I don't know a heck of a lot about college sports. Actually, I don't know much about any sports. I've always said that while sports can be nice entertainment, people need to check their priorities. If people got half as worked up, excited, upset, yadda yadda over social justice issues as they did over sports, I bet a lot fewer people would be hungry or homeless.
I ran across this Yahoo! Sports article this morning and thought I'd share it:
http://sports.yahoo.com/news/ncaaf--fbc-college-football-needs-to-be-reined-in.html
Friday, July 20, 2012
Friday, June 29, 2012
Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!
I'll start with the most positive: I've finally found a mode of being active that I think I will totally enjoy! I've got the bike fixed up that my friend Charlesephine helped me find. Turns out it isn't the Best Bike In The World, but I just need a Bike I Can Ride On The Trail. And that is what I have, so I'm happy as a little piggy in mud. Simple is good. If I stick with it, I may eventually get a Fancy Bike. But for now, this is just right! Got the front brakes fixed up and I've hit the trail twice so far. The first time I was so nervous I was gripping the handles so hard I thought my hands would cramp up, but I think the point is that I did it anyway. Turns out that riding a bike is actually "like riding a bike." I remembered how! I'm still not super confident, but I didn't fall over at all! The second time my hands didn't get all sore, but my legs did because I realized that I like pedaling and I don't like coasting, so I upped the little speed doohickey to "3" instead of "1." I got a bit winded and then Stephen had to push my bike ... and his bike ... all the way up the hill (which is actually crazy steep ... I'd say 40 degrees at it's steepest) while I paused to sit so I wouldn't barf. I'll take it a little easier next time. Stephen was good company each time, as always :)
Next the positive-in-a-certain-light slash I'm-freaking-out-about-it-a-tad change: My current position at my work is being eliminated and replaced with a full-time job. I'm taking the full-time position, but it's really going to throw a wrench in my school plans. I'll still go to school, but dang it's going to be harder with a whole day slashed out of my Free Time schedule. Change is inevitable, right? I'm doing a lot of deep breathing and saying stuff I don't believe like, "Everything will be okay," because that is what my mindfulness-based therapist says I should do. I'm hoping belief will follow practice. It will be okay. I just do so love routine. And change, even good change (like biking or getting a job that actually provided benefits), is quite the shake-up to peaceful routines.
Next the positive-in-a-certain-light slash I'm-freaking-out-about-it-a-tad change: My current position at my work is being eliminated and replaced with a full-time job. I'm taking the full-time position, but it's really going to throw a wrench in my school plans. I'll still go to school, but dang it's going to be harder with a whole day slashed out of my Free Time schedule. Change is inevitable, right? I'm doing a lot of deep breathing and saying stuff I don't believe like, "Everything will be okay," because that is what my mindfulness-based therapist says I should do. I'm hoping belief will follow practice. It will be okay. I just do so love routine. And change, even good change (like biking or getting a job that actually provided benefits), is quite the shake-up to peaceful routines.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Vienna Boys
During my undergrad, the Vienna Boys Choir came to my school and performed. For whatever reason, I hadn't gotten tickets, but my friend K. had an extra and invited me along. I went having no idea what to expect and really not expecting to be blown away. I was totally floored. I'm not sure I can describe what it was like to see them. It was just such a magical and cool experience.
This afternoon I was youtubing them and thinking, "Gee, wouldn't it be great to see them again!" A google investigation ensued, and it turns out I won't be seeing them any time soon for under $150 + travel expenses. Wow. Something to add to my bucket list: "See the Vienna Boys Choir -- again."
Thankful I have gotten to see them once!
This afternoon I was youtubing them and thinking, "Gee, wouldn't it be great to see them again!" A google investigation ensued, and it turns out I won't be seeing them any time soon for under $150 + travel expenses. Wow. Something to add to my bucket list: "See the Vienna Boys Choir -- again."
Thankful I have gotten to see them once!
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Don't Shoot The Umpire ...
... She's Doing The Best She Can!
