Nugget #1: As an undergrad, classes are broken up between 50-minutes Monday-Wednesday-Friday classes and 1-hour and 15-minute Tuesday-Thursday classes. I vividly remember dreading Tuesday-Thursday classes because those extra 25 minutes ticked by ever so slowly. Watching the clock was excruciating, and no matter how long I thought it had been, a full minute had never actually gone by when I allowed myself to check the time again.
Oh, how I long for the days! In grad school, classes are no shorter than 2-hours and 50-minutes... and grad school professors love to make sure we students get our money's worth. Now, if you're legs are cramping or your buns falling asleep just thinking about sitting still for that amount of time, don't fret; we get a break... Yes, we split that 3-hour class somewhere down the middle with a nice, relaxing 9-minute break. [if it's not translating via cyber space, that's sarcasm: 9 minutes in 3 hours is like a second in a lifetime]
Nugget #2: As a counselor-- my chosen profession-- it's important to be able to appreciate, if not completely understand, a client's perspective. In most respects, I think I am capable of this. With some concentration and a little extra effort, I can almost always at least catch a fleeting glimpse of someone else's point of view. After all, the very nature of counseling is learning why people think the way they think, feel what they feel, behave the way they behave. Weekly, it is impressed upon we Master's candidates that we are never to impose our values on our clients. For the most part, I think I can achieve this. There are a few points, mostly religious, where I might have to draw the line and refer before I scream, "Don't kill babies!" at a more "progressive" individual than myself, for instance. Tonight, though, I realized that I have a fairly extreme weakness that might interfere with the counseling relationship, a blind spot in my perspective-taking: introversion.
Weird, you might think. I am an extravert to the extreme. The very fact that I have a blog is evidence that I'm willing to spill my thoughts on anyone bored enough to read them. Introverts retreat when they're upset, while I surround myself with enough people to keep my thoughts at bay. Introverts cherish alone time and quiet, whereas I roll with an entourage about 15 deep. In the rare moments when I am alone, my phone is my faux-companion and it keeps me in constant contact with favorites like Anna and Erica (when I give people my number I do so with a disclaimer: ye be warned, I'm a texter). My mother, something of an introvert herself, always turns the television off when no one's watching it because the noise is unnecessary racket to her. On the contrary, I never sit in silence. Even when I'm doing homework, I have the television on something that doesn't particularly interest me or my iTunes on shuffle. My relationship with my best friend in high school was perfect and so special because we could just sit and be in the same room, never alone but never in need of entertainment. Bottom line, I don't like silence and my mortal fear is loneliness. I don't have secrets about myself; I'm a walking cliche-- "I wear my heart on my sleeve" or "I'm an open book." Whatever you want to call it. Living in this extreme, I don't get introversion. I just don't get it. I can't imagine a life in isolation or living with my guard up. Half the fun of friendship is the investment, the comfort, and I don't understand not being able to just lay at the foot of Erica's bed ranting and raving or not walking the trail at night and laying my fears and excitements out for Anna. I mean, look at me here laying out my every thought onto a website for all the world, figuratively speaking, to see. So there it is: I don't get introversion. I don't know how to deal with it. Maybe that's what the program will teach me... or maybe it's just my Achille's heel.
Nugget #3: I never thought I'd say this, but... I think I might be a runner. I'm not ready to make a commitment yet, no need to put my relationship with running on Facebook or anything... but things are getting kind of serious with me and the treadmill and I think it's safe to talk about it with my closest friends (if you care enough to read this, welcome to my friend circle). Lately Running and I have been spending some time together... usually just brief intervals, first date stuff.... taking it slow, getting to know each other. I'm just not sure I'm ready to end things with the elliptical yet, between you and I. I gave the bicycle a shot-- a little fling, if you will-- but frankly, he was a real snooze fest. So I'm just kind of playing the field for now... a little time with the elliptical, a little time with the treadmill; no harm, no foul.
Nugget #4: I'm meeting with my assistantship professor tomorrow. I was originally assigned to a professor that I've had before, but I've been reassigned to someone that I'm unfamiliar with. It looks like I'll be helping him critique a professional journal that he edits. Hooray! More reading. I'm a little anxious about it, but really I just want to nail down a schedule of some sort. What a shock: I'm dying to make a plan.
Nugget #5: I think I'll go to bed now... or maybe read a bit...
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Internet fail. Blog tourettes.
The Internet at my apartment complex was down all weekend. Luckily, I can check Facebook and Twitter from my phone (geez, can you imagine?!), but unfortunately there is no Blogspot app. So all these liquid thoughts that drizzle out of my fingertips into the ol' Mac Book have had nowhere to go for several days now, creating something of a traffic jam of thoughts (and now creating a weird visual of weird, swollen fingertips).
So I'm going with a default to get the blog juices flowing: a recap of my past few days.
Friday night Ashley and I had girls' night. We went downtown for Italian food and a glass of wine (felt very girls' night-ish to me, the usually non-wine drinker) and then went to support my girl Jen Aniston-- who I will whole-heartedly support in all her cinematic ventures-- in her newest chick flick The Switch. I had low expectations for the movie despite my love for Jen, but I was pleasantly surprised. The movie doesn't always flow exactly like you want it to, giving the viewer a certain element of discomfort, but the uneasiness takes the place of the predictable cheesiness in this genre of movies. Overall, I give it a 7 out of 10.
Saturday I got up early to go do a little shopping with my mom, lunch with my cousins, and general hang time with the fam. I know I haven't been away from home long, but I needed this more than I realized. I always love talking things over with my mom, whether it's reliving memories of downtown arts and crafts festivals or talking about the classes that I hate. Lunch with Mom, Matthew, Rachel, and of course Baby Mallory (who is so perfectly beautiful I just want to scream) was delicious if only because of the peach cobbler at the end. Peach cobbler is possibly my favorite dessert-- who am I kidding? I couldn't pick a favorite-- and, largely because I've watched two episodes of Say Yes to the Dress today, at the moment having it instead of wedding cake seems like a really, really good idea... now if I just had a groom... Wow. See what happens when you have a blog traffic jam? Detours. After lunch we headed to my grandmother's house... I'd like to insert a funny story from there, but truth be told I slept the afternoon away as the stories were told around me.
When I returned home to my cat and my apartment Saturday evening, I literally did homework for 5 hours. From 4:45 to 10:45- I subtract an hour for bathroom and snack breaks and a phone call to my parents- I sat on my couch and poured into my assigned reading for my Theories class. Yawn. My white knight rescue came in the form of Tyler, one of my dearest friends, picking me up around 11 to go to a friends' house; however, finding we were the oldest ones there, we abruptly went to Waffle House. Now, this is HUGE: I left my wallet in the car so I couldn't order food. Anyone that knows me well knows my love of the late-night, greasy diner. I couldn't tell you the last time I've eaten smothered and covered hashbrowns or a chocolate chip waffle outside the hours of 11 pm and 3 am. Obviously I'm a health fanatic. Catch up time with Tyler was exactly what the doctor ordered, as they say, as my homework was driving me into delirium.
Sunday morning Ashley and I visited a local church. This was my third go-around with this church, and I think I really like it. My Auburn church- have I mentioned it before?- was practical perfection and has proven a hard act to follow. This church service is contemporary, which is not my personal preference, but the pastor is pretty great. And when I flipped the bulletin open my eyes went straight to the coming Sunday night Bible studies: Breaking Free by Beth Moore. Oh Boy.
The rest of Sunday was- shocker alert- devoted to homework. This semester is the reason that my advisor has always strongly recommended I take no more than 9 hours per semester. I feel like I'm captaining a sinking ship with the amount of reading I'm assigned every week. I did allow myself to listen to the Emmy's in the background, and you can probably expect an Emmy blog soon because I found myself really drawn into the fashion... that, and Glee was ROBBED.
Today I've- surprise!- done homework. I decided to go for a run after lunch, and it was like my body was rebelling against me. I kept thinking, 'I'll stop in two minutes.' Two minutes would come and go, but my legs just kept pumping. Stress much? My face remained flushed until about 20 minutes after I came home and showered, that intense.
If I can get through my mid-week classes, Friday I'm meeting up with dear old Mom and Dad for a much-needed trip to the beach. I can't wait to collapse onto the deck (text book in hand, mind you) and stare out into the distance. I've always given my mom a hard time for sitting on her deck for hours when we could be at a water park or playing frisbee... but for the first time in my life, I just want to sit in stillness and let the sound of the crashing waves drown out the world.
Ahhh... that's better.
So I'm going with a default to get the blog juices flowing: a recap of my past few days.
Friday night Ashley and I had girls' night. We went downtown for Italian food and a glass of wine (felt very girls' night-ish to me, the usually non-wine drinker) and then went to support my girl Jen Aniston-- who I will whole-heartedly support in all her cinematic ventures-- in her newest chick flick The Switch. I had low expectations for the movie despite my love for Jen, but I was pleasantly surprised. The movie doesn't always flow exactly like you want it to, giving the viewer a certain element of discomfort, but the uneasiness takes the place of the predictable cheesiness in this genre of movies. Overall, I give it a 7 out of 10.
Saturday I got up early to go do a little shopping with my mom, lunch with my cousins, and general hang time with the fam. I know I haven't been away from home long, but I needed this more than I realized. I always love talking things over with my mom, whether it's reliving memories of downtown arts and crafts festivals or talking about the classes that I hate. Lunch with Mom, Matthew, Rachel, and of course Baby Mallory (who is so perfectly beautiful I just want to scream) was delicious if only because of the peach cobbler at the end. Peach cobbler is possibly my favorite dessert-- who am I kidding? I couldn't pick a favorite-- and, largely because I've watched two episodes of Say Yes to the Dress today, at the moment having it instead of wedding cake seems like a really, really good idea... now if I just had a groom... Wow. See what happens when you have a blog traffic jam? Detours. After lunch we headed to my grandmother's house... I'd like to insert a funny story from there, but truth be told I slept the afternoon away as the stories were told around me.
