10 pieces of life I realized/had banged through my head with a 2X4 Fall 2010

The paper? Done. The Final Activity Report? Done. The Group Processes Activity? Done. A semester of punching the clock and burning the candle at both ends? Nearly all but a wrapping.

So why do I feel...guilty?

I feel as though I could have done just a "bit" better on the paper. Or I could have dedicated just a bit more effort to the other two classes. Seriously? I know I could have put up a bit more effort in my classes or possibly done the readings for my 812 class for longer than the first two months. But seriously? I survived five months of being on campus for fourteen hours, two days/week. All the while, advising over four hundred students; not just any "students", but art students and running a department of 20 tenure track professors, countless graduate students, and about a jillion high school visits with annoying as hell parents. There were, of course, some nice parents who were, shocking, parents and not "friends" to their offsprings. Ahem.

To clarify: I HAD A FUCKING BUSY SEMESTER. However, amidst my discovery of my personal afflictions with insomnia and irritable bowel syndrome (both of which I credit to my fucking insane schedule and ability to stress out over walking across in a crosswalk), I made several other discoveries these past months. Allow me to digress

1) I absolutely love shows that deal with politics. Absolutely. And if they involve handsome cocky arrogant asses? I'll take two! "West Wing" was introduced to me by ajl and currently, we are in the middle of Season Five. And that show has to have the wittiest writing (with the exception of Ari Gold from "Entourage") I have seen and enjoyed. I firmly find Joshua Lyman scrumptious. If you want to really appreciate the hours of 8-5, watch the show. I find it has influenced my wardrobe to work, as of late.

2) "Eel lover" sushi puts a jig in my step. I tried sushi for the 1st time this semester (thank you Rebecca, my dear beautifully intelligent cousin) and have had it about 935 times since.

3) I'll forever color my hair a half shade darker than my natural (sorry, Mother).

4) You know those mothers that show off every single god damn picture of their children to anyone within 20 feet with two functioning eyeballs? And they truly believe their ET-look alike baby is a Precious Moments doll? I have had my moments this semester when I have morphed into that woman. However, I know he is the cutest and most attractive child in the world. He will become president one day, if only but of a Turkey Hunters Association group. He will be president one day.

5) Although many who know me would peg me for an "Attention Whore", I have my moments when I do not want the spot light. I'd prefer to stand behind someone, just for a moment.

6) It is possible to find someone who will respect you and not in the weird creepy way. There is someone who will call when they say they will and when you're not around, you know he is not texting, facebook chatting, and whatever stupid technology shit there is out there to some random girl. He is staying true. But you'll never wonder that, because you know he isn't. Your biggest worry is that he'll never fully understand how much you appreciate him and the beautiful blessing he has been to your life. And you know what? If you're reading this and are with someone or trying to get with someone and you've worried that he or she is playing your ass? You're just as dumb as he/she is, because you're being desperate enough to stick around. Raise your standard.

7) I will never understand parents who do everything for their children. They'll forever annoy the living shit out of me and I'll never forget certain names of my students that are incompetent and naive idiots. I have no issues giving my honest opinion of students when faculty inquire for feedback.

8) I curse too much. And I am honest too much. So, I guess you could say I'm extremely passionate about whatever it is I am talking about.

9) I do not see the need to have 95034 close friends or that many friends on facebook. I have my close friends (majority are either cousins or sisters) and I am fine with that. I have much more guy friends than girlfriends. Again, I am fine with that. I do not see the need to accept every "friend" request on facebook. Friend requests are just that "friends". If you do not know the name or story behind reason number 4, we are not friends. That is ok. I am sure you'll survive and I will, as well. There is a verse in the bible basically saying that people are in our lives for either reasons or seasons, etc. I have many people in my past that fall into one of those categories. I appreciate their influence in my life, however I do not constantly need them in my life.

10) I'll always be the bossy sister who tries to order the others around. I'll be the cruise director forever. And forever will pass the bill to Daddy.

11) God has my number and he is laying me down one helluva path.

Annoying stops en route to the biznass

Eight page research paper is due on Tuesday, December 7th and I have successfully done just about everything that I could to avoid this project. I wrote the two recommendations letters that I have been putting off (god, I hope this doesn't fuck up someones life), plucked my eyebrows with a little trim here, and went to the ladies room four times. Said hello to three students in the hall (again, thank god they weren't in the bathroom when I was doing my biznass) and met with three students. A rant on the university restroom facilities: why is there not a faculty bathroom on this damn campus or at least in this building? Nothing is more annoying (well, I take that back. I can think of a few more annoying things) than really needing to use the facilities for disposal and there are three fucking students "doing their goddamn hair, as if we're in high school and they're the cheerleaders prepping for a homecoming rally" in the bathroom when ALL I want to peace. With no one else in the room. It never fails: I'm on a mission (and those that knows me, know how I beeline to the bathroom. Ah, thank you IBS) and a student will stop me either in the hallway OR in the ACTUAL bathroom with a question. Chances are I answered that question 590 times in list-serv email, etc. I honestly want to tell them: "I have IBS. Do you mind choosing a more convenient time for me to ask a question that I've only answered 53 other times in emails that you immediately delete because you can't take my sensational humor?" I think that would shut them up.

And now I'm putting off starting this paper by blogging. I spent three hours in the University Archives yesterday and it was amazing. Seriously. If only I could speak my paper to someone as they type, I'd knock this shit out. Quick. Well, maybe not quick. But quicker than me sitting here staring at pictures of Aaron and I on my desk and the photo of my two grandpas.

Sigh. Graduate School. May 13th, come hither.

Wal Mart rift raft

Oh Manhattan. With it being break season, the students have quietly left the town for their respective homes for their helicopter parents to dot over them and do their laundry, etc. With the extreme population loss over the past week, the rift raft have loudly come from their homes and invaded local establishments. The one I have in mind particularly: Wal-Mart

I'm pretty hit or miss when it comes to Wal-Mart. Either I'm in love with the fact that I can everything from Draino to tampons to granola in one stop and know that I'm paying dirt cheap for it. The added bonus is knowing that someone in China has slaved over packaging these materials and I get to reap the benefits. Kidding.

What I am not kidding over is the amount of curse words I breathed under my breath between 11.46-12.10 today while I ran by there to pick up odds and ends. I seriously swear, the rift raft in this town grows alongside the number of students K-State enrolls. Of course, I went there during lunch when most people are at work, earning professional incomes. These people, god only knows, what these people do for a "living". You could point out those running there during their lunch breaks, based on their attire. And with Hy-Vee in town, the extreme professionals flock there instead of risking their sanity and lowering their IQ by taking on Wal-Mart.

Let me be clear: I am the product of a father who has an associates in construction science from a community college that I would rather have eaten arsenic than attend (it was the same as going to high school, again) and my mother did not complete her four year degree, as she was "this" close to graduating in Physical Therapy school. She realized in the eleventh hour that PT wasn't her gig, so she dropped out from KU PT school and moved back to Wichita to be a secretary. And she's never regretted a day. And you wonder why I push my students to do what THEY want to do with their lives.

Anyways. The point of this was to inform you that my father and mother are not elitist education snobs. They farm. In the dirt.

So take this as a warning if you're deciding to venture to your local low cost box store this week and happen to live in a college town. Becae even though it's isn't Halloween, there are some crazies venturing into the sun.

it's called christmas break

Bitch be back.

Close your eyes and say your prayers (preferably Catholic prayers). It's been nearly a month since my last post and I wish I could say that I've been out hiking in the mountains of Dubai (cough..Helen) or eating ethnic peanuts (cough..Helen). Alas, the truth is that I have been mentally exhausted with work and school and keeping somewhat of a skeleton of a social life. K-State doesn't have classes this week (some bullshit about "Fall Break", but let's call it what it is: THANKSGIVING BREAK. I still will and always will refer to "Winter Break" as CHRISTMAS BREAK). So therefore, I don't have my graduate classes this week and I refuse to start my 8 page research paper that's due early December. For today and tomorrow, I refuse to do more than half-ass straighten my hair and wear only a third of the MAC eye makeup I usually apply. I am wearing old Pumas that remind me more of drinking on Wednesday nights in the AGR parking lot than I legally should admit to and low-rise boot cut GAP jeans from Holiday 2008 and anyone that knows me, is aware that I hardly keep clothes around for more than two years. It's low maintenance these next two days. It honestly is incredibly exhausting putting on heels, dress trousers, and appropriate blouses daily for work and straightening the hair and putting on the make up. I am well aware that I do not need to go to such lengths that involve wearing pink Crocs from my car to my office, because my feet are abnormally wide (read: fat) and my left foot, I swear, shrunk .5 sizes after the baby was born. I take a certain pride in my appearance. And it's exhausting and today and tomorrow, I do not care.
It also helps that the boss lady, herds of male undergraduates, and Aaron are gone for the next couple days.

Ah, yes. I mentioned the bf and for all of you who were wondering "Are they still together? I'll bet that Monica and her moods scared that poor boy away." Joke is on you. Six months last Saturday. Six months is the equivalent to ten years to Aaron.
So, I think we're sitting pretty damn good.

Enjoy the photo of the roses he had sent to my office Friday. I took them home to enjoy, but brought them back to the office this morning. I am that desperate for attention. You're right.
Oh, but man. It's been a road test. Seriously. I feel as though most relationships, once they hit the six month mark or get close to it. It's make it or break it time. The honeymoon is over, as Aaron observed the past month, and shit is getting real. I've only been in one other relationship that made it past six months and I should have been hit over the head with a shovel at that point. It wasn't a good relationship. We were young and I was drunk half the time (I was 20 years old. Simmer) He did not "maturely" love me and I sure as hell didn't "maturely" love him. We were young and thought that we had it all figured out, when the only thing I really had figured out was how much I could drink and still earn A's and B's in college.

