1.27.2009
1.18.2009
view from my mom's office
Thought this was interesting. These porta-potties are set up for the inauguration ceremony and other celebrations that are planned.
It will be interesting to see how the next four years unfold for our country.
It's a different world from Montana.
1.15.2009
my favorite word that isn’t a word
Am not. Have you ever thought about how nice it would be to have an easier word to say instead of the words “am not”? You know, something along the lines of a “didn’t” instead of a “did not” or “couldn’t” instead of “could not”. Well, have I got a word for you: amn’t. [pronounced em’nt].
When to use:
Say a coworker is asking you if you’re staying around for the holidays. You can respond with, “No, I amn’t.” (Unfortunately -- and I know this to be true from experience-- the coworker will look at you like you’re a five year old child. “Amn’t” isn’t a widely-accepted word. Yet.)
Apparently our parents thought our made-up word was so cute growing up, they didn’t bother to tell us it wasn’t real. And because of that, we proceeded to use the word in everyday conversation.
E.g. “Callie, are you going to share your toys?” “No, I amn’t.”
Sometimes when the word slips out of my mouth during conversations with intelligent people, I feel silly. Other times, I feel a pang of nostalgia and remember the good ol’ days when my parents thought our made up words were so cute, they didn’t correct us.
That would not happen today.
When to use:
Say a coworker is asking you if you’re staying around for the holidays. You can respond with, “No, I amn’t.” (Unfortunately -- and I know this to be true from experience-- the coworker will look at you like you’re a five year old child. “Amn’t” isn’t a widely-accepted word. Yet.)
Apparently our parents thought our made-up word was so cute growing up, they didn’t bother to tell us it wasn’t real. And because of that, we proceeded to use the word in everyday conversation.
E.g. “Callie, are you going to share your toys?” “No, I amn’t.”
Sometimes when the word slips out of my mouth during conversations with intelligent people, I feel silly. Other times, I feel a pang of nostalgia and remember the good ol’ days when my parents thought our made up words were so cute, they didn’t correct us.
That would not happen today.
1.09.2009
the time my husband tried to convince the airlines I was a threat…
In honor of my brother and sister’s traveling woes (a missed flight, a cancelled flight, and visits to six different cities on their quests to get to their homes), I’m going to share my most recent airport experience with you. Because it was a doosey.
Date: Saturday, January 3, 2009.
Time: Saga begins at 4:00 a.m.
Location: Bristow, VA and Ronald Reagan National Aiport, DC
The alarm went off at 4:00 a.m. This was my first inclination that the day might not be a great one. We packed our things and headed out to the Suburban. Mom and Dad drove us to the airport.
We arrive at the airport around 5:15. And it's already busy. Lovely.
We make our way through the AirTran line. We get up to the agent. I try to hand him our drivers licenses, and he won’t take them. “You have to use the screen in front of you,” he says. I respond, “But I don’t know my A+ number and I don’t have the credit card I used to make the reservations.” “It doesn’t matter. Do you have any credit card? Use that,” says the rigid agent. So, I dig through my purse to try and find my debit card. Mind you, he could have pulled up our tickets quite easily in the amount of time this whole ordeal took. We find the card and pull up our tickets.
Next it’s time to check luggage. Ryan goes first. He thinks his bag might be a few pounds over the 50 pound limit. It’s four pounds over. So we put my bag up. It’s one pound underweight. We transfer a sweatshirt from Ryan’s bag to my bag, and then put his two pairs of shoes in my small carry-on bag. Meanwhile, the agent, who I’ve grown to dislike, says, “Ma’am, you’re bag is oversized.” “Huh?” I say. “Well, 62 inches is regular size. Your bag is 63 inches,” he says, with (I kid you not) tape measure in hand. I say, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “That will be $39.” I mutter some not-so-nice words under my breath and ask for a comment card. After paying $39. It really was ridiculous. Don’t fly AirTran.
So, once we’re checked in and our bags are gone, we head to security. Which was another mess. We finally get everything up on the belt and walk through the metal detectors. I clear with no problem. Then a TSA agent says, “Ma’am, is this your bag?” It was my bag, and he informs me they need to check it. I couldn’t think of anything that I would have packed that could be a weapon and am confused, but we move over to the screening area. He opens the bag and digs around a little bit. He then pulls out one of Ryan’s boots. (You know, the ones we had to put in my carry-on because his bag was four pounds overweight?) And out of Ryan’s boot he pulls a big old knife that my dad gave Ryan as a Christmas present.
Crap.
So, long story short, they didn’t arrest me and we FedEx’ed the knife to ourselves. (We still haven’t received it, now that I think about it.) We arrived to our home in Mpls a mere nine hours later, and I think I’ve nearly recovered from the emotional trauma. Nearly.
I still ask Ryan why he tried to frame me, though.
Date: Saturday, January 3, 2009.
Time: Saga begins at 4:00 a.m.
Location: Bristow, VA and Ronald Reagan National Aiport, DC
The alarm went off at 4:00 a.m. This was my first inclination that the day might not be a great one. We packed our things and headed out to the Suburban. Mom and Dad drove us to the airport.
We arrive at the airport around 5:15. And it's already busy. Lovely.
We make our way through the AirTran line. We get up to the agent. I try to hand him our drivers licenses, and he won’t take them. “You have to use the screen in front of you,” he says. I respond, “But I don’t know my A+ number and I don’t have the credit card I used to make the reservations.” “It doesn’t matter. Do you have any credit card? Use that,” says the rigid agent. So, I dig through my purse to try and find my debit card. Mind you, he could have pulled up our tickets quite easily in the amount of time this whole ordeal took. We find the card and pull up our tickets.
