A Harvey County Farmer's Daughter

peace...piece..... peace....

2012-02-13T12:47:00.002-07:00

Peace. May God give you peace. May you have peace in your day. May peace be in your heart. So much peace, we talk about.

What is peace to you? For me, yesterday, peace was getting church in and my work out. Peace also included cleaning my bathroom counter, vacuuming the house, and scrubbing my blue jay egg blue bathroom toilet. A bonus was getting in a few episodes of LOST (finished Part II of III of 1st season). Aaron and I also contributed to our community by volunteering at the Holly Pride Theatre dinner. By the end of the evening, I remembered why I am so glad that I'm not catering with Bockers II Catering anymore. The smell on your hands and sweat on your brow. Luckily for me and the brood of junior high/high school volunteer servers, we avoided cranky drunk mother of the brides and wasted handsy groomsmen (ahem, weddings in Manhattan). The evening went smooth and the sold out crowd will surely make for a good head start to our $80, 000 goal. But yeah, surely do not miss those long nights at the Alumni Center, clearing plates and refilling drinks, and hiding under tables in hallways. Oh, the good ole days of working during college trying to get peace of mind in the bank account.

It is curious to me, how each of us have different versions of what peace, in our personal lives, consists of. For my mother, when we were growing up, peace for her heart was just that "peace and quiet" in the house. For me, peace was feeling affiliated and having a group to belong with. For Daddy, peace was knowing that he covered all his bases in the field and was prepared for whatever "came down the pipes". Hence, where I earned the control aspect of my personality.

I feel that as my obstacles in life were presented and cleared, peace for me became more centered around what God has in his plan for me. I guess I should rephrase that, peace is my acceptance in what God has planned for me (and Aaron). It's a total surrender of self and will, to what God's will deems. It's a release of what I want or I feel I need, to what God wants or God needs from me. So simple in phrase, yet hard in practice, yes?

Right now, for Mel, peace would be getting that darn baby out of her, so her and Mason can start this new chapter in their lives, as a family of 3. Then, I am sure her peace will revolve around whatever Mom's peace was when we were growing up.

As for Aaron and I, we pray each night that "God gives us peace". I got that idea off another blogger on one of those TTC sites (and if you don't know what TTC means, then you probably don't know what BD is, either. Count yourself lucky). As we continue with our days and I continue teaching to my precious group of kids enrolled in College Psychology at Holly High and then running off to whatever sub call the district needs, we lose that sense of peace. But, given time to center ourselves as a couple following what God wants out of us, we find that peace. It's society that pulls us from that track, from that silent path from Him. And we feel that strain from the Outside World on our marriage and our restless anxious hearts. The trick is to breathe deep and remind ourselves that that anxiety and worry has already been felt before by someone. Someone who truly knows what is best for us and our marriage and this power also knows when the time will truly be right for his blessings. Does knowing this make toughing out hard times automatically easier? Ah, hell no. It does, however, give peace and hope. And that's what having faith is all about; believing in that which you cannot see.

What is peace to you today?

learn to use the phone.....

2012-02-04T13:09:00.003-07:00

Well, oh well. No, I did not lose my sanity out here in southeast Colorado and run screaming into the Buffalo Creek Canal. My life has been busy, because of the new teaching gig I took on at the high school, with their dual-credit College Psychology class. Now, in the evenings instead of reading and losing myself in a book (Oh, Belle of Beauty and the Beast.....), I spend my nights as if I was in graduate school again, reading psychology textbooks. Alas, let me be honest: I never read THIS much in graduate school; I relied on the always-over-achieving-non-traditional-student to do the readings and lead class discussions.

I have really enjoyed this stint, even though I am not rolling in the dough. I still sub, nearly everyday, so the "hats" that I wear on any given day changes. I start out being "teacher" hat, then to elementary pe, making sure kids don't punch each others lights out, while trying to juggle. You think I'm joking, oh but I am serious. And random, in pe, I never remember learning skills. Usually we'd resort to scooters (which I HATED, because I was the chubby kid and trying to find your center of gravity at 10 years old, is hard enough. Thank you very much) or parachutes. Yeah, so no skills really were learned. Kids nowadays, at least here at Holly, are learning "stuff" during pe. And yes, the pe teacher is a close friend of mine, so naturally I'd see things her way. However, the point still stands: she makes them accountable. Where was I going with this?? Oh, yeah. That my days language changes 180 degrees, all the time, and that I've been busy.

I truly enjoy my all-be-it small "career" here in Holly. There really is minimal stress, minus my brief 911 call last week. At my previous place of fabulous employment, you would dial 9-1, then your number. So, naturally, I assume that all life is like Manhattan, duh. Nope. Here at Holly, when you dial 9-1-, then your 1877 number, you reach 911 dispatch. Marvelous. I had meant to call Viarro customer service (because I avoid the office nearest to us, like the black plague), and instead of Viarro, I got "911. What's your emergency?" "Uh, yeah. So, um, my phone won't go to my home screen. And, like, I really need my phone to check my LadyTimer application. So, can you, like, help me with this?" No. I did not bring mortal shame to my family and tell the lovely dispatcher that. I simply hung up, but not before saying that I was trying to reach Viarro Customer Service and I hope that he has a good day. Click.

Yeah, then dispatch called the school and was sending a patrol car out. This was read over the scanner and, yeah, you can guess what happens next in a small town. Needless to say, I was asked next time to stay on the line. And not freak out, like a 5 year caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

So, I reckon the moral of this story, boys and girls, is to be sure to inquire how to use the phones at your new job, if you want to save yourself the embarrassment of having the police almost show up at your job. I feel so safe.

Free will and the struggle

2012-01-01T20:16:00.004-07:00

Oh, rules. Rules and regulations and protocol. Each organization, club, community, family, church, school, etc have them. Some of them make sense and are designed to protect and better serve those who rely on them for direction. Some seem pointless and seem to better serve the pocketbook of someone, who is never you. A lesson I learned a long time growing up from my Daddy was that you may not see the lesson in the rule, but that's not the point. You still are going to have to follow, like it or not. And keep your whining to yourself, unless you wanted to endure a harsher punishment.

No matter the age, we still have someone elses' rules to follow and abide by. A particular organization that has rules that I'm struggling to smile through is my beloved Catholic Church. I am sure there is someone somewhere who will read this and instantly connect to the phrase "rules of the Catholic Church" with disgust. We're kind of known for our rules and regulations and protocol. Being Catholic is not a religion, but a lifestyle. And a lot of people find struggle in following our Church, because they don't' like "that rule" or "that teaching". They feel their freedom is being strangled by being told to not eat meat on Fridays during Lent. That's cool for them, however again, I learned that there will never be something that has rules that I'll always 110% agree with.

My marriage to Aaron is my second. My previous marriage was in the Catholic Church and we both were not the best spouses to each other. We both made our mistakes and believed that divorce was the best route for each of us to find true happiness. And I sure as hell found my happiness and can only hope that he found that as well. One little glitch in my dreams of becoming Mrs. Leiker.

In the eyes of the Catholic Church, I was still married. Marriage is a sacrament for those of the Catholic faith (an outward sign, instituted by Christ to give grace, if you're a memorizing kind of person) and it's not as easy as signing a piece of paper in a court room to erase that off your soul. Enter the annulment process and I made the decision to start this long tedious chapter in my life in May 2010. Endless pages of writing testimony and answering personal questions followed by myself listing several witnesses, who were also contacted for their long endless testimony in regards to me and him. The small speed bump of the refusal by him, his family, and his friends to participate only lengthened the process, because apparently by applying for the annulment meant that I was needing to "get over it" and he didn't want to have anything to do with it. Ahem, yes. That was WHY I had started the process, thank you very much. However, that was his freewill (thank you God for that blessed gift way back when....) to participate and he chose not to.

It is now 2012 and we have yet to have the official word from the Salina Diocese. It's been a long roller coaster of emotions, frustrations, bafflement, and anger. Aaron and I did not want to wait to get married, because we could not be given an exact guarantee that the annulment would be through by a certain time. And thank God we didn't wait to become married, or we'd still be waiting. We made the decision to become married by a judge last July and that decision had a stingy ripple effect through the waves of my extended family. Many members refused to celebrate our marriage, because it was not in the Catholic Church. Oh well, that was one less Thank You Aaron had to sign and I had to write. And don't forget the 44 cents we saved. Aaron and I have not participated in Holy Communion since the Sunday prior to our wedding, because "we are living in sin" since we live together and are not married through the sacrament of marriage. I teach catechism for junior high and explained to my kids why I don't receive Communion and only cross my chest for a blessing. And I am honest and blunt when asked. I have a mortal sin on my soul and that is no environment for the Body of Christ. It burns when I hear people testify that they do not attend the Catholic Church, because they just don't agree with "all those rules". Those rules probably did not personally affect them as they have me. They just hate to be told what to do and they think the Church is outdated and old fashioned and the Church needs to "catch up" with the times. Why should a Church have to mold itself to society?! Irony.

I am proud to be a practicing Catholic. No, I do not agree with the annulment process and the cost that I will be graciously levied to pay when the annulment verdict is delivered. No, I did not enjoy the hurt that I felt when my family chose to avoid my wedding, because they did not agree with the location. No, I do not enjoy not being able to fully participate in Mass on Sunday. However, it was my free will to get married outside the Church. Just as it is the free will of fallen away Catholics to choose not to follow the Church. And some of those fallen away Catholics are close friends and family to me and some of my friends are not (gasp) Catholic. Oh my word, how do I function?!

Rules. You will fail to avoid them. And all the hot air you blow venting and steaming and fuming over having to follow them is wasted. But one thing you have to decide everyday when you wake up, is what your priorities are and if you'll follow through with those today.

You have the free will. Use it. Just make sure what you do follows those priorities you agree to in the morning.

And you can bet your lucky 2011 penny that the moment (or the next Saturday) we have the annulment granted, Aaron and I will have our marrige blessed at our church in Holly with our close family present. And we'll be able to enjoy deeper the celebration of Mass on Sundays and will have a greater gratitude for the Church and the sacrament of marriage.

butterscotch schnapps

2011-12-20T11:11:00.002-07:00

The past few nights, the Leiker family household has been enjoying classic black and white holiday movies: Holiday Inn and It's a Wonderful Life. This added to the "By Kansas standards Blizzard, by Colorado standards A lot of Snow" conditions outside, it definitely has helped the Christmas warm and fuzzy feelings. We woke up this morning to major drifts outside, as in no-way-are-we-getting-out-of-our-driveway-for-the-next-few-days. I remember growing up and when we did have "major" snow storms, Mom would dress us up in our rag-tag of snow ski pants (hand me downs or Goodwill discoveries) and gleefully send us outside with strict instructions to find all the drifts (ie: I did not plan for this snow day and you girls being inside this house yelling and tearing at each other, is killing me. So, how about you try killing yourselves outside and give your mother some peace. OK? Great. Fabulous. GO!). The sad thing is, after 20 minutes of being outside, I was "over it" and the snow wasn't that cool. Besides, these were the few days that Mom would allow us to have hot chocolate (with Always Save MARSHMALLOWS) and I wanted my watered-down hot chocolate, darn it. Even if there was two inches of snow, she probably did still send us out. I can't communicate how much my sisters (specifically Mel and I) pushed each others buttons. My strong, strong mother. And to think, the girl doesn't drink or swear.

While I am positive there are mothers in Southeast Colorado who are lively cursing the snow and looking for their bottles of Merlot wine, because their kids are at each others throats, I am enjoying the peace and quiet of the slow drips of water melting off our roof. The twinkle of the Christmas lights (and actively dreading the electric bill for this month, since my husband believes that Christmas without lights on the inside and outside is sacrilegious) and the efforts of our neighbor and his 4960 to move the snow from County Road JJ are the only things going on in our lives today. We'll probably venture outside and try to sled with our laundry baskets, but since I don't have my rag-tag ski pants and gloves, my clothes will get drenched and I'll be "over it" in 20 minutes. I could wrap my remaining Christmas gifts (for my nephew and Aaron) or repaint my nails. But before that, I need to make sure I have enough scotch tape, since my form of wrapping is 90% scotch tape and 10% misjudging the wrapping paper scissor lines. Which is why I am ecstatic that my husband loves wrapping, as in he wishes I'd let him blow our budget on bows and ribbons.

So on this day of avoiding cabin fever, I am hoping that our car is able to maneuver a way out before Christmas in Kansas and that we do not run out of butterscotch schnapps. Hmmm, maybe THAT was why Mom wanted us out of the house on snow days: butterscotch schnapps. Smart woman.

is it all about the benjamins, baby?

2011-12-16T12:00:00.003-07:00

I love to read and always have. Growing up, it was the Baby Sitters Club, Sweet Valley High, Boxcar Children (I never did quite grasp that possibility that these kids were homeless in a boxcar and didn't turn out in juvenile lock up), Mary Higgins Clark, Nancy Drew, and various other authors. If you ask me today "What sort of books do you ready?" I'd answer historical fiction. I do not like "fluff" books, anymore (Sorry twins Elizabeth and Jessica ie: Sweet Valley High) and will never ever read Twilight or Harry Potter. And absolutely "No" to anything science fiction or books whose plots are no way believable. I feel that reading is a past time that todays generation is missing out on, sorely. Reading improves comprehension and your general knowledge of words that are not common. You'd be amazed at how horrible reading comprehension is with todays kids. When I am reading a book, I get to leave small town America and am transferred to a different time and place. It's a whole new world (ignore the urge to start singing Disney show tunes).

The book I am reading now is by Tom Brokaw "The Greatest Generation" and it's a.ma.zing. Not only when you're reading it do you feel that you can hear his voice (again, a.ma.zing voice) reading to you, but the content is easy to follow. Brokaw sat down and had conversations with those young men and women who lived through WWII. These contributors had various backgrounds and callings during the War. Some were on the home front, while others were in the heat of battle. If you want a strong smack in the face as to what reality was for our grandparents, read this book. You want to feel like a schmuck for getting upset when your credit cards are taken away (thank you Daddy, 5 years ago) or anytime that you whined about a little w o r k, enjoy this book. A common theme found in a lot of the conversations with this men and women is a hesitation in the future of our country. I would argue that they were the greatest generation, hands down. However, when it comes to my generation and the one following, I share their hesitation. 110% The bond of values and honesty have taken a back seat to loss of morals and lying to get by. "How will I benefit from this? How much money can I make? What is the bare minimum that I can do to get by?" Disgusting. Embarrassing. And sadly, becoming the norm.

The point of this post is not to bash and insult my generation and the following one. I know there are issues with the kids now and perhaps we're all to blame for this lax sense of responsibility that we are letting them benefit from. When I was at K-State, I tried to install some sort of accountability with my students and many times, that "meanness" was met with dismay from the Deans Office, as all it took was a kids parent to call and complain and the situation, even when the blame was the precious childs, was absolved. The second, the very moment, we allow money to dictate our ethics and morals, we have already lost in the race.

I was facing a debate between money and happiness these past few weeks. I could take option A and have a steady income flowing in for Aaron and I; what was left from our debts would be dealt with before harvest. However, option A would take me from the schools here, which has been a strong source of happiness for me since moving. I adore these kids. I see the unbelievable potential they house in their futures and how it just takes a little care and commitment for it to shine. Option B would keep me with the students and Holly, but not making as much money. However, I'd be closer to home and my community. My community. The community that I am invested in.

No, we're not the greatest generation. And God forbid we are attacked the way the Japanese attacked that day in December. However, if we all took the time to give back to our communities and not worry about the bottom line in our checkbooks, could we have this next generation be a great generation? Put your money where your mouth is.

I chose Option B. It's my way of giving back to a community that will give me and my family a solid foundation. And I can teach College Psychology to a great group of kids that have no idea what they're in for. And to be honest, neither do I.

God bless America. Let's earn it.

home clothes

2011-11-29T11:49:00.003-07:00

Home clothes v. nice clothes

When I say "home clothes", I can imagine that visions going through your head. No, I don't mean couture vintage pioneer dresses and lace up black boots. Growing up, we had two distinct categories of clothes. We had home clothes, which consisted of older sweat pants and mismatched shirts from old tee ball teams and junior high basketball camps. We never would wear jeans (those were specifically "nice clothes") at home. Nice shirts? Nope, those were strictly reserved for public outings. Keep in mind that we lived in the country and our only visitors were the Crop Quest guy on Monday mornings and the UPS lady when she delivered whatever farm gadget Daddy had ordered. If it isn't obvious, we had no need to dress to impress on the Ponderosa. And since they were home clothes, there was no need to wash them after wearing them once, even if it was all day. They were worn at home, so what is the purpose in fluffy linen smelling Burrton Recreation tee-ball shirts? No harm in wearing the shirt a couple or several times!

As time has marched on, I have realized that many of the habits that I hated growing up, have somehow trailed me to Holly and my young adult life on the farm. If you were to pop in on me on my Ponderosa, you may be a bit taken back. Right now, I am sporting grey socks, a Sunset Revival 2004 orange-yellow tie-dyed shirt, pink VS sweats (that I have worn for the 3rd day straight), hair is classic poof with no heat applied today void of eye liner, brow color, foundation, or finishing powder. Later today, I'll be heading up north with the boys and I just might wear a shirt with my work jeans that I've worn, wait for it, TWICE.

And through all my lovely homegrown habits, poor Aaron is the one who has to suffer.

I've been known to pull Aarons JEANS that he wears at HOME ONCE from the laundry basket and put them back in his drawer. The only adventure that Aaron does now that it's winter, is to go to town get the mail. So, why the need to put clothes in the wash daily? He's not pulling up irrigation pipes or sweating in a Versatile with a failed air conditioner. My laundry basket is plum full after two days of his jeans and sweatshirts. What's the harm in wearing clothes twice maybe three times, when you're not working hard and sweating? Perhaps I am way too much a product of my upbringing. Or perhaps I'm only try to help save water and energy and not running the washer every other day.

So, if you want a cheap thrill, stop by my Holly Ponderosa to see a possible home clothes masterpiece of fashion proporations. And chuckle at my background, because there's plenty to chuckle about.

War Horse and aggie ville specials

2011-11-26T11:20:00.004-07:00

No, we did not lose Internet connection. Yes, we still have electricity. Of course, we still have running water. I just have been busy the past month with subbing, serving fabulous wine and spirits at our local small town liquor store, and fighting off every damn virus and infection that has entered the doors at Shanner and Holly High School. Holy Mary. First, it was the wonderful sinus infection, that still partly remains, and lately it was a stomach virus that left me clinging to indoor plumbing early Thanksgiving morning. Our priest told Aaron that first year teachers are sick the whole year, as their body is adjusting to the influx of germs. You add that to my clients that I see at the liquor store, and I can bet that I'm exposed to more strains of germs than Lindsay Lohan is at a New Years Eve party at Paris Hiltons. But, God bless the husband, who has been there every moment asking "Is there anything I can do?" (Yes, honey. You can body vacuum my mucus out of my nasal passages and sterilize everything I touched, a week ago). Needless to say, my energy levels have been sub par lately.

However, I keep on living. And buying NyQuill and putting vaseline everywhere on my body.

With the CHRISTas season approaching, it seems so many commercials are slanted towards giving us that holly jolly spirit of buying stupid crap we don't need and making us feel guilty for not buying stupid crap for everyone we encounter on a daily basis (lame). There is one commercial, trailer actually, that brings the tear ducts to life. The movie "War Horse" revolves around a boy who buys a horse that apparently isn't as "umph" as his farm family needs, yet he promises to work him out and make him a strong asset to the farm. An incredibly bond is formed and when the boy is drafted into the service, the horse goes as well (this is where the details get scattered) and somehow they're separated, I think. Anyways, the boy gets back from duty and lo and behold, the horse finds his way back to the farm. It may not tear at your emotional strands by these words, but I promise, it's intense. I feel as though I can relate to the heartache of the horse. Yes, of the horse, because at one point, he was unwanted and people didn't know what to do with him.

When I was pregnant, I lost friends. Friends who didn't know what to do or say to me or how to treat me. We were "so close" in college, because our common connections were being able to rattle off Aggieville specials or enjoying the same sort of television shows or having a deep love for fashion and style. Then, the second after a rough marriage and an unplanned pregnancy, look out. Somehow they disappeared or became incredibly busy with their first-job out of college lives. It stung. Horribly. I was bearing a child, choosing adoption, and the sorting through the pain of a failed marriage. I had a fabulous walking partner/shoe loving friend who was eager to keep me healthy and my mind free. Another GAP bestie who took me in when I needed a place between homes. Another stunning friend I met through the shoe pal, financially gave me breathing room. And I am sure there were others who, in their minds, though they were doing good things for me by leaving me alone. It's human nature to stay away when you don't know what to say in a situation. You assume that by not saying or doing anything, you're doing what the person wants. I can't begin to tell you the times I heard "I'm sorry" over those spirit-testing times. It got old. Frustrating. At the time, I was trying to process so much that was changing in my life, physically and emotionally. There is a bible verse that recites something to the effect of being tested in fire and I feel that those friendships were tested during those times. Many failed. Some passed.

Looking back, though. I am glad those friends decided to bail. It helped me weed out the ones that were true friends, in the grown up sense, from the ones who were friends, in the college fun-times sense. We all have those friends, who were friends for reasons or seasons. And it does take all sorts and types to get us through these times on earth.

However, a word for those of you who know someone who is going through a difficult transition or unplanned event in their course of life. Be there for them and verbally tell them that. Do not assume that they can hear your head rattle and they just know that you're "there" for them. When you're carrying on with your ideal perfect life, check in on them. Just to say "hey" or ask how things are going. Try to avoid "I'm sorry", because it sounds as though you're pitying them and that is the last last last last thing they want to feel, in addition to everything else. Because, when your world is turned upside down and you are trying to process what has happened, the last thing you want to deal with is mind reading. Trust me.

It is what it is. People come into our lives and leave, as quickly as that. The ones we wish would stay away forever, seem to always linger back. But, the stout hearted and strong willed ones, never really leave. Now, that my life has finally (thank the holy Trinity) settled, I am developing strong friendships with women who are the kind that songs and cheesy poems are written about. Christmas gifts are no longer bottles of pricey vodka and PJ sets from GAP, but cook books, kitchen appliances, and home decor. Am I getting old? Nah, well, maybe. But, I never felt so alive and true.