Relationships are scary business. You invest physical, emotional, and financial efforts into the other person. And wish the best end result. Aaron could have said "You know, you're a great looking girl and can dance like an idiot when you've had a few double whiskey diets, but I don't know. You're not worth it. You're totally different than me. You're an emotional girl." And he'd be right. I am a great dancer and I do enjoy a nice whiskey.

And we are totally different people. I know there are people reading this who doubt the relationship because they've either known me for awhile or Aaron for awhile. Hell, you don't' have to have known me for awhile to get the point that I have a strong streak of crazy in me. Just check in with my "Curse Calculate" and draw an assumption. Go ahead. Hell if I care.
But what I do care about is ajl and we're going to plow through, trudge through, curse through, vent through this mess of a life together. We're learning and with love + patience, I think we'll get it figured out.

I take that back.

I know we will.

I'm back and it never felt so good.

back in the saddle part one

I'm victorious in my return to blogging!! Life had consumed me with its graduate class"nes", work"ness", small intestine pain"ness" and figuring out why I've been so moody as of lately. I've successfully defeated all three of these predicaments with two things: running and "West Wing".

It's no real shocker that I am a dramatic person; I have the fluent ability to overreact and dramatize anything. However, there was a period lately where I was extra "passionate" and it was giving nothing but strife to myself and those around me. I feel as though I was able to pinpoint it to my Ambien that I take for sleeping. I was able to fall asleep relatively quickly, but it was making me a crazed farmers daughter between the hours of 6:30 am-9:00 pm. I felt this extreme amount of negatively in everything I did. Long story short, I was a moody bitch. Couldn't shake it. Credit to me for noticing that something was not right. I feel as though I've identified one thing I am able to do to shake it off, that doesn't involve a straight jacket and a twisted Russian psychiatrist. Running.

I had strayed from my usual religious routine of running after work, because I was wanting to spend time with people other than my Asiscs running shoes and circa 2002-Ipod. However, I know that these people would prefer to spend less time with me, if that means that I am not the cranky bitch with is becoming an expert at "finding" things wrong with them.

We all have that breaking point with issues in our life. Everything starts to pill up and no matter how hard we tread the water, we feel the general pull downwards. Luckily for me, I've figured out what I need to do to combat the negative energy (running). I had tried walking to work, which was great and really helped clear my head before going to work and afterwards. But, I feel as though I'm going back to my old routine of driving to work and then running when I get home. Hell with humanity and the environment.

I drive a Honda.

That's good enough.

Kind hearted sibling teasing

I grew up teasing my sisters so much.

I'm almost shocked I'm not receiving bills from my siblings for ongoing therapy that is probably needed for them to function normally in the free world. Poor Mel. Mel got the worst of the teasing from me. To be honest, majority of it came from my insecurity and jealousy over her. Mel was/is taller than myself and thinner. She'll deny it to the grave. It's true. We're the same size, but she appears thinner than me, because her legs are so damn long. As in 37 inch inseam on her pants.

She had/has good hair. It's not poof that requires an expensive (well, that's my decision to have spent $120 bucks on my blow dryer) and pricey straightener (again, my decision). Her temperament is softer than mine and some would venture to say she's more mature than I am. Eh, whatever. She's great. She's marrying one of the greatest and coolest guys I know in March and as much as it hurts to see her move on to her new chapter, I am absolutely excited for her and Mason. But that's not the purpose of this blog: worshiping Mel.

The purpose is that I know that I'm not the only sibling who horribly teased their siblings, to the point that their devout Catholic mother would walk around outside praying the rosary. No joke. I know with the amount of rosaries my mother has said in her lief, I could go on a mass murdering spree and STILL make it to heaven. No joke. It's ridiculous. In a good way. Entirely good way.

One time, Mel and I were in a massive fight. Probably started with me being pissed off about something not related at ALL to Melanie and lashed out on her (I'm AMAZING at this). She probably made some smart ass comment about me being too gorgeous for my own good and hence a fight ensued. This particular time, it got really nasty. I was chasing Mel around our house into our room and she slipped on the rug on the wood floors. BAM goes her mouth on the side of a cabinet in our room. Split went her tooth. Total crack on one of them. It wasn't like a "white trash" ohmygodwheresyourtrailerandliveincousinboyfriend split, but it was obvious none the less. With time, we had the tooth fixed (irony enough that she's now a dental hygienist. Maybe that incident was what motivated her to become one.... Hmmmmm). Anyways.

Mom was SO disappointed in us. And probably it was one of those days that Daddy was in the field and had 590234 break downs, which resulted in HIM lashing out at my Mom (that's where I get it from). So, I can only assume she was in one hella great mood. (sidenote: Mom's role model is Mother Teresa and I swear, she has the patience of Blessed Mother Teresa. She's amazing. Anyway). I still can see her walking around outside checking her flowers with her rosary beads in her hand.

I know I teased Alayna and Jacinta, but since the age difference is so big between us, it wasn't the mean and vile teasing that I did with Mel. It was more of the "big annoying sister" kind of teasing with those two. One of these days, I am quite sure, my kids will force me to go outside and pray rosaries because of their actions to each other.

However, I have always been more aggressive than my Mom.

So, I'll be relying on my friends Jack and Jose. But mainly, Jack.

I love my memories of being a bitch.

there are things that matter and things that don't

"there are things that matter and things that don't".

I have that written on a post it taped to the shelf that holds my computer screen. That's from a Craig Morgan song, that basically tells the story of an older man whose home was destroyed by a tornado and a reporter, of course hot on the scene, throws a microphone into his face. I have this posted on my desk to remind me that there are things in life (work) that really don't matter. At.all. I find that the riffraff students (those who are unmotivated for life, in general) are the ones who bring negative energy into my office and my life. It may be easy for you reading this to assume that artists are going nowhere in life. However, I am not talking in terms of "going somewhere" as in making a shit ton of money. I mean "going somewhere" as in if they need to take a shitty retail job to make money, they will. And they'll be happy to be employed, damn it.

Those are the kids that allow me to fully enjoy my job, because I'm actually doing what my job is with them: guiding.

It's the bullshit kids who constantly miss appointments, constantly are bitching about a professor who's "too hard" on them, blaming about someone else and how it's THEIR fault that they're clinging to a 2.1 GPA. Fuck off. Seriously. Who are you kidding?! You're expecting everyone to believe that it's honestly is someone else's fault that you can't get your shit together? Honestly?!
I respect the student who owns up to their fuck ups and honestly are trying. They're not blaming a professor for not excusing their absence from the final due to being called in to work. Hell, you make the decision to work full time AND go to school full time? Props to you. But damn you if you think that gives you a "free pass". And it seems that there aer more and more of these kids: the riffraff who are going nowhere with their lives and are so incredibly needy and blamy. If my kids were to cut the bullshit, I'd be able to cut the bullshit whining that I do. I promise.

When it comes to actually doing my job, I absolutely love it. I love my kids who are pro active and take my advice and honestly consider it. I could care less if they follow through with it, that's their deal. If I am able to focus on these kids, the ones who pull their own personal weight, I'd be a beautifully mannered young adviser.

I started advising yesterday for spring 2011 courses with my students who are graduating spring 2011. These are the students who I've had since they were baby freshman; they're my first class. They're awesome. I know I'm being extremely partial, because I've had them since K-State birth. Advising them for the final time has been bittersweet, because these guys have seen be go through it all: name change, body change, hair color change, and outlook on life change. It's a beautiful process seeing them through from freshman to graduating seniors. It all comes full circle.Then I feel like an idiot, because I've been in this position and in MHK that long (four years since graduation).

But, as the title says "there are things that matter and things that don't" and all in all, I wouldn't have traded these past eight years in MHK for anything. But I would sell my soul to be on "jersey shore".

harvest memories with parades of lights

It is OCTOBER!!!!! I LOVE OCTOBER! Why? Probably because I know that it's getting cooler out and that means I won't look like a swamp monster when I get to work from walking from my house (I sweat a lot, if you're new to my world). October makes me think of crisp fall cardigans, which makes me think of how much I love that I have great style, which makes me think of "Wow, how did I get such great style when my Daddy wears rain boots and ten year old Kmart cloth shorts with a Goodwill short sleeve button up that HAS to have a pocket on Sunday afternoons?!". Then I think of Daddy and the farm...........................................

Ah, how much do I miss the farm during fall? So much. On Highway 24 on the way to ajl's, there's a random corn field that was cut about a couple weeks ago (must have been cut for feed). The night they had the combine and grain cart out there, I was heading out to ajls and it was so bittersweet.

I had the deju feeling of Kenny Pauls' custom cutting team parked on the prairie in front of the home place and droooooooooling over the adorable hired help (even though 79% of them were Mennonite as in legit Mennonite with no radio in their cars, etc). I remember during harvest when Mel and I were in elementary school, we'd sit up waiting for the combines, grain carts, semis, etc to pull into our driveway @ night, while we were in bed. My parents have a long driveway that leads up to our home place and we'd call it "The Parade" when they all started pulling up the drive way. When Daddy would get in from the field with them, he'd always come back to the Girls' Room (our room) and we'd play opossum (he knew we weren't asleep).

He'd stomp to the foot of our bed (yes, we shared a bed. Hell, I shared a bed until high school. You see now why all my kids are sharing rooms) and put cross his arms and stand there, until Mel and I pulled him down into the bed. Those are the memories I remember from growing up. Daddy never acted short tempered with us if he had a break down in the field that put them behind a half day. We were his girls and he was so happy to be home with us. I'm not saying he doesn't love a less now, but times are different. We farm more now than back then (Daddy probably has to because he has four girls=over 16 years of college educations=four weddings=a jillion prom dresses). Times are more stress now, because of the market being so incredibly shitty and family farms going bankrupt right and left, you have to big to stay afloat now. That's just how it is and that means that he's gone so much more than when Mel and I were growing up.

