holy macaroni.

Having been distracted by a text message between writing that title, and writing 'Having,' I can't actually remember what I was planning to write about. Shock-- I have the attention span of a chipmunk. In lieu of whatever I was going to write-- something that was undoubtedly earth-shattering in its epicness-- I'll write the first few things that come to my mind.

David and I text each other in hashmarks #asseenonTwitter. It was really just a joke at first, but now I have to remind myself not to do it with other people because it's not exactly normal text etiquette. Furthermore, I'm thinking in hashmarks and kind of talking in them too. That is, I'll make/think a remark, and then have a follow-up explanation remark. As in, "Peyton Manning is clearly the cuter Manning. #truth" This is further confirmation that social media is taking over my life #ivegottogetagrip

Mom and I went to the grocery store tonight after a little shopping spree in Huntsville. With a "winter weather advisory" (whatever that is) upon us, people are starting to freak out a little. Nary a loaf of bread was to be found on the shelves, although I've never been convinced that white bread is what I would want to snack on in the event of a snowstorm. I'm having a hard time getting excited about the supposed blizzard because I find that these things rarely come to fruition. It seems in high school I was often "guaranteed" a snow day only for my dad to wake me up and inform me that it "didn't stick." And even in the event that the school system did shut down-- depending on whether or not a flurry or two was sighted after 6 am-- it seems like my promised snow day was just a wasted day to be made up at the end of the school year. Hurricane Ivan, for instance, was a day out of school for what turned out to be rain, lots of rain. Sure, I enjoyed the hurricane party in the basement; I did not, however, enjoy making up our hurricane day in May. #backtosnow Those in the know (that is, those who watch the news #notI) seem to think that I'm going to get snowed into my apartment. While this seemed like a fun idea as a child, as an adult I'm thinking more along the lines of using my cat for heat and living off old Ritz crackers and melted snow. Maybe I should rethink the white bread...

Facebook is killing me. I mean, yes, it may actually be killing me by rotting my brain out and numbing my sense of socialization, but what I mean is... Facebook statuses are killing me. Every time I sign on, which is more often than I care to admit, there are 20 new updates along the lines of "Boarding the plane for Glendale! War Eagle!" I mean, honestly, how many people can that town hold? When I was little, my brother's friends fit me into a tuba case; I feel like I could've tucked into someone's luggage (too cliche?). I missing the most EPIC family reunion of all time, and if you know me, you know how I love a good family gathering. And if you're a Duck, you should know that I'm pretty handy with a shotgun.

In conclusion, I still don't know what I was going to write initially. So much for my Nobel Prize.

woe is me.

I've stumbled onto a website recently called "Stuff Christians Like" and, as a Christian-- you guessed it-- I like it. While my sweet students are silently working, I'm sitting in my ivory tower perusing blog posts, so I gave SCL a look-see.

Now, I should be upfront and say that I'm new to this website, so I can't attest to it Scriptural validity and whatnot (you've gotta be careful about that stuff, ya know), but so far so good, I think.

The first post is by a writer named John Crist (who I will be googling shortly), and it really hit home with me.

I'm a woe-is-me kind of girl. If I've got three tests in one week, it's a crisis. If my roots are showing, a meltdown. I've compared myself to dear old Job more than once in the past 365 days, and I honestly thought I had a right. It's funny how hindsight's 20-20.

This is what Crist said in part of his blog:

Let’s get one thing clear. Job lost all his family, his house, his livestock, his wealth and his own health. My girlfriend of two weeks dumped me. Those are not comparable situations.

As Christians, Job has become so commonplace to us. If my waitress forgets to refill my glass of tea, I'm tearing sack cloth. If Granny is stopping up traffic by driving in the fast lane, I'm cursing the day I was born... or more likely the day she was born, but you get the point.

In his post, Crist makes an illustration of Job helping Jesus sort through prayer request. I can just imagine his smirk, his eye rolling when he sees my request to pass my Individual Appraisal class or my fervent plea that I will suddenly lose all desire for sugar. When you really think about it, at our lowest point, regardless of the circumstances, there should be an uncontainable joy that we're not in a comparable circumstance as Job rather than being so trigger happy to think, "That Job... he really gets me." Job does not get you. Job is laughing at you. Job wants to punch you for thinking you two could compare notes on misery. Okay, if I were Job, that's how I would feel... In retrospect, Job's probably a really nice guy and not as prone to sarcasm as I am.

My Prerogative

I know that I said I wasn't going to make any resolutions.

I also said that I went I make an absolute statement ("I'm not going to make any resolutions"), I feel driven to do just that.

So here's a quick resolution or two; nothing major, nothing I can really fail at.