Like a war horse, that has been to hell and back.

never the popular kid

2011-10-23T16:01:00.002-06:00

I was never the popular girl in elementary school. Definitely not the cool girl in junior high. Nor was I the "it" girl in high school. Far from it. I hated when the teacher would announce "Now, find a partner....." or "split into teams....." My stomach would get in knots and I'd anxiously look at the floor, wishing it'd swallow me up and save me from the embarrassment of being the last girl chosen. Ugh. No PE teacher should have the kids pick teams. That was one of the most fabulous feelings in the world, let me tell you. It was always left to me and the girl in the wheelchair. Go me.

When we did go to football or basketball games, it was usually me sitting with my Dad, while everyone else in my class would run up and down the track like a bunch of hooligans. Total "L" on my forehead ("loser" for the layman). Perhaps I am dramatizing the crappy social experience of my life as a pre-teen and teenager. However, it's not by much. Maybe that is why I loved writing and reading so much, even back then. When I was reading, I could transport myself to "Sweet Valley High" or was one of the babysitters in the Babysitters Club. I wasn't the odd and awkward farm girl, with hips too big and hair too poofy (sadly, my locks did not know a flat iron until college). With writing, I could ignore the blabber of junior high and high school drama crap and be the creator of my own world, instead of being a side item to theirs.

That is why, I am still getting used to going to athletic events at Holly.

I.am.popular.

I am the girl that the kids are excited to see and that the parents are pleased to finally meet. I have heard "Mrs Leiker!" more times than I have heard "Well, looks like you're the last one, Monica". It's so odd to me that people know and not like "Now, who is that girl?? No, not that one. The one with the not-so-big glitter belt buckle and embossed cowboy boots. Who is that girl..... I think I went to her wedding, maybe..." It's more like "That's Monica Leiker. She's Hayden's sub and the kids love her. I know, right? The kids actually enjoy a sub and she hasn't been ridiculed yet by the students."

Between Aaron and I, I'm the one that people recognize more than him. For example, at the homecoming pep rally that Aaron was announcing, a group of students were asking amongst themselves "Who is that guy announcing?" One girl answered "That's Aaron Leiker. He's Monica Leiker's husband."

Greatest.moment.of.my.life (with the exception of the birth of Colton, the marriage to Aaron, K-State beating OU for the Big XII championship in 2003, and finally graduating Graduate School).

For once since our move, I wasn't an accessory to my handsome tall blond husband. I was the main deal and he was the accessory and in his home town, no less. Fabulous. Simply fabulous.

I've told Aaron that I'm already jealous of our not-yet-born-herd-of-six-kids. They'll be popular. People will know them. They'll like them and just "Oh, she's nice"-like them. They'll go to football and volleyball games and have kids to run like hooligans with around the track. They may be picked last in PE, if they inherit their mother's fear of flying balls.

I guess this post is to those kids who were always and constantly pickled last in anything. Who doesn't seem to have found their niche in junior high or high school and to be honest: Who wants to have hit their peak in HIGH SCHOOL?! It's silly, looking back at those "cool kids" back then. The ones that thought their little worlds were THE world, sadly never left and still hang out with the same crowd. Eh, maybe it works for them, but it sure as heck did not work for me.

Someday, maybe someday, you'll be able to say that when you walk through the lunchroom during elementary chow time, you have a bunch of little bodies that want Mrs. Leiker to enjoy Chicken and Noodles with them.

sandwich cookies and pumpkin patches

2011-10-20T08:07:00.004-06:00

Yesterday, I found myself sitting the PreSchool room, amongst 14 youngsters who were exhausted from our recent trip to the pumpkin patch. When I was first told that today is the day of the pumpkin patch trip, I instantly froze in fear. "Oh, lord. Is it going to be muddy? I didn't wear my boots today, instead I opted for my boat shoes. And wait, 14 pre school kids running around crazy searching for that "perfect" pumpkin? Yeah, right. They'll never find their perfect piece of orange heaven and it will consist of me running all around the 5 acre plot of pumpkins screeching their names, while sticker plants invade the precious soles of my Sperrys. Fabulous." To be true to the experience, it went off without a hitch. Although, I'm not sure some of them realized that when they told Mrs. Leiker this is the one they want and gnawed it off the vine and wrote their name on the bottom, that meant it was THEIRS. Perhaps the memory line of possession hasn't quite developed fully for their ittle brains. And Mrs. Leiker was able to trot home with 3 pumpkins for herself, her hubby, and the roommate who resides in our basement. And, I didn't even have to pay for it. Perfection, in my world.

Back to the exhausted Mrs. Leiker sitting on the carpet (no, I was not in time out), watching 14 preschools tikes wolf down their snack of orange jello and mandarin oranges and cookies. However, these cookies they were enjoying were the kind that us girls grew up on.

Generic. Generic vanilla sandwich cookies.

I forgot that part of my childhood that included always Price Saver or Shur Fine generic sandwich cookies. It's obvious as to the real deal that they were striving after: Oreos. Our mother would never ever ever purchase Oreo brand cookies. Perhaps, if someone was visiting. However, if it was a family member: forget it. Chances are, they grew up with generic cookies so why should Mom spend an extra dollar on cousin so-and-so? Not happening. I can't begin to tell you the cases of those sandwich cookies we went through. Vanilla. Chocolate. Then the mix of Vanilla AND Chocolate. Stale heaven, folks. Stale heaven. Our Mom purchased everything generic. Toilet paper. Cereal. Cream corn (vomit). Canned vegetables (which are horrible, in comparison to their steamfresh counter parts). I still do the same thing. I'll stand in front of the food aisle, analyzing the prices of the various competition. It's easier, yes, to grab and go. But, then I think of the cents I could be saving, and I'll stand there as long as I have to until I figure out what is the cheapest. Poor Aaron.

Is there a noticeable difference between Oreo and sandwich cookies? You bet your glass of milk there is! Is that even a question?? But, for this sub teacher in the PreSchool room, I silently gave thanks that my mother was the generic genius that she is. Because, if she hadn't only purchased cheap food, I would not have had that sweet memory yesterday of sneaking into the pantry to OD on stale cookies with hardened filling, while having preschool kids hang on my arms and legs.

Daddy, a zenith TV, and bad TV

2011-10-07T10:08:00.002-06:00

People still find it hilarious that the only show us girls were permitted to watch growing up was "Little House on the Prairie". That statement from my mouth, is usually followed by shocked looks of disbelief and denial. I am asked "How did you survive?!" (Um, by food. Yeah, food. usually does the trick. Final answer). Or "What did you DO after school?!?!?!" (Um, wow. What did we do after school? Oh yes, homework. Or played outside on the farm or in the shelter belts that protected our house. I had one helluva imagination. Which is probably why I love writing so much. And reading so much. Oh yeah, we read a lot, too. For FUN. Yeah, I know, right?! Who does that?!). We didn't have Nintendo or PlayStation or any other miscellaneous stuff that falls int the category of "Sitting on your rear and stare at the television. Be sure to block out everything else that is going on in the house and what your mom is telling you to do."

Now, to be fair, we were allowed to watch other shows than LHOTP, but Daddy or Mom had to be in the room with us. These included "Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman", "Home Improvement", and "Walker: Texas Ranger." If by chance, we'd veer off that channel of good-ole-family-fun, and were watching something else that even HINTED to the vices of sex, cursing, drinking, or anything else that causes a 5th grade boy to squirm (and a father of four girls to hit his knees and pray), Daddy would, without doubt, clear his throat and ask in a disgusted-at-social-media voice:

"Isn't there anything else on?!" Even though, it was HIM who changed the channel. Again, that's totally irrelevant, right?

You can always tell when the dialogue of the show is getting nasty and going down that path to "Satan's playground" (again, another Daddy term that he picked up from his mother). I'd tense up, knowing that sooner or later the "sex" word would be uttered or the characters would engage in activities that should not be shown on tv. Especially when a daddy and his daughters are watching. Ugh. That awkward feeling is uncomfortable. You add the fact that you're in high school and the thought of watching anything that involves sexual activity and your Dad, is similar to the desire of being locked in a tanning bed.

When I was home two weekends ago, Daddy and I were watching an episode of something I can't even remember. The characters started making out and the next thing you know..... I start getting that awkward feeling of wanting to melt into our circa 1970s couch covered with a beige upholstery cover. And I am 27 years old. Married. That same feeling was there: awkward. And the kicker of the deal?

Daddy was out. Snoozing in his chair. Dreaming of 9770 S-series combines and 60 bushel wheat. Visions of him riding away in his 1974 two-tone blue Chevy pickup, with Shadow (our family dog) into the sunset.

And I still was still nervous as all heck that he'd somehow come out of his 8:00 pm slumber. And ask that old phrase that made all us girls stomachs turn from embarrassment:

"Hey, isn't there anything else on?!"

An old Zenith and an unhooked dishwasher

2011-10-03T18:14:00.002-06:00

Next month, my parents will be celebrating 30 years of marriage. 30 years that were blessed with five children and countless dollars spent on prom and homecoming dresses and back to school crayons (NEVER Crayola. Rose Art, anyone?) Looking back on the years living at home, never once, did I think "Well, this is it. This is the fight that will leave my sisters and I choosing which parent we want to spend Christmas and Ash Wednesday with." Sure, they had discussions and arguments, but never fights. Never had yell-at-the-top-of-your-lungs fights sprinkled with pull-out-all-the-stops fights. If they did, they never conducted that sort of business in front of us girls. I am sure there were those "discussions" that had the possibility of escalating into nasty emotional drama, but we never were prived to that sort of immature mud slinging. My role model for a healthy marriage? My parents. Easy.

So, how do you gift your parents with a gift that symbolizes that respect and admiration? How do you put into a thing the thoughts and love and honor you reserve for them? You would assume looking at my parents house and based on my blogs poking fun at Mom's lack of interior decorating preference, that it would be easy. Me, the girl with matching green plaid seat cushions that correspond with her Lemon Pepper table runner, that jive with her Aspen red plate settings. I've got nothing. When I posed the question to Aaron about what to get Mom and Dad, he suggested reasonable items. Items that would solve all the issues I have with their house. For example, he suggested getting rid of their old Zenith, which the new Plasma sits. Author note: the "new plasma" has been in their house for over 3 years. It's still new to me and my sisters. It'll probably always be "new" to us. Anyways, their new TV sits on top of their old TV. This is the TV that I first watched the beloved "Little House on the Prairie" so many Fridays on PBS ago. The TV that we religiously watched "America's Funniest Home Videos" Sunday evenings. The TV that I watched "This Old House" on Sundays after Mass, while Daddy "dozed" in his chair. The TV that played countless, I mean countless, Disney VHS tapes. "Walker Texas Ranger"? You bet, it had a home in our Saturday evening hearts (and the eyes of the ranger are always upon you). How could Aaron suggest that we get RID of this decorating surreal work? Nope. Tacky TV on TV action stays.

Next idea was a dishwasher, that works. We have one, oh yes, we have one. It's old and not hooked up and houses many old rags and dish towels and the molding things you use to mold hamburger patties. I think there is also some frosting decorating tools in old bread sacks. So, yeah. We don't have one. I know what you're thinking, with angst: "How did they do all those dishes?! By hand?! Oh! The horrible display of sanitation!!" If the fact that we did our dishes by hand disgusts you, then I'll leave out the garbage container that is an old butter container that sits on our counter. So many, so many memories are housed for me around that beloved sink. Throwing water at Mel, when she put back dishes that I had quickly washed; screaming in terror, when Daddy would put his nostrils against the outside window, hoping to scare the crap out his daughters (which he always succeeded). Watching TV and hearing Mom screech "I need some dish dryers" and then Daddy anxiously pushing us (ok, more like demanding) to get into the kitchen to help our mother. At the time, I would have given anything to have a dish washer like all my friends; being able to load it and walk away and NOT have to spend one more minute with my slimy, stinky sister. Pure torture.

I'd give anything to go back to those days of having Mel closer to me.... And life not being so complicated with the responsibility of finding health insurance since we're self employed (darn farming) and proving previous coverage prior to September 1. I miss those days sharing a room with her and making CLEAR divisions as to what MY side was and what HER side was. I digress.

You see, all the things that we sisters agonized over as annoying and frustrating while we were growing up............ Those hick deals made us who we are today. The memories. The yelling. The tears. The soaked shirts. Standing in front of that old Zenith to say the blessing before meals and making sure that Mel and Alayna weren't looking at the TV while praying. Horrible Catholics. Writing this is even making me bittersweet emotional. It's a flood of memories that are kept in that TV on TV action and that dishwasher full of old rags.

So, I think we're all at a loss as to what to give Mom and Dad next month........ Because they've already given us everything a Harvey County daughter could want. A vintage TV and smelly dishwasher.

....After my gift

2011-09-30T11:09:00.002-06:00

Last weekend I attended a birth mom retreat; it was the first ever, hosted by the group "After the Gift", through the Catholic Diocese of Wichita (Kansas). For those of you who are trying to process this last statement, allow me to clarify in layman's terms: it was a retreat for women who chose adoption for their children. It was the first retreat of its kind, for the Wichita Diocese. I grew up near Wichita (Halstead, to be exact), therefor the Wichita Diocese has a special place in my heart. It's a fabulous diocese; one that has something like 55 seminarians (young men in the seminary pursing vocations in the priesthood) and a beautiful Spiritual Life Center. To put this in perspective to other dioceses that I've lived in: Salina Diocese (Kansas) has maybe 4 (?) seminarians, while Pueblo has possibly 6 (?). Wichita is blessed. Incredibly.

For those who are still trying to jump over that hump in their mind (So, you're saying you've had a kid?), I'll clarify again. Yes, I have had a child. Yes, I chose adoption for this child. No, it's not like foster care. Yes, I chose the family. No, I do not text his parents daily for updates. No, I'll never get over "it". No, I haven't regreted one day since April 29, 2009. No, I do not think I'm selfish. No, I do not think I'll be a "bad parent", because I chose adoption for my son. Yes, I am in communication with his parents (Aaron met them in August 2010). So, that answers the next question "Does Aaron know?!" Of course, he knows. His family knows. My family knows. Now, you do as well. Aren't we all special?

For me, adoption was a no brainer. I was at a point in my life where there recently was no male in the home. Yes, I was financially able to support a child. However, again, there was no male in the home. Shocking to many, my mother suggested adoption quickly after it was apparent that I and another person were not going to work our relationship and issues out. At first, I was offended that she'd suggest me, a woman with pursing a Masters degree, me, a women who had a good full time position with benefits, would consider adoption. I had always dreamed that the girl who chose adoption was 16, addicted to drugs, from a broken home, and a high school drop out. I was NOT one of "those" type of people. Heavens no. I went to mass every Sunday; I was active with St. Thomas More parish, reading at mass. I was a pretty person with a beautiful future. I was NOT one of those girls. Ew. I had a COACH bag collection (real Coach bags). I had a perfect life.

Yet, I did not. I did not have the perfect life for the child that I had no previous plans for. My life was just starting to pick up speed, after a painful relationship, for both me and him. I was starting clean. Fresh slate. So many boys, so little time. Yet, my life was put on hold for the most precious boy, my son. The deciding question as to whether to choose adoption or parenting for my child was from my mom "Were there ever any times in your life that you were happy that your Dad was there, in the house?" I could have been sarcastic and responded that I'd prefer he wasn't there as much as he was (I was an envelope pusher and Daddy was the disciplinarian in the house). But, in all seriousness, that question made the decision. He would be given a better life if I made this decision.

Now, for those of you who were raised in single parent homes, I am not throwing ash and dust and blame on your situation. I am not raising myself to an elitist snob position and claiming that in ALL situations, a child is better off with TWO parents in the home. In MY situation, a child would not be given the best opportunity at a healthy emotional life. Again, the relationships in my life (at that time) were not healthy. The child would have no stability and would grow up in homes where his parents resented and blamed the other. Holidays would be split; harsh biter words would be said.

This retreat was a beautiful blessing for my grieving process; to be around women who all chose adoption for their children, was priceless. These women ranged from age 65 to 17. Each women's adoption was different; some have extremely open adoptions, while others have closed and do not know where their child is. However, we all made the unique decision for our children to be given a better chance at life. I was informed by some that I was selfish for choosing adoption; that I was running from the challenge of parenting. Something that we all learn, is that everyone has an opinion for the decisions we made. God bless.

I suppose the purpose of this post, is to 1) inform you of this amazing organization (After the Gift) and hope that someone will know someone who may benefit from the experience of attending a retreat hosted by this group. I plan to become more involved with the women and this group, in hopes that I am able to reach out a hand to a women who needs support, as I did. 2) continuing to share my story, constantly helps with my grieving process. Again, I'll never be over it. Everyday, I grieve. I feel that those of you who have lost a child or family member would agree. Everyday, the grieving process continues and it never does "stop".

I feel that I should again encourage you, that if you know someone who is considering the three options that are available to pregnant women and you feel that they may benefit from communicating with me, let me know. I'm always willing and wanting to help other girls who need someone to talk with who has "been there". Because, I've been there........

Survived that.

the MIL and spotted cow

2011-09-21T15:48:00.003-06:00

Holy long road trip.

Last Thursday, the mother in law and I headed west to Wisconsin for her best friends sons wedding; doesn't that remind you of a romantic comedy title? The FIL (father in law) was suppose to go, but rather sitting in a car for 4 days round trip, opted to stick at home. So, the next best option for MIL was the UDIL (unemployed daughter in law). Aaron was a touch nervous in regards to my sanity sitting in the car for that long, as I have a habit of becoming restless and start poking at him; asking random questions, etc. I'll admit, the drive through Kansas is the worst and that's because I've made that drive many times. Many times. And, I am not so much in love with the scenery as I used to be. We stayed with the SIL in Kansas City Thursday night and headed from KC to Green Bay on Friday. I'll admit, I was hesitant on spending this much time with the MIL; Aaron wouldn't be there to bother and annoy. It would just be me. And her. Those who know our relationship, however, will admit that we spend a lot of time together. And I am comfortable with that. That astounds many who have horrible dreadful prodding intrusive mother in laws (I'm looking at you L-Wood). But that's not how my MIL is. At all.

When I first met people in the Holly area, the first thing they'd tell me is that "You're marrying into a wonderful family. That MIL is the best kind to have." And at first, I thought they were simply saying this, because it's proper to encourage someone who is moving to the middle of God nowhere, that's it's going to be ok (even if you know for a fact that girl will be screeching and screaming to "GET ME THE H$%^ OUT OF HERE!" after the first snake sighting). As time would go on , I would catch myself thinking "I really am marrying into an awesome family......." Our first week back in Holly, the MIL would call before she came over. She would not just assume she can barge into my house (even if she did bring me a bottle of wine); she'd knock then open the door and yell "Knock knock!". Those who have made any sort of move, can testify that you need S P A C E to figure out where to put things and where that box is with your blow dryer, amonsgst all the other pallets of boxes.

This may come as no suprise, but my MIL is a former interior decorator. She has done everything from window treatments to redecorating homes in and around the Holly-area. She studied in Paris. And just for fun, she also modeled. Top it off, she's a Texan, through and through, and has an adorable southern drawl. People come to her for decorating, color coordinaton, room renovation, and furniture relocation advice. Perhaps, her knack for home decorations has led me to have a pretty decently decorated home. I KNOW her knack for shopping has affected me and my closet.

When I started typing today, I had not planned to rave about how beautiful of a relationship my MIL and I have. I had planned to drool over the beautiful scenery and amazing people I met in Wisconson and the great cheese I bought and the amazing Spotted Cow beer I purchased (in cases).

I am so blessed to say that after spending six days solid with my MIL and driving over 2,000 miles, covering six states, and eating Daylight Donuts (nearly daily...helllo Pilates), I still had no problem catching lunch with her today. The unthinkable does happen. It is possible to have a MIL that is also your close friend.

babies and (future) boyfriends

2011-09-10T15:23:00.003-06:00

I don't think that this next statement may come as a surprise: I love kids and I know that Aaron and I will be the best parents ever. Why is this? Because, duh, we don't have kids. So, obviously, we will be the best parents. Ever. And our kids behaviors and futures? Why do you ask, because the answer is will be an easy one, because again, we don't have kids. And the best parents are the ones who don't have kids. Everyone knows that. That lady in Wal Mart who raises an eyebrow when the bratty 2 year old is screeching at the top of her lungs because Mom won't buy gummy bears? Oh yeah, she knows it. She is the best parent, because that blow horn isn't her child.

So the motivation behind this Saturday posting? This morning, the mother-in-law and me went to a baby shower, hosted for a young mama in the area who was in Aaron's class in high school. The baby was beautiful with a full head of brown hair and the mother, radiant. Now, when we celebrate baby births, birthdays, communions, bar mitzvah (just kidding, we don't have any Jewish people here), it takes on a whole new meaning for me. Instead of not really caring or noticing young children, I take note. Why?

These children, bless their country hearts, will determine the success of future Leiker children. How you may ask? Let me paint the picture: fast forward 15 years down the road. It's a typical day at Holly High, let's go with Friday. It's a home football game and Leiker child (girl) is excited for a typical small town friday night. Let's say it's Homecoming v. Walsh High; she has her eye on Boy One and lucky her, he asked her to the homecoming dance. I don't have to spell out for you the evils and temptations that float around kids nowadays; so God, only knows, how crazy and tempting life will be 15 years from now. I don't even want to consider what things life will face my kids. It's scary. It's amazingly scary.

So, that cute drooling infant at the high school volleyball game? It takes a whole new meaning now, doesn't it? Yes, I have an active imagination. This is nothing new to me. And in a small town, like Holly, there are not a plethera of people (SHOCKER). Pickings are limited. So, in the interest of the future generation of the Leikers, I only can pray that these little babies mind their manners (and not just in the Wal Mart).

But, I guess that's how it is with parenting: you just pray and let the pieces fall where they may or may not fall. You do the best you can: you make mistakes and move on.

This doesn't mean that I'll not be watching for those screaming kids in the candy aisle. Move along, boys. Move along (in 15 years).

the call

2011-09-03T09:28:00.003-06:00

Everyone has a set of numbers that when they pop up on your caller ID, you freeze. You glance at the clock. You look back on the phone and, with hesitation, answer, while preparing yourself for the worst case scenario.

In high school, that set of numbers was anyone connected with my ruling committee (Mom and Daddy). When any number from this committee would show up,especially after ten pm, I'd freeze. Immediately, I'd go through the latest possible-fib I told either Mom or Daddy; where did I say I would be? When did I say I'd be home? Who did I say I'd be with? I'd calmly answer the phone, making sure there was no outside noises that would lean my Daddy to assume that his eldest daughter would even think of stretching the truth as to where she was. I wonder how kids before my time of big clunky cell phones (without DATA!! Holy heck) kept their adrenaline going while out with friends, past curfew. There were several occasions when I was caught, thanks to gabby parents. Perhaps that's a good thing of living in small town USA, everyone gabs. Everyone. Even if they don't' realize the grounding repercussions their side comment "Why, no, Monica left well before 10 pm. She said she had to make it home to curfew. She's such a great kid. Lucky parents!". Yeah, thanks Mrs. B. Good bye chunky cell phone.

