

Feeling frantically frazzled, I called Andrea. I figured I could at least take her out for a Saturday-birthday brunch or lunch. Or out for some happy hour drinks some time in the near future.
But she tells me she's going to be in Flagstaff for her birthday weekend, which is why I hadn't heard anything about a party for her. We chatted for a little while more, then agreed to figure out a plan to get together some time next week.

After we hung up, I pulled out my planner to finalize my hectic Saturday. This is the timeline I came up with:

Andrea's birthday!! -- happy hour next week?

3-6p: Staci party (go 3-4pm. Leave here 2pm!)

4-?p: Cheney sorting party (Ross off work 5pm- get there 6pm?)

7-10p: Adele party (go 8-10pm)

My timeline turned out to be an optimistic approximation...but I did make it to all 3 parties! And they were a BLAST!!

And now it's Sunday.

And I have no plans.

(Sorry about no pictures...between the rush to get from place to place and the desire to make the most of my time with each group, I forgot to grab my camera!).

When was the last time you were pulled in too many directions at once??

A Fairy Tale: The Not-So Classic version!

2010-04-12T15:00:00.014-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a dog named Thor.

Thor likes to explore. One day, he decided that my bedroom would be a fun place for an adventure.

Thor came lolloping down the hallway, ready for some fun.

But when he got to my doorway, he paused.

What caused Thor to hesitate?
(can you see her? Look carefully!)

There was a TROLL under the BRIDGE!! ... I mean, a CAT under my BED!

Spitter: "Who's that galloping down the hallway? Why are you standing in my doorway?"

Thor: "I'm coming in to sniff around because I've never been in here before!"

Spitter: "Oh no you're not! Not until you pay the TROLL!...I mean the TOLL!"

Unfortunately, Thor didn't have any money... (or catnip)...

So he went somewhere Spitter never gets to go!

OUTSIDE!!!

Leaving Spitter inside with all her hard-earned troll (I mean toll) money.

"And they both lived (separately) happily ever after!"

THE END

Movie Partay #2!!

2010-04-03T22:52:00.002-07:00

Ross and I are both creatures of habit. When something has an impact on us, it is not quickly forgotten. In fact, we tend to capitalize on it...turn it into either an inside joke or a tradition.

For example, Ross and I love quoting movie lines to each other, turning the dialogue into an every-day exchange. It drives our mother crazy, but we get an enormous amount of amusement out of it.

Last week we had our first movie night. It was so much fun, and right away we started talking about the next one.

Voila...a new tradition is born!

These are the movies we picked this time around, again focusing on childhood favorites:

I was craving comfort food tonight, so Ross and I cooked up a huge pan of Kraft macaroni and cheese!! We also baked some chicken nuggets...I know, I know, we're so healthy!

Yumm, tell me this doesn't look delicious!

"This is mine. Where's yours?"

I found one of my childhood plates, and couldn't resist using it for my dinner!

We were so excited about the macaroni that we forgot all about veggies...my plate looks a bit incomplete, doesn't it?

Between the two of us we polished off the entire bowl of macaroni and the entire plate of chicken nuggets...after each having seconds and thirds!!

Next up: more Disney? Musicals? Who knows!

Movie Partay!!

2010-03-26T18:37:00.018-07:00

Tonight Ross and I decided to have an old-school movie night.

We chose to watch Disney classics, specifically focusing on the ones that we felt are "under-appreciated."

These were the movies we ended up selecting (The Lion King and Sleeping Beauty were there because they're our favorites. They are certainly not under appreciated!):

Yes, you are seeing that right...we still have VHS versions of all our Disney movie favorites! We even still have a VCR!

Unfortunately we had some technical difficulties...the VCR was understandably dusty and wasn't very cooperative, even after we busted out the VCR head cleaner cassette tape. Some of the movies (The Rescuers, Lion King, Sleeping Beauty) were problematic, as well, flashing and cutting out at random. Luckily we have Sleeping Beauty on DVD!

For dinner we also relied on an old favorite, Little Shanghai Chinese food.

We ordered all of our favorites: Kung Pao shrimp, beef and broccoli, pork fried rice, Sundevil spicy chicken, orange chicken, and egg rolls.

And, of course, fortune cookies!

After placing the order, we realized we may have gone a little overboard...

But it sure made a pretty plate!

And it was sooooooo amazingly delicious!