I just hope that someday my kids have the amazingly beautiful memories that my sisters and I have when it comes to harvest and the parades of lights. But, if your kids turn out worse than you, my kids will probably shoot paint balls at their father.

Alayna time

What a family-filled weekend! Alayna, sister number three, came to visit me and take in more purple than she has ever seen. I picked her up in Junction City Friday evening, as Melanie (sister number two) and Mason (her fiance) were passing through for a wedding in Topeka. Before I even set eyes on Alayna, I was already reminded that we were on "Alayna time" from Friday 5 to Sunday 1:30 pm.

Allow me to decipher: "Alayna time" is similar to taking a clock and bashing it against a cinder block wall. Then progressing through your day, as planned"ish".

Allow me to reiterate how much I love my family and sisters. They're my reason for living and my inspiration to keep trudging through this rat race. However, that's not to suggest that certain traits are evident with us. As being the oldest, I am the bossy one. I am the one who orders (barks orders) and expects everyone to follow my schedule, because I know what is best in the end. I control the ship. I am the driver. Since I've always had this personality "quality", my sisters probably don't realize how at times they have a tendency, when on their own schedule, to take their time. To do what I call "lolygagging". Alayna is the queen of this; she's number three. So, she has always had someone pushing her around to get this or that done. Mom has had many frustrating moments trying to motivate her to do this or that. Many times, to no avail. It's like a relationships with your significant other. You can bark orders all you damn well want. They, however, have to want to make the change or you're just wasting your precious time and stress and energy.

Same with Alayna. She loves her sleep. She told me Saturday night that she was going to set her alarm early. Ten am. Allow me to say that again. She was going to set her alarm early. Ten am. Early. Ten am. I think my shocked reaction was misinterpreted at first with her, because she quickly told me that she was setting it that early because she had so much to get done before we left for brunch. Brunch? 10:30 am. Allow me to decipher, again, 10:30 is 30 minutes from 10 am. Within those 3o minutes she had planned to

1) get up, because getting out of bed for Alayna is comparable to the North defeating the South. It's epic
2) shower
3) straighten her hair
4) pick up the literal clothing bomb of suitcases that she had exploded in my room
5)put her laundry from the washer into the dryer (the regular dryer cycle? not 30 minutes)

*ahem* Needless to mention, ajl went to Early Edition early for us to reserve our table. Because I knew that she'd be on Alayna time. And no amount of barking and reminding her our time schedule would hurry her ass up. It's Alayna. That's how it has always been. It's how it'll always be.

But you know what? I love Alayna time. In small doses. My sanity and control freak personality can only handle so much. Isn't ajl lucky?

obits and hot tea

I am so lucky to have my sisters. So lucky. In my graduate class last night, Dr. Bradley asked us how we want to be remembered by and we discussed in our small activity groups our answers. I said, without hesitation, my family. I have this sick obsession with reading obituaries and imagining in my mind what they looked like.

Like mother, like daughter.

My mom (and my sisters can attest to this) religiously reads obits every morning, with her hot tea. She jokes that she reads it to make sure hers isn't in there. My mom doesn't think of good jokes. I'm sorry. My mom and I are different in our taste when it comes to clothes, music, temperaments, and personality styles. One thing that we do have in common is our insane love of history. We could walk around cemeteries for hours reading tombstones, etc. And we have. So, it should not be a shocker that we share a love for reading about dead people.

I feel sorry for those people who died without children. Or they had one child, who lives across the country and they don't have kids. That is all we have when we leave this earth; our family is the legacy we leave behind. Careers? Eh, it's nice for the cars and fame. However, as my Daddy told me multiple times growing up and probably still will until the end of his life on here, "what are you going to do when the good lord taps you on the shoulder and says it's your time?" (I think of him saying that and I feel a pang of bitter sweetness, because my daddy is amazing).

It's so true. I can't stick my Coach bags or my loads of jewelry in my coffin. My family will be the legacy that I'll leave behind to show the world who I was. And I pray, it's an acceptable legacy. It's no secret that I want a huge family. Part of my desire to have a family that competes with a TLC show, is because I love that feeling I have when I see my sisters. It's insane. It's amazing. We're all interdependent on each other. We can stand alone, but we can also lean on each other. I can tell Mel exactly what I think of things or decisions she's made in her life and I know that she'll still love me. She has no choice. We're in this together, through thick and thin. Mel gets it that I'm irrational and short tempered and say things that I don't mean, in the heat of the moment. I know that Alayna is a bit more sensitive to things than a normal person. And Jacinta? She's a smart ass who thinks she's good at everything (the blessing of being the baby of the family).

The dynamic of a family is unique and so hard to understand, if you're not from a family with siblings. It's a crazy language that only those in the group understand. If you're still not sure if I know what I'm talking about, spend some time at my Grandpa Bergkamp's on holidays when all the siblings are there at the massive dinner table, while the kids are down stairs. It's honestly a different language.

And yes, I have thought about how I'd react if I can't have kids again. I know what we would do: adopt. When all the music stops and the reality shows are silenced, family is the one foundation that we have. That's it. You may have those best friends that are like family to you. However, nothing can touch the real deal.

Family. That is what I hope to be remembered by. Even if I am the prettiest in the family.

ksu campus is not your high school cafeteria

It's official. I have joined the real world of people trudging through their M-F's only for that sweet release that is Friday @ 5:00. It seems that this school year has flown by a bunch of high schoolers who are too-cool-for-high-school in their POS Buick, thumping T.I as if he's "their representative in life" (because there life of mommy baked banana bread is similar to spending time locked up). I mean, seriously. Now, since I'm just too old for that shit, I'll openly laugh at them as they drive by as I'm walking to work. Fuck if they see me laughing behind my huge sunglasses. New rule: if you're born after 1990, YOU can back the fuck off. Because I remember the 90s.

That goes for all the idiotic college freshman who wear their high school shirts on campus. And oh my GOD, I canNOT wait until it gets cooler out and they break out their LETTER JACKETS as if it's a Taylor Swift music video shoot. Oh, dear god. How I love working on my high school color-knowledge. I don't give a shit if you paid for it on your own and you sweated your little nerd heart out on Debate team for that measly letter. This is college. And we don't give a fuck. Seriously. We don't. We got you here and the rest? We could care less. Your life prior to August? Non-existent.

To be clear, I was in Debate through high school. I was even in Forensics. I was THAT nerd. However, never ever would I have worn anything that would tell the world that I was "that girl". Because that didn't "define" me. That's what I think these rug rats are trying to do when they ear their high school shit. They realize that "Holy good night! My measles high school crap doesn't mean shit in college. I am now a small fish in a big pond. I need to be the cool kid that I was in high school."

Don't. Just don't. You're not cool. Everyone can assume that you went to high school. We don't care if it was some preppy ass private school or a "nitty grirtty" ghetto high school. We don't. Obviously, you went to high school. Don't' act as though where you came from will make you automatic "cool" in college. It's time to build on your identity and continue your growth. Even if it IS width wise. Gain a few pounds. Fuck it. You can also run it off in a couple years.

Just don't for the love of your reputation in my head as I'm passing you with my ipod blasting "Not Afraid" (god, I'm loving that white boy), do NOT wear anything high school ish. That includes the stupid, annoying, ridiculous "KSHHHSSHHSAA Championships of ANYTHING." If you can't tell me what KSHHHSSHHA stands for, don't wear it. As a matter of fact, right now. Go to your dorm rooms and put all the high school prom shirts, football shirt, division champ shirts in a box. And take that box and throw it out the tallest floor you can find. Then pat yourself on the back.

Because, you my collegiate peer, are realizing that is not the set of a Disney show or T Swift. This is the big leagues, baby.

brain drain

It's almost the weekend and ajl is in KC for the Arrowhead game for Powercat Gameday and both the roommates are out of town. This will be a great weekend to try to do nothing. Although, that rarely ends up lasting for more than an hour with me. I'll start watching trashy reality and then become bored (even with it DVRed and fast forwarding through the commercials) and need to do something. I plan on going to dinner with a dear girlfriend tomorrow night and then hitting up Oktoberfest at city park with Tallgrass Brewery that night. I feel that since I am German, I should partake in a little home country celebrations. Even though it is NOT October yet and I am NOT living in Germany. That would be a great honeymoon, though. Especially if both people are strong Germans. Hmmm.

This blog isn't taking the usual "Let me tell you how quirky my life is and then I'll be a total yoda and pull in a life lesson". It's very typical of everyone elses blogs (it seems), where they tell you "this is what I am doing now. This is what I am doing tomorrow." blah and boring. Sorry. I guess I just assume everyone has a quirky way of telling how their day is going. Anyways! I don't know why I'm not in that usual "let me tell you something, cucumber" mood. I think my brain is drained from this week and writing a huge case study for one graduate class, reading (attempting to read..ahem) 60 pages for another graduate class, and working full time for the job that pays the bills and feels my "need to feel needed" love tank.

I think it's a Tallgrass night

Tinker is in the doghouse

My name was cursed in over 20 homes, apartments, cars, and various work establishments. My "smart phone" Droid 2.0 went demon style today on my ass. I was prompted to install 2.2 updates around 7.20 this morning on Tinker (which is the name of my phone, effective now). Always the good mother and dumbass when it comes to technology, I "tapped" "OK".

Then shit went crazy.

Apparently, Tinker was jealous with my old phone, because she decided to send out a jillion previously sent text messages. And I mean a jillion; Armon received 30 already sent text messages from me. Ajl was the beneficiary of 12. I can only imagine the "ding" "ding" "ding"s that were going off across the midwest. Or in ajl's case, "DROID" "DROID" "DROID". Then, the disappointment and frustration when my precious contacts realized it was "old news". Muahaha! Everyone knows that feeling: your phone goes off with a new notification and you nearly crap your pants to find your phone and check to see who loves you. You could care less if your significant other is unloading a week of emotional drama on you or if your boss is pissed off because he found out you spend more time on Farmville than dealing with work issues. Your damn phone went off and you're not sure, but it could be Obama calling you up to ask your opinion on the Cuban missile crisis. And I'm not even a fan of Obama and I am pretty sure the Cuban missile crisis is not a legit issue.