Funny how with time, that set of numbers that causes your heart to stop and the hairs on your head prickle, does not change. It still consists of three sets: Mom's cell phone, Daddy's cell phone, and our home phone ("The Ponderosa" on my phone). Now, though, thank the heavens that the reasons why my heart stops when these numbers show on the ID, do not revolve around being out past curfew. It's not about me being in trouble, anymore, with the parents. I'll leave that guilt trip for the hubby.

No, now the reasons why my world stops and I glance at the clock, is because the worst case scenario of my ruling committee calling, is telling me that someone dear passed away. Last week, it was Mom calling just to let me know that Grandpa Bergkamp had a possible reaction with sore throat medication and was in the hospital. The world stops. For a brief 10 seconds, I'm not a 27 year old farm wife, hashing her way through Pioneer Women cookbooks. I'm not a young wife who stills enjoys doing the laundry of her husband. I'm 5 years old, on their dairy farm and it's Sunday evening supper. All my aunts and uncles and cousins are there, too. We're just getting ready to sit down for supper and we're all waiting for Grandpa to start the "In the name of the father...." for the prayer before meals. I'm the lucky cousin who got to sit on the left hand side of Grandpa, next to the window. Even though I am far from my cousins, sitting at the card table (this was before we had 40 cousins to sit. At this point, there are only 10), I'm next to Grandpa. The guy who looks like a Bergkamp, with his white forehead, white arms, and wide face. He is a legend. He's not the sappy Grandpa who tells me he loves me all the time. However, he doesn't need to. I know he does, because he is my Grandpa. We have the same last name. We have the same wide forehead.

That call. I hate those calls. Although, everything turns out fine and he's released several days later, I still awkwardly look at the caller id. One of these times, the call will be "the" call. The call that automatically time travels me back to those days, when being punished meant staying the car when we got to Grandma and Grandpa's house, while watching my sisters and cousins play outside on the dairy. Those Sunday's that turned an empty yard to a yard full of minivans, suburbans, station wagons, and trikes.

No, we do not live forever. And I know that "the call" will happen. Until then, and after then, my heart will always stop short and I'll always look at the clock, whenever those few numbers show on the id.

..your house matches??

2011-08-18T09:37:00.004-06:00

Has anyone seen my mothers house? Growing up, it was to me like many kids' homes are to them: safe. Nothing really did match, though. I can remember in junior high, before my Aunt Anne came to visit (she is a fabulous seamstress and sews custom drapes with a great eye for interior design), being in Wal Mart with Mom. I had begged her to buy hunter green valences and a hunter green shower curtain for our bathroom (at this point, yes, we had ONE bathroom for FOUR girls, a mom and a dad. We surived. Take THAT you 4 bathroom families). I desperatley wanted that room to match. I am pretty sure that the valences are still up there and probably dusty as ever (we never noticed nor cared growing up). The shower curtain, I think, is down. I can't remember exactly. Interior decorating was not a concern for my mother or daddy. So long as he had supper ready when he came in from the field and his recliner chair free when he was ready to "watch tv" (doze), he could care less. The flowers that Mom would attempt to grow, would meet their fate when Daddy was on the Grasshopper. Our yards around the house have never really been watered. Mom is predictable with her pansies that she plants on the front planters (that used to be, I believe, watering troughs). Other than that, we are a family that really paid no to little attention on matching things or themes or holidays in our home. The Christmas tree would go up sometime in December and would stay up until the Epipfany. The decorations that would coincide with Christmas, consisted of the ornaments that us girls made in grade school. Second to the tree, the most important decoration for the Advent Wreath and the usual insane sprint, after meal prayer, to the piano to see who would read the meditation that evening. Usually, Daddy would intercede and allow Mel to do it, since I was the bossy one who would throw Mel out of the way. Naturally.

So, naturally, I am not all that keen on decorations for our home. Registering for gifts at Heart of Country in Holly, was a feat for me. Matching napkin rings with my napkins? What the hell? We only used napkins when company was over (and these would come out, naturally, at dessert, because Mom woudl forget to lay them out). And these weren't pretty fabric napkins. Too expensive!! We used the Shur Fine sandpaper napkins, if you were lucky. Usually, it was sandpaper paper towels. And, you are wanting me to choose napkin PATTERNS to match my placemat?! And a table runner?! Do you know where I COME from?! I had no clue. I went with the Lemon Pepper theme (there I go, acting all Better Homes and Gardens and throwing out the word "theme"). For our shower, we were blessed with many gifts from our registry from Heart of Country. If you are anywhere near Holly, you have to stop by Heart of Country. This store will blow your mind. It's as if Southern Living and Farm and Ranch Living met up and had a lovechild. And it is Heart of Country. I love that store. I go in there nearly daily.

Ah, yes. I said I go in there nearly daily. Yes, I am unemployed and really have nothing else pressing to do, then to enjoy a lunch with friends at Wooden Rose then hang out at Heart of Country. Within the past week, I have purchased several items to go with my Lemon Pepper kitchen and dining room; Lemon Pepper button-down valences, Lemon Pepper Rag Rug (picking that up today and am STOKED), Lemon Pepper table runners, and todays task: to find neutral chair paids to go along with, you guessed it, Lemon Pepper. I have caught the decorating bug and am absolutely loving it. Best part: when I tell Aaron that I want to get this or that: his response:

"Do whatever you want, honey."

Golden words to live by, my friends. Or should I say, Lemon Pepper words to live by.

I won't be that annoying woman who posts pictures, daily or hourly, of their home improvement renovations. That is annoying. And desperate. I'll just leave you with this picture of the valences I ordered (along with the dishcloth, that we received a million of from the shower and wedding). I can't tell you how many times I have said to myself "I love my life." Decorating freedoms aside, I am happier now than I have ever been. Except maybe when our bathroom, for a short time, matched a perfect hunter green.

pet orphanages

2011-08-17T08:47:00.003-06:00

Growing up, none of our dogs started off as "ours"; they were strays that came onto the place. Even though they started out as strays, they became part of the family. Tuesday evening, while the hubby was watering the lawn, a dog ran onto our place. He was a full grown husky mix with a bit of yellow mixed (I don't know dogs, all I know is what labs, beagles, Lassies look like; and yes I know that Lassies are not the name of the dog). I was scared at first, because he wasn't "Shadow" (our dog back home). After some time outside with him, we knew that he was used to humans and was fed. Our initial thought was that he was dropped off by someone, which happens a lot out here. As much fun and safe as I would feel with a dog outside, my mind went to the dreaded question that Aaron hates.... "How much is this going to cost?". I ignored that stress inducing, debbie downer emotion thought and remembered all the warm and fuzzy memories of our own dogs (Bubbles, Tacky, and Shadow). All the times coming home from church, errands, school, etc and Shadow running up as we pulled in our circle drive, excited as ever to see us. I want our kids to have that attachment with a family dog. Cats are great and I love our cats. Coming home, I always ask "Where are my kitties" (yes, as that crazy cat woman). But, there is a special bond that I have with dogs, again, based on my own upbringing.

Oh, the times of puppies in the cement garage. I still can see Alayna, who is now 19 years old, in a old tattered green heavy coat looking at the puppies for the first time (I can't remember which dog and which liter it was). The pure look of bewilderment on her face as the little pooches cuddled together for warmth (we didn't get out much, you have to understand....) It was a beautiful time for our family. It was a bonding time. And I want our kids to have that same lessons in life. Losing a family pet was a feeling that we were used to; in the country, cats would "disappear" due to coyotes, etc. Again, another life lesson that country kids grasped on and lived through.

We decided that if the dog was still on our front porch by the morning, I would call a couple of our surronding neighboors to see if they knew whose dog it was. The next morning, pup was still on the porch, as if to be guarding our house. I was excited and yet still disappointed. I didn't want him to be someone else's dog and that same morning, they would be looking their dog and worried. There was no need to call any neighboors......

A fellow neighboor pulled up to our place in his beautiful silver pickup, as the dog ran up to his pickup, my heart sank. He lives about 2 miles south of us and farms around our place. Chances are, the dog knew this place (we are living in his parents old home) and found his way here. As the pickup pulled off and he waved to me, I began to bawl. I sat on the front steps and bawled. And I am not sure why. I am sure it has something to do with the feeling of attachment that I had with the memory of having dogs. It is humorous how those memories of childhood, that we don't think are really important, are. Growing up, I thought I'd be emotionally scarred from having to ride the "horrible" bus daily or wearing clothes that my mother made (Kdg and 1st grade). It's the little passing moments that live with us. The ones that affect our life goals and values are the ones that we don't always "scrapbook" about; they are the ones that you can't see.

But, I can't wait to see a puppy running up to me when I pull in my driveway......

strugglin' with a-vowin'

2011-07-26T11:58:00.003-06:00

Way back when, I decided that Aaron and I writing our vows would be romantic. Cute. Adorable. Memorable. Charming. And everyone would "oohhh" and "ahhhh" and giggle over the love and devotion we have for the other. They would tell their friends and family members that "That wedding was beautiful. It was relaxed and when they were done with those amazing vows, no one could question the strength of their marriage."

I am seriously regretting that desire to be the next romantic comedy. Because right now, my vows are more comedic relief and not in the good way; more in the cheesy "America's Got Talent" crappy comedy sketch way. Or the comedy style of a creeper 50 year old drunk off whiskey by 8 pm and hitting on you in a not so comfortable way-comedy style. I believe that I believed that since I have a gift/talent/obsession with writing, that this would be a piece of cake. The monologues I run in my head daily are hilarious. Or at least, I think they are. However, there is a serious line between poking fun at your swimsuit top popping off at the Holly City Pool and professing the love you have for the man who has changed your life and has given you the foundation you only heard about in cheesy Rascal Flatts songs.

I have tried about 5 different openings for my vows to Aaron. It's funny how many times we say "I love you" to people. We say it so many times, out of humor, irritation, frustration, and true love. Now, the time that all I want to say is "I love you", it seems useless and not enough. I know, knowing Aaron, that his will be perfect. It will be the work of someone that truly loves the other person; since he is a guy, anything he says that involved the "f" word (feeling) or the other "f" word (future), everyone will love and croon over. Guys have it so easy. He could stand up there and say "I love you. My feeligns for you are commitment and through this commitment we will have a future together" and everyone will pen him as the next songwriter for Rascal Flatts. Easy peasy.

Then, all eyes will turn to me as I stand there thinking "What the hell? How many loads of laundry and cycles of running the dishwasher and this is all I get?! Don't get me started on the endless pieces of trash that I throw away for him from his car or the constant reminders I provide him for things he needs to finish. And all he says is "I love you" and everyone thinks he's amazing?!" (to be fair, he is simply amazing). Yes, I am exagerating, a tad, because I know he will have more than 10 seconds of mush romantic to say to me. In true radio form, he has it counted down to 150 words (one minute). That's as long as it needs to be, because any length more than that is too long and people start tuning out (according to aaron).

And I'll be up there, brain freeze, not knowing what to say or how to say it. I know that with time (three days times, I pray) I'll have it perfected to a tee. It'll be "me" and Aaron will appreciate my words of love and commitment to him. But right now, I am struggling with finding my writers stroke of genius, because all I can think of to say is "I love you."

Because, God almighty, do I love you.

soon to be maiden names and ships

2011-07-21T09:59:00.002-06:00

Here we are, closing in a nearly one week until I legally shed the Bergkamp last name (field on a mountain, German literal translation) for a new shiny last name. I cling and love the last name "Bergkamp". Perhaps it's because I earned my degrees with that last name or because I have such appreciation knowing the family history of the Bergkamps. Fun fact: my great-great grandpa was 9 months when his family set sail for America and he became deathly ill while en route. The, whats the word I am looking for, captain (possibly) wanted to throw him overboard, because he was so sick. Luckily, that never came about and here we are today (good or bad). All Bergkamps living in America come from that one family of nine. As Daddy says it, we're all related to the same trunk of tree. Pretty fabulous, eh?

I decided that I want to keep a piece of the Bergkamp heritage alive, post July 30 2011. I will add Bergkamp to my middle initial and will legally be Monica Suzanne Bergkamp Leiker. Yes, that is a god awful long name. However, it is the little bit of my past that I can always have. We may need to order an extra long tombstone (rather, my kids will) so it is listed as such. That is how I would like my little plot of land at the Holly Cemetary to read. Now, do not think that I am bashful to become a "Leiker". Rather, I love it. It's unique, but not too unique that you trip over saying it. Bonus points: it's totally German Catholic (just like Bergkamp). There is a huge history connected to agriculture with Leiker, as well. And I am incredibly proud to announce that I am a farm fiance (soon to be wife) whose fiance (soon to be husband) farms with his brother and dad. We are part of a family farm operation. Not to say that if Aaron stayed in radio that I would not be proud of saying that my husband works long hours for nickels and dimes and for the gratification of being recognized at any establishment that caters to old people, because that was exhilerating. There is just something extra, in my opinion, when you are connected to a family establishment. I have cousins in Illionis who are invovled with the police force. Uncle G was a IL State Trooper and his boys are invovled with the force in their towns in IL.

There is an emotional side of me that is pulled when I talk about family. Maybe it's because as I get older, I learn that my family (both Bergkamp and Landwehr) are not perfect. You know when you're growing up, you think your family is idealistic. There are no siblings squabbles. No skeletons in the cedar closet. It is basically "Little House on the Prairie". Then, as you grow older you pick up on social cues that you had not yet noticed. It is hard for me to give personal examples from my family, as you all know how passionate and opinionated I am. Let's just say, you notice that you are far from perfect. Some parts of it enrage and really disappoint you. It's like finding out that Santa ain't real.

What is the kicker and the sting is when it personally affects you. You personally feel the zing of their beliefs and you feel as though you had the chair pulled from under you in 3rd grade by the cute black boy and that is the reason, you believe, you have shoudler muscle problems (maybe that's just me....) You're confused and wonder "When did I become the grown up and not their younger generation?" However, since you ARE a grown up, you recognzie and respect their ways and beliefs and values. It is the way the mop flops. It hurts, oh yes, but it is not changing who you are and what you want for YOUR life. Because, after all, you are a grown up.

Maybe that's why I respect my soon to be maiden name so much, because I am realizing that the word "family" can mean and invoke so many emotions and memories that you can't help but cling to that pronoun.

I do wonder how many people may have wished that Great Great Grandpa was thrown overboard...........

psa and that show on mtv

2011-07-18T11:13:00.002-06:00

I think we all have those dirty little shows that we watch religiously. They're hidden on our DVR list and we pray that no one will go sneaking and discover. "Teen Mom" is one of my favorite shows to quietly watch in the privacy of my own living room. Now that my life is starting to become a little quieter (minus the tiny little finalized details of the wedding), I have taken the coruage to grab the ridiculously complicated direct tv remote and hit "R" on the marathons that are not hard to find. In the mornings, while the boys are out playing in the field, I have my sanctuary in the living room. My private time to half-ass Pilates, drink "Coffee People" K-Cups, and talk to the cats, even though they never listen to me. And watch my shows that typical males would not enjoy. While watching these "Satan playgrounds" of shows (that's a Joe B phrase), I recommit to the blessings in my life.

For those who do not regularly follow (or regularly graze at the trash tabloids at your local supermarket), I'll give a brief backstory on the main characters, but will refrain from names. One brown haired tiny eyed beauty is a trash talking wreck of emotions whose precious baby girl is being brought along on her teetering cycle of violent outbreaks with the baby's father. There is another who I idolize; she and her fellow 16 year old beau chose adoption for their daughter. I have to admit, these are the characters that draw me in. I can watch them interact with those who did not approve of their adoption and feel a strong maternal bond for her. I was blessed to have parents who supported my decision for adoption, but this beautiful young girl did not. On a recent episode, the train wreck of emotions and her baby daddy and baby are en route to a vacation for a getaway. I'll leave out the verbal abuse that followed between her and the father of the child. It is amazing to see the trash talking that goes on in other homes. I never EVER heard my parents fight with the fervor that these people do, nor use the language that they choose. Grant it, my writing in this blog is not always pure and angelic. However, I can keep it "in check" when considering those around me. ESPECIALLY young children. It's disgusting to watch these people carry on like barbarians with cameras and babies in tow. Perhaps their crying daughter in the backseat has become white noise to them and they are not realizing the effects this child will endure. Thanks to my counseling background, I can attribute a lot of these imperfections to their own upbringings. Chances are, they grew up in homes where verbal and physical abuse was an everyday situation. And chances are, they promised to themselves that they would not follow in those footsteps.

This is when I shake my head, because the cycle is continuing. I see it on "Teen Mom" and everyday life in any small or big town. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I can hold the mirror to my face and have no issues in admitting that my personal decisions have not been "Touched by an Angel" appropriate. Heck, some were more "Bad Girls Club" than EWTN. We need to WAKE UP and realize that are behaviors, emotions, words, and decisions are seriously affecting those children around us. Stop living in la-la land and think that they're not picking up on the things you do. Adoption is not for everyone and YES, I get that. It's a personal decision that one makes in her or his own heart. But, you know, you have to deal the hand God dealt you. My life would be drastically different had I not chose adoption in that booth at Planet Sub with my mother. Even typing this now, draws strong emotions from me. Obviously. It kills me, absolutley kills me to see children who are being "raised" in "homes" that are not encouraging their personal and moral growth. Life is a rough cycle, but I feel that children should not be subject to the rough parts of that cycle because their parent choose to.

Will I stop watching "Teen Mom"? Nope. I honestly pray that this show will influence women and MEN out there who are sexually active. Regardless of age or SES. Children are the most beautiful and precious gifts that we are blessed to create. There not going anywhere, but it is up to us to see that they do get somewhere positive.

*** I apologize for the PSAish posting, but a girl's got to write what a girl wants to write***

ambien no more?

2011-07-15T15:42:00.003-06:00

I have officially been off ambien for six nights. To give a bit of background, I have always had issues sleeping. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, rolling over to each side, going to the bathroom with my mind racing for hours about the student issues that day or the strong desire to quit my job and move to middle of nowhere (wait.....I did THAT) once I got to bed. The next question you'll ask is: "When do you drink caffeine in your daily routine?" and I can say that I always have 3 cups of dark dark dark coffee, but I am done with that by 10 am. I do not drink soda (unless, of course, my good friend Jack is attending. In that case, I drink diet soda). I have a sleeping issue. When I started dating Aaron it became more frustrating and more apparent. Aaron would be called in to cover severe weather at all hours of the night and no matter when he first woudl go into the studio, whether it was 2 am or 3 am, he would have to be on air @ 5:30 am. Needless to say, the boy was running on low sleep and you couple that with a cranky girlfriend who isn't sleeping well, something has to change. And it wasn't his god awful work schedule.

I went to my lovely family doctor and he prescribed ambien (genric, duh) for 5 mg. That didn't do squat and we upped the mg to 10. That worked for awhile, but after a couple months, I needed more umph to my ahhh. I was heartbroken and near tears when my nurse told me that 10 was the highest it comes, but I could try ambien cr (continuous release) which was for 12.5 mg. Hook a girl up, seriously.

Long story short, I have noticed a few changes that I've been wanting to make. One, now that I don't work for K-State, my health insurance is not near as glamorous (ie : kick ass) as I have now. What once cost me 15 bucks, now costs 30 and that's for half the pills. So yeah, when you're not earning a paycheck that begins to suck. And I started noticing that even when I woudl get 7-8 hrs of sleep, I'd wake up and not want to get out of bed (sluggish). Since I don't have a "job" that I need to be at work by a certain time (unless the father in law calls for me to do gopher jobs, which happens at about..... 6:30 that morning) I figured I might as well try to ween (is that how you spell ween?) myself off ambien. And I've discovered a little trick in my mom's health food guru vitamin magazines: honey before bed.

Seriously. Honey before bed along with a few "Restful Sleep" vitamin herbs (from my mother) and I'm golden. And I feel safer plugging my body with clover honey and vitamins than with sleep medication.

What's the point of this blog? No, it's not to preach the evils of prescription sleep medications (although they had their spot in my life and who knows, maybe I'll have a night here and there were I need it) or scream in your face the benefits of an "all natural life". I just want to brag that I used to feel as though I was addicated to something and I've made progress. I think we all need to BLOW our horns when we've made progress on something. Especially something that was costing me $30 twice a month.

So who knows, maybe now I can work on weening myself off of something else that's costing me. Don't worry adult beverages, you ain't going anywhere.

combines and rascal flatts

2011-07-14T11:27:00.003-06:00

This summer has been a summer of first for me. One, I am no longer a state of Kansas resident. Although my drivers id is still Kansas, I no longer feel like a Kansas girl. I see cars in town with out of state plates and I feel sorry for them, because they're not Colorado residents. I understand the total irony in that statement, but that's how I feel. I honestly love it here so much more than even I had thought. Not once have I thought "Man, I miss Manhattan and that life I used to have." Probably because I never felt like Manhattan was home "home" to me. I always viewed MHK as a stopping ground, a fueling up stop, if you will. It was the town that I attended college and that was about it. Include a few embarassing moments here and there and that sums up MHK to me. Holly is home "home" to me. This is the town and county that Aaron and I will put down roots. The main drag in Holly will be where our kids (god-willing) will "cruise" on the weekends. If I get my way, they will be driving old lady cars that no one will want to be caught dead in. If Aaron gets his way, they'll be nice trucks or shiny cars. Jury is still out on that one. Point being, this is our "small town usa" and it feels like home to me and him.

What was my point in this post.... Oh yeah, things that were "firsts" for me this summer.

In addition to moving to Colorado and changing my statehood home, I drove a combine on my own. Without Aaron in the cab. AND I dumped on the go. No, this is not meaning the personal body matter type of dumping on the go, but unloading grain on the go, to the grain cart while the combine is still moving. AND the grain cart is moving. Scariest experience. Ever. You're driving this huge mass of machinery and you're having to focus on your ouger not hitting the grain cart, your big tires not hitting the tires of the tractor pulling the grain cart, and your grain staying IN the grain cart. Oh yes, and you always should focus on your field that you're cutting to make sure you don't miss any (wheat) heads. Again, scariest experience ever. However, I aced it. Thanks to the "patience" of my fiance, I mastered it. By the last day of harvest, I was cutting incredibly straight and dumping on the go, at 3.2 (mph). Which is quite the accomplishment, seeing that I started out dumping at a 2.8 (mph). Even telling you all about it now, I am getting goosebumps.

