You're little hands wrapped around my finger
And, it's so quiet in the world tonight
You're little eyelids flutter cause you're dreaming
So, I tuck you in
Turn on your favorite night light
To you, everything's funny
You got nothing to regret
I'd give all I had, honey
If you could stay like that
I won't let nobody hurt you, won't let no one break your heart
And no one will desert you
Just try to never grow up, and never grow up
You're in the car on the way to the movies
And, you're mortified
You're mom's dropping you off
At, fourteen there's just so much you can't do
And you can't wait to move out someday and call your own shots
But, don't make her drop you off around the block
Remember that she's getting older too
And don't lose the way that you dance around in your PJ's getting ready for school
And no one's ever burned you
Nothing's ever left you scarred
And even though you want to
Just try to never grow up
Take pictures in your mind of your childhood room
Memorize what it sounded like when your dad get's home
Remember the footsteps, remember the words said
And all your little brothers favorite songs
I just realized everything I had is someday gonna be gone
So, here I am in my new apartment
In a big city, they just dropped me off
It's so much colder than I thought it would be
So, I tucked myself in and turned my night light on
Wish I'd never grown up
I wish I'd never grown up
Oh, I don't wanna grow up
Wish I'd never grown up
Could still be little
Oh, I don't wanna grow up
Wish I'd never grown up
It could still be simple
Last night, I put a request on Facebook for a copy of Taylor Swift's new album, 'Speak Now.' Within minutes, I had a text from Jane saying the pirated CD was ready for me. Brilliant, instant gratification.
I wish I could say that I didn't sob while I listened to the above song (edited for length). But I can't. I don't consider myself a crier, not in a mainstream way anyway. I can count the number of movies that have made me cry on one hand, and I'm always the only dry eye in the funeral home. But last night, as I drove through the dark fog on 79, this song struck a weird, unexpected emotional tone deep within me (side note: fog + crying... not the ideal driving situation). The last verse especially-- So, here I am in my new apartment-- that's when tremors and misty eyes turned into full on whimpering and sobs.
I look at myself and my friends-- striking out on our own, paying bills, getting married, having babies-- and I'm terrified. It seems like just last week we were being dropped off at the Albertville theater by one parent or another. Just yesterday the only person I wanted to think I was cool was my big brother, Break-ups were a weekly thing and not a life crisis, and hearts were healed quickly by a new flavor of the week. Once upon a time, my biggest worry was whether or not I made cheerleader or got into NHS.
These days, my students call me Miss Hays as I pass them at ball games and in Wal-Mart, a wait-listed class determines my graduation, and relationships seem to be forever or bust. In some ways I wish I would give anything to rewind-- play Sega Genesis with my brother, climb the tree in my grandparent's front yard, plan my life with Jonathan Taylor Thomas or Devin Sawa (takes you back, doesn't it?)...
And in many ways, I wish I could fast forward, even for just a glimpse. I love to know the ending... I read the last page of Harry Potter first, and I almost always find the plot of a movie on IMDb before I watch. It makes it easier: I know not to get attached to the character that dies, I know if there's a happy ending or a weird 'Break Up'-type ending that leaves you hanging. I can't help but think life would be less stressful if I knew not to get attached to a guest star but only invest in recurring characters, if I knew what the next chapter held...
Life would be so simple.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
wait-listed.
It had to happen one way or another.
I needed to be online and waiting to register at 6:58 am-- vying with 12 classmates for a 5-spot class-- so obviously I knew that there was no way I would actually be online at 6:58 am... or 7 am, for that matter.
I imagined it going something like this... turning over, groggy-eyed, checking the time on my phone: 10:12 am, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. So, of course, I woke up every 35 minutes last night to double-check the time.
What I did not expect was to be woken up at 3:45 by my dad and Maggie bumbling around the basement, flashlight in hand. Apparently, nature was doing it's part in sabotaging my registration since my internal clock was keeping me from screwing it up myself. Tornado sirens drove Mom, Dad, and the pets into the basement in the wee hours of the morning, and with that my fate was sealed. I knew then, over three hours in advance, there wasn't a chance the Internet would be up and working at 7.
Silly, naive, hopeful Me. At 6:55, I held my breath, opened the Mac, and pulled up Safari. And the Internet loaded... and loaded... and loaded... to no avail. I sent desperate text messages to my two best friends in the program. Ashley did her best, but she could only get me into two classes... the 5-person class had closed by 7:01.
So I've been wait-listed along with several of my classmates. According to our accreditation organization, this particular class-- our first step in supervised counseling-- requires one instructor for every five students. So, with at least five people on the wait list, the matter will be brought up and voted on in a faculty meeting, giving me a glimmer of hope that another section will open up.
For now, I wait... on the wait list. I'm not sure how long I wait, but I'm not anticipating much sleep in the coming days. I'm just praying for peace. I have a gift for melt downs.
"Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!"
Psalm 27:14
I needed to be online and waiting to register at 6:58 am-- vying with 12 classmates for a 5-spot class-- so obviously I knew that there was no way I would actually be online at 6:58 am... or 7 am, for that matter.
I imagined it going something like this... turning over, groggy-eyed, checking the time on my phone: 10:12 am, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. So, of course, I woke up every 35 minutes last night to double-check the time.
What I did not expect was to be woken up at 3:45 by my dad and Maggie bumbling around the basement, flashlight in hand. Apparently, nature was doing it's part in sabotaging my registration since my internal clock was keeping me from screwing it up myself. Tornado sirens drove Mom, Dad, and the pets into the basement in the wee hours of the morning, and with that my fate was sealed. I knew then, over three hours in advance, there wasn't a chance the Internet would be up and working at 7.
Silly, naive, hopeful Me. At 6:55, I held my breath, opened the Mac, and pulled up Safari. And the Internet loaded... and loaded... and loaded... to no avail. I sent desperate text messages to my two best friends in the program. Ashley did her best, but she could only get me into two classes... the 5-person class had closed by 7:01.
So I've been wait-listed along with several of my classmates. According to our accreditation organization, this particular class-- our first step in supervised counseling-- requires one instructor for every five students. So, with at least five people on the wait list, the matter will be brought up and voted on in a faculty meeting, giving me a glimmer of hope that another section will open up.
For now, I wait... on the wait list. I'm not sure how long I wait, but I'm not anticipating much sleep in the coming days. I'm just praying for peace. I have a gift for melt downs.
"Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!"
Psalm 27:14
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Weekend Update
If you haven't noticed, I'm running with this 'Weekend Update' thing. At first it was a clever (can I call myself clever?) reference to a long-running SNL skit... but now it's just my corny way to tell anyone willing to listen (read) what I did this weekend, in every unnecessary detail.
Friday, I drove home early for an appointment with the chiropractor. This is, weirdly, one of my life's joy. There's something wonderful about the chiropractor cradling my chin and forehead in his hands and talking calmly to me about the Auburn Tigers just before he yanks my chin behind my left shoulder, cracking my neck in all the right places and leaving me wondering for a brief second if I just died. It's kind of amazing how the chiropractor can put a finger on a random spot on my spine and ask, "Tender right there, isn't it?" Oh my gosh, YES! I never realized it until this very moment, but that spot is INCREDIBLY tender. HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?! It's like magic. Spine-cracking, neck-whipping magic.
Friday night we ate at-- drumroll, please-- Mama's. Normally, Mama's is mine and Erica's special place. We order a pineapple and ham pizza and split a slice of one of Mama's fabulous cakes (we're making our way through the list). Lately, though, we've allowed outsiders to join us our favorite pizza joint. So Friday I went out on a limb- I had rigatoni and split bread pudding (HOLY COW, SO DELICIOUS) with Chasley. Italian food and my very best friends... perfection.
Entirely too full, Chasley, David, and I went to support our Wildcats. Still full hours later, we came back home to play guitars and games with dear old Mom and Dad. David and I demolished Dad in Trivial Pursuit (now hear this: WE BEAT HIM IN TRIVIAL PURSUIT; the previously impossible is now just another check on my list). After David went home, Chasley and I stayed up going through my old yearbooks and revisiting my high school years. It should be noted here that I didn't realize until Friday that I, in fact, did not take a single decent year book photo in my 4-year tenure at GHS. Woof.
