FemiKnitr

Grad School Chaos

2012-01-24T16:19:00.001-07:00

And thus it re-begins….

As Winter Break closes and Spring Semester begins, my peripheral life sucks into tunnel vision and I can only see MSW. I will breath, sleep, eat, and live only social work for the next 15 weeks.

It all re-began last Thursday when my profs started creating their online Moodle courses for Spring Semester. Moodle is an interactive online learning system that is relatively new to the University of Montana, and I have received training to help train faculty on how to use it. I have been dubbed Moodle Melanie by profs and fellow classmates, and am called in anytime someone has a Moodle question. I thoroughly enjoy this title, and picture myself with a bright red cape billowing in the wind as I stand stoically, hands on my hips, head and chest thrust forward in confidence believing that I can handle any Moodle question thrown my way.

“Believing” is the key word, there are TONS of Moodle questions I don’t know the answer to. What makes me look like a super hero to my profs though is that I have the true Moodle Queen, Nancy, on speed dial and can get the answer to any question at a moment’s notice.

But I digress….

Last Thursday and Friday, I took a 2-day wintersession course that met from 9am to 4pm both days. During which I also received random phone calls about Moodle. I spent lunch hours and breaks both days returning calls and texts to profs. By day, I was Motivational Interviewing student, and then by night I was Moodle Melanie researching the answers to said prof’s questions.

Over the weekend, I was simply Melanie, laying around watching TV, knitting, sewing, walking dogs, and being a girlfriend. Oh, and breaking two sewing machines, but that’s another story.

Moodle Melanie flew onto campus Monday morning, pretending to be confident in her abilities to help a prof with a new format our favorite local super hero had not worked with before. (It’s fun to talk about one’s self in the third person, but after awhile it gets annoying so I’ll switch over to 1^st person now….) I worked back-to-back with 2 profs, one of which surprised me with a hug at the end of our 2.5 hour meeting. Mr. Narcissism, (and I use that term endearingly, and he also calls himself that should anyone think I'm being rude), really had almost everything figured out by himself, and my help was minimal during our extended meeting. But he must have thought differently because he gave me a hug at the end of our meeting, and set a time for another meeting later in the week.

Moodle Melanie then morphed into Grief Counselor Melanie working at Tamarack Grief Resource Center all day Tuesday. She will morph yet again back into Moodle Melanie Wednesday, Grief Counselor Melanie on Thursday, and MSW Student Melanie Thursday night and all day Friday.

To give you an idea of what my life looks like, here’s a schedule of what my weeks will entail for the rest of the semester:

Monday – Grief Counselor Melanie will co-facilitate divorce group in the morning morph into Moodle Melanie for meetings with profs the remaining part of the day, change into Regular Melanie for Monday night

Tuesday – Grief Counselor Melanie from 10-5, MSW Student Melanie 6-7:30, Regular Melanie the rest of the evening

Wednesday – Moodle Melanie in the morning, MSW Student Melanie and Regular Melanie alternating in the afternoon, Knitting Melanie at night from 7-10

Thursday – MSW Student Melanie in the morning, Grief Counselor Melanie in the afternoon, and MSW Student Melanie again in the evening

Friday – MSW Student Melanie 8-5, Regular Melanie (which typically means passed-out-on-the-couch-from-physical-and-emotional-exhaustion in the evening)

Saturday and Sunday – MSW Student Melanie and Regular Melanie alternating throughout both days

And then it all starts over again on Monday morning……

Just writing this down makes me dizzy.

A Few Good Movies

2012-01-22T13:23:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching A Few Good Men for the first time in my life. What a brilliant reminder of why I used to love movies, and why I don't give a crap about watching them anymore.

A Few Good Men was made in 1992, and had more big-name actors than People Magazine. Ahh, those were the days. The days when actors were paid huge sums of money, but not so huge that studios couldn't afford to star more than one of them in a film. The days when movies had deep, interesting storylines that taught you something. In watching a movie, you could lose yourself for 3 hours at a time and actually feel like you were a Marine who cared only about staying a Marine. The days when you cried at the end of the movie because you could empathize with the characters, not because it was such a horrible movie and you're sad that you just wasted 3 hours of your life on it.

These days, actors make more money than whole countries. They spend more on a set of bed sheets than I spend on food for a whole month. And I know this because said actors flaunt this information on ridiculous reality TV shows that really only showcase their stupidity.

These days movies seem to be less about making you think deeper about life, and more about making you think deeper about how you just wasted $10 to go see a dumbass movie when you could have spent the $10 on toilet paper....it would have been a better financial decision, and the end result is about the same.

I can't help but think about how disappointed I am when I leave a theater these days. Even the indy films that are supposed to be life-changing make me wish I had saved my $$ and instead simply rented a movie from 20 years ago.

Sure, there have been some good movies lately. Juno was good, I did really like that one. Marley & Me was ok, but the book was better. Same for Harry Potter. Up was pretty entertaining, and I cried in the first several minutes because I could empathize with the cartoon man whose wife dies. Yep, there were A Few Good Movies in the 2000's. But I can think a lot of good movies from the 90's....

"It's like you're a cave person"

2012-01-18T19:57:00.001-07:00

I was laid off from my job one year ago tomorrow. I took it like a champ, and immediately reworked my budget canceling all unnecessary expenses. Things that most people would consider must-haves suddenly became luxuries I could not afford, things like my gym membership, the expensive toilet paper, and internet. This last one was the most painful. But given all the free wi-fi around town, and on campus, I figured I wouldn't be completely without internet, I could just run down the road, laptop in hand until an unsecure wi-fi showed up....

I have learned that life without the internet at home is a bit isolating. At first, I was excited about my newfound "free" time that I previously spent messing around online. I put this time to good use by cleaning, occasionally cooking (which basically means I made mac & cheese from a box instead of running out to grab take-out), and my favorite, crafting!

I was on campus at least twice a week, so I could check my bank account, pay bills, check facebook (not in that order), and still feel ok about not having access at home. Then summer hit and suddenly I wasn't on campus as much. I spent more time in coffee shops, more $$ on coffee and food.

When school started again however, I found that my classes were far more interesting and I didn't want to waste precious class time on facebook instead of participating. In the last few months, my internet time has become few and far between.

Consequently, I have missed many of my friends birthdays without a daily FB reminder. I have missed important emails from my bank (and not just the spam ones either!), I've been unable to watch YouTube to help with home repairs (such as a toilet that keeps running), nor have I been able to Google certain facts I need to know at-that-very-minute.

And I have in fact ran down the street, laptop in hand searching for an unsecure wi-fi at midnight to email in a paper that's due at-that-very-minute. Classy.

I'm starting to get annoyed that I don't have immediate internet access. And I'm annoying my friends when we go out and I bring my laptop to the bar to check Facebook and respond to my boss' emails.

All this lead me to remember one of my favorite "Friends" quotes; when Rachel tells her mom she doesn't have a housekeeper, her mom responds "It's like you're a cave person!" I got that same reaction today when I reminded my counselor that I don't have internet at home...she said "Well I knew you canceled it last year, but have you gone the ENTIRE year without internet at home????" The incredulous look on her face, and her response were a dead ringer for Mrs. Greene :)

Re-dating

2012-01-16T23:25:00.000-07:00

It's hard to re-date someone who's broken your heart. I know, this is pretty self-explanatory, but you know me, I'm going to elaborate, and expound, and basically beat the horse to death.

Sometimes I think it's cool that I have this history with my beau. It's kinda cool to know how he likes his pancakes, and all of his friends and family. It's nice that I already know his quirks, and that I can handle them. I enjoy knowing his stories from childhood, and I like that we already really know and get one another (well, as much as the two of us will ever "get" the other one).

But other times, I'm annoyed that I have this history with him. Sometimes it's annoying that I already know what story he's going to tell when he starts it. And I often find it frustrating to hear stories about things he's done while we weren't together...and that was about a year and a half worth of stuff.

I think the most annoying part though is constantly being reminded of someone he dated while we weren't together. I know, I know, I dated...a lot. But it's ok for me, I was the break-upee. And no, I don't think that's hypocritical, it's just the way it is. Period.

Aside from me being the cat that curiosity kills again and again because I never seem to learn, I'm frequently confronted with others who recognize me as being a girlfriend from the past, but yet don't necessarily remember that we were apart for quite some time. Oh yeah, it's great fun to sit around a table with mutual friends and acquaintances, one of whom asks "So you're the one who was his date at so-and-so's wedding right? Another so-and-so was talking about what a great couple you were and how nice it was that he finally found someone."

First of all, NO, I was not his date at that wedding. I was there, but I was there ALONE. Thank you very much for reminding me. And thanks again for the flashback memory of watching him dance the night away with the other woman. And I'm so glad to hear so-and-so thinks they make such a great couple.

The other woman is a very nice person, and she's never been anything less than cordial and congenial towards me. I don't care. I don't want to hear stories about what she sewed for MY beau, or how great she looked at so-and-so's wedding, etc. etc. etc. As far as I'm concerned, I'd like to pretend she doesn't exist. I know it's petty, childish and immature. I don't effing care.

As if all this wasn't bad enough, she and him are still good friends. Like calling each other, texting, getting beers to "catch up" kind of friends. Oh yeah, that goes over REAL well with me. Apparently she recently expressed interest in having drinks with her new boyfriend and us. HA! That'll be over my dead body. (Actually, once I get over being such a jealous, judgmental, resentful bitch, we probably will. But right now, I'm enjoying my cynical self.)

Technically, I "won" since he and I are back together again, so I should just be happy that he's such a good person and can remain friends with exes. Yeah, I could barely get that sentence out without gagging.

Maybe someday I'll mature and act my age, but until then I'll broadcast my juvenile thoughts in a blog for all the world to see :)

Grandpa D & Me

2012-01-14T14:21:00.000-07:00

In honor of Grandpa's birthday, I'm sharing a poem I wrote last week about him. I took a social work holistic healing class that was absolutely nothing like I thought it would be, and I loved it. It was so contrary to my way of being and personality; think group of strangers sitting around sharing deepest thoughts and feelings through dance, poetry, meditation and art. It was very hippie, in any other circumstance, I would have thought it cheesy, but in that situation it was very cool :)

During one of the sessions, we were guided through a meditation in which we let our minds flow...I don't think my mind has ever just "flowed." I daydream a lot, but I'm in complete control of where the daydream goes, and I'm never "surprised" about the story I make up. Through this meditation, we were guided to "build" a house in our minds that was ours and only ours. Somehow, my mind built a treehouse with windows for walls, and a deck surrounding the entire thing. Then we were guided to have visitors. My mind did not want a visitor, and no one showed up at my door. I simply sat in my treehouse, content and happy to be alone, at peace. Suddenly however, I looked over the edge of my deck and Grandpa D was there in his Scooter, riding a make-shift elevator to the top. He came to sit next to me overlooking the glory that was my view; miles of trees and an ocean in the distance. I'm not sure where we were, maybe California?? The mind is a mysterious thing.... In my meditation, we just sat there, never exchanging any words, sometimes smiling at one another, and sometimes I felt like I should say something, but I didn't know what.

After the meditation ended, we were asked to write about what we saw and what we envisioned, and then create a poem out of it. This was my poem:

In a treehouse we sit,
My grandfather and I.

Burgundy plastic cups hold steaming black coffee,
black as the earth from which we come.

Black as the earth to which he has returned.

We sit, we watch, we do not talk.

What do you say
when there are no words left?

In a treehouse we sit,
My grandfather and I.

Watching, waiting, wishing...

Sipping coffee from burgundy plastic cups,

Black as the earth.

The Price of Love

2012-01-12T20:17:00.000-07:00

The trouble with grief is that it follows you everywhere. No matter where you go or what you do, it’s there. For me, grief is like a haze of fog that settles and clouds everything I do. I still have fun, I still laugh, I still enjoy myself, but the fog is always there, dampening the fun and enjoyment so that it isn’t quite as bright and sharp as normal.

I’m here in Yellowstone National Park in early January, on a dream-come-true vacation. Ever since I watched Christmas In Yellowstone on PBS, I’ve wanted to visit Yellowstone in winter. I’ve watched every possible DVD and photo book the Montana Library System has about Yellowstone in winter, and it’s only deepened my love for the park. Here I am on this incredible experience, with a cloud following me around like I’m a Peanuts character.

For most people, a Yellowstone winter vacation might not be out of reach. But for an unemployed, very frugal grad student it is. Everything costs a fortune here in winter; you can’t drive into the park on your own, so you have to either pay to ride a snowcoach or hire a guide and rent a snowmobile to come in. Price: $60 to $300, one way. Staying in the park ranges from $96 to $206 per night. Once you’re in the park, you can’t get around without a shuttle, thus requiring you drop more $$ in transportation. Luggage is limited per person, which means you’ll likely only bring in clothing and other necessary items like laptops, cell phones, ski gear, knitting, etc. There won’t be any room to bring in your own food, so you’ll be at the mercy of the dining facilities. The Snow Lodge in Old Faithful has a Grill with a reasonably priced menu that’s open for lunch only, the dining room menu features Filet Mignon and other things I can’t pronounce or afford. These costs aren’t likely something I’ll feel ok about spending.

I got a free ride into the park by care of Christine who could sign-out a snowmobile to meet me in West Yellowstone and bring me straight to the gov’t housing where she and Scott reside. The guided snowmobile services have outlawed park employees from “touring” on their own, so we couldn’t even stop to take photos on the hour-long drive from West to Old Faithful in fear that Christine would get caught by any one of the numerous guides we saw along the way. The images in my mind will suffice. We watched two bison about 3 feet away digging with their massive heads in the snow for food. Their faces were all covered with snow and icicles, just like I’ve seen in pictures and PBS specials. Amazing!

The first night I was here, I opened the Yellowstone Journal I bought last summer to document my adventures, and a postcard I had bought for Grandpa D fell out. I bought the card on my very last trip in September. Apparently, I had forgotten all about it. Tears filled my eyes, and I journaled for 4 pages. I couldn’t sleep after that, thinking about how I missed an opportunity to let Grandpa know I was thinking about him.