Saturday I attended a Royals game with the in-laws. Usually this is something I enjoy. A hot dog or nachos, good company, loyalty to a not-so-great team. Good times! However, several events/mishaps occurred to make this a less-than-enjoyable day. It all starts the night before ...
We drove to my in-laws in the evening, so I just threw on my p.j.'s and went like that, packing clothes for the game the next day. This is about an hour and a half or two hour drive, depending who you ask. Just keep this in mind for now. For a couple of days, my skin had been really itchy. My back, chest, neck, ears, arms, jawline, and eyebrows. Weird, I know. All I can think of that has possibly changed is our laundry detergent. I switched from Seventh Generation liquid (unscented, undyed) to Seventh Generation powder (unscented, undyed). This is perplexing because it is only those parts of my body that itch. Not my legs or feet or tush or belly -- all of which, I assure you, comes in contact with stuff that has been washed! Anyway, I don't usually like to take medicine unless I have to, so I was just waiting it out. Finally though, the night before the game, I couldn't take it anymore! I went to Wally World and called my mom and my friend K. to consult about the best thing to take for it. So I bought some Benadryl (off brand, of course) for the night and some (off brand) Zyrtec for the day (so I wouldn't be drowsy at the game). Took a Benadryl and went to bed. We needed to leave at 9:30 the next morning, so I figured I could sleep till 9:00. I mean, how long does it take to throw on some clothes and down a bowl of cereal?
So I drag myself out of bed around 9:00. I brush my teeth and then get my pants on. Dig into my bag for all the things a woman wears on her top half and -- oh no. I didn't pack a bra! Nor did I wear one down because, remember, I arrived in my p.j.'s. At this point I have 15 minutes to run to Wal-Mart (again) and get one. First of all, this is impossible. Second of all, I didn't have a choice, so I attempted the impossible and failed miserably. I tried on 5 bras (at the speed of light I might add), and they all stunk! Itchy material, too tight, too loose, not breathable enough for a hot day, pokey wires, straps impossible to adjust ... the list goes on. I settled on a too loose but wireless and breathable one for the day. I mean, who am I out to impress? Stephen is stuck with me as is. I grabbed a Royals shirt while I was at it in an attempt to re-get into the spirit of things and then changed in the bathroom. Because at this point it was 9:42 and his family was on their way to pick us up from Wal-Mart. I asked that they kindly bring me my hairbrush, headband, and some granola bars. No sooner had I exited the bathroom when I recognized a serious flaw in my bra choice. As I walked and it moved ever-so-slightly, I noticed that the elastic band that goes around me is not covered in any other fabric and is incredibly, extremely, painfully irritating. I'm out of time though, and I already tore the tag off. This is what I'm stuck with!
We walk out of the store, and I sit on a bench to wallow in self-pity when a friend pops out of the door and says, "Hi guys!" It was L.! A lovely friend from high school looking beautiful as always. We got to small talk for a wee bit before Stephen's family arrived to get us. I hope I wasn't too awkward as I was thinking half the time of how wearing a cheese grater might feel something like the elastic on this bra. Ah well, I did the best I could! And it really was nice to see her.
So Stephen and I hop in the car, and we're off. I brush my hair, put my headband on, and eat two granola bars. We actually end up making it to the ballpark with plenty of time because I didn't realize we were meeting another group of folks to tailgate before the game. The food was actually quite good and someone even brought a fruit salad! (I'm not sure if I've mentioned it, but I've got a pretty sensitive stomach, and the food traditionally associated with a tailgate is the same thing as an all-expenses paid and 100% obligatory extended stay in the nearest bathroom. So woot for fruit salad!) Yum yum, eating food, trickle down my side. Wait, what? It's not that hot outside yet, why am I sweating? Oh. I am sweating because I didn't put deodorant on. Why? Because my getting dressed routine is bra, deodorant, shirt. And gosh darnit if that simple routine did not get put in a blender and flushed down the toilet this morning, proverbially speaking. This is something that I can do exactly nothing about. So I resign myself to the fact that I will smell like an armpit by the end of the day.