When I returned home to my cat and my apartment Saturday evening, I literally did homework for 5 hours. From 4:45 to 10:45- I subtract an hour for bathroom and snack breaks and a phone call to my parents- I sat on my couch and poured into my assigned reading for my Theories class. Yawn. My white knight rescue came in the form of Tyler, one of my dearest friends, picking me up around 11 to go to a friends' house; however, finding we were the oldest ones there, we abruptly went to Waffle House. Now, this is HUGE: I left my wallet in the car so I couldn't order food. Anyone that knows me well knows my love of the late-night, greasy diner. I couldn't tell you the last time I've eaten smothered and covered hashbrowns or a chocolate chip waffle outside the hours of 11 pm and 3 am. Obviously I'm a health fanatic. Catch up time with Tyler was exactly what the doctor ordered, as they say, as my homework was driving me into delirium.
Sunday morning Ashley and I visited a local church. This was my third go-around with this church, and I think I really like it. My Auburn church- have I mentioned it before?- was practical perfection and has proven a hard act to follow. This church service is contemporary, which is not my personal preference, but the pastor is pretty great. And when I flipped the bulletin open my eyes went straight to the coming Sunday night Bible studies: Breaking Free by Beth Moore. Oh Boy.
The rest of Sunday was- shocker alert- devoted to homework. This semester is the reason that my advisor has always strongly recommended I take no more than 9 hours per semester. I feel like I'm captaining a sinking ship with the amount of reading I'm assigned every week. I did allow myself to listen to the Emmy's in the background, and you can probably expect an Emmy blog soon because I found myself really drawn into the fashion... that, and Glee was ROBBED.
Today I've- surprise!- done homework. I decided to go for a run after lunch, and it was like my body was rebelling against me. I kept thinking, 'I'll stop in two minutes.' Two minutes would come and go, but my legs just kept pumping. Stress much? My face remained flushed until about 20 minutes after I came home and showered, that intense.
If I can get through my mid-week classes, Friday I'm meeting up with dear old Mom and Dad for a much-needed trip to the beach. I can't wait to collapse onto the deck (text book in hand, mind you) and stare out into the distance. I've always given my mom a hard time for sitting on her deck for hours when we could be at a water park or playing frisbee... but for the first time in my life, I just want to sit in stillness and let the sound of the crashing waves drown out the world.
Ahhh... that's better.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Humility, Humiliation
I can almost not write this because of the tears that threaten to fall down my cheeks; it's almost not worth the risk of the inevitable explosion when tears meet keyboard... but while I am so exhausted and frustrated I might melt at any moment, the story is funny in a way that one can only find humor in a situation that doesn't happen to them (so, sure, laugh if you want) and blogging is like therapy for me... counseling for the school counselor, if you will.
Tonight's class: Multicultural Diversity in Counseling (didn't I warn you about this class?)
Tonight's first article: Cultural Competence vs. Cultural Humility
My professor has written on the board a sort of equation: client's cultural parts + [blank] + [blank] = cultural competence.
My friend and classmate Laura is brilliant. She has a clinical mind due to years working in a psychiatric office, which also blessed her with the ability to speak Psychobabble, a language I am familiar with but unable to speak fluently. Dr. H's eyes alight on Laura for Blank #1. Laura, of course, gives a brilliant, immediate answer. "Bueno! Bueno!" in the words of Dr. H (she later told Laura she had an opening in her department, if that tells you how Bueno Laura really is).
Dr. H: And blank #2? Anyone? Anyone have any thoughts? How about.... LINDSEY.
Lindsey: Um, I really don't know.
Dr. H: Guess.
Lindsey: I'm sorry. I'm just really drawing a blank.
Dr. H: We'll wait.
Thanks, Doc. Because, while my thought process was initially frustrated by your question, thinking here in pressured silence has really got my brain waves moving.
Lindsey: Um, experience?
Dr. H: Mmmkay... anyone else?
Glad we could share that moment, class. Progress was made, I'm sure, by my mortification within the first five minutes of class. Need a scapegoat, classmates? I'm your girl.
To prevent further embarrassment, I decide to speak up about something I DO know the answer to. And what a swell decision that turned out to be! I give her one answer to her question, and she says, "Good, what about another reason?" I bumble my way through a second reason, which is truly a different version of my first (read: only) reason. "Okay, what about a third reason?" Look, lady. I had one- ONE- reason. Not two, definitely not three. This is not the Dead Poets Society. You are not going to push me to some beautiful breakthrough here in the College of Education.
When Backrow Becky says, "I don't know," we poll another member of our audience. When Lindsey says, "I'm really not sure," let's just think on it, please. Let's just all stare at Lindsey until she breaks. Maybe, just maybe, she'll cry.
If I had just come to class unprepared, I'd claim my embarrassment and move on- my bad. But no. Not tonight. In preparation for this class, I spent hours and hours of time reading articles and book chapters. Literally, one article took me two hours to read. I was as prepared as I could have been, so this entire incident was nearly unbearable to me.
I thought I would throw up. I genuinely wondered if I should leave the class to vomit. During our 9-minute break (9-minute break for a 3-hour class... totally reasonable....), I considered going to the hallway for a quick cry and phone call to my mommy. But I didn't. I sweated it out. Literally. For three hours, I sat stone still in my chair and sweat bullets. When I finally got back to my car, I realized that for three hours the muscles in my back had been so tense I hadn't sat back in my chair once but sat hunched over my desk for the entire class. My mind feels tired and slow and my eyes ache, so I might as well have cried.
I don't want to give the wrong impression: I'm really not some huge cry baby. I am not easily moved to tears; in fact, I'm often the only dry eye in the house at an emotional event. But I don't handle embarrassment well, especially when I don't have the opportunity to laugh it off. This class is extremely intense-- there is no laughing, ever. Cultural issues are no laughing matter, and don't you forget it.
So tonight I'm heavy-hearted. Tonight I'm wondering if this is worth it. Tonight visions of Europe dance through my head, and I'm wondering if I can't just put this whole grad school thing on hold. Can I go through 15 more weeks of three-hour torture sessions only to run home and sob in my bubble bath? I am so mentally exhausted from all the reading and in-class scrambling that I can't think... I don't want to watch TV, I don't want to read, I don't want to check Facebook (can you see the seriousness of the situation yet?). I just want to stare. And ponder. And maybe cry.
Tonight's class: Multicultural Diversity in Counseling (didn't I warn you about this class?)
Tonight's first article: Cultural Competence vs. Cultural Humility
My professor has written on the board a sort of equation: client's cultural parts + [blank] + [blank] = cultural competence.
My friend and classmate Laura is brilliant. She has a clinical mind due to years working in a psychiatric office, which also blessed her with the ability to speak Psychobabble, a language I am familiar with but unable to speak fluently. Dr. H's eyes alight on Laura for Blank #1. Laura, of course, gives a brilliant, immediate answer. "Bueno! Bueno!" in the words of Dr. H (she later told Laura she had an opening in her department, if that tells you how Bueno Laura really is).
Dr. H: And blank #2? Anyone? Anyone have any thoughts? How about.... LINDSEY.
Lindsey: Um, I really don't know.
Dr. H: Guess.
Lindsey: I'm sorry. I'm just really drawing a blank.
Dr. H: We'll wait.
Thanks, Doc. Because, while my thought process was initially frustrated by your question, thinking here in pressured silence has really got my brain waves moving.
Lindsey: Um, experience?
Dr. H: Mmmkay... anyone else?
Glad we could share that moment, class. Progress was made, I'm sure, by my mortification within the first five minutes of class. Need a scapegoat, classmates? I'm your girl.
To prevent further embarrassment, I decide to speak up about something I DO know the answer to. And what a swell decision that turned out to be! I give her one answer to her question, and she says, "Good, what about another reason?" I bumble my way through a second reason, which is truly a different version of my first (read: only) reason. "Okay, what about a third reason?" Look, lady. I had one- ONE- reason. Not two, definitely not three. This is not the Dead Poets Society. You are not going to push me to some beautiful breakthrough here in the College of Education.
When Backrow Becky says, "I don't know," we poll another member of our audience. When Lindsey says, "I'm really not sure," let's just think on it, please. Let's just all stare at Lindsey until she breaks. Maybe, just maybe, she'll cry.
If I had just come to class unprepared, I'd claim my embarrassment and move on- my bad. But no. Not tonight. In preparation for this class, I spent hours and hours of time reading articles and book chapters. Literally, one article took me two hours to read. I was as prepared as I could have been, so this entire incident was nearly unbearable to me.
I thought I would throw up. I genuinely wondered if I should leave the class to vomit. During our 9-minute break (9-minute break for a 3-hour class... totally reasonable....), I considered going to the hallway for a quick cry and phone call to my mommy. But I didn't. I sweated it out. Literally. For three hours, I sat stone still in my chair and sweat bullets. When I finally got back to my car, I realized that for three hours the muscles in my back had been so tense I hadn't sat back in my chair once but sat hunched over my desk for the entire class. My mind feels tired and slow and my eyes ache, so I might as well have cried.
I don't want to give the wrong impression: I'm really not some huge cry baby. I am not easily moved to tears; in fact, I'm often the only dry eye in the house at an emotional event. But I don't handle embarrassment well, especially when I don't have the opportunity to laugh it off. This class is extremely intense-- there is no laughing, ever. Cultural issues are no laughing matter, and don't you forget it.