The next evening, I learned that my Dad, aunts and uncles had to move all of Grandpa’s things out of the house and into the pole barn. The haze of grief turned to a thick smog and I had difficulty carrying on conversation with Scott & Christine. All I could think about was how quickly life moves on after someone dies. It’s only been 6 weeks, yet it feels like just yesterday. It doesn’t seem like it’s time to move his belongings yet.

That night, I had a strange dream about Grandpa D and my family. It was quite bizarre with random events like Aunt Pat being overly concerned I had a tick on me, my Aunt Teri finding thrift store items that belonged to my Grandpa, and my dad searching for a deer hide of Grandpa’s that he wanted to hang up. Near the end of my dream, I was helping Grandpa eat (which is ironic since in his final days he didn’t eat a thing), he looked pale and sick just like he did when I visited him before he died. And just like in real life, in the dream we all knew he was going to die, but we were so hopeful he would pull out of it. I awoke with a heavy heart.

The next day Scott, Christine and I cross country skied and had dinner in the Snow Lodge. Afterwards, we sat in front of the fire in the lobby. There were quite a few people around playing games, reading and just enjoying the rustic atmosphere. I sat down next to a woman who was knitting an orange and black intarsia scarf with geometric patterns. Of course I couldn’t help myself, I commented on her handiwork. She and her husband both laughed and said it was a long story. She had knit scarves for her grandkids for Christmas, all except a few who she was certain wouldn’t care about getting a handknit scarf. One of the boys, the one whom she least expected to want a scarf, was a little upset. He asked if she would make one for him too. It turned out to be a nice adventure for the both of them. They went to the yarn store together and he picked out the colors he wanted. She joked that he would likely never wear it, but I think that he’ll love it anyway because his grandma knit it. The story was so sweet and touching, it brought tears to my eyes.

I’m a little sentimental right now, and I tear up over the tiniest things. But her story really struck a chord. As we left the Lodge, I realized why. I had knit Grandpa D a blue blanket several years ago. He had it on the back of his recliner, and to my knowledge that’s where it stayed. But I knew he loved it, he would say so every time I came to visit when he was still living in the trailer. I didn’t care that the blanket was never used, I cared that he loved it simply because I had made it for him. Damn, here come the tears again!

It’s interesting how when someone dies, they’re all you can think about. You see them everywhere, you’re reminded of them all the time, and you miss them more than you ever thought possible. I know this will pass, the pang of grief lessens over time. It’s strange that I’m currently comforted by my cloud of grief. And I actually like that my first (and possibly only) winter Yellowstone visit will forever be synonymous with remembering Grandpa D.

I’ll close with my version of a well-known quote; Smile because it happened, Cry because it’s over. I hate that the real quote is “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” I despise that our society shuns crying. It’s ok to cry, it’s a natural and automatic response. We grieve over things that are important to us; it’s the price we pay for love. And that’s a cost I’ll always be ok spending.

The thing about grief

2011-12-16T12:10:00.001-07:00

I just can't seem to get into the Christmas spirit this year. Normally, this is my favorite time of year and I look forward to it all year long. I love the lights, the celebrations with friends & family, all the festive decorations, shopping, gift giving, gift receiving, cards with lovely holiday sentiments, cards with funny Christmas jokes, etc. etc. etc. But this year is different.

When decorating the tree with my family last evening, I realized I'm just not into this year. I found the whole thing rather time-consuming and it took entirely too much effort. All I kept thinking is "Someone's gonna have to take it all down in just a few short weeks. What's the point???" I've been annoyed that my well-intentioned and loving family members have asked for Christmas lists. I know, how rude of them huh? Asking me for ideas so they buy me things I actually want. And their responses to my "but I have everything I need" and "you don't need to buy me anything" is nothing short of heart-warming...except for me. This year it all feels like a waste of time, money and energy.

After a bit of soul-searching, I remembered this isn't the first time I've felt this way. When it became apparent that things had passed the point of no return for my marriage, I lost interest in Christmas too. At the time, I didn't understand grief as I do now.

So the thing about grief is that even when it's not on your mind, it's on your mind. Even when you think you're fine and that there are other "rational explanations" for everything, there is just one explanation that covers it all: GRIEF. It is all-consuming and ever-present. It can take away your zest for things you enjoy the most, even if they don't have anything to do with the thing or person you're sad about. Sometimes it has everything to do with them though.

This year, Christmas just doesn't feel the same to me. Grandpa was part of every single one of my Christmases for as long as I've been alive. We used to have our Dekkers Family Christmas party at his house on Christmas Eve, and then we'd all go to midnight mass together in Newaygo. I hated going to church, but I always looked forward to midnight mass on Christmas with my family. Aunt Pat and I were beyond disappointed when everyone decided to end this tradition by having our family party the week before Christmas. I had forgotten all about this until just recently when "Oh Night Divine" came on the radio and I was suddenly transported back to my childhood, standing in the vestibule of St. Bart's church on Christmas Eve looking for a pew empty enough to fit all of us Dekkers so we could sit together.

When the Christmas Eve tradition ended, everyone took to stopping in to visit Grandpa on Christmas Day. Inevitably, we'd all end up there at some point during the day. It was always fun when we'd overlap and fill Grandpa's little trailer. When I grew up and moved away, this tradition kept up as I returned every year except two to spend Christmas with my family.

There were a few years when Grandpa & Grandpa spent their winters in Florida. It bothers me that I can't remember if I was disappointed that tradition lapsed then.

Going through old photos produced so many pictures of Grandpa and the family at Christmas. It's obvious Christmas will never be the same without him. So cliche, yet so true.

I guess I tell you all this for a couple of reasons; 1) so you understand why I'm such a grinch this year, and 2) if you're feeling the same way either about Christmas or anything else, you'll know you're not alone.

Christmas Letter

2011-12-10T15:12:00.000-07:00

Greetings Friends & Family,

Happy Holidays! Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Happy New Year! Etc, etc, etc.

This year, in lieu of individualized, hand-written Christmas cards (which you’ve likely never received from me anyway) you’re all receiving an extra special, albeit mass produced, newsletter-style, type-written note. I have neither the time, nor the ambition to do anything else. Furthermore, you will only receive a hard copy of this letter if you are not a Facebook Friend or someone who reads my blog. (femiknitr.blogspot.com) Perhaps I should have put this at the end as a Disclaimer.

In the land of Melanie, 2011 has been a very busy year. From Friday nights dancing with friends at the Union club, coffee and reading breaks at Zootown Brew, frequent and lengthy dog park visits, knitting nights at the Good Food Store, random dates, and weekly shopping trips to my favorite local thrift store Secret Seconds, it seems I have not had a moment of peace. In between these activities, I also try to fit in textbook reading and working on papers & assignments for my graduate degree in Social Work. It’s hard to fit everything in, but I find prioritizing helps me balance it all….which is why you see papers and assignments at the end of the list. And I’m only half kidding.

Reese and Harley have been a constant source of support. They seem especially helpful on the eve of a Really Important Paper being due. This is the time they choose to get really excited, pace back and forth, bark incessantly (I think it’s their way of giving me ideas to use in the paper), and repeatedly ask to go outside only to immediately ask to come back in. The way they both rally to help me in my time of need is truly inspiring.

I also fill my time at a really great place called Tamarack Grief Resource Center where I work really hard as a grief counselor, get paid nothing (in fact I technically have to pay to be there), and can’t wait to go back the next day. Tamarack or TGRC as it’s called is a non-profit organization that offers support in the form of counseling and bereavement camps for children, adults and families grieving the death of a family member. I am honored and privileged to be part of their team and complete an internship there. I’ve never been more excited to do 450 hours of work for free!

As some of you know (but others don’t because I’m not always forthcoming with such news), I am back together with my previous boyfriend, Kevin. You may remember him as the Totally Awesome Boyfriend Who Bought Me Good Gifts and Made Me Feel Really Good About Myself…until we broke up. After a year and a half hiatus, a lot of counseling, and dating around, we have decided to give it another go-round. Our re-relationship is still rather new, but holds promise. Recently, when filling out a form at the doctor’s office, I was reminded of just how unique and special our relationship is. While there are boxes for both “Are you in a new relationship?” and “Are you with the same partner?” there is not one for “Are you dating someone you dated a long time ago that you worked really hard to get over, gave really mean nicknames to because he broke your heart, but his adorable smile and dance moves made you fall for him again?”

2011 was also a year with sadness. My grandfather John Dekkers, “Grandpa D” died the end of November. His untimely death at the age of 83 was a poignant reminder of just how fragile and short life really is. We are all grateful for the time we had with him here on Earth, yet we can’t help but feel robbed and wish for just a few more years. When asked if he thought this was “The End” Grandpa frequently responded “not just yet.” There were so many more animals he wanted to hunt, so many more female country stars he wanted to watch on CMT, and so many more inappropriate sexual-innuendo-based rhymes he wanted to sing. His death left me wondering “What if I only have 52 years left to live?” I have about a hundred and fifty-two years’ worth of things I want to accomplish.

I was blessed with 7 incredible days to spend with Grandpa D and my family shortly before he died. We did our best to celebrate his life and send him off in style with the ever-memorable Beer Party at the Newaygo Medical Care Facility Nursing Home. If Grandpa D asks for a Bud Light, Grandpa D gets a Bud Light! I was also blessed to be present during his Extreme Unction, which is not a disease. It was his final Catholic Sacrament, also known as Last Rites. Just six short days before his final breath, he prayed along with Father Roc and exclaimed “Amen!” at all the appropriate times…causing Fr. Roc to inquire as to the seriousness of his illness. Oh yes, Grandpa D kept us all in suspense during his end-of-life, and I bet he wouldn’t have had it any other way. His death left a void in all our lives, and I for one take great comfort in believing he’s with Nanny, Uncle Mike and Jeremy plotting practical jokes on fellow After-lifers.

So my dear Friends & Family, I hope you are all doing well and that you enjoy this holiday season with gusto! May you be surrounded by loved ones, filled with delicious food, and feel happy to be alive. Have a drink for me, and I’ll have one (or two) for you….with any luck we can have them at the same time together!

Love,

Mel

My Version

2011-12-07T17:00:00.000-07:00

While listening to Justin Moore's "He Can't Even Bait a Hook" country song today, I felt inspired to write my own lyrics to his chorus...enjoy.

Justin Moore’s lyrics:

He can't even bait a hook
He can't even skin a buck
He don't know who Jack Daniels is
He ain't ever drove a truck
Knows how to throw out a line, but not the kind in a field and stream book
No darlin' I ain't even worried, you'll come runnin' back
He can't even bait a hook.

My version for the girls:

She don’t even drive a truck

She don’t even like your Muck….boots

She knows too well who Jack Daniels is

She ain’t ever shot a buck

Knows how to throw up a lot, but it ain’t her hands at a football game

No honey I ain’t even worried, I think you’re both dumbass lame

I don’t even give a f***

Dearest Melanie,

2011-12-01T18:28:00.000-07:00

It is with the utmost caring that I tell you this. Please understand I am cruel because I care....

You are going through a rather stressful and difficult time right now. This is the time to employ all those coping strategies you've paid your counselor thousands of dollars for. Remember all those deep breathing and meditation exercises you scoffed at? What about the self-care she's always lecturing you about? I seem to remember a lot of "be good to yourself" and "treat yourself with extra care and kindness."

I question the manner in which you believe you are doing this. I know you wholeheartedly believe in shopping therapy, and I will admit at times it does have benefits. I do not think now is one of those times though. Now is the time to put the money you've already spent to good use.

Trying on jeans that are three sizes too small is not treating yourself with kindness. I will agree the jeans were pretty fantastic. The rhinestones and color were pretty cool, and you can't beat $12 for a brand new pair. I understand you used to shop in this section. You frequently remind me that you were a size 3 many years ago...ahem, 16 years ago to be exact, but who's counting? No amount of squatting down to stretch the jeans will make them fit....they simply will not stretch enough to fit over your hips. If they look too small on the hanger, they ARE too small.

This seems like an appropriate time to mention that what you call "hope" may in fact be denial. It's a fine line and can be confusing, I know.

So please, take your counselor's advice, be good to yourself, and if you absolutely must employ shopping therapy then browse in your real size.

By the way, putting unreasonable demands (ie attempting to do 32 hours of work during a 24 hour day) is also unhelpful. Just a thought.

For My Family

2011-11-30T14:29:00.001-07:00

These words came to me as I thought about how my family supported Nanny and Grandpa, and each other, during my grandparent's respective end-of-life experiences.

Be my strength when I am weak,

Be the rock for which I seek.

Hold my hand deep in the night,

Calm my fears when darkness fades to light.

At my side may you stay,

Full of hope in the midst of gray.

Sit beside me in the garden of silence,

When the taste of words feels too violent.

With me will you mourn,

The life we shared that is no more?

Walk me through our fields and forests,

Singing memories with laughter as the chorus.

Tell my stories with your own,

Keep me alive… though I am home.

The End?

2011-11-22T02:11:00.000-07:00

Grandpa D's *possible* end-of-life experience has been quite a ride, as is most people's. For the first couple days I was in town, my family struggled to convince the nursing home personnel that Grandpa does indeed seem to be entering his end-of-life phase. His doctor, who visited every other day for about 30 seconds without viewing Grandpa's chart, has been very "encouraged" by Grandpa's "progress." He's confident Grandpa will make a full recovery from pneumonia, bladder cancer and kidney failure. The rest of us are skeptical. Aunt Pat even went so far as to say "I disagree." This seemed to catch the good doctor off guard, and his visits have since become more infrequent and as if it were possible, even shorter.

In our own way, we've each been trying to feel Grandpa out and see if he thinks it's the end. Some of us are bolder than others and have outright asked him. Until today his response has been "not just yet."