Next it’s time to check luggage. Ryan goes first. He thinks his bag might be a few pounds over the 50 pound limit. It’s four pounds over. So we put my bag up. It’s one pound underweight. We transfer a sweatshirt from Ryan’s bag to my bag, and then put his two pairs of shoes in my small carry-on bag. Meanwhile, the agent, who I’ve grown to dislike, says, “Ma’am, you’re bag is oversized.” “Huh?” I say. “Well, 62 inches is regular size. Your bag is 63 inches,” he says, with (I kid you not) tape measure in hand. I say, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “That will be $39.” I mutter some not-so-nice words under my breath and ask for a comment card. After paying $39. It really was ridiculous. Don’t fly AirTran.
So, once we’re checked in and our bags are gone, we head to security. Which was another mess. We finally get everything up on the belt and walk through the metal detectors. I clear with no problem. Then a TSA agent says, “Ma’am, is this your bag?” It was my bag, and he informs me they need to check it. I couldn’t think of anything that I would have packed that could be a weapon and am confused, but we move over to the screening area. He opens the bag and digs around a little bit. He then pulls out one of Ryan’s boots. (You know, the ones we had to put in my carry-on because his bag was four pounds overweight?) And out of Ryan’s boot he pulls a big old knife that my dad gave Ryan as a Christmas present.
Crap.
So, long story short, they didn’t arrest me and we FedEx’ed the knife to ourselves. (We still haven’t received it, now that I think about it.) We arrived to our home in Mpls a mere nine hours later, and I think I’ve nearly recovered from the emotional trauma. Nearly.
I still ask Ryan why he tried to frame me, though.
1.07.2009
it's happened before...
I love Brian Regan. The man is hilarious.
And who hasn't had this happen to them?
1.04.2009
when you just want to say what's on your mind...
I'm sassy. It's true. Ask anyone. Get me fired up about something, and I will give you retort after retort until the cows come home.
But when I'm at work, I bite my tongue. Actually, I bite my tongue most of the time. I try to keep my sass in the can -- most people don't react favorably to it. It tends to make them defensive. In the song "Portions of Foxes" by Rilo Kiley, she says, "There's blood on my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week..." and I can certainly identify.
While in the Atlanta airport, however, the sassy gate attendant said something I could never say (while on the job!).
Here's the scenario:
A plane arrives and it's late. The gate attendant is busy trying to get travelers where they need to go. A frantic young man gets off the plane, looks around bewilderedly, and then approaches the gate attendant. "Um, I'm just wondering if I'm going to be able to make it to concourse E to catch my flight in 15 minutes," he says.
And the gate attendant, who's always supposed to be the calming, directive, helpful sort, replies with, "I don't know, but you sure ain't gonna get there any quicker by standing here talkin' to me!"
The look on the young man's face was really quite indescribable, but I'll do my best. He sort of smiled, looked quickly again for help, realized she was serious, and then took off at a sprint to try and catch his plane.
I felt bad for him, but thanked the gate attendant for a good laugh.
** John, this wasn't nearly as funny as the finish I gave it yesterday. I just can't for the life of me remember what it was.
But when I'm at work, I bite my tongue. Actually, I bite my tongue most of the time. I try to keep my sass in the can -- most people don't react favorably to it. It tends to make them defensive. In the song "Portions of Foxes" by Rilo Kiley, she says, "There's blood on my mouth 'cause I've been biting my tongue all week..." and I can certainly identify.
While in the Atlanta airport, however, the sassy gate attendant said something I could never say (while on the job!).
Here's the scenario:
A plane arrives and it's late. The gate attendant is busy trying to get travelers where they need to go. A frantic young man gets off the plane, looks around bewilderedly, and then approaches the gate attendant. "Um, I'm just wondering if I'm going to be able to make it to concourse E to catch my flight in 15 minutes," he says.
And the gate attendant, who's always supposed to be the calming, directive, helpful sort, replies with, "I don't know, but you sure ain't gonna get there any quicker by standing here talkin' to me!"
The look on the young man's face was really quite indescribable, but I'll do my best. He sort of smiled, looked quickly again for help, realized she was serious, and then took off at a sprint to try and catch his plane.
I felt bad for him, but thanked the gate attendant for a good laugh.
** John, this wasn't nearly as funny as the finish I gave it yesterday. I just can't for the life of me remember what it was.
12.31.2008
oh, the places you'll go...
*This post was written on 12/23/08. Because of lack of wireless internet (until now, thanks to my parents unsuspecting neighbors and a few well-placed windows), I was unable to post it.
Ryan and I flew to D.C. today, via Atlanta. Whenever I'm in an airport flying somewhere, it's inevitable that I remember when I applied to be a stewardess.
I know what you're thinking. "Callie, you're much too [insert your own descriptor here] to be a stewardess." Or perhaps you're thinking, "Callie, you'd be a perfect stewardess!" Regardless, I for a fleeting moment thought it would be fun. (And I was working at Starbucks at the time -- I was a bit flighty. No pun intended.)
I had been searching for jobs in the PR world for about four months, and stumbled across an ad in the Star Tribune about a company looking for flight attendants. If you were interested, you had to go to this hotel for an interview. So I seized the bull by the horns and went. Wearing a business suite. I was dressed for success.
The first round was a big group listening to recruiters talk about the airline. Then they broke us into four or five groups, where we studied some things (I think for a test, but I can't remember). They'd slowly narrow the group down. The final step was a 1:3 (one of me, three of them) interview, which consisted of me standing in front of them and reading a script.
At the end they posted the list for those who were selected to go on in the process, which included a three-week training in Phoenix. I made the list.
I seriously considered going, but about four days after the interview, I met Ryan. He and my dear roommate Kasea tried their best to persuade me to stay. I decided to stay. A few months later I found and job in PR and Ryan and I started dating. I suppose the rest is history...
Sometimes, though, when I'm on a flight asking for a Diet Coke and see the man in front of me flirt with the flight attendant, I wonder where I'd be today if I'd taken a different career... but I'm glad I took the route I did.
I know what you're thinking. "Callie, you're much too [insert your own descriptor here] to be a stewardess." Or perhaps you're thinking, "Callie, you'd be a perfect stewardess!" Regardless, I for a fleeting moment thought it would be fun. (And I was working at Starbucks at the time -- I was a bit flighty. No pun intended.)