Saturday morning, I sprung out of bed bright and early. Why? Why be so excited about getting up early on a Saturday morning?
HAIRCUT!!! This was like Christmas. Seriously, I texted several friends just so they could rejoice with me in saying Sionara! to my one-inch roots. It was glorious. (and yes, I resisted the urge to chop my hair off. Look out, Jennifer Aniston, I am on your glamorous hair tail!)
I spent Saturday doing two of my favorite things: laughing with my family and watching my Auburn Tigers win (All we do is win; have you heard?). I got to hold Mally all day, eat ice cream and brownies, and spend time with the people I love most in the world. Oh yeah, and I'm killing my uncle in Words with Friends (my latest obsession). You'll get there one day, Uncle Lance.
Side note: I don't know when I became so competitive. It's a sickness... and the only cure is more WINNING.
Saturday night I watched the Bama game (yawn) at Wade's... and when I say "watched the Bama game" I mean I stood in the kitchen having girl talk and cheese dip with Claire for hours. That's the best way to watch Bama ball, I think.
Today, I sang with Dad and Mini Me at church. We sang "Redeemed," and I've spent much of the day thinking about the lyrics of that beautiful hymn (possibly a future blog). "I sing for I cannot be silent; His love is the theme of my song!"
After a "brief" nap-- for me, anything less than 3 hours on a Sunday is brief, say what you will-- I interviewed a friend of mine from Mexico for the first part of my multicultural interview assignment. I loved getting a glimpse into the immigrant experience and so many Mexican traditions, and I even got to use some- very rusty- Spanish. It really revived two needs in my life: to travel and to learn another language. It's so cool that my friend didn't speak English at all when she moved here, and today she sat and talked with me for an hour and a half!
Now I'm about to go to bed because at 7 tomorrow morning I register for classes. Specifically, I register for Practicum I. At 7 am, 12 of my classmates will also sign on to register for Prac I, a class that only has 5 slots. Big deal, take it in the summer, you say? Oh no, it won't be offered again until next fall, effectively postponing my graduation an entire year. I'm sure I'll sleep well and undisturbed tonight...
Friday, I drove home early for an appointment with the chiropractor. This is, weirdly, one of my life's joy. There's something wonderful about the chiropractor cradling my chin and forehead in his hands and talking calmly to me about the Auburn Tigers just before he yanks my chin behind my left shoulder, cracking my neck in all the right places and leaving me wondering for a brief second if I just died. It's kind of amazing how the chiropractor can put a finger on a random spot on my spine and ask, "Tender right there, isn't it?" Oh my gosh, YES! I never realized it until this very moment, but that spot is INCREDIBLY tender. HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT?! It's like magic. Spine-cracking, neck-whipping magic.
Friday night we ate at-- drumroll, please-- Mama's. Normally, Mama's is mine and Erica's special place. We order a pineapple and ham pizza and split a slice of one of Mama's fabulous cakes (we're making our way through the list). Lately, though, we've allowed outsiders to join us our favorite pizza joint. So Friday I went out on a limb- I had rigatoni and split bread pudding (HOLY COW, SO DELICIOUS) with Chasley. Italian food and my very best friends... perfection.
Entirely too full, Chasley, David, and I went to support our Wildcats. Still full hours later, we came back home to play guitars and games with dear old Mom and Dad. David and I demolished Dad in Trivial Pursuit (now hear this: WE BEAT HIM IN TRIVIAL PURSUIT; the previously impossible is now just another check on my list). After David went home, Chasley and I stayed up going through my old yearbooks and revisiting my high school years. It should be noted here that I didn't realize until Friday that I, in fact, did not take a single decent year book photo in my 4-year tenure at GHS. Woof.
Saturday morning, I sprung out of bed bright and early. Why? Why be so excited about getting up early on a Saturday morning?
HAIRCUT!!! This was like Christmas. Seriously, I texted several friends just so they could rejoice with me in saying Sionara! to my one-inch roots. It was glorious. (and yes, I resisted the urge to chop my hair off. Look out, Jennifer Aniston, I am on your glamorous hair tail!)
I spent Saturday doing two of my favorite things: laughing with my family and watching my Auburn Tigers win (All we do is win; have you heard?). I got to hold Mally all day, eat ice cream and brownies, and spend time with the people I love most in the world. Oh yeah, and I'm killing my uncle in Words with Friends (my latest obsession). You'll get there one day, Uncle Lance.
Side note: I don't know when I became so competitive. It's a sickness... and the only cure is more WINNING.
Saturday night I watched the Bama game (yawn) at Wade's... and when I say "watched the Bama game" I mean I stood in the kitchen having girl talk and cheese dip with Claire for hours. That's the best way to watch Bama ball, I think.
Today, I sang with Dad and Mini Me at church. We sang "Redeemed," and I've spent much of the day thinking about the lyrics of that beautiful hymn (possibly a future blog). "I sing for I cannot be silent; His love is the theme of my song!"
After a "brief" nap-- for me, anything less than 3 hours on a Sunday is brief, say what you will-- I interviewed a friend of mine from Mexico for the first part of my multicultural interview assignment. I loved getting a glimpse into the immigrant experience and so many Mexican traditions, and I even got to use some- very rusty- Spanish. It really revived two needs in my life: to travel and to learn another language. It's so cool that my friend didn't speak English at all when she moved here, and today she sat and talked with me for an hour and a half!
Now I'm about to go to bed because at 7 tomorrow morning I register for classes. Specifically, I register for Practicum I. At 7 am, 12 of my classmates will also sign on to register for Prac I, a class that only has 5 slots. Big deal, take it in the summer, you say? Oh no, it won't be offered again until next fall, effectively postponing my graduation an entire year. I'm sure I'll sleep well and undisturbed tonight...
Thursday, October 21, 2010
"Follow your heart."
That's what all the great romance novels, dramas, and movies tell you, right? So that is what I did.
It's no secret that I came to the University of Alabama because I was dating a University of Alabama boy. It is also no great secret that he and I are no longer together... but I was already a semester into grad school and about a month into a renewed one-year lease when we broke up, so... for better or for worse, here I am.
I joke sometimes that now I'm doing "hard time" for a bad decision. I had the option and opportunities aplenty to come here for undergrad, but the fact of the matter is, I didn't want to. Simple as that. I don't love this town and I don't love this football team and I don't love this university, but I did love this boy. So again... here I am.
Time and again, I've asked myself why I'm here. Time and again, I've shook fists at God and asked Him why I'm here.
Last night I found comfort in another who didn't know where he was going or why:
"By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going."
Hebrews 11:8
I don't know what I'm doing here, but I trust that if this was not where I was meant to be, God would give me a way out. As it is, I'm locked in. Literally. I have a legally binding lease and classes that don't permit me to live anywhere else. I prayed tirelessly over my grad school application, and I really believe that if I wasn't meant to be in this program, God would've slammed that door shut. In many ways, I wonder from day to day why He keeps me here, why He didn't "rescue" me from my bad decisions. Maybe I'll find out one day... or maybe I won't. Regardless, I have faith that He has me right where He wants me.
I don't know where I'm going, but I know where I am at this moment. And I know that He will lead me from here, if I'll only listen and obey.
"And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying "This is the way, walk in it," when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left."
Isaiah 30:21
"Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love, for in you I trust.
Make me know the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul."
Psalm 143:8
It's no secret that I came to the University of Alabama because I was dating a University of Alabama boy. It is also no great secret that he and I are no longer together... but I was already a semester into grad school and about a month into a renewed one-year lease when we broke up, so... for better or for worse, here I am.
I joke sometimes that now I'm doing "hard time" for a bad decision. I had the option and opportunities aplenty to come here for undergrad, but the fact of the matter is, I didn't want to. Simple as that. I don't love this town and I don't love this football team and I don't love this university, but I did love this boy. So again... here I am.
Time and again, I've asked myself why I'm here. Time and again, I've shook fists at God and asked Him why I'm here.