Today however, he told Aunt Pat he reckons it might be, and that he's ready to go with Jesus and see Uncle Mike and cousin Jeremy. Grandpa said he supposes he'll have to play a little poker with them all. You can imagine the tears my family shed over that. One by one, we each went in and had a few moments alone with Grandpa. I cried the entire time, simply holding his hand, unable to speak. I've already said everything I need to say anyway.

Everyone agonized whether to go home or wait out the night. One by one, everyone left with instructions to call if anything happens. Grandma and I elected to stay. She and Grandpa both fell asleep, but I've been wide awake all night. Adrenaline kicking in, as I *check Facebook, knit a few rows, attempt to read but close the book when I can't seem to understand the words, tiptoe down the hall to check on Grandpa, check Facebook again, knit a few more rows, wander the halls, chit chat with staff about knitting, check on Grandpa again. Repeat from * until dizzy.

On one of my Grandpa-checks, he was awake. I smiled in his eyes and rubbed his arm, which felt cool to the touch. I was immediately on alert knowing one of the first signs of The Official End is less blood flow to the extremities, resulting in hands and arms feeling cool. Grandpa slowly croaked out "I gotta do what I gotta do." My heart sank. I fought back tears, so afraid of what he might mean. It took a few seconds to get myself under control. "What do you have to do, Grandpa?"

"I gotta poop."

Getting Comfy

2011-11-19T23:54:00.001-07:00

After 48 hours as a visitor in a nursing home, I've come to realize what a great place this would be to live. I wonder if they have any open rooms....

Healthy, home-cooked style meals...albeit a little bland and sometimes you don't exactly know what you're eating, but hey it's free and it magically shows up 3 times a day like clockwork.

If you want anything, from a blanket to a beer, just push a button and someone walks in ready to attend to your every desire. This luxury is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, including holidays.

A cleaning lady comes through daily. Feel free to spit your food on the floor (which my Grandpa fully exercises his "right" to do). No one ever yells at you to take your shoes off either.

There's always someone to talk to if you feel lonely, and when you get bored with them you can just walk away. They probably won't remember the encounter later on anyway.

The other residents are quite entertaining as well. You know it's a good night when a nurse informs you a particular 104 year old resident is having a mentally-challenging night and not to panic if you see him wandering the halls in his birthday suit.

With the exception of the resident who bitched at my cousin Chelsey and I for "keeping the light on way too late" at 6:30pm, and then passive-aggressively said "I thought we had specific visiting hours here, but I guess not" as she was wheeling away in her chair, this isn't a bad place to live.

Crafty Chaos

2011-11-11T16:59:00.001-07:00

Round about a week ago, the crafting bug bit me in the ass. My only saving grace was that I didn't have class this week due to Veteran's Day. A big shout out to all you Veteran's! Thanks for granting me freedom, and also for a Friday off.

So, crafting...it's all I've been doing for 6 straight days...and nights. When the crafting bug bites, he injects some sort of venom that paralyzes me into being able to do nothing except craft, think about nothing except crafting, and talk about nothing except crafting. Just ask my dogs and friends.

Monday night I couldn't sleep. I was awake for literally hours plotting my next sewing project, contemplating how to embellish the current one, and daydreaming (or is it night-dreaming when it's three o'clock in the morning and pitch black outside???) about fabric and yarn. I think it was around 5am that I realized I might have a problem.

Tuesday night was much the same, only I decided to actually get up and mess around with my fabric to see if my ideas would work. The dogs groggily held up their heads, determined I was insane and went back to sleep. I think it was 2:30am.

Wednesday was a blur of wool scraps flying through the air as I frantically cut out triangles to glue onto a foam wreath.

I finished several projects by Wednesday evening, and took them into the new Upcycled store on the Hip Strip. I was a bundle of nerves wondering if my Christmas stockings were "good enough." The other items in the store are phenomenal! Way over my limited-sewing-ability's head. But Kay, co-owner of Upcycled was so complimentary and excited about the stockings! She immediately hung some in the storefront window. I was absolutely giddy.

Here's to hoping that at least some of them sell so I can feel justified in spending 6 full days and nights ignoring my homework, school books, dogs, friends, cleaning, etc. etc. etc.

Pee-U

2011-10-28T14:43:00.000-06:00

Top 5 Ways to Know You've Had Too Much Coffee:

5. You're able to type fast enough to keep up with Dr. Catherine O'Day word-for-word in Practice Class at 2:30pm. (For anyone who doesn't know Catherine, I think she qualifies for the Guinness Book of World Record for Fastest Talker Without The Help of Any Stimulating Substances.)

4. Your heart is pounding so fast that it keeps time with Electronica music.

3. You're able to write a blog post, take class notes, participate in discussion, drink a Pepsi, and comment on Facebook at the same time.

2. Your senses are so heightened that you can pinpoint who's cell phone just buzzed from a text message from across the room.

1. And finally, you know you've had too much coffee when you pee and the scent of coffee wafts up from the toilet.

The Art of Wasting a Perfectly Good Saturday

2011-10-15T17:42:00.000-06:00

The amount of planning required to accomplish absolutely nothing on your one-day-off-a-week cannot be overstated. It is essential to begin preparation as early as possible.

First and foremost, spend hours online searching Facebook walls, online newspapers and events websites for local venues’ upcoming Friday night entertainment schedule. This time may be rendered useless when you find out at the last minute that all of them had the schedule incorrect, thus requiring even more time for re-planning. This is a good opportunity to practice your time-wasting skills for Saturday.

Text, email and Facebook all your friends as soon as possible to ensure proper attendance for Friday night’s entertainment. Most of these friends will need to bow out at the last minute due to a sickness that has apparently infected the entire town, making all the time you spent putting together the Friday Night Roster unnecessary…but once again, this is excellent practice for what you’ll be doing on Saturday.

When Friday night finally rolls around, be sure to set aside plenty of time for choosing your wardrobe. You may wonder why you wait until the last minute to do this, but rest assured this is a well-thought-out-plan. Clothing options will be limited to whatever happens to be clean…you will spend an inordinate amount of time trying on outfits and wishing like hell you had done laundry earlier in the week. Thus beginning your “To Do” list for Saturday that you’ll artfully avoid and un-accomplish.

Ensure that whatever your Friday evening plans entail will include drinking a lot of caffeine so you can stay out as long as possible. You’ll know it’s time to go home when the music stops, the lights of the venue brighten to what can only be considered almost-daylight, and some woman walks around telling everyone “It’s closing time folks, bar clock says 2am.”

Now please pay attention because this part’s tricky; some of you may actually want to go home and immediately fall into bed. Experienced Saturday-Wasters know it is essential to fight this urge. Standing outside the establishment that has just kicked you out while waiting for a cab that will never come is a great way to prolong the evening. As is walking home in pouring rain.

When you do make it home, you’ll want to start replaying the night and laughing at all the funny parts all over again as if they were happening for the first time. This is even more fun if you have someone to talk to, but dogs or cats will do in a pinch.

If you’re lucky, you won’t get much sleep until the wee hours of the morning. When you awake to find it’s 9:30, promptly turn over and attempt to go back to sleep. Repeat at 10:30 and again at 11:00. If you feel compelled to get up and shower before 11am, try to keep in mind the Saturday-Wasters Motto: I can do that later, I have all day.

Scrubs and NCIS reruns are great at sucking you in, so just plop your butt in the nearest most comfortable location, turn on the TV and allow yourself to zone out. As one episode leads into another (because as luck would have it, there’s a marathon!) you’ll forget all about that “To Do” list.

Take a nap, check Facebook, re-check Facebook, make yourself some tea, snuggle with your pet(s), check Facebook once more, and before you know it, it’ll be Saturday night and you will have successfully accomplished absolutely nothing. Congratulations, you’ve just perfected the art of wasting a perfectly good Saturday!

Shame On Me

2011-10-08T20:21:00.000-06:00

This is embarrassing. My head hangs in shame. I can't meet your eyes. Once again, I find myself in a very hypocritical space.

You've all heard me bitching. You've heard me sigh in disgust. I swore I'd never do it, and at the time, I wasn't even tempted.

But then today I saw them. They were light blue denim, my favorite kind. I've always been a sucker for light colored jeans. They were brand new Gap, in my size, with pockets just-the-right-size so as to not make my ass look too big. I quickly grabbed them from the Secret Seconds rack and squealed with delight at the $5.60 price tag. I threw them on the pile and headed to the dressing room.

With much anticipation, I stripped down, pulled the Gap jeans from the hanger and tugged them on...and then realized with horror that they were THAT kind...Skinny jeans. How did I miss that?? Was I blinded by the gorgeous sky-blue denim? Was it the pockets that lead me astray?

I couldn't believe I was actually wearing a pair of skinny jeans. I've hated them from the moment they resurfaced in all their horrific fashion. I laughed in contempt when my sister-in-law told me she wanted a pair. I rolled my eyes when girls started sporting them out with their off-the-shoulder t's and bangly bracelets. "Sooo 80's" I would say "Sometimes the past is best left in the past."

And yet, here I was a mere 2 years after they landed back on the runway. They fit so well, and they were so comfortable. I scanned the mirror for a flaw, a reason to immediately take them off and put them as far away from my wardrobe as possible. I did not want them infecting the rest of my un-trendy clothing.

Alas, I saw no flaws. In fact, I even liked the tapered leg. "Oooh, these will go awesome with those black boots I just bought" I thought. And it was all over.

I went back to the jeans rack and found other skinny jeans. I even found an awesome faded black pair. They reminded me of some I had when I was in 5th grade. I loved those jeans. Putting them on took me back to Mr. Stole's portable classroom where he once threw a piece of chalk like a baseball to get our attention.

While I'm admitting things, I guess it's only fair to announce that I also succumbed to the dreadful sparkly-ness too. Those nostalgic faded black jeans??? Oh yea, they have rhinestones on the butt. May lightening strike me twice at my hypocrisy.

Dear Parenting Magazine

2011-09-18T12:19:00.000-06:00

I have been receiving your magazine for the last several months. I don't know why. I did not subscribe, nor did I pay. Oh, and I don't have any children, thus I am not a parent.

I find it ironic that your magazine showed up in my mailbox around the time I turned 30. In lieu of social customs, I understand that you may assume I am in a committed relationship and ready to think about starting a family. Thank you for the not-so-subtle reminder that I am neither of these things.

Perhaps I have misunderstood your intent and this is actually an attempt at poignant sarcasm. Hey, I have a sense of humor, I can take a joke! In the spirit of good sportsmanship, might I suggest also subscribing me to Good Housekeeping and Fitness Magazine.

While I appreciate your monthly reminders, I would like to decline the free subscription. You see, I'm perfectly content with my life as is. Scooping dog poop from the backyard is really the only kind of feces I care to deal with at the moment. My desire to take responsibility for anything more serious than what outfit to wear is nil. Like many others, I would like to have my life in some semblance of order before I venture into parenting. Maybe you could send me condoms instead of the magazine...just a suggestion.

Sincerely,
Single, Childless and Ok

Pulling a Miriam

2011-09-15T22:29:00.005-06:00

Sometimes all it takes is for someone to agree with you. Someone to say "Yeah, you're right, you really don't know what you're doing...."

"Of course you feel like a fish outta water..."

"Yep, you are incompetent in that area...and you know why??? Because you haven't learned that yet."

I admit it, I'm a perfectionist, and with that comes unrealistically high expectations of myself. I think I should be doing more, reaching higher, climbing faster. And I think I should be able to do these things even though I don't have the adequate knowledge or tools to do so. It's even more difficult because sometimes I don't even realize that it's ok that I don't know these things yet...

Emotionally speaking, I'm in a place that someone who's in their 40's or 50's generally is. I'm attempting to figure shit out that someone who's got 10-20 years of experience on me hasn't even figured out yet. No wonder I feel like I've lost my life's pattern.

Professionally speaking, I learned today that I'm expecting myself to know how to do things an MSW grad sometimes hasn't even learned yet. I'm expecting myself to "knit a chart" without knowing how to read a chart...we haven't had that class yet!

My friend Miriam is a phenomenal knitter. She'll fearlessly attempt just about any pattern...and then half way through determine the designer doesn't know what he/she's talking about. She'll research other ideas, get opinions of fellow knitters, and then make up the rest of the pattern herself. Miriam's knit items almost always turn out exactly as the picture, even though she didn't follow the designer's instructions. Sometimes, her items turn out better.

So after a little validation today, I've decided I'm going to "pull a Miriam" and make up my own pattern. Nope, I don't know how to read a chart yet. But I'm learning, and in the meantime I'm pretty resourceful, I know who to ask for help, and I'll figure it out....one row at a time.

Remorseful Thinking

2011-09-11T21:20:00.001-06:00

Ever feel like every time you turn around, you're confronted with past bad decisions? There's a pair of pink cowboy boots in the corner, some 4 inch heels in the closet, and a pair of free weights in the living room. None of which have ever been used. Well, there was that one time with the heels, but the only person who can verify is long gone, and I'm certainly not telling.

Metaphorically speaking, every time I turn a corner I'm reminded of things I wish I would've done differently...or things I wish I wouldn't have done at all. So many words I'd like to backspace and say again, so many actions I'd like to erase and re-record.

But we only live once, we don't get to rewind and start again. Of course we can apologize and do things differently in the future, but it will never change the past. I can't un-buy that hideous novelty yarn.

This might be why I love knitting so much. Mistakes can be ripped and knit again. Ugly sweaters can be frogged and re-knit into a beautiful lace blanket. What starts out as a Candle-flame shawl can be turned into a one-of-a-kind scarf.

Yet my needles and yarn lay untouched for months. There's a merino lace hat just waiting to be finished. A lace shawl with several lifelines. A sweater that I've misplaced the pattern for.

Like my knitting, my life feels like a dormant UFO (for those folks who don't know knitting terms, that stands for unfinished object). I'm at a stand-still, the pattern for my life seemingly misplaced. I can see the mistakes, but it's as if my life has been knit with mohair...there's no ripping back and the yarn will never be the same. Without the pattern, it feels impossible to go forward.