We watched three movies all the way through (we only got part way through the problematic ones before developing headaches. Figures!). Our movie night lasted about 4 hours, and was a blast!

I get the feeling we'll be having another one!!

Why Blondes and Cars Don't Mix...

2010-03-22T22:11:00.010-07:00

Today I had my first experience with AAA.

I had to call them because I had a flat tire.

What happened? I drove over a nail.

Where was I when I got the flat? I'm not sure. I was at home, with my car parked safely in the driveway, when I noticed that my rear driver wheel was slowly deflating.

Since my upper-body strength is nonexistent, I recruited my dad to "help me" (aka take over completely) remove the faulty wheel. But the bolts were on really tight, so my dad couldn't get them unscrewed. He was really frustrated. He blamed it on those groovy guns mechanics use to get those bolts super-sealed.

"Well," he said, grimacing at me. "Call AAA."
"For a flat tire?" I said (stupid question, I know!)
"Well, yeah. What else are you gonna do? We're not going to get the tire off ourselves."

So I found my AAA card...only to discover that it had expired in February.
After a frenzied phone call to my mom (she's in charge of AAA stuff and currently out of town), I called AAA and renewed our membership:

(after the renewal process was complete)
Sally: "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
Me: "I just need to know, is the renewal effective immediately?"
Sally: "It's in effect as we speak. Are you in need of assistance?"
Me: "Yes, actually."

Sally transferred me to Services, where Will lead me through the standard questions to figure out my situation. This was my favorite part of the exchange:

Will: "Are you in a safe location away from further harm?"
Me: "Yes, I'm at home."
Will: "Alright, your car is parked in the garage?"
Me: "Not exactly."
Will: "So it's out on the street?"
Me: "Well, no. It's in the driveway. We have a carport."
Will: "I see...but it's somewhere where we can send a guy out to fix it?"
Me: "Yes." (finally, a simple question and answer!)

The guy who came to wrestle with my tire brought a fancy carjack that made my puny one look like a piece of scrap metal. When he was finished, I threw the bum tire in my trunk and zipped off to the Honda dealership. When I got there I told the guy:

Me: "I've got a tire with a nail in it in the back."
Guy: "Is it the rear passenger?"
Me: "No, the driver's side."

About 20 minutes later, a different guy retrieved me from the waiting room...

Guy 2: "We looked at your back wheels, but couldn't find a nail anywhere. The tire looks fine."
Me: "No, no, the bad tire is in my trunk. I couldn't drive here on it."
Guy: (looks confused, checks his written report) "That's not what the guy up front said. He didn't mention that. He just said it was the tire on the driver's side in the back."
Me: "Oh, no. I did say that to him, but when I said 'back' I meant 'trunk.' I'm sorry for the miscommunication."

Guy 2 was really nice about the whole thing. I'm sure he was thinking: Just another blonde chick, living up to her reputation as a moron.
As for me, I was thinking No wonder there are so many not-nice Blonde Jokes!

Another 20 minutes later they had fixed my tire and I was on my way to the bank to deposit a check. While I was there I had this exchange with the banker:

Sean: "How's your Monday been?"
Me: "Well, I had to call AAA earlier."
Sean: "Uh-oh. Was it a good situation?"
Me: "It was...successful. I wouldn't say having to call AAA is a 'good' thing."

I didn't mention the fact that I am a toe-headed bonehead.

At least I can rule out Car Mechanic as a potential future career. It wouldn't really fit in with the rest of my resume, anyway.

And that is just one other reason why cars and blondes (this blonde, anyway) are a problematic combination!

When TV becomes Real Life

2010-03-19T19:37:00.001-07:00

No, I'm not talking about so-called "reality tv." I'm quite certain that those shows are 95% scripted, or at least heavily directed (I witnessed this on a recent episode of Hoarding: Buried Alive. They halted the episode so that the camera angle could be adjusted. They even showed the footage of the disruption).

I'm talking about when something you first see on TV happens to you later in real life!

Here's the story: I spent the earlier part of this week in California with my mom, packing up Mama Cheney's condo so we can (hopefully) sell it soon. Mom rented a U-Haul trailer (a 12x6 ft enormity that I call "the monster"), then called around for reinforcements to help us with the loading. When we failed to recruit helpers, Mama Cheney's friend Kathy stepped in and saved the day. This is the jist of the initial conversation:

Kathy: "You need help loading the trailer? No problem, I'll just run down to the Home Depot."
Me: "Home Depot?"
Kathy: "Yeah. Lots of Mexican workers hang out over there waiting for jobs like this."
Mom: "That reminds me of the South Park episode where they hire Mexican immigrants to write an essay for them!"