Knowing there is nothing I can do about stinking, I excuse myself to the restroom where I fold up a napkin and secure it between my skin and the cheese-grater elastic on the front of the bra. This helps almost not at all, which is better than actually not at all, so I leave it.
Then I start to wonder if anyone has any sunscreen. Because guess what? I didn't think about that while I was busy making everyone late. I ask anyone if they have any, and guess what else? The answer is no. And our seats are located near exactly zero shade. Despite the fact that I took 3 breaks and gave up altogether at the top of 7th inning and watched the rest of the game from the breezeway with the smell of $10 hot dogs in the air, I still burned to a crispity-crisp.
At the end of the day after I was showered and aloed and deodoranted up, I had tossed the sad bra onto our dresser. Stephen looked at it and promptly asked me if I had gotten it in the granny section of Wal-Mart. After a short exchange, I realized that he was dead serious. So instead of enjoying some baseball and overpriced food, I became a smelly, granny-bra wearing lobster.
And for the record, the fact that I have any sense of humor about this day at all does, in fact, count as "keeping on the sunny side."
Saturday I attended a Royals game with the in-laws. Usually this is something I enjoy. A hot dog or nachos, good company, loyalty to a not-so-great team. Good times! However, several events/mishaps occurred to make this a less-than-enjoyable day. It all starts the night before ...
We drove to my in-laws in the evening, so I just threw on my p.j.'s and went like that, packing clothes for the game the next day. This is about an hour and a half or two hour drive, depending who you ask. Just keep this in mind for now. For a couple of days, my skin had been really itchy. My back, chest, neck, ears, arms, jawline, and eyebrows. Weird, I know. All I can think of that has possibly changed is our laundry detergent. I switched from Seventh Generation liquid (unscented, undyed) to Seventh Generation powder (unscented, undyed). This is perplexing because it is only those parts of my body that itch. Not my legs or feet or tush or belly -- all of which, I assure you, comes in contact with stuff that has been washed! Anyway, I don't usually like to take medicine unless I have to, so I was just waiting it out. Finally though, the night before the game, I couldn't take it anymore! I went to Wally World and called my mom and my friend K. to consult about the best thing to take for it. So I bought some Benadryl (off brand, of course) for the night and some (off brand) Zyrtec for the day (so I wouldn't be drowsy at the game). Took a Benadryl and went to bed. We needed to leave at 9:30 the next morning, so I figured I could sleep till 9:00. I mean, how long does it take to throw on some clothes and down a bowl of cereal?
So I drag myself out of bed around 9:00. I brush my teeth and then get my pants on. Dig into my bag for all the things a woman wears on her top half and -- oh no. I didn't pack a bra! Nor did I wear one down because, remember, I arrived in my p.j.'s. At this point I have 15 minutes to run to Wal-Mart (again) and get one. First of all, this is impossible. Second of all, I didn't have a choice, so I attempted the impossible and failed miserably. I tried on 5 bras (at the speed of light I might add), and they all stunk! Itchy material, too tight, too loose, not breathable enough for a hot day, pokey wires, straps impossible to adjust ... the list goes on. I settled on a too loose but wireless and breathable one for the day. I mean, who am I out to impress? Stephen is stuck with me as is. I grabbed a Royals shirt while I was at it in an attempt to re-get into the spirit of things and then changed in the bathroom. Because at this point it was 9:42 and his family was on their way to pick us up from Wal-Mart. I asked that they kindly bring me my hairbrush, headband, and some granola bars. No sooner had I exited the bathroom when I recognized a serious flaw in my bra choice. As I walked and it moved ever-so-slightly, I noticed that the elastic band that goes around me is not covered in any other fabric and is incredibly, extremely, painfully irritating. I'm out of time though, and I already tore the tag off. This is what I'm stuck with!