Maybe I'm just in a funk with summer coming to an end, the chaos of school starting, and cold, gray weather on the horizon. Negativity is my focus as of late. But like the great Elizabeth Zimmerman said, I will knit on.

Amidst all this negativity, I'm still hopeful it'll all work out. I can envision the finished product. Maybe someday the mistakes will be disguised by the overall pattern...I just have to find the damn thing first.

We're Not In Missoula Anymore, Man

2011-08-17T19:40:00.000-06:00

Mel’s Top 10: How to Tell You’re in Michigan and Not Montana

10. The humidity afros your hair faster than you can say “Holy hotness, Batman!”

9. You walk into your parent’s house and immediately feel 13 again. The words “As long as you’re under my roof…” echo in your head, as if you haven’t been living on your own and making your own decisions (and suffering the consequences) for the last 10 years.

8. Your favorite t-shirt from high school is in the top drawer where it’s been for 15 years. It’s still as soft and comfy as ever...with a few more holes.

7. When you’re back in the saddle again, it refers to your dad’s old Honda 4-wheeler not a horse. And sitting on it feels as familiar as your favorite pair of Levi’s.

6. Churches have the first vote (and can veto without a word of explanation) the sale of liquor licenses for any business that’s within 500 feet of its cross-bearing doors.

5. A walk in the woods doesn’t smell like fresh pine. Instead it’s the perfume of your childhood; moist black dirt, plush ferns, moss, Poplar trees (not called Aspens in MI) and decaying oak leaves.

4. Carbonated, sugar-infused, acidic water is called “pop” not “soda.” Requesting a soda in a restaurant will be met with a look of utter confusion from the wait-staff.

3. “Highways” refers to 2-laned, 55mph roads with names such as M-57 and M-46. “Expressway” refers to four-laned, 70mph roads like I-96 and US 131. The two terms are not interchangeable, and people get very confused if you try.

2. You go “tubing” in MI and “floating” in MT.

1.5 You can go berry picking on the back 40, literally. While scavenging, scaring a bear isn’t the main concern, mosquitoes are.

And the #1 way to tell you’re not in Missoula Anymore…..

1. When you meet a buddy (or your Dad) for lunch on a weekday, he declines a mid-day beer because he “has to go back to work.” I sometimes forget how liberal MT is alcohol-wise…it was only a few years ago that we outlawed driving with an open container of alcohol in the vehicle.

Broken Arm

2011-07-11T19:20:00.001-06:00

Things that are difficult, downright painful, and/or damned near impossible to do with a broken arm:

Type
Put Harley’s choke collar on
Open the shampoo bottle and pour some in your good hand WITH your good hand
Put sunscreen on the good arm
Shave my underarms
Hang laundry on the line (yeah I’m not sure what I was thinking)
Put on deodorant…shit I couldn’t even get the top off without swearing.
Ride a bike (I was certain I was ok and could ‘ride it off’)
Sew
Knit
Cut a pizza into slices
Fasten a bra…I should maybe get some tips from Joey on Friends.
Move the couch when a gallon of water spills and you don’t want it to ruin the hardwood floor below…for future reference, it’s best to sit on the ground and push with your legs…but be careful with a bruised ankle, you can really piss it off.
Sleep
Blow your nose…this was just plain disastrous.
Wear a backpack
Put in a ponytail

Shit Gone Wrong

2011-07-06T15:30:00.000-06:00

In a dance class recently, the instructor said it doesn’t matter if your steps are perfectly right every time, what matters is how well you recover when you get them wrong. I think this is a good metaphor for life. Life isn’t about everything going smoothly all the time, it’s about how well you recover when shit goes wrong.

This past weekend in Yellowstone was an exercise in recovery. Shit was going wrong all over the place. And while I took most of it in stride with a “Ha, ha, ha” there came a point when it was just too much.

Here’s a brief synopsis of The Shit:

I left Missoula late on Friday and didn’t roll in to Scott & Christine’s until around 6:30pm, so I lost an entire afternoon of hiking and spending time with Scott on his day off.

At 8:00pm the next night, Christine found out she had to report for work at 8:00am the next day. Not much of a warning for her first day on the job. She wasn’t prepared for this, and neither was I. While she frantically tried to put together the required uniform (which hadn’t yet arrived from the Park Service), we bitched about the government’s lack of foresight. Then we played a round of Scrabble and mellowed out with some Bloody Mary’s.

Sunday morning, Christine got up early for work while Scott got in “late” at 7:45am. He had been part of 2 arrests in a very bizarre case that still doesn’t make sense to any rangers. His typical 4:30p to 1:00a shift turned into 4:00p to 8:00am. So one of my hiking partners went to work, while the other went to sleep. I was solo :(

The next evening, Christine & I locked ourselves out of the apartment. Because there’s no cell service in the area, we were forced to drive around in search of a law enforcement officer which would hopefully be Scott…it wasn’t. Instead, we found his supervisor, Phil. After an embarrassing explanation of why we flagged him down, he chuckled & let us in with a master key.

At this point, I was still laughing at the misfortunes of the weekend.

But Monday the 4^th tested my recovery abilities. Christine had her 2^nd day on the job and Scott worked “late” again until 6:30am and needed to sleep all the next day. I was left to search for a hike I could do alone (there’s lots of bears around right now and it’s ill-advised to hike by yourself).

I’d already done the local hikes, so I decided to go to another area of the park. Before heading the 40 minutes down to West Thumb, I stopped in the Bridge Bay Ranger Station to make sure there weren’t any trail closures. The guy behind the desk didn’t seem to want to be bothered. He grudgingly rifled through some papers and assured me the hikes were all open.

However, he was wrong. The only two hikes in West Thumb were closed due to grizzlies frequenting the area. The rangers in the nearby store were of no help, recommending I drive south to Riddle Lake (which was rumored to be closed) or talk to the Interpreter Ranger outside for more suggestions. The Interp Ranger suggested I “get around the closure sign by accessing one of the hikes from another avenue.” When I scoffed at this idea (which is ILLEGAL and UNSAFE) he assured me Riddle Lake was open. The 20 minute drive proved him wrong.

I took a few deep breaths, reassured myself the day wasn’t a total loss yet and went in search of the Grant Village Ranger Station.

This was quite possibly the most difficult office to find. After much, much confusion (and a couple of park employees who weren’t even sure it existed), I finally found the backcountry office. Thankfully these rangers knew their stuff.

“Yep, all the hikes in the area are closed” they told me. They suggested I head north, back where I came from. Or, perhaps I’d like to drive another 30 miles south. With the 45mph park speed limit, I’d arrive round about the time I’m supposed to be back at the apartment to meet Christine for the 4^th of July parade. Ugh.

With tears of frustration, I decided to throw in the towel, let go of the idea of a 4^th of July hike in the backcountry, and find a roadside park where I could sit outside and knit.

A beach of black obsidian sand caught my eye and I chose a nice log and sat down to knit next to Yellowstone Lake. Several rounds of my hat pattern calmed me down. I ended up walking the length of the beach and had myself quite an adventure. I came across wolf tracks, pretty blue flowers I’d never seen before, a heart-shaped rock, some interesting feathers, and I even took off my shoes to wade in Yellowstone Lake for a while. I snapped tons of photos, and felt refreshed and renewed.

Good thing because more Shit was about to go wrong.

The 4^th of July parade started an hour late. Those of us who were waiting were confused and unsure if the parade would start at all. At one point we heard it begin, then there was a lot of commotion and the parade stopped. No one informed us why. Lots of people (especially those with children who’d lost their patience) ended up leaving and missing the parade. When Christine & I finally decided to give up and walk back to the car, the parade began and we had to run back down to catch it…it was worth the wait though!

Then, a storm literally blew in during the employee picnic causing everyone to frantically disperse in the thunder, lightning and downpour of rain. But, Whatever! Once again, I was laughing in the face of Shit, thinking that misadventures make the best stories.

Moral of the Story: When mis-steps in the Dance of Life happen, grab some fabulous yarn, a pair of needles, and KNIT. Trust me, it’s nothing a little K2, P2 can’t cure.

Bear with Me

2011-06-24T11:51:00.001-06:00

Bears have recently become a great passion of mine, and I’ve read countless books and articles to educate myself on accurate information. Subsequently, one of my great frustrations in life is human’s misunderstanding of bears, namely grizzlies. I think we can all agree our perceptions on just about everything are shaped by media; what we see in the newspaper, hear on TV, read on Facebook, etc. etc. etc. I think we can all also agree that the most memorable attention goes to bear attacks. This is unfortunate because bear-to-human attacks happen so infrequently, that by comparison human-to-human attacks IN ONE DAY, IN JUST ONE CITY IN AMERICA are double to triple the number of bear attacks in a year.

While talking yet again with someone about grizzlies in Yellowstone, my blood pressure and frustration quotient began to rise. This person believes there are far too many bears in the world now. He believes they are cold-blooded killers who would sooner eat a human than pass them by. He also believes carrying a gun when hiking or hunting in the backcountry is the best form of protection against bears. I disagree on all accounts.

First of all, there are NOT enough bears in the world. Current studies show that there are so few in the Yellowstone area that they will soon run out of eligible mates due to inbreeding. Bears need a variety of sexual partners to ensure genetically sound offspring. Having fewer bear partners to choose from is directly related to a lack of available habitat. Before you jump in with an argument that Yellowstone is HUGE and can handle thousands of animals, you should know a bit about bear behavior. Male bears travel hundreds of thousands of miles to breed with non-related females, for example from Yellowstone up to Canada. This is no easy task. Just look at a map and you’ll see all the roads, cities, farms, etc. that pose a problem. This area has been a natural bear corridor for centuries. But humans believe this area is ours, and bears shouldn’t intrude on “our” territory. Some people call bears who enter residential areas “problem bears.” I think these same individuals fail to recognize that WE have actually taken over the bear’s territory, and the bears are likely confused that an area they’ve been traveling and feeding in for YEARS is now full of houses and roads. Bears don’t understand property lines.

Bears are not blood-thirsty killers. In fact they have been miscategorized as carnivores when they are actually omnivores. Only 10-15% of their diet consists of meat. Also, in a comparison of bear-to-human interactions vs. actual attacks, the number is miniscule; think less than 2%. Bears typically try to steer clear of humans, and usually walk away or hide when they come into contact with one of us. Habituated bears that tolerate being near humans (like many in Yellowstone), get that way because they have no other choice. Humans are EVERYWHERE, we’re like an infectious disease spreading quickly and easily, developing every spare piece of land possible. Bears can’t even avoid us in the backcountry because so many of us enjoy “getting off the beaten path” and hiking/camping in what few undeveloped areas are left.

Bears that harm humans do so out of protection for themselves, their territory and offspring. They attack because they feel threatened. And the predator bears notorious for “sneaking into campsites and stealing unsuspecting campers” from their tents? That’s because some idiot previously did something stupid to reinforce the bear’s association of humans with food. Like not properly disposing of garbage, or leaving food near campsites where bears can easily get to it. Bears aren’t conniving, planning killers, those are human traits. They don’t have the cognitive ability we’ve tried to project on them. Their only lot in life is to eat, sleep and mate. And similar to us, bears learn quickly and look for an easy way to meet their needs. Think about it, how many of us would rather run through a drive-thru for a quick lunch than go home and spend an hour cooking a meal? It’s the same for bears. Foraging for food is hard work, and oftentimes food is difficult to find. Bears have a keen sense of smell, 150 times more powerful than our own, and if they smell scraps of food left in small rings of charred wood near tents, they are going to follow their nose. Thus, they’ve learned that humans equate to food, and whose fault is that? And yet who do we blame?

As for guns vs. pepper spray, research shows pepper spray is far more effective. Why? Because a bullet has to hit the bear in the exact correct spot to stop them dead in their tracks. A bullet is pretty tiny, and how many people are skilled enough with a gun to actually shoot and hit a moving target smaller than a cracker? If you don’t shoot the bear right between the eyes, or in the heart to kill it instantly, you’re just going to piss it off more. If the bear wasn’t already on the attack, he/she certainly will be after being shot. Pepper spray has a much wider berth, and affects more than one small area. It gets in their eyes, nose and mouth causing vision to be compromised, a brief inability to breathe properly and leaves a nasty taste in their mouth. Fight or flight responses kick into high gear and they’ll likely turn tail and run. Pepper spray also doesn’t kill them, the effects wear off within a half hour which is plenty of time for both of you to get somewhere safe, far away from each other. The bear will recover fully and has just learned a valuable lesson about humans, namely that humans aren’t associated with food. The bear will live to reproduce, ensuring survival of their species and ours.

Our ecosystem is a complex mix of dependency. Mosquitoes annoy the shit out of us, but if they were removed from the food chain, it would only be a matter of time before humans died off as well. The same goes for bears. Without bears, the entire ecosystem will collapse. Bears are amazing, wonderful creatures. Many of us get quite a thrill out of seeing them “in the wild” as well as captive. They’re worth protecting.

A Reel Pain

2011-06-04T14:37:00.000-06:00

Dear Lawnmower,

We’ve been together for 3 years now, and I fear we may be at our relationship’s end. When we first met, I thought you were perfect; all action without the annoying noise and expense of gas. I thought you were the "reel deal" so-to-speak. My friends and family called you 'old-fashioned' since you don't have a motor, but I didn't care. I've always been a fan of mowers like you. Aside from being low-maintenance, you also doubled as good exercise for me, but I won’t share our intimacies here.

Relationships are supposed to have a healthy balance of give and take, but lately it seems like all I do is push. I know you think I’m nagging by constantly telling you to cut the grass, but in my defense that was our initial agreement. I will acknowledge you do have a good point regarding the pre-nup that stated the grass should not be any longer than 4 inches. I feel, however, that it is not my fault Mother Nature decided to rain for like 2 weeks straight with no break to mow.

I know you’re as frustrated as I am right now, but was it really necessary to spit out THAT screw?? It was in a very inconvenient location and took all my patience, and half my morning to replace. Believe me, I got your message loud and clear, and I know it’s petty, but screw you too!