So tonight I'm heavy-hearted. Tonight I'm wondering if this is worth it. Tonight visions of Europe dance through my head, and I'm wondering if I can't just put this whole grad school thing on hold. Can I go through 15 more weeks of three-hour torture sessions only to run home and sob in my bubble bath? I am so mentally exhausted from all the reading and in-class scrambling that I can't think... I don't want to watch TV, I don't want to read, I don't want to check Facebook (can you see the seriousness of the situation yet?). I just want to stare. And ponder. And maybe cry.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Theories
Since classes officially started Wednesday, tonight was my first night in my Tuesday night class: Theories of Counseling.
My Tuesday and Thursday classes are both taught by my advisor, and I just have to share for a moment about this saint of a woman. Dr. B is, first and foremost, an Auburn alum (oh, I totally signed my first Bama account e-mail with a War Eagle!), so immediately we're two peas in an enemy territory pod. She's tall and waif-like, and she talks with her hand constantly so I can't help but notice that her fingers are long and thin and I imagine them to be cool and dry to the touch (weird that I think about these things? Probably). She's very pale with dark eyes and hair and a long, thin nose. (It's important to me to describe her because I imagine I'll write about her class, and I want you to be able to picture it).
This Earth angel GETS it. That's the best way I know how to put it. She's genuine and passionate about her career path, but she's no nonsense. She doesn't believe in fluff assignments and busy work... everything we discuss or participate in has a valid purpose. She keeps us in class no longer than we need to be there, and she's blended the class to be online in parts because she understands that grad students don't eat-sleep-and-breathe to be grad students. One of my classmates is a working school counselor, wife, and mother of a fifth grader. On a Wednesday night, she needs to be home by 8 to help her son with his pre-algebra, not sitting in class having a discussion for the sake of discussion.
Please don't think I'm looking for the easy way out; I'm not. I appreciate the learning process, and I am very aware of when something is vital to my education. If you can promise me that we will be learning crucial information from 6 o'clock to 9 o'clock, I will sit for three hours and soak it up. But if we're just taking turns sharing stories and trying to tie them into our subject matter, I'll pass, thanks.
Dr. B is also working on a proposal for a study abroad semester for our program for the May-mester. She's headed to Vienna in September to nail down the details, but it looks like in May I'll have the opportunity to visit Freud's home in Zurich (and, duh, the chocolate factory), the concentration camp where Frankel was kept, the Freud museum in London, and other psychotherapy theorist museums in Paris and elsewhere. This may or may not work out, but you know me-- if there's any way I can justify a trip overseas, I'm all in.
And before I wrap it up, I have to toot my own little horn for a moment: today I got a phone call informing me that I've been awarded an assistantship with the University. Instead of spending my semester with my Little Monsters as a sub in the local school system, I'll be a graduate research assistant to one of my professors (her specialties are sex therapy and play therapy, so this is sure to be an adventure). I'll spend 20 hours a week doing research with her and working in the counseling lab, where I'll answer the phone and schedule appointments for practicum students. The perks of the assistantships are half tuition paid (yay for Mom and Dad!) and a monthly stipend (yay for Lindsey!). I'll truly miss my adventures in subbing, but I can't pass up this opportunity. One, it wouldn't be fair to my parents; and two, it's invaluable for my resume... you never know when I might want to pursue a doctorate.
So I'm signing off tonight excited about the semester-- hope this feeling lasts.
My Tuesday and Thursday classes are both taught by my advisor, and I just have to share for a moment about this saint of a woman. Dr. B is, first and foremost, an Auburn alum (oh, I totally signed my first Bama account e-mail with a War Eagle!), so immediately we're two peas in an enemy territory pod. She's tall and waif-like, and she talks with her hand constantly so I can't help but notice that her fingers are long and thin and I imagine them to be cool and dry to the touch (weird that I think about these things? Probably). She's very pale with dark eyes and hair and a long, thin nose. (It's important to me to describe her because I imagine I'll write about her class, and I want you to be able to picture it).
This Earth angel GETS it. That's the best way I know how to put it. She's genuine and passionate about her career path, but she's no nonsense. She doesn't believe in fluff assignments and busy work... everything we discuss or participate in has a valid purpose. She keeps us in class no longer than we need to be there, and she's blended the class to be online in parts because she understands that grad students don't eat-sleep-and-breathe to be grad students. One of my classmates is a working school counselor, wife, and mother of a fifth grader. On a Wednesday night, she needs to be home by 8 to help her son with his pre-algebra, not sitting in class having a discussion for the sake of discussion.
Please don't think I'm looking for the easy way out; I'm not. I appreciate the learning process, and I am very aware of when something is vital to my education. If you can promise me that we will be learning crucial information from 6 o'clock to 9 o'clock, I will sit for three hours and soak it up. But if we're just taking turns sharing stories and trying to tie them into our subject matter, I'll pass, thanks.
Dr. B is also working on a proposal for a study abroad semester for our program for the May-mester. She's headed to Vienna in September to nail down the details, but it looks like in May I'll have the opportunity to visit Freud's home in Zurich (and, duh, the chocolate factory), the concentration camp where Frankel was kept, the Freud museum in London, and other psychotherapy theorist museums in Paris and elsewhere. This may or may not work out, but you know me-- if there's any way I can justify a trip overseas, I'm all in.
And before I wrap it up, I have to toot my own little horn for a moment: today I got a phone call informing me that I've been awarded an assistantship with the University. Instead of spending my semester with my Little Monsters as a sub in the local school system, I'll be a graduate research assistant to one of my professors (her specialties are sex therapy and play therapy, so this is sure to be an adventure). I'll spend 20 hours a week doing research with her and working in the counseling lab, where I'll answer the phone and schedule appointments for practicum students. The perks of the assistantships are half tuition paid (yay for Mom and Dad!) and a monthly stipend (yay for Lindsey!). I'll truly miss my adventures in subbing, but I can't pass up this opportunity. One, it wouldn't be fair to my parents; and two, it's invaluable for my resume... you never know when I might want to pursue a doctorate.
So I'm signing off tonight excited about the semester-- hope this feeling lasts.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Euro Trip
I don't know where to start this off because I'm so excited about it.
In May, I crossed the Big Pond to visit family friends in Sweden. A month or two before I left, the idea of ministry in Sweden wiggled its way into my mind and took hold of my heart. For weeks, I prayed that the Lord would shed light on this desire, and while I was in Sweden my eyes were opened to so much.
I can hardly express my love for this country. It's beautiful-- from the natural beauty of the lakes and countryside to the awe-inspiring architecture-- and the people are equally as beautiful, inside and out. Every Swede I met welcomed me with a huge, bright smile and asked me question after question about my life and country. Immediately, I was charmed by their happy lifestyles and carefree demeanors. I mean, really-- there was a noticeable lack of sadness or ill moods. It's comparable to old Southern hospitality, but with a Scandinavian twist.
My heart was burdened, though, that the other, far more noteworthy absence was the lack of church. The total lack of ministry. As a country, the religion is Lutheran. In downtown Stockholm, there are many ancient churches. Most Swedes were baptized as part of their christening and would likely label themselves "spiritual," but there are no youth groups. There are no church fellowships or small group meetings. There are no Disciple Now weekends, no Vacation Bible Schools. And these are a people that absolutely love to love, and my heart breaks that they might know the Author of Love.
A couple of weeks ago, I met two of my sorority sisters for dinner. As we talked about how our lives had changed since we last met, we seemed to all be heading the same way with our thoughts: there's got to be more to life, there's got to be a higher calling, there's got to be a way God can use me. And as we continued down this path, the resounding theme was this: Europe. Europe needs God as much as Africa and South America and Honduras and all the other third world country. Don't get me wrong: I am absolutely not belittling the needs of those countries. But Europe is completely overlooked because there civilized, and the bottom line is they may not need clean water, but they need Jesus.
I don't know that I believe in coincidences, and it seemed to weird that we were praying about the exact same thing not to wonder if this wasn't some sort of calling. I wish I knew the answers; I don't. I don't know how to be a missionary; I don't know where to even start... But I know this, even a conversation with your waitress at the sidewalk cafe can plant a seed. Right now we're researching existing ministries and praying about just seeing what doors God opens for us, even if it's just working in a shop and sharing the Word with a co-worker or starting a weekly Bible study with new friends.
Maybe it'll happen and maybe it won't, I'm not sure. Like I said, we're just praying that our hearts' desires be lined up with His will and that the right doors be opened and shut where He sees fit. I still have a year left in grad school, but a solid year of prayer is probably about right for this kind of decision.
Very, very exciting stuff, folks.
In May, I crossed the Big Pond to visit family friends in Sweden. A month or two before I left, the idea of ministry in Sweden wiggled its way into my mind and took hold of my heart. For weeks, I prayed that the Lord would shed light on this desire, and while I was in Sweden my eyes were opened to so much.
I can hardly express my love for this country. It's beautiful-- from the natural beauty of the lakes and countryside to the awe-inspiring architecture-- and the people are equally as beautiful, inside and out. Every Swede I met welcomed me with a huge, bright smile and asked me question after question about my life and country. Immediately, I was charmed by their happy lifestyles and carefree demeanors. I mean, really-- there was a noticeable lack of sadness or ill moods. It's comparable to old Southern hospitality, but with a Scandinavian twist.
My heart was burdened, though, that the other, far more noteworthy absence was the lack of church. The total lack of ministry. As a country, the religion is Lutheran. In downtown Stockholm, there are many ancient churches. Most Swedes were baptized as part of their christening and would likely label themselves "spiritual," but there are no youth groups. There are no church fellowships or small group meetings. There are no Disciple Now weekends, no Vacation Bible Schools. And these are a people that absolutely love to love, and my heart breaks that they might know the Author of Love.