I had been searching for jobs in the PR world for about four months, and stumbled across an ad in the Star Tribune about a company looking for flight attendants. If you were interested, you had to go to this hotel for an interview. So I seized the bull by the horns and went. Wearing a business suite. I was dressed for success.
The first round was a big group listening to recruiters talk about the airline. Then they broke us into four or five groups, where we studied some things (I think for a test, but I can't remember). They'd slowly narrow the group down. The final step was a 1:3 (one of me, three of them) interview, which consisted of me standing in front of them and reading a script.
At the end they posted the list for those who were selected to go on in the process, which included a three-week training in Phoenix. I made the list.
I seriously considered going, but about four days after the interview, I met Ryan. He and my dear roommate Kasea tried their best to persuade me to stay. I decided to stay. A few months later I found and job in PR and Ryan and I started dating. I suppose the rest is history...
Sometimes, though, when I'm on a flight asking for a Diet Coke and see the man in front of me flirt with the flight attendant, I wonder where I'd be today if I'd taken a different career... but I'm glad I took the route I did.
12.22.2008
i heard the bells...
"I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" is not a carol I would have classified as one of my favorites in the past, but for some reason I can't get it out of my head this year. And it really is beautiful. It has an interesting history, too. So, enjoy the words from the poem that later became the carol we sing today.
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men!"
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep;
God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!
I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men!"
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep;
God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!
12.20.2008
an interesting observation...
I'm thinking it's about time for a new blog... it's been a busy week. And what better time to post a new blog than after returning from Christmas with the Briese fam and sitting down to watch the second half of the Cowboys vs. Ravens game in my new Marion (the Barbarian) Barber jersey (courtesy of my wonderful brother-in-law, Troy).
So, while sitting around this afternoon and reading the humorous, tongue-in-cheek book "Stuff White People Like", we discovered that all of my husband's siblings and their spouses work for nonprofit organizations. (Two of them are moms who are busy staying at home and taking care of the kids -- I'm not sure if that qualifies as nonprofit or not -- but it certainly is a full-time job.)
What's even odder to me is we're a bizarre mix of accountant, teacher, maintenance, development officer, attorney and marketing communications. Put us all together and we could pretty much start our own company. Wonder what it would be?
Does this percentage seem high to anyone else? Are we a bunch of idealists marrying other idealists? Should we start our own company?
As a sidenote, the Cowboys are really stinking it up. As a long-time fan, I can admit that. Bring back Troy Aikman, please.
12.12.2008
yay. boo. yay. friday edition.
I love this game.
Yay: It’s Friday and I fly out to D.C. tomorrow morning. I spend the weekend with my folks and sister, and then will spend Monday in meetings with my company’s local contingent.
Boo: It’s cold, and I’m concerned about the weather wreaking havoc on all of my travel plans.
Yay: for Baja Sol lunches with co-workers on Fridays. And for caffeine-free Diet Coke.
Yay: It’s Friday and I fly out to D.C. tomorrow morning. I spend the weekend with my folks and sister, and then will spend Monday in meetings with my company’s local contingent.
Boo: It’s cold, and I’m concerned about the weather wreaking havoc on all of my travel plans.
Yay: for Baja Sol lunches with co-workers on Fridays. And for caffeine-free Diet Coke.
12.11.2008
trading one obnoxious smell for another...
They added/changed the air freshener in the women’s restroom. It seems of orange dreamsicles. And I want to ask, “Why orange dreamsicles? What about a bathroom cries out for orange dreamsicles?”
As you may have guessed, this is not a smell I enjoy in the bathroom. There are other smells I also don’t enjoy in a bathroom, and I suppose the orange dreamsicle-ness is better than those, but come on – whatever happened to a neutralizing air freshener?
I love to eat orange dreamsicles in the summertime [insert Mungo Jerry song here], and I’m getting concerned that this whole restroom experience may taint my dreamsicle experience.
I think I’m going to have to travel to other floors in search of a neutral-smelling latrine. Or become the CEO so I can have my own personal bathroom.
This blog is a wonderful illustration of the poster in my previous blog. Mission accomplished.
As you may have guessed, this is not a smell I enjoy in the bathroom. There are other smells I also don’t enjoy in a bathroom, and I suppose the orange dreamsicle-ness is better than those, but come on – whatever happened to a neutralizing air freshener?
I love to eat orange dreamsicles in the summertime [insert Mungo Jerry song here], and I’m getting concerned that this whole restroom experience may taint my dreamsicle experience.
I think I’m going to have to travel to other floors in search of a neutral-smelling latrine. Or become the CEO so I can have my own personal bathroom.
This blog is a wonderful illustration of the poster in my previous blog. Mission accomplished.
12.08.2008
in true grumpy monday fashion.
12.07.2008
picks for a sunday afternoon...
Chicago
Minnesota
Green Bay
Tennessee
Indianapolis
Atlanta
New York (NYG)
Miami
Denver
New York (NYJ)
New England
Arizona
Dallas
Baltimore
Tampa Bay
Minnesota
Green Bay
Tennessee
Indianapolis
Atlanta
New York (NYG)
Miami
Denver
New York (NYJ)
New England
Arizona
Dallas
Baltimore
Tampa Bay
12.05.2008
i brought it on myself...
I really did.
On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights of this week, I was in charge of three photo shoots for work (one per night). It was a last minute project and the time to line them up was short. We worked with a FABULOUS photographer from Appleton, and though stressful, the shoots on Tuesday and Wednesday went well. At the end of the evening on Wednesday, I said to the photographer’s assistant, “You know, I was really worried about the first two shoots. The one tomorrow night should be a piece of cake.” As the words were coming out of my mouth I was thinking, “What am I saying?!?! I’m jinxing us! Stop talking. Be quiet, Callie.” But the damage was done. I’d uttered the words.
