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.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
How do they get by?!
There are people around me and I wonder "How do they get through the day?" "How do they continue with their lives and are still a positive influence to those around them?" "How are they in healthy relationships, when the model they had growing up was so fucked up?!"
While back home this weekend on the farm, my youngest sister was telling me about a girl in her class (Jacinta is in 8th grade), whose mother and father divorced when she was there years old and her and her mom then moved in with her mom's boyfriend. That relationship went down the shitter and then they moved into her grandma's house for several years. During this time, the mother was in and out of the picture. Now, the mother and the daughter are living with the new boyfriend and his three kids from a previous relationship. Jacinta said that one day, the girl was called out of the classroom by the school guidance counselor and was told to bring all her stuff with her. When classes switched at the next hour, the whole class walked by the junior high office, to see the girls biological mother arguing with the biological father. The whole bunch of 8th graders saw this and saw the daughter, tearing up in the seat behind them. And yes, this was in a Catholic school. NO, we are not sheltered from the harsh realities of fucked up relationships. Not every kid who wears the blue skirt and white polo comes from a perfect religious home. Some of the kids there are sent in hopes that the bit of religion and discipline that Trinity honors will somehow change the negative cycle their family is cruising down.
I have a close girl fiend whose father recently passed away suddenly. This man was the humbled father of four beautiful daughters and my girlfriend, like myself, is the oldest of the bunch. I sit here and imagine, as I have much since her father passed away, how can she continue? How do you dig in your plow so deep and keep going, when your world is rocked like that? Her sisters are not drowning their sorrows nor dedicating facebook status everyday to the doom and gloom they recently were dealt by the hand of God. No, instead they have facebook profile pictures of their Dad with the memories that they'll remember and that he'd want them to remember: smiling and being goofy. Their family is the sort of family I have come from and hope to have, someday. They are strong. They are close and not to mention, gorgeous girls.
I look at the strength that Jacinta's classmate must have to accept that as her "ordinary". Not having a stable family home. Watching "Home Improvement" and not knowing the feeling of a true family dinner. Not knowing the feeling of going to Christmas concerts as a family, because her concept of "family" changes as the wind blows. For my girlfriend to keep living her life, but not forgetting the legacy that has been laid before her and her sisters by their father.
How can I look at my life and grumble and complain and bitch and whine? Grant it, ten minutes after I publish this post, I'll start bitching about something. God knows I will and he's ok with that (because, hell, he created me this way). However, for this brief moment in time, I am blessed. God, I am blessed.
Yes, I do have a horrible time getting to sleep at night. My mind does not shut off.
I have hairy feet. It's a hereditary thing, I think. I swear, Bergkamps used to climb trees way way way way back when, because my toes are incredibly long; "hobbit like", if you will.
I sweat. I sweat a lot. I can be freezing in bed with the fan and AC blasting, but yet- somehow- will be sweating like a whore when I wake up.
I would love to get a brow lift, because my brow bone is way too low, I think.
I have wide feet. I think it's because I have a beautifully wide ass.
But, damn, I am blessed because all those little annoyances were given to me, much for the same reasons God gave the crosses to the girls I've mentioned: because he does not give us a cross one ounce too heavy for our strength.
And, if you know me, you know that my leg strength is insane. Thank you, Landwehr hips.
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.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Daddy is Chevy Chase meets Jesus Christ
My Daddy is Chevy Chase meets Jesus Christ.
He has the sarcasm and wit of Clark Griswald who appreciates the odd and quirky vacation destinations, all the while having his black plastic rosary in his pocket at all times and his sweaty scapula on. If you do not know what a scapula is, google it.
It's a Catholic thing.
Daddy will pray a rosary when he is driving to Halstead (roughly 10 minute drive from the farm) and any other time when he is in the car for over 10 minutes. We always arrive at church 15 minutes early and he is there, kneeling praying the rosary. Our family still does not eat meat on Fridays. Quick Catholic history lesson: pre-Vatican II, all Catholics were to abstain from meat on Fridays, to remind themselves of the suffering of Jesus Christ during the Passion and Crucifixion. At Vatican II, that order was relaxed and Catholics were permitted to eat meat on Fridays. He is the Catholic father that I am blessed to have.