We walk out of the store, and I sit on a bench to wallow in self-pity when a friend pops out of the door and says, "Hi guys!" It was L.! A lovely friend from high school looking beautiful as always. We got to small talk for a wee bit before Stephen's family arrived to get us. I hope I wasn't too awkward as I was thinking half the time of how wearing a cheese grater might feel something like the elastic on this bra. Ah well, I did the best I could! And it really was nice to see her.
So Stephen and I hop in the car, and we're off. I brush my hair, put my headband on, and eat two granola bars. We actually end up making it to the ballpark with plenty of time because I didn't realize we were meeting another group of folks to tailgate before the game. The food was actually quite good and someone even brought a fruit salad! (I'm not sure if I've mentioned it, but I've got a pretty sensitive stomach, and the food traditionally associated with a tailgate is the same thing as an all-expenses paid and 100% obligatory extended stay in the nearest bathroom. So woot for fruit salad!) Yum yum, eating food, trickle down my side. Wait, what? It's not that hot outside yet, why am I sweating? Oh. I am sweating because I didn't put deodorant on. Why? Because my getting dressed routine is bra, deodorant, shirt. And gosh darnit if that simple routine did not get put in a blender and flushed down the toilet this morning, proverbially speaking. This is something that I can do exactly nothing about. So I resign myself to the fact that I will smell like an armpit by the end of the day.
Knowing there is nothing I can do about stinking, I excuse myself to the restroom where I fold up a napkin and secure it between my skin and the cheese-grater elastic on the front of the bra. This helps almost not at all, which is better than actually not at all, so I leave it.
Then I start to wonder if anyone has any sunscreen. Because guess what? I didn't think about that while I was busy making everyone late. I ask anyone if they have any, and guess what else? The answer is no. And our seats are located near exactly zero shade. Despite the fact that I took 3 breaks and gave up altogether at the top of 7th inning and watched the rest of the game from the breezeway with the smell of $10 hot dogs in the air, I still burned to a crispity-crisp.
At the end of the day after I was showered and aloed and deodoranted up, I had tossed the sad bra onto our dresser. Stephen looked at it and promptly asked me if I had gotten it in the granny section of Wal-Mart. After a short exchange, I realized that he was dead serious. So instead of enjoying some baseball and overpriced food, I became a smelly, granny-bra wearing lobster.
And for the record, the fact that I have any sense of humor about this day at all does, in fact, count as "keeping on the sunny side."
Thursday, May 24, 2012
With A Little Love And Some Tenderness
I have a lot of strong opinions about things, but I don't like to shit where I eat (so to speak), so I keep the politics to a minimum --usually -- unless I know I am in like-minded company. However, though I've never thought of it has a hot-button issue for myself, I've noticed recently that I've been bugging folks who I usually wouldn't bug (like my in-laws -- love you guys!) to do one thing: adopt from a pound instead of a breeder. I know they won't be swayed by my arguments or pleas, but I have been bugging nonetheless.
Growing up, we always had cats, and we always got them from the pound (or, once, from a "FREE" sign at Wal-Mart). I loved all of our cats, though most of them met a tragic end. Meow Meow, Mittens, Rex, Sinatra, Sugar, Marshmallow, and Sausage (the latter two are still going strong!). And the outdoor strays we "adopted" who came with whatever house we were living in at the time: Bastet, Oreo, Cookie, and Fatty. When one of the indoors would escape and either get run over or disappear never to be seen again, it wasn't long before we made another trip to the pound. It's not that losing one wasn't sad -- none of them were replaceable -- but there was more love that needed to be given. At least that is how I always thought of it.
Stephen and I got our cat Oliver at the pound when we made the decision to pet-parent together. When we decided to get a dog, the pound was the only place to look for me. I admit I was a bit nervous; we (meaning my sisters and I) never had a dog growing up. My mom always said we didn't have the space or the time for one, which I think was probably true. And I'm sure she would have been the one taking it out every morning, so I don't blame her for never letting us get a dog. So, anyway, I was worried because I knew a dog was a bigger commitment than a cat. I mean, you can't just dump a bunch of food and water in some bowls and leave for a week if you get the itch. As my grandpa, who absolutely never travels, says: "A dog will tie you down." But I've been feeling pretty spontaneous this last year (piano -- which is going well, by the way; bike -- more on that later), so I said, "Let's do it!"
