Was it ever okay to wear spandex in public? With a shirt too short to completely cover one's stomach?

What about teal spandex?

What about in 90 degree humid Indiana heat?

How about in a library?

Anyone with me?

Will the horror never end?

As if the pain and grief hasn't been enough, a family finds out their daughter isn't actually in a coma, recovering in a hospital. She died five weeks ago. Another family, trying to deal with their loss, discovers their daughter is alive, the one emerging from a coma.

I'm sick.

http://www.taylor.edu/community/news/2006_05_31_accident.htm

God have mercy.

Tell me why I'm angry

A natural gas bill for $10.07 seems relatively innocuous, hardly worth the effort to open it.

Five months ago, that bill was $313.30.

Grrr.

Shout out to Adam

Cecilia played on a mix that Bird made for me today, and I hoped you were having a lovely holiday.

Driving

The theme for my Memorial Day 2006 was driving.

3 hours up, 3 hours back.

Two things of note happened on today's trip:
1) Without checking my blindspot, I merged into the right lane on Hwy 67, heading north to Indy. A motorcycle appeared out of nowhere in my rearview mirror seconds later. Within a minute, he was driving parallel with, matching my speed, and I couldn't help but glimpse over at him as he beeped his sissy bike horn. He was glaring at me and did the my-eyes-are-on-you gesture, while mouthing the words, OPEN YOUR EYES! Though I felt really bad for almost killing him, I busted up laughing at his gesture and words because of the ridiculousness of it all. While traveling at 60+ mph, he was scolding me. And he wasn't even wearing a helmet!

2) On my way home, I had windows down to provide some relief from the 104 degree heat (according to a bank marquee in Indy). As I approached a town that boasted 1,798 residents, I was mocking it in my head, all the while resenting every last resident for the reduced speed limit through the no-stop-light town. At first I noticed a woodsy smell, and I thought to myself, That's the kind of wood that smells kind of like weed, only it's not. How funny that an entire town should smell like this. And I continued singing along with the stereo. Minute number two within the city limits, however, changed my mind as to the source of the smell. It was strong, pungent, even, and it definitely was the same scent that I first smelt wafting from the boys locker room in Advanced PE of my senior year. It was weed people. The entire small town reeked of weed.

Reason #1,459 that leaving your hometown after 24 years is a good idea:

You're looking for dates at the grocery store.

A Maddie conversation...

Mommy, I want to be a princess when I grow up.

Well, Maddie, you'll have to find a prince to marry, since you aren't already a princess.

(after contemplating that advice for minute or two) But mommy, I think all of the princesses have already taken all of the princes. I'll just have to find a regular boy.

Having fun

I am not one to give advice on having fun.

It wasn't until three years ago that I realized what fun was and that it was okay to have it once in a while. It wasn't until last year that I realized I need fun in my life in order to live.

Still, I function on a minimal amount of fun, for which I can blame no one but myself. See, I'm very self-aware.

Last night my roommates asked me to join them in a social, fun atmosphere. I was pleasantly surprised - not because they generally exclude me, but because I wanted to join them.

I wish I could relay Bertie's story of failing her CPR exam, because I laughed until I couldn't breathe. She's an expert story teller, in my opinion.

Also, Sarah came up with the best joke about comparing oneself to an historically prominent social leader. If you want the full story, I'll be glad to oblige via email, but I'm reticent to post it here due to some characters involved.

All this is to say, it's nice to have people to laugh with. Thanks, Friends!

Are you listening?

I heard this interchange today, and I don't understand it. Please, someone explain.

"I understand what to do now, thank you very much."

"Not at all."

Whether or not this is a common phrase, think about it for a minute. It seems absurd.

Am I off my rocker?

Sitting here reading in the library, I get to see a variety of interesting folks proceed through.

Today, one woman was very upset, crying at a computer. I could only imagine what brought such sadness to someone.

As depressed as that made me feel, the next library patron cheered me up quite a bit.

I do believe it was the Six-Fingered Man from The Princess Bride. When I did a double-take to make sure, he was looking directly at me and smiling as his hair blew in the wind created from the speed at which he was walking.

I love this place.

Sometimes it's important...

...to recognize when things aren't quite right.

This picture brings into full focus what isn't right.














Who's the mean two-toned hair-colored girl in the middle? Why does it look like she wants to throw up? The food? People touching her?

I'll explain this much: this was at the beginning (or near the beginning) of our semester in Ireland. These people would become some of my favorites, but, according to the picture, I don't think I'd picked up on that yet.

What I've been thinking

Perhaps because I have an ecclectic collection of thoughts and beliefs, or maybe because I'm still in the transition between knowing what I believe and deciphering out what I've been taught or grown up with that I don't agree with, I find myself often feeling misrepresented by those claiming to have the same affiliations.