Ah yes, my teacher Aaron. About 20 seconds into my lesson with him, I told him to get off the combine and I'll have Mark (his brother) work with me. I was losing my pateince with Aaron quickly. Those who know me realize my temper and my constant desire to be in control and know everything about everything that I am doing. I hate suprises. I like the plan. I like to follow the plan. So, you can imagine my mood when Aaron is "barking" orders at me, telling me to "lower your header" "raise your header". More than once, did I tell him to remember that at sixteen, I was running that cash reigster at JCPenneys in Hutchinson, like a pro. I was NOT on a combine. This is not second nature to me, yet. I'll save the bantering we did back and forth and the heat of my temper about to overflow (this bonding all took place in a cab the size of a European sports car). After I had instructed him to get off and have Mark work with me, I immediately took it back. We recognized that this was a teaching experience for us: to work on our relationship, together. If Mark were to have worked with me, we'd be missing out on an amazing opportunity to fine tune our communication skills. That's not to say that I was "this close" to chucking our relatinoship out the window into the freshly cut wheat ground.

I may love that man to the death of me, but I will have my temper, sadly, until the death of me, as well.

Perhaps we all should spend some time with the one we love (male or female) in the confines of a 9600 combine. You get to hear them belt out Rascal Flatts and they get to learn that when the AC is out on the combine and it's 100 plus outsdie and there is NO air circulation, you do NOT want to be touched; I don't care how great you think that Rascal Flatts song is. You also get to work through shitty moments when you have that communication breakdown and I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO TELL ME when you are trying to motion from the other combine to me (it appears that when you make circles with your fingers, that means raise your header). When I was going through pretty challenging life moments a few years back, my Daddy reminded me that the trees that are around the longest are the ones who learn to bend. To which, I told him that I'm tired from bending. He wasn't amused. Anyways, go find a 9600 combine that is prone to overheating and learn a new skill. You just might be amazed at what you can do, given patience and a little love from above.

burning throats

2011-07-11T12:10:00.002-06:00

I have not died. Yet. Although, the thought of impending death feels right at my doorstep. I just finished running. Outside. Near the heat of the day. Why? I could feel myself getting irritated at everything that went on this morning. The last time I ran was months ago. Months. I had become concerned about the throbbing pain in my knees everytime I ran and walked up stairs. So, I stopped running and then tried out the ellitpical. It took three days for the elliptical that I bought to completley break. Thank you quality Sears. That machine is still in Aaron's house in Manhattan. I decided to take on Pilates and it did really tone my body pretty nice. I still am shocked that by doing simple stretches, I am able to lean and tone my body. I was used to looking similar to what I look like now (like a drowned sewer rat) and thinking that was the only way to work out. The problem with my work out routine is that I become bored with the same deal. Then harvest happened and there was no way I was getting up at 5:30 to stretch some muscles. Sadly, my body does not realize that the stress and pressure of harvest is not a work out.

I apologize if this blog seems a bit odd and off kilter. You need to understand that my body is exhuasted right now. My heart is beating in my HEAD and my throat is burning. You know that burn your throat had in high school track on the first day of practice? You want to look like you've been training all winter long and, yes, these big muscle legs really are muscle. So, you try to act like Flo-Jo during Indian Runs. But, all the while, your throat is burning and your stomach is ready to give back to the earth all you've eaten that day?

Yeah, that was similar to how I felt about 20 minutes ago.

For that small handful of people who are regular readers of my postings, I apologize for the lack of posts. Harvest is done and now I am ready to focus on more important things. No, not the upcoming nuptials on July 30. I am ready to focus on updating you all on the activities on Leiker Farms.

Lesson for today: always bring your cell phone. Never wear pink crocs and fabric shorts that the drawstring is missing to "simply pick me up from the north farm." Because, that will turn into a three hour event and you'll be praying for the last 20 miles of pulling the wrong header trailer, that the gas tank somehow finds just enough to get you to Holly. And while you're gettings gas (yes, you did make it to Holly), you're also praying that your shorts do not fall. All before 8 am.

Oh and did I mention that I am in the middle of withdrawal from Ambien? So, yes, I have been sleeping amazigly. It's been similar to the sleep given to first time moms. Of 8 kids. Who are all cholic. And have diaherria.

That is why I am drenched in sweat right now. Because, sometimes you gotta sweat a little on a dirt road to make you not want to burn the county down.

Holly, like it sounds

2011-06-06T20:45:00.000-06:00

One snake. One, maybe two mice later: we're here. Our boxes, bags, Wal Mart sacks, Rubbermaid tubs, empty trash cans used as stroage units, and cars are unloaded. I feel as though it's been a decent move, seeing that we are not able to find only my Chi straghtener, back up blow up dryer, and Aaron's clippers. For the record, my Chi (to the layman, nice brand of hair straightener) is my back up one. So, all is not lost.

Although Aaron's hair is getting a tad too long. And one thing you don't want to see if someone who is slowly going bald with a bit longer hair. It has the potential to look like me on my first visit down to Holly last year during harvest. I wanted so badly to impress my future in-laws to my farming skills, that I suffered through one day of contacts (as if looking prettier would allow me to drive a straighter combine). The end result? Total hell. Talk about hell on the eyes; within 20 minutes to arriving on the field, Aaron slugged the combine (basically, the ground was too high and the header rammed it) and we had to get out and pull wheat and dirt and everything else that was stuck in that shit out. In my contacts. Dear Lord, vanity went so fast out the window that I could give a shit less what people thought of me. Anyways, to sum up: Aaron's hair is getting long and we need to find those damn clippers.

I think half the fun of moving is finding the shit you thought you lost in the move. The thrill of opening a bathroom cabinet and, holy hell, there are your extra blades. Or forgetting you had stocked up on bodywash from Bath and Body Works before you moved out to god forsaken nowhere. Talk about enjoying the little things.

I can't begin to tell you of the adventures I have had already: lucky for us, water is all inclusive in our rent. And those of you who know my family (ahem, dumpster diving, endless buffets for a ridiculosu cheap price for the IBS that I suffer after), you know that we love to cash in on shit that's "free". I've been watering the shit out of this lawn: I'm destined to be the Suzie God Damn Homemaker of Prowers County. Last week while watering the east side of the house, I was moving water and lo and be-god-damn hold, a snake was hanging out by the hose. I can't blame the bastard, it's hot as hell here. I did not scream. I only took one deep old breath in and slowly backed up. The day I saw this snake, I had already had probably one of many emotional breakdowns that included the phrase "What the fuck am I doing here? What the fuck. Where are my sisters. I miss my Daddy." Because that will combat snakes, right? Fear. Ha.

When I told Daddy about my run in with the slithering creature, he remidned me that "you are in the country, girl. You're out of that shithole Manhattan." Daddy hardly curses (no, I do not get my cursing from my Mother. I probably got it from dealing with people too damn much), so when he does curse, you know he's serious. And he's right. I am in the country and yes, there will end up being a mouse or two in the house. That's a small price to pay for the view at sunrise and sundown with the expansive sky and the quiet twinkling of yardlights at the next homestead.

I could continue writting and updating, however I know that I may want to save my bits of Colorado wisdom for future posts. And I don't want to shock all my city slicker friends into a Starbucks coma.

Flyover States and StarBucks

2011-05-19T07:40:00.000-06:00

This past weekend, while Aaron and I were at Hasting's renting another disc of "The Tudors" (we highly recommend this TV series on Showtime), we took a walk through the country music Cd's (in part to avoid an older gentlemen author who was handing out flyer's on his new book and encouraging us to buy it. We felt guilty, because Aaron's a nice guy, so we tried to avoid walking by him again). Anyways, for anyone who is a Texas country fan, Hasting's always has a pretty legit stock of red dirt music. I am always impressed and have purchased everything from Aaron Watson to Mikey and the Motorcars from there; this day, however, I chose more modern rock country: Jason Aldean's "My Kind of Party". I have all of his other albums and somehow missed that he had a new one out (thank you music guru fiance). "Dirt Road Anthem" is my favorite main stream country music radio song right now and probably have listened to it 20 times, already. At first run through, I thought the album was so-so; many of the songs sounded similar to the other, but I love acting like I am Kelly Clarkson in my car and belt out "Don't you Want to Stay?".

(((disclaimer:: Jason Aldean does not write his own music, which is a major thorn in my side. To anyone who appreciates a singer who writes his own music, I am 110% behind you. I never will say that Jason wrote his music, because it ain't true))) However, after spending longer than 5 seconds on each song, I have a few that are quickly becoming emotional pieces for me: "See You When I See You" and "Flyover States".

"Flyover States" is a ballad (shocker) talking about being on a first class plane ride to LA from New York City and describes the uppity asses who are also on the ride and their opinions of the "flyover states". You know, those states that their only purpose seems to be get to the state on the other side of 'em. Kansas has a fabulous reputation for this: the only good thing about Kansas is I-70, Highway 50, etc. Those outside the state (and a bunch who live within) don't seem to happy with this reputation; they see no point in the square corn, wheat, soybean, and milo fields. It's the middle of nowhere and they don't quite get why one would choose to live this sort of life.

"They've never drove through Indiana
Met the man who plowed that earth, planted that seed, busted his ass for you and me
Or a harvest moon in Kansas
They'd understand why God made those flyover states"

One of our faculty members and a good friend of mine, told me yesterday that I won't need to take my ambien when we're in Colorado, because I will be so bored, that I will fall asleep standing up. I laughed, because that is quite clever, Jason. I have no issues in making fun of "my kind": those people from those flyover states and small towns with odd sounding names (although, I find "Holly" to be an adorable name). I'm not living in la-la land, so I feel that I can laugh at those funny jokes that are meant in good fun.

But, I tell you what: I am damn proud to be from a flyover state and from a town that when I say "Halstead", people give you that slight nod of their head, but you know internally they're thinking "Where in the FUCK is that?!" Same thing goes for Holly, Colorado. My first year of college, I was embarrassed to admit that I wasn't from the thriving city of Kansas City. It seemed everyone who thought of themselves as important was from KC; they had no clue where anything west of KC was (now, this isn't to say that everyone from KC is in their own little world. No, it's just to say that for the purpose of this writing, I'm lumping you all together). They viewed my small town of no-stoplights as "cute", but you know that they thought that I was dumb and not exposed to the possibilities of the world and Star Bucks.

They can keep their world of stress, anxiety, brakes, and hand sanitizers. I'll take my flyover status.

he's in charge, now

2011-05-18T08:34:00.000-06:00

I handed over the reigns last night; handed over the reigns of further wedding planning to the groom.

Yes, the groom.

It is not that I do not want to be married, actually it's quite the contrary. I want to be married more than nearly anything. Perhaps it's because I am not caught up in the glitz, glamor, and shit that doesn't matter. I know that I love that guy; even when he absent mindly forgets to put the trash to the curb on Tuesday mornings or starts laughing when I kiss him on the cheek and neck, because it's tickling him (I swear, that man has sensitive skin more than anyone I have known). I have been practicing writing my name as "Monica Leiker" since the week we became official (May 20, 2010) and, duh, have already named our six GIRLS we'll be having (with the grace of God). To quote Stoney LaRue "With you by my side, I can do without the city limits" and we'll be doing without city limits, here in about a week.

I was feeling the slow creeping tide of stress trickling towards me as I thought "Shit, invitations? Fuck. I am betting creating a private Facebook event is considered tacky?" The only two things that I was slightly concerned with was: flowers, booze, and food. Flowers? I have that done. Booze? Not yet, per say, but I know that we're having an extreme ample amount of beer and wine ("Fo FREE, of course" It's our party for you), and some of SE Colorado's best BBQ for the dinner. Other than that? Eh, yeah. Not too worried. I've been through experiences and witnessed weddings (I'm looking at you, Melanie Bergkamp Newell) that so much effort was placed into little details: center pieces, lights, table cloths. And those weddings were beautiful. Stunning. And some of those weddings, the marriages were not meant to last. Which is normal. Shit happens. Humans are humans.

But, I do not believe for a minute that that my lack of desire to stress over lights, invitations, center pieces, and cakes means that I do not want to marry Aaron Leiker. I would go down to the court house TODAY (if he did not like the idea of the attention and everyone looking at him, which he does). Truth be told, the man likes attention: he knows, he admits to it, and everyone know it. So, I am going to let him have the attention and take over the rest of this event.

To prove that he was comfortable with this role assertion, he was looking at wedding invitations last night. I think I may enjoy being the typical groom (not doing shit, but showing up the day of) quite well.

Unless, of course, the cast of "Glee" show up for the dance.

keeping the list

2011-05-17T07:40:00.000-06:00

Finish graduate school
Continue working full time
Graduate graduate school
Keep my sanity
Keep my sanity
No more emotional breakdowns
Finish counseling hours while working full time
Meet Aaron Leiker
Get Aaron Leiker to kiss me
Marry Aaron Leiker
Move? to where in the HELL?!
Quit my job
Leave the town I've been living and active within for the past 9 years
Leave the state
******************************************************************************

The above list is a compilation of the tasks that I'll be completing here soon. Almost too soon. I talked and planned me graduating from Graduate School since I started the program in August 2007. It's one of those things, that you talk about all the time and then when it gets here, it scares the living shit out of you. But you have to play the role that you're totally prepared for it. You were made for this and you could not be happier. It was all part of your plan, after all. You can't get pissed off at the plan that you made, right? That's insane. And that would be a sign of weakness and no way can anyone show signs of weakness or honesty.

I am scared shitless.

I have planned for this, yes. It was all part of my plan (graduating from Grad. School, at least). The Aaron Leiker part presented itself out of my estimated plan little over a year ago. And that's still throwing me off. There is a security, though, in staying in school. You have the excuse that you can't move on (out of Manhattan), because you are finishing school. I have a big handful of students who, I believe, are scared shitless of leaving Manhattan (Kansas State Univ.). So, they'll add majors and minors to their curriculum or make up excuses why they do not want to leave the university. They'll blame someone: crappy advising (how dare you!) or shitty professors. However, when it's all whittled down: they're scared to leave the security of a "plan".

And I am just as guilty as the next.

The idea of leaving Manhattan is incredibly exhilarating for me: to leave the idiot PT and GE county drivers, the radical driving of military men in their huge trucks cutting in and out of traffic as if this is Philly, the ditzy Johnson County sorority girls with their Daddys money over priced SUVs for their skinny asses, and the horribly overpriced cost of living. Then, it's overwhelming depressing. I took a dear friend to the airport today, for he's researching in Italy for the next 3 months.

It was the first of many good byes for me. It is becoming that time in Aaron and I's lives that we must move on and follow a bigger dream for us and leave the rest behind. We can still cling to those memories and the people we've met and loved and cared for. And we still will.

However, as the seasons change and time moves on through the upcoming days, months, and years, our new chapter will take full effect. I will be a Colorado resident and the only state my kids will know will be Colorado. They will not be able to look at a Kansas licence plate and rattle off the county it is from. They won't know that SG is Sedgwick or RN is Reno. They will not tell their friends that their Mom is from Halstead; they'll say "She's from Kansas", as if I am from a foreign country, instead of the state 4 miles down the highway.

It is a new chapter, a new licence plate, a new drivers licence with a new last name, a new title "M.S: Masters of Science), and a new day.

Once we load up our crap.

Pitching crap

2011-05-05T07:40:00.001-06:00

"I really should be doing something right now. But I just don't want to."

My motto this morning, thus far. Perhaps it's the dreary weather outside; the light sprinkle that will potentially give way to humidity as high as the anxiety my father will feel on July 30. Or the fact that I have THREE WEEKS left before I pack up for the *god willing* second to last time move of my life. As always happens when I move (or clean the house), I pitch half of my belongings, because I have no need for various things. That will probably end up happening with me by the end of this month. Many friends have already benefited from the fruits of my pitching (for example: clothes and shoes). Mom always calls it "pitching", so the namesake has stuck with me. Aaron and my mother can testify to the fact that when I "clean", I throw half the shit away. Anyone who has seen my parents house, can also testify to the fact that my mother is a pack rat. Dear, Lord. It's frustrating and annoying. Probably because I know that at some point, someone will have to clean and deal with all that shit. Those people will be my sisters and myself, obviously. Why not start the cleaning out process now? Ahem.

It's amazing the crap some people hold on to. I used to be horrid at holding on to tops, pants, dress trousers, shoes, etc. Just with the thought "Some day, I'll need this. Some day, I may gain 10 pounds back and will want bigger pants." Well, hell. If I ever gain 10 pounds back, someone can shoot me between the eyes on Main Street in Holly, Colorado. Kidding on that, I really don't give a flying fuck if I gain 10 pounds. Point is, I've adopted a trend to throw shit away if I haven't worn it within 2-3 months. When I say "throw away", I don't really mean that, of course. I first try to give it away. If that doesn't work, then I "try" to donate to SAV. Does that always happen? No, duh. I'm human and sometimes I find it tempting and easier to throw the crap in the dumpster. So, I do.

This may be a fun and easy transition to how certain members of my family dumpster dive at local Casey's stores when they know the sweets are being thrown out. Nah. I'll allow your imaginations run free.

Back to the hypothetical grind. THREE WEEKS until my last DAY! One week+day= graduation. THREE WEEKS TWO DAYS until we move. That numerical time line is screwed. Whateva.

Not falling into the GAP is hard

2011-05-03T07:44:00.000-06:00

A Burberry scarf. An authentic Burberry scarf; that's all that I want after Harvest 2011. That is it. I've repeated this to Aaron about 120x over the past six months. That and also one day of being able to shop like I used to.

It was nothing for me to walk into GAP here in Manhattan and drop $300-$400. You can imagine how excited management was when they saw me walk in; they knew they would hit their daily goal, because of my insistence on constantly updating my wardrobe with them. Then, I started working for them. That was a beautiful looking romance, that zapped all my free time and I had to retire my tenure with them (and also my discount, major lame).

Allow me to clear the air, before everyone assumes that I made a killing lifting flags and playing an art adivsor: it was all on credit. Store credit, so you know the interest rate was tres high. With the work I did during harvest last year, I paid off my GAP card and gave it back to my sister (Yes, I am the evil sister who used her sister's credit card, with her approval. That was one of her wedding gifts: getting her GAP card back, with a credit still. Ahem).

So, through my exhilarating shopping days, it was all on credit. And it was a killer time for me. I'd walk in: I like that top, hell I'll get it. Actually, I'll do myself one better: I'll buy one is TWO colors. Wide Leg Trousers? You look sexy as hell on me, I'll get YOU in navy, khaki, olive green, black, and denim. Ah, I was a spoiled charger. I remember filling my trunk with my "on credit" goodies that I worked sooo hard for. I'd relish my closet with the tags on, believing that I was such a rich girl.

Those days of seriously dressing outside my means, has been torture statement the past semester. I love clothes. I love GAP. However, I love being smart most important. I haven't looked at gap.com in months; last Saturday, I went with a close friend to GAP and it was a test of my resolve to be smart w/money. I did not buy one thing. I did use my "Free VS panty" card, though. It was hard, to not spend money. God, there were so many outfits and tanks and perfect summer dresses that I spied.

It's odd; when you're in the store, you feel as though you MUST have this (enter clothing type here). You think you HAVE to have this; your happiness hinges on whether you purchase it. But, once you get home, you don't really think much of it. Your Monday doesn't go any better. Well, that's partly true; I like to think that when I wore new outfits, I performed better at work. Now, I realize it was just my credit score that was doing the performing (in this case, lowering).

However, that's not to say that IF we have a decent harvest, that I won't want to do some splurging at GAP or get that prized Burberry scarf.

So, you're saying my language is vulgar, Mom?

2011-04-05T07:00:00.000-06:00

This HV County Farmer's daughter had her own mother read her blog yesterday.

My first thought? Shit...........
My second thought? Shit.... Oh........ (the roledex in my mind starts running with all the times that I've cursed, offended someone, spoken my mind, and then cursed some more)...

Then again, my mother of all people knows how I feel about certain things and that I have been blessed with my father's wit and sarcasm and her gift of scribing it in a way that makes sense. I would consider this a blessing. She said that although she wishes I wouldn't use the vulgar level of language that I use at times, she really thinks that I should look into writing an editorial or column in a paper in SE Colorado when we move. Which was one of the highest compliments I have received, in recent times. I would give anything to be able to write full time. That wouldn't even really be "work" for me, I'd love it. Enjoy it. I think a column written from the perspective of someone who is moving to SE Colorado from living in Manhattan, Kansas for 10 years would be hi.la.ri.ous. And only partially offensive.

One aspect of that life that I am looking forward to is the decoration side of domestic life. All the women out there 1) believe accessories are KING (which is fine by me, as I love/adore/idolize good accessories 2) believe their homes are their temples and decorations are the foundation of their existence. It's as if "Better Homes and Gardens" or "Farm and Ranch Living" are camped outside waiting to do a 4 page spread on their homes. It's quite a stretch for a girl who grew up in a home that decoration consisted of the tacky 3rd grade art class pottery project gone wrong. In short, our home is not decorated with any specific theme. I worried that when Aaron first came home with me to HV County, that he'd think we grew up as paupers. Honestly, I knew he wouldn't think this; I just wondered it....... Our home is cozy. But everyone knows when you say "cozy", what you really mean is cramped and odd. However, when I say "cozy" in reference to my parents home, I really mean cozy and lived in. Really lived in.

If you want to see where we spent our "decoration" budget, just take a look outside at our ever-growing barn and the land that is listed under "Joe and Joann Bergkamp Farms". Needless to say, although Mom didn't spend much time analyzing themes for her rooms, home still is the best word there is (thank you, Laura Ingalls Wilder).

The funny thing? I cannot wait to make a run for that spread in Farm and Ranch Living with the 5903 crosses that I've registered for at the three greatest shops you'll ever see in Holly, Colorado. And the rooster accessories to boot. No, this ain't Johnson County. This is Prowers County class.

Look out SE Colorado: I'll be rocking your Ariat boots in T-minus two months.

Holy shit.

facebook forgone

2011-03-29T13:55:00.000-06:00

**My forewarning for the possible lack of usual fun and hilariousness that is usually my writing! It seems as though when I blog anytime past 4:00, my brain is drained. So, I lack the usual energy and zest**

It'll be interesting to see how many people read this posting. It's sad when the "thing" that you give up for Lent, the "thing"the you think is preventing you from being a better person, is technology.