Several trips to the pound and one heartache later, we found our girl: Toby!
When we met her, she was very quiet and nice, and I was interested by her wiry hair. I'd never felt wiry dog hair before. I liked her markings and she just seemed right. So we took her home! My grandma (the animal lover, remember?) was excited when we got a dog. "Oh good! You don't even have to buy food! You just feed it dinner scraps!" Well, Toby actually eats better than we do, I think.
So anyway, we brought her home and were worried about what our cat would think. He's a mean thing, or as my mother so affectionately calls him, "Demon Cat." "You know you're going to have to get rid of that thing when you have babies!" When we brought T-girl home, Oliver was intrigued. He kept his distance but was definitely staring her down. Despite the fact that Oliver is disgusted by everyone and everything (except Stephen), they have actually become the best of friends! Oliver lets Toby lick his ears, and he secretly loves it! It is simultaneously nasty and precious.
Wow, I am very rambly today. Let's get this train back on the track. So Toby was delightful. So well behaved! The people at the pound had let us know that she had been tied up in a yard and not really taken care of. She had put on, I forget, 5 or 10 pounds already since she'd been in foster care. Stephen and I think she was not only neglected, but abused as well. Any time we'd go to put her leash on her to take her outside, she would duck and immediately roll on her back in complete submission. I started slowly kneeling beside her to leash her up instead of leaning over her. (Maybe you're supposed to do that anyway? Like I said, she's my first dog.) One time I was in the kitchen washing dishes and my hands were all soapy. She walked in, so I greeted her and lifted my foot to give her a little belly scratch with my toes and she hollered and ran away. It broke my heart!
Stephen and I have just tried to give her persistent affection and love over the last 8 months that we've had her, and bit by bit she has come out of her shell! She's much naughtier now, but that doesn't bother me since she feels safe and happy. She'll now crawl up into my lap on the couch -- and no, she's not a lap-sized dog -- and she plays with her toys now (which she didn't do for a very, very long time). She wags her tail so much! She hardly ever did that in the first few months we had her. She jumps on people, and I admit that so far I'm the pet owner who says, "If it bothers you, push her down!" I just love Toby's love, and I'm glad she is so happy. Eventually I suppose I'll work on more manners with her. Anyway, I'm not sure how to describe how much she has blossomed, but it has been an absolute pleasure to watch her learn to feel safe and loved. I am so in love with her!
So I guess what I'm saying is that why would I ever need to shell out hundreds of dollars because I want a dog to look "just so" when I can have Toby? She was a damaged, adult dog when we adopted her, and while I'm sure she was just the cutest puppy ever I would never skip over her just because she's grown up or just because she's hurting. She is just wonderful in every way, and I could never have imagined a dog like her, and she doesn't need to be "just so" because she is herself; and that is simply amazing! There are so many other doggies who have had a rough start in life who could blossom and be happy and healthy with just a little love.
With lots of love and a little time, our girl now looks like this:
Growing up, we always had cats, and we always got them from the pound (or, once, from a "FREE" sign at Wal-Mart). I loved all of our cats, though most of them met a tragic end. Meow Meow, Mittens, Rex, Sinatra, Sugar, Marshmallow, and Sausage (the latter two are still going strong!). And the outdoor strays we "adopted" who came with whatever house we were living in at the time: Bastet, Oreo, Cookie, and Fatty. When one of the indoors would escape and either get run over or disappear never to be seen again, it wasn't long before we made another trip to the pound. It's not that losing one wasn't sad -- none of them were replaceable -- but there was more love that needed to be given. At least that is how I always thought of it.