I don't watch South Park regularly, so I had never seen the episode. But I found a clip of the scene my mom was talking about:

Just switch Essay Writing to Trailer Loading, and it's a pretty similar scenario!
Kathy showed up with two workers and Maria (her housekeeper), and just a few short hours later we were loaded up and ready to go! The workers were very nice, spoke enough English to communicate efficiently, and made an incredibly daunting task much more bearable!

Mom and I got home just after 10 pm Wednesday night...after an 8 hour drive going only 55 mph. Ick!

I know most people probably would be wary of picking up workers from the street, and normally I would be, too. But without Kathy's ingenuity and all the resulting help we received, my mom and I undoubtedly would have left much later than we did and been stuck driving straight into the sunrise.
And when you're toting this monster across the desert...

You want to be done with the journey as soon as possible!

"Top o' the mornin' to ye!"

2010-03-17T12:22:00.006-07:00

In the United States, we are notorious for our over-indulgence habit. We frequently look for excuses to consume excess amounts of food and drink, guilt-free.

Our biggest excuse? Holidays.

I've already lamented the sugary spectacle that Valentine's Day has become.
Next up: St. Patrick's Day.
Barely a month after an excess of candy hearts and chocolate, we have beer. Lots and lots of beer. Frequently the beverage will be dyed green, the color associated with with the Ireland-originated celebration.

Speaking of origins, I decided to find out exactly what green beer has to do with St. Patrick. So, again out of curiosity, I researched the origin of the mid-March holiday.

Turns out, beer and St. Patrick are as compatible as St. Valentine and chocolate.
Which is, to say, not at all.
According to one account of the legend:

"...as it happened, a certain 16-year-old Welsh lad [named Maewyn] was kidnapped by [a band of] Irish marauders, and during the six years Maewyn spent in servitude as a shepherd in Ireland he experienced a religious awakening, then spent years studying in a monastery. He took on a new name, Patrick, and a new calling — converting his countrymen to Christianity.

Patrick certainly had the luck of the Irish — as a young man he escaped the captors who enslaved him, and several times later in life he escaped arrest by the druids who didn't appreciate his missionary activities in their midst.

He was successful at his chosen mission, too, founding schools and churches and performing baptisms; within 200 years Ireland was a Christian country. The shamrock, a trifoliate clover, became his cleverest teaching tool, which he used to explain the Trinity — three elements forming one entity...

There is some blarney in the stories about Patrick, too, most notably the one which has him delivering a sermon on a hilltop and thereby banishing the country's snakes. Unless one understands this symbolically to refer to pagan practices, it can't be true, for Ireland had no native snakes."

At least the legend briefly mentions 3-leaf clovers, a symbol of Irish folklore and a staple of the Americanized holiday imagery. Well, technically we idolize the "lucky" four-leaf clover. But how many people actually know why a 4-leaf clover is lucky??
According to Irish lore, the leaves of a typical 3-leaf clover stand for hope, faith, and love, respectively.

As for the extra leaf on a four-leaf clover...

...it stands for luck!

And then there's the drinking thing. Did you know that Ireland used to close all pubs on St. Patrick's Day? People went to church all day instead, since St. Patrick was a holy man and March 17 was considered a holy day. I mean holiday. Hm...

Ireland is famous for producing Guinness, but that happened centuries after the death of St. Patrick, the man we now "celebrate" by consuming countless pints of the fizzy libation.
When I say "we," I'm referring to the collective United States. I, personally, drink very little beer (it's too bitter for my taste). I prefer a nice emerald-green Sprite.

Whether you choose to pay homage to beer, religious doctrines, or Irish folklore, have a fun and safe day!
And don't forget to wear some green...otherwise you might get pinched!

"How do I look?"

2010-03-13T17:35:00.010-07:00

In this age of electronic communication, your "online persona" is more than a clever screen name or rhapsodic profile information. The image you portray to the rest of the cyber-community is as literal as it is figurative. Because of this, ample consideration accompanies the selection of the profile picture for your chosen social networking site. You control how everyone on the World Wide Web "looks" at you.