Last year, I gave up facebook for Lent. I got the idea from one of my girlfriends. I noticed that her status was something to the effect that she was going to try and kick the habit. Thinking that was crazy and incredibly difficult, I decided to join the wagon. I kicked it. For 40 days and 40 nights. And it wasn't that bad, it was almost bliss. It was a reduced stress, oddly enough, for me. I didn't know the drama that was going on in my friends' lives. Well, to be honest, they weren't really friends, if the only communication we had was via facebook. But, you get the point.

This year, I decided to continue the tradition and drop facebook. I guess, from what I've heard from people (primarily my fiance), that you can now track who looks at your facebook page?? What the hell?! As much as I love(d) facebook stalking, I do not want others to see that I have stalked their shit. That's like people being able to see me give them the stank eye, while wearing huge ass sunglasses. Ahhh, summer stank eyes. It doesn't get better than that.

Anyways.

It's been really nice not being on the life sucker that is facebook. It was hard the first few days not clicking on the extra tab and opening up the page, because it had become nearly automatic for me. I would open it without thinking. I'm living in oblivion right now, because I'm not constantly "checking in" on people and their lives and pictures and posts, etc. I'm more into my own little world, imaginary as it may be at times.

But man, isn't it pathetic that I equated facebook as a my gift to God for his suffering on the cross to redeem my facebooked soul?! Almost as pathetic as facebook stalking an old ex. And don't gasp at this, we've all done it (that's what she said).

Mental note: blog post in the morning, when I've had energy and haven't been drained to an inch of my life by dealing with students, parents, faculty, over 50 email messages and constantly having repeat over and over what the department of art is offering in the summer and fall semesters to students who are over the reading age of 12 years old.

the sounds that take one back to Utica, KS

2011-02-21T14:50:00.001-07:00

Since Aaron is in radio, voices and sounds play a major role in his life (and my default, mine as well). It's not uncommon experience for us to be out and about and someone either comments to Aaron that he should be in radio or ask him why his voice is so familiar. If you want to get a great listen to how sexy he can be, listen in on him while he's reading at mass with St. Isodore's. It's amazing. Truly, amazing. I have to look away, because I'm giggling like a school girl. On one of our early dates in the relationship, someone poked their head across the aisle at Valentino's and told Aaron he should be in radio. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he actually is, in radio. This has got me thinking about the voices and sounds we hear and the memories that correlate when we do. The passing of my maternal grandfather has really brought this topic to the front of my thoughts.

When Mom and Dad would trek us out to Grandma and Grandpa Landwehr's house in the country between Arnold and Utica, Kansas, I remember the mornings so vividly. They didn't get shit for radio service out there, except for an AM station out of McCook, Nebraska. You know that transmitter sound that AM radio makes that reminds you more of a UFO than modern broadcasting? This station was horrible. I mean, their farm was two miles south, I'm sure they wouldn't get the service for it. Grandpa would get up early, God only knows how early, and sit at the head of the table listening to the radio (fuzz, if you want to be specific). The station had a birthday contest daily. They'd pull three random letters and want people to call in if they had those initals; they were always odd like "ZVW" or "QTZ". Grandpa would repeat the initials for everyone at the breakfast table and ask if anyone had those initials. Seriously, Grandpa? We're all family. I'm pretty sure our last names either begin with "L" or "B". But, it didn't matter. He'd always ask and we'd always say "Nope! Not this time!" The older I got, the more annoyed I'd get. I mean, come ON! When you're little, you don't usually put two and two together. They had linoleum throughout their whole house, which was AWESOME with all the sticker plants out there, anyways. They had these two yap dogs, Freckles and Tip. I can hear their toenails tapping on the floor as if they were out there as if it were yesterday.

Oh, lord and their TV set up is one for stories. They had two TVs, right next to each other. Grant it, I'm not one to poke fun at people and their TVs, as my parents have their huge flat screen right on TOP of their old school Zenith TV. Anyways, they had two TVs and the satellite dish in their backyard could have started off the Cold War, if they pointed it right (thing was freaking huge). You could not touch their remotes, because they had it so rigged and set that even they probably couldn't figure it out. Somehow, they did. And their hearing may not be considered the best. Going to bed at Grandpa and Grandma Landwehr's sucked. I didn't take Ambien at age 10, so the blaring loud sound would keep us up for hours in the sewing room, where Mel and I would sleep. We'd complain to Mom and she'd just say to try and ignore it. Yeah, Mom. I'll ignore it just as soon as I ignore a sonic jet from blasting.

I won't continue down western Kansas memory lane, for the sake of your boredom.

Just take a moment to remember those memories with grandparents and the sounds that will always take you back to 10 years old and matching polyester sets and red beer. I'll always blame you for that addiction, Grandpa. The bars in Manhattan say "Thank you"

Not your typical vday blog

2011-02-14T08:10:00.000-07:00

Happy Valentines Day to you all! As my single readers browse through this, I'm sure their defensive wall is already starting to be built over the frustration with this holiday. Rest assured, my lovelies, the focus on this is not against the bitterness that resounds on this day or the extreme love and gratitude I find in Aaron. The focus is on the gift of love from a grandparent who has lived 89 years and is slowly inching toward his final home.

My maternal grandpa is nearing his final stretch of life on this temporary earth. About a week and half ago, he took a nasty fall from his recliner into his wheelchair. Ten years ago, roughly, the decision was made to move him to the assisted living home in Halstead. It's a classy version of a nursing home and has been a great experience for our family. The fall was pretty solid, because he had the need to be placed on stronger pain medications. It was decided to bring in Hospice, twice a day, to administer pain medications for him.

Hospice. I hear that word and in my mind, death is already knocking at the door. And it has been, for 89 years.

Grandpa married my mother's mother over 55 years ago (I'm estimating, as I know that Mom is 53(?) and she's the youngest). My mother's mother passed away when Mom was two years old from breast cancer. Grandpa was left with 3 young girls, under the age of 10. It was not a shock when Grandmother passed; medical technology was not at all what we enjoy today. Her final years were intense beyond anyone can imagine. Mom and her two sisters were living in Wichita, KS with Grandpa's brother (Uncle Lee) and his wife (Aunt Irene) for the final duration of Grandmother's life. After grandmother's passing, grandpa remarried the sister of Aunt Irene. He had met Rose years prior, obviously, at Uncle Lee and Aunt Irene's wedding, etc. They all grew up around the same area (Andale and St. Mark's area). Grandma Rose made the move with Grandpa back to the poultry farm in western Kansas (Utica area). In short, BFE.

Rose was now the step-mother to three girls who had experienced helluva an emotional ride. Time would march on like it always does. Grandpa and Grandma Rose made the decision to adopt, however they wanted to adopted Catholic children and they vowed to never break up a family. A family of five children were discovered in Florida and without question, they boarded the plane with five extra one way tickets. Their lives had changed. Forever. These children needed a home with love and support, and that is what they were blessed with.

The transition was not easy and not always fun for mom and her sisters. Scarifies were made; Mom could not attend high school athletic events, for example, because that would mean someone would need to pick her up. Mom was the youngest of the three girls, so the changes and adjustments are most vivid for her. I'll say this about my mother: she's patient to a fault and that was a grace given to her by her mother, I believe, because she knew that Mom would need it in the coming years.

Bringing this back to the point of love and flowers and doves, talk about love. Grandpa and Grandma Rose showed a deep commitment to love by graciously adopting that family. Valentines Day is not always about your dreamy boyfriend or dedicated hubby. Or the kid in Natural Disasters that you're consistently stalking. It's about true love, regardless the circumstances.

So keep that in mind, as you're rolling your eyes at a florist van pulling up to your place of work. Pick up the phone and call your mom or dad. Or Grandparents. Celebrate the life that we're given and the fact that we can love without limits.

load the wagons

2011-02-09T09:38:00.000-07:00

I'm going to pack up my things and gonna head out west

The rest of those lyrics escape me, unless I google them. Which I won't. Point still stands. I am going to move out west. With Aaron, of course. Is it odd that I envision our move like an episode of "Little House on the Prairie", where we load up our wagon with a cowhide tarp and take off for the sunset, as our city slicker friends wave good bye with their overpriced Starbucks coffee mugs and pricey take out?

"LHOTP" is my favorite show of all time. This is the only show I can watch over and over and over and over. Usually, if I see one episode of a show, I won't re-watch it. Ever. I am not joking at all when I say that I desperately wish I could spend one day of Laura Ingalls Wilder. My own mother is much like Caroline Ingalls, patient and soft spoken, while Charles is just as similar to Dad. Daddy is fiercely loyal to the Church (for a moment, we'll pretend that the Ingalls' were Catholic) and family is Dad's guiding rod. Maybe I am being a romantic to this time frame of life. I fully realize that back in 19th century Minnesota, there were no straightening irons or LASIK surgery. I'd be stuck with thick thick THICK glasses and probably would have ended up single forever like Eliza Jane Wilder. Maybe. Moving on. We're moving and we'll have to replace the team of horses with Aaron's Dodge Avenger and my Honda Accord.

Aaron's going to be going back toh is hometown to farm with his brother and his dad will be, eventually, retiring. In true farmer form, who knows when Will will honestly lay down the power/authority solely to Aaron and Mark. However, we'll be out there regardless. It's going to be scary, anxious, exciting, nerve-wracking, challenging, frustrating, and life. The Manhattan ammentieis that I enjoy now, will not be there. I won't be able to run over to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to pick up K-Cups after work. If I want to grab a cocktail after a stressful day at work, I'll be sitting next to the town drunks and by 8:00, everyone will know that "That girl from Kansas who's dating Aaron Leiker" is boozing. If we feel like fish in a bowl in MHK, we're going to feel like a sideshow freak show out there.

But, that will pass and it'll be old news that Aaron Leiker is moving back from the "big" city with some girl he met and was married to within a year. That's the thing about small town gossip, it passes. No one really forgets, though. It's just that bigger news comes out with the passing of time.

I just need to make sure that I hide all my LHOTP costumes and bonnets.

MOH speech preperations...

2011-02-08T15:03:00.000-07:00

Oh, the directions a maid of honor speech can go. Mel is getting married on March 5 and I am serving as her maid of honor. I've been to dozens of weddings and catered even more when I worked for Bockers 2 Catering (Manhattan). I've heard a jillion of MOH speeches and some borderline epistle readings from these women. I never really thought much about them, prior to now. I would half listen and zone in and out. Majority of the time, I would zone in on the bar and estimate how much more time until they run out of booze...... During my single times, I would give the "Oh, this is so boring" roll of the eyes and try to connect with my hopeful next dancemate across the floor. Probably, in all honesty, it was more Monica's drunk eye (the raised left eyebrow) coming out as I imagine that I am looking much better than I truly do. You never really think much of the MOH speech, until it's your sister. And you're the MOH. And the pressure mounts.

I have the benefit of being the oldest of the family and with this older title, comes a touch of bossiness that is natural. Totally natural, I would argue. This bossy-trait also leads one to "may" appear to steal the spot light from her sisters, as I may OR may not be accused of, in the past. In the past, being the key phrase. For some mature reason, I have found myself shying away from the attention, lately. I blame Aaron. Anyways, back to my speech writing hang up.

There are so many directions that I could go with this speech. I could go serious. I could go hilarious. I could holier-than-though. I could go preachy. But, one thing I have to keep it: short. From my experiences, the longer the speech: the more people tune you out and are seriously wondering when Joe B's bar tab is going to run out. I love my sister. I adore my sister. I envy my sister (especially now that she's getting in Wedding Skinny Girl mode...bitch w/Michelle Obama arms.....) But, I am pretty sure everyone can decipher and figure that out, seeing that 1) she's my sister 2) she asked me to be the MOH. There are so many things I want to say to her, but I need to keep in mind that I'll see her again. Hell, after we move, we'll be two short hours from her and Mason (oh, you didn't hear? We're moving, anyways).

Last night, I found myself thinking of all the little stories we have growing up. I really should put a notepad next to my bed for these late night memory lane trips. The countless sitting in the corner episodes chanting "Can we get up now?" in a sing song voice. Mom writing on the calender "Mo: Window" then "Me:Window". Having the window seat in the dining room was a big deal for us growing up. You don't even know. Switching off of our snacks from apples/chz (what Mel liked) to apples/pb (what my fat ass loved). Wearing tee shirts on our heads, acting like that was our long hair. I could go on, but I want to save some sort of build up for the wedding :) I look at my younger sisters and I wonder if they have the sentimental memories growing up, that Mel and I have. I guess we'll find out at Jacinta's wedding.

good lord.

welcome to my budget friendly life

2011-01-25T14:42:00.000-07:00

There's going to be one word that Aaron is going to start to hate. Despise. Annoy. Frustrate. Agrivate.

B.U.D.G.E.T

This semester, I have donated my time on Fridays to my practicum experience (donate is not the right word. Forced as per my graduation requirements with my M.S). The point of a practicum is to experience a new office setting and environment; last semester, I experienced the department of art advising office (I've become quite used to it, actually. Weird) I wanted to honestly try something different than I had in the past and New Student Services (NSS) is a new office that I haven't really dealt with, on the other side of the coin. Being the art advisor, they contact me daily to set up appointments for students who are interested in visiting with the department of art. Perhaps, at times, I've been frustrated with their office. However, let the record state that my frustration was due to someone else (ahem: helicopter parents). I needed someone to blame. Opps.

So, in the spirit of following what the desired outcome is, I signed up for a practicum with NSS. This impacted my work schedule, as I needed to dedicate a good amount of hours with this office (NSS). I made the (risky financial) decision to not work on Fridays and drop from full time to part-time status (32 hours/wk). My paycheck has dropped, as well (obviously). $200 less. Ouch. This led me to 1) invoke the assistance of Dave Ramsey financial god and 2) create a budget so I can see in black/white just how close I need to play the financial game this semester. I'll be able to play the game. I just need to keep budget on the mind, at all times.

Aaron covers the phone bill and I cover groceries. After mass on Sundays, we go to Wal-Mart and play the "Is that the cheapest?" game. We plan out our dinners through the week. I've budgeted $50/wk for this trip (that includes all the toiletries, etc that I get, so not just food). Here's hoping that we can make it work on that, but I'm more willing to purchase the 97 cent Great Value Chicken seasoning as opposed to the "Shake-n-Bake" brand name that it's $1.97.

Poor, Aaron, though. I know that "budget" will be a word that he'll start to cringe at and will roll his eyes when I say "Is that in the budget? If not, then forget it" God, when he proposed he was proposing to all sides of me. The frugal side (which I never realized how deep the frugal bone runs in me), the dramatic side (which I always knew was there and strong), the pissed off side when we go to Aggieville for the first time in months and I'm pissed because I've made the SMART choice to not fake tan this season and all the other so-hos have. However, I'm still pissed about it and feel insecure, because I've tanned every other year. He proposed to all sides and he'll learn to love it. He already has.

On a sidenote: any words of wisdom in saving pennies @ the grocery stores? And don't waste the typing power on suggesting generic brands: I was raised on generics, baby.

who's to say you should take your shoes off

2011-01-24T14:29:00.000-07:00

Saturday morning Aaron asked if I wanted to start our wedding registry before our 12:30 lunch reservation @ Longhorns Steakhouse, here in Manhattan. I was astonished that he, the male in the relationship, would offer and seem to want to start this process. Of course, he had wanted to use the clicker. That, he said, was the whole reason why he wanted to start it. Mmmhmm. I have learned several things about Aaron during this experience and one of them is that he is as dedicated and loyal to this wedding planning process as I am. He was the one who suggested that we start making our invitation list a few weeks back. Which was smart, seeing how when we got engaged, our seven month countdown to the big day had already begun. In short, we're pumping behind schedule it seems at times.

I quickly showered and met him @ "Bed, Bath and Beyond" (he had beat me there and had begun scoping out the place). We met with an amazing sales associate who asked us to fill out the general information that is needed to establish the registry. While I was filling out the paperwork, she started going over the china options for us. In that moment, I thanked God for Aaron Leiker. He was paying attention and was actively interested in the options and amazing credit points you can earn w/their registry. I was filling out my name and address for the 3950th time in my life and was zoned out. Aaron was zoned in. It was awe inspiring. Then ironic when he said to me "I don't care what you pick", when in reality he really did care.

I think my initial hang up on registering for gorgeous china was that, when we used it, that meant that it was a snazzy reason. That snazzy reason spells anxiety for me, because the high mark of performance in preparing food that is set when one is serving food on expensive Vera Wang china. However, we narrowed it down to two sets that we both liked that wasn't too frilly or colorful, but classic and timeless. My question that I am sure Aaron is going to be exhausted of by July 30:

"What's the price difference between the two?"

That sealed my decision.

Then, when I thought we could breathe and be finished, Tiffany (amazing, again) pulled out a catalog of flatware. Then stemware. Then "normal" dining ware. My guidelines for the "normal" dining ware was that it wasn't heavy one color, that it was a general neutral. And the chosen winner is a cream colored w/light coca on the rims. The plates are heavy and now I am envisioning plates falling on the floors on toes and the dreaded screaming that occurs after. I guess I should be ecstatic that it's heavy, because that means that it won't break easily if dropped. I apologize to my toes, Aaron's toes, and the future Aaron Leiker family toes. If and when a plate falls on any of my family members' toes (that is so weird saying and it not meaning my sisters or parents), I'll have the old standby that Mom always would say "Were you wearing shoes?!" And if we weren't, she'd have no sympathy for us. At.all. That's why it's weird to me still taking my shoes off when I enter someone's home. We grew up on a farm and there is dirt everywhere. And sand. And mud. We could honestly care less if you didn't take your shoes off; we would find you odd if you did take your shoes off at our house.

Is that odd?

So, if you're reading this and I have been in your house and did not take my shoes off and it offended you, I am sorry.

I get it from my mama.

it's a great day to be alive

2011-01-11T15:31:00.000-07:00

Oh the promises we make to ourselves that blow up in our pretty wittle faces.

While utilizing my time in one awesome great way (facebook chatting with an old friend), he had asked how the wedding planning was going. I had told him that everything seems to be humming along well (it's fabulous when your fiance is just as into it as you are, although he'll never admit it) and that I'd never in a million years dream that I'd be planning a wedding reception/dinner/dance outside and actually WANT it that way. It's true.

I sweat like a whore.

And I'm wanting and planning a reception OUTSIDE. Not in December or January. But in JULY. JULY. The dog days of summer, if you will. Luckily, the summer heat in Colorado isn't as fucking muggy as it is here in Kansas. Still, it'll be warm. Which is hard to describe now with the snow on the ground and Uggs on my feet. My roommate reminded me that I'd be freezing as I was getting ready for work. I am wearing grey tights with my classic Uggs. Any other girl, yes, would be freezing their skinny asses off. Me? Hell, it's like a walk in Palm Springs.

The point of this is that one should never make promises or plans to themselves. Again, never thought I'd be planning a bash outside for a wedding. I mean, the sunset will be to die for. The open prairie. A beer in my hand and a husband in the other. Life will be kick ass, even if I'm sweating. And even IF (when) I'm sweating outside, I know that I'd be sweating even if our reception was in a meat locker.

Second, never in a million YEARS would I think that I'd be moving back to the farm. And, honestly, being psyched beyond my dreams. The farm was not my most favorite place growing up. I hated it. Despised it. Almost even embarrassed by it in high school. My high school was private and we were the only family who legitimately farmed. Talk about sticking out like a sore thumb. Now? I love it and adore throwing it around, as if it's some private ritzy club. Our own little country club. Nothing calms a soul then a spacious sunset and peace with quiet.

Life is changing for this HV County Farmer's daughter. I may be pulling up these stakes for another in Colorado, but I'll always be a HV County girl in my soul. Even if my plates read different (preferably a K-State Powercat plate).

One thing is for sure, I'll never let this blog go. So, it will be interesting to watch and read back as we start planning for this new chapter in our lives <3

Buckle up slackers. Shiz is getting real.

four eyes

2011-01-04T13:10:00.000-07:00

I am rocking my glasses for 13 more days. I am having my eyes measured for the LASIK lasers and for the measurements to be accurate, the eyeball needs to be untainted. This is Day Two of wearing sex advisor glasses. To be honest, I was a bit relieved when I was told @ my consultation that I'd have to wear my glasses for awhile. Perhaps, it's because I'm tired of dealing with putting contacts in every morning and the random burning that's associated sometimes with it. I have astigmatism in both eyes and my eyes seem to dry out faster than eggs on a sidewalk in Texas during July. I've never been in Texas in July, but I am assuming that's it's hella hot. By 6 pm, my eyes would start to hurt and discomfort would ensue. So, being told that I have to wear glasses was a bit reassuring.
My mom used to wear contacts and have longer hair, befre she had kids and moved out to the farm. She said one morning, a contact went down the sink and she decided then and there to say "Fuck contacts" (my words, obviously) and hasn't worn them since. After I was born, she cut her hair short and hasn't grown it out since. It's funny to be when Moms try way to hard to mask the fact that they're older than 25.

I feel sorry for them, because I can testify to the pain, money, time, effort, frustration that goes into looking put together. It's stressful. I estimated that Aaron gets an hour more of sleep than I do (if I were to have to be at work as early as him). His alarm goes off at 4:45 (I obviously have never been there when his alarm goes off. We're not married, duh..........) and he'll roll out of bed around 5ish, jump in the shower, and out the door smelling so sexy (again, I'm just guessing) with his "Curve" cologne by 5:30. Now, If I had to be at work by 5:30, I would have to be out of bed BY 4:15-4:20 at the latest. Think of it, guys get more sleep than girls by a LOT per day. No wonder they believe we're crankier. Probably because we are, because we're running on less sleep than them.

It's science.

What is also science is that my glasses give me the sophisticated edge that I desire and need when I'm looking at hollywoodgossip.com while at work. And the obvious, book of face, that is my lifeblood during the hours of 8-12 and 1-5.

I have no idea what the hell "life blood" means. It just sounded modern, but is probably more "Twilight" than HV County Farmer's Daughter appropriate. Eh, fuck it.

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

2010-12-10T13:44:00.000-07:00

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

2010-12-02T15:06:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-23T13:25:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-22T13:28:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-25T10:05:00.000-06:00

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

2010-10-14T13:14:00.001-06:00

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

2010-10-05T15:06:00.000-06:00

"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

2010-10-01T14:51:00.000-06:00

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

2010-09-27T15:38:00.000-06:00

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

2010-09-23T13:32:00.001-06:00

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

2010-09-20T14:48:00.000-06:00

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

2010-09-17T15:20:00.000-06:00

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

2010-09-14T13:48:00.000-06:00

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

2010-09-13T14:14:00.000-06:00

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

2010-09-10T12:55:00.000-06:00

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

2010-09-09T12:37:00.000-06:00

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

2010-09-02T12:47:00.000-06:00

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

2010-09-01T14:23:00.000-06:00

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

2010-08-31T15:39:00.000-06:00

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?!