A couple of weeks ago, I met two of my sorority sisters for dinner. As we talked about how our lives had changed since we last met, we seemed to all be heading the same way with our thoughts: there's got to be more to life, there's got to be a higher calling, there's got to be a way God can use me. And as we continued down this path, the resounding theme was this: Europe. Europe needs God as much as Africa and South America and Honduras and all the other third world country. Don't get me wrong: I am absolutely not belittling the needs of those countries. But Europe is completely overlooked because there civilized, and the bottom line is they may not need clean water, but they need Jesus.
I don't know that I believe in coincidences, and it seemed to weird that we were praying about the exact same thing not to wonder if this wasn't some sort of calling. I wish I knew the answers; I don't. I don't know how to be a missionary; I don't know where to even start... But I know this, even a conversation with your waitress at the sidewalk cafe can plant a seed. Right now we're researching existing ministries and praying about just seeing what doors God opens for us, even if it's just working in a shop and sharing the Word with a co-worker or starting a weekly Bible study with new friends.
Maybe it'll happen and maybe it won't, I'm not sure. Like I said, we're just praying that our hearts' desires be lined up with His will and that the right doors be opened and shut where He sees fit. I still have a year left in grad school, but a solid year of prayer is probably about right for this kind of decision.
Very, very exciting stuff, folks.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
What's the opposite of writer's block?
Writer's overload?
Usually I go on blogger's hiatus because I can't think of anything noteworthy; lately, though, it's the opposite. Lately I've been avoiding my little blog because I have too many things to write about. I've taken to making notes on my phone when something strikes me. But when I think about logging on and hammering it out, I get overwhelmed with the organization of all my thoughts.
I'm a planner. Have I mentioned that? You might find it shocking (sarcasm) that I plan out my blogs. Not that I have some sort of blog agenda (that's a lie, I kind of do...), but I think about every blog before I type it out. I'm no English major, and I'll probably never have anything published, but I fancy myself a writer simply because I have a genuine love of words. It's an art form to me, using the perfect phrases and descriptions to get your point across. Every blog starts in my head as a jumble of phrases, adjectives, puns... all rolling around in my mind, arranging and rearranging themselves. I get my best ideas as I'm falling asleep, so usually by the time I actually get to the ol' blog my little thoughts aren't quite so lyrical as I had previously found them.
I would have loved to have been an English major. I love literature: I can get lost in the romance and wit of Shakespeare, and Mark Twain elicits a grin from me that probably makes those around me think I'm nuts (sometimes I rock back and forth a little bit just for kicks). I try to fit in a classic in between trendy books (hello, Sookie Stackhouse), and I'd just as soon buy books as groceries. But to be an English major... that would've taken the joy out of it. I love the classroom discussions, but you've never seen someone stress like me with an English writing assignment. When forced to write on a given topic, I lock up. I e-mail my dad, the English teacher, a thousand times a day. I poll friends for ideas. I stare at blank Word documents for hours. In sum, I panic.
Something like a blog... just pouring out my pointless thoughts onto a tiny screen... that's when the antithesis of writer's block hits me. And here's something else that just hit me: obviously I have too many pointless thoughts.
So this week I have a blog agenda: travel plans, DNow (spoiler alert: it was AWESOME), FBC Pickers, and probably another class review or two. So tune in, it's going to be a big week for those of us here at hayslin.blogspot.com.
PS- much to my chagrin, this blog did not turn out at all as planned. I really just wanted an intro before I started my DNow post, but here I am... talking about how much I love to... talk.
Usually I go on blogger's hiatus because I can't think of anything noteworthy; lately, though, it's the opposite. Lately I've been avoiding my little blog because I have too many things to write about. I've taken to making notes on my phone when something strikes me. But when I think about logging on and hammering it out, I get overwhelmed with the organization of all my thoughts.
I'm a planner. Have I mentioned that? You might find it shocking (sarcasm) that I plan out my blogs. Not that I have some sort of blog agenda (that's a lie, I kind of do...), but I think about every blog before I type it out. I'm no English major, and I'll probably never have anything published, but I fancy myself a writer simply because I have a genuine love of words. It's an art form to me, using the perfect phrases and descriptions to get your point across. Every blog starts in my head as a jumble of phrases, adjectives, puns... all rolling around in my mind, arranging and rearranging themselves. I get my best ideas as I'm falling asleep, so usually by the time I actually get to the ol' blog my little thoughts aren't quite so lyrical as I had previously found them.
I would have loved to have been an English major. I love literature: I can get lost in the romance and wit of Shakespeare, and Mark Twain elicits a grin from me that probably makes those around me think I'm nuts (sometimes I rock back and forth a little bit just for kicks). I try to fit in a classic in between trendy books (hello, Sookie Stackhouse), and I'd just as soon buy books as groceries. But to be an English major... that would've taken the joy out of it. I love the classroom discussions, but you've never seen someone stress like me with an English writing assignment. When forced to write on a given topic, I lock up. I e-mail my dad, the English teacher, a thousand times a day. I poll friends for ideas. I stare at blank Word documents for hours. In sum, I panic.
Something like a blog... just pouring out my pointless thoughts onto a tiny screen... that's when the antithesis of writer's block hits me. And here's something else that just hit me: obviously I have too many pointless thoughts.
So this week I have a blog agenda: travel plans, DNow (spoiler alert: it was AWESOME), FBC Pickers, and probably another class review or two. So tune in, it's going to be a big week for those of us here at hayslin.blogspot.com.
PS- much to my chagrin, this blog did not turn out at all as planned. I really just wanted an intro before I started my DNow post, but here I am... talking about how much I love to... talk.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Round 2: ding, ding, ding
Tonight I went to my second class of the semester: Processes of Counseling. My advisor teaches this class, and she already has one thing in her favor: AUBURN GRAD. You have no idea how exciting it is to say "War Eagle!" to a professor around here. Unlike my Wednesday night class, this should be a pretty low-stress environment. We do a lot of work online then meet and chat in class once a week. Outside of that, I have to teach three hour-long guidance lessons at local schools and spend at least seven hours shadowing a school counselor in a local school. I don't mind public speaking, really... that is, if I need to stand up and make an announcement, I can do it. But I am always sure to butcher anything I've rehearsed in advance. Instead of teaching the lesson, I get lost in my thoughts wondering if I'm saying things in the right order or if I've left something out. I make weird jokes followed by nervous laughter, I check my notes constantly. Off the cuff, though, I'm cool as a cucumber. Weird, isn't it? When I gave my maid of honor speech at Lauren's wedding, I didn't write anything down. I just went with it. If I had prepared a speech, I think I would've ruined the entire moment...
Okay, getting off topic.
I accomplished a pretty good bit today-- which is a feat for me because living alone makes watching reruns on the couch all day very, very tempting. I went to the city board of education for a substitute teaching application, I bought all my textbooks (I'm sure I wouldn't have used that $450 anyway...), went to the gym, rearranged all my pictures and frames, hung my diploma and cork board... And I rewarded myself with a SMALL milkshake from Chic-Fil-A (don't you judge me: I had a salad and Diet Mountain Dew for dinner). Sure, I feel like the blood pulsing through my veins is syrupy with all the sugar I just doused my system with... but it was totally worth it.
Other things happening in my life:
Tomorrow I'm going home to lead the sixth and seventh grade girls in Disciple Now, and I am PUMPED. I have been praying for this and for these girls for WEEKS, and I cannot wait to see the Lord move this weekend. We're talking about getting into the Word and knowing the Word and living the Word. This week I read an interview with Kristin Chenoweth, whom I adore, about "being a Christian and loving the gays" (their headline, not mine). When confronted with the Bible's absolute truth she quoted her grandmother saying, "You have to treat the Bible like you treat your fish: you eat the meat that feeds you good, but you don't choke on the bones." In other words, eat up the parts of the Bible that are self-satisfying and beautiful to read, but ignore the parts that call for conviction or sacrifice. Wrong-o, friends. I encourage whoever might read this to be in prayer for my girls, myself, the other leaders, and other students involved this weekend. Oh! And the church members that are volunteering their houses!
Yesterday I did Jillian Michaels' (you may know her from The Biggest Loser) 30-Day Shred DVD. If you're like me, you may kind scoff at work out DVDs. My mother did Richard Simmons' Sweatin' to the Oldies when I was little, and I've laughed my way through Carmen Electra's Stripperobics in college. Let me testify: The 30-day Shred is NO JOKE. The first time I did it two years ago, I literally hobbled the next day. Yesterday I did it for the first time in nearly a year, and this morning I knew before I turned my alarm clock off that I would be in a similar state as two years ago. I haven't hobbled, except on staircases (whoa!), but every movement is a concentrated, painful effort. I get super bored on the elliptical or treadmill, so instead of taking the day off and inevitably getting out of the workout pace, I'm starting to throw a DVD in once or twice a week. It's only 20 minutes, but I sweat as much as when I run 3 miles and I'm a thousand times more sore the next day (which means it's working, right?).
In other news, my cat is the love of my life and I think I might move to Europe after grad school... but those are posts for later this week.
G'night! xoxo.
Okay, getting off topic.
I accomplished a pretty good bit today-- which is a feat for me because living alone makes watching reruns on the couch all day very, very tempting. I went to the city board of education for a substitute teaching application, I bought all my textbooks (I'm sure I wouldn't have used that $450 anyway...), went to the gym, rearranged all my pictures and frames, hung my diploma and cork board... And I rewarded myself with a SMALL milkshake from Chic-Fil-A (don't you judge me: I had a salad and Diet Mountain Dew for dinner). Sure, I feel like the blood pulsing through my veins is syrupy with all the sugar I just doused my system with... but it was totally worth it.