Last night I found comfort in another who didn't know where he was going or why:
"By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going."
Hebrews 11:8
I don't know what I'm doing here, but I trust that if this was not where I was meant to be, God would give me a way out. As it is, I'm locked in. Literally. I have a legally binding lease and classes that don't permit me to live anywhere else. I prayed tirelessly over my grad school application, and I really believe that if I wasn't meant to be in this program, God would've slammed that door shut. In many ways, I wonder from day to day why He keeps me here, why He didn't "rescue" me from my bad decisions. Maybe I'll find out one day... or maybe I won't. Regardless, I have faith that He has me right where He wants me.
I don't know where I'm going, but I know where I am at this moment. And I know that He will lead me from here, if I'll only listen and obey.
"And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying "This is the way, walk in it," when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left."
Isaiah 30:21
"Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love, for in you I trust.
Make me know the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul."
Psalm 143:8
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk
"...These are just a couple of my cravings
Everything it seems I like's a little bit stronger
A little bit thicker, a little bit harmful to me..."
Those aren't my cravings, they're Rufus Wainwright's (and it's a really cool song), but it makes a lot of sense.
Tonight, for instance, my two classmates and I were craving frozen yogurt. This new serve-yourself fro yo phenomenon has hit Tuscaloosa hard, and one such establishment has popped up on campus. So when, after an exhausting 3-hour lecture, we see those beautiful letters shining in the distance-- T...C...B...Y-- like a beacon of comfort and yum, it's hard to resist the urge. Is frozen yogurt bad for you? Compared to ice cream and other sugary confections, not especially. Is frozen yogurt covered in hot fudge, marachino cherries, and crumbled Heath bar bad for you? Without a doubt.
Other things I'm craving this evening:
Pizza from Mama's, my favorite Italian restaurant in my hometown... possibly my favorite Italian restaurant stateside.
A trip: a road trip, a cruise, a weekend shopping trip... anything outside of my regular routine.
A House marathon. It's one of my favorite shows, and I'm a little behind... oh, and I freaking LOVE TV on DVD.
A massage; something is terribly wrong with my neck and, although I've been to the chiropractor, I'm dying for a spa day :)
Hot chocolate, apple cider, and a snow day.
Weather cool enough for sweaters, boots, scarves, and hoodies.
CHRISTMAS!
A snuggle buddy. Yeah, I said it.
I want to cook a meal, a real meal. Not a sandwich or a frozen dinner-for-one. I want to have a dinner party, or just be free enough on a weeknight that I can cook for a friend.
Ultimate frisbee. Or tennis. I run a lot, but I rarely get to play a team sport, and I'm dying.
A good play. Yes, a good play. Have you seen Wicked? It ruined me.
Holiday movies (read: HARRY POTTER)
Pasta... luckily, I'm eating at Mama's Friday night, so all this Italian food craving will come to an (temporary) end.
To do something artsy... finish a cross stitching project (yeah, I cross stitch, so what??), paint something, make a pillow...
a hair cut & color (I know I blogged about this yesterday, but I'm not exaggerating... I can barely look in the mirror. THAT bad.)
Here's something noteworthy: none of those cravings involved school. None of them even hinted at school. I didn't even list a craving to read a book because, honestly, I don't want to read anything. This is a new low for me. I'm a reader--an avid reader-- and grad school has taken that joy from my life.
I'm craving anything that would offer me a break from school, anything that would give me enough time to breathe and put my life in order... So I'll finish off with Wainwright's very appropriate closing lyrics:
"I'm just a little bit heiress, a little bit Irish
A little bit Tower of Pisa
Whenever I see ya
So please be kind if I'm a mess..."
Everything it seems I like's a little bit stronger
A little bit thicker, a little bit harmful to me..."
Those aren't my cravings, they're Rufus Wainwright's (and it's a really cool song), but it makes a lot of sense.
Tonight, for instance, my two classmates and I were craving frozen yogurt. This new serve-yourself fro yo phenomenon has hit Tuscaloosa hard, and one such establishment has popped up on campus. So when, after an exhausting 3-hour lecture, we see those beautiful letters shining in the distance-- T...C...B...Y-- like a beacon of comfort and yum, it's hard to resist the urge. Is frozen yogurt bad for you? Compared to ice cream and other sugary confections, not especially. Is frozen yogurt covered in hot fudge, marachino cherries, and crumbled Heath bar bad for you? Without a doubt.
Other things I'm craving this evening:
Pizza from Mama's, my favorite Italian restaurant in my hometown... possibly my favorite Italian restaurant stateside.
A trip: a road trip, a cruise, a weekend shopping trip... anything outside of my regular routine.
A House marathon. It's one of my favorite shows, and I'm a little behind... oh, and I freaking LOVE TV on DVD.
A massage; something is terribly wrong with my neck and, although I've been to the chiropractor, I'm dying for a spa day :)
Hot chocolate, apple cider, and a snow day.
Weather cool enough for sweaters, boots, scarves, and hoodies.
CHRISTMAS!
A snuggle buddy. Yeah, I said it.
I want to cook a meal, a real meal. Not a sandwich or a frozen dinner-for-one. I want to have a dinner party, or just be free enough on a weeknight that I can cook for a friend.
Ultimate frisbee. Or tennis. I run a lot, but I rarely get to play a team sport, and I'm dying.
A good play. Yes, a good play. Have you seen Wicked? It ruined me.
Holiday movies (read: HARRY POTTER)
Pasta... luckily, I'm eating at Mama's Friday night, so all this Italian food craving will come to an (temporary) end.
To do something artsy... finish a cross stitching project (yeah, I cross stitch, so what??), paint something, make a pillow...
a hair cut & color (I know I blogged about this yesterday, but I'm not exaggerating... I can barely look in the mirror. THAT bad.)
Here's something noteworthy: none of those cravings involved school. None of them even hinted at school. I didn't even list a craving to read a book because, honestly, I don't want to read anything. This is a new low for me. I'm a reader--an avid reader-- and grad school has taken that joy from my life.
I'm craving anything that would offer me a break from school, anything that would give me enough time to breathe and put my life in order... So I'll finish off with Wainwright's very appropriate closing lyrics:
"I'm just a little bit heiress, a little bit Irish
A little bit Tower of Pisa
Whenever I see ya
So please be kind if I'm a mess..."
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
haircut hiatus.
I've been on one for nearly 8 weeks. That's two full months for my lovely locks to grow wild and free. As it turns out, the end result of this organic freedom is... not so lovely.
This may come as a shock, so brace yourself: I'm not naturally blonde. Sure, there was a time in my life when my hair was light and fair and untouched by harsh chemicals, but those low-maintenance days live in yesteryear with training bras and Giga Pets. I got my first highlight in sixth grade (a tactic my mother and hair dresser used to distract me from my fantasy perm), and since then my hair has been chemically enhanced on a regular basis. From bombshell blonde to chocolatey brunette to an ill-advised jaunt with red, my scalp has endured them all.
I love a good hair cut and color. From the moment I lay my head back into that big black sink to the moment the hair dresser spins me around and introduces me to my new 'do, I love the entire process. And the best part about hair: it grows back. No matter what color or cut, it'll grow out... eventually. When I need to express myself, I change up my hair; a tattoo is forever, a haircut is for 6 weeks max.
Right now, I'm in the process of growing my hair out. My hair is deceptively thin, so I've kept it pretty short my entire life. My hair is currently at it's most troublesome length, the length at which I usually cut it off after a spur-of-the-moment decision in the salon chair. It grazes my collarbones in a way that keeps me constantly aware of its presence. So I run my fingers through it. Constantly. The touch factor makes the ends stringier than they really are, so at the end of the day I see hair that's not nearly as cute as it was hours before. And that inspires me to just hack it off. Once hacked off, I can't curl my hair or throw it up in a ponytail, so I decide to grow it out once again. It's a vicious, vicious cycle.