So, we show up at 4:30 for the final photo shoot, which was a member event at Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis. Members were going to start showing up at 5. At 4:45 p.m., the caterer showed up (15 minutes later than the absolute latest they were supposed to show up) and dropped off the food. As he’s dropping it off, I realize something dreadful: I forgot the plates and the utensils.
Sidenote: It was cold yesterday. 10 degrees.
So, it’s now 4:50 and we need plates. I grabbed my credit card and decided to sprint to Target. Yes. Sprint to Target. 3 blocks. In my dress shoes. In 10 degree weather. With people gathering for Holidazzle.
I made it there, ran through the store, found the plates and silverware, and then began my sprint back. It’s around 5 at this point. As I’m running, I see a small group of people gathered outside the window the WCCO evening news team. So if you saw a blue flash in the crowd while watching the news, it was me. I’m that fast.
I made it back, cold and sweaty, but with plates in tow. The bartender helped me out by setting up.
All in all, it went well. I got to stand backstage with the concert master and the conductor as they waited to go onstage. (Even helped the conductor out with some minor fashion advice – not that I’m all that fashionable.) We got the great shots that we needed. And I survived the three nights of fabulous photo fun.
I’ll be careful with my words from now on, though. Piece of cake, my foot.
On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights of this week, I was in charge of three photo shoots for work (one per night). It was a last minute project and the time to line them up was short. We worked with a FABULOUS photographer from Appleton, and though stressful, the shoots on Tuesday and Wednesday went well. At the end of the evening on Wednesday, I said to the photographer’s assistant, “You know, I was really worried about the first two shoots. The one tomorrow night should be a piece of cake.” As the words were coming out of my mouth I was thinking, “What am I saying?!?! I’m jinxing us! Stop talking. Be quiet, Callie.” But the damage was done. I’d uttered the words.
So, we show up at 4:30 for the final photo shoot, which was a member event at Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis. Members were going to start showing up at 5. At 4:45 p.m., the caterer showed up (15 minutes later than the absolute latest they were supposed to show up) and dropped off the food. As he’s dropping it off, I realize something dreadful: I forgot the plates and the utensils.
Sidenote: It was cold yesterday. 10 degrees.
So, it’s now 4:50 and we need plates. I grabbed my credit card and decided to sprint to Target. Yes. Sprint to Target. 3 blocks. In my dress shoes. In 10 degree weather. With people gathering for Holidazzle.
I made it there, ran through the store, found the plates and silverware, and then began my sprint back. It’s around 5 at this point. As I’m running, I see a small group of people gathered outside the window the WCCO evening news team. So if you saw a blue flash in the crowd while watching the news, it was me. I’m that fast.
I made it back, cold and sweaty, but with plates in tow. The bartender helped me out by setting up.
All in all, it went well. I got to stand backstage with the concert master and the conductor as they waited to go onstage. (Even helped the conductor out with some minor fashion advice – not that I’m all that fashionable.) We got the great shots that we needed. And I survived the three nights of fabulous photo fun.
I’ll be careful with my words from now on, though. Piece of cake, my foot.
12.04.2008
me being real...
Grief is a funny thing.
Well, it’s not really funny – maybe interesting is a better word choice? Confounding? Confusing? Treacherous?
It really is, though. Almost six months have gone by since Nana passed away. For awhile all of my posts were pretty much consumed with the process of dealing with losing her. I’ve never lost anyone close to me before – and arguably, losing her was like losing a parent because she was so much a part of my life.
And it is still difficult on a daily basis. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her or want to call her and tell her something. I want to ask her what she thinks about certain things. I miss the way she would calm me down – because I can definitely get worked up.
I think – and this is just a theory (a hypothesis, even) – that until you lose someone close to you, you think you can always go back. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought we’d all (Mom, Dad, Griff, Laine/Clay, Candra) end up back in Helena and Nana would move back in with Mom and Dad. It wasn’t a conscious thought, really, because when I actually stop and think about how I had it pictured in my mind, we were back at the house on Ranchview and were all living there together. Obviously that wasn’t realistic. But there was still this notion in my head that I could go back and have things be the way they once were – similar to time travel. As long as everyone was alive, we could always go back. So really, I’m not missing the past, but my vision of what the future looked like changed when Nana passed away. It can never be the same again. We’ll never have another Thanksgiving or Christmas with ‘everyone’ again.
So anyway… back to grief. It’s odd to me how I can think about some random thing and think of Nana. And how when that happens, I miss her and grief just overcomes me. The occurrences have lessened, definitely, from a couple of months ago. But I just miss her. It’s indescribable and unfathomable.
The holidays make me think of her. They remind me of her.
This blog sounds depressing – it’s not meant to be. I don’t feel depressed. I just feel sad – and that’s part of life on earth. If we didn’t experience grief how would we appreciate joy?
Well, it’s not really funny – maybe interesting is a better word choice? Confounding? Confusing? Treacherous?
It really is, though. Almost six months have gone by since Nana passed away. For awhile all of my posts were pretty much consumed with the process of dealing with losing her. I’ve never lost anyone close to me before – and arguably, losing her was like losing a parent because she was so much a part of my life.
And it is still difficult on a daily basis. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her or want to call her and tell her something. I want to ask her what she thinks about certain things. I miss the way she would calm me down – because I can definitely get worked up.
I think – and this is just a theory (a hypothesis, even) – that until you lose someone close to you, you think you can always go back. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought we’d all (Mom, Dad, Griff, Laine/Clay, Candra) end up back in Helena and Nana would move back in with Mom and Dad. It wasn’t a conscious thought, really, because when I actually stop and think about how I had it pictured in my mind, we were back at the house on Ranchview and were all living there together. Obviously that wasn’t realistic. But there was still this notion in my head that I could go back and have things be the way they once were – similar to time travel. As long as everyone was alive, we could always go back. So really, I’m not missing the past, but my vision of what the future looked like changed when Nana passed away. It can never be the same again. We’ll never have another Thanksgiving or Christmas with ‘everyone’ again.