2010-08-30T15:29:00.000-06:00

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

2010-08-27T08:57:00.000-06:00

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

2010-08-26T12:06:00.000-06:00

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

2010-08-23T15:11:00.000-06:00

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

2010-08-21T15:26:00.000-06:00

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

2010-08-20T14:41:00.000-06:00

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

2010-08-19T13:46:00.000-06:00

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

2010-08-18T13:06:00.000-06:00

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....

2010-08-17T14:12:00.000-06:00

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

2010-08-16T14:48:00.000-06:00

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

2010-08-12T14:05:00.000-06:00

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.

scroll down

2010-08-11T14:30:00.000-06:00

Last night, my roommate and I made dinner for her gay husband (Jerry is Jessica's best friend who happens to be gay) whose last night it almost is in Manhattan. I had planned to make Strawberry pretzel squares from kraftrecipes.com, which was a new one that I hadn't yet taken on. I quickly skimmed through the recipe and saw that it needed to refrigerate for 1.5 hours. Awesome. I can totally do that; go home @ 5, smash a few pretzels, melt some butter and whip whatever it is that take 1.5 hours to refrigerate. I'd be golden and the heroine of desserts. Ah, victory is mine.

I hit up Dillons @ my lunch hour, pick up the ingredients I needed and dropped them off at home. I quickly run by Jess what I was making for that evening, then headed back to campus. Which is a shitshow, because every intersection in Manhattan is having new tar, old tar replaced, blah blah done.

Lo and behold, when I was skimming through the recipe (when I am skimming through readings, recipes, long emails from my Mother, I say "blah blah blah ok blah blah". I think it may scare my students, because they think that I'm not really reading things. But I am. Except for Mom's emails. A lot of that information goes in one ear and out the other. She's great about updating me with every single detail of the farm. Which is great, only doesn't totally entertain me when I have facebook STARING me in the face) I missed one final detail.

I didn't scroll down to Direction number four.

Refrigerate. 3 hours.

shit. double shit.

ahem

Blessed for me, Jess was home sick yesterday and stepped in and made the dessert for me. Which was fantastic, for the record.

If only I would have totally read the recipe AND scrolled down. I would have caught that this wouldn't have worked out for me and my time schedule last night. Minor details. Minor minor detail.

How many times, oh how many times, do we do that? Skim through a situation "blah blah blah ok" make a decision and BAM move on! Thank God during childbirth my nurse didn't go think "ok.. blahblah needle in spine...blahblah. ok got it. Lean over. BOOM."

So here's to reading the full recipe and luckily having those people in life who can step in when we don't scroll down. And the Strawberry pretzel squares were delish.

http://www.kraftrecipes.com/recipes/strawberry-pretzel-squares-53033.aspx

Biggest sacrifice

2010-08-10T12:34:00.000-06:00

I am a Catholic girl.

No, not the Brit Spears "Catholic-school girl uniform" type, but the legit Catholic school girl who wore knee length navy blue pleated skirts (which was a horrible wardrobe decision by Trinity Catholic administration as being put in a pleated skirt when you are not a size 6 is not the wisest fashion decision. Moving on). In being raised Catholic, we gave up something during Lent in preparation for Easter and to signify Jesus Christ giving up his life for the world on the cross that fateful Friday afternoon. This is probably the first formal time I gave something up for a bigger cause. In the Joe Bergkamp house, we did not have a choice in what "that" was. It was always sweets (desserts, snacks that were sweet, etc). Always. We had no choice. That was the "law of the land" as Daddy would say. I wonder if it would still have been the "law of the land" if one of us was diabetic. Hmmmm......

Since those days of torture during Lent, I have given up little things here and there for people that I care about and love (past tense love, in some events). They say the ultimate sacrifice is to lay down your life for a friend. You know those old school comedies (black and white old school) where the girl is tied to the track by the evil bandit and a train, of course, is bailing down the rails? She's laying there all cutsey and screaming (these were the silent comedies, but you can see her face screaming and such). She was always blonde with pin curls, it seemed. Lo and behold, she was saved last minute by some schmuck who was dumb enough to believe that she would live happily ever after with him. I guess you could say Dumb Schmuck was giving up his life, potentially, to save hers. I always wondered if there were people in my life who would give up their life for myself.

There is one out there who I gave my life up for. And I would do it again. Then again.

I gave up my humility in admitting to myself that I was not ready for the gift that God had given me. The timing was off. So off. I could have given him materially everything he needed for life. However, I could not have given him a father. Or at least a father that was a father in what a father is suppose to be. The term father seems to be one that society is becoming more lax than the LA County jail system in enforcing. To be blunt, it's bullshit the shit our boys are getting away with when they make the decision to become fathers. Where are THEIR parents when they skip out on their responsibilities? If they are mature enough to be engaging in sexual activities, they are mature enough to be a father.

Ahem. I digress, again.

My heart grieves and breaks daily when I look at pictures of a smaller version of a Bergkamp boy hamming for his mother's camera. With eyelashes that would put even mine to shame, he is incredibly happy. So content. So fragile. I do not regret a moment from when I walked into Manhattan's Catholic Charities Office that day in October, alone. When I gingerly walked out of Mercy 6 months later with my mom and when I said "Good bye" to his parents, and his Dad said "It's not goodbye; it's see you later", my heart broke. And it keeps breaking.

But, it's not the juvenile-Twilight-heart-breaking-teen-drama kind of breaking. It is the breaking that you know is ok. Normal. With every break, your heart becomes stronger, because you know this is the right path. It's like that break up with the loser boy who kept dragging you along and involved you in his shit. You know it's for the best, but you still hurt. In giving up his drama, you are taking on a new life. A new chapter, but always remembering "that".

Is it possible that the biggest heartbreak of someones life, can also be their strongest moment when they saw life in the clearest of lens?

Bring on a railroad tie. I'd lay my life on that line for him.

So long as I can be gussied up in 1940s regalia.

good little girls make some mighty wild women

2010-08-10T10:11:00.000-06:00

I am good. Life is well. And I love Radina's yogurt parfaits.

That's it, for now until this afternoon when I make a legit, colorful post!

2010-08-09T13:46:00.000-06:00

leave some to the imagination, kids

2010-08-06T13:19:00.000-06:00

Sometimes less is more.

There really is no need to wear every bracelet, bangle, necklace, and earring when you step out of your home. However, a lot of people truly believe that from the moment they leave their house that a burglar is going to come in and this said burglar is looking for ONLY accessories. Therefore, they wear every piece of jewelry. Obviously. Because that's what makes sense and tells the world that YOU, my friend, are and ACCESSORY HIGH ROLLER.

I digress.

Facebook is another venue for people to overindulge their love for their amazing significant other, random song lyrics that, golly, just hit the spot, stupid lines about Team Douche or Team WhoGivesAF***, and a million pictures of their baby (1 month old) in the SAME POSITION. Well, geez, because I didn't quite get how cute your child was on picture number 395. And I do 110% realize that this is admitting to you that I stalk picture albums on facebook. Sue me. But I bet you do the same. If not, you must not be a state employee. And your retirement is not near as good as mine. And, yes I have focused on my relationships in blogs and the positive aspects they are having in my life. However, that is not the point. Duh.The point is that "other people" are guilty of this.

We all know those people. People's whose facebook statuses' revolve around what canister to put their sugar in, how annoyed they are that their nap was interrupted by their baby "grrr"(their words, NOT mine) or how they're thinking about having their "amazing" hubby trim the branches outside their "amazing" home. And we all know what these homes look like, because they've posted about 59304 pictures of each nook and cranny of the damn casa. Speaking of being a burglar, I could break into a bunch of people's homes, just based off facebook albums and know where they keep the "good stuff" (of course their goddy jewelry comes to mind). And these are people I don't even KNOW. But they have their albums posted for EVERYONE TO SEE. And trust me, you people who think the whole world is looking at the album of your new 1998 Buick LaSabre, we ARE.

Oh, we are.

And we agree, the pink dice is just to DIE for. Oh, and you tagged your bfff in the empty front seat, because "oh my god. You are just going to be a permanent fixture in my new ride. lmao! lol!"? You're just dandy, aren't ya? "LMAO"- really? Really? Are you REALLY laughing your ass off? I find that hard to believe. I also find it hard to believe that you passed a driving test, let alone high school.

It's amazing how I start these blogs out and they go a whole different direction than I had intended. The point of this was going to state how much I love accessories and how they can add or totally destroy and outfit. And somewhere along that I was going to report that I have enough glitz in my bangles today to bring down Air Force One.

but I digress

plucking and sorority homes

2010-08-05T14:58:00.000-06:00

I have no shame, to a certain extent. When living in the sorority house, I had no issues in walking around topless, naked, or bottomless (or maybe it's pantless). Much to the disgust of my roommates, I am sure. My schtick was that, I'm not the one looking at me, so what did I care?! That lack of modesty has carried over to the filter on my mouth.

I have none.

Luckily, working with college students, (allow me to correct myself: college students AND their parents) I am allowed a few verbal slips here and there and there again. To quote Miranda Lambert "I've got a mouth like a sailor and yours is more like a Hallmark card." My poor mother. She routinely reminds me to utilize "Harvey County language" when I'm home. No, Harvey County language is not a foreign language metric system that is similar to Arabic or German. Harvey Co. language is similar to the language you'd use around your old cranky German grandmother. Minus the shouting. I'm hoping having a bf who works in radio and can't curse on-air will help curb my lazy tongue. So far though, it's not effecting it too much. Or maybe it's "affecting" shit..

Here is to the girls who don't raise their eyebrows when a lady curses or plucks the black coarse hairs on their chins at stoplights. Yes, if you ever see a smoking hot brunette girl in a gold Honda Accord plucking hairs at a stoplight, that would be me. And you can stare all your pretty little eyes want. I ain't changing. A thing. Peace be your journey.

"rest stops" and "overactive bladder " friends

2010-08-04T15:19:00.000-06:00

Tonight I am making dinner for one of my dear friends that I met through my graduate classes. We both have crazy busy lives (he works and lives in Jardine Apartments here on campus and being a residence life graduate student is an all-consuming duty. He seems to always be on call, etc. You'd be surprised as to the late night emergencies international students have at 11 pm). Andrew is one of those guys that I think everyone should have around. We used to hang out nightly watching season of "entourage" last fall semester, but then both of us got busy with our own lives and classes and work.

But are there hard feelings for this business spell? Absolutely not. He's the type of friend I love. I can get busy and distracted with my life, but they don't take it personal and think that I'm being a bitch or avoiding them or being rude. We can mutually check in with each other momentarily and then carry on with our lives until the next "rest stop" in our relationship. I hate those friends that want to be treated like overactive bladders. Constantly needing attention. And by attention, I mean attention on them, of course. It's their own personal shows and we're "invited" to partake. My cousins Mary (Bergkamp side) and Rebecca (Landwehr side) come to mind when I think of the happy balance. We don't talk weekly or even monthly. It takes usually one good long conversation every few months to re-connect and the random facebook message here and there. These are girls who know me incredibly well and probably a large part of it is the fact that we're family. From the same stock, as it were. Same backgrounds. I grew up with Mary and her family. My family would baby sit her and her siblings when her mom would be in the hospital having a child (and they had 8 kids.. so that's a lot of time @ the Ponderosa). Rebecca always grew up at least a state away, but as luck would have it, she moved back to the Wichita area for her career (she's one of those famous local celebs in wichita who wears ballcaps in public so she's not recognized. SHE'S A NEWS ANCHOR ON FOX NEWS @ NINE AND DOES REPORTING FOR KWCH 12). That change in coasts may have been a curse to her, but it has been a blessing for our relationship :)

So, here's to the rest stop friends in YOUR life. And forget the overactive bladders ones and God, I hate those overactive bladder commercials with full balloons. Maybe it's because I really do need to use the facilities. TMI, opps. My bad

And enjoy the picture of my sisters and Rebecca @ her wedding in KC Labor Day 2009 <3

devil went down to MHK

2010-08-03T14:40:00.001-06:00

**All because two people fell in love. Norbert Bergkamp plus family, Christmas 2009**

Maybe I've taken my love for gutting out runs in 105 degree heat too far. I've felt touches of nausea all afternoon, but have been drinking more water than a sorority girl on Sunday morning. I'll do half the work out today after work and will wait until 6 to hit it. Is it wrong that every guy I passed around city park while running, I thought "What the fuck is this idiot doing in this heat?!" Note: there were no girls running. I guess that is good?! And how do I justify my desire to vomit Lean Cuisine? I'm a country/farm girl. I can take this heat. duh. Which is beyond ironic, because I never really did do intense work in the heat while growing up. The excuse of being a farm girl is as legit as saying I'm protected more by God because I'm Catholic.

Ah, snap. I am just kidding to my non-Catholic friends. Although, do not come crying to me when you're burning alive in hell. Ahem. Well, wait. By, that point you're already dead. So forget what I just said.

Speaking of being the chosen people because I am Catholic and participate weekly in those festivities, allow me to bring to light an issue that irritates me more than the latest Hollywood bimbo driving an SUV comparable to a military tank drunk. And Jesus, you're telling me they can't afford a taxi home?! Anyways.

I love passionate people. Hell, I am a passionate person (not crazy, passionate). However, the people in the world, especially hard-core Christians, who look down on people and judge those who do not hold their beliefs really "burn my biscuits". I've experienced the cruel judgment eye of those in my extended family in regards to the decision and mistakes I've encountered in my past. These people who are all high in their ivory tower. The were a bunch of girls in my sorority that were the same way. They thought they were the fn untouchables, because they were all good and shiz. I love my family. I love my daddy's sisters and brothers and all 40+ first cousins. Howe er, there are judgemental people amongst them. And don't read this and act as though YOUR own family doesn't have crazies like that. You do. You know it and you're thinking of them. Right.Now, aren't you?

However, there are limitations to what I personally consider guiding someone to your faith and beliefs and forcing it down their throats with arsenic while clamping their mouth open, ya know? Luckily, when it comes to a family member doing the forcing, we can hope and pray that their heart is in the right place. We may not see it at that moment, when we feel "this tall" under their stank eye raised. But, we have to hold on to the belief that their love for us is what is causing the insane ruler of perfection, that only they are the judge of. Family isn't always a Cosby Show, or Little House on the Prairie if you were a freak (like the Bergkamp girls) growing up. The one thing about family is that we have no choice, but to stand by them and support. Maybe that's why their harsh criticisms hurt more than someone who isn't family. We know there is no getting away from them. And when we're alone by ourselves in our rooms, we really would rather have it that way. That sort of guarantee is comforting, even if we hate or are too proud to admit.

Hell, I'll take my family. I'll take Uncle Tommy calling Daddy at 6 am every morning to chew the cud (even on a Saturday morning and for some reason, Daddy feels as though when people call on a cell phone, that means he has TO TALK REALLY LOUD). Bring on Bergkamp gatherings at Grandpa Bergkamps in a home that raised 8 kids with 3 bedrooms and no showers in the house. Throw in the 40+ first cousins between the ages of 4-30 years old, with significant others+their kids. I lived for Rebeccas wedding with Miss Natalie Ketter with the adorable maturity of a young woman. Forget the fact that she's been prodded with needles the size of knives. But, damn. That girl has the heart of a lion. No, a lioness.

As far as the stank eye, I'll take that, too. Because I know the only judgement that matters doesn't come from someone with a last name. It comes from the person with no last name.

I still feel nausea, though. Ah, the perks of being human.......

high school proms and 45 minute waits

2010-08-02T14:40:00.000-06:00

**The reason why my Daddy is awesome. And you wonder where I get my sarcastic sense?**

Ah, the weekend was just what the doctor ordered for ajl and I. We had a perfect Friday night with dinner at Arroy Thai, then killed time driving around MHK during our 9.45 "Dinner for Schmucks" movie. It was a beautiful time; I think all relationships need that "your" time, where it is just you and him or you and her. Even taking it back to old school dinner-date style. We spent some time at the Farmers Market Saturday morning, before I sweated out two pints of sweat, before going to Bluestem for breakfast and heading out to KC for the Royals game. I was so proud of all the work ajl put into the event ("Manhattan Day at the K") and he was rewarded with a signed baseball and time on the jumbotron, waving like a giddy high school boy @ prom. Yup. That's my boyfriend. He's off to DC for Delta Tau Delta's international convention this week. Sigh. However, this will be like harvest, only he HAS decent cell phone service this time. Unlike Holly, CO.

Speaking of the giddy high school boy @ prom, there is an amazing picture of him out there when he was a sophomore at prom. With a great hairline. Those who know him, know what I am referring to. I am now the giddy girl @ prom, because we are finally saying the "l" word <3 Love it.

Literally.

With anyone else that I dated, I cannot tell you the moment we said the "l" word. Probably because it wasn't that big of a deal to me, because I really didn't love them. Or, to be honest, I was probably hammered. I took it for granted. I thought I knew what it was or what it meant or felt like. I didn't. I knew I was falling for him, when on our second date the wait for 45 minutes and I was so excited, because that meant I got 45 minutes to talk with him and spend with him. I love our car trips, because I know that is time we get to spend together and I can be with him. I love cooking for him, because I know it's something I normally don't like to do. But for him, I love it. It took me going through "that" (the past) to get to this point in my life, where I am looking forward to long waits at restaurants and new recipes (even though they are kraft.com, so nothing at the "Top Chef" level). I am not puppy dog in love, where I can ignore the negative things in our relationship. I pick up when he goes into radio voice explaining things to me or when we're in public and he's recognized and he's no longer "my boyfriend", but the voice inside their radio.

OK, sorry to all the heartbroken people out there who are currently downing tubs of hydrogen peroxide, because that sounds better than reading about two kids in l-o-v-e.

Return to your lives. It's time for me to hit the pavement and get a run in before the devil returns to claim his spot in the 111 degree heat.

minor heat stroke, party of one

2010-07-30T14:41:00.000-06:00

Oh the joys of moving... And the black holes that disguise the random boxes that you know are somewhere, but cannot find. It probably did not help that for the majority of the first day of moving, I had the landlords 4 year old and 2 year old "helping" me move from my car to the house. Why were the landlords kids helping me, you may ask. Well, our home isn't quite finished yet. Armon's bedroom was finished at 9.30 last night and as of this morning, the second bathroom was not yet finished. This led to all of Armon's belongings hanging out in the living room/dining room/laundry room. As I was moving in on Wednesday, there were about 6 guys working on the house, complete with a dog and the two kids previously mentioned plus one (an 8 year old boy who belongs to someone, I think). It was also 100+ fuckin degrees and our house has window air units. It tested my patience. I know that kids like to have "chores" to do and desire to feel important, so I put those kids to use by having them bring in a couple carloads of crap to the house. I feel that somewhere in that art of delegating, curtain rods were misplaced. sigh. Also, while moving cleaning crap from the old house to the new one, somehow Jess' phone charger and a tub of god-knows-what-the-f-else grew legs and walked away. It's not in my car nor Jess' car. Praying to St. Anthony that it turns up. St Anthony, St Anthony, please come around. Something is lost and can't be found.

I've never moved into a place with more than one other person moving in and let me tell you, having three people move in who have accumulated crap, is ridiculous. We have boxes everywhere with three sets of everything from plates to crock pots to paper towel holders. It looks like the week after a wedding and we just got back from a honeymoon somewhere fabulous, instead of moving from one rental to the next.

I hate instability and I hate not having my routine. I'm tempted to run outside and suffer a minor heatstroke, only because I miss so much running outside instead of a damn treadmill, resembling a gerbil and wheel on a KIA car commercial. And lucky for me, there are cops EVERYWHERE in this town (and it's the end of the month, so they are looking to meet quotas, etc) so if I do happen to pass out and shrivel to the size of a drug addicted sorority girl, help shalln't be far!! Lord, I need a break.

I think a dinner and movie with the boy will do the trick. Then a KC Royals game and spending time outside 66502 with people that I genuinely care and enjoy. Mainly getting out of town and not seeing another cardboard box for a few days. Or just 48 hours would be nice.

so excited so blessed

2010-07-27T13:27:00.000-06:00

The run down on the great events/activities/blessings I have coming/earning over the next week:

1) Graduate class portfolio is done. Grant it and I will be honest, I did not pull 110% effort into this, because, I struggled with finding the need to perform and put more effort into a project that won't affect my career. That is a lesson I learend over my years since the days of stressing over a .05 change in my GPA during high school. Sometimes shit does not matter. Why dedicate and pour stress into a situation that is not going to matter 5 years from now? So, perhaps that was the lesson of that class: to learn the "deeper meaning" of higher education?? Perhaps.

2) Moving tomorrow! I have to give credit where credit is (will be) due: ajl is helping me pack my bed, big dresser, and dining room table with chair tonight. And I also being allowed to borrow a trailer from his work to load this in to. To my credit: I have pulled out all the dresser drawers and have taken the bedding/mattress off my bed and plan to unscrew the bed as much as I can before he comes over. Our new place is closer to campus (19 minute) walk, so I may be able to walk to campus on good weather days. However, allow me to be honest: I like to dress like a banging hot advisor with heels, so I am not sure how many times I will really walk to campus. But, it sounds good.

3) Manhattan Day at the K! on Saturday! http://kansascity.royals.mlb.com/kc/ticketing/group_manhattan.jsp for more information. It'll be a blast and ajl is dedicating a lot of time for the organization of the event, so I know he'll be relieved when it's all done. And I'll be proud. Also, will be hanging out with ajl's sister during the game and after. So a great get-a-way for us both!!

4) Trashy reality shows premiering all week long! We have Jersey Shore on Thursday and Real Housewives of DC as well. AND the finale of the Bachelorette on Monday night. Sadly, ajl will be in DC for his fraternity's international convention (he's the chapter advisor), so I'll have to re-watch it when he gets back. That's right. He watches reality TV with me. He does have a brother, but he is taken :)

I'll leave you with this picture of my sisters and I, as Alayna (number three) is wrapping up her College Algebra class before she packs up and starts her new chapter @ Fort Hays State :)

I'll be taking the next few days to move (and hang out with ajl in studio on Thursday!!), you'll be left to entertain yourself until I return!!

steers and abnormally large zucchini

2010-07-26T15:37:00.000-06:00

What a rush of activity this past weekend was!! I was busy with the Wade Bowen concert on Friday, but before that I enjoyed a pretty darn good time at Brew at the Zoo. Supported the bf and his team at Fair Factor on Saturday (which they WON!! Go Manhattan Broadcasting!!!) then rounded out that night with the Rodeo before stopping by McGraws for a few beers.