You get the point

By the time I realized this damn Tinker did that, my fingers were too fat and slow to figure out how to send a mass text to everyone who was the recipient of Verizon ridiculousness. I kept clicking "Cancel" when it notified me "Unsent message sending". sigh. Then the "What the fuck?!" texts started coming in and I hadn't had my second cup of coffee and the muggy weather was making my hair too big for my personal comfort. I was pissed and irritated. But, that's just a typical Tuesday morning for me!

I am big on pulling random things together to explain a point, if you cannot tell. I guess you could relate the smart phone issue to those people in your life, who are insane smart. As in, you seriously wonder how they deal with your dumb self, because they're so smart. I have a huge family tree and am incredibly blessed to have several cousins who are so blessed in their natural talents that it blows me away. They're genius smart; full ride to any school they would desire and incredibly humble in their talents. The following part of this does not apply to them, allow me to say that first and foremost. However outside my family, I have known many many people who are so incredibly intelligent that they're dumb. They have the book smart thing figured out (well, in my opinion it is God given, so they really didn't do it "on their own", anyways) but when it comes to regular stuff, they're so dumb. Their fashion doesn't even make my "Impressive" radar and they are horrible at the social aspect of life. I've dated several faculty @ K-State who fall into this category. So brilliant in their research, but when it came to having a conversation not related to bio technical mumble jumble, they're as clueless as I am when it comes to figuring out my smart phone. But ya know what, it was a good experience getting to know them and trying to figure out how to "humanize" them.

Much like my Tinker Droid 2.0 will eventually become "human" to me, instead of a clunky phone with a bright pink cover that is the crux of my angst. I just need to keep working with her, give her patience and figure out how to text like a mad rabbit with my beautifully fatter fingers.

And no more updates. At least at 7.30 am.

I break everything I touch

You know what you shouldn't do when your department head gives me a potted plant, complete with a beautiful ceramic base? You shouldn't kill it.

I killed it.

Poor thing looks like I transplanted it from Mount Sinai (you know, that mountain where the G-O-D gave the 10 commandments to an adorably sexy Charlton Heston and then he came down and was pissed at those whores, anyways). It's dead. Perhaps, I over-watered it? I mean, I tried to water that damn thing at least twice a week and maybe more. In my defense, my mother never grew plants or crap like that. She would get petunias in the little black plastic boxes. That was the extent, for the most part, of her green thumb. She had too much going on with raising us girls, helping Daddy on the farm, being a gopher for all the farm errands, etc. I was never taught "This is how you take care of plants, etc".

So far the past several months, it's been sitting on the floor of my office, which is beautiful. My office is beautiful and huge and it stuck out like a sore thumb. I tried, I really did try. But since the damn thing doesn't tell me specifically what it needed, I just gave up from trying.

Relationships are the same way.

Even though when we start out we have the honest best intentions. You know when you pick up the plants from Home Depot or wherever they sell plants, they're beautiful. They're green and the flowers are gorgeous. I mean, I'd never buy a flowering plant that DIDN'T have flowers on it. Because that indicates to me a LOT of work. And patience until they ARE pretty. And the people who buy basic green plants? I never understood that. Why?! Don't you want the flashy pretty colored plants with flowers? And you just gave to plop it in the ground and soak up all the compliments on your pretty flowers?!

The exact same way that plants take patience, time, and trial and error, so do relationships. This weekend, ajl and I experienced a miscommunication of sorts. I thought one thing and he thought another. I was all sorts of steamed and pissed and hurt on Sunday. I was confused and disappointed with him, all the long he was the SAME with me. He was steamed and pissed and hurt at me. I was trying the silent treatment to him, but much like my almost-dead plant, it did not make the situation any better. It made it worse. When we take care of plants, they don't specifically tell us "Hey lazy girl on facebook, I am kinda parched here sitting in your window all fn day. Some water would be divine!"

Much like relationships, unless we vocalize what is going on, someone is in the dark. I can't hear my plants "head" rattle and ajl can't hear my head rattle. I had no intentions of killing this plant and fortunately, Kim (our fabulous facilities guru) is going to nurse her back to health. Kim's assistance and knowledge in this situation, is similar to a conversation with your significant other. I can't say that I'll never again give ajl the silent treatment when I'm upset with him, but I will keep in mind that, much like my nearly dead plant, he can't hear my head rattle unless I communicate with him.

And maybe I'll stick with plastic flowers from now on or ajl and I should get a plant to see if we can keep that alive.

Droid II=Range Rover

I feel as though I purchased a Land Rover last night, when I previously owned a teal Ford Metro. Those who know me, know that I can be a tight ass when it comes to money that isn't involved with clothes or make up. The cell phone I had previously from this one, was a friend's parent's neighbor's old phone. Then my last one was the cheapest you could have through Sprint: an LJ Rumor. It got the job done that it was suppose to do. It cost me 60 bucks a month and didn't have the Internet or any other crap that you do not need on a phone. I had been extremely vocal with ajl about his phone and the ridiculousness of having apps, browsers, etc on a damn cell phone; ajl has a Droid phone that he has programmed to do that ANNOYING AS HELL "DROID" alert go off when he has a notification update. Incredibly annoying. Incredibly incredibly annoying and frustrating. Beyond belief. I feel the reason that I cringe my neck when I heard "DROID" on any commercials, phones, etc is because 1) It's fucking annoying 2) When we first started dating in the early summer, he would constantly get updates from National Weather Service (NWS), which would mean that he would be called in to work. Which was sad, at the time. Now, it is second nature to me.

I began slowly to join the technological-I-have-t0-have-the-world-at-my-fingertips-or-I'm-going-to-throw-myself-off-a-cliff society a couple weeks ago, when I realized that sooner or later, my "epically lame" phone would stop being offered and as charming as it is to join the dark ages with my father and mother and their "TV on TV" TV stand, I decided to switch forces. Just the thought of being as old school technologically de-advanced as my parents are, encourages me to chug arsenic acid after gouging on ambien.

I now own a Droid 2.

sigh

I felt as though I was cheating on my own God, as we were standing in the Verizon store with 3 crying babies and one crazy older, who I swear looked like she was a Russian ex-stripper. She had on hose with her crusty open toe heavy brown sandals and skin tight work out pants Ew. All the times that I was annoyed with people always on their phones, complaining about how society is constantly revolving around the latest technological gadget and how idiotic it is that people won't do shit if their god-damn phone is not working.

Oh, did I mention I bought a bright pink cover for it?

Did I just say that blonde older lady was a former stripper? I'm changing the visual to a former mafia Russian mob skank on the side.

Ajl was giddy that my phone is newer and nicer than his Droid. I think he was using his giddiness to mask that he is secretly jealous as hell at me for having a nicer phone. Good thing I did get the bright pink cover, or I can see him switching out our phones eventually, because I'm so ditzy that I don't notice these things. ajl is quite the prima donna when it comes to technology in having the nicest of the nicest crap. I, on the other hand, do not care. Hell, I haven't even hooked up my flat screen TV (which was a gift, I did NOT purchase it on my own. I could care less if my TV is flat screen or oblong) in my ROOM yet. I could care less.

Even though the Droid II is literally 20 pounds of weight, at least it's bright pink with a tinkerbell notification sound. Not too shabby for a Harvey County Farmers Daugher; I just need ajl to show me how to figure out what the hell this red phone notification thing on my screen means.

Damn. It's good to be a gangsta.

what do Lohon and I have in common

I am only prescription away from joining the likes of Lindsey Lohon (or is it "ay"... who the fuck cares) and Heath Leger (yes, I went there). I finally drug my heath insurance covered ass to my general doctor last week to see if I would be able to get on prescriptions for my sleeping issue. Allow me to demonstrate.

I have always had a sleeping problem, not so much waking up ever 4 hours, but falling asleep. I would lay in bed 1.5 to 2 hours tossing and turning and avoiding checking my clock to see how much time I would have wasted laying in bed. It was ridiculous. Seriously. When I did not get my sleep, oh hail mary, I would become a ravid pissed off emotional bitch. I would be "this close" to crying and tearing up over the littlest thing. For example, when I walked literally a mile to my car one day after work, only to discover that I left my keys in my office, I cried on the walk back to Willard Hall from Weber Hal. I cried. Over.walking. Seriously. Thank GOD, I'm a city girl in that I wear ridiculously big sunglasses, so no one could point and laugh at this dumbass who was CRYING over forgetting her keys.

So yes, I was an emotional wreck. I never get too emotional during "that time of the month", so I can sympathize with the whiny girls who are emotional wrecks during that time for them. Or at least my roommates, Aaron, and any of my students can. I can only imagine my emotional state if I were to have earned a speeding ticket during the days that I had 5-6 hours of sleep. I would have bawled. And then told the officer my life story.

Where was I? Oh, yeah- so I went to the doctor to see about sleeping medication. It didn't take him long to suggest a prescription of either Ambien, Lunesta, and something that started with an "R". He was explaining Ambien first and informed me that Ambien was the only one who offered a generic.

Sold.

I told him "You can save your time, by stopping right there. I don't care if they use deer urine in it. If it's generic and no one has died on it and you've prescribed it before, I'll take an order of that."

He then did his job and told me that people have reported doing crazy shit while on Ambien, For example, making sandwiches and eating cereal, etc and then not remembering any of it in the morning. As Armon said when I told him that:

"That's a typical Saturday night for you."