Other things happening in my life:
Tomorrow I'm going home to lead the sixth and seventh grade girls in Disciple Now, and I am PUMPED. I have been praying for this and for these girls for WEEKS, and I cannot wait to see the Lord move this weekend. We're talking about getting into the Word and knowing the Word and living the Word. This week I read an interview with Kristin Chenoweth, whom I adore, about "being a Christian and loving the gays" (their headline, not mine). When confronted with the Bible's absolute truth she quoted her grandmother saying, "You have to treat the Bible like you treat your fish: you eat the meat that feeds you good, but you don't choke on the bones." In other words, eat up the parts of the Bible that are self-satisfying and beautiful to read, but ignore the parts that call for conviction or sacrifice. Wrong-o, friends. I encourage whoever might read this to be in prayer for my girls, myself, the other leaders, and other students involved this weekend. Oh! And the church members that are volunteering their houses!
Yesterday I did Jillian Michaels' (you may know her from The Biggest Loser) 30-Day Shred DVD. If you're like me, you may kind scoff at work out DVDs. My mother did Richard Simmons' Sweatin' to the Oldies when I was little, and I've laughed my way through Carmen Electra's Stripperobics in college. Let me testify: The 30-day Shred is NO JOKE. The first time I did it two years ago, I literally hobbled the next day. Yesterday I did it for the first time in nearly a year, and this morning I knew before I turned my alarm clock off that I would be in a similar state as two years ago. I haven't hobbled, except on staircases (whoa!), but every movement is a concentrated, painful effort. I get super bored on the elliptical or treadmill, so instead of taking the day off and inevitably getting out of the workout pace, I'm starting to throw a DVD in once or twice a week. It's only 20 minutes, but I sweat as much as when I run 3 miles and I'm a thousand times more sore the next day (which means it's working, right?).
In other news, my cat is the love of my life and I think I might move to Europe after grad school... but those are posts for later this week.
G'night! xoxo.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Back to school, back to school...
Tonight I started my third semester of grad school. So far, I have 18 hours, 5 A's, and 1 B (sad face) under my belt. Ideally, this time next year I'll be starting my last semester of grad school: something like 600 hours of internship. We'll see if I make that schedule.
If you're easily offended, don't carry on. I don't think it's offensive, truly, but I can see where my sarcasm could be misinterpreted, so there's one of my signature disclaimers.
Tonight's class is called Multicultural Diversity in Counseling. My teacher uses Spanish lingo, has what I would term (maybe insensitively? I'm not sure because I've just started the class) African-American hair, and "white girl" skin (my classmate's description). She hasn't told us what ethnicity she subscribes to, and I suspect she won't. Her special blend puts her in a good place to teach the class, and labeling herself would shut doors... I hate not knowing, though.
This class meets from six to nine. Dr. Hooper informed us implicitly that we will be staying until 9:00 every week; she'd keep us til ten if she could. In that three-hour time span, we have a nine-minute break. As she was telling us tonight when to return to class, I put my chin to my chest in an effort to stretch my burning neck (pinched nerve? should get that looked at...). Dr. Hooper apparently thought I was settling in for a nine-minute nap, so she announced to the class that it might be in my best interest to bring a caffeinated beverage to our next class. Awesome-- we're off to a great start already.
I happen to have won the lottery in the cultural/ethnic department. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed WASP, I'm Hitler's dream girl, basically. In a class about cultural diversity, though, I'm kind of like a target. Anything I say can and will be used against me as I've never been discriminated against. Although my high school English teacher told us that women are the oldest minority in the world, I've hardly dealt with sexism in this day and age. If anything, people now fear the power of a law suit. What I'm saying is this: some people find my honesty refreshing and my frankness endearing... unfortunately, in a multicultural class, I'm more likely to come off as insensitive. Is it cool to say someone's black, or is African-American the only kosher label? What's the difference between Latino and Hispanic? And is 'gay' okay, or should I go with "homosexual"?... but I've been told that "homosexual" is on it's way out. Lots of hot-button topics, and things are sure to get uncomfortable.
In my introductory speech, I told the class that I was from a small-town and immediately uncomfortable in this class. I expected a nod or two from other small-towners (not knocking small towns, people, but fact is fact), but what I got was a practical standing ovation from the teacher. Bravo for my honesty and willingness to admit that I'm uncomfortable because that's what this class is all about, she tells us.
Awesome. There's nothing I love more than that delightful feeling of egg shells straining beneath my feet.
My first assignment for the class is a cultural immersion project. Basically, I have to go- alone- to a cultural event where I am the outsider. As a Christian, I could go to a mosque. As a white person, I could go to a service at the African American Methodist Church. As a straight person, I could go to a gay pride event.
Jealous, aren't you? My internship site this time last year offered a course called Black Marriage Enrichment. The teacher is fabulous, and I can see that it would be a genuine learning experience... so that's my plan of action for this assignment. Think they'll notice I'm an outsider? Check.
Next assignment: spend THREE hours interviewing someone of another culture/ethnicity/race. Have three hours to spare letting me drill you with questions about your culture? Me neither. Have three hours worth of material to share with me about your culture/ethnicity/race? Didn't think so.
Okay, so I'm a little pessimistic about the second assignment. Maybe it's because I don't have a subject in mind just yet; maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised by the things I'll learn from Citizen X. We shall see.
I'm sure there will be many a'blog about my social faux pas in this class. Hope you're anxiously awaiting. I know my mouth is watering for a little foot action.
If you're easily offended, don't carry on. I don't think it's offensive, truly, but I can see where my sarcasm could be misinterpreted, so there's one of my signature disclaimers.
Tonight's class is called Multicultural Diversity in Counseling. My teacher uses Spanish lingo, has what I would term (maybe insensitively? I'm not sure because I've just started the class) African-American hair, and "white girl" skin (my classmate's description). She hasn't told us what ethnicity she subscribes to, and I suspect she won't. Her special blend puts her in a good place to teach the class, and labeling herself would shut doors... I hate not knowing, though.
This class meets from six to nine. Dr. Hooper informed us implicitly that we will be staying until 9:00 every week; she'd keep us til ten if she could. In that three-hour time span, we have a nine-minute break. As she was telling us tonight when to return to class, I put my chin to my chest in an effort to stretch my burning neck (pinched nerve? should get that looked at...). Dr. Hooper apparently thought I was settling in for a nine-minute nap, so she announced to the class that it might be in my best interest to bring a caffeinated beverage to our next class. Awesome-- we're off to a great start already.
I happen to have won the lottery in the cultural/ethnic department. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed WASP, I'm Hitler's dream girl, basically. In a class about cultural diversity, though, I'm kind of like a target. Anything I say can and will be used against me as I've never been discriminated against. Although my high school English teacher told us that women are the oldest minority in the world, I've hardly dealt with sexism in this day and age. If anything, people now fear the power of a law suit. What I'm saying is this: some people find my honesty refreshing and my frankness endearing... unfortunately, in a multicultural class, I'm more likely to come off as insensitive. Is it cool to say someone's black, or is African-American the only kosher label? What's the difference between Latino and Hispanic? And is 'gay' okay, or should I go with "homosexual"?... but I've been told that "homosexual" is on it's way out. Lots of hot-button topics, and things are sure to get uncomfortable.
In my introductory speech, I told the class that I was from a small-town and immediately uncomfortable in this class. I expected a nod or two from other small-towners (not knocking small towns, people, but fact is fact), but what I got was a practical standing ovation from the teacher. Bravo for my honesty and willingness to admit that I'm uncomfortable because that's what this class is all about, she tells us.
Awesome. There's nothing I love more than that delightful feeling of egg shells straining beneath my feet.
My first assignment for the class is a cultural immersion project. Basically, I have to go- alone- to a cultural event where I am the outsider. As a Christian, I could go to a mosque. As a white person, I could go to a service at the African American Methodist Church. As a straight person, I could go to a gay pride event.
Jealous, aren't you? My internship site this time last year offered a course called Black Marriage Enrichment. The teacher is fabulous, and I can see that it would be a genuine learning experience... so that's my plan of action for this assignment. Think they'll notice I'm an outsider? Check.
Next assignment: spend THREE hours interviewing someone of another culture/ethnicity/race. Have three hours to spare letting me drill you with questions about your culture? Me neither. Have three hours worth of material to share with me about your culture/ethnicity/race? Didn't think so.
Okay, so I'm a little pessimistic about the second assignment. Maybe it's because I don't have a subject in mind just yet; maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised by the things I'll learn from Citizen X. We shall see.
I'm sure there will be many a'blog about my social faux pas in this class. Hope you're anxiously awaiting. I know my mouth is watering for a little foot action.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Movie Review: Dinner for Schmucks
Last night I went to the 10:20 showing of Dinner for Schmucks (note: I'm getting too old for post-8:30 showings). When I see a movie, I like to keep my expectations fairly low so that I'm always pleasantly surprised. There's nothing worse* than hearing a movie hyped up to brilliance only to watch it and wonder what all the fuss is about-- hello, Toy Story 3. Also, before you read my review you should know that I don't go to the movies for a life-changing experience. I can appreciate creative camera angles, intelligent humor, and political statements, but mostly I go to the movies for a good laugh and a 2-hour escape from reality. My dad walks away from every movie with a million ideas of what he would have done differently; I, on the other hand, am a little more lenient.
*Okay, there are worse things: root canals, spoiled milk, stubbed toes... but we've talked about my affinity for exaggeration.
So, here it is: my movie review. Look out, Siskel or Ebert (I can't remember which one of you is still alive), I'm coming for your little director's chair.