I’m sorry, that really wasn’t very mature. I confided in a friend about our disagreement, and she reminded me that space can be good sometimes, and I shouldn’t make a hasty decision regarding our relationship. So, I’m going to take the weekend to calm down and think things through. I hope when I return tomorrow night that we’ll both be in better places and can rationally discuss what to do next.

Sincerely,

Melanie

Centrum Silver, Anyone???

2011-06-02T23:12:00.000-06:00

It’s official, I’m old. When I was dating The Mechanic, who was 32-33 at the time, he used to say that once he hit 30 his body started falling apart. I always laughed and called him “Old Man” like it was a joke, but now I realize he was pretty serious. He had a hurt wrist, sprained ankle that refused to heal, and some other random hockey or skiing related injury I can’t recall. While watching TV, he would use his exercise band for physical therapy on his ankle. I used to chuckle to myself about that. Well guess who’s laughing now?!?

On my 29^th birthday, I hiked the backside of Mount Sentinel starting at around 9:30pm. I was “hard-core” and didn’t want to use the headlamp until I absolutely needed it…about 15 minutes into the hike I rolled my ankle when I stepped on the edge of a small hole I didn’t see because it was freaking dark out! The headlamp was securely on my head, turned off. It took months to “heal.” I couldn’t even do lunges at the gym for at least 5 months, and I’m not exaggerating. Stupidly, I assumed it was “no big deal” and never went to the doctor. Now, almost 2 years later, it’s still bothering me with shooting pains if I step on it wrong or twist just right.

A few weeks ago, after starting a swing dance class, I realized I was in need of some professional help. I went in to see a doc, who proclaimed it sprained, and scolded me for not coming in when it first happened. In hopes that it won’t become a chronic issue, she recommended some exercises that include an exercise band. Huh. I wonder if The Mechanic still has his that I could borrow…. I also checked with my cousin Cody who is working towards his doctorate’s in Physical Therapy and he had more specific recommendations that include weird standing postures in which you balance on the hurt ankle while swinging your other leg at differing angles & degrees. As odd as they seemed when I read it, they do work. Thanks Code!!

My how things change, my cousin Stephanie and I tried to teach Cody how to swim when he was practically a toddler. Now he’s teaching me about PT…. I really am old.

Anyway, back to my ailments… Not only does my ankle bother me a lot, but I’m also still experiencing issues with a blocked tear duct in my right eye. I had ‘minor surgery’ once, which included numbing of the eye and a doc poking a needle into the tear duct repeatedly. I never felt a thing, but damn it’s hard to hold still when someone’s shoving a needle towards your eyeball!!! Clearly his barbaric tactics didn’t work because I still have to carry a tissue or hanky in my pocket to dab the tears because they won’t drain like they’re supposed to. My Grandma carries a tissue in her pocket all the time. When out in public, people often think I’m crying because I’m constantly dabbing at my eye so it’s all red and puffy. Another sign of old people; they explain their ailments to you in great detail, even when you haven’t asked. Everyone and their brother in Missoula knows about my blocked tear duct.

After explaining my health issues, I told my friend Jen tonight that I’m one ailment away from AARP. And you know what’s worse?!? The damned Mechanic was right, my body did start falling apart at 30.

We're Not in Yellowstone Anymore, Toto

2011-06-02T16:09:00.001-06:00

On my drive home from Yellowstone this afternoon, a few thoughts occurred to me that others who hadn't just been in Yellowstone might find peculiar. It got me thinking about some of the interesting things I've done on previous drives home last summer. These are all either thoughts I've had or things I've actually done when still in "Yellowstone Mode."

Slammed on the breaks on the highway, kicked it into reverse (after checking to make sure no one was coming) when I saw an elk crossing the Clark Fork river about an hour outside of Missoula. Going from 80 to 0 took a bit longer than I would have liked and by the time I got back to the bridge, the elk was gone. In case you were wondering, while I was running in reverse, not only did I manage not to hit the side-rail, but I also got my camera out and ready in what can only be considered record time!
Had the thought "I wish there was a visitor center nearby cuz I really have to pee!"
Saw a cow lying on it's side out in a pasture next to the highway and thought "Ooh, is that a dead cow??? I bet if I watch long enough a griz or a wolf will come feed on the carcass!"
When I saw red brake lights up ahead on 90, I excitedly wondered "Is everyone stopped for an animal???" They weren't. It was a traffic jam for construction. Seriously not as fun as a bear jam.
Whipped a u-turn on Highway 287 when I thought I saw two baby elk in a field. Turns out they were baby cows. But cute ones, so it wasn't a total loss.

Hunter's Visit

2011-05-28T10:15:00.009-06:00

Remember when you were a kid and time stood still? A week felt like a lifetime, and summer lasted for infinity. When you had something fun to look forward to, it never got here fast enough. You know you’re not a kid anymore when time flies by.

It seems like just last week that my cousin Stephanie proposed a visit. Back in February, May seemed like an eternity away. And yet it's already May 27. The week with my cousins has come to a close, and here I sit reminiscing about the previous week.

Growing up, Steph and I were a lot alike. We both had boy baby dolls, we loved to swim, talk late into the night, ride bikes and make mud pies out of the neighboring farm’s corn. We liked to shop, and even enjoyed buying the exact same outfits. Sometimes people would think we were twins, which we were both especially proud of. We’re still a lot alike; both fitness and control freaks, list makers and planners. We love hiking & biking, taking walks, and playing Scrabble, though we don’t enjoy staying up late anymore…yet another sign of our waning youth.

I made a list of things for us to do during their visit, and we both delighted in checking items off. We accomplished almost everything on the list, including riding the Carousel, shopping downtown, playing at Dragon’s Hollow and Westside parks. We walked the Kim Williams trail, ate Big Dipper ice cream, hiked the Rattlesnake, drove down the Bitterroot, and wandered REI. We had drinks and appetizers at the new Tamarack Brewing Company, and hiked the M. To Brock’s dismay, we did not hike the L…mainly because it wasn’t on our list, and it’s really steep!

We also had a bonfire, cooked brats on a pitchfork, and read The Poky Little Puppy so many times I think we all have it memorized. Steph and I played nightly games of Scrabble that turned into a Best Out of 3 Tournament, but who can remember who won??? (Obviously it wasn’t me, or I’d be bragging!) We each drank our body weight in soda and coffee, and sang Sally the Camel and The Wheels on the Bus till Brock could recite the words on his own. We all agreed Glacier should be nixed from the list due to the long drive, and the fact that only 15 miles of Going to the Sun road are open right now.

Deron and I had opposite opinions about whether soda causes dehydration. I ended up Googling it and discovered this is in fact a myth…Deron was right, soda does NOT cause dehydration. And in case you’d like to look it up yourself, there are a couple of studies published in the Journal of American College of Nutrition. This prompted a discussion about DOI’s, and subsequent Google searches to determine their exact purpose. (Which is to provide an identifier for online content, I have to cite DOI's for APA-style papers, Deron didn't have to for MLA/Chicago styles.)

It was an amazing week, I took hundreds of photos, and I’m already missing my houseguests. The house feels empty and lonely now, and thankfully I only have to endure it for the next few hours because I’ll be onto the next adventure tomorrow, visiting Scott in Yellowstone.

Here are some videos and pictures from the visit (and they're mostly of Brock)….

Adios!

2011-05-18T11:34:00.001-06:00

There’s something about Missoula men, they seem to have very similar characteristics. Many of the guys around here are emotionally stunted, adrenaline junky, commitment-phobes who drink way too much, way too often. Not ALL Missoula men are like this, I am stereotyping. But you know what they say about stereotypes; they save time. (I don’t really think that, but it’s funny!) Just when a girl thinks maybe she’s stereotyping a bit too much, she meets yet another dude who fits the bill. It’s frustrating.

Maybe you’ve been casually spending time together for a few days, or perhaps seeing each other for a few weeks. Maybe you’re sleeping together, and maybe you’re not. No matter which, I think we can all agree that ending things is uncomfortable and awkward. Sometimes you really just want to send someone packing without actually having the conversation. So ladies, here’s Mel’s Top Ten ways to get rid of a Missoula guy without having to say “we’re done.” Some of these are phony, and some I’ve learned firsthand…can you tell which is which??

10. Sport an “I hate Subaru” t-shirt.

9. Either tell him you hate dogs, or that yours is aggressive with other animals and he can’t bring his dog over when he comes to watch a movie.

8. Order a soda at dinner, and proclaim you don’t drink alcohol.

7. If #8 is too far-fetched, and/or you’ve already ordered a glass of wine, tell him your favorite beer is Coors Light. He’ll be outta there faster than he can text his buddies “K-hole in 10.”

6. Tell him you keep a stash of baby clothes because someday you want kids. This one is actually kind of fun, you get to watch his face quickly drain of all color and satisfyingly listen to him blubber something about how he’s suddenly feeling sick and needs to go.

5. Invite him to attend church with you at 8am on Sunday.

4. When he asks what brand of hiking boots you own, snottily reply “I’m not really a fan of the outdoors.”

3. Talk about yourself, and don’t let him get a word in edgewise. He’ll hate that you’re stealing his thunder, and he won’t even understand the irony that this is what he does ALL THE TIME.

2. Try to set a second date before the first one is finished.

And the #1 way to send a guy running faster than the flow of the Clark Fork river….

1. Give the impression that you’re interested in a relationship.

Men vs. Dogs

2011-05-14T13:23:00.000-06:00

So many single ladies really want a man. They want a boyfriend to cuddle, someone to take them out for a nice dinner once in a while, a guy to give back rubs and foot massages, someone to talk with, debate current events and watch TV. As a single lady myself, I can attest to the occasional desire for a guy too. But I’m realizing more and more that dogs are just plain better. Dogs fulfill almost all of these roles, without expecting anything in return, talking back, or generally pissing me off. I’ve often said anyone who wants a boyfriend really just needs a dog…and here’s why:

• Dogs are great cuddlers. They love to snuggle up next to you and be petted. They’ll gladly share their warmth, and won’t yell at you or move away when you put your freezing cold feet on them.

• Excessive fur is cute on dogs.

• Dogs will listen endlessly to your rantings about what a horrible day you’ve had. They won’t tell you that you handled the situation wrong with your boss. They’ll patiently listen, and then comfort you with a little nuzzle.

• If you train him right, your dog will happily fetch you a beer, without expecting anything in return but a little pat on the head. Wine might be a bit more difficult, what with needing a glass and all…but if you just drink the whole bottle, then problem solved!

• You can listen to your favorite music all day long with a dog. They won’t touch the volume, or tell you “For God’s sake do NOT play Kenny Chesney again!”

• Dogs don’t care if your house is clean, your clothes don’t match, or if you gain weight. In fact, they’ll probably be excited because it means more walks for them!

• There’s nothing to try and figure out with dogs. No confusing and infuriating mind games. There’s no need to wonder “What is he thinking?” He’s a dog, he’s likely thinking he wants food or a ball, or “where’s the squirrel?”

• Dogs are forever LOYAL. They’ll enthusiastically say hi to the cute, skinny blonde at the dog park, but there’s no way in hell they want to go home with anyone but YOU.

I know what you’re thinking, “What about sex?” Because if you’re a guy reading this, I know you think about sex every 10 seconds, if you’re a girl, you think about it once every 2 minutes. It probably took you at least 2 minutes to read the rest of the post, so now you’re thinking, “What about sex?” You can’t have sex with a dog. Or at the very least you SHOULDN’T. It’s just plain gross. Now, I like sex as much as the next person, and will admit that guys are pretty handy for this. But to be honest ladies, we can probably do it better ourselves anyway. Stick with a dog for everything else, and visit Adam & Eve on Broadway for the other….

Sidewalks & Bike Lanes

2011-05-13T16:17:00.000-06:00

Prepare yourself, I’m gonna rant. I thought the terms “sidewalk” and “bike lane” were pretty self-explanatory. The intended purpose is included right in the name! You walk on the sidewalk, and ride your bike in the bike lane. This makes perfect sense to me. Apparently others have difficulty with this though. I’m not sure that there’s actually room for misinterpretation here, but I’m willing to extend the benefit of the doubt. It could be misinterpretation, misunderstanding, dyslexia, or perhaps illiteracy. Anyone experiencing these issues are exempt from the following. The rest of the people who simply choose to ignore the not-so-subtle nuances of “sidewalk” and “bike lane” read on…

I witnessed what appeared to be a highly functioning, cognitively capable adult male almost collide his bicycle at a very high speed with a woman pushing a stroller. That baby could’ve been seriously injured, and I’m not being sarcastic here. I also had to jump out of his way, and practically tripped over myself in the process. A mere 3 feet away was a very wide, paved bike lane this “gentleman” could’ve been riding in. The bike lane was free and clear of all women pushing baby strollers, and women in flip-flops (such as me) who trip over their own two feet when sober.

Sadly, this scene is repeated all over Missoula. I routinely have to get out of the way of some random biker when a bike lane is readily available. Unless you’re under the age of 12, or over the age of 75, I don’t think your bike belongs on the sidewalk, unless you’re WALKING it!!!! Rules clearly state that it’s the car’s responsibility to look out for bikers, it’s biker’s responsibility to look out for pedestrians, and pedestrian’s responsibility to look out for dogs and squirrels. I believe the saying goes “Anything shorter or slower than you has the right of way.” I would like to add “The right-of-way belongs to whoever is in the correct spot. If you’re walking in the bike lane, you better have eyes in the back of your head. If you’re biking on the sidewalk, you’d better be prepared to shoot off into the grass or come to a complete stop instantly for anyone or any animal that’s walking.”