Thanks bestie
*ahem*

Anyways. It's been amazing. I am falling asleep so quick now and I don't care if I happen to eat something after 7 pm. Usually, that would keep me up (or so I told myself). But I have to wonder/worry: what sort of side effects are going to pop up for me? I mean, I AM putting a chemical in my body to shut off my mind. There has to be something that's going to creep up and fuck with me. So now, I am over analyzing EVERYTHING that I'm feeling, etc.

The sore throat that seems to be creeping around my throat like a nasty heat rash or that painful burning between the thighs during a summer day? side effect

My insane good mood? side effect

My sore tight neck? side effect

OR perhaps the sore throat is because I yelled my voice off at the game on Saturday. OR my insane good mood is because my sister-from-another Jackie is coming up on Saturday for the game. And we're going to tailgate our ASSES off (and we have nice asses) then go to the Reckless Kelly concert @ Longhorns after. OR the sore neck is because I spent four damn hours in a fucking 15 passenger van for a recruitment event for the university yesterday.

But, of course, the world is out to get me so I have to blame it on something. And deer urine in a sleeping pill sounds like the perfect escape goat!

**enjoy the picture of me and jackie @ Fake Pattys 2010**

And I reserve the right to do jack shit tomorrow. It's basically gameday. Duh.

lunchbox= wal mart plastic bag

I reuse everything.

For my supper snack during my graduate classes this week, I packed my two honey turkey sandwiches in a plastic sack, the same one on both nights. This mildly entertained my peers in class. I don't know if it was a good "entertained" or a "oh-my-god-seriously-doesn't-this-girl-have-any-class-to-use-a-Ziploc-or-hell-even-the-generic-baggies?!" entertained. My response when I was teased was the same one Daddy says when people would make fun of Old Blue (his 1974 two-tone blue Chevy 3/4 ton truck. Those who are know my family, know which truck I am talking about). He never locked Old Blue when he'd take it to Halstead, because he would say "If someone really wants 'er, they obviously need 'er more than I do." He would, though, lock the tool box. When we were home this weekend, he talked about taking her to salvage yard, because he doesn't' trust Mom driving her and he doesn't think Old Blue could make it to Hutchinson.

The thought of him selling it, struck my precious sentimental cord. This is the pickup that I first learned to drive. I felt like such the badass "driving". "Driving" at 12 for me, consisted of just moving the wheel and Daddy running the gas, thank god. I think all farm kids have that POS truck that was comparable, in our little eyes, to a 2010 Cadillac Escalade. It was the cool thing that farm kids did that city kids could only DREAM about. Old Blue almost met her match several years back when Daddy was burning wheat stubble and the wind caught the best of him and switched directions. It melted the flaps on Daddy's four-wheeler. But Old Blue? Nah. Fire couldn't do shit to her.

Old Blue now resides in one of Daddy's round top sheds, for the days that his "newer" truck is in the shop. ajl and I were looking at him while we home and it seemed surreal. Seeing the truck in the dismal light, playing second string fiddle to his nicer and newer model seemed odd. What a demotion from being in the "cement garage" hauling tools and supplies, gas tanks, and random farm necessities and hauling anhydrous tanks back and forth from the field to the Co-Op. Old Blue now is parked next to the Chevy Suburban, that only gets used when all us girls are home and Daddy's old POS Versatile (If you do not know what a Versatile is, imagine a big huge yellow and red transformer-looking tractor).

Maybe that's why I find it hard to throw things away that are "paid for". I have no issues eating leftovers. At.all. One night, I made the fatal decision to have 3x warmed up Orange Chicken that my sister had brought to Manhattan. That tore up my intestinal tract in ways that even my precious Activa could not help with. I struggle with people not taking their leftovers home, when we are out at dinner. I almost want to ask if I can take them home. I am not a poor girl, I just like to save things when I can. Even if it is a plastic Dillon's bag. Or plastic silverware. Faculty are always baffled (maybe disgusted) that I'll use a plastic fork, lick it clean, and stick it back in my desk drawer.

What? It's paid for.

There's a line about being a millionaire that Daddy says that always always will stick with me "You don't become a millionaire by spending money." (I conveniently forget that line when at GAP, 6pm.com, Dillard shoe section, any jewelry stores that specialize in "junk gypsy" jewelry, MAC Cosmetics, etc).

Poor ajl. He gets to look forward to me saving everything, minus used toilet paper, and using rags instead of wasting tons of paper towels. I do not care how much money I have or how big my bank account is (or will be), I am the granddaughter of one of the stingiest, most frugal German Catholic women, you would have been blessed to meet. And I am going to re-use shit. My kids won't have stupid shit lunchboxes with stupid cartoon characters. They're going to rock Wal-mart bags.

Maybe on Monday's, I'll let them switch it up for a new bag (plastic).

the fitt's hit the shan

No blog today. A post today would be similar to actually reading the comments in red after you've turned in a 30 page research paper that you know you slacked off with. Today is the product of 5 hours of sleep + the load of 9 graduate hours of a M.S that your heart isn't in anymore + a 7 am dental appointment Thursday + the sinking scared feeling of not being able to sleep at night + a fucking ridiculous parking situation on a campus that over-sells parking passes + remembering you're on campus until 9:30 pm tonight.

Yeah, aren't you so disappointed I'm not writing a blog today?

This is why Monica needs her "Zzzzzzs". I could have written a daisy yellow cheery post, but that would be fibbing and confession isn't until Sunday night.

In the words of my dear Venezuelan friend, "It is evident that you didn't get enough sleep, because you're not wearing a 4 inch belt at your waist."

hippity hop is my motivation

What an amazingly productive day!! I could tell that today was going to be a good day, even before I woke up to my alarm @ 6.30 am this morning.

I had a great evening last night and was able to get a great run (4 cleansing miles in the disgusting August heat) with my newly downloaded songs off dirpy.com (If you haven't heard of dirpy.com, get on it! It's a website that is highly illegal. That should be enough encouragement for all you red-blooded "F you! I'm going to take the shortcut" Amurikans will appreciate). There is something to be said for a run that consists of music that honestly makes you think you look like the hottest piece of ass this side of New York.

I don't know what it is about rap music that makes me feel incredibly hot and sexy. It motivates me in ways that red dirt (sadly) cannot. Although I fully recognize that my extreme cut off Derby Days shirt from 2004 and nicely fitting Asics running shorts is nowhere close to the outfits that the chics wear to the bars (clubs, if you're sophisticated and if you're reading this, chances are you know me and then, well, you are not sophisticated enough to call bars "clubs". Sorry). In my mind, every car that passes me along City Park is a car full of gorgeous men, sorry- I am being 110% honest. Perhaps, one of those imaginary guys is actually T.I and he'll think "Damn, that girl is listening to my music." Eh, maybe not.

Point is, we all need our motivation to get shit done and for me it is an active imagination full of hip hop music with Lady Gaga thrown in the mix. When I think that everyone who is driving by is relaxing in their a/c cars and God saved them from the ugly stick, it motivates my ass to keep going when the look on my face is probably pure death. You've got your way to stay motivated and I've got mine and of course, mine WOULD involve boys. boys.boys.boys.

And I did not anticipate the blog to take this turn, but it did. Interesting how that happens.

What I was saying, was that I knew that today would be a great day, because I was able to run AND walk. Ajl came over after his crazy frantic day and we enjoyed an amazing dinner cooked by one of my roommates. Then, ajl and I went on our nightly walk that is the glue in our relationship (along with a lot of other things). It is during these walks, when it is just us, that we get to know each other so much better. We go over our schedules for the week and emotionally "check in" with each other on random things. I honestly feel that EVERY couple should take the 30 minutes each day, or whenever you can, to do this. Walk together. It's great for the body and amazing for your relationship. Trust me, because I know relationships.

And no, I do not worry that ajl is checking out the ass of every blond bimbo that "trots" by us, because that girl has got nothing on me. But it's taken me 26 years to realize this and, my oh my, do I realize this.

How do they get by?!

There are people around me and I wonder "How do they get through the day?" "How do they continue with their lives and are still a positive influence to those around them?" "How are they in healthy relationships, when the model they had growing up was so fucked up?!"

While back home this weekend on the farm, my youngest sister was telling me about a girl in her class (Jacinta is in 8th grade), whose mother and father divorced when she was there years old and her and her mom then moved in with her mom's boyfriend. That relationship went down the shitter and then they moved into her grandma's house for several years. During this time, the mother was in and out of the picture. Now, the mother and the daughter are living with the new boyfriend and his three kids from a previous relationship. Jacinta said that one day, the girl was called out of the classroom by the school guidance counselor and was told to bring all her stuff with her. When classes switched at the next hour, the whole class walked by the junior high office, to see the girls biological mother arguing with the biological father. The whole bunch of 8th graders saw this and saw the daughter, tearing up in the seat behind them. And yes, this was in a Catholic school. NO, we are not sheltered from the harsh realities of fucked up relationships. Not every kid who wears the blue skirt and white polo comes from a perfect religious home. Some of the kids there are sent in hopes that the bit of religion and discipline that Trinity honors will somehow change the negative cycle their family is cruising down.

I have a close girl fiend whose father recently passed away suddenly. This man was the humbled father of four beautiful daughters and my girlfriend, like myself, is the oldest of the bunch. I sit here and imagine, as I have much since her father passed away, how can she continue? How do you dig in your plow so deep and keep going, when your world is rocked like that? Her sisters are not drowning their sorrows nor dedicating facebook status everyday to the doom and gloom they recently were dealt by the hand of God. No, instead they have facebook profile pictures of their Dad with the memories that they'll remember and that he'd want them to remember: smiling and being goofy. Their family is the sort of family I have come from and hope to have, someday. They are strong. They are close and not to mention, gorgeous girls.

I look at the strength that Jacinta's classmate must have to accept that as her "ordinary". Not having a stable family home. Watching "Home Improvement" and not knowing the feeling of a true family dinner. Not knowing the feeling of going to Christmas concerts as a family, because her concept of "family" changes as the wind blows. For my girlfriend to keep living her life, but not forgetting the legacy that has been laid before her and her sisters by their father.