So anyway… back to grief. It’s odd to me how I can think about some random thing and think of Nana. And how when that happens, I miss her and grief just overcomes me. The occurrences have lessened, definitely, from a couple of months ago. But I just miss her. It’s indescribable and unfathomable.
The holidays make me think of her. They remind me of her.
This blog sounds depressing – it’s not meant to be. I don’t feel depressed. I just feel sad – and that’s part of life on earth. If we didn’t experience grief how would we appreciate joy?
12.03.2008
who are you?
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
--Marianne Williamson
--Marianne Williamson
12.01.2008
guess he's not immature anymore...
This made me laugh for a good five minutes. Wonder how they got his name?
Could it be his Forbes magazine subscription? His impending membership at the Rod and Gun Club? Perhaps his affinity for old man hats? Or baggy britches? The fact that he gets his hair cut at Great Clips? Too many police officers have clocked him going under the speed limit with his left turn signal flashing for miles at a time? His poor eyesight? His old lady (me)?
He says it arose from cruising for old ladies online.
I really have no idea where this came from. But I find it funny.
Could it be his Forbes magazine subscription? His impending membership at the Rod and Gun Club? Perhaps his affinity for old man hats? Or baggy britches? The fact that he gets his hair cut at Great Clips? Too many police officers have clocked him going under the speed limit with his left turn signal flashing for miles at a time? His poor eyesight? His old lady (me)?
He says it arose from cruising for old ladies online.
I really have no idea where this came from. But I find it funny.
11.28.2008
it's time...
When I asked my mom the inevitable question at the age of five, this is what she read to me.
From the New York Sun, 1897:
We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:
Dear Editor—
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O’Hanlon
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
From the New York Sun, 1897:
We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:
Dear Editor—
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O’Hanlon
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
11.27.2008
a thanksgiving adventure
Ryan and I started dating in June of '05 and got married in June of '06. I spent Thanksgiving of '05 with my Aunt Bonnie and cousins Mercedes and Sean in the Bahamas at Paradise Island. (Which, I may add, was a fantastic way to spend a Thanksgiving.) The first Thanksgiving that I spent with Ryan's family was Thanksgiving '06.
My family does Thanksgiving up big, and Ryan's family does, too. Some of the traditions are different, but for the most part the concept is the same: lots of family and lots of food. I asked Ryan's mom if I could bring anything, and she said, "Sure! You can bring anything you want. Maybe something your family usually has?" So I told her I'd bring greenbean casserole.
Now, I don't know what I was thinking when it comes to the next part of the story, but I guarantee it's all true. I waited until Thanksgiving Day to go shopping for all of the ingredients. For some reason I thought the stores would be open.
But they weren't.
I wasn't going to give up, though. Ryan and I hopped in the car and began to drive around looking for any open store. We went to Walgreens (two different locations) where at one we found Velveeta cheese and at the other we found cans of Cream of Mushroom soup. We went to three gas stations, where at the third one we found the green beans. But then the hard part came -- I still didn't have the crispy dried onions for the top. Those are my favorite part of the dish. We drove around a little more and I saw this very... um... sketchy store. I think it was called the 7/8 Store.
I decided I was brave enough (mainly desperate enough) to go in and search of the onions. I made Ryan come with me. It was that sketchy. We walked through the door and immediately were confronted with some gentlemen's magazines and some adult toys. I'm not kidding; you can't make this stuff up. I took a hard left and made a beeline for the "food" section. (The whole place was dimly lit, so I was hoping I was heading for the food section.) Thankfully I was headed in right direction. Amid the expired cans of soup and stale chips and crackers I found what I was looking for. And I bought two cans of them. Even though they were expired. I paid a pretty penny for them, too.
We went home and made the dish, and I think it tasted good. No one died that I'm aware of, and no one got sick, either. It certainly made our first Thanksgiving together an exciting one.
Happy Thanksgiving!
11.26.2008
quirks
I’m quirky. I know this about myself. I'm alright with it. For the record, Julia Roberts was cited as quirky in Runaway Bride. I’m in good company.
Here’s the thing. For those of you who have had the opportunity to live with me or near me, you know that I’m not always the most organized person in the world. I think it’s my artistic nature to be scattered. I live better that way. I can’t really explain it. But, I am very obsessive about certain things. I organize the candies that I eat by number and color. This is odd. If I set a table, I need the silverware to be uniform in how it's set around the plates. I’ve been project manager for a couple of events at work, and at those events we’ve had three or four items to give away. I was perfectly obsessive about the way they were placed on the chairs. The position and angle had to be just so and also had to be uniform throughout the auditorium. You wouldn’t expect this from me, would you? I surprise myself sometimes.
So, my latest discovery is this: I need my to-go coffee cup to be perfectly aligned before I can drink from it.
*A siren is the creature in the Starbucks logo
I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I have issues. We all do. Love me anyway.
Here’s the thing. For those of you who have had the opportunity to live with me or near me, you know that I’m not always the most organized person in the world. I think it’s my artistic nature to be scattered. I live better that way. I can’t really explain it. But, I am very obsessive about certain things. I organize the candies that I eat by number and color. This is odd. If I set a table, I need the silverware to be uniform in how it's set around the plates. I’ve been project manager for a couple of events at work, and at those events we’ve had three or four items to give away. I was perfectly obsessive about the way they were placed on the chairs. The position and angle had to be just so and also had to be uniform throughout the auditorium. You wouldn’t expect this from me, would you? I surprise myself sometimes.
So, my latest discovery is this: I need my to-go coffee cup to be perfectly aligned before I can drink from it.
*A siren is the creature in the Starbucks logo
I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I have issues. We all do. Love me anyway.
11.24.2008
i'm a pc... and i'm a mac
It's true. I've got multiple personalities now. I really do feel conflicted.