I understand that sometimes bike lanes are unavailable. Neither Russell nor Brooks streets have decent bike lanes. If you’re riding your bike on either of those streets, A) you clearly don’t value your life, B) you’re a big risk taker who likely invests in crazy schemes like the stock market, C) should have your Final Will & Testament in order, and D) by all means, use the sidewalks (if there are any), but watch out for pedestrians! Bikers still do not have the right-of-way!
Also, this ruling does not apply to trails, such as the Kim Williams Trail or Rattlesnake Main Trail. It is expected by all who use these trails that both bikers and walkers alike will be encountered. We use them at our own risk, whatever form of transportation we’re using.

So in closing, I would like to thank all the bikers out there who routinely use the bike lane, and all the walkers who use the sidewalk. Your rule-following is much appreciated :)

Semesters' End

2011-05-05T20:10:00.000-06:00

Today was the last day of my first year of grad school. (Say that 3 times fast.) I made it through two entire semesters! I’m still alive and I haven’t been institutionalized. I believe I’ll have all A’s for the 5 classes I’ve taken, so I’d say the last 9 months have been a success. I spent the 45 minute walk home marveling at the wonder that is me. The sun is shining, I have good music on my iPod. “Life is good” I thought.

Then I walked in my front door and was accosted by reality. I forgot to sign and mail my Mother’s Day cards…every single day this week. I haven’t swept my hardwood floors in 2 weeks, I can’t even remember the last time I vacuumed. There’s more than a weeks' worth of dishes piled in both sides of my double sink, and many more overflowing onto the countertop. The dogs are out of water, there’s a mound of laundry I’ve been ignoring for weeks, and my fridge is empty except for Coors Light and leftover Biga Pizza.

Maybe I jumped too quickly when labeling the last 9 months a “success.”

It also came to my attention that my phone, digital camera and laptop all died today because I forgot to charge all three of them. The tires are still bald on Big Blue because I never seem to find time or allocate money for new ones. I have no job and unemployment will run out all too soon. I can’t remember the last time I returned a phone call in a timely manner. Ditto for emails.

Huh, maybe “the wonder that is me” was a little ambitious.

But in the midst of all I haven’t done, I feel the need to remind myself (and subsequently, you) of all that I have accomplished. I read over 1300 pages in the last 15 weeks alone! I’ve written 16 papers, created no less than 3 PowerPoints, survived 4 in-class presentations, and completed 2 group projects. I also managed to knit 27 dishcloths and hand towels during class time.

So while the word “success” might have been overzealous, I feel a great sense of accomplishment. Starting the MSW program is one of the best decisions I've made...so is not taking summer classes this year! Now, I'm onto 3 months of relaxing summer fun before hell starts all over again. Next fall, I'll leap back in by taking 16 credits and working a 15-hour-a-week internship. I'm quite certain my mantra will be "Serenity now!"

Marshall Mtn (Mis)Adventure

2011-05-01T16:14:00.000-06:00

It was a beautiful spring Saturday, so I loaded up the boys and we drove to East Missoula to hike Marshall Mountain. It's less a real hiking trail and more just wandering some old logging roads. As we drove out of Missoula, I suddenly realized we were leaving gorgeous sunshine, and driving straight into some pretty nasty dark cloud-cover. It's spring in Montana, I thought, it won't last.

The dogs and I headed up one such road that appeared to be vacant, i.e. hopefully no one else was on the trail with an off-leash dog. Thankfully, no one was.

The sun made some random appearances, and the dogs and I enjoyed the views of East Missoula as we climbed higher and higher. We were just really getting into the groove, which means that Harley had finally stopped running circles and tangling his leash around Reese & I...causing me to spin like a ballerina to un-tangle myself. Reese had finally stopped trying to pee on every blade of grass we passed by.

I had been so involved in thinking about what an amazing place I live in that I didn't notice the clouds had rolled in yet again. As if without warning, it started to hail pea-sized balls of snow.

We took cover under a pine tree for a few minutes and then pressed on, certain it wouldn't last. Harley and I were unperturbed by the inclement weather, "Ha, ha, ha, spring in Montana" we laughed. Reese was less enthused. In fact, I believe I heard some grumblings to the effect of "When we get home, I'm going to bleep all over that bleeping mound of bleeping laundry you're too bleeping lazy to wash." (I replaced all the not-so-nice words to make this post a little more PG.)

We continued for another half mile, thinking with each step that the hail would soon let up. It did not. Poor Reese looked so miserable, that I finally decided we should turn around. It continued to hail even harder for the entire 40 minute hike back down to the car.

When we got home, I was a little scared to let Reese in the house afraid he'd make good on the earlier threat. I made sure to start the laundry right away, just in case.

Microsoft Word Thesaurus

2011-04-26T23:08:00.000-06:00

Occasionally my intellect is not up to grad school standards…either that or it’s the intense stress I’m under because I’ve procrastinated for 3 months and now there’s only 48 hours left to write a 30 page paper. Studies do show stress causes cognitive difficulties...

Sometimes being intelligent means being resourceful, i.e. if you can’t do it, find someone or something who can. Since neither Reese nor Harley ever answer when I yell out “Dammit, what’s another word for ‘_____’?” I’m left to turn to Microsoft Word’s Thesaurus. This has saved many a paper from becoming a C-. It’s also saved me from being expelled for plagiarizing.

Tonight, on the Eve of the Eve of the Due-Date, I was frantically searching for another word to insert in place of “disorganized,” as I’d already used it 16 times in the previous 2 paragraphs. Word’s thesaurus was very helpful with the following suggestions:

Messy
Muddled
Jumbled
Anarchic
Unsystematic
Disjointed
And my personal favorite, higgledy-piggledy.

Can you just imagine Dr. Conley’s reaction to reading “Negative symptoms consist of social and emotional withdrawal, flat affect, loss of interest in normally pleasurable activities, lack of motivation, and higgledy-piggledy thought and speech patterns.” Higgledy-piggledy???? Seriously?!? This is the STUDENT EDITION of Microsoft Word. I bought it in the campus bookstore!!!!! What kind of student uses that terminology??? Bill Gates, you may be a genius but I think you might need a thesaurus for your thesaurus.

The Story of My Life

2011-04-24T14:48:00.003-06:00

So my BFF Erin has been encouraging me for years to write an autobiography. You may be wondering "Why" and "Who would want to read that?????" Quite possibly no one. BUT, the shit that happens in my life really does seem awfully outrageous. Especially when you factor in what a lame-o, boring, Vanilla person I am. With the exception of a minor rebellious streak, I'm pretty straight-laced. And yet some of the experiences I've had are so contrary to my personality that it's ironically funny. Some of them you may have already read about on this blog.

So, in preparation for said autobiography, I've started picking out nicknames to protect confidentiality. When it comes to boys, there's The Mechanic, Mr. Policeman, The X Husband, Evil Knievel, The One-Night-Stand Hairy Monster, The Immature One, The Cowboy, Chip the Sixth (yeah, there's no confidentiality there but his stories are mostly good...and the ones that aren't will remain a secret), and Luke the Liar (also not very confidential). For friends, there's Jen, Miriam, Jen Jacaruso, Danni, Tiff, Sandra, Kari, WI Erin, Melissa, Erin Reagan, Erin Catterton, Steph, John, Courtney, Kacey, Shan, Tracy, Christie, Will, etc. etc. etc. Only a true genius will be able to decipher these pseudonyms.

Cleverly, I think I'll title the book "The Story of My Life." It's gonna be a best-seller. Just you wait....

Single

2011-04-22T18:23:00.001-06:00

I’m frequently asked “Why are you still single?” It’s happened so often lately that I’ve started to wonder myself, “Why AM I single??” Like one of my previous hospice patients pointed out, I’m not the homeliest girl in the world, I’m reasonably attractive. I’m intelligent and funny, or at least I think so. I crack myself up every day! So, why am I 30 and single? The short answer is that I have yet to find a compatible partner. While true, this doesn’t seem quite adequate…..

I really feel like I have the “whole package” so-to-speak. I think my personal ad pretty much writes itself:

SWF, Divorced, no kids but 2 very spoiled dogs who are the center of my world. I don’t cook, I don’t clean, I don’t compromise. I do what I want, when I want. I’m always right, and will debate to the death in attempt to prove this. I don’t grocery shop. I mow the lawn and change my own oil and tires… Preference is given to a guy who has the proper tools for me to accomplish these. I like things my way. I don’t give out a lot of compliments, though I like to receive them. All the closets in my house are full of my clothes, any potential partner should provide his own storage in the form of a shed or trailer. I’m open and honest, and hate lying. My brother is and will remain the most important guy in my life, period. I talk and knit during movies. Should I miss a key point in the plot, my partner is expected to provide a brief recap without complaint. Said partner should enthusiastically request handknit items, but only after trust in the relationship is fully established. If the relationship fizzles, I retain rights to all handknit items. My money is my money and I’ll spend it how I want. I’m moody and irritable if I don’t get enough sleep…and sometimes even when I do get enough sleep. I’m responsible, respectful and independent. Seeking SM between the ages of 28 and 38 who can deal with all this.

With such incredible character traits, one must wonder “Why AM I single????” It just isn’t clear….

Sort Pink 2011

2011-04-19T12:43:00.000-06:00

Cows. Horses. Hard-core pick-ups for as far as the eye can see. Guys in cowboy hats and sexy, tight jeans. Oh yeah, it was a good weekend.

Steph & I spent the weekend down the Bitterroot at a rodeo fundraiser benefiting breast cancer. It's called Sort Pink; sort refers to the main event - sorting cattle one-by-one in numerical order on horseback. I'm sure it goes without saying that I was merely a spectator donning pink attire. It took us awhile, but we finally caught on to the rules. A nice, young cowboy obliged our many questions. "So this is your first sort?" he asked after the first round of 21 questions.

Festivities kicked off Friday night with a concert by Wylie and The Wild West. Fantastic, TRUE, classic country music, complete with a fiddle. The kind of music I grew up listening to on 101.3, before it changed to The Fox. Wylie is aptly named; he was quite a character on stage, dancing and jumping around. They write & play their own music, and the crowd really got into it. It took me a little bit to warm up....quite literally.

I spent a great deal of time planning my outfits for the weekend. For the concert, I'd picked out a silk, pink paisley print dress with a jean jacket and white silk scarf. I found some awesome cowboy-boot-look-alike clogs at a thrift store to complete the look. Steph's Uncle Steve's first full sentence to me was "Are you going to be warm enough? I've got some coveralls in there if you need 'em." Uncomprehending, I said "I think I'll be fine, it's inside right???" Steve then informed me that yes, it is inside, but the barn is only about 45 degrees. Barn???

The huge aluminum-sided building in front of us, was in fact a barn. A real barn. With a dirt floor. This wasn't a Michigan-style pole barn with a cement floor and pellet stove. Walking to our seats was quite a challenge for me in the soft dirt with clogs. I also became supremely self-conscious seeing as how everyone else was wearing wranglers, large belt buckles, well worn real cowboy boots and hats. The tune "Like a rhinestone cowboy" was playing through my head. I received some strange looks. In their defense, I was a bit dolled up...slinky silk dress, curled hair, an ankle bracelet and fancy clog shoes. I don't think I would've been more out of place if I was wearing a sign proclaiming "I'm a Liberal!"

Thankfully, I did get over myself enough to dance. (With the help of a little Mike's hard lemonade at intermission.) This was good dancin' music! And by god, I wasn't about to let that opportunity pass by! I also thoroughly enjoyed watching the couples dance. Cowboys know how to dance!

Saturday Steph & I got up, made breakfast and headed back to the Diamond A Arena for the sorting rodeo. We were detoured twice by a yard sale and a Bluegrass Music Festival. But we pressed on, and got to the barn in time to see both Deb & Steve ride into the pen to sort. I learned a lot of the terminology this weekend, but I'm still a little vague on which is the sorter and which is the cutter. Maybe I'll Google it later.

I took tons of photos...many of which likely label me a creeper. Other than Deb & Steve, I didn't know a soul there. Yet, I took over 50 photos of different people. I stood behind a couple of older cowboys during the concert and took about 5 pictures of them trying to get just the right light. Honest, I wasn't objectifying them...but they did look real good in those Wrangler's. Cowboys know how to wear jeans!

This weekend rekindled my childhood dream of owning a horse. And sparked a new dream of having my own cowboy :)

Moodle-oodle-oooo

2011-04-07T23:17:00.002-06:00

The U is switching from the online system Blackboard to something called Moodle. I’ve taken a very part-time job training faculty in the College of Biomed Sciences on the new system. It’s every bit as complicated as it sounds. My main job is to un-complicate Moodle, and make it manageable enough to deter mass resignations for the Summer 2011 semester.

Training faculty involves group sessions, one-on-one consultations, weekly “Tips” emails and creating various YouTube videos for the Do-It-Yourselfers.

It’s spring break, and I should be somewhere sunny and warm with my toes in the sand with a cold, fruity umbrella drink in my hand. But, unemployment has rendered my finances too low for extravagant spring-breaking. Instead, my spring break consists of a couple Coors Lights, walking in cold, windy weather to campus, and lots of inside-time devoted to Moodle.

This week, I’m focused on creating a video series for Moodle. Because it’s spring break, I have the luxury of 4 enthusiastic youngins as my Cast & Crew. Ellie is the oldest (and most mature) at 11, Sam & Daynen are two 10 year old wildmen, and rounding out the crew is the ever-imaginative Sol, age 9.

Let me paint ya a lil picture about our first 30 minutes together. CHAOS, pure chaos! Sol was literally bouncing in his seat, shouting ideas about a Star Wars theme in which the Death Star stars as Blackboard and gets blown up; Daynen & Sam were wriggling on the couch propelling ideas into the air faster than bullets during WWII. Their ideas had all the violence of WWII as well. Ellie quietly sat on the couch donning a tiara and star-shaped wand. She was immediately dubbed the Moodle Fairy!

Since this is a low-low-budget production, we have to make do with whatever free materials are available to us. We’re also limited on time. Given those parameters, here are a few ideas the kids came up with:

~Claymation characters created with stop motion technology. Sam was partial to an entire Claymation village, complete with trees.