How can I look at my life and grumble and complain and bitch and whine? Grant it, ten minutes after I publish this post, I'll start bitching about something. God knows I will and he's ok with that (because, hell, he created me this way). However, for this brief moment in time, I am blessed. God, I am blessed.

Yes, I do have a horrible time getting to sleep at night. My mind does not shut off.
I have hairy feet. It's a hereditary thing, I think. I swear, Bergkamps used to climb trees way way way way back when, because my toes are incredibly long; "hobbit like", if you will.
I sweat. I sweat a lot. I can be freezing in bed with the fan and AC blasting, but yet- somehow- will be sweating like a whore when I wake up.
I would love to get a brow lift, because my brow bone is way too low, I think.
I have wide feet. I think it's because I have a beautifully wide ass.

But, damn, I am blessed because all those little annoyances were given to me, much for the same reasons God gave the crosses to the girls I've mentioned: because he does not give us a cross one ounce too heavy for our strength.

And, if you know me, you know that my leg strength is insane. Thank you, Landwehr hips.

Daddy is Chevy Chase meets Jesus Christ

My Daddy is Chevy Chase meets Jesus Christ.

He has the sarcasm and wit of Clark Griswald who appreciates the odd and quirky vacation destinations, all the while having his black plastic rosary in his pocket at all times and his sweaty scapula on. If you do not know what a scapula is, google it.

It's a Catholic thing.

Daddy will pray a rosary when he is driving to Halstead (roughly 10 minute drive from the farm) and any other time when he is in the car for over 10 minutes. We always arrive at church 15 minutes early and he is there, kneeling praying the rosary. Our family still does not eat meat on Fridays. Quick Catholic history lesson: pre-Vatican II, all Catholics were to abstain from meat on Fridays, to remind themselves of the suffering of Jesus Christ during the Passion and Crucifixion. At Vatican II, that order was relaxed and Catholics were permitted to eat meat on Fridays. He is the Catholic father that I am blessed to have.

He is a bank of witty jokes. He is notorious for embarrassing our family when off the safety of our own farm and in the real world. Story: on the random events that we would eat @ a restaurant or fast food, when the timid high school zit faced cashier would tell us our total, Daddy's response was always the same "Gosh! You've got to be kidding!". He would say it in a way that would embarrass the living shit out of us and probably scared the little cashier out of her wits. Story: Daddy has the gold molar fillings that all kids who grew up in the 60s have. Growing up, when I would ask "What dat, Daddy?" He would tell me this long drawn out story about working on the roof of the barn and one day the train was going by (our farm is about 1/4 mile from the railroad tracks) and people on the train just starting shooting at him and he caught the bullets with his bare teeth. "Ahhhhhh", I'd say with the innocence my dark brown Shirley Temple curly hair would allow me. He has told this story to all my sisters and he'll say it probably 539 more times before it's all said and done.

And that is ok by me.

Growing up, though: that was NOT okay by me. Daddy was an embarrassment to me. After Homecoming dance, before I was able to drive, his 11 pm naps in the car waiting for me outside Trinity Catholic HS, was not cool. His tough love approach was perceived by me as reminiscent of another German with a mustache and swastika on his uniform. Daddy was tough. Really tough. I was the oldest and always always always pushed the envelope from everything, from low cut tops to church or conveniently ignoring the call on my cell phone @ 12.30 am on a Saturday morning. I did not like Daddy, let alone love him (so I thought). He was a jerk meant to ruin my life. He was a dumb dirt farmer who had no idea what the real world was like. How could he? He spent his days on a tractor bouncing up and down the field listening to shitty AM country music (I know love "shitty" AM country music).

My oh my. What good a little time, a rough set of life obstacles, and maturity do to a father-daughter relationship. Now, when Mom sighs and says "Every time you come home, I am reminded how much like your father you really are", I take it as a compliment. Although, I know this observation is more out of angst than appreciation.

Why this sense of nostalgia for Joe Bergkamp on this Friday morning? Ajl and I are going home tomorrow for the weekend; this is the two week lull between picking dry land corn and starting up with irrigated corn mid-September. I am a bit disappointed that I won't be able to try out combine skills perfected @ Leiker Farms in July, though. And I know ajl is itching to drive another semi-trailer or grain cart. Point being, naturally I am so excited to spend time with the family (although it'll be half the family, as Mel is living @ Leoti and Alayna is @ Fort Hays) and add to the embarrassingly funny stories of Daddy "insisting next time, he'll pick up the check".

Daddy's girl? Yes, please.

compromises and too many parking permits

Oh the joys of the FIRST WEEK! I swear, K-State must have accepted record number of baby wildcats (or just anyone with a beating heart), because this campus is freaking zoo, minus a few pandas and cheesy parents with fanny packs. The parking lots have become literal practice zones for Fort Riley. I swear, thank God this campus has a ordinance against bringing M-16s, because I'd only BET how many bitches would have a cap in their ass over parking. Parking is ridiculous. Thank God, I haven't had any problems finding a parking spot (faculty parking). However, I nearly have met my match with one two many dumb ass undergraduate females in SUVs tearing around the parking lot, like a bunch of international students who are just learning how to use their accelerator. Seriously. Rumor has it that the parking garage (that monster of a building that was meant to solve all our parking problems) was full a couple days back, which means that the students who donated their first born child in order to afford that ridiculous pass, were fucked for parking. The parking garage pass is only good for the parking garage.

Then again, that is a rumor. Much like the rumor that is going around campus that there is this gorgeous hot brunette chic with killer legs who wears pink Crocs from the faculty parking lot to Willard Hall.

Well, wait. That is true. I wear pink crocs and change into my 4.5" heels @ my office. It's an amazing idea and I really don't give a shit about the stank eyes I get from people (mainly females).

I have survived the first week of my graduate classes. All nine hours of 'em. Even though it IS just the first week, I felt this HUGE sense of accomplishment as I walked to my car @ 9.30 pm last night, after my final class of the week. Fuck ya, I made it. Then, I realized: I have 15 more weeks of this. However, I made it through the first week with only one emotional breakdown. And that ain't too shabby, I think.

I do worry that I have stretched myself beyond my limits this semester. I have the full time working gig, full time graduate schedule, signed up to be a mentor to four baby freshman, stuck my head out there and contacted the lead adviser of Theta (my sorority) to be an adviser for our chapter, volunteer as a lector @ St. Thomas (and now St. Isodores), have a social life, K-State football, and ajl.

Luckily for me, ajl is the same way. We both are involved in so much more than "just" our jobs. It's an incredibly attractive trait in someone, when they want to and actually DO do more than "just" their paying job. You don't feel like you need to baby sit them or you don't have to feel guilty when you're honestly busy as hell on an evening. It makes those nights when you both don't have activities going on, that much sweeter together. That is not to say that the control possessive side of me is always subdued :S It's part of a relationship: compromises, as my dear sister-I-didn't-have Jackie reminds me. My world is still my world. And ajl's world is still his world. However, we can't ignore the other person's world, if that makes sense. Yes, we have our own little spheres in society. But there is a healthy balance between teh two adn I think this is where a lot of relationships fall apart.

The girl expects the guy to make HIS world HER world or vice versa. That just ends up with someone drinking too much whiskey on a Saturday night and slashing tires on a car, after they send 5920 text messages and blow the other persons phone up 59 times. Awkward when they realize that dark blue is not black. And a ford is not a chevy. I think, instead of saying you're in a relationship, you should say "I'm in a compromise", because that's what it is. A compromise. You're compromising a bit of who you are and they're compromising a bit of who they are, sometimes without even realizing. I used to attend 8.30 mass at St. Thomas and now I am attending 6 pm mass at St. Isidore's. I don't particualrlyi like St. Isidore's; I see undergrads everyday, why would I want to see them at church hungover?! I like to go to mass early on a Sunday morning; that's church to me. However, ajl goes to 6 pm mass @ St. Isidore's. It's not even a question for me. I am going to 6 pm.

And you really think ajl honestly enjoys "Real Housewives of DC", "Real Housewives of New Jersey", "Dating in the Dark", "Jersey Shore"? You think he's sitting on pins and needles for this weeks episode of "Jersey" to see if Sammy gets her shit together long enough to realize that Ronny is a douche bag who is only using her for sex?! I doubt it. But, he does that. Because it's a compromise. He's not watching these shows to "get anything" out of me or to suck up. And I'm not forfeiting hanging out with old people and crying babies, because "it's what Aaron wants". I do it because I want to.

That same mentality can be applied to anything in life. In this dog eat dog world of competition and winning and shit, it's easy to abandon the ideals of Mother Teresa (happy birthday to her!!) and look out for yourself. However, you may find it's less stress when you consider someone else's feelings. Except in a parking lot. Then it is dog eat dog.

Maybe I should bring back Daddy's Versatile this weekend. Then, bitches had better check themselves.

you're so a freshman

Ah the first day of classes!! The young children and future generations of our world taking on collegiate level classes while expanding their intellectual horizons and pushing their comfort levels through higher education.The excitement of pushing themselves to new levels of understanding resonates through the halls of higher academia everywhere on campus today.