So, Ryan's computer caught a virus (or multiple viruses, which he blamed on me and my need to play computer games), and the fan in my old desktop fanned its last flame. "Hey!" we said to ourselves. "We've got money burning a hole in our pockets. Let's go blow some of it on a new computer!" (That's not exactly how the conversation went.)
Anyway, we headed to BestBuy, or as my father-in-law calls it, WorstBuy, and started to talking to the salesman about laptops. He said he is a PC guy, but for what we wanted a computer for (downloading songs, surfin' the 'Net -- basically nothing of signficance), he highly recommended a Mac. What sold us was the lack of viruses for a Mac. That and the fact that apparently Macs come with most of the software, where a PC requires purchasing additional software to even get it to run.
And so here I am. Posting my blog on a Mac. I must say, it's quite enjoyable. The screen is so clear -- love that. But, here are some of my issues:
- (Delete Key) - You know, the one that allows you to place the cursor in front of the letters or words you want to delete instead of backspacing? I miss that little key. Is there anything that compares to it on a Mac?
- (Right-clicking) - I keep right-clicking EVERYTHING to get details about it -- and it's not working. Blast. This could be harder to get used to than I thought.
- (Microsoft Word) - Microsoft has convinced me that there is no program comparable to Word. When I need to write something, I keep opening Finder and looking for Word. Where are you, Word? I miss you. Please return to me.
- (Built-in Camera) - Is it on now? Is it always on? Can you all see me right now? Worse, can you see the wretched picture I was forced to take of myself in the set-up process? Help!
- (iChat) - When is this program on? Again, can people see me? Can they hear me? Will my vocal stylings soon be infamous? Seriously, help.
- (Control + v,p,c,x, etc.) - Is the 'control + whatever' function no longer valid?
I'm sure all of these questions are answered in a manual somewhere, but I'm much more of a try-it-til-you-get-it-right kind of girl. The only thing that would make me pull out a manual or two would be know you all could see or hear me. Right now.
You can't, can you?
11.20.2008
subtle hints...
Some background info helpful for understanding this post:
- I park in an underground garage at our condo (which is good, because it gets downright frigid in the MN winters).
- The parking in the underground garage is assigned.
- The person(s) assigned to the spot to the left of me likes to park on the line (as evidenced in this picture).
So, about two weeks ago, I pulled into my parking spot and noticed they were missing a hubcap. The next day Ryan happened to be with me and he also commented on the missing hubcap. Last week, I observed that a second hubcap was missing on the same side of the car, just a different tire. It makes me wonder where these people are driving/parking to lose hubcaps. Thankfully, I still have all of mine.
So, my dilemma – I’m debating leaving a note on this person’s windshield that reads, “Dearest neighbor: I appreciate your peace bumper sticker. I’m sure you’re a very nice person, and I’ve noticed your car is always impeccably clean. I’ll quit stealing your hubcaps if you quit parking over the line. Love, your neighbor.”
11.19.2008
confessions
Quick, someone turn on Usher.
Here's the truth: I am afraid of being outside in the country in the dark. I know, I know. I’m 27 years old. I shouldn’t be afraid of such trivial things. But I am. And now that the time has fallen back an hour, I’m daily confronted with my fear of the dark when going out riding. The horses are in a big pasture, requiring me to walk around, getting close enough to each horse to see if it’s my horse – in the pitch black darkness. Sometimes Baron helps out and meets me halfway… but most of the time he doesn’t.
So, what am I afraid of in the dark? (This is where it gets a little weird. Don’t think less of me, please.)
I’m afraid of skunks, foxes, coyotes, bears and slipping and getting trampled by all the horses. Obviously some of these fears are irrational. Most of them are irrational. (I’m hoping that my public confession will help me overcome them.)
Many of these can be related to my childhood in Deer Lodge. Skunks and foxes were always getting into the chicken coop and destroying all of the chickens (a regular bloodbath). If they did that to a chicken, what would they do to me? There was a rabid coyote that got too close for comfort one day in Deer Lodge, too. The bear fear comes from watching Night of the Grizzly at a young age – an age when I couldn’t tell the difference between poorly constructed mechanical grizzlies and the real thing. And the whole slipping and getting trampled must have something to do with an icy slope and resulting broken collarbone in kindergarten.
The silver lining? Once I’ve actually retrieved Baron and made it safely back to the light of the barn, the adrenaline high lasts for a good 10 minutes.
I know; it’s a dangerous life I lead.
Here's the truth: I am afraid of being outside in the country in the dark. I know, I know. I’m 27 years old. I shouldn’t be afraid of such trivial things. But I am. And now that the time has fallen back an hour, I’m daily confronted with my fear of the dark when going out riding. The horses are in a big pasture, requiring me to walk around, getting close enough to each horse to see if it’s my horse – in the pitch black darkness. Sometimes Baron helps out and meets me halfway… but most of the time he doesn’t.
So, what am I afraid of in the dark? (This is where it gets a little weird. Don’t think less of me, please.)
I’m afraid of skunks, foxes, coyotes, bears and slipping and getting trampled by all the horses. Obviously some of these fears are irrational. Most of them are irrational. (I’m hoping that my public confession will help me overcome them.)
Many of these can be related to my childhood in Deer Lodge. Skunks and foxes were always getting into the chicken coop and destroying all of the chickens (a regular bloodbath). If they did that to a chicken, what would they do to me? There was a rabid coyote that got too close for comfort one day in Deer Lodge, too. The bear fear comes from watching Night of the Grizzly at a young age – an age when I couldn’t tell the difference between poorly constructed mechanical grizzlies and the real thing. And the whole slipping and getting trampled must have something to do with an icy slope and resulting broken collarbone in kindergarten.
The silver lining? Once I’ve actually retrieved Baron and made it safely back to the light of the barn, the adrenaline high lasts for a good 10 minutes.
I know; it’s a dangerous life I lead.