Dinner for Schmucks is funny. There were times when I was embarrassed by my own laughter, and there were times when I was just embarrassed. It's one of those movies where the protagonist (the always-delicious Paul Rudd) is besieged by a series of uncontrollable and horrific events that tear his life-- his career, his home, his lovelife-- to shreds around him (a la Ben Stiller in Meet the Parents). There were times when I felt sick for Paul Rudd's character, Tim; there were times when both my movie companion and I put our heads in our laps because we were too uncomfortable to look up (if you think Steve Carrell's Michael Scott is awkward, beware of his character, Barry, in this movie: Michael Scott's tactless lack of self-awareness x infinity). The movie reaches its climax at the dinner, where Steve Carrell and Zach Galifianakis are brilliant together. Flight of the Conchords' Jemaine Clement makes a cameo in an all too familiar Albus Snow-esque role (as seen in Get Him to the Greek and Forgetting Sarah Marshall), but provides several laughs regardless of his cliche character. There is the inevitable emotional catharsis in the main character, and all the loose ends are cleverly tied together for an ending that pleases a relieved-to-be-comfortable-again audience.
As far as vulgarity and the like go, the movie relatively clean. Curse words max out at the f-word being dropped two to three times (practically a G rating these days), and there is a surprisingly limited use of sexual innuendos, although they're not entirely absent to be sure.
Overall, it's a funny, feel-good (when you're not rocking back and forth in horror on behalf of the characters) movie that's worth a laugh or several. It's definitely worth seeing, although this humble critic can't offer any reason why seeing it on the big screen for ten bucks would be anymore impressive than watching it in the comfort of your own home for half the price... unless you just crave that $15 gourmet popcorn, $12 Milk Duds, and $17 soda (and sadly, that's only barely an exaggeration).
To carry on my review theme, I'll add a quick run down of my quaint little town's newest dining establishment: Ichiban.
Ichiban is a Japanese restaurant just next door to the high school; they offer sushi and hibachi dinners at a private table as well as the dinner-and-a-show set-ups as seen at restaurants like Shogun. The sushi menu is surprisingly extensive and moderately-priced, while the hibachi menu seems a little expensive, at least on a college student's budget. The menu does not offer a teriyaki option (as opposed to hibachi), and the hibachi plates do not come with the custom pink sauce (I'm sure there's a more official name for this sauce)-- I happen to consider the main dish a mere vehicle for sauce, so that was a major disappointment for this diner.
I also believe that atmosphere is half the dining experience, and I have to give Ichiban top notches for interior design. It's exterior may look eerily reminiscent of the Hardee's once housed there, but the restaurant itself is beautifully decorated with distressed metal, opaque glass partitions, and water features. Overall, I give Ichiban an 8 out of 10 (read: please add pink sauce to my plate next time, and lots of it) and hope to see it become a staple establishment here in this small town.
*Okay, there are worse things: root canals, spoiled milk, stubbed toes... but we've talked about my affinity for exaggeration.
So, here it is: my movie review. Look out, Siskel or Ebert (I can't remember which one of you is still alive), I'm coming for your little director's chair.
Dinner for Schmucks is funny. There were times when I was embarrassed by my own laughter, and there were times when I was just embarrassed. It's one of those movies where the protagonist (the always-delicious Paul Rudd) is besieged by a series of uncontrollable and horrific events that tear his life-- his career, his home, his lovelife-- to shreds around him (a la Ben Stiller in Meet the Parents). There were times when I felt sick for Paul Rudd's character, Tim; there were times when both my movie companion and I put our heads in our laps because we were too uncomfortable to look up (if you think Steve Carrell's Michael Scott is awkward, beware of his character, Barry, in this movie: Michael Scott's tactless lack of self-awareness x infinity). The movie reaches its climax at the dinner, where Steve Carrell and Zach Galifianakis are brilliant together. Flight of the Conchords' Jemaine Clement makes a cameo in an all too familiar Albus Snow-esque role (as seen in Get Him to the Greek and Forgetting Sarah Marshall), but provides several laughs regardless of his cliche character. There is the inevitable emotional catharsis in the main character, and all the loose ends are cleverly tied together for an ending that pleases a relieved-to-be-comfortable-again audience.
As far as vulgarity and the like go, the movie relatively clean. Curse words max out at the f-word being dropped two to three times (practically a G rating these days), and there is a surprisingly limited use of sexual innuendos, although they're not entirely absent to be sure.
Overall, it's a funny, feel-good (when you're not rocking back and forth in horror on behalf of the characters) movie that's worth a laugh or several. It's definitely worth seeing, although this humble critic can't offer any reason why seeing it on the big screen for ten bucks would be anymore impressive than watching it in the comfort of your own home for half the price... unless you just crave that $15 gourmet popcorn, $12 Milk Duds, and $17 soda (and sadly, that's only barely an exaggeration).
To carry on my review theme, I'll add a quick run down of my quaint little town's newest dining establishment: Ichiban.
Ichiban is a Japanese restaurant just next door to the high school; they offer sushi and hibachi dinners at a private table as well as the dinner-and-a-show set-ups as seen at restaurants like Shogun. The sushi menu is surprisingly extensive and moderately-priced, while the hibachi menu seems a little expensive, at least on a college student's budget. The menu does not offer a teriyaki option (as opposed to hibachi), and the hibachi plates do not come with the custom pink sauce (I'm sure there's a more official name for this sauce)-- I happen to consider the main dish a mere vehicle for sauce, so that was a major disappointment for this diner.
I also believe that atmosphere is half the dining experience, and I have to give Ichiban top notches for interior design. It's exterior may look eerily reminiscent of the Hardee's once housed there, but the restaurant itself is beautifully decorated with distressed metal, opaque glass partitions, and water features. Overall, I give Ichiban an 8 out of 10 (read: please add pink sauce to my plate next time, and lots of it) and hope to see it become a staple establishment here in this small town.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Week I Grew Up
Okay, I'm an exaggerator and that was an exaggeration. Much like my childhood hero Peter Pan, I don't plan to ever grow up, but lately I'm feeling the tug of adulthood.
The past two weeks I've been spending a lot of time with my ex-boyfriend.
Is your heart racing a little bit? Chillax. Not my most recent ex; no, the past few weeks I've been spending time with Clay. After two years crushing from afar, Clay and I dated my freshman and sophomore year. We would meet at the top of the gym after school everyday before he went to tennis practice, and he drove me home from my first prom because our dates had started dating other people. He took me on my first real date, and back then I didn't know the greatness of being "In a Relationship" on Facebook, and neither did anyone else. Ah, simpler times...
But I digress. Clay's about to move to Dallas in pursuit of a grown-up job. This week he's graduated from Auburn-- I went to my first Auburn game with him, by the way-- bought his own insurance, and sold the car that drove me to Dairy Queen countless times in high school. As I have observed all these things, it's become suddenly, uncomfortably clear to me: we're growing up. All of us. Everyone I was close to in high school and college: we're all growing up.
Tonight I played tennis with Wade and David (and Anna, but she's not part of this trip down Memory Lane), and I couldn't help but think back to our trips to Zaxby's after Wednesday night church or wing night in Albertville every Monday in tenth grade... and how long ago that was, how much my whole worldview has changed since then.
I talked to my Mini Me the night before she started 11th grade. She had her outfit picked out, and I demanded to see a picture and hear all about it the next day. Memories flooded my mind as we texted back and forth of my first day of school junior year. Undoubtedly, I picked out my outfit days in advance, but I would've been horrified for anyone to know how much I cared. I was very into not caring that year, as that was the Year of the Hippie. Bands that went mainstream were sell-outs, and Lauren and I raced to outdo the other's hippiness: she went for Janis Joplin, while I went the Bob Dylan route. More than anything, we conformed to the nonconformity trend sweeping the hallways of our high school.
Not only do I not particularly care to think back on Weird Lindsey, but it's difficult simply because it was so long ago. I think my career ambitions have a lot to do with my Peter Pan complex: if I work in Neverland- counsel the Lost Boys or attempt to correct the grammar of the pirates of the Jolly Roger- will I ever truly grow up?
I watch my friends moving on with life: Clay moving off to Dallas, Wade and David commuting to Huntsville everyday (hello, commuting-- grown up word), and another friend getting engaged every week, I see how far we've all come. And I wonder... how much longer til it's us in our parents' roles?... til our social outings are Sunday School parties and children's sporting events?.. til we're packing up our families for Christmas at Grandmother's?... how much longer til I hear myself say in astonishment, "Never in all my life..." and other statements of outrage at the shenanigans of the next generation?
Oy. I wouldn't call myself a Grey's Anatomy junkie, but I'll admit it's my guilty pleasure and so I'll quote Meredith in saying, "I guess we're adults. The question is, when did this happen, and how do we make it stop?"
Also, this disclaimer is unnecessary, but I'll throw it out there just in case the fond tone of my description threw you off: When I say I've been spending time with Clay, I don't mean in a romantic way. We were just young enough when we broke up that we didn't know we were supposed to hate each other after the break up.
The past two weeks I've been spending a lot of time with my ex-boyfriend.
Is your heart racing a little bit? Chillax. Not my most recent ex; no, the past few weeks I've been spending time with Clay. After two years crushing from afar, Clay and I dated my freshman and sophomore year. We would meet at the top of the gym after school everyday before he went to tennis practice, and he drove me home from my first prom because our dates had started dating other people. He took me on my first real date, and back then I didn't know the greatness of being "In a Relationship" on Facebook, and neither did anyone else. Ah, simpler times...
But I digress. Clay's about to move to Dallas in pursuit of a grown-up job. This week he's graduated from Auburn-- I went to my first Auburn game with him, by the way-- bought his own insurance, and sold the car that drove me to Dairy Queen countless times in high school. As I have observed all these things, it's become suddenly, uncomfortably clear to me: we're growing up. All of us. Everyone I was close to in high school and college: we're all growing up.
Tonight I played tennis with Wade and David (and Anna, but she's not part of this trip down Memory Lane), and I couldn't help but think back to our trips to Zaxby's after Wednesday night church or wing night in Albertville every Monday in tenth grade... and how long ago that was, how much my whole worldview has changed since then.