The March 15, 2006 issue of TIME magazine published "My Problem with Christianism:
A believer spells out the difference between faith and a political agenda" by Andrew Sullivan.

More than any other time in my life, I felt like someone was very intelligently speaking something I've failed to put into words for a long time.

I'm so grateful that he eloquently demonstrated how the political right has become the "Christian" party, every Christian instantly labeled a conservative Republican.

I don't like hearing strangers talk about Christians being the problem with politics these days, seeing how they despise us all because of the crazy radicals with political clout.

I might guess that there are a lot of us who don't follow the extremist right, who don't believe that God runs any party or that he will use any party to carry out any plans for America or even the world. It's unfathomable for me to think someone could actually believe that, but people do, and these are the people who often (and unfortunately) represent my religion. It repulses me.

This is why I was delighted when Kelly gave me the article by Sullivan. He's on to something.
(You can view part of the first paragraph at Time's website , but you have to pay for the rest of the article. I'd recommend borrowing it from a friend, or visiting an office that might have it lying around on a table somewhere.)

Best License Plate of the Day

Emily, Franz and I used to have this game where we'd call each other with candidates for the Best License Plate of the Day award.

We don't play as often now, as they have 2 kids to chase after and a business to run, and I'm constantly bogged down with school and in work.

Today, however, I wanted to share with my audience the one I found (Anthony, please take special note; this is for you):

4 PLY

Happy late Birthday to Katie Elyse!

Yesterday (the 18th) was my niece's first birthday.

I forgot about it.

Please don't try to make me feel any worse about it than I already do...I know it's horrible.
Especially when she's the second niece and I didnt' forget her older sister's first birthday (though I'm somewhat justified in that, since Maddie and I are birthday buddies - only 5 days apart).

Here is my darling Katie on her birthday...seems like I haven't seen her in years, even though she was up here with her mom and sister in early March. Her smile is gorgeous...and I have to say, she looks like a Gottschalk, if I ever saw one.


Those cheeks are to die for!

You have me...

This year, the writers of Grey's Anatomy, Lost, and Gilmore Girls certainly have (or had, as in the case of G.G.) me all caught up in the drama.

Unsatisfying.

This is the only word that can describe these season finales, and yet, I can't stay away from them.

Lost still has a few more episodes, but I actually changed my work schedule for the next 6 weeks so that I could watch the end of the season with my roommate, like we've been doing all semester. I'm a creature of habit and when I find one that fits, I keep it. Sadly (or not, you decide), this is the truth about me and Lost.

I haven't even kept up reguarly with Grey's Anatomy this year, however, I watched the first part of the finale tonight, and I plan to spend my night tomorrow watching the concluding 2 hours. Ridiculous. Yet so intriguing.

One last thing, with Chris Daughtry gone from American Idol, I hardly feel the need to watch it, even though I could now that Gilmore Girls isn't competing for the time slot on Tuesday nights. But we know who's going to win this year, don't we? Though it is about time for a guy to win, Taylor and Elliott simply do not have what it takes, and Katherine does (Beka, I know you agree).

I was almost ready to say this is one of the first times in my life that I've been deeply involved with TV shows, but that would be a total lie. I watched Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman from the beginning - every Saturday night I stayed home to watch it (as if I had something else to do or somewhere else to go). I taped the show finale, the very last episode ever. I think I still have it on a tape at home. I've been wrapped up in American Idol for two years now. Those may be the shows I've been most attached to over the years, aside from Saved by the Bell, Full House, and Family Matters. Quality television for middle schoolers.

Upsetting

Phoenix temperature: 101 degrees F

Indiana temperature: 50 degrees F

Agreeing with Emily's words of wisdom today: "I hate Indiana."

And the forecast calls for clouds and rain for 7 days...come on...it's almost Summer. It's definitely Spring and I need sun. I'm glad that Kate is rejuvenated by cold, rainy weather, but I am not, people.

Give me sunshine!

Pleasure reads

I love reading.

Inevitably, I forget how much I love it because I'm bogged down in academia, but during my break, I started up again, and I'm not sure I can stop. I've been up past midnight for five consecutive nights reading. Well past midnight, at that.

Tonight I started (and nearly finished) Go Ask Alice. Only 11 or so years after the target age, I'm reading it for the first time, and I find it disturbing.

Sure the drugs, drugged sex and rape, and running away from home multiple times is scary, if you imagine it being someone you know or love.

But by far, the most frightening thing about the whole book is when I read a paragraph of a day in the life of this girl, and I remember those feelings and I shake my head because I wrote the same thing in my diary all those years ago.

How did I end up where I am, when I started, age 14, just like she did? A loving, good, Christian family with adorable and wonderful grandparents nearby, yet always the family misfit, concerned with fitting in at school and impressing boys (though pretending not to care) and then overindulging in feelings for one such boy. The volatile emotions...