~We rent Harry Potter costumes and act out Moodle “scenes,” to be filmed with the Flip camera we borrowed from the Tech Dept. Unfortunately, this would have also entailed a Harry Potter marathon because none of us could remember what spells were what. No one was in favor of making up our own spells; the kiddos stood firm at authenticity.

~Sol had a great idea of using Scooby Doo characters, or making costumes for ourselves, and we could “Solve the Mystery of Moodle.” We all loved this idea, but it fell through when we couldn’t locate any Scooby Doo items. Ebay was a little out of reach in $$ and timeframe.

~Daynen & Sam thought we should do a “newsroom” plot in which Mr. Blackboard and Mr. Moodle get into an argument over which one is better. This transitioned into a fist-fight with Mr. Moodle winning in the 5th round.

~Ellie had the idea of doing a spoof on the humorous Old Spice commercials. After watching a couple of them on YouTube, Sam said “Great, all we need a black guy to perform for us.” Out of the mouths of babes…in Rankin Hall, the School of Social Work.

Brainstorming took an exorbitant amount of time, and I naively thought expelling energy on ideas might make the boys calmer and more manageable when filming finally began. Apparently a filming camera inspires children to act like monkeys. Calm went right out the window. During one take, Sam & Daynen forget all about the Moodle screen they’re supposed to show us, and instead they spin in their office chairs, and discover the levers to lower and heighten the seats. It became a sort of ballet of chairs going up and down, round and round.

After several takes, we finally accomplish one of the scenes to perfection! However….at the very end, I overexcitedly shout “Perfect!!!” and am now having trouble extracting this audio section. Shit.

Day 2 goes much the same, only Daynen and Sam weren’t available, so they’ve been replaced by Sweets and Reese, the dogs. As our takes neared double digits, we finally realized it’s best to let the dogs lie where they feel comfortable, and we’ll bring the computer and mouse to them. This worked well until Sweets decided he wanted a new spot. Reese wouldn’t sit still long enough to wear a mortarboard for “graduation from Moodle Academy.” Both dogs were far more interested in the bones we used to entice them into place, it became a game of who’s going to steal who’s bone, and run away to hide it. It was obvious the dogs should be separated. Things ran much more smoothly then.

I was warned my crew had “strong” personalities. No problem, I said. I can deal with anything. I may have bit off more than I can chew, though. Sol emphatically decided he did not want to be an actor on camera, and he’s our only choice for what we’ve dubbed UM’s new superhero, “Moodle Man.” There was absolutely no persuading him. During a second brainstorming session, Sol became adamant that his idea of a newscast Claymation interview is what we absolutely have to do. Ellie was shot down when she offered “That’s a great possibility, but how about a few more ideas???”

The day ended when we miraculously got both dogs to do exactly what we wanted! Now we have two perfect scenes…for the same section of the video.

It was an FFT spring break...which stands for Fan-F*c#!&%-Tastic (I learned that from one of my profs, I'm in the BEST program!!) The kids were tons of fun, and I woke up this morning disappointed that they had to go back to school. They almost made me regret changing my major from Elementary Ed to Social Work....almost. :)

Spring in Montana

2011-03-28T18:31:00.000-06:00

It’s springtime in Montana, and much like where I grew up in Michigan, that means the weather will likely change every 5 minutes. This morning, when I left my house for campus, it was sunny with blue skies for as far as the eye could see. It rained while I was in a 2 hour meeting, and was overcast when I walked outside. During my 40 minute lunch on the 2nd floor of the UC, it rained again, hailed, snowed, and rained once more.

Forgetful of Montana spring weather, I left the house ill-prepared. When I was ready to head home from the UC, I stayed an extra 15 minutes waiting for the rain to stop. It didn’t. So I headed back into the Bookstore to buy a baseball hat to make the 45 minute walk home more bearable. No sooner did I pay and adjust the hat to my head, than the sun came out and rendered the hat unnecessary. Oh well, it’s a cute hat. Maybe next time it’ll rain hard enough to warrant purchasing the maroon Under Armor hooded jacket I’ve been coveting.

Mother Nature provided a poignant reminder of springtime necessities. I advise you carry the following gear from now until about July 1 when spring ends:

• Umbrella
• Rain coat and pants for heavy rain
• Wear waterproof shoes. If you succumb to the fashion over function temptation, at least carry some little rubber booties to go over your shoes in case of inclement weather
• Baseball cap in case of light rain that doesn’t warrant an umbrella or the rain gear
• Knit (preferably handknit) hat for those times when the temperature drops 20 degrees in 20 minutes and your ears feel like they might fall off
• Down coat and snowpants in the event of a snowstorm. As a bonus, you’ll be prepared for impromptu sledding or skiing
• Dress in layers, with a tank under your long sleeve shirt, sweatshirt AND sweater so you can take advantage of the brief 70 degree heat and get a kick-start on your summer tan
• Handknit scarf, both light and heavyweight. The former in case it gets chilly, the latter for the inevitable freeze-your-ass-off cold that blows in unexpectedly.
• Sunglasses with interchangeable lenses for overcast skies
• Mittens or gloves

Carrying these items at all times should keep you from being caught off guard by Mother Nature. “Should” being the key word….in Montana, you just never know…

Hospice

2011-03-13T20:54:00.000-06:00

When I tell people I’m a hospice volunteer, I frequently get the same response “Wow, that’s got to be really depressing.” I love the look of shock on their faces when I say “No, it’s really fun!” In all honesty, sometimes it is depressing. Sometimes the patients are really sad and down, but that’s a rarity in my experience. Most often, patients are happy to have company and they are still LIVING. They’re still paying attention to world events, talking with their families about upcoming special occasions, and wondering what to eat for dinner. Hospice patients aren’t all that different from the rest of us. The following stories are all examples of the fun I have when visiting hospice patients. I’ll let you be the judge on whether it sounds depressing or not. All names have been changed to protect confidentiality.

I visit Harry on a Tuesday evening, and he’s in a pretty good mood. We sit in his kitchen discussing relationships and marriage. Harry discloses that he’s been married and divorced three times. I’m divorced too, but I rarely share that information. Harry has a very comforting presence though, and I tell him I got divorced a couple years ago. We share some of our favorite memories of being married. Harry suddenly asks if I plan to re-marry someday. I say honestly, “Maybe, I really don’t know.” Harry retorts very matter-of-factly, “You’re young, and a reasonably attractive girl, I mean not the prettiest girl in the world, but not the homeliest either. I’m sure someone will want to marry you again.” I stifle a laugh and thank him for the “compliment.”

Marsha is a 98 year old hospice patient who really does not want to die. She has had health problems for many years and doesn’t believe “now is her time.” She’s been planning her 100th birthday party since she turned 95. I’ve been visiting her for months, and she rarely shows signs of her medical condition. The oxygen tank is the only thing that gives her away. Every week like clock-work, I show up to visit with her and her husband. We have very lively discussions about the US education system, politics, religion, books, relationships and dogs. Each week they show me a picture of the last four dogs they owned. Proud parents of dogs who lived well beyond their expected time, yet still not long enough. I can’t help but draw parallels to their belief their dogs should have lived another 7-8 years, when they’d already doubled their life expectancy; and Marsha has lived well past most humans and yet she still wants 10-15 more years. She has plans to visit Europe and see the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre and Guggenheim. Marsha and her husband are very optimistic. I can only hope I’ll be the same way if I’m blessed enough to live that long.

Suzy is also in her 90’s. She’s the most adorable little old lady I’ve ever seen! She is a tiny woman, not more than 100 pounds. She has long silver hair she keeps in a loose bun, her glasses are clearly from the 1980’s because they are huge round things that take up half her tiny face, and she shuffles from room to room in fluffy slippers. She lives alone way back in the woods with a couple of very old, very obese dogs. Suzy smokes like a chimney and swears like a sailor. There is such incongruence between her appearance and her personality. Her voice is high-pitched yet rough from years of cigarette inhalation. On one of my visits she talks about her ex-husband. Some of the things she shares are hard to hear. I nod along, knowing she may need to talk for her own good, not necessarily because she wants me to respond in a certain way. Suzy has long ceased to shock me with her topics of conversation. Her harsh words and crude humor now seem “normal” to me. Suddenly, she knocks my socks off again by asking “So when did you lose your virginity?”

I thoroughly enjoy my duties as a hospice volunteer! I like learning people’s stories, hearing about their lives and sharing parts of mine when it is appropriate. The connections made with patients are invaluable, and they’ll stick with me for the rest of my life.

Songs From My Youth

2011-02-28T14:53:00.000-07:00

My cousin Stephanie made a comment on my last post about how the song Love Shack reminded her of a certain someone doing cartwheels in a dress when we were in grade school. I won't mention who that was. Her comment lead me to think about other songs from my youth...Can't wait to hear yours!

1. Mony Mony, Billy Idol (Steph & I danced to this song at every family wedding!)
2. I'm Too Sexy, Right Said Fred
3. Take My Breath Away, Berlin (This was my "song" with a jr. high boyfriend)
4. One Moment in Time, Whitney Houston
5. Celebration, Kool and the Gang (Another one Steph & I always danced to)
6. YMCA, Village People
7. Vogue, Madonna
8. Like a Prayer, Madonna (Danni introduced me to Madonna with this song!)
9. Lost in Your Eyes, Debbie Gibson
10. Cold-Hearted Snake, Paula Abdul
11. Opposites Attract, Paula Abdul (Steph, I won't embarrass us both with the memories of this one, but it involves a broom, us singing, and choreographing to this song in Cedarville. Whadyaknow, I did embarrass us with the memory!)
12. Need You Tonight, INXS
13. Beat It, Michael Jackson
14. Footloose, Kenny Loggins
15. Borderline, Madonna (This song was on some horrible movie I watched as a kid in which a bunch of teenagers got caught on a raft while an oil-slick-like monster gradually sucked them all into the water and killed them. I'm still freaked out every time I hear this song.)
16. Physical, Olivia Newton John
17. Listen to Your Heart, Roxette
18. Wild, Wild West, Escape Club (One year my baby-sitter's nephew missed the bus because he requested this song from 104.5 and refused to leave the house until they played it. Shelly was pissed!)
19. Enter Sandman, Metallica (I had a crush on another baby-sitter's brother who was like 4 years older than me. He introduced me to rock and I've been hooked ever since! I think his name was Corey Oligny.)
20. All songs on Use Your Illusion I & II, Guns N' Roses (Derick Dewey and I used to talk on the phone ALL THE TIME and listen to these tapes. He memorized my old phone number by saying 9-3-7-Five-Eleven-Seven.)

I know there are TONS more, but these are the ones that came to mind first...and I'm supposed to be doing homework. Guess I should quit messing around and do it. But now Paula Abdul is stuck in my head... "He's a cold hearted sna-ake, look into his eyes, uh ohhh, he's been tellin lies..."

2011-02-23T11:30:00.002-07:00

Songs I absolutely never pass by when I hear them, in random order:
1. November Rain, Guns N Roses
2. 18 and Life, Skid Row
3. Breathe, Taylor Swift
4. The Pursuit, Evans Blue
5. The Flame, Cheap Trick
6. Breath, Breaking Benjamin
7. Sooner or Later, Breaking Benjamin
8. Fishin in the Dark, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
9. Any song by The Judds
10. Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue, Crystal Gayle
11. Sail On Gone, Tom Catmull
12. The New One, Tom Catmull
13. Family Tradition, Hank Williams Jr.
14. Somewhere With You, Kenny Chesney
15. My Immortal, Evanescence
16. The House that Built Me, Miranda Lambert
17. Summertime, Kenny Chesney
18. Q, Evans Blue
19. Love Shack, The B52’s
20. Not Ready to Make Nice, Dixie Chicks
21. Tequila Sunrise, The Eagles

Apparently there are a lot of songs I never pass by. I'm curious what yours are???

Priorities

2011-02-13T21:16:00.000-07:00

It’s no secret I’ve been in counseling for a while. I’m quite proud of that because as a social worker, mental & emotional health are extremely important to me. It’s good to walk the talk. In my session earlier this week, my counselor made the comment that I seem to be embracing this whole unemployment business with gusto. “Some people would be complaining and whiny!” She said. It got me thinking about how there are some things that I’m really “go with the flow” about, but I freak out about others. My priorities may be a little wacked.
• Become unemployed? Pish-posh, no worries! This just means I have more time for knitting, schoolwork & walking everywhere.
• Get rear-ended on campus? A shrug of the shoulders and a “Whadya do?” According to my hit-and-runner it was God’s will. Thanks God!
• Superbowl won’t come in on my TV? FREAK OUT! Hissy. Fit. Capital H, capital F.
• Slice my thumb open with a serrated, double blade knife, bleed all over and pass out on my bathroom floor? No problem. I’ll just lay on the couch to recoup.
• Harley gets a small puncture wound on his face? Panic attack and frantic texts to a friend to ask for help.
• Reese is attacked by 2 hound dogs on a walk several blocks from home, and I have to carry him bleeding all over hell AND be pulled by Harley on a leash all the way home? Oh I’m calm, cool & collected. There’s a slight panic, I’m a bit shaky, and praying Reese won’t die. But that’s it.
• Take Reese to the vet and hear he’s going to be fine? Sob with relief for several minutes, then spend hours going over all possible, negative scenarios in which he could’ve died.

Clearly things are a bit skewed in my world.

Your Truck Turns Me On

2011-02-11T16:35:00.001-07:00

Yeah you, with the rusted out 70’s Ford F-150 full-size Ranger, 1978 I think. Two-toned; mint & classic green. Yeah you. You caught me checking out your truck. I even lowered my sunglasses for that one. I almost hit the X-Terra in front of me.

I bet you’re wondering what’s a die-hard Chevy girl like me doing looking at a Ford like you? Well, you see I was brought up a Ford girl. My Daddy had a 1978 black Ford F-150. My Mama went backwards down Hillman Hill in that truck, and lived to tell the tale. That truck was a monster. It was the first truck I drove at age 11, on the two-track out back behind our house on 104th Street. I almost hit our garage when I couldn’t reach the brake fast enough. I think I nearly gave my Dad a heart-attack.