He is a bank of witty jokes. He is notorious for embarrassing our family when off the safety of our own farm and in the real world. Story: on the random events that we would eat @ a restaurant or fast food, when the timid high school zit faced cashier would tell us our total, Daddy's response was always the same "Gosh! You've got to be kidding!". He would say it in a way that would embarrass the living shit out of us and probably scared the little cashier out of her wits. Story: Daddy has the gold molar fillings that all kids who grew up in the 60s have. Growing up, when I would ask "What dat, Daddy?" He would tell me this long drawn out story about working on the roof of the barn and one day the train was going by (our farm is about 1/4 mile from the railroad tracks) and people on the train just starting shooting at him and he caught the bullets with his bare teeth. "Ahhhhhh", I'd say with the innocence my dark brown Shirley Temple curly hair would allow me. He has told this story to all my sisters and he'll say it probably 539 more times before it's all said and done.
And that is ok by me.
Growing up, though: that was NOT okay by me. Daddy was an embarrassment to me. After Homecoming dance, before I was able to drive, his 11 pm naps in the car waiting for me outside Trinity Catholic HS, was not cool. His tough love approach was perceived by me as reminiscent of another German with a mustache and swastika on his uniform. Daddy was tough. Really tough. I was the oldest and always always always pushed the envelope from everything, from low cut tops to church or conveniently ignoring the call on my cell phone @ 12.30 am on a Saturday morning. I did not like Daddy, let alone love him (so I thought). He was a jerk meant to ruin my life. He was a dumb dirt farmer who had no idea what the real world was like. How could he? He spent his days on a tractor bouncing up and down the field listening to shitty AM country music (I know love "shitty" AM country music).
My oh my. What good a little time, a rough set of life obstacles, and maturity do to a father-daughter relationship. Now, when Mom sighs and says "Every time you come home, I am reminded how much like your father you really are", I take it as a compliment. Although, I know this observation is more out of angst than appreciation.
Why this sense of nostalgia for Joe Bergkamp on this Friday morning? Ajl and I are going home tomorrow for the weekend; this is the two week lull between picking dry land corn and starting up with irrigated corn mid-September. I am a bit disappointed that I won't be able to try out combine skills perfected @ Leiker Farms in July, though. And I know ajl is itching to drive another semi-trailer or grain cart. Point being, naturally I am so excited to spend time with the family (although it'll be half the family, as Mel is living @ Leoti and Alayna is @ Fort Hays) and add to the embarrassingly funny stories of Daddy "insisting next time, he'll pick up the check".
Daddy's girl? Yes, please.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
compromises and too many parking permits
Oh the joys of the FIRST WEEK! I swear, K-State must have accepted record number of baby wildcats (or just anyone with a beating heart), because this campus is freaking zoo, minus a few pandas and cheesy parents with fanny packs. The parking lots have become literal practice zones for Fort Riley. I swear, thank God this campus has a ordinance against bringing M-16s, because I'd only BET how many bitches would have a cap in their ass over parking. Parking is ridiculous. Thank God, I haven't had any problems finding a parking spot (faculty parking). However, I nearly have met my match with one two many dumb ass undergraduate females in SUVs tearing around the parking lot, like a bunch of international students who are just learning how to use their accelerator. Seriously. Rumor has it that the parking garage (that monster of a building that was meant to solve all our parking problems) was full a couple days back, which means that the students who donated their first born child in order to afford that ridiculous pass, were fucked for parking. The parking garage pass is only good for the parking garage.
Then again, that is a rumor. Much like the rumor that is going around campus that there is this gorgeous hot brunette chic with killer legs who wears pink Crocs from the faculty parking lot to Willard Hall.
Well, wait. That is true. I wear pink crocs and change into my 4.5" heels @ my office. It's an amazing idea and I really don't give a shit about the stank eyes I get from people (mainly females).
I have survived the first week of my graduate classes. All nine hours of 'em. Even though it IS just the first week, I felt this HUGE sense of accomplishment as I walked to my car @ 9.30 pm last night, after my final class of the week. Fuck ya, I made it. Then, I realized: I have 15 more weeks of this. However, I made it through the first week with only one emotional breakdown. And that ain't too shabby, I think.
I do worry that I have stretched myself beyond my limits this semester. I have the full time working gig, full time graduate schedule, signed up to be a mentor to four baby freshman, stuck my head out there and contacted the lead adviser of Theta (my sorority) to be an adviser for our chapter, volunteer as a lector @ St. Thomas (and now St. Isodores), have a social life, K-State football, and ajl.