........right

You know what my favorite part of the first week of classes is? The outfits. The hilarious outfits. The girls who are OBVIOUSLY freshman or sorority girls trying to work their mojo on their peers the first day. The frat boys rocking their "I'm too cool for school. You all should be happy that I rolled out of bed and found this snazzy $75 Hollister polo for you and found this sick plaid shorts." Ah, adorable. It's like little kids out from hibernation so excited to start their mating season all over again. They anxiously place themselves strategically in their 10.30 US History since 1877 course and eyeball every.single.student.that.walks.in. Because they know that this is where the beginning of epically bad decisions (or good ones) start. Here in these classrooms with our Wildcat students. It's much easier to start a conversation @ Alpha Gamma Rho with that hot cowboy, if you have a different common connection, other than having them hold your legs while you do your keg stand. Or they're your best friends brother *ahem*

Just sayin'

I apologize for the lack of length on this blog as I am exhausted from looking damn hot in my new outfit (yes, once a sorority girl: always a sorority girl). Damn, it's good to be good <3

sharing spaces

I am blogging today from the privacy of my own bedroom. My own bedroom. Allow me to say tat again: my own bedroom. Attached to my own bedroom is my own walk in closet. Attached to my own walk in closet is my own walk in bathroom. This may seem like a not so big deal to you. However, to me this is epic. I never had my own room growing up. Never. I always shared my space with another of my sisters; at one point, I shared a room with my two youngest sisters while I was in high school. Yup, in high school. That is an idea that I know makes 95% of high school kids squirm. The thought of having to share something as precious as your space with someone else pisses a lot of people off. It makes them feel as though they are being put down a peg or two in their precious world. There is a line in "Gone With The Wind" where Scarlett's Daddy tells her that the only thing a person can accumulate and not have taken away is land. Hence, our insane desire to hold on to our space. It's a part of our identity and we love that freedom of stretching out.

I know that the reason I was able to handle living in a dorm room the size of a concrete mousetrap and then a sorority house of 70 college girls (some more superifical than should be allowed in the Midwest) is because I never had my own space growing up. I was always forced to share with my sisters. It was embarrassing growing up and having girlfriends spend the night and they'd look at our space and think "Wow. This is, uh, cozy?" But, then they'd see the wide open spaces of the country and how much more quiet it was out there in the country than the city, and I like to think they'd see the reasoning behind my parents living out there. And if not, screw them.

My kids will never have their own room. They'll never have televisions or computers or anything technologically overrated by their bed side. The bedroom, for children, is for one thing and one thing only: punishment and sleeping. I know that this may seen weird and odd, to not want my kids to be spoiled brats. However, I know that when they're older and 26 living with 2 other people and a bitch of a cat and an overweight cocker spaniel and they can legitimately be content with it (minus the cat shitting and peeing on the furniture), then they'll appreciate the way they were raised.

If not, they can go into their room and think about it. With no tvs.

limelights and cow patties

I am tentatively relieved right now. I just finished up my final appointment for Freshman Orientation and Enrollment. No need for me to vent on and on about how much I loathe assisting students with classes the day before classes start. Or vent about my opinions in regards to an university that accepts and accepts and accepts students regardless of the capacity they can hold. No need. Water under the bridge. That ship has sailed. Wahwahwaha and who really wants to "hear" me bitch about the imperfections of others? That's what I thought.

I am tentatively relieved now, because orientation is done. However, I really feel as though this the calm before the storm; classes start on Monday. I want to get really excited and happy with being done. I want to jump up and down and breath one big ole sigh of relief. But I can't. I can't because I know that shit will get real on Monday. My throat will be sore as hell from talking on Monday and I can only thank God that we have central air in our new offices, because I sweat like a whore on Sunday when I get steamed. But you know, I feel like I did on exam days in college, when I think about Monday. I loved exams in college, because it was a chance for me to show off what I knew. I know a lot about this department and the protocols and procedures. I have our fall 2010 schedule memorized. I'm a weirdo. Professors come to me asking what they're teaching and where. It's weird. I'm every one's personal secretary, minus the free sex like they get on "Mad Men." Part of me enjoys the respect they have with me and the awe they have over the knowledge I do really have. However, "to whom much is given, much is expected". Which can be a heavy load to carry at times.

We all want to be the big kids on campus. We all want the fame. The glory. We want to have the "Heyy!! circa: Cheers response" when we walk into a bar. We judge how important or how successful we are based on how many people we know. Or how many friends we have on facebook or our chosen social circles. I am a fame whore. I can admit it. My mom will be the first to tell you that I like the lime light. I appreciate being a known person. I find it hard to share the spot light with anyone and until Melanie was 8 years old, I did all her talking. Humble pie, though, is something I have had so much of I could win an episode of "Top Chef" cooking.

However, as I have grown through life and experienced crazy life changing events, I find that I am ok not being in the spot light. Do not misquote me; I still enjoy being the life of the party. But there is something nice in being just a person and not have control over someone or something. That's why I loved working at GAP as an associate, because I was responsible for nothing. Zilch. Except those pesky gap credit card applications with 40% interest. Other than that, I coasted through my shifts. I wasn't' responsible for anyone. I wasn't responsible for much. Just show up. Clock in. Smile. Give some brutally honest opinions. That was it. The possible idea of moving to the middle of nowhere, America sounds amazing to me now. I wouldn't mind blending into the background of society. However, I do have one criteria: Internet access to GAP.com and the occasional trip to a major city to stock up on my ridiculous priced make up :)

If this posting isn't the typical smart ass quality, it is probably because my brain is shut off. Ugh mental exhaustion. I need some Tallgrass Buffalo Sweat. And I need it now

degree! "get" your degrees here

Oh my hair mary full of grace. This is going to be one of those blogs that I just type so incredibly fucking fast that I only can hope that my fingers can keep up. Today is Transfer orientation and enrollment date. For classes that start for Fall 2010. As in two business days. Yeah. Two days. what's open, you may ask? well, from what i can report: intro to geophysics. That's what happens when we have a jillion students, who enrolled in june and then we had the other jillion and half who have already enrolled. i had 7 students who signed in with art or some form of it this morning @ registration with our Deans Office. Between 9 am and now (3ish), 12 students have wobbled their way over to Willard Hall, all in pursuit of earning an ART DEGREE! Oh wow! who wants a cookie?! Let me break this down in bite sized pieces.

CLASSES START ON MONDAY. THERE IS NOTHING OPEN. YOUR TRANSFER CLASSES FROM GREENLAND, ICELAND, NORWAY, OR THE MIDDLE OF BFE COMMUNITY COLLEGE ARE NOT EVALUATED BECAUSE, OH MY GOD, NO ONE FROM GREENLAND, ICELAND, NORWAY, OR THE MIDDLE OF BFE COMMUNITY COLLEGE COMES TO KANSAS STATE. I DON'T CARE HOW GOOD OUR BAND IS (and they're pretty fn awesome). IF YOU DECIDED IN THE LAST MONTH TO ATTEND A FOUR YEAR PRESTIGIOUS STATE UNIVERSITY AT A TIME WHEN TUITION IS THE HIGHEST IT HAS EVER BEEN, DO NOT COMPLAIN ABOUT THE AVAILABILITY OF CLASSES.

This brings to mind a thought that I honestly wish the powers that be would consider: capping enrollment OR (what a concept) hiring more faculty to accommodate the bumrush of students K-State has experienced! Raises have not been issued to the faculty the past three years and I'm not living in no fairy tale where the payment doesn't affect my general cranky/frustrated mood and general desire to go above and beyond the call of advising duty. Sorry to be Captain Obvious, but I am not alone in this idea.

The value of a degree is extremley dimished when an university accept studetns whose transfer GPAs are below 2.0. C's and D's get degrees-> remember that phrase that you joke about at 2 am at a frat party when you had class @ 9.30 that same morning? Yeah, that's very funny to an academic advisor who sees everything full circle. I have students who just want to "get" a degree; not earn. They want to "get" one. I will say loudly and to anyone: You do NOT need a degree to find happiness or success in life. Shocker. You better be damn sure before you sign up for a chunk of debt that this is what you want to assist you in finding happiness. Society has it ingrained in our heads (and admissions) that this is what will make you happy. A degree is our fountain of youth. Bullshit.

I have to preface that I am close friends with many of those who work in Admissions Offices on this campus. I feel for them, because just like I feel pressure from my superiors, they are feeling pressure. Numbers Numbers numbers. The more we have, the better we look and sound to other universities and alums across the nation. There is a phrase that the smartest man in my world (Joe B) who only earned an associates from Hutchinson Community College would say:

Quality over quantity.

I would take 50 amazing, solid, motivated, determined, pro-active freshman over 100 wishy-washy kids whose parents do their living and talking.

I don't care what color their money is. The universities are taking the way of big business; we are no longer educating our students, but educating them on the calculated interest on their student loans. The only aspect of my kids' lives that I honestly care about is their happiness. I know it appears that I hate my job. I hate my car. I hate the color purple. And I hate the fact I spent 50 bucks on the Incredible Bra.

However, the exact opposite is true. I love my job and I do love my car (well, not really at all.... but it runs, so I love it) and the color purple gives me chills (in a beautiful way). And the Incredible is amazing; you should try it out. Unless you're a creepy male; in that case, keep your paw's off my Incredible.

Get excited, because tomorrow is New Student O&E and I promise another fun filled blog full of unicorns and paint canvases and brutal honest truth.

Dedicated to my sister number 3

For those that don't know me well enough to comment on my hair type, allow me to divulge. I have a thick head of gorgeous dark brown hair, that's wavy/curly when allowed to be au naturale. My bangs are being grown out now, because having them in the heat of summer was/is a bad poofy decision. I recently had Erin put a darker shade of brown (2.5) on my hair, to have it match my eyebrows perfectly and love it. Gone are the days when I tried to lighten my hair. Oh dear god, when I was a freshman in college and a self proclaimed "jersey chaser" (those experience are a whole new different blog for another day..), I had long hair with blond highlights (one of my precious cousins called it "zebra stripes" at a fellow cousins wedding.. Yeah, I was cool). For some reason, I thought having blond in my hair was cool (?) Never again. I'll never put caramel or red highlights in my hair. Ever. Again. The only thing I'm doing is going darker. Sexy darker. Mysterious darker. God, I love how I go off topic all the time.