Knowing myself like I do, I go for a preventive strategy: just don't go to the salon. For the sake of growth, this is a brilliant plan. But let's get back to my color issue. I mentioned that my hair's not naturally blonde; it's safe to say that my natural hair color is far from blonde. In 8 weeks, my hair grows a little over an inch. Lengthwise, it's a small victory. Color-wise, not so much. One inch of dark brown roots at the top of my heads is not my idea of glamorous (I don't care what you say, Lauren Conrad; it's not cute), and don't get me started on how time yellows highlights.
Recent comments:
Just as a simple greeting, "Hey Lindsey, your hair's turning black."
And when saying that, as the only blonde at the table, I was the minority member a friend gently reminded me, "Well, you're really only about 90% blonde."
So it's a trade-off. My growth strategy is working brilliantly, and I'm even training myself to stop messing with the ends that touch my shoulders. In the color department, though... it's getting a little gross. This weekend, that comes to an end. Saturday morning, I'm going to relax under a heater while dangerous chemicals and sheets of aluminum foil toast and bleach my hair within an inch of its life... and then I'll resist the urge (I must resist the urge, I must resist the urge....) to cut it off.
Then, a few months from now when you least expect it, I'll chop it off on a whim and dye it brown. Just whenever the mood strikes me.
Dark + Long
Blondish-Brown + Long
Blonde + Long
And that's as long as it gets before...
But before you know it...
I omitted pictures of red-headed Lindsey because it's not a road I want to go down again. But you get the point. I have hair Turrets. But this is my public declaration, so hold me to it: I'm going to grow out my hair and stay blonde at least until Christmas.
And I'm going to become a runner...
And I'm going to give up chocolate...
And I'm going to finish homework in advance, not the day of...
And I'm going to lose 10 pounds...
And I'm going to learn how to play the guitar and harmonize...
This may come as a shock, so brace yourself: I'm not naturally blonde. Sure, there was a time in my life when my hair was light and fair and untouched by harsh chemicals, but those low-maintenance days live in yesteryear with training bras and Giga Pets. I got my first highlight in sixth grade (a tactic my mother and hair dresser used to distract me from my fantasy perm), and since then my hair has been chemically enhanced on a regular basis. From bombshell blonde to chocolatey brunette to an ill-advised jaunt with red, my scalp has endured them all.
I love a good hair cut and color. From the moment I lay my head back into that big black sink to the moment the hair dresser spins me around and introduces me to my new 'do, I love the entire process. And the best part about hair: it grows back. No matter what color or cut, it'll grow out... eventually. When I need to express myself, I change up my hair; a tattoo is forever, a haircut is for 6 weeks max.
Right now, I'm in the process of growing my hair out. My hair is deceptively thin, so I've kept it pretty short my entire life. My hair is currently at it's most troublesome length, the length at which I usually cut it off after a spur-of-the-moment decision in the salon chair. It grazes my collarbones in a way that keeps me constantly aware of its presence. So I run my fingers through it. Constantly. The touch factor makes the ends stringier than they really are, so at the end of the day I see hair that's not nearly as cute as it was hours before. And that inspires me to just hack it off. Once hacked off, I can't curl my hair or throw it up in a ponytail, so I decide to grow it out once again. It's a vicious, vicious cycle.
Knowing myself like I do, I go for a preventive strategy: just don't go to the salon. For the sake of growth, this is a brilliant plan. But let's get back to my color issue. I mentioned that my hair's not naturally blonde; it's safe to say that my natural hair color is far from blonde. In 8 weeks, my hair grows a little over an inch. Lengthwise, it's a small victory. Color-wise, not so much. One inch of dark brown roots at the top of my heads is not my idea of glamorous (I don't care what you say, Lauren Conrad; it's not cute), and don't get me started on how time yellows highlights.
Recent comments:
Just as a simple greeting, "Hey Lindsey, your hair's turning black."
And when saying that, as the only blonde at the table, I was the minority member a friend gently reminded me, "Well, you're really only about 90% blonde."
So it's a trade-off. My growth strategy is working brilliantly, and I'm even training myself to stop messing with the ends that touch my shoulders. In the color department, though... it's getting a little gross. This weekend, that comes to an end. Saturday morning, I'm going to relax under a heater while dangerous chemicals and sheets of aluminum foil toast and bleach my hair within an inch of its life... and then I'll resist the urge (I must resist the urge, I must resist the urge....) to cut it off.
Then, a few months from now when you least expect it, I'll chop it off on a whim and dye it brown. Just whenever the mood strikes me.
Dark + Long
Blondish-Brown + Long
Blonde + Long
And that's as long as it gets before...
But before you know it...
I omitted pictures of red-headed Lindsey because it's not a road I want to go down again. But you get the point. I have hair Turrets. But this is my public declaration, so hold me to it: I'm going to grow out my hair and stay blonde at least until Christmas.
And I'm going to become a runner...
And I'm going to give up chocolate...
And I'm going to finish homework in advance, not the day of...
And I'm going to lose 10 pounds...
And I'm going to learn how to play the guitar and harmonize...
Sunday, October 17, 2010
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
This is my official Girls' Weekend 2010 review.
GW2k10 kicked off mid-afternoon with the arrival of my other half, Lauren. We sat around my apartment and caught up while I dried my hair and put on make-up (for obvious reasons I prioritized watching gLee mid-afternoon over a much-needed shower). It's funny how after nearly 5 years, we never skip a beat. When we went shopping around downtown, we would both disappear momentarily to put on something ridiculous, only to surprise the other wearing the exact same thing. Within hours, people were mixing up our names, and all was suddenly right in the world. The jokes were the same, the mannerisms the same, the clothes--mercifully-- still the same size (we have a time-enduring habit of wearing each other's clothes)... and that is to say that she and I are the same size, sadly not that we wear the same size we did in the "good ol' days."
Anna arrived next to the sight of Lauren and I underneath mountains of clothes. Picking out the perfect outfit for the first night of Girls' Weekend is hard work, people. Anna jumped in the mix, and by the time Alice arrived we were in the middle of a full-blown fashion show... so she, of course, then modeled all of her wardrobe options. Anna and I both rocked out cowboy boots (Anna's one wardrobe requirement), I wore a dress Lauren brought and she picked a dress out of my closet, and Alice was the only one brave enough to sport heels (although, if I had those perfect dancer's legs, I could probably make a little sacrifice as well).
Friday night, we dined at my favorite restaurant: Cypress Inn. Scallops and cheese grits and fried green tomatoes. In the words of Michelle Tanner, "Whoa, baby." And don't worry about those calories: our next stop was the dance club. We danced the night away to all our favorite trashy rap songs and arrived back at home around... 4 am. But, hey, girls' weekend only comes around once a year.
We started the day off with pancakes and Fashion Show 2.0. When we made it to campus, we met up with friends to watch the Auburn game. This was the tough part. You would think thousands of Arkansas fans had poured onto campus. I was cheering for my team in a hostile environment; although, Anna's hawk-eyes spotted another hand go up after we scored (after 60+ points, who knows which touchdown it was??), and we had a little something the Auburn family calls a "Family Reunion" right there on the strip in Tuscaloosa. It was hard to suppress a grin as we watched so many Bama fans' hopes dashed. I'm not a trash talker. Ever. Not even at the Iron Bowl. But after that experience, I will make my one trash talking statement here on my blog, where only my opinion matters:
Auburn > Kentucky > South Carolina > Alabama. You do the math.
After a very satisfactory Tiger win, we walked around campus and took in the Homecoming spectacles. We took pictures all over campus, from street signs to Homecoming floats, and finally landed in a bar to watch the Bama game. Somewhere mid-second quarter, our tired eyes were burning and our eyelids drooping. A unanimous vote decided that we could watch the rest of the game at my house, so we came home and finished our evening with snacks and pajamas and football.
Today we slept late. Then we laid around and gossiped before getting dressed. Alice was the first to go, and we decided mid-group hug to have annuals girls' weekend (possibly with a choreographed dance that we forgot to make up last night). Anna, Lauren, and I capped off our culinary adventures at Mugshots before Anna headed out. After lunch, I laid on my couch and looked at the ceiling while I talked to Lauren about grad school, moving to Europe, and being single. It was very Freud-like, and I know my advisor would be proud of me for noticing that.