Stephen and I got our cat Oliver at the pound when we made the decision to pet-parent together. When we decided to get a dog, the pound was the only place to look for me. I admit I was a bit nervous; we (meaning my sisters and I) never had a dog growing up. My mom always said we didn't have the space or the time for one, which I think was probably true. And I'm sure she would have been the one taking it out every morning, so I don't blame her for never letting us get a dog. So, anyway, I was worried because I knew a dog was a bigger commitment than a cat. I mean, you can't just dump a bunch of food and water in some bowls and leave for a week if you get the itch. As my grandpa, who absolutely never travels, says: "A dog will tie you down." But I've been feeling pretty spontaneous this last year (piano -- which is going well, by the way; bike -- more on that later), so I said, "Let's do it!"
Several trips to the pound and one heartache later, we found our girl: Toby!
 |
| Our little lady at the pound. |
When we met her, she was very quiet and nice, and I was interested by her wiry hair. I'd never felt wiry dog hair before. I liked her markings and she just seemed right. So we took her home! My grandma (the animal lover, remember?) was excited when we got a dog. "Oh good! You don't even have to buy food! You just feed it dinner scraps!" Well, Toby actually eats better than we do, I think.
So anyway, we brought her home and were worried about what our cat would think. He's a mean thing, or as my mother so affectionately calls him, "Demon Cat." "You know you're going to have to get rid of that thing when you have babies!" When we brought T-girl home, Oliver was intrigued. He kept his distance but was definitely staring her down. Despite the fact that Oliver is disgusted by everyone and everything (except Stephen), they have actually become the best of friends! Oliver lets Toby lick his ears, and he secretly loves it! It is simultaneously nasty and precious.
Wow, I am very rambly today. Let's get this train back on the track. So Toby was delightful. So well behaved! The people at the pound had let us know that she had been tied up in a yard and not really taken care of. She had put on, I forget, 5 or 10 pounds already since she'd been in foster care. Stephen and I think she was not only neglected, but abused as well. Any time we'd go to put her leash on her to take her outside, she would duck and immediately roll on her back in complete submission. I started slowly kneeling beside her to leash her up instead of leaning over her. (Maybe you're supposed to do that anyway? Like I said, she's my first dog.) One time I was in the kitchen washing dishes and my hands were all soapy. She walked in, so I greeted her and lifted my foot to give her a little belly scratch with my toes and she hollered and ran away. It broke my heart!
Stephen and I have just tried to give her persistent affection and love over the last 8 months that we've had her, and bit by bit she has come out of her shell! She's much naughtier now, but that doesn't bother me since she feels safe and happy. She'll now crawl up into my lap on the couch -- and no, she's not a lap-sized dog -- and she plays with her toys now (which she didn't do for a very, very long time). She wags her tail so much! She hardly ever did that in the first few months we had her. She jumps on people, and I admit that so far I'm the pet owner who says, "If it bothers you, push her down!" I just love Toby's love, and I'm glad she is so happy. Eventually I suppose I'll work on more manners with her. Anyway, I'm not sure how to describe how much she has blossomed, but it has been an absolute pleasure to watch her learn to feel safe and loved. I am so in love with her!
So I guess what I'm saying is that why would I ever need to shell out hundreds of dollars because I want a dog to look "just so" when I can have Toby? She was a damaged, adult dog when we adopted her, and while I'm sure she was just the cutest puppy ever I would never skip over her just because she's grown up or just because she's hurting. She is just wonderful in every way, and I could never have imagined a dog like her, and she doesn't need to be "just so" because she is herself; and that is simply amazing! There are so many other doggies who have had a rough start in life who could blossom and be happy and healthy with just a little love.
With lots of love and a little time, our girl now looks like this:
 |
| T-girl lounging -- probably eating a bumblebee or something ... |
 |
| Posing for the camera. Isn't she just beautiful? |
 |
| My beautiful bearded lady! |
Thanks to my mother-in-law, who loves T-girl very much, for these wonderful photos!
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