11.17.2008
a little taste of mt…
…right here in MN. That’s right – The Clintons - or maybe I should say the Heartless Wench Tour version of The Clintons (John and Josh) – brought Montana to Minnesota on Saturday evening at Blarneys in Dinkytown.
Ry and I enjoyed the live show tremendously. Good music – a rock/country hybrid – combined with funny, clever lyrics. Think Brad Paisley on Grain Belt Premium. They played my favorites like Little Miss Perfect, I Make My Own Money, Alright Tonight and Hit Me Baby One Mor--wait a minute. That's not a favorite, but it was funny to hear them play it. I'm wondering if I Make My Own Money can stretch as far as buying a horse? I think it can.
Can it get any better?
Actually, it can get better – we got there early and I was happy to find John at the bar, chatting it up with a couple of other Montanans. So I marched myself over and said hey. It is so nice to talk to people from Montana. Seriously. Just talking to them made me feel closer to home. And Montana will always be home.
The only downfall of the evening – and I do mean downfall – was walking up to make a request and slipping on the way back to my seat. Ugh. Who does that? Me, that’s who. Some kind folks assured me no one saw. It’s funny to look around at the faces of those around you when you’re falling – it’s this sort of ‘oh my gosh, she’s falling’ look combined with a ‘glad it’s not me’ look and finished off with a chuckle. My ankle does feel better today – the swelling has gone down, and it’s not quite as bruised.
So, my parting thoughts:
Ry and I enjoyed the live show tremendously. Good music – a rock/country hybrid – combined with funny, clever lyrics. Think Brad Paisley on Grain Belt Premium. They played my favorites like Little Miss Perfect, I Make My Own Money, Alright Tonight and Hit Me Baby One Mor--wait a minute. That's not a favorite, but it was funny to hear them play it. I'm wondering if I Make My Own Money can stretch as far as buying a horse? I think it can.
Can it get any better?
Actually, it can get better – we got there early and I was happy to find John at the bar, chatting it up with a couple of other Montanans. So I marched myself over and said hey. It is so nice to talk to people from Montana. Seriously. Just talking to them made me feel closer to home. And Montana will always be home.
The only downfall of the evening – and I do mean downfall – was walking up to make a request and slipping on the way back to my seat. Ugh. Who does that? Me, that’s who. Some kind folks assured me no one saw. It’s funny to look around at the faces of those around you when you’re falling – it’s this sort of ‘oh my gosh, she’s falling’ look combined with a ‘glad it’s not me’ look and finished off with a chuckle. My ankle does feel better today – the swelling has gone down, and it’s not quite as bruised.
So, my parting thoughts:
- Check out The Clintons.
- Watch your step.
- Hug a Montanan.
11.13.2008
decisions, decisions.
Do you ever have a moment when you realize you could completely change your life with certain decisions? I had one of those defining moments when I moved to Minneapolis. I was fresh out of college with no job and no Minnesota connections. I’d never been to the state before (except for a quick layover on a Virginia trip with my Nana in 6th grade) and the thought of moving someplace completely unknown to me was exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time. I remember when I pulled over a hill on 35N where you first get a view of the Twin Cities. It was about 5 p.m. on a beautiful August day. And I thought to myself… ‘Self, this is the start of your adult life. What are you going to make of it?’ I remember wanting to call several people to share in my excitement and fear as I coasted into town, but I turned up the country music and pressed on with my thoughts.
It was such a freeing time. I didn’t have a care in the world – everything was a possibility. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
And now I look at my life and some of opportunities and decisions coming up and wonder what I’ll decide. Some require money, some require time, some require confidence, all require humility – and all of them require change. What happened to the girl who moved to Minneapolis over four years ago? She grew up. She faced her adult life and all its responsibilities. She made a living and got married. She found some things that could be lost. She experienced loss. And that changes every decision.
It was such a freeing time. I didn’t have a care in the world – everything was a possibility. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
And now I look at my life and some of opportunities and decisions coming up and wonder what I’ll decide. Some require money, some require time, some require confidence, all require humility – and all of them require change. What happened to the girl who moved to Minneapolis over four years ago? She grew up. She faced her adult life and all its responsibilities. She made a living and got married. She found some things that could be lost. She experienced loss. And that changes every decision.
11.12.2008
tonight's the night...
… I’ve been looking forward to for about a month now. The CMA Awards, with our host, Brad Paisley. Yowsa. Can life get any better? (I should note that Carrie Underwood is also hosting, but in my mind, she’s not that important – even though I did pick her to win American Idol back when she first auditioned.)
I have to run out to the barn tonight to see Baron, but you can bet my DVR is set to record and I will be tuning in as soon as I get home.
I have to run out to the barn tonight to see Baron, but you can bet my DVR is set to record and I will be tuning in as soon as I get home.
11.10.2008
retired and renamed
Yesterday was a sad day in the world of bullriding. Justin McBride, arguably one of the best bullriders ever, retired at the age of 29. Additionally, bullriding-great Adriano Moraes also retired – he is 38.
Justin McBride was one of my favorite bullriders to watch. He was consistently good, with a good attitude. Seemed like a genuinely nice guy. I’ll miss watching him.
Here's Justin riding a bull named Chicken on a Chain.
In other news, I’ve renamed our cat. Formerly known as Rory, her new name is Troubadour Chicken on a Chain, in honor of two bulls – Troubadour and Chicken on a Chain.
Justin McBride was one of my favorite bullriders to watch. He was consistently good, with a good attitude. Seemed like a genuinely nice guy. I’ll miss watching him.
Here's Justin riding a bull named Chicken on a Chain.
In other news, I’ve renamed our cat. Formerly known as Rory, her new name is Troubadour Chicken on a Chain, in honor of two bulls – Troubadour and Chicken on a Chain.
11.06.2008
green sprees
When did green Sprees start tasting like green apples instead of lime? Green apple is a gross flavoring that leaves a bitter, icky aftertaste and makes a person’s breath smell bad.
Lime, on the other hand, is sublime. It’s refreshing and enjoyable.
