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."