After Lauren left, I slept. And I slept. And I slept. I missed phone calls and text messages, and I didn't clean up or do homework. I just slept and slept. And in about an hour, I'm going to sleep some more. Because that's how exhausting Girls' Weekend 2010 was... Scratch that: that's how incredibly awesome and perfectly perfect Girls' Weekend 2010 was.
Girls' Weekend 2011 planning begins... Now.
GW2k10 kicked off mid-afternoon with the arrival of my other half, Lauren. We sat around my apartment and caught up while I dried my hair and put on make-up (for obvious reasons I prioritized watching gLee mid-afternoon over a much-needed shower). It's funny how after nearly 5 years, we never skip a beat. When we went shopping around downtown, we would both disappear momentarily to put on something ridiculous, only to surprise the other wearing the exact same thing. Within hours, people were mixing up our names, and all was suddenly right in the world. The jokes were the same, the mannerisms the same, the clothes--mercifully-- still the same size (we have a time-enduring habit of wearing each other's clothes)... and that is to say that she and I are the same size, sadly not that we wear the same size we did in the "good ol' days."
Anna arrived next to the sight of Lauren and I underneath mountains of clothes. Picking out the perfect outfit for the first night of Girls' Weekend is hard work, people. Anna jumped in the mix, and by the time Alice arrived we were in the middle of a full-blown fashion show... so she, of course, then modeled all of her wardrobe options. Anna and I both rocked out cowboy boots (Anna's one wardrobe requirement), I wore a dress Lauren brought and she picked a dress out of my closet, and Alice was the only one brave enough to sport heels (although, if I had those perfect dancer's legs, I could probably make a little sacrifice as well).
Friday night, we dined at my favorite restaurant: Cypress Inn. Scallops and cheese grits and fried green tomatoes. In the words of Michelle Tanner, "Whoa, baby." And don't worry about those calories: our next stop was the dance club. We danced the night away to all our favorite trashy rap songs and arrived back at home around... 4 am. But, hey, girls' weekend only comes around once a year.
We started the day off with pancakes and Fashion Show 2.0. When we made it to campus, we met up with friends to watch the Auburn game. This was the tough part. You would think thousands of Arkansas fans had poured onto campus. I was cheering for my team in a hostile environment; although, Anna's hawk-eyes spotted another hand go up after we scored (after 60+ points, who knows which touchdown it was??), and we had a little something the Auburn family calls a "Family Reunion" right there on the strip in Tuscaloosa. It was hard to suppress a grin as we watched so many Bama fans' hopes dashed. I'm not a trash talker. Ever. Not even at the Iron Bowl. But after that experience, I will make my one trash talking statement here on my blog, where only my opinion matters:
Auburn > Kentucky > South Carolina > Alabama. You do the math.
After a very satisfactory Tiger win, we walked around campus and took in the Homecoming spectacles. We took pictures all over campus, from street signs to Homecoming floats, and finally landed in a bar to watch the Bama game. Somewhere mid-second quarter, our tired eyes were burning and our eyelids drooping. A unanimous vote decided that we could watch the rest of the game at my house, so we came home and finished our evening with snacks and pajamas and football.
Today we slept late. Then we laid around and gossiped before getting dressed. Alice was the first to go, and we decided mid-group hug to have annuals girls' weekend (possibly with a choreographed dance that we forgot to make up last night). Anna, Lauren, and I capped off our culinary adventures at Mugshots before Anna headed out. After lunch, I laid on my couch and looked at the ceiling while I talked to Lauren about grad school, moving to Europe, and being single. It was very Freud-like, and I know my advisor would be proud of me for noticing that.
After Lauren left, I slept. And I slept. And I slept. I missed phone calls and text messages, and I didn't clean up or do homework. I just slept and slept. And in about an hour, I'm going to sleep some more. Because that's how exhausting Girls' Weekend 2010 was... Scratch that: that's how incredibly awesome and perfectly perfect Girls' Weekend 2010 was.
Girls' Weekend 2011 planning begins... Now.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Girls' Weekend
Tomorrow at approximately 3 pm, my best friend arrives. I can't really explain our relationship. You'll roll your eyes and humor me, and maybe I'll irritate you a little bit, but here's the bottom line: our friendship is better than yours. We've been best friends since middle school. We've travelled the world together (seriously, we've lunched in Venice). People thought we were twins not because we look alike (exact same size, total opposite coloring), but because our mannerisms mirrored each other perfectly (overexposure?). We've seen each other cry and made each other cry. We've fought over boys, and we've helped the other mend a broken heart (okay- Lauren's helped ME mend a broken heart or two). Last summer, I stood beside her as she married the man of her dreams, and one day she'll do the same for me.
As my multicultural professor loves to say (read: completely overuses), "here's the rub:" After high school, Lauren moved to Kentucky and I moved to Auburn. That's SIX PLUS hours away from each other. You're talking about two people who couldn't even study abroad without meeting in the middle. During college, we'd meet at home on weekends, but, like all college students, we always brought along new-found college friends. This is what I'm getting at: I haven't hung out with Lauren- just Lauren- in years. YEARS. Tomorrow is an EXTREMELY big deal.
So at 3 o'clock, Lauren arrives, and we will jam years of making up into the first five-minutes of talking-without-breathing.
It doesn't end there.
Anna will get here around 6:30. I'll keep it short and sweet with Anna- because this blog has seen more than one gushing blog about Anna- but she's kind of awesome. And she loves me enough to at least pretend she's as excited as I am-- but hopefully she really is. :) Anna is our resident paparazzo, so you can be sure that every priceless moment that awaits us this weekend will be documented and posted to Facebook immediately.
So Anna and Lauren. With me. At the same time. Whoa. BUT.
But NO, it doesn't end there, friends! Around 7, our little group of hens will be completed by the arrival of Alice. (read Twilight? pretty close). Alice was part of the "original" group with Lauren and me, back when we lived for concerts at Ney-A-Ti and B-list movies (who am I kidding? D-list movies) in my basement and, of course, just ONE look from a painfully talented red head (wink). When Alice was a freshman at UA, she was my first ever college friend: my first dorm experience, my introduction to Greek life, etc. And now she's visiting me at college. We've come full circle, Al!
So there you have it: three of my best friends in the world, all in the same town, all in my apartment, for an entire weekend. We're going to drink pretty drinks, tell lots of secrets and discuss a lot of boys, and maybe we'll even roll a yard. Kidding about the yard... maybe... Like, really, my head might explode from excitement. But at least I'll die happy.
As my multicultural professor loves to say (read: completely overuses), "here's the rub:" After high school, Lauren moved to Kentucky and I moved to Auburn. That's SIX PLUS hours away from each other. You're talking about two people who couldn't even study abroad without meeting in the middle. During college, we'd meet at home on weekends, but, like all college students, we always brought along new-found college friends. This is what I'm getting at: I haven't hung out with Lauren- just Lauren- in years. YEARS. Tomorrow is an EXTREMELY big deal.
So at 3 o'clock, Lauren arrives, and we will jam years of making up into the first five-minutes of talking-without-breathing.
It doesn't end there.
Anna will get here around 6:30. I'll keep it short and sweet with Anna- because this blog has seen more than one gushing blog about Anna- but she's kind of awesome. And she loves me enough to at least pretend she's as excited as I am-- but hopefully she really is. :) Anna is our resident paparazzo, so you can be sure that every priceless moment that awaits us this weekend will be documented and posted to Facebook immediately.
So Anna and Lauren. With me. At the same time. Whoa. BUT.
But NO, it doesn't end there, friends! Around 7, our little group of hens will be completed by the arrival of Alice. (read Twilight? pretty close). Alice was part of the "original" group with Lauren and me, back when we lived for concerts at Ney-A-Ti and B-list movies (who am I kidding? D-list movies) in my basement and, of course, just ONE look from a painfully talented red head (wink). When Alice was a freshman at UA, she was my first ever college friend: my first dorm experience, my introduction to Greek life, etc. And now she's visiting me at college. We've come full circle, Al!