These are just some thoughts running through my head today.
Lime, on the other hand, is sublime. It’s refreshing and enjoyable.
These are just some thoughts running through my head today.
11.04.2008
vote for… Ross Perot?
I went and voted today. I exercised my right as an American citizen. I was torn about voting today. I didn’t really care for either candidate… and thus I was concerned that I wouldn’t have the motivation to go stand in line and go through all of the rigmarole. Because, my friends, I haven’t changed the address on my driver’s license from our move in May – and I pay all of my bills online, so no electric bill to show proof of address.
So, at 7 a.m. this morning I decide I’m going to go vote. I go to the old precinct where I used to be registered to vote (and that corresponds to the address on my driver’s license) to place my tally next to one of the candidates – only I find out that I’m not registered there anymore. Stupid post office change of address forms. After waiting in line for 45 minutes, I tell the registration people that I’ll have to vote later, because I’m not going to lie to them and tell them that I currently live at the address on my license. And I’m not going to commit voter fraud.
I hop in my car, drive to the DMV, and get my license updated. Then I drive to the polling place that corresponds with my NEW address, and get in line to vote. Thankfully the line was short, and a mere 15 minutes later I was on my merry way.
While voting, I had a couple of observations:
Observation 1: It would be very easy to commit voter fraud and vote twice. I thought of several ways I could have done that today. But I didn’t. I hope no one else did, either. WE EACH GET ONE VOTE! :)
Observation 2: While waiting in line at the first voting place, I overheard three loud young men discussing their dislike of both candidates. Then one said, “Dude, I wish Ross Perot was running.” To which his friend said, “Yeah, he’s definitely who we need. The only problem is that he was rich and was all concerned about his oil. But he could dig our economy out.” I wanted to respond with, “Seriously? Ross Perot? That’s so 1992.” But I bit my tongue.
Observation 3: Voting for state supreme court justices takes a really long time. And I have no idea who I voted for. Is this really a good use of our democratic process? I was tempted to write in Ryan's name. Maybe in 2012.
Observation 4: Voting facilities for the rich are a lot more pleasant than those for the poor.
So, at 7 a.m. this morning I decide I’m going to go vote. I go to the old precinct where I used to be registered to vote (and that corresponds to the address on my driver’s license) to place my tally next to one of the candidates – only I find out that I’m not registered there anymore. Stupid post office change of address forms. After waiting in line for 45 minutes, I tell the registration people that I’ll have to vote later, because I’m not going to lie to them and tell them that I currently live at the address on my license. And I’m not going to commit voter fraud.
I hop in my car, drive to the DMV, and get my license updated. Then I drive to the polling place that corresponds with my NEW address, and get in line to vote. Thankfully the line was short, and a mere 15 minutes later I was on my merry way.
While voting, I had a couple of observations:
Observation 1: It would be very easy to commit voter fraud and vote twice. I thought of several ways I could have done that today. But I didn’t. I hope no one else did, either. WE EACH GET ONE VOTE! :)
Observation 2: While waiting in line at the first voting place, I overheard three loud young men discussing their dislike of both candidates. Then one said, “Dude, I wish Ross Perot was running.” To which his friend said, “Yeah, he’s definitely who we need. The only problem is that he was rich and was all concerned about his oil. But he could dig our economy out.” I wanted to respond with, “Seriously? Ross Perot? That’s so 1992.” But I bit my tongue.
Observation 3: Voting for state supreme court justices takes a really long time. And I have no idea who I voted for. Is this really a good use of our democratic process? I was tempted to write in Ryan's name. Maybe in 2012.
Observation 4: Voting facilities for the rich are a lot more pleasant than those for the poor.
11.03.2008
it's been 23 days since my mom left...
I’m back. For some reason I needed a break from blogging. It was too much pressure to try and come up with something interesting and zippy to say on a daily or bi-daily basis. (Is bi-daily a real measurement of time?)
So, quick updates:
1) Had a great time with my mom. We shopped, ate, shopped, giggled, shopped, saw Baron, and shopped some more. The weekend came to an end though, when she had to fly home on my birthday and I got sick.
2) My old roommate, Kasea, came to visit the following weekend, and it was great to spend some time with her and my friend Rachael Ramy. We went to an apple orchard where they tried to rip us off by charging $35 (yes – thirty-five dollars) for a normal-sized bag of apples. Ridiculous. Rachael and Kasea also go to meet Baron, which was fun.
3) I’ve been avoiding the political scene as much as possible. Is it just me or is this election worse than previous year’s? Wish there was a candidate that I liked; sadly, I’m not fond of either.
The rest of my time has been spent with the new love of my life, Baron. (He’s a close-second to the first love of my life, Ryan.)
I can’t believe Thanksgiving is almost upon us. I’m looking forward to the holidays, but am also a little melancholic when I remember that Nana won’t be there this year. Can’t wait for the time when we’re all reunited.
Look for more regular posts coming soon... :)
So, quick updates:
1) Had a great time with my mom. We shopped, ate, shopped, giggled, shopped, saw Baron, and shopped some more. The weekend came to an end though, when she had to fly home on my birthday and I got sick.
2) My old roommate, Kasea, came to visit the following weekend, and it was great to spend some time with her and my friend Rachael Ramy. We went to an apple orchard where they tried to rip us off by charging $35 (yes – thirty-five dollars) for a normal-sized bag of apples. Ridiculous. Rachael and Kasea also go to meet Baron, which was fun.
3) I’ve been avoiding the political scene as much as possible. Is it just me or is this election worse than previous year’s? Wish there was a candidate that I liked; sadly, I’m not fond of either.
The rest of my time has been spent with the new love of my life, Baron. (He’s a close-second to the first love of my life, Ryan.)
I can’t believe Thanksgiving is almost upon us. I’m looking forward to the holidays, but am also a little melancholic when I remember that Nana won’t be there this year. Can’t wait for the time when we’re all reunited.
Look for more regular posts coming soon... :)