Luckily for me, ajl is the same way. We both are involved in so much more than "just" our jobs. It's an incredibly attractive trait in someone, when they want to and actually DO do more than "just" their paying job. You don't feel like you need to baby sit them or you don't have to feel guilty when you're honestly busy as hell on an evening. It makes those nights when you both don't have activities going on, that much sweeter together. That is not to say that the control possessive side of me is always subdued :S It's part of a relationship: compromises, as my dear sister-I-didn't-have Jackie reminds me. My world is still my world. And ajl's world is still his world. However, we can't ignore the other person's world, if that makes sense. Yes, we have our own little spheres in society. But there is a healthy balance between teh two adn I think this is where a lot of relationships fall apart.
The girl expects the guy to make HIS world HER world or vice versa. That just ends up with someone drinking too much whiskey on a Saturday night and slashing tires on a car, after they send 5920 text messages and blow the other persons phone up 59 times. Awkward when they realize that dark blue is not black. And a ford is not a chevy. I think, instead of saying you're in a relationship, you should say "I'm in a compromise", because that's what it is. A compromise. You're compromising a bit of who you are and they're compromising a bit of who they are, sometimes without even realizing. I used to attend 8.30 mass at St. Thomas and now I am attending 6 pm mass at St. Isidore's. I don't particualrlyi like St. Isidore's; I see undergrads everyday, why would I want to see them at church hungover?! I like to go to mass early on a Sunday morning; that's church to me. However, ajl goes to 6 pm mass @ St. Isidore's. It's not even a question for me. I am going to 6 pm.
And you really think ajl honestly enjoys "Real Housewives of DC", "Real Housewives of New Jersey", "Dating in the Dark", "Jersey Shore"? You think he's sitting on pins and needles for this weeks episode of "Jersey" to see if Sammy gets her shit together long enough to realize that Ronny is a douche bag who is only using her for sex?! I doubt it. But, he does that. Because it's a compromise. He's not watching these shows to "get anything" out of me or to suck up. And I'm not forfeiting hanging out with old people and crying babies, because "it's what Aaron wants". I do it because I want to.
That same mentality can be applied to anything in life. In this dog eat dog world of competition and winning and shit, it's easy to abandon the ideals of Mother Teresa (happy birthday to her!!) and look out for yourself. However, you may find it's less stress when you consider someone else's feelings. Except in a parking lot. Then it is dog eat dog.
Maybe I should bring back Daddy's Versatile this weekend. Then, bitches had better check themselves.
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.
Monday, August 23, 2010
you're so a freshman
Ah the first day of classes!! The young children and future generations of our world taking on collegiate level classes while expanding their intellectual horizons and pushing their comfort levels through higher education.The excitement of pushing themselves to new levels of understanding resonates through the halls of higher academia everywhere on campus today.
........right
You know what my favorite part of the first week of classes is? The outfits. The hilarious outfits. The girls who are OBVIOUSLY freshman or sorority girls trying to work their mojo on their peers the first day. The frat boys rocking their "I'm too cool for school. You all should be happy that I rolled out of bed and found this snazzy $75 Hollister polo for you and found this sick plaid shorts." Ah, adorable. It's like little kids out from hibernation so excited to start their mating season all over again. They anxiously place themselves strategically in their 10.30 US History since 1877 course and eyeball every.single.student.that.walks.in. Because they know that this is where the beginning of epically bad decisions (or good ones) start. Here in these classrooms with our Wildcat students. It's much easier to start a conversation @ Alpha Gamma Rho with that hot cowboy, if you have a different common connection, other than having them hold your legs while you do your keg stand. Or they're your best friends brother *ahem*
Just sayin'
I apologize for the lack of length on this blog as I am exhausted from looking damn hot in my new outfit (yes, once a sorority girl: always a sorority girl). Damn, it's good to be good <3
........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
Saturday, August 21, 2010
sharing spaces
I am blogging today from the privacy of my own bedroom. My own bedroom. Allow me to say tat again: my own bedroom. Attached to my own bedroom is my own walk in closet. Attached to my own walk in closet is my own walk in bathroom. This may seem like a not so big deal to you. However, to me this is epic. I never had my own room growing up. Never. I always shared my space with another of my sisters; at one point, I shared a room with my two youngest sisters while I was in high school. Yup, in high school. That is an idea that I know makes 95% of high school kids squirm. The thought of having to share something as precious as your space with someone else pisses a lot of people off. It makes them feel as though they are being put down a peg or two in their precious world. There is a line in "Gone With The Wind" where Scarlett's Daddy tells her that the only thing a person can accumulate and not have taken away is land. Hence, our insane desire to hold on to our space. It's a part of our identity and we love that freedom of stretching out.