When I'm in the shower, I always pull out handfuls of hair. As in enough hair to produce a wig for a cancer patient. And I can say that, because my mother has breast cancer and attempted to wear a wig, which she never really wore (again, a whole new blog on that topic at some point will need to be given out). It's really sickening the hair I produce, that I put on the wall of the shower I am currently enjoying. After shampooing, I can pull out several handfuls of hair. Then, with conditioner: more hair. This loss of hair, should be painful physically right? I mean for the average guy, if you were to take away that much hair, they'd be looking like... well, a bald headed handsome man (cue: my handsome radio nerd). I am sure when I first noticed that I was losing pounds of hair, it scared me. But, with time passing, it become no big deal. A part of my shower routine, along with shaving my legs daily (damn hair grows like a weed).

Sister Number Three heads off to Hays, Kansas tomorrow morning to start her freshman year of college. Her freshman.year.of.college. I remember that Christmas eve morning that girl was born. Now, she's starting a whole new chapter of her life. Essentially, her life is starting tomorrow. Who she was until this point, will be a past chapter this time next year. The bullshit of high school will be a forgotten memory in a year book that she'll never look at again. The cool kids of high school, will still be living at home with their parents and hanging out with the same kids from high school. That is all cool, for some.

But not for Alayna Bergkamp.

She has dreams meant to accomplish outside of Harvey County, but she'll always have a bit of us in her heart. Nerves and anxious feelings will disappear as the hourglass is moved upside down and she grows into the mold she already has. She'll fail. Hell, she may even bite it on college dorm steps in front of "everyone" (and seeing that it IS Fort Hays, tha'd be.... 5 students) and won't want to leave her dorm room. That big exam she studied for "weeks" for (ha), she'll fail and call home crying to Mom. Her first love may break her heart (and re-break) in a way that only the first love truly can (and get way with it) and she'll call her sisters to bitch and say she'll never get over him.

She will.

She'll find her oldest sister's tough love to be annoying and she'll think she "doesn't get it. She never had this happen to her." Oh, but I have.

But what she'll never second guess is that I will get on I-70 so fast, that it'll make heads turn the second she needs me. I won't think twice. I won't care (but I will charge her for gas). Whether it is 2 am or 4 pm. She has family. She has sisters (and dedicated soon-to-be brother in laws).

She has a life. And she's going to get busy living it.

lost wal mart lists....

My eyes feel as though they've been plugged with liquid magma. You know that feeling when you're in bed and you know the time is ticking by and you have to get up and be productive (well, productive enough) within a few hours? That feeling of dread ranks right up there with a 5 hour Holy Saturday mass @ your local Catholic church. Bonus points if your priest says all stinking readings. It blows. The contacts were not feeling it this morning, so I opted to go for the conservative stylish Ted Baker frames.

And I can't find my Wal Mart list for today. That may seem so small of a lost precious piece of paper to you, but to me: it's total frantic. You see, I live in Manhattan. Manhattan is a university town and, like most universities, we start classes next Monday.

With each day that passes on my August 2010 calendar, the streets and the major discount stores start to resemble akwardfamilyphoto.com more and more with the additional plethora of incoming freshmen the trips to Wal Mart MUST be rationed like panty hose during World War II. And thank God they rationed panty hoses, because women began to realize how STUPID hose were and how much more comfortable it was to NOT wear them. That is a lesson that my mother still hasn't learned. Do you know how uncomfortable it was to be 12 years old and wearing PANTY HOSE to church?!

I digress.

The point of the story is that I misplaced my list to Wal Mart that I was going to squeeze between 5 and 6.15 today (I'm entertaining a few dear friends from my graduate program to chicken feta pizza tonight and they're providing sides and dessert). My luck? I'll half ass a list and will forget crucial items. OR I'll get shit I do not really need out of frustration of not remembering my initial full list. Then I'll be talking to myself, which I do a lot in Wal-Mart, and while I am using the self check out (which I absolutely love), I'll be watching the total grow. And grow. Then grow more. I'll look @ my cloth bags FULL of crap and think "What the fuck did I get that's costing me over 75 bucks?! Oh yeah, that fancy shaver that I think I just need to have.... OH and the discount cake on the reduced bakery shelf.... Shit, really Monica? You really needed glittery eyeliner? Who are you? Fn Adam Lambert?!"

So, stay tuned. I'll see how many reduced priced cinnamon rolls I lug over to ajl's later tonight in frustration over my lost list.


speaking of ajl: official congrats for KMAN 1350 AM earning "Station of the Year", for second year straight. I'm gloating. I'm proud. I see the hard work, dedication, motivation, sacrifices he has made and will continue to make. To see that effort pay off, warms my HV country girl heart

not so perfect Pro Active

I am 26 years young and still break out with whiteheads. Yes, I wash my face. As a matter of fact, I was an avid spender with Pro-Active for years, as in close to 8 years. It did work, enough. However, it wasn't working enough to justify the $48/month and they did not give discounts for being over the age of 21 and still have acne. Lame. I know switched gears and use Clean and Clear Advantage. It works just as good (a bit better) than Pro-Active and with the $20 price tag, I will take it.

I still break out, though. Now, it is the weird, random and awkward white heads under the nose and lip. The spots where you pray that it is on the right side of your face, so it is less noticeable. At least for me, that's the side I'd prefer to have blemishes, as my left side faces the office door. I am superficial.

Shocker.

This is only further justification for me to continue tanning, as I feel tanned face can diminish the look of these pesky reminders that we are only human. I loathe you people who can use soap and water or nothing at all to wash your face and you still look like a clean slate. I also really loathe/jealous of those who do not have the need to wear contact or glasses. I can't even begin to count the $$ I have spent on contacts, glasses, contact cleaner, contact cases over the past 12 years on that crap.

And do you know much planning it takes prior to a night of going out as an undergrad, trying to remember to bring a contact case with solution, in the event I happen to spend the evening at a place other than my residence (ahem)? Yeah, it's not fun. You can go a night without brushing your teeth (that's right, Melanie), but you can't go a night with your contacts in (if you have an astigmatism in both eyes). However, that was during my wild and rebellious years, of course.
It would have made my life much easier, if the bars had little machines that produced contact cases and solution. Can't you just see that? Right next to the condom machine with all the flavors you can imagine, would be a machine for all you need for care of your eyes. Maybe this said machine could have had a mirror that shows how you're really looking, you hot mess. It was always a classic moment from this sorority girl, when the lights would come on @ bar closing time. Man oh man. If I could relive those moments of sheer giddiness when people realized 1) how amazing they really do look 2) how amazing their grinding partner really isn't looking.

Classic. Oh classic.

first dates and gurgles

Ah, the jitters of a first date with someone.

Even if you really aren't interested in the new prospect, you still have those jitters/butterflies. Oh and I know I'm not the only girl who plans her whole life with the new guy on a first date. Guys, even if we don't want to end up with you when our dating race is over, we still fantasize (maybe fantasize is the wrong word to use, maybe "plan" is better) a future together. With every guy in college that I was associated with (and by associated with, I mean made out with, shared a shot with, went to frat date parties with, ahem, etc) I dreamed up what our lives would look like together. Where would we live? What kind of house? How many kids (well, let's be honest. I've wanted to have six kids since I was old enough to know how to make kids... So since I was 21 years old) What would we be driving? How would his work schedule jive with picking the kids up from over-priced beginner's lessons? You may think I'm crazy and off my rails, but trust me. Every.Girl.Does.This. If she claims she doesn't/didn't, she is lying, because she doesn't want you to think she's "that" girl. Women are planners. It is in our DNA. Get used to it. Or we will plan you out of our lives.

On this first dates of jitters and inner monologues that we practiced with our roommates before we left to meet you, we are also trying to curb our tongues in spilling too many beans about our past. We've been "taught" by magazines and society to not say too much, but to say just enough to wow you into thinking we're these mystical creatures that you are just dying to chase. Some girls envision a wild African prairie of lions and lioness and random impalas and they are the lioness (similar to Nala "Lion King") alluring their mate. For me, I'm just trying to keep my gurgling stomach to shut up, which of course may affect how many times I cough to mask the gurgle. It's quite sexy. And that's just the fear of the internal organs! I haven't even touched on the major issues that we want you (our prey) to be made aware of on the first date. Depending on the age of the girl, we determine what person she wants you to believe she is. If she's younger and really not sure of who she is as a woman, she'll try to play the role of what society wants her to be. Docile, quiet, alluring, (read: high maintenance on this one).

However, when you get to a certain age, fuck what society is saying you should act like. Add in some major life changing issues (i don't' know.. having a baby, going through open adoption @ 25) and you're laying it all out on the line. You don't have the energy nor the time to deal with posing and being fake.

Fuck that.

That was my mentality starting about a year ago. What you see, is what ya got, Baby. And what I found, was that it greatly reduced my stress when it came to dating/guys. I didn't have to deal with the pressure of continuing this idealistic view of myself to someone. I'm not perfect. My tummy gurgles and I am now taking Activa to help my poor internal system out. I didn't want to date or be with a guy who couldn't take the real me. I am way too damn old to deal with being someone else. Dating was easy, because I knew right off the bat if I was really into a guy or was going to be wasting their time and mine. I was being honest with the person I am head over heels in love with: me. I have a son out there whose mother deserves to make him proud. None of this rift-raft half-assed dating.

This honesty then affected my self esteem, because I felt like a rock star. I knew what I was wanting in someone else. Ah hell, I still planned our lives together during the first few dates (silently, of course), but that's where it ended. I knew that when I found someone who connected with me on life values (religion, family, goals, my endless spending account at GAP), I'd be done dating. I tell ya, going through what was my last two years really forces you to realize what is important to you in life.

And I found this guy who connected with me on all my major issues (two biggest: faith and family) and I'm done. Put the kabosh on and cancel my match.com membership. Lock it down and move it out. Because this girl was honest with herself and found a man who can be honest with her.

Put that in your honesty pipe and smoke it. And do yourself a favor and be honest with that next hot date. And take the Tums, just in case.