Oh and I started Activa yesterday. Hello good digestive track. I'll keep you updated on this business.

Ajl and I are going to the Livestock Auction tonight @ Riley County Fair to rep the station. I'm eager to start tickling him prior to the Champion Reserve steer being auctioned off, because that's what I want in my office. A big ass steer to scare off my students. Before he spends his hard earned money on a steer, I'm going to be a big spender at the Cowgirl Bling vendor tent. I had stopped by there Saturday (twice) and did not buy anything. So, I feel as though that fasting equals me being able to pick up some items tonight, of course. The more I buy, the less they have to trek to Nebraska.

Enjoy the pic of Erin and I at the B104.7 Party Porch during the Kaw Valley Rodeo. We are quite the country queens, I would argue. I would also argue that my Stetson boots are quite the amazing investment.

Let's see.....16 more minutes of being paid by the state to avoid working for the state.

OH! This should be an entertaining moment for you and another reason for you to thank the good lord that you are not a college student worker. A had a prospective student meeting today and this chic was what I would call, stuffy. As in east coast stuffy who score incredibly high on her SAT score (just knowing she took the SAT allows me to assume that she's snotty. Or just avoided the ACT so she can put on the impression that she's east coast high class, because only east cost class take the SAT. Duh) Very disappointed that the Department of Art does not offer an Honors Program. For.Art. What would that look like? Fancy expensive paint on fancy expensive canvas? I'm confused. Typically, my artists are not concerned nor do they want to be considered 'honor' students. In fact, they strive to not be "those type" of kids. They are more concerned with finding themselves and being left alone. The schools she was also interested in were foreign names to me (no, they were not University of Phoenix), except for this one: Yale.

Yeah, I considered Yale. Until I realized that Daddy would have to sell the farm and live in a caddyshack for 1o years for me to afford that. And that was only for one semester. Talk about awkward Thanksgivings on dirt floors.

And her cardigan did not match her necklace nor outfit. Yes, I am critiquing a kids' outfit to mask the fact that I work for the best damn university this side of heaven that does not offer an honors program.

I feel a bit off on my sarcasm today. Maybe purchasing a steer would change that.

red dirt posing

2010-07-23T13:29:00.000-06:00

I'm a sweater. I do not mean figuratively; literally, I am a sweater. I swear, I sweat most than 98% of the world's population. Light pastel pretty frilly shirts? Forget it, unless you want to see two perfectly placed circles of sweat within ten minutes. However, as I have gotten older, I have take the "eff it" approach to my sweat blessing. Two things motivate me in this motivation 1) sweating means I am alive and I kind of am a fan of being alive. It's pretty legit and pays the bills 2) I'm much more confident in my skin than I was when I was 21 years old. I have no one to impress, but myself. And I'm already on "team monica" :) Game over. I think when God was creating me in my mother's blessed womb, he was "this close" to making me a boy. Then, he decided at the last minute to make me one amazing strong woman. So, a bit of the testosterone is still in me from this split second decision.

Last night, I was rocking and sweating out hardcore to Jason Boland and the Stragglers at my favorite local bar in MHK (Longhorns). During this extreme loss of water weight, I was baffled by two things: 1) how many girls can be in a sweaty country bar adn have their hair DOWN! Geesh. That was the first thing I did when I got to 'Horns. Well, actually it was the second thing. The first thing was order 2 Keystone pounders to double fist. I'm a rebel, what can I say. It's impressive. Anyways, and the second thing 2) all the DAMN posers. Seriously.

Whoever decided that daisy duke shorts and designer cowboy boots was considered red dirt country, should be shot between the eyes. Bullet between the ears, as my Daddy would say. And, of course, these girls are blond (sorry, I was just observing). I guarantee those bimbos did not know ONE word to ANY of Jason Bolands songs. I am always baffled by these people. I stand there, while I'm sweating out previously mentioned pounders, staring. And probably giving them the stank eye. I'll bet that those idiots "My Music" list on facebook lists Rascal Flatts, Julianne Huff, Nickelback, Brad Paisley, Kenny Chesney, and other pop country idiots as their favorites. Ugh.

Posers. Again. Posers. The girls who turn their nose up to cow manure and bugs, but yet squeal at the idea of a cowboy in boots and jeans. So long as the cowboy isn't "too cowboy" in starched jeans and chews. Or won't want to spend a day on the farm in a semi bouncing up and down enough to pull a back muscle.

Man oh man. It's a good thing I am past the days of getting blitzed and being terribly obnoxious, because I'd easily end up verbally abusing some of those girls. Or at least quizzing them as to their knowledge on red dirt. But, then again, I'd ask which red dirt artist is their favorite and their response would be something like "Dirt can be red? OMG are you serious?!"

Sigh. That reminds me I need to put on my deodorant. Just kidding. Seriously.

avoiding stores is like avoiding soft manure

2010-07-22T14:57:00.000-06:00

There are some stores that I avoid like a pile of soft cow manure. The reasons for avoiding these stores are varied.

For some, the reason is because I have the tendency when I am in the stores to feel like I am 21 year old sorority college girl again. You know those stores, where all the staff are orange tan and "Like, oh my GOD. That is, like, an amazing top on you. So young and fresh. You just, like, have to in a million years and times over get that!"And for a few split seconds, you feel as though it is totally acceptable to whore yourself out at Tubbys Saturday night amongst all the trash of Manhattan, who also spent $20 on that barely-covering-your ass piece of bright pink cloth (dress).
And just because it is a dress, does NOT meant that it is classy, ladies.

The pieces of string and cloth may be cheap, but do not let that fool you. Do not try to talk yourself into buying it because it's so cheap. Don't act as though you're doing your savings account any favors by buying that skimpy top ("But, it's such a bargain! It's double duty: I am saving money AND I look 10 years younger"...ahem) Pull your head out of your teeny-bopper daydream. You look at the staff and wonder how old they REALLY are. Fun fact girls, the harder you try to dress and look like a 21 year old, the more obvious it is that you are NOT 21 years old. It's more apparent that when you WERE 21, fake plastic pants and big hair were really considered acceptable attire outside your ranch style home.

I digress.

Over lunch today, I went to our local Manhattan Town Center to return a pair of jeans I had bought last night at 8.30 pm. Big Star flares are not appropriate for boots and for some odd reason, I had thought I could pull it off. No dice. My plan was to go in, grab the boot-cut version and do the easy exchange and be on my merry little way back to campus. Ahem. The staff, bless their hearts, kept throwing different styles for me to "just try. You'll love them. I promise!" When I worked at GAP, I strived to NOT be that sales associate that could not take the hint when the customer says "I only have ten minutes. I need to make this quick." It's annoying. And if you know me and I'm on a schedule, I become cranky. Real quick. And I talk even faster and tense up. I know my amazing God-given figure quite well and I KNOW that Ultra low rise jeans transform me back to those days when my beer gut (bless you 1225 Bertrand Apt D) was glorious and I wore more tiny athletic tees that I should have been allowed. I left this said store with 10 minutes left until 1. I was famished. I was hot. I was sweaty. I was pissed. I was frustrated. I had bought the jeans that I had originally picked up, before I was swarmed around associates.

Will I go back to this store? Of course. Will I spend more than ajl's house mortgage at this store before I leave the 66502 zip code? Of course I will. Will I complain? See July 22 blog. It's the human in me. To complain and then go back for more, in this case: Big Star jeans.

saving and big stars

2010-07-21T14:54:00.000-06:00

I am an impulsive person. An old boy I used to date (note how I said "boy", because he was a boy in a man's body) said I was passionate. Another boy I used to date, said I was crazy. I'll give him that, since I was a bit crazy during that interesting relationship. God bless him, because he had to deal with me. Anyways, I digress.

My first semester at K-State, I racked up enough purchases on my newly opened American Eagle card to supply a small amount of vaccines to a third world country. The same demolished credit was done to my Victoria Secret's card. Also to my Dillard's card and my Sears card. I am trying to make sure I covered it all. Oh, GAP, but that was about my junior year at K-State. OH! Old Navy, too. And don't ask how I accomplished that with an Old Navy 45 miles from Manhattan. For anyone who has shopped with me, you know that I take it seriously. I don't do that browse-shit and try clothes on, only to put them back on the racks. I buy and I buy big. It's what kept me working part time at GAP for so long. The fruits of this exercise? A closet full of clothes that encompass my life from my freshman year at K-State to my "professional" career at K-State. Everything from the time when I THOUGHT I could wear a size Small K-State shirt and the fact that it HUGGED my boobs meant that I was classy. Uh huh. However, as you may have noted if you've read any of my blogs (or know anything about my life as of present), a change has come.

I sold two pairs of boot cut Big Star jeans today at Rock star and Rogers here in Aggieville for a total of $16. For two pairs of jeans that are originally $100. Each. For thsoe who are not familiar with jeans and boots, that may seem ridic for someone to spend that much on a pair of jeans (I won't even TELL you how much my Stetson boots cost). However, those females who do wear boots (and I mean real boots. Not that black knee high zippered up the calf crap. I am biter towards this style as my calves are the calves of an avid runner, which I am and no boots that are designed to go up farther than the ankle do not zip on my sexy legs) will appreciate the look of Big Star jeans on a country queen, such as myself. When the kind lady told me she could give me $8 a pair, I normally would have said "Fuck that. I'll hold on to them and keep them on my office floor for another 6 months for no apparent reason only to let my students think that I'm running a black market jean sale in my office. I'll show them."

My response today? "Awesome! I'll take it"

And I saved those sweet sixteen bucks to go along with my savings account which has grown tremendously over the past several months. Saving. I am saving and not spending. Seriously. It's incredibly refreshing and reassuring to know that if something major happens to me, I have a good cushion to support myself and won't need to run to Harvey County for help. It seems so small and those who have supported themselves who are reading this, will think I have a silver spoon up my (ahem).To be frank to you, I don't care what you think. It's enough for me to know that I can support myself and I have been supporting myself. It'd be awesome to blow my savings on a new Coach bag (I haven't bought a Coach bag in a year.. Scoff if you will at that, but it's major for me. I downgraded my taste to a Guess bag and it's amazing)

However, we all make changes as we grow and mature. And for me, that has looked something like not being impulsive on clothing, accessories (even though I did spend somewhere between 90-100 at a great jewelry store in Holly), and (sigh) booze. I forbid myself to look at coach.com or gap.com, because I know it's toxic for me. It's like giving a shot of whiskey to Lindsay Lohan. It won't end well. Well, I guess that depends on who signs your paycheck.

Here's to the savers among us. Damn the help, when you can stand in your own Stetson turquoise boots, which are paid for. You're welcome, Uncle Sam.

chickens and bbqs

2010-07-20T13:13:00.000-06:00

Sit still. Calm down. Just relax. Turn your brain off.

Since I have been a toddler, I have struggled with calming down and relaxing. My mom tells me that I had a difficult time taking naps and struggled with falling asleep. This fault in my sleeping schedule still haunts me to this day. I cannot have any caffeine after lunch, or it will keep me up at night. I will lay in bed for at least 30 minutes before I am able to drift off to sandmanland. I try to start the "night process" around 10 at night with reading my catholic meditations for the day and then journaling. Still. Up. It's incredibly frustrating when you toss and turn, knowing that you have to be up at 6.35.

It's even more nerve racking when your neighbors are having a cook out/BBQ in their backyard and are carrying on until 11.30 pm. Add the backyard door swinging against the back of the house and you have one cranky emotional Monica at midnight. How is this related to a restless Monica? My lack of being able to shut my mind off affects more than my sleep schedule. Right now, it's affecting the view on my life.

Over two months ago, I slowly began a new chapter in my life. That day in April I had no idea that that Open House would start me down a path that had already been laid out by God. My life has not been the same since; it's more beautiful and filling and complete. It's healthier and I do not mean specifically in the diet or foods I am eating. Although I have gotten back on track taking my Active women's One Daily vitamins. You know how you plan your ideal situation and incorporate that headless Ken doll with the house, kids, limestone sign with a last name and powercat, circle drive with purple iris' and pansies in hanging pots, a golden retriever , and a few chickens? You see your friends charting that new territory and wonder if you could have "it". They post pictures on facebook of their cute bungalows with all their disgustingly cute DIY projects. They're standing next to the "SOLD" real estate sign with some cheesy over make-uped real estate agent smiling holding "the keys to your next house". And, of course, they're kissing. Because that's what those people do all the time. They kiss as though they're going for some some Grammy award for "Best Kiss". It's iris' and pansies' all day for them, while we are stuck renting houses and refusing to mow the grass, because your landlord is an idiot and you're not getting your security deposit back, so eff it. As far as buying a house? Forget that, because you sure as hell do not want to be in this town another year to justify dropping too much on a piece of lumber and buffalo grass with dried up flower beds of rock.

Then, your delivery of purple iris' arrive. And you want the chickens and have visions of picking eggs from coops at daybreak for scrambled eggs with drizzled cheddar cheese and a dash of black pepper. As for the DIY projects, rain check. For now.

Going through the red tape

2010-07-16T14:50:00.001-06:00

Well the surge of hormones or bad karma has left the building and I am back on my normal feeling that my path in life is magical. Ok, maybe magical is a bit too fluffy Disney sounding, but you get the point. Also helping with getting me out of my funk is that I am 2/3 done with my graduate paper that is due Mondays at midnight. Usually, I cram 2-4 pages of amazing theoretical college student developmentness between the hours of 1-5 on Monday. Let it be known, I do NOT work the best under pressure when it comes to sounding educated. So, why put it off? My motivation for this class is as low as Lindsey Lohons IQ on legal proceedings when driving your overpriced SUV while on every recreational drug developed. The class? Foundations of Academic Advising. I'll let that soak in, as I remind you that I've been an academic advisor for THREE years for over 450 young aspiring artists. Mmhm. And I am just now taking this class. No students have suffered that I have not been an expert on the ethical and legal dilemmas in dealing with stressed students over these past three years. I have not been receiving negative evaluations from my students over these past three years. Quite the contrary, as I BLOW my own tuba, I have received amazing reviews. Every year. So, you can see why my motivation for this class is ridic low. I've been doing this for years. I consider myself a professional when it comes to being an academic advisor for art students at K-State. Without this class. This class that cost me 1200 dollars (that is a lie, it cost me 400 after my Tuition Assistance...point still stands) and then 100 for the textbook is draining the academic advising life out of me. Like a sieve. Luckily, it ends on July 27 with a massive final portfolio, which undoubtedly will drive me to putting in my two week notice (not really, however it will be painful).

The lesson for today, boys and girls: You have to go through shiz to earn a piece of watermark paper. I am this close to being done, what is another tension headache? And when it IS done (Spring 2011, baby) no ONE can take my MS from me. No one. Even my own sanity.

you don't know my mother's maiden name? Lame

2010-07-15T14:41:00.000-06:00

I pray I am not the only person who has those days that nothing seems to be going your way. You take a step back and you think "Shiz.... I have so many great things in my life right now and I'm getting emotional over the quick print machine at Wal-Mart Photo Center not working?! Am I serious?!" With the accumulation of my landlord suffering the effects of too many recreational drugs in the 60s and 70s (I am assuming this because everyone who lives in AZ partook in recreational drugs, duh) and "not receiving our money order", the quick print center at Wal Mart Photo not working yesterday (let's not digress on the heat wave and how I was glistening when I got back on campus after that heartbreak), still not receiving my new debit card after a bar establishment in Manhattan( whose name is not "Sugar and Spice and deals with an outside edge" (Salty Rim))) somehow got my credit card numbers when I was 350 miles away and I had to cancel it (the card), my phone bill jumping $30 for using data (assuming picture mail??), students who expect me to look up class information and their mother's maiden name along with the name of their first pet, and the painful heat yesterday blew.

I caught myself thinking "Seriously, Monica. You have an amazing family with great looking sisters (thank you good genes), solid friends who care about you, a blessing you gave to a family in April 2009, extremely attractive boyfriend who can serenade everyone from elderly ladies to young college kids, and a God that has your back (even when it's sweaty). And you're whining about the WAL MART PHOTO CENTER?! Whoa girl. You're needing humble pie.

I know that it is natural for us to have bad days. Blame it on hormones (this is universal, not just pertaining to females), the heat, or the circle of life: everyone has a bad day, even though the stuff that happens really isn't all that bad (once a day has passed). Our lives our cycles and we have to go through the landlords to get to the days where everything seems to flow like honey from the promised land. During those days when you feel the urge to cry (or at least tear up) at the changing red light, remember it is a cycle and you''ll have those green light days. Just keep on moving. Just drink water. And don't trust the Wal Mart photo center.

I did get those pictures picked up. A day later than I had planned, but I got them. And that is all that matters. And damn, I look good.

Ma! The meatloaf!

2010-07-14T14:56:00.000-06:00

You know those moments when you realize that you are an adult and you can't rely on the parents to call your high school science teacher to complain about a misunderstanding? You realize that IS all on you. This is so small, but I remember getting up in the morning when I was living at home and noticing that Mom cleaned the kitchen and did the dishes and cleaned up the clutter on the dining room table, after us girls' had gone to bed. I remember feeling protected, in some weird way. It was comforting knowing that while you were in bed, someone was taking care of the little stuff and the house looked differently (cleaned up) in the morning. Now, the way I leave it, that is the way it is staying. The little reminders that I am no longer living at home and can rely on Mom to wash that final dish. Sigh. Our landlord only positive contribution to my life is the home that I live in. For the second month, he has not "received" our money order. Kelly and I realized that we have to send Money Orders to him, otherwise, he was going to wait a month to cash our checks and one lesson is all it takes when that happens. It is not as if this is his only property. Him and his wife purchased this home for his daughters to live in while they attended KSU (they live in Arizona) and this year falls between the years that his precious daughters are not in college. Moral of my stress: He calls me at 10.46 pm last night and I am in bed by 10 pm, folks. I am older and I like to feel refreshed when I am at work on facebook killing time between 8 am and 5 pm. He left a message saying he did not receive our money order for this month and my bank proved that I sent the MO on June 28th. I called him back and left a pleasant message that the bank shows the MO has not been cashed yet so it has to be at his, what I am assuming, is a massive cluttered mess. Why do you I assume it is at his house? Memory lane, here I come.

This same scenario happened mid-April when he accused us as to not have sent our MO for that month. My bank showed that it WAS cashed on March 28th by his signature. I called him back and what do ya know? He did cash and said it must have gotten lost in his memory. Yes, because I cash 650 checks all the time and forget about them, constantly. How could I forget THAT feeling? No apologies from him for the stress and time it took contacting my bank (which is a phenomenal bank, btw). Ugh.

So yeah, I am missing those days when Mom took care of finishing up the dishes and putting the final touches in the dining room. Then, I remember how sheltered those days were. Maybe dealing with incompetent hippies is not that bad. Maybe. Actually, I know it is better. I just like to wish for those days, for small moments.

sweet corn, sweet lessons

2010-07-13T14:00:00.000-06:00

July 13. Really? It is July 13?! It is funny how we always wish our summers away, because of so many events that happen during those precious months from mid-May to mid-August. About this time of the year was when I'd always wish I had something going on when I was living at home. For those who are trained in the seasons of sweet corn, you know that it's about that time that that juicy goodness is ready to be plucked from the tall stalks. One of my Daddy's siblings started planting sweet corn in with the field corn and lo-and-behold, guess whose farm was doing it the next year? Mmhm. That is right. The Ponderosa located in the heart of Harvey County. It is funny and amusing now that I am older, looking back at all the things/equipment purchases my uncles made and how not long after that, Daddy was looking into the same thing. Thankfully, the Bergkamps are not foolish with their money, so we never ended up with an infomercial midnight purchase. We did end up with some plastic poly-pipe for the flood irrigation. Back to the point: when the Bergkamps do something, they do it BIG and sweet corn is/was no exception. I can still remember the aggravation waking up to husk countless ears of corn in the pickup bed, while Daddy was out in the field picking more. After husking and doing a half assed job on plucking off all that damn silk, we would place it in boiling water to kill off all the crap that festers in a field over a few months. Then, the best part: cutting the corn off the cob (ugh) or placing it on the cob in massive bags. Seeing that keeping it on the cob took up so much space, Mom would do about 90% of the "crop" off the cob. And that stunk, let me tell you. All that work, slicing it off the cob for a wittle baggie of sweet corn was not fun. At.all.

However, the taste when it was all said and done was amazing and it was awesome having sweet corn for dinner during those winter months. I guess that is another lesson in life: sometimes you have to slice countless ears and enjoy sweet corn juice hitting you in the eye to appreciate the good stuff.

However, I do have a good excuse to get out of putting up sweet corn this year, but I still want my stake in a few baggies.

it's 5 o'clock somewhere!

2010-07-09T15:45:00.000-06:00

eTick tock. Tick tock. 15 minutes until the weekend is here and I can relax and not drive hundreds of miles to get to some amazing destination. Three weeks ago it was KC for Brooke's PnL bash (which was a bash, but thankfully not to the destructive lengths it has been in the past....oi vey) and two weeks ago down to the Ozarks with some quality K-State alumni ladies and last week it was a western KS-southeast CO adventure. My plans this weekend involve: gym after work, Papa Murphy's to pick up a pizza for Erin and I, then a girls night watching a disgustingly romantic comedy or anything that involves the phrase "chic flick". I am succumbing to the pressure of society and seeing the new vamp movie with Kelly and Karin, but before that filling our faces with Olive Garden. It will be an amazingly relaxed weekend. As much as I LOVE going and going and going and being places and seeing people, it is nice to spend a weekend doing nothing impressive. Ajl is still playing a farmer in flip flops and *should* be home Sunday for lunch with Mel and Mason and I. The work of a farmer is never done and lucky for YOU, it is like that. *ahem*

Needless to say, this HV county girl is ready for Sunday *** Enjoy the weekend, guys! Hit the gym, clear your head, do some laundry and get shiz done!

does this make you nervous?