I know that the reason I was able to handle living in a dorm room the size of a concrete mousetrap and then a sorority house of 70 college girls (some more superifical than should be allowed in the Midwest) is because I never had my own space growing up. I was always forced to share with my sisters. It was embarrassing growing up and having girlfriends spend the night and they'd look at our space and think "Wow. This is, uh, cozy?" But, then they'd see the wide open spaces of the country and how much more quiet it was out there in the country than the city, and I like to think they'd see the reasoning behind my parents living out there. And if not, screw them.
My kids will never have their own room. They'll never have televisions or computers or anything technologically overrated by their bed side. The bedroom, for children, is for one thing and one thing only: punishment and sleeping. I know that this may seen weird and odd, to not want my kids to be spoiled brats. However, I know that when they're older and 26 living with 2 other people and a bitch of a cat and an overweight cocker spaniel and they can legitimately be content with it (minus the cat shitting and peeing on the furniture), then they'll appreciate the way they were raised.
If not, they can go into their room and think about it. With no tvs.
Friday, August 20, 2010
limelights and cow patties
I am tentatively relieved right now. I just finished up my final appointment for Freshman Orientation and Enrollment. No need for me to vent on and on about how much I loathe assisting students with classes the day before classes start. Or vent about my opinions in regards to an university that accepts and accepts and accepts students regardless of the capacity they can hold. No need. Water under the bridge. That ship has sailed. Wahwahwaha and who really wants to "hear" me bitch about the imperfections of others? That's what I thought.
I am tentatively relieved now, because orientation is done. However, I really feel as though this the calm before the storm; classes start on Monday. I want to get really excited and happy with being done. I want to jump up and down and breath one big ole sigh of relief. But I can't. I can't because I know that shit will get real on Monday. My throat will be sore as hell from talking on Monday and I can only thank God that we have central air in our new offices, because I sweat like a whore on Sunday when I get steamed. But you know, I feel like I did on exam days in college, when I think about Monday. I loved exams in college, because it was a chance for me to show off what I knew. I know a lot about this department and the protocols and procedures. I have our fall 2010 schedule memorized. I'm a weirdo. Professors come to me asking what they're teaching and where. It's weird. I'm every one's personal secretary, minus the free sex like they get on "Mad Men." Part of me enjoys the respect they have with me and the awe they have over the knowledge I do really have. However, "to whom much is given, much is expected". Which can be a heavy load to carry at times.
We all want to be the big kids on campus. We all want the fame. The glory. We want to have the "Heyy!! circa: Cheers response" when we walk into a bar. We judge how important or how successful we are based on how many people we know. Or how many friends we have on facebook or our chosen social circles. I am a fame whore. I can admit it. My mom will be the first to tell you that I like the lime light. I appreciate being a known person. I find it hard to share the spot light with anyone and until Melanie was 8 years old, I did all her talking. Humble pie, though, is something I have had so much of I could win an episode of "Top Chef" cooking.
However, as I have grown through life and experienced crazy life changing events, I find that I am ok not being in the spot light. Do not misquote me; I still enjoy being the life of the party. But there is something nice in being just a person and not have control over someone or something. That's why I loved working at GAP as an associate, because I was responsible for nothing. Zilch. Except those pesky gap credit card applications with 40% interest. Other than that, I coasted through my shifts. I wasn't' responsible for anyone. I wasn't responsible for much. Just show up. Clock in. Smile. Give some brutally honest opinions. That was it. The possible idea of moving to the middle of nowhere, America sounds amazing to me now. I wouldn't mind blending into the background of society. However, I do have one criteria: Internet access to GAP.com and the occasional trip to a major city to stock up on my ridiculous priced make up :)
If this posting isn't the typical smart ass quality, it is probably because my brain is shut off. Ugh mental exhaustion. I need some Tallgrass Buffalo Sweat. And I need it now
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)