I talked to my Mini Me the night before she started 11th grade. She had her outfit picked out, and I demanded to see a picture and hear all about it the next day. Memories flooded my mind as we texted back and forth of my first day of school junior year. Undoubtedly, I picked out my outfit days in advance, but I would've been horrified for anyone to know how much I cared. I was very into not caring that year, as that was the Year of the Hippie. Bands that went mainstream were sell-outs, and Lauren and I raced to outdo the other's hippiness: she went for Janis Joplin, while I went the Bob Dylan route. More than anything, we conformed to the nonconformity trend sweeping the hallways of our high school.
Not only do I not particularly care to think back on Weird Lindsey, but it's difficult simply because it was so long ago. I think my career ambitions have a lot to do with my Peter Pan complex: if I work in Neverland- counsel the Lost Boys or attempt to correct the grammar of the pirates of the Jolly Roger- will I ever truly grow up?
I watch my friends moving on with life: Clay moving off to Dallas, Wade and David commuting to Huntsville everyday (hello, commuting-- grown up word), and another friend getting engaged every week, I see how far we've all come. And I wonder... how much longer til it's us in our parents' roles?... til our social outings are Sunday School parties and children's sporting events?.. til we're packing up our families for Christmas at Grandmother's?... how much longer til I hear myself say in astonishment, "Never in all my life..." and other statements of outrage at the shenanigans of the next generation?
Oy. I wouldn't call myself a Grey's Anatomy junkie, but I'll admit it's my guilty pleasure and so I'll quote Meredith in saying, "I guess we're adults. The question is, when did this happen, and how do we make it stop?"
Also, this disclaimer is unnecessary, but I'll throw it out there just in case the fond tone of my description threw you off: When I say I've been spending time with Clay, I don't mean in a romantic way. We were just young enough when we broke up that we didn't know we were supposed to hate each other after the break up.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Seriously?
After I finished my last blog, I headed out to the screened in porch for my quiet time. Guntersville was having her first thunderstorm in ages, and it was glorious: pouring rain, roaring thunder, a real deal storm. Sitting on the deck was like sitting behind a waterfall. I started out as I always do, with prayer time. Then I anxiously opened my latest Beth Moore book (okay, yes, I am obsessed). Who wants to guess what the first Bible verse Beth quoted was?
Isaiah 55:8-11.
Yesterday I continued my Beth Moore study (Praying God's Word). This book is brilliant; the whole idea is allowing the Lord to breakdown your strongholds and capture your thoughts (insecurity, addiction, unbelief, etc). If anyone's thoughts need to be captured, it's me. I have the tendency to obsess about things, to let my thoughts run away with me. Beth introduces several Bible verses that can be turned into prayer to address each stronghold. Not only is is an outstanding use of the Word, but I have so enjoyed flipping through my Bible to find each verse... I've learned so much about the consistency of God's Word, from Genesis to Revelation. Chapter 1-- Breaking Free from Idolatry-- is all about the greatness of God, why He demands our full attention. I spend a lot of time asking God for things; not material things usually, mind you, but things like patience, understanding, peace. I think that's okay; as His children, God invites us to bring our anxieties to him. However, I very rarely meditate on who He is other than the supplier of my needs. We're talking about a God so big He held the seas in the hollow of His hand. As I finished this phenomenal chapter, possibly more aware of God's might and power than ever, I read one of the final verses with an ear-to-ear grin:
Isaiah 55:8-11.
Wow. Trying to tell me something, Big Guy? You're coming through loud and clear.
And when I say Big Guy, I don't mean it in an irreverent way. I literally mean BIG Guy. I am more aware than ever how BIG He truly is. Check out some of the prayers from this fabulous book:
My mighty God, in Your hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind. (Job 12:10) You, my God, open Your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing. (Ps. 145:16)
Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders You have done. The things You planned for us no one can recount to You; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare. (Ps. 40:5)
O Lord, help me to lift my eyes and look to the heavens and acknowledge who created all these. You bring out the starry host one by one, and call each of them by name. Because of Your great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing. (Isa. 40:26)
Ah, Sovereign Lord, You have made the heavens and the earth by Your great power and outstretched arm. Nothing is too hard for You! (Jer. 32:17)
For me, there is but one God, the Father, from whom all things came and for whom I live; and there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom all things came and through whom we live. (1 Cor. 8:6)
My Lord and my God, You are both a God nearby and a God far away. No one can hide in secret places so that you cannot see him. You fill heaven and earth! (Jer. 22:23-24)
Kind of fabulous, isn't it? How great it is to worship a God whose ways and thoughts are infinitely higher than our own, because let's face it: I would MUCH rather entrust my life to a Creator that BIG than be left to my own devices. If you had the option of planning your own wedding-- finding the caterer, picking the flowers, seaming the dress, planning the budget-- or having a world famous planner take care of everything... who do you think would have the most incredible results?... Bingo.
Isaiah 55:8-11.
Yesterday I continued my Beth Moore study (Praying God's Word). This book is brilliant; the whole idea is allowing the Lord to breakdown your strongholds and capture your thoughts (insecurity, addiction, unbelief, etc). If anyone's thoughts need to be captured, it's me. I have the tendency to obsess about things, to let my thoughts run away with me. Beth introduces several Bible verses that can be turned into prayer to address each stronghold. Not only is is an outstanding use of the Word, but I have so enjoyed flipping through my Bible to find each verse... I've learned so much about the consistency of God's Word, from Genesis to Revelation. Chapter 1-- Breaking Free from Idolatry-- is all about the greatness of God, why He demands our full attention. I spend a lot of time asking God for things; not material things usually, mind you, but things like patience, understanding, peace. I think that's okay; as His children, God invites us to bring our anxieties to him. However, I very rarely meditate on who He is other than the supplier of my needs. We're talking about a God so big He held the seas in the hollow of His hand. As I finished this phenomenal chapter, possibly more aware of God's might and power than ever, I read one of the final verses with an ear-to-ear grin:
Isaiah 55:8-11.
Wow. Trying to tell me something, Big Guy? You're coming through loud and clear.
And when I say Big Guy, I don't mean it in an irreverent way. I literally mean BIG Guy. I am more aware than ever how BIG He truly is. Check out some of the prayers from this fabulous book:
My mighty God, in Your hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind. (Job 12:10) You, my God, open Your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing. (Ps. 145:16)
Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders You have done. The things You planned for us no one can recount to You; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare. (Ps. 40:5)
O Lord, help me to lift my eyes and look to the heavens and acknowledge who created all these. You bring out the starry host one by one, and call each of them by name. Because of Your great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing. (Isa. 40:26)
Ah, Sovereign Lord, You have made the heavens and the earth by Your great power and outstretched arm. Nothing is too hard for You! (Jer. 32:17)
For me, there is but one God, the Father, from whom all things came and for whom I live; and there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom all things came and through whom we live. (1 Cor. 8:6)
My Lord and my God, You are both a God nearby and a God far away. No one can hide in secret places so that you cannot see him. You fill heaven and earth! (Jer. 22:23-24)
Kind of fabulous, isn't it? How great it is to worship a God whose ways and thoughts are infinitely higher than our own, because let's face it: I would MUCH rather entrust my life to a Creator that BIG than be left to my own devices. If you had the option of planning your own wedding-- finding the caterer, picking the flowers, seaming the dress, planning the budget-- or having a world famous planner take care of everything... who do you think would have the most incredible results?... Bingo.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Quiet Time and Nuggets of Hope
I try to have a quiet time every day. Admittedly I don't always succeed-- my mind has a way of getting distracted, be it by a surprise visit from a friend or getting lost in a favorite novel or just by a rerun of Scrubs-- but the older I get, the more important and absolutely critical it is to my life to set apart a single unit of my day for the One who secured an eternity for me.
My quiet times are pretty routine. I usually sit on my bed or on the deck, somewhere quiet where I can be still and let my thoughts slide away from me. I don't close my eyes and bow my head when I pray, like in church, instead I gaze around at the world around me-- pictures of my incredible friends and family, textbooks from classes that stress me out, applications waiting to be filled out, a lake that reflects God's magnificence-- and let my surroundings inspire my conversation with God. I'll admit that I have a fairly standard checklist: family, friends, future, etc., but the more I feel my relationship growing with the Lord, the more I feel myself pouring out my heart to Him: my fears, my anxieties, my hopes, my insecurities. My earnest prayer and praise is that the Lord know the very depths of my heart, my most secret worries and my most desperate desires.
Usually I go through some sort of study book during my quiet times-- most recently, I finished "To Live is Christ" by my favorite author, Beth Moore. Currently, I'm investing my quiet time in my lesson plans for the upcoming Disciple Now at my church (I'm leading sixth and seventh grade girls, so you can start praying for me... NOW). Believing that the Bible is a living, breathing, inspired book, I never crack it open without praying that the Holy Spirit will guide me through it's pages, interpreting God's word that I may apply it to my life.
So here's what I'm getting at: Yesterday, I started out as usual in prayer. I went through the usual line-up, and then my heart started pouring out about my tendency to worry. I am a worrier. Like whoa. I plan things weeks, months, years in advance, and I will go over my plans again and again in my head. Every worst case scenario races through my brain and expands and expands until I am exhausted and discouraged. So here I am yesterday afternoon, laying out my worries at the foot of the cross. Begging and pleading for timeliness in response-- basically telling God, "this" would be really great, and if you could have that done by Friday- awesome. Ya know, because I have it all figured out and just need a little divine nudge to get my ball rolling...
The first verse I see in my lesson plan after I wrap up my prayer time is Isaiah 55:8-11.
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
For as the rain and the snow come down from the heaven
and do not return there but water the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose.
and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it."