2010-07-08T15:35:00.000-06:00

Man on man. Do I feel guilty. Those who know me, know that I do enjoy amazingly trashy reality TV. Nightly. If not twice daily (thank you, hulu.com). Real Housewives. The Hills. The City. (I am still awaiting casting calls for "The Country"-> I'd be all over that. Up and down). The Bachelorette. The Bachelor. I am watching "The Bachelorette" from last Monday on hulu and they're hosting the Special Presentation of Jake and Vienna. For those whose lives do not revolve around spying on others love lives, Jake was the last bachelor on "The Bachelor" and Vienna was the lucky lady he chose to whisk away on his plane (he was a pilot). If you haven't been to Dillons or Wal-Mart in the past week, allow me to fill you in. They broke up. They didn't just break-up-here's-the-ring-and-I'll-delete-ya-on-facebook break up. They broke up as in tabloid covers, he-said-she-said shiz. It's intense.

However, nothing was an intense as their interview they did with Chris Harrison that showed during the last half hour of The Bachelorette. And I feel so guilty. I do not feel guilty because they broke up, but because I just watched a massive fight that you know had happened 3902 times in the privacy of their posh apartment. And they just hacked it out. Jake was hushing Vienna, which it's obvious that he's done that to her many times, because she broke done bawling even more. We've all had those fights with significant or past significant others, where you are so exhausted with the yelling, the bickering, the hurt, the anger, the tension, the pain, and it all that you keep re-living those moments in the heat of battle. It's painful. So horribly painful and destructive. She was bawling and he was getting angry and I could see where he could be verbally abusive and have a short temper that probably lashed out on her, due to the stress of a relationship and the pressure of the fame (that they had asked for, btw).

Now, that the episode is over and feel extremely guilty, because I feel as though I should have stopped. We all should have stopped googling and oggling through the seasons (well, those of us who are crazy enough to admit to watching seasons of this stuff) watching someone else try to find "their happiness". But do we? Heck no. They put themselves out there, so we happily oblige to watch. Still, we feel guilty. And continue watching. And comparing.

I am serious though. If "The Country" ever were to be a possible reality TV (preferably Bravo.. I like Bravo a lot), I'd hit "apply" so fast, it'd burn my keyboard.

I'm a wild flower

2010-07-07T12:00:00.000-06:00

What a week it has been since I last posted! Colby was a great getaway for me and spending the time with Mel was well needed. We had dinner at this amazing Mexican restaurant in Colby and we enjoyed my new favorite drink: frozen banana margaritas! At first, I thought it sounded disgusting. I LOVE bananas. Tangenet: when I was 1-2 years old I LOVED bananas and Mom would give always feed me them, because like I said I loved them. Low and behold, I had killer constipation. As in my cute face would become tomato red and I'd sweat my sweet brown curls off because it was so intense. My poor mother was at a loss. Again, I'm the oldest so I was the guinea pig in everything. Grandma Bergkamp asked Mom what she was feeding me and mom told her nothing out of the ordinary, just a lot of bananas. Grandma reminded mom that potassium can constipate people. My mom was giving me constipation. And you wonder why I am scared of mom giving me arsenic. Now you know. ANYWAYS, back to story: I love real bananas and usually find banana flavoring disgusting. However, I stand corrected in my rant: I love bananas (real) AND frozen banana margaritas. They.were.awesome. I am hoping to find the recipe online and make them soon!

Oh and if you ever are using your garmin or other popular driving device-that-has-taken-the-place-of-the-good-ole-torn-up-paper-map-that-you-could-never-get-back-into-its-original-form and are crossing time zones, please note that they (the device) compensates for the TIME ZONE CHANGE. Colby is NOT 1.5 hours from Holly, Co. Colby is 1.5 hours PLUS one hour from Holly, Co. Thanks Garmin. Or maybe I should be thanking me for being so gloriously insightful, because I most definitely did not realize this when I left Colby to head down to the Leikers.
Harvest was a great experience! Since Daddy always has hired custom cutters to cut our crops, I had never experienced the nitty-gritty of harvest. I always saw the crews roll in with their semis and combines and then Kenny Pauls would come by the house to collect the check that was large enough to buy a massive SUV with rims. First day: I had a tutorial in combine driving and ajl let me drive in on my own. The hardest most confusing part was driving the combine WHILE unloading on the MOVING grain cart. That part was the hardest for me to get down, because there were so many things to focus on. The biggest lesson I learned through that experience was that ajl has the patience of my mother. If roles reversed, I would have thrown ajl off the combine and told him to walk home and be useful, because I would have lost all my patience and marbles. I am blessed.

Speaking of going home and being useful, I made cinnamon rolls for the Leiker crew at Mel's. So domestic! And rumor has it that Mason was impressed (I had left some with Mel and him in Colby). I don't know if he was impressed by the recipe OR that I did that good with the recipe. I am a well rounded girlfriend. I can bake in my hodgepodege of a swimsuit that is essentially two swimsuits and I able to move heavy machinery with smile and charm.
Go Harvey County girls!

4th of July for a HV county farmers daughter revisted

2010-06-29T13:55:00.000-06:00

These past few weeks have been all about new experiences for this girl! I was in the Ozarks last weekend with some girlfriends from college and was on a boat for the first time that I can remember. And I pity the next person who has to hang out with me when I'm the lake, because we were living in s-t-y-l-e this weekend. Also, for the first time ever: hung out in a life jacket in the water while in Party Cove while down at the Ozarks. I feel as though I missed out on so much growing up. Then again, I took part in a lot of memories growing up that a lot of kids aren't lucky enough to experience. By "kids", I'm meaning those city slickers out there. Allow me prove a point:

Fourth of July growing up: I remember drooling over the Harvey County Independent (it used to be called "Burrton Graphic", before they had to consolidate with the Halstead Independent to make ends meet) wishing that Mom would let us go into town (Burrton) for the 4th celebrations. I'd start looking for a box turtle to race or practice carrying eggs on a spoon, just for the opportunity to go into Burrton and partake in the free swim in the afternoon. Oh and the icing on the imaginary cake: the raffle. You would buy a button and the number on the button would be entered in a raffle for items that I can't think of now, but at the time may as well have been GAP gift cards. Sigh. The fireworks. Yeah, we ended up watching those out of the windows at the house. We never went into town for the 4th and I really do not know why. Probably because it was just another thing going on, on a normally busy time for us (farming wise). Man, I was so jealous of those kids who got to enjoy the 4th. Swore to myself that I'd ALWAYS do the city-things for the 4th when I was big enough.

Now, I'm big enough and I really do not care that I haven't really partaken in those sort of celebrations. I couldn't be more excited to head out west tomorrow to spend quality time with Mel on her 24th birthday and, of course, Harley-dog and Mason. Priorities change as we grow older and into our skin more; we start to view the world differently than we did as a sheltered farm girl. We realize those silly things (oh, I did end up winning a fishing pole at one of those raffles. I only won it because I was spending the night with a girlfriend. No thanks to you, Joe Bergkamp) are really silly and in the long run, end up getting tossed into holes dug by your Daddy and buried. I'll explain more about that hole later. After having my fill of Colby, Kansas, I will be heading to southeastern Colorado to see Aaron and help with Leiker Harvest through Monday July 5. When I say help, I mean: riding in the semi, working on my tan, and just enjoy being in the middle of nowhere with just open fields in all directions. So yeah, I will miss out on the drunkeness on the 4th, but I will be celebrating my American independence the only way I have ever known how: being in the middle of nowhere and I think that may be more important than racing box turtles or getting an insane burn at the pool.

deviled egg salad

2010-06-25T11:41:00.000-06:00

Oi vey! Last night at Stampede was awesome!! Oh Miranda. Oh, kickass Miranda! I think what sort of spoiled the performance last night was the last time I saw her. I went with two girlfriends when she performed in Wichita at the Intrust Center and we were VIP. Literally, 5 maybe 6 feet from the catwalk. She could have spat (and I would have been totally fine with that) and we would have felt it. So, seeing her at a distance was not nearly as good as being right.there.in.her.face. HOWEVER, I would not have traded that experience (last night) for anything. Well, maybe seeing her VIP. Point is, seeing her was better than not seeing her. Her shoes?! Oh my gracious. Girl has a swaggar!

Today has been an fml day of having 8 incoming freshman and one of them just showed up at 11.30 and wanted to come to K-State! Go YOU! I'm running on a short patience lease, because I want to get out of here and get to Ozarks! However, I do NOT want to hit KC between 5-6.30 pm, so I am opting to leave MHK at 5 to avoid the insanity of city traffic. The downside? I'll roll into Four Seasons around 10.30 pm and all the girls have been there since yesterday. So, I'll have some catching up to do. Which I can handle, no issues and no worries. There are times that I hate that I am such a control freak and have a hard time "letting go" and not worrying over things and wanting to have my whole day/evening/life/eternity planned out. Oi vey, Monica. So, I am signing off for today! I will catch you all up on the flipside (Tuesday) :) Wish me luck driving my country-girl self to Four Seasons and back!!

whitetrashtrailerbash 2010

2010-06-24T09:45:00.001-06:00

Big time Thursday for this HV girl!!! I have freshman o&e today (with only 5 precious babies) AND the first night of whitetrashtrailerbash (Country Stampede) is tonight!! I am a huge country music fan and being from the farm, I have a natural niche with the country. However, Country Stampede should NOT be stereotyped as how all "country" people are. I went to Wal-Mart last night to pick up a "few" things (which turned out to be over $75 of a "few" things) and was disgusted and reminded how trashy some people can be. Ugh. I really hope that all the city slickers out there realize that we are NOT all like that: with Wal-Mart cowboy hats (seriously? A cowboy hat from Wal-Mart?! I am pretty sure the "person" who made that hat has no idea who Miranda Lambert is), cut off random-small-town-high-school-sports-team-that-they-probably-didn't-play-for-but-wear-shirt-to-feel-"athletic"-with-their-beer-belly-shirts, and sagging jeans shorts (and if you are a male reading this or your significant other is male and even OWNS a pair of denim shorts, burn them. Seriously.Do everyone a favor and pyro that shiz). Total embarassment for everyone who takes intense pride being a country kid. Sigh. Oh, well. Money for the county/area is always a huge benefit!! Just avoid MHK this weekend and be aware of yourself and those around you when driving!!

And to switch things up, I am going to admit that I am BEYOND excited for tonight and Miranda Lambert at Stampede (yes, the musical orgy that I just got done bashing.. Actually, I wasn't bashing the music, just the stereotypical "patron"). I have been a huge ML fan for a long time now with all her CDs, member of RanFan Club, etc. This will be the second time I will be seeing her in concert and I am so excited. She's a force to be reckoned with and any woman can use her as a healthy role model. Even if she sings about pulling a gun on a cheating boyfriend. I've never been cheated on, but if I ever am, I am pretty sure that idea may not seem too radical. Going with a dear girlfriend and am mentally prepping myself for being a bit exhausted tomorrow at work. However, the excitement of going to the Ozarks with some amazing girlfriends from college will bolster me through 5:00 and the drive to Four Seasons, MO!!!

So, you're going on my speed dial. You know that right?

2010-06-22T13:16:00.001-06:00

A handsome father of one of my incoming baby freshman told me he was going to put me on speed dial and check in every Friday. Awesome. I doubt he plans on calling me to catch up on the latest "Real Housewives" or "The Bachelorette" gossip. How does one even respond to that?! I had to fight the instant urge to remind him that his precious child isn't a child anymore and won't be reading the Holy Bible on Friday evenings. My first appointment for the day was your typical art student that you see in the movies. Think the brother on "Wedding Crashers"'s long lost sister. I felt incredibly awkward as the mother and the student were arguing as to whether the student should take "University Experience" to brushen up their study skills. Maybe I should post a sign that reads "Art Advisor: not to be mistaken for Dr. Phil"

Wonderful weekend in Kansas City with some amazing girlfriends! It was a no-drama night and everyone had a great time with no gashed legs or emotional break downs. That is the mark of a great night when you bring together 10 women.

My big nagging frustration now is with my masters program here at K-State. I find the program to be extremely encouraging. However, I have been a full time professional (don't roll your eyes too much) academic advisor for over three years and so I am finding it so hard, so incredibly hard, to stay focused on these classes. It is a formality for me, at this point. I'm paying 1200/summer session and estimated 3000 for fall semester courses then an additional 2000 for spring semester courses when I already have the job that I should have had this completed prior to getting. It's all a formality. All the busy work. All the message postings. All the singled spaced papers. All the pages and pages and pages of research in regards to various academic advising models, etc. My students are not suffering by my not having this courses nor MS completed. All while I am working full time and yes, I quite aware that I am NOT working legit 40 hours/wk (see posting time). Oh, to be DONE with this MS. To be done with going through the motions. When I took this job in 2007, Daddy said "Say a prayer that you don't regret this job 3 years from now." I think maybe I forgot to say that prayer. However, when you're 23 and the idea of making "real" money and moving from a shitty one-bedroom apartment in Royal Towers to "luxurious" living in Georgetown Apartments is thrown in your face, you jump. And I jumped. Now, I am getting tripped. I enjoy my job and I absolutely love my students. The thought of them not being successfully honestly pains me. Honestly.

Sigh. I think I need a RedBull for career motivation.

i might be cheap, but i ain't free

2010-06-19T11:34:00.000-06:00

Thank god I am not one of those skinny girls; this morning when I was running my route and dropping water weight faster than a woman giving labor, a massive thunderstorm rolled through the NE side of MHK. The wind was intense. The army family that lives across the cemented ditch (yes, I called it a cemented ditch) has way too much summer gear. They have a patio, a huge pool, random crap to entertain their rugrats, etc and that shiz was flying away. Literally. Very surreal feeling; it reminded me of "Wizard of Oz" when the storm was about to go through.

You know that pro-active kid that showed up yesterday during my preseneation? Yup, he missed his appointment and one of my buddies in NSS called me this morning asking if I could do him a huge favor. Gulp. I try to put on the fascade that I am badass biatch, but I crumble when people need my help; even if it puts me in a bind. Anyways, this kid (I'll call him "Mickey Mouse") missed his appointment (SHOCKER) and he was wondering if I could squeeze him in today. Ugh. Mickey Mouse isn't officially accepted yet to the university. He.literally.just.showed.up. Education used to mean something to some people. Where are those people?! Micky Mouse just had his appointment and he only wanted to take 12 hours. Yeah. That was a SHOCKER. This gets me thinking to how we think that people should do things the way we think they should be done. Example: I feel that people should make education a choice and be pro-active to get those steps accomplished and not just wake up one day and decide to go to that university in Manhattan and just show up and enroll, etc. However, not everyone has the same views as I do. Those people are constantly giving me opportunities to earn what Grandma Bergkamp called "pennies in heaven" and I truly do thank them for that. I think (?)

An example of how things should be done according to this HV county farmer's daughter: the pursing of the opposite sex (or same sex if that is your choice). I will not regress and tangent off to ajl and how he is doing everything the "Right Way"-> I'm going to focus on Mason (Mel's fiancae). Mel (sister number 2) is getting married March 2011 and I am going to give the best maid of honor speech ever (but, would you expect anything less?). Mason drove the 5 hour drive to the Ponderosa to talk to Daddy about taking Mel's hand in marriage. Mel had no idea that Mason did this and Mason was one hella nervous country boy when he was driving down. I know this, because I was in the loop. Something everyone needs to realize about my Daddy: he will do whatever it takes to make his girls happy. Even if that means that we never had to lift a finger on the farm, for the most part, growing up. Daddy is that type of guy that when he says something at church, etc: people listen. Mason knew Daddy would say "yes", but that was the hardest thing he ever had to do. From personal experience in this matter, I know that it's a hard pill to swallow when someone who you think is man-enough to speak with your father about a kind-big-decision, pansies out and you're the one having to introduce the topic to your father, while he stands behind you. Yeah, that is pretty humbling. And it had to be a difficult situation for someone's father to be in. Anyways, I digress. What's the point of this blog today? Doing the right thing, whether it's applying to KSU before you just decide to "show up" on an orientation and enrollment date or manning up (regardless the situation) is always a better choice than being a pansy and assumign someone else will do it for you.

Baha! I'm off to KC with some girlfriends to enjoy us some power and light action!! And man oh man, my outfit is sweet. Be on the look out for the next blog as I focus on how classy a 26 year old in sky-high gold chunky heels can be when combined with peach vodka and diet cranberry juice. It'll be a thriller... Thriller night...........

and i'm wearing a hair piece

2010-06-18T15:00:00.001-06:00

The office is a tombstone. Gerry is in KC interviewing artists for a super secret assignment while Robin is on vacation in Colorado (I am guessing it's not nearly as muggy there as it is here). I sent the work study home early, because she has a wedding to attend tonight here in MHK. Those who know me know that I get really stressed when I'm rushed for time, so I know that Meredith can really enjoy the evening now that she has ample time to get purdy (her words, not mine). I had six baby freshman today; one of them just "showed up" during my presentation. Ugh, I really am not a fan when freshman change their mind when they arrive on campus for these things. They do not realize what goes on behind the scenes when they pull this shiz. To their credit, this is the first time this summer that that has happened (a kid just randomly changes their mind and "shows up"). I know NSS (new student services) is caught between a rock and a hard place when this happens. On the one hand, NSS wants the kid to be happy wildcat and on the other, they know the stress/aggrivation this puts on academic advisors. This is ironic: he was/is my 4:00 appointment and it's now 4.08. (rolling her eyes) And so far, a no show.

What hasn't been a no show is my shopping streak my debit card has been running after lately. I recently discovered modcloth.com (thank you Sheridan) and dropped a small-mini-barely there fortune today. In my defense, I put all the items in my Shopping Cart this morning and waited a couple hours to let the impulsive vibe chill. I know AJL was proud of this, or he had better be. Since the bf has a mini local celeb status due to his job, I'm code naming him, fyi. No, he is not a former K-State athletics coach making bank by wearing purple windpants and a whistle. What he is, is amazing. That's a whole new blog post. Anyways, back to modcloth.com. These are the items that are being eagerly shipped to my doorpost soon:

http://static3.modcloth.com/productshots/0041/5633/13684-1.jpg?5d79e41c09d891682011809c806a56e80a8332b8

http://static3.modcloth.com/productshots/0042/4959/14002-1.jpg?5d79e41c09d891682011809c806a56e80a8332b8

http://static0.modcloth.com/productshots/0036/3739/11809-1.jpg?5d79e41c09d891682011809c806a56e80a8332b8

Now, would you expect that style from a farmer's daughter? I think one of the best compliments I've received from one of my roomies was that my style is amazing for being from Kansas and she's from the west coast. I was pleased with myself. However, I enjoy it so much that I don't find it to be work. Any girl or boy can pull off anything, it all changes with the thought process between your ears. It's not rocket science, but feel free to compliment me for rocking out my outfits. I won't be ashamed, but I'll be humbled.

Great weekend in store for this HV girl!! Work tomorrow (epic lame) for freshman o&e, then heading to KC with one of my roomies for a dear girlfriends birthday bash!! We're all staying in a hotel (within walking distance, no worries parental units out there) and hitting dinner then some pre-gamin' in the hotel before we tromp our clod-hoppers to pnl (power and light district). I always enjoy a good night out at pnl with good girls. By that, I mean not the drama-it's all about me-girlfriends that we all seem to tote around for some reason. I could/should/probably will blog about that at some point. Those girls are like soda to me: I know they're not good, but sometimes we just need a little taste.

4.18 and no student. Bizarre. How bizarre. Wicked bizarre. Where is my wet bar. Damn the man.

blackhawk parents

2010-06-17T15:31:00.000-06:00

Maybe it's the muggy weather or the fact I had 10 incoming freshman today, but I am zapped for energy. After I presented to my kids (and their parental entourages) I grabbed a small iced Americano, because I anticipated I would be needing more external energy to get through going over our curriculum, courses, class policies, etc 10X over. And I did. Then some. Counting down the minutes until 5:00, so I can make it across town to my 5.30 massage and that is the one thing keeping me positive right now. I promise to whoever reads this that I will not be "that parent" who lives vicariously through their child. I will not be a helicopter parent who will willingly carry my child's packet of information and take notes for my child while his/her advisor is talking about their program. I will not allow my child to play on their BlackBerry smart phones and text and update their facebook pages while I am asking the questions the child should be asking. I promise I will not be that parent. How is that true love for my child when I am not forcing them to stand on their own and be independent? My sisters and I were blessed with parents who assisted financially with our studies, but that is where the line was drawn. My mother never called my academic advisor. Daddy to this day doesn't really know what my Masters will be in, although I have told him 3052 times. I understand that these helicopter and "black hawk" parents feel that they are giving their precious children the best advantage in life and their heart is in the right place. But that doesn't make the stress and frustration any easier. Sigh. Maybe I am in the wrong career, because I do not see it getting any better and this frustration is a waste of negative energy for me. Again, I should have prefaced this posting with "Beware: Read with Caution: Moni B is running low on positive energy fumes". I do enjoy my job (?) I think I'll apply for "Real Housewives of MHK".

And we're makin' plans

2010-06-16T13:28:00.001-06:00

I am doing anything to put off working on my graduate class. I watched "The Bachelorette" yesterday on hulu.com to pass the time in the afternoon and today I decided to follow in Sheridan footsteps and start blogging. Blog plug for Sheridan: follow her and when I figure out how to interject people's blogs in here, I will interject hers. Until then, sorry. It's raining cats and dogs here. And heavy rain reminds me how much I hate driving in insane rain storms. Then that reminds me how stressed out I get driving when the conditions aren't ideal. Then that reminds me how much of a control freak I am. That then reminds me of my Daddy, who is a control freak like I am. It is eye opening when you look at your personality traits and you realize how much you resemble your parents. It is sometimes a relief to pinpoint why you are the way you are. Sometimes, it is a stress. We always want to take pride in being "unique" and "special" and "different". But, let's face it: we are the way we are because of someone else. Sorry, but unless you've lived in a glass house (and man that would be muggy), you are the way you are because of someone else. Nothing you did "special". What makes us "unique" and "special" is how we re-act to those forces in our lives that are beyond our control. Like the monsoon of rain we're driving in or the crappy relationships we allowed ourselves to earn points in purgatory for. Man, do you know how lucky those boys in my past are that I'm not a songwriter? The title of this blog is from one of Miranda Lambert's song off her 'Revolution' album that's playing now. Talk about a girl who you don't want to eff with and should be happy you didn't eff with her heart. You may just have had a song about gunpowder and lead and kerosene written about you. I think the majority of the male population should rejoice in that all woman aren't songwriters. Scary thought, boys. I've kept a journal since high school and whenever I want/need to remind myself of how far I have grown as a woman, I can take one out and read through. Perhaps when I am buried 6 feet under, my kids can publish my journals. I wonder how I am going to feel about them reading my history from 18 years old--???