So there you have it: three of my best friends in the world, all in the same town, all in my apartment, for an entire weekend. We're going to drink pretty drinks, tell lots of secrets and discuss a lot of boys, and maybe we'll even roll a yard. Kidding about the yard... maybe... Like, really, my head might explode from excitement. But at least I'll die happy.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Allow me to gush.
I may have written about it once or a thousand times, but... I'm a huge Auburn fan. And I'm not just talking about the football team, although I keep a navy-and-orange shaker on me at all times on Fall Saturdays. I'm a huge, obnoxious fan of Auburn, AL and Auburn University.
I grew up on the other side. As a child, I donned tiny University of Alabama cheerleader uniforms and as a teenager I dreamed of wearing the real thing. Somewhere along the way, though, a dear friend took me to an Auburn game. I know it's corny, but... it was love at first sight. The pristine lawn at Samford Hall, the electricity in the air, the "family reunions" that come with every passing "Hey, War Eagle!," Jordan-Hare Stadium and the eagle's flight (*chills*)... I just knew. Before the game was over, I knew. I visited First Baptist Opelika that weekend, and I mean it when I say that I knew that's where the Lord wanted me to be.
A couple of years later, I started my freshman year at Auburn. I rushed the absolute best sorority on Auburn's campus, and I loved every minute of walking through the beautiful campus to class (minus the actual class part). Every pep rally, football game, chapter meeting, all-nighter in RBD, late-night run to Sonic with friends, and student organization came with a surplus of beautiful memories. Coffee with Malorie at Taylor's Bakery, lunch with Blake at Big Blue Bagel, frisbee on Samford Lawn with Lee and Alisa, church at FBCO with Drew and Daniel... The people that I still consider my best friends today are the people I met at Auburn.
There is no bad time of year in Auburn; it's like Never Land. In fall, the air is crisp and the energy's high. In winter, Christmas lights line the trees down College Street, adding whimsical charm. With spring comes a burst of color on Samford Lawn and the perfect weather for frisbee golf on campus. And in summer, the nights are long and the parking's easy (which, in a college town, is a HUGE plus). I rode my bike to class almost everyday, and I would literally get a little high off my love for this perfect town (the word 'town' here is key; I currently live in a 'city' and it is no walk in the park).
All this affection is brought on by one simple thing: my cousin was accepted to Auburn today. Like me, she grew up in crimson and white. I can't tell you how excited I am, partly because I can't wait to watch her journey and partly because I'm so jealous I can barely stand it. AK, I know that you'll love it, I know that the Lord will bless your time there as much as He blessed mine, and I know that you'll leave AU with the same obsession I have... because that's what Auburn does to people.
And with that, War Eagle!
I grew up on the other side. As a child, I donned tiny University of Alabama cheerleader uniforms and as a teenager I dreamed of wearing the real thing. Somewhere along the way, though, a dear friend took me to an Auburn game. I know it's corny, but... it was love at first sight. The pristine lawn at Samford Hall, the electricity in the air, the "family reunions" that come with every passing "Hey, War Eagle!," Jordan-Hare Stadium and the eagle's flight (*chills*)... I just knew. Before the game was over, I knew. I visited First Baptist Opelika that weekend, and I mean it when I say that I knew that's where the Lord wanted me to be.
A couple of years later, I started my freshman year at Auburn. I rushed the absolute best sorority on Auburn's campus, and I loved every minute of walking through the beautiful campus to class (minus the actual class part). Every pep rally, football game, chapter meeting, all-nighter in RBD, late-night run to Sonic with friends, and student organization came with a surplus of beautiful memories. Coffee with Malorie at Taylor's Bakery, lunch with Blake at Big Blue Bagel, frisbee on Samford Lawn with Lee and Alisa, church at FBCO with Drew and Daniel... The people that I still consider my best friends today are the people I met at Auburn.
There is no bad time of year in Auburn; it's like Never Land. In fall, the air is crisp and the energy's high. In winter, Christmas lights line the trees down College Street, adding whimsical charm. With spring comes a burst of color on Samford Lawn and the perfect weather for frisbee golf on campus. And in summer, the nights are long and the parking's easy (which, in a college town, is a HUGE plus). I rode my bike to class almost everyday, and I would literally get a little high off my love for this perfect town (the word 'town' here is key; I currently live in a 'city' and it is no walk in the park).
All this affection is brought on by one simple thing: my cousin was accepted to Auburn today. Like me, she grew up in crimson and white. I can't tell you how excited I am, partly because I can't wait to watch her journey and partly because I'm so jealous I can barely stand it. AK, I know that you'll love it, I know that the Lord will bless your time there as much as He blessed mine, and I know that you'll leave AU with the same obsession I have... because that's what Auburn does to people.
And with that, War Eagle!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Retweet.
In the Twitterverse, this would be considered a Retweet (more often denoted by 'RT'). That is, what I'm about to tell you is not an original thought but rather a re-telling of a truth that crossed my path today.
My mother teaches the College and Career class at my church, so when I'm home I dutifully attend. Some might see this as an obligation, but it just so happens that both of my parents are gifted teachers so I'm happy to have a place to go. My mother is a heck of a teacher. She is humble and unassuming, and she doesn't teach in hopes that people will walk away and tell their friends how godly and wonderful she is. I've watched her over the weeks prepare for the lessons, praying earnestly that God's voice and not hers will be heard by a college audience. This is a tough crowd and a walking paradox: they have all the answers but even more questions; they thrive on new-found independence, but most can't do their own laundry; thrilled to start over and establish a young adult identity all their own, they are ready and willing to base who they are on who they meet. College is terrifying; I haven't met a professor yet who openly believed in God, and a rare few who respect those who do any more than they would respect a student who lived out loud for the glory of the Tooth Fairy. Even Christians you meet on campus can prove challenging and scary: some demanding you label yourself Calvinist or otherwise, some convinced that God loves us and simply wants us to be happy regardless of our choices, and some protesting on public walkways (one group was well-known at AU for calling out "Whore!" and "Whoremonger!" to passersby...very. scary.).
My mom does an awesome job, in my [possibly biased] opinion. Today we're sitting in class talking about how life isn't about us. We live like we're the star of the show, like I'm Jen Aniston and God's some no-name extra... maybe, just maybe, a co-star, but obviously I have top billing because I'm Jen friggin' Aniston. The truth is, as Francis Chan beautifully illustrates in Crazy Love, this is the God Show and I'm nothing more than Extra #000120A. God created this Earth (Jen here wasn't consulted about the set change), flooded it (Um, a rewrite and no one asked me?!), rescues His chosen ones by SPLITTING A SEA OPEN (no special effects, no stunt doubles), and does a whole host of other nifty things, not the least of them sending his precious and perfect Son to die for Extra #000120A and all the crappy, miserable things she's done... oh yeah, and every other screw-up that has ever graced this planet.
But here I go, living like I'm the star, waving at fans that don't exist, smiling for flashbulbs that aren't going off, and chillaxin' in my trailer on the back lot... a slave to my pride. Meanwhile, the real Star hung on a cross to save my selfish soul.
Here's where the Retweet comes in; here's where I stopped nodding along and agreeing silently, here's what demanded to be revisited: Mom finished this example by asking guilty ears this: Do you think He got what He paid for?
We all hate getting ripped off. Anyone who's ever hit the Taco Bell drive-thru has experienced it: your mouth waters as you order that Mexican Pizza, and as you open your plastic sack a block down the road you find instead a burrito supreme. Or how about getting home from Target to find that the cashier you were inconveniencing with your presence charged you twice for your family pack of Easy Mac? And I love Old Navy's cheap trendiness as much as the next girl, but I don't love when the seams bust after just one wash. It's frustrating. It's inconvenient. It's not what I paid for.
Do you think He got what He paid for that day on the cross? Personally, I think He got the short end of the stick. I got eternal life: the promise of a perfect body, the delight of the marriage feast... I mean, really, perfect body and not worrying about calories at a feast: need I go on? Meanwhile, Jesus got us. Self-important, self-centered, screwed up us. And He's not infuriated, not even frustrated. He's patient and forgiving and merciful.