The online-portrait phenomenon has become so mainstream that it's not uncommon to hear phrases like "Ooh, I look good in that pic! I'm posting it on MySpace/Facebook!" immediately following a photo-op.
My favorite is when I hear this enthusiastic exclamation: "MySpace/Facebook pic!" (this is typically announced before mugging for yourself with a digital camera). I will admit to posing for my own mugshots, because it can be fun!

However, I am also guilty of "strategic posing" or taking "Facebook pics" (since I don't have MySpace)...meaning that I pay careful consideration to how I "arrange" myself for the photo. Because after all, everyone sees the photos you post online...so you can't be just anybody. You have to be the best representation of yourself.

Just how does one achieve a "perfect" profile pic?
Here are my three rules of thumb:

Go for All Angles:
Eliminate the double chin by looking up into the camera. This trick is my best friend, particularly on those frustrating days that are familiar to females (you know, "fat days").

Use Props:

When you have something else in the photo with you, it splits the audience's attention (which automatically deflects from the study of you!).

Show your Best Side:

My college roomie Amber actually taught me about having a "best side" for taking pictures. One night during a photo-op she insisted that we switch places so she could be to my left. When I asked her why, she explained the art of Putting Your Best Face Forward. Until that night, I had never given any thought to such a concept. But now that I look back...
Amber has always been to the left!! (From our perspective as the subjects, not when looking at the photo. Obviously. Confused? I am now, too!).

I've just noticed that I am on the far right in these...totally a coincidence! I'm not sure which is my "best side"

Today I happened across a video on YouTube that addresses this very phenomenon (posed profile pictures). I absolutely loved it because it's absolutely TRUE!! It validates every single point I've made in this post. See for yourself (yes, this is a promo for the Samsung DCC camera. No, I am not endorsing it):

Sticky Fingers

2010-03-06T22:30:00.002-07:00

Today I had an amusing conversation with a 4 year old boy, Harris, about stealing:

Harris: "Bad guys do do bad things. Swiper is a very bad guy. He steals things." (Swiper is the fox from Dora the Explorer. He is notorious for his thievery).
Me: "That's right. Swiper is a thief."
Harris: "And he's a robber."
Me: "That's another name for it."

Whatever you call it, stealing is wrong. Even kleptomaniacs*(like Swiper) are capable of recognizing that their compulsions are a problem. They just have a harder time putting an end to the poor behavior.

*Kleptomania: an irresistible impulse to steal, stemming from emotional disturbance rather than economic need.

When I was slightly older than Harris, I went through what I now refer to as my "klepto" phase. My first two offenses were bookmarks I filched from Book Star (now owned by Barnes and Noble) on two separate occasions. The first time I pocketed the laminated cardboard strip, I felt a guilty thrill. The second time, I just felt guilty.
I did not steal from a store again. Instead I wrapped my sticky fingers around "less-consequential" items: those of my friends and family. I figured that stealing from them would make me less of a "bad guy" because the items had been paid for already- just not by me (remember I was only about 5!). I pocketed all sorts of trinkets over the next couple years: slap bracelets, My Little Ponies, Power Ranger trading cards, Pogs, marbles...all little things that I could take away in my pockets.
My life as a little thief was not particularly adventurous, and I wasn't particularly interested in changing that.
Until one night when I was about nine.
Some friends of my parents had a daughter a little younger than me. The daughter, Erica, had a stuffed toy that I coveted. When we were invited to her birthday party, I brought along a backpack, claiming I needed it for a change of clothes (which was actually true, since we were going to a swim party). I waited until everyone was outside before staking my claim on the toy, then stashed my now-bulging backpack under Erica's bed. When it was time to go, I wrapped my arms around my backpack in an attempt to hide its obvious growth. When my parents mentioned my pudgy pack, I told them Erica had said I could have her toy.
The theft of the stuffed animal was by far my biggest robbery, and my lie ate away at my conscience. Before long I confessed my crime to my parents, who insisted that I return the toy to Erica myself. They drove me over to her house, where I came face-to-face with her parents (Erica wasn't home). I figured that Erica's parents would be furious with me, but instead they invited me inside and offered me a root beer float. As I sat at their kitchen table slurping vanilla ice cream, my guilt intensified dramatically. I hadn't expected such kind understanding.
When we left a little while later, I still felt guilty. But mostly I felt relieved.
I have not stolen since.
I'm sure there's a name for a guilt-turned-relief-induced change in behavior, but even with my love of psychology I don't know what it is!
All I know is...
Don't be a Swiper!