How awesome it is to worship a God that can give me oceans of hope and gently humble me at the same time. I have to imagine God chuckling a little bit as I read these words and was silently put in my place. I thank the Lord for His endless abundance of mercy, for His hope everlasting, and, today most of all, for His sense of humor.
My quiet times are pretty routine. I usually sit on my bed or on the deck, somewhere quiet where I can be still and let my thoughts slide away from me. I don't close my eyes and bow my head when I pray, like in church, instead I gaze around at the world around me-- pictures of my incredible friends and family, textbooks from classes that stress me out, applications waiting to be filled out, a lake that reflects God's magnificence-- and let my surroundings inspire my conversation with God. I'll admit that I have a fairly standard checklist: family, friends, future, etc., but the more I feel my relationship growing with the Lord, the more I feel myself pouring out my heart to Him: my fears, my anxieties, my hopes, my insecurities. My earnest prayer and praise is that the Lord know the very depths of my heart, my most secret worries and my most desperate desires.
Usually I go through some sort of study book during my quiet times-- most recently, I finished "To Live is Christ" by my favorite author, Beth Moore. Currently, I'm investing my quiet time in my lesson plans for the upcoming Disciple Now at my church (I'm leading sixth and seventh grade girls, so you can start praying for me... NOW). Believing that the Bible is a living, breathing, inspired book, I never crack it open without praying that the Holy Spirit will guide me through it's pages, interpreting God's word that I may apply it to my life.
So here's what I'm getting at: Yesterday, I started out as usual in prayer. I went through the usual line-up, and then my heart started pouring out about my tendency to worry. I am a worrier. Like whoa. I plan things weeks, months, years in advance, and I will go over my plans again and again in my head. Every worst case scenario races through my brain and expands and expands until I am exhausted and discouraged. So here I am yesterday afternoon, laying out my worries at the foot of the cross. Begging and pleading for timeliness in response-- basically telling God, "this" would be really great, and if you could have that done by Friday- awesome. Ya know, because I have it all figured out and just need a little divine nudge to get my ball rolling...
The first verse I see in my lesson plan after I wrap up my prayer time is Isaiah 55:8-11.
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
For as the rain and the snow come down from the heaven
and do not return there but water the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose.
and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it."
How awesome it is to worship a God that can give me oceans of hope and gently humble me at the same time. I have to imagine God chuckling a little bit as I read these words and was silently put in my place. I thank the Lord for His endless abundance of mercy, for His hope everlasting, and, today most of all, for His sense of humor.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Allergens and such.
Today I went to the allergy specialist in Birmingham. As I've mentioned before, I've had sinus infection for going on 23 years. On one of my more recent visits to the doctor, he suggested that my chronic sinusitis is due to allergies and that allergy shots (gasp!) are the answer. Willing to do whatever it takes to curb the itch-and-scratch cycle, I hit the road for the specialist at 7:30 this morning. By 10 am, I was decked out in a very becoming blue gown with 21 pin pricks across my backs. Each prick contained it's very own allergen, and I was not allowed to scratch the screaming irritations for 15 minutes. I took pictures of this craziness, but it looked a lot like a horrendous case of bacne, so I thought it best to skip the illustration for this particular blog. I love my blog family, but it's best this way, promise.
From 1 to 21, the most prominent splotches were numbers 15 and 16: you guessed it, cats and dogs.
"Do you have a cat?"
-Yes.
"Does it live indoors?"
-Obviously.
"Is that convertible?"
-Not on your life, doc.
"And you insist on having this cat?"
-That's it. No more questions.
Now, the interview was actually more pleasant than that. Dr. B was kind of fabulous and very patient with my insistence on sleeping with the enemy, but that's what was going down in my mind.
On the bright side, I will not be taking allergy shots, which is a God-send considering I nearly stroked when he told me he was going to draw blood (needles aren't my cup of tea). Instead I'll be using nasal spray nightly. I was informed to squirt the nasal spray away from the cartilage in my nose, which left me with the impression that said nasal spray has the potential to melt a hole into my nose. I'll keep you updated on that.
Well, glad we're all up to speed on my health and medication status. You're welcome.
From 1 to 21, the most prominent splotches were numbers 15 and 16: you guessed it, cats and dogs.
"Do you have a cat?"
-Yes.
"Does it live indoors?"
-Obviously.
"Is that convertible?"
-Not on your life, doc.
"And you insist on having this cat?"
-That's it. No more questions.
Now, the interview was actually more pleasant than that. Dr. B was kind of fabulous and very patient with my insistence on sleeping with the enemy, but that's what was going down in my mind.
On the bright side, I will not be taking allergy shots, which is a God-send considering I nearly stroked when he told me he was going to draw blood (needles aren't my cup of tea). Instead I'll be using nasal spray nightly. I was informed to squirt the nasal spray away from the cartilage in my nose, which left me with the impression that said nasal spray has the potential to melt a hole into my nose. I'll keep you updated on that.
Well, glad we're all up to speed on my health and medication status. You're welcome.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Stream of Consciousness
I've been babysitting the past week. The girls are middle-school age, and my main charge is their 4 month old brother. He smiles and coos a lot, but mostly he sleeps. With this in mind, I've had a lot of time to think while SpongeBob plays in the background. I'm a pretty deep thinker, so this was life-changing stuff... like who I should replace John Krasinski with (may his bachelorhood rest in peace). Pretty much, this is who I've come up with:
You may remember Joseph Gordon-Levitt from his awkward teenage years on Third Rock from the Sun. Disregard that image. Think instead of JGL as suave Arthur in Inception, complete with sleek hair, vest, and tie. Yes, please.
Joe, John broke my heart with that harlot Emily Blunt, but I know you won't let me down. I'm ready to love again.
In other news, I'm going to the allergist Wednesday. Throughout my life, I've battled drowning in my own sinus drainage and fielded constant, concerned questions about the dark circles under my eyes. Hopefully a little visit to the allergy doc will solve all my chronic allergic sinus infection woes. On the flip side, the older I get the more I fear needles; this little doctor's visit is sure to be full of pokes and prods and blood tests, and it may even result in regular allergy shots. But I've weighed the pro's and con's, and I can only deduce that a needle and a cringe beats explaining that I do not in fact have a black eye any day. To prepare for my appointment, I've had to give up antihistamines. This is a serious problem as my two confirmed allergies are cats and dogs... and we have 3 cats and a dog (and maybe a new dog as "Max" wandered into our lives yesterday and has yet to leave). Two days without my ritual allergy meds makes Lindsey one 5'3 walking itch. So if you see me and I'm twitching and scratching, no need to worry. I'm not withdrawal tweaking or having a schizophrenic episode... I'm just desperately trying to satisfy an itch I can't medicate.
Last night I went to hear my church's African mission team speak about their recent trip to Kenya. They showed pictures of orphans that received three meals a week prior to the missionaries' arrival, and they told stories of leading a man previously involved in witchcraft to Christ as his family stood by sobbing with joy. Morgan-- who I call Mini Me but secretly look up to-- is sixteen, and she shared testimonies of singing with the orphans, "My God is so big, so strong and so mighty" and how they couldn't get enough of the love of Christ. I left dying to go to Africa, dying to go somewhere and share the Gospel. Sign me up, Pastor Ken.
Tonight I'm going to get sushi with Becca and the soon-to-be Elliotts. I love sushi, and I love to spend time with Bec, Jordan, and Matt. So I'm pretty psyched about my little Monday night adventure. Okay, so I'll miss The Secret Life of the American Teenager, but I'll survive, I guess. It's not So You Think You Can Dance or anything...
You may remember Joseph Gordon-Levitt from his awkward teenage years on Third Rock from the Sun. Disregard that image. Think instead of JGL as suave Arthur in Inception, complete with sleek hair, vest, and tie. Yes, please.
Joe, John broke my heart with that harlot Emily Blunt, but I know you won't let me down. I'm ready to love again.
In other news, I'm going to the allergist Wednesday. Throughout my life, I've battled drowning in my own sinus drainage and fielded constant, concerned questions about the dark circles under my eyes. Hopefully a little visit to the allergy doc will solve all my chronic allergic sinus infection woes. On the flip side, the older I get the more I fear needles; this little doctor's visit is sure to be full of pokes and prods and blood tests, and it may even result in regular allergy shots. But I've weighed the pro's and con's, and I can only deduce that a needle and a cringe beats explaining that I do not in fact have a black eye any day. To prepare for my appointment, I've had to give up antihistamines. This is a serious problem as my two confirmed allergies are cats and dogs... and we have 3 cats and a dog (and maybe a new dog as "Max" wandered into our lives yesterday and has yet to leave). Two days without my ritual allergy meds makes Lindsey one 5'3 walking itch. So if you see me and I'm twitching and scratching, no need to worry. I'm not withdrawal tweaking or having a schizophrenic episode... I'm just desperately trying to satisfy an itch I can't medicate.
Last night I went to hear my church's African mission team speak about their recent trip to Kenya. They showed pictures of orphans that received three meals a week prior to the missionaries' arrival, and they told stories of leading a man previously involved in witchcraft to Christ as his family stood by sobbing with joy. Morgan-- who I call Mini Me but secretly look up to-- is sixteen, and she shared testimonies of singing with the orphans, "My God is so big, so strong and so mighty" and how they couldn't get enough of the love of Christ. I left dying to go to Africa, dying to go somewhere and share the Gospel. Sign me up, Pastor Ken.
Tonight I'm going to get sushi with Becca and the soon-to-be Elliotts. I love sushi, and I love to spend time with Bec, Jordan, and Matt. So I'm pretty psyched about my little Monday night adventure. Okay, so I'll miss The Secret Life of the American Teenager, but I'll survive, I guess. It's not So You Think You Can Dance or anything...
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