I don't understand it; it doesn't make sense to me that I should win this lottery... but perhaps I'll try to live like I'm grateful... maybe I'll try my best to make this outrageously generous purchase worthwhile. This is His show, after all, so I suppose He knew what he was getting into.
"In Him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins in accordance with the riches of God's grace that He lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding."
Ephesian 1:7-8
"You were bought at a price; do not become slaves of men."
1 Corinthians 7:23
My mother teaches the College and Career class at my church, so when I'm home I dutifully attend. Some might see this as an obligation, but it just so happens that both of my parents are gifted teachers so I'm happy to have a place to go. My mother is a heck of a teacher. She is humble and unassuming, and she doesn't teach in hopes that people will walk away and tell their friends how godly and wonderful she is. I've watched her over the weeks prepare for the lessons, praying earnestly that God's voice and not hers will be heard by a college audience. This is a tough crowd and a walking paradox: they have all the answers but even more questions; they thrive on new-found independence, but most can't do their own laundry; thrilled to start over and establish a young adult identity all their own, they are ready and willing to base who they are on who they meet. College is terrifying; I haven't met a professor yet who openly believed in God, and a rare few who respect those who do any more than they would respect a student who lived out loud for the glory of the Tooth Fairy. Even Christians you meet on campus can prove challenging and scary: some demanding you label yourself Calvinist or otherwise, some convinced that God loves us and simply wants us to be happy regardless of our choices, and some protesting on public walkways (one group was well-known at AU for calling out "Whore!" and "Whoremonger!" to passersby...very. scary.).
My mom does an awesome job, in my [possibly biased] opinion. Today we're sitting in class talking about how life isn't about us. We live like we're the star of the show, like I'm Jen Aniston and God's some no-name extra... maybe, just maybe, a co-star, but obviously I have top billing because I'm Jen friggin' Aniston. The truth is, as Francis Chan beautifully illustrates in Crazy Love, this is the God Show and I'm nothing more than Extra #000120A. God created this Earth (Jen here wasn't consulted about the set change), flooded it (Um, a rewrite and no one asked me?!), rescues His chosen ones by SPLITTING A SEA OPEN (no special effects, no stunt doubles), and does a whole host of other nifty things, not the least of them sending his precious and perfect Son to die for Extra #000120A and all the crappy, miserable things she's done... oh yeah, and every other screw-up that has ever graced this planet.
But here I go, living like I'm the star, waving at fans that don't exist, smiling for flashbulbs that aren't going off, and chillaxin' in my trailer on the back lot... a slave to my pride. Meanwhile, the real Star hung on a cross to save my selfish soul.
Here's where the Retweet comes in; here's where I stopped nodding along and agreeing silently, here's what demanded to be revisited: Mom finished this example by asking guilty ears this: Do you think He got what He paid for?
We all hate getting ripped off. Anyone who's ever hit the Taco Bell drive-thru has experienced it: your mouth waters as you order that Mexican Pizza, and as you open your plastic sack a block down the road you find instead a burrito supreme. Or how about getting home from Target to find that the cashier you were inconveniencing with your presence charged you twice for your family pack of Easy Mac? And I love Old Navy's cheap trendiness as much as the next girl, but I don't love when the seams bust after just one wash. It's frustrating. It's inconvenient. It's not what I paid for.
Do you think He got what He paid for that day on the cross? Personally, I think He got the short end of the stick. I got eternal life: the promise of a perfect body, the delight of the marriage feast... I mean, really, perfect body and not worrying about calories at a feast: need I go on? Meanwhile, Jesus got us. Self-important, self-centered, screwed up us. And He's not infuriated, not even frustrated. He's patient and forgiving and merciful.
I don't understand it; it doesn't make sense to me that I should win this lottery... but perhaps I'll try to live like I'm grateful... maybe I'll try my best to make this outrageously generous purchase worthwhile. This is His show, after all, so I suppose He knew what he was getting into.
"In Him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins in accordance with the riches of God's grace that He lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding."
Ephesian 1:7-8
"You were bought at a price; do not become slaves of men."
1 Corinthians 7:23
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Aack!
On any given Sunday, a weekend edition of the Huntsville Times is laying on my parents' kitchen table. For years, I've come home from church, sat down at the table and pulled three things from this paper: the Parade insert, the Sports section (really this is only during the Fall), and, of course, the Comics.
I have no need for silliness like The Phantom or Camelot or anything that doesn't make me giggle within four frames. I never skip Peanuts, and my favorite is probably The Family Circus. Another favorite: Cathy.
Okay, Andy Samberg makes fun of her. I'm sure most men hate her: she's the antithesis of female insecurity. Always worried about her weight, her dating life, her relationship with her mother, and her career, Cathy is a walking stereotype. But that's why I love her, she's irresistibly relatable.
Every day I worry about my weight. Somewhere around my sophomore year of college my metabolism crashed around me (likely a combination of no physical activity and a study abroad program in Italy.... gelato, gelato, gelato), and since then I've worked tirelessly to purge Facebook of all pictures taken during those 365 days. Now I keep a closet full of 'skinny clothes' and 'not-so-skinny clothes.' And when I'm more than 'not-so-skinny,'... well, that's what sweat pants are for.
At 23 years old, another friend gets engaged everyday. This, of course, leaves me painfully aware of my own relationship status, or lack there-of really. I joke with my friends a lot about "making him my boyfriend" when an eligible bachelor walks my way, and I have a new crush every week. Sometimes I love it; sometimes I don't.
My girl Cathy's been on my mind since I saw Andy Samberg's Cathy sign off for the last time this weekend; I had no idea the Cathy strip was ending. I'm sad to see it go, mainly because I've come to this realization:
ACK! I'm Cathy.
I have no need for silliness like The Phantom or Camelot or anything that doesn't make me giggle within four frames. I never skip Peanuts, and my favorite is probably The Family Circus. Another favorite: Cathy.
Okay, Andy Samberg makes fun of her. I'm sure most men hate her: she's the antithesis of female insecurity. Always worried about her weight, her dating life, her relationship with her mother, and her career, Cathy is a walking stereotype. But that's why I love her, she's irresistibly relatable.
Every day I worry about my weight. Somewhere around my sophomore year of college my metabolism crashed around me (likely a combination of no physical activity and a study abroad program in Italy.... gelato, gelato, gelato), and since then I've worked tirelessly to purge Facebook of all pictures taken during those 365 days. Now I keep a closet full of 'skinny clothes' and 'not-so-skinny clothes.' And when I'm more than 'not-so-skinny,'... well, that's what sweat pants are for.
At 23 years old, another friend gets engaged everyday. This, of course, leaves me painfully aware of my own relationship status, or lack there-of really. I joke with my friends a lot about "making him my boyfriend" when an eligible bachelor walks my way, and I have a new crush every week. Sometimes I love it; sometimes I don't.
My girl Cathy's been on my mind since I saw Andy Samberg's Cathy sign off for the last time this weekend; I had no idea the Cathy strip was ending. I'm sad to see it go, mainly because I've come to this realization:
ACK! I'm Cathy.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Grad school makes me worthless.
Isn't that the opposite of what should happen? Aren't grad students harried with work, frantic with due dates, and obsessively industrious?
While my life is fraught with work and due dates, I am somehow lacking the industriousness. Piles of reading are sat aside for reruns of Gilmore Girls, all of which I've seen multiple times. Reaction papers are secondary to Facebook and Twitter, and research articles fall pitifully behind Survivor, Mad Men, and Community OnDemand (darn you, Charter, for this delightful convenience). My classes are at night, which allows me to sleep as late as I want. This at first seems like a dream-come-true. Alas, sleeping til 11 each day thoroughly impedes any sense of productivity. I eat breakfast at 11, TV break til 12, gym for an hour, reward myself with TV, shower, lunch at 2 (while watching TV, of course), and only then do I start forcing myself to read... during commercial breaks.