This year, I want to wear heels more often. A friend of mine told me once that she didn't feel feminine unless she was wearing heels, and I have kind of begun to subscribe to that notion. I've always avoided them because they're painful to wear, like I would avoid a shot at the doctor's office or cupping a bee in my hand until it inevitably stings. I have often watched my friends-- Alice and Chasley come to mind immediately-- prance around in 4" heels and wondered how they possibly did that without complaining. As it turns out, you kind of get used to it. My heel tolerance has increased exponentially over the break, and I think I'm well on my way to being a heel-wearer. Look out, world, I'm about to reach heights I've never seen before... like 5'5. Whoa.

Along the same lines, I'm going to dress up more often. With classes only three days a week and at night, it's so easy to stay in my pajamas all day long. In high school, some teachers had a "Dress for Success" policy in which you got extra points for dressing up for the day of a test. The idea there is that you will do better if you're more polished, and I really think that's true. I'm more productive when I've done my hair, dabbed on a bit of make-up, and changed out of my favorite sweats, even if it just means doing a little bit of laundry.

So this year, I'm embracing the feminine. Chasley, I may even out-glam you. A girl can dream, anyway.

yikes.

This time of year gets people thinking about life changes: lose weight, work out more, read the Bible in a year, spend less time on Facebook, give up chocolate, etc. I'm no good at resolutions, though, because as soon as I say, "I'm only going to drink water," the only thing in this world that I want is a Coca-Cola Classic. Maybe I have a problem with authority, but something about absolutism just makes me want to rebel.

So I'm trying to avoid making a resolution, but I can't help at least doing some reflection. I think reflection leads to growth, and doesn't everyone want to grow? A stagnant life is no life at all... or at least it's quite boring. Some reflection is rather painful though, and I'm afraid that's where this is headed.

**caution: this is a downer blog.

I'm sensitive, okay? I always have been, and I might always will be (see, there I am avoiding the urge to resolve to not be sensitive... ah, this no resolution thing is so simple). As a small child, if I even thought someone was talking about me I would burst into tears. Maybe I suffered from paranoia as it seems I assumed all comments about me were negative. As an older child, I moved schools twice, which ultimately led to the discomfort of being the outsider as well as some blatant bullying. And then as a high schooler, I always felt like I was on a different page than everyone else. Maybe it was life experience-- having been the new kid, having experienced extreme loss-- or maybe I was just awkward, I'm not sure, but I had a very hard time connecting with kids my own age. In fact, I spent a lot of time with older kids... which meant that by the time I was the "older kid," I was in quite a fix.

So, yes, I'm sensitive. I blame it on having been bullied and an inherent inability to take criticism. Sarcasm is my native tongue, and I can go one-on-one with someone any day in a battle of wits... but you put two people against me, and you have a meltdown on your hands. Being ganged up on or left out, as it turns out, is something of a phobia for me.

But I'm too sensitive, really. I'm much too old to pout the way I do when the boys are giving me a hard time-- and frankly, that would be entirely too much time pouting. They know how it riles me up, though, when they pick on me... and they've learned what really bothers me-- calling my high school friends weird (people, just because you preferred ultimate frisbee and a moe. t-shirt over football and a camo jacket does not make you weird. open that mind up.), telling me how I feel about a situation-- and they love to push those buttons. Knowing this, you'd think I would get over it and roll my eyes. But no. It gets me every time.

So there, the cat's out of the bag. I really dislike this little characteristic of mine, and I can't imagine that my friends like it either, and I'm going to work on it... really. It's not necessarily my New Year's resolution, but I see no harm in a little self-improvement.

i'm a loser, baby

Holy night, I love The Biggest Loser. Yesterday, there were a thousand Facebook statuses demonstrating the love the female race has for a little reality show called The Bachelor.

Blah, blah, blah. Save the drama for your momma. I don't care which Size 0 gets the second-time Bachelor; I don't care who's secretly dating the show's producer or which girls "just happens" to be a struggling actress. I don't need the tears about how they're falling in love with a man that's dating 20 women. Yeah, that would make me cry too, moron. You signed up for this insanity, but I'm sure you had good reason. It's totally logical that you'll fall in love and get engaged in a span of 6 weeks, in the company of 20 competing girls, in front of a national audience. That relationship is bound to work, really... just like the other blissful Bachelor(ette) relationships.

But I digress.

The Biggest Loser is what's up. It is, in fact, the bee's knees. These people are so unhealthy; they are literally clinging to life. On the first episode, a doctor gives them a full check-up and life expectancy. It is astounding how dangerously the contestants are living.

Everything about this show is inspiring. I want to gain 400 pounds just in hopes that I could be on this show. Just so Jillian can yell and spit in my face that "every time [I] bitch and moan it makes [her] hungrier for [my] blood." If you read my last post, you'll notice that I talked about how much I like working out... but all of that had to do with how I feel after the work out. The work out itself is always a struggle. I would love to have Jillian and Bob in my face. Of course, it would also make my weight loss efforts easier if I lived on a ranch and had nothing to do but work out...