Unearthly music

The more I get stressed out, the more I talk to myself. It's disturbing that I don't censor the self-talk, keeping it under wraps in public situations. When I'm stressed, I just am not able to do this well enough.

On my brisk 2-mile walk home from school yesterday, I was arguing with myself about something as I approached a local park where people were playing tennis, jogging around the 0.9 mile loop and walking their dogs. (At this point, I can't remember what I was so intent on convincing myself.) I thought I heard music from So I Married an Axe Murderer playing from one of the houses, and I laughed as I passed it.

The argument inside my head continued.

But the music grew louder, and as I passed the tennis courts, I realized it was coming from the middle of the open below.

In the middle of a grassy knoll stood a lone bag-piper, a middle aged man, playing beautiful music for everyone. He had one static audience member, a woman leaning against a tree who clapped for him--a delicate patter--when he finished a song and ran his fingers through his hair.

It was a magical moment. I felt like I was in Scotland, what with the grass and bagpipe.

Thank God for people who love to share their music. I wish I could.

The Oedipal Complex

It's not that I don't believe what Freud said, but I never really got it.

Until today. At church.

This very attractive family with a teen daughter and two sons - one 15, the other 11 - sat two rows in front of me. The mom was a size 4 on her worst day, her daughter's frame exactly the same. Before the service began, the youngest boy was bickering with his older brother, sitting nearly on his lap, so they were promptly separated, as all good parents know to do. The younger boy was now between his sister and his mother, though he was basically in the lap of the latter.

The mother leaned over and kissed the boys forehead, at which he tilted his head up and she kissed him on the mouth. I shuddered, visibly, but let it go at that point.

While I was interested in the sermon, which was about singleness and how people like us can fit into the church culture, I was distracted every 2 minutes by the 11-year old as he turned his head to his mom's shoulder and began kissing it, over and over and over, moving down her arm to about her elbow. Now his mom was wearing a lace shell over her fitted tank, and at first I thought maybe the kid has super sensitive appreciation for textures - lace is a cool texture. But as the service proceeded and he continued to kiss her shoulder, her arm, her bicep, etc., that theory evaporated.

At one point, he put his arm around her, which I thought could have been cute, if it was just a sweet little boy putting his arm around his mother, but he started massaging her neck, her shoulder, with his long-fingernailed hands. It was revolting at this point.

The mom kept throwing glances at the dad, and whispering things to him. Near the end of the service, which to me had now seemed to last forever, the dad put his arm around the mom, shoving the kissy kid away. But the kid still managed to lay his head delicately on her shoulder, around the massive arm of his father (he'd been wallowing on her shoulder, aside from the kissing, the entire time).

Everyone stood to sing a closing song, and the boy took his mother's arm and kissed it again. She actually shoved him away, which I thought was a great move. But when we sat back down, she wrapped her arms around him and drew him close to her. Bad move, I wanted to tell her, he'll never get over you now. But it wasn't my place, and I'm not accustomed to speaking up in public.

I had never fully contemplated what it meant for a boy to have a thing for his mom. But this boy, with his pretty little face, long eye lashes and long fingernails, had definitely not learned to separate from his mom.

When I left church, I was so grateful that my family didn't, and doesn't, touch.

Multi-talented

When I entered the kitchen this morning, I found my mom hard at work on a piece of white paper with paints that I had in kindergarten. She was creating a rainbow, which Madeline (3 yrs) had told her yesterday on the phone she hoped her Grandmother would send her. "Send me a rainbow, Grandma."

Mom painted not only a rainbow, but also water droplets all over the sky, some clouds, and a sun. It's elaborate, and it's done with 16 year old paints.

She can cook; she can paint. She can dance, apparently, after taking the "Dance the Nite Away" (yes, night is spelled that way on the business card) classes this spring with Dad. What's next?

Summer Break--one week?

For a week now, I've been trying to find something interesting enough in my life to fill up an entire to post. I'm really not succeeding.

I took a few days away from school and my house to visit Liz, my alma mater, and Cat, as she prepares to graduate in a few weeks. It was wonderful to see my friends, some that I wasn't expecting to see, too. The crazy thing is that I feel at home with these people, even if I'm sleeping on the floor, a futon, or in a strange bed. Even if they have responsibilities to attend to and leave me alone for a few hours, I still feel at home.

I have a week to catch up with old friends and neighbors, my brother and parents, and whoever else I run into. It's refreshing to find a place and a moment where I can relax; nothing is more peaceful than my parents' house-the lake, the woods, the wildlife. My own sanctuary, my own haven. Everything is familiar and comforting. (Elaine would say the best part is the blue bathroom, right Friend? I'll admit, it's wonderful, too.)