It's funny how I get more done when I'm overwhelmingly busy. Last week, for instance, was out of control. But I got things done, bam-bam-bam, because my life had a sudden sense of urgency. This week, though, is the normal workload: 200+ pages of reading, GA hours, a lesson plan, and a journal. Compared to some weeks, this week is a cake walk. But instead of knocking things out and enjoying my leisurely week, I do things like... take two naps on Monday. Who needs TWO naps?! Admittedly, I have a sinus infection and was recovering from a busy weekend, but still: it's not okay. It makes me worthless. Of zero worth.
Today, I vowed to be more productive. When my purposeful alarm went off at 8:30, I hit snooze without guilt. When Lady Gaga (my ringtone, of course) blared her third, no fourth wake up call, I just turned my phone off. Because I'm WORTHLESS.
The bottom line is, I need something to wake up for in the morning. This easy-schmeasy 4-day weekend, night class schedule is ruining my life.
While my life is fraught with work and due dates, I am somehow lacking the industriousness. Piles of reading are sat aside for reruns of Gilmore Girls, all of which I've seen multiple times. Reaction papers are secondary to Facebook and Twitter, and research articles fall pitifully behind Survivor, Mad Men, and Community OnDemand (darn you, Charter, for this delightful convenience). My classes are at night, which allows me to sleep as late as I want. This at first seems like a dream-come-true. Alas, sleeping til 11 each day thoroughly impedes any sense of productivity. I eat breakfast at 11, TV break til 12, gym for an hour, reward myself with TV, shower, lunch at 2 (while watching TV, of course), and only then do I start forcing myself to read... during commercial breaks.
It's funny how I get more done when I'm overwhelmingly busy. Last week, for instance, was out of control. But I got things done, bam-bam-bam, because my life had a sudden sense of urgency. This week, though, is the normal workload: 200+ pages of reading, GA hours, a lesson plan, and a journal. Compared to some weeks, this week is a cake walk. But instead of knocking things out and enjoying my leisurely week, I do things like... take two naps on Monday. Who needs TWO naps?! Admittedly, I have a sinus infection and was recovering from a busy weekend, but still: it's not okay. It makes me worthless. Of zero worth.
Today, I vowed to be more productive. When my purposeful alarm went off at 8:30, I hit snooze without guilt. When Lady Gaga (my ringtone, of course) blared her third, no fourth wake up call, I just turned my phone off. Because I'm WORTHLESS.
The bottom line is, I need something to wake up for in the morning. This easy-schmeasy 4-day weekend, night class schedule is ruining my life.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Weekend Update
There was a time when weekends were restful and relaxing to me. This is my 5th football season in an SEC school, though, and fall weekends haven't been calm and rejuvenating in a long, long time.
On Fridays, old friends and alumni come to town. Group dinners and drinks downtown stretch Friday night in Saturday morning. Too tired to shower, my typical Friday night ends with me dropping my purse at the door, dragging myself to my room, and falling into bed around 3. I lay there for a solid half hour listening to the ringing in my ears-- I foolishly continue to try to have screamed conversations over the live music at overcrowded bars--and drift off just in to wake up only a few hours later for game day.
On Saturday morning, I wake up with a much-much needed shower and then try on every piece of clothing I own that has crimson, white, or black in it. I usually go for a neutral look-- this week I settled for jeggings, a white tunic, and crimson earrings... and NAVY nail polish to balance it out-- because I don't want to be a bad sport. With game day outfit assembled, I head into the circus that is college game day. I justify the 12-hour tailgate food binge by walking a mile to and from my parking place on the edge of town-- who turns down tailgate food? Dips, salsa, brownies, cookies, wings... not a fruit or vegetable in sight, and for the day that's fine by me.
"Win or lose, we still booze." Someone told me that once about this town, and it's so true. I may not be a huge fan-- with the exception of playing LSU, and in that case, Roll Tide Roll-- but I do enjoy a win, and... well, this team wins. So after 5 hours of tailgating and 5 hours of standing in the student section, you head downtown to celebrate with a couple thousand of your closest friends. I don't drink much myself; in fact, if it tastes like alcohol, I can't control my face cringe, and that can be pretty limiting. So with water in hand, I thoroughly enjoy the camaraderie and spectacle of winners and losers converging under the influence. If you're a people watcher like me, this is primo people watching. Strangers hugging strangers, strangers not loving strangers so much, friends from home, game day dresses and get ups, unbridled PDA.... So. Much. Material. This seems like as good a place as any to drop a little nugget of information: I may or may not have met and taken a picture (read: forced a picture) on a former player with one giant championship ring on his finger. My two friends were talking to this 6'5 hunk of man, so I text my dad his name to find out if he was, as suspected, a football player. Upon discovering his celebrity, he might as well have been George Clooney: I was on a mission.
I wish I were too cool to be star-struck... but basically, if you're name's been mentioned on national television once or twice, you are immediately fascinating to me.
So, today is Sunday, and it looks like most of my game day Sunday. I had lunch with a visiting friend before he headed out, did my grocery shopping for the week, and now I'll spend the rest of the afternoon doing enough homework to spread out over the weekend... but who has a free day on a game day weekend? And I'll clean up piles of discarded would-be game day outfits and pack up summer clothes (Gotta make room for the best clothes of the year: fall/winter wardrobe).
On my catch-up day, I'll reward myself (i.e. put off being productive) with a phone date or two with long lost friends and maybe even a little Hulu action.
On Fridays, old friends and alumni come to town. Group dinners and drinks downtown stretch Friday night in Saturday morning. Too tired to shower, my typical Friday night ends with me dropping my purse at the door, dragging myself to my room, and falling into bed around 3. I lay there for a solid half hour listening to the ringing in my ears-- I foolishly continue to try to have screamed conversations over the live music at overcrowded bars--and drift off just in to wake up only a few hours later for game day.
On Saturday morning, I wake up with a much-much needed shower and then try on every piece of clothing I own that has crimson, white, or black in it. I usually go for a neutral look-- this week I settled for jeggings, a white tunic, and crimson earrings... and NAVY nail polish to balance it out-- because I don't want to be a bad sport. With game day outfit assembled, I head into the circus that is college game day. I justify the 12-hour tailgate food binge by walking a mile to and from my parking place on the edge of town-- who turns down tailgate food? Dips, salsa, brownies, cookies, wings... not a fruit or vegetable in sight, and for the day that's fine by me.
"Win or lose, we still booze." Someone told me that once about this town, and it's so true. I may not be a huge fan-- with the exception of playing LSU, and in that case, Roll Tide Roll-- but I do enjoy a win, and... well, this team wins. So after 5 hours of tailgating and 5 hours of standing in the student section, you head downtown to celebrate with a couple thousand of your closest friends. I don't drink much myself; in fact, if it tastes like alcohol, I can't control my face cringe, and that can be pretty limiting. So with water in hand, I thoroughly enjoy the camaraderie and spectacle of winners and losers converging under the influence. If you're a people watcher like me, this is primo people watching. Strangers hugging strangers, strangers not loving strangers so much, friends from home, game day dresses and get ups, unbridled PDA.... So. Much. Material. This seems like as good a place as any to drop a little nugget of information: I may or may not have met and taken a picture (read: forced a picture) on a former player with one giant championship ring on his finger. My two friends were talking to this 6'5 hunk of man, so I text my dad his name to find out if he was, as suspected, a football player. Upon discovering his celebrity, he might as well have been George Clooney: I was on a mission.
I wish I were too cool to be star-struck... but basically, if you're name's been mentioned on national television once or twice, you are immediately fascinating to me.
So, today is Sunday, and it looks like most of my game day Sunday. I had lunch with a visiting friend before he headed out, did my grocery shopping for the week, and now I'll spend the rest of the afternoon doing enough homework to spread out over the weekend... but who has a free day on a game day weekend? And I'll clean up piles of discarded would-be game day outfits and pack up summer clothes (Gotta make room for the best clothes of the year: fall/winter wardrobe).
On my catch-up day, I'll reward myself (i.e. put off being productive) with a phone date or two with long lost friends and maybe even a little Hulu action.
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