I can't wait to see how the contestants fare this season. The before and after shots on the season finale are the most inspiring things I've ever seen. Nothing makes me want to run faster and longer then seeing someone who is morbidly obese finish a 5k faster than I can.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to be inspired by my fat friends and Bob and Jillian.

**Let the record state that, contrary to my Bachelor rant, I have absolutely no room to criticize a reality show of any caliber as some of my favorite guilty pleasures include the Real Housewives and a number of terrible shows on E! and TLC.

Tuesday thoughts.

It's Tuesday, the holidays are behind me, and it's time to hit the grind again. But first, I thought I'd organize some thoughts.

I love-love-love What Not to Wear. I want a make-over so bad I can barely stand it. And, huh-lo, I wouldn't complain about a $5000 shopping spree in NYC. Normally, I change my hair every few months (fear of commitment much?), but this time around I'm determined to stick with it. Meanwhile, I'm getting a little restless with putting my make-up on the exact same way every day and cycling through my favorite outfits every week. If I can't be a participant on the show, I'll settle for just having Stacey London's hand-me-downs.

The longer my hair gets, the funkier I get. Or maybe I should say it makes me lazier. Something about longer hair makes me feel artsy or something (Annie and I had lots of talks about the "artsy" look this weekend, so I'm a little fixated on it right now). If my hair isn't perfectly straight, I think to myself, "Funky chic." If my hair is flat, I think, "So Euro." If my hair's is in a sloppy ponytail, I imagine myself being Kirsten Dunst chased by the paparazzi. Also, I see a lot of knit hats in my future.

A few days ago I said something I thought I'd never say... ever. Talking to Wade about our 6-to-4 ratio of girls to guys on our New Year's trip, he told me to feel free to invite more guys. And that's when I said it. That's when "I just don't have that many guy friends" tumbled out of my mouth. Whoa. Who am I? For the first time in my life, I'm not really "one of the guys" anymore. And I've got to be honest here... I kind of love it. I love girl talk and girls' night... I love borrowing each other's clothes, dolling up, and talking about our weddings and what we'll name our kids. My girlfriends are such an inspiration, such a beautiful example of the femininity that the Lord blessed our sex with. No dirty jokes, no spitting or farting... delightful.

As it turns out, I have the Midas touch. Every couple I touch turns to gold. Wade says I sit in my ivory tower and orchestrate matches between my friends. It really is incredible that every time I introduce my girl friends and guy friends at least one relationship ensues. They call me the puppeteer. How lucky they are to have a friend like me...!

After five days of a work-out hiatus, I have realized how addicted I am to exercise (another thing I thought I'd never say). Nothing compares to the high you get after a great gym session. It puts me in a better mood, and I feel so much healthier: I have more energy, I sleep better, I crave better food. And it's hard to beat the feeling of pulling on your favorite jeans and feeling like you have a little wiggle room. I even like feeling sore the day after a great work-out: hello accomplishment!

I have one more week to finish my joy reading, and then it's back to the textbooks. So if you need between now and then, I'll be in a quiet corner with my nose in a book.

Today I wrote...

... 2011 for the first time.

Weird. So, so weird.

This year I rang in the new year in Asheville, North Carolina, with some of my very favorite people. We skied, we ate, we hot tubbed, we laughed, we lounged. Morgan and I started an alliance and laughed until we cried; David and I overcame our fear of hugging each other-- we're both so very awkward; Wade, more commonly known as Papa Bear, took out the trash and kept us all in line; the girls sat in a line and played with each other's hair for hours (this is what my version of paradise looks like); JoJo, Kim, and I "sacrificed" and slept three to a bed... an extremely large, comfortable king-size bed; Clay talked me through a terrifying skiing experience-- next time, I just want to ride the ski lift up and down; and my team dominated at Fish Bowl. The hot tub broke more times than I can count, Kim cooked ziti for our family dinner night, and we visited a beer garden that was out of most beers. At midnight on New Year's Eve, we watched the ball drop at Pack's Tavern with a champagne toast and sang 'Auld Lang Syne' (well, David and Katie sang the actual lyrics... Annie and I just sang 'Na na na na' to the tune of 'Auld Lang Syne'). On the ride home, Annie, Jordon, and I subjected Wade to an earful of girl talk and song after song of classics like 'C'est La Vie' by B*Witched and 'Say My Name' by Destiny's Child. While he couldn't dial down our chatter, the volume did seem to mysteriously decrease periodically.

All in all, the trip was a success. Many memories made, many jokes told, many Oreo balls eaten. I wish there had been more snow-- there was a snowman on our porch when we arrived; by Day 2, it was just a scarf and some twigs in a puddle-- but I'll settle for beautiful weather and crisp mountain air... and be thankful for ice-free mountain roads.

A trip with ten people doesn't exactly provide the best atmosphere for reflection, but now that I'm home again for another week before school starts up, I feel predict some serious reflection in the forecast. Maybe I'll make a few resolutions. I'll let you know.