My first vehicle when I got my license was a 90’s black Ford Ranger 2-door, extended cab with a topper. It was my Dad’s, but I drove it all the time. To get under his skin, people would call it “Mel’s truck.” I loved that thing. I used to drive to my boyfriend’s house going 70 miles per hour down backroads.

So you see, Fords are in my blood. And ones like you don’t come around too often. Fords just aren’t made like that anymore, which is why I’m now a Chevy girl. I drive an 03 Chevy Silverado 2-door extended cab. Her name is Big Blue, and she’s got me through some shit! I wouldn’t trade her, or cheat on her for anything, but you still caught my eye.

I can’t lie, I imagined you and I driving around together. Your crank-shaft windows rolled down, Harley and Reese on the bench seat beside me…. Yeah, we’d look good together.

My Dearest Unconceived Children,

2011-02-09T15:21:00.000-07:00

For so long I thought I didn’t want you. I believed kids were too much responsibility, took too much money, and that I’m too selfish to put someone else first. All of those things are still true, but now I know I don’t care.

When I was younger, I wanted a boatload of kids! I started a baby stash when I was newly married at 20. Nate and I always talked about having like 5 of you. We even spent a great deal of time picking out all your names; first and middle. Then I went through several years where I didn’t want kids. But I still kept my stash, and continued to add to it. I figured if I didn’t end up pregnant, I’d give it to Scott & Christine, or use the items for gifts for my friends. My friends all started having kids, yet I wouldn’t part with items from my stash. This past Christmas, as I added even more to my stash, I mentally made a list of what I would give to Scott & Christine when they start having children. Let’s just say there were fewer items I was willing to part with than I thought. Yet I still told myself and others that I wasn’t sure I wanted kids. Denial was deeply entrenched.

The fog of denial started to lift last week. Secret Seconds had one of their famous 50% off sales, and I went specifically to buy a polka dot toddler dress I’d seen earlier in the week. My anticipation overflowed as I ran up the stairs to the kid’s department. Relief flooded through my body when I saw the dress was still there! I ended up spending 20 minutes searching through the kid’s clothes, and came home with the dress and a unisex navy blue pea coat. I didn’t even look at clothing for myself because being newly unemployed “I can’t afford it.” Oh the irony.

The more I think about my “denial” the more I realize how ridiculous it is. I’ve known for quite some time I want at least 2 of you; hopefully a boy and a girl. I still have your names picked out, and they are different from the ones Nate & I originally chose. I used to think that if I met the right guy, I’d possibly want kids with him. Now I know I want you even if I don’t meet the right guy. Artificial insemination isn’t all that uncommon. Neither is a condomless one-night-stand. (Although I’d prefer the former, seems less “risky.” Not too mention it’d be a better story to tell you when you’re older.)

I think I’d be a good mom. I’d teach you to mind your P’s & Q’s like Marilyn taught me. I’d want your help doing dishes and laundry, like Esme helps Melissa. I hope that I’d raise you with emotional intimacy so you will come to me in good times and bad. I would hold you and let you cry when someone broke your heart. I’d be at every sporting event, dance recital, debate team, etc. etc. etc., and I’d clap enthusiastically like my parents did even when you lose. I’d probably laugh when you say your first swear word, and tell you to “do as I say, not as I do.” I’d raise you to be culturally aware, as non-judgmental as possible, and to help others. I’d teach you to be comfortable in your own skin, no matter what your own skin is. I’d try to teach you to be respectful and caring, and to love your family. I hope you’d learn to love dogs the way I do, to appreciate others in spite of and because of differences, and to stand up for what you believe in.

These are clearly not the thoughts of someone who doesn’t want children. I can’t guarantee I’ll have you, but I promise you’ll always be wanted.
Sincerely,
Your Mother

Dating 101

2011-02-04T21:40:00.005-07:00

After a conversation with a friend about dating faux pas we've both committed and experienced, I thought I'd write a little piece on appropriate dating behavior. I apologize if I inadertently hurt anyone's feelings. I'm cruel because I care. I really do love you all and want you to be happy... While misery loves company, I'm quite content to be bitter and single all on my own. So here are some things to keep in mind as you navigate the dating world.

1. Under no circumstances should you say "I love you" within the first 5 dates. In my opinion, you shouldn't say it for at least the first 6 months since that's the average amount of time it takes for people to feel comfortable enough to show their true colors, but I'm old fashioned like that.

2. Asking about someone's income only makes you look like a gold digger.

3. Do NOT talk about an ex or someone you are currently or have recently dated until you've hit full-blown relationship status. I don't care how hot the girl was you went out with 2 weeks ago. And I bet you don't care how good my ex was in bed. I'm all about equality and it's tit for tat in my world; you get what you give. Hit a nerve with me, and I'll hit one with you.

4. Refrain from telling your new Someone about the time(s) you almost ran over your ex with the car. Unless of course you want to send him or her packing immediately.

5. Don't get drunk on the first date. This should be common sense, but apparently it isn't.

6. It's best to leave dirty laundry at home in the hamper. Literally & figuratively. Wear clean clothes, and for God's sake take a shower. And don't overshare. It's awkward.

7. Don't go on 2 dates in one day. If you do, don't put it on a blog for the whole world (and one of the dates) to see.

8. Be on time, especially during the first several dates. I know people think "Missoula time" is acceptable, but it's rude.

9. If you must cancel a date, give at least 2 hours notice. I think I'm being pretty liberal here. My instinct is to say 24 hours. Of course, there are exceptions for emergencies.

10. Don't leave DURING the date. Have some respect. Finish what you started. You don't have to see the person again, but at least see the current date through.

There you have it, Mel's Dating Rules. If you have any to share, please post a comment....I'd love to hear more :)

Attention Mornings:

2011-02-03T09:27:00.002-07:00

Let me be clear, I don't like you. Why you continue to show up day after day is beyond me. I've tried being subtle; I lock my doors, put a very dark curtain over my bedroom window, and pull the covers over my head. Yet you persist.

Don't you know it's rude to show up well before you're welcome? I've told you time and again that I prefer you drop by anytime after 11. Was I somehow unclear??

Make no mistake, I understand it's your job. It's your duty to call on me, like a relentless Jehovah's Witness. But this is my home, my sanctuary. I have the right to demand peace and quiet here.

In my opinion, you are disrespectful. You blatantly refuse to honor my boundaries, and often it feels as if you're laughing in my face. You're doing it now!

I have no desire to continue this dysfunctional relationship with you. Until you start respecting my wishes, I have to ask that you stay away. In the future, if you would like to be welcomed with open arms, heed the following warning: DO NOT SHOW UP UNTIL YOU ARE INVITED.

Good day.

MT Unemployment

2011-02-02T14:58:00.006-07:00

To Whom It May Concern;

Thank you for approval for unemployment benefits. Your graciousness is beyond appreciated. (I'll refrain from commenting about how I've worked for 10 freakin years for the same company and SHOULD be approved. But that's neither here nor there.)

I'm writing in regards to your "easy to use" website and telephone service. So far I've had two very important questions that your "easy to use" website was unable to answer. After calling your telephone service for 4 days and only receiving a busy signal, I finally got through moments before I was supposed to walk into an appointment. Subsequently, I waited on hold for no less than 18 minutes before being sent to a representative. While the representative was quite pleasant, she was unable to adequately answer my first question, and reported the website would also be of no help. Lovely. She recommended I attempt to request my bi-weekly benefits and "see what happens."

In order to streamline things, I decided to try to get my second question answered through another authority (who is required to sign your certificates in order for me to receive bi-weekly monetary benefits). I was directed and re-directed to 7 people, none of whom were able to answer my question. So, I went back to your ever-helpful website, read through almost every single page, all to no avail. Consequently, I dialed your telephone service. Thus far, I've been on hold for 27 minutes and 45 seconds....

Might I suggest you take a direct approach to attempt to lower the Montana Unemployment rate by staffing more representatives? This will not only decrease the amount of money Montana pays to unemployed individuals, but will also likely decrease the number of death threats you receive daily. Two birds, one stone.

Might I also suggest you change your automatic, on-hold recordings to reflect the following: "We are sorry we are unable to answer your call in a timely manner. Your call will not be answered shortly. We hope you have enough cell phone minutes to cover the timeframe you'll continue to be on hold. Should you lose patience, please feel free to peruse our website. It is not user-friendly, and you will likely lose patience with this as well. Please understand this is our attempt to lower the Montana unemployment rate. The more of you who commit suicide trying to receive benefits will lower our call volume and the amount of benefits we pay out. Thank you for your call, have a pleasant day."

I personally find honesty and tact go a long way with people. I hope you'll consider my suggestions.

Sincerely,
One of your Victims

Unemployment

2011-01-31T10:44:00.002-07:00

As many of you know, I was recently let go (er, I believe they used the term "laid off" however they won't bring me back if things pick up, so I'm sure "let go" is much more accurate. I'm a realist, let's call a spade a spade.) I worked for that company for 10 years, an entire decade of my life! Hell, it's literally a third of my life! I always thought I was one of those people who couldn't stand NOT to work. I thought I'd be bored out of my mind, feel worthless and generally like a complete loser. I was wrong.

So far, unemployment seems to agree with me. Every day I make a To Do list, then proceed to determine what can wait until tomorrow.

I have the Unemployment Uniform down; pj's until 4 or 5, then shower (or not) and put on jeans and a sweatshirt.

I now have lots of time to devote to school work. So far I haven't done a very good job of this. Fingers crossed this week goes better than last.

I've done a really good job of cutting out unnecessary expenses. I now have Starbucks coffee at home, drink the "specials" beer instead of Mike's Hard Lemonade when I'm out at the bar, and the dogs get Safeway hamburger now instead of Good Food Store, all-natural, organic hamburger. Ok, ok, at least it's a start. It's not good to make too many big changes at once...baby steps.

I've adopted my friend Melissa's toilet flushing philosophy to help save $$ on water; If it's yellow then be mellow, if it's brown flush it down :)

Now that I've wasted half my day on the internet I'm no longer paying for, I think I'll go see what else I can avoid from my To Do list....

Jobless in Montana

2011-01-21T18:27:00.001-07:00

In an effort to conserve money, I’ve started cutting down on things…like paying for stuff!

The first things to go were my landline & internet, which were mainly for work anyway. Savings=$90 per month

The second thing to go was my email address nmfroese@earthlink.net. Savings=$5.95 per month

Next will be my gym membership. Savings=$40 per month

The dogs are a huge expense and I’ve averaged their monthly cost to be roughly $100. As parting gifts for my co-workers who still have incomes, I’ll be sending each of them a dog. The boys are used to a certain standard of living, and now that I can’t provide that I don’t think it’s fair to make them suffer. No worries Lynne & Cindy, they do come with all up-to-date shots. I’ll send strict feeding instructions, as they are accustomed to high-end hamburger and dog food from the Good Food Store. It’s best not to upset Harley’s stomach or you’ll have a lot of cleaning up to do. Reese is rather low-maintenance as long as you let him do what he wants.

I’m also going to cut down on driving to save gas money. Not too mention I now have lots of time for walking, and will need the exercise due to giving up my gym membership. I think investing in a good pair of Yak Trax will be wise since Missoulians are a little lax when it comes to shoveling & salting sidewalks, and the City is apparently attempting to conserve money as well by not plowing or sanding roads. Savings=$50 per month

Since I hate to cook, I was eating out for approximately three to five meals a week. That will need to stop immediately. Since most of my meals were Subway’s $5 footlong subs, I believe my Savings=$60-75 per month

At this rate, I’ll be down to living on $0 per month in no time! I’m certain I can live in my trailer, shower in the Clark Fork, and eat out of dumpsters.

Household Rules

2011-01-13T13:02:00.002-07:00

My dearest Reese & Harley,

We’ve known each other for almost 10 years. I naively thought I had made all household rules clear within the first couple of years. Thank you for pointing out that I obviously overlooked some things. Please allow me to take this opportunity to re-assert myself on proper household behavior.

1. You are in MY house, not vice versa. If I want the good seat on the sofa, I reserve the right to kick you out of that place at any point in time. You do not have the right to call “spot back” however I do.

2. I determine when it’s dinner time, not you. No amount of incessant pacing will make me want to feed you earlier. In fact, rebel-at-heart that I am, I will likely feed you later, just for spite.

3. Whichever one of you was too lazy to come out from underneath the covers and get off the bed to vomit just revoked all bedroom privileges. Period.

4. Any growling, snarling or snapping at me or any other human who happens to be in this house will not be tolerated. I am not above slapping your ass or putting you out in the snow. Please feel free to test me on this one.

5. Begging for food is a no-no. I have never and will never give you people-food. I don’t care how cute you look with your head cocked to the side in anticipation. I don’t eat your food, you don’t eat mine. End of story.

6. I work hard to provide a nice, warm home for all of us. The least you can do is help me keep it clean. I know, I’m not Housekeeper of the Year, but deliberately shedding, defecating and urinating INSIDE is just plain rude and completely uncalled for.

7. Your loyalty is expected and non-negotiable. Getting excited when we see someone who has wronged me is unacceptable. You should snub them as if they'd stolen your favorite toy. There are great rewards for any dog who pees on the tire…or leg of an ex-boyfriend who has broken my heart. I don’t care how many times he played fetch with you.

8. I am working during the day, 8-4, just as I have for the entire length of your life. You need to cease all barking between these hours. A ringing phone takes precedence over your desire to run outside and chase a squirrel. No amount of begging, scratching at the door or whining will change this.

9. Baths are a necessity if you wish to remain an inside-dog. I determine when you smell good. I know you think shit at the dog park is like cologne, but please believe me when I say you are wrong.

10. I reserve the right to add or amend any household rules. This is not a democracy. This is the Republic of Melanie Dekkers; I am the President, I am the Empress, I am the Queen. (Knowing which movie I just stole that line from will earn you a bone.)

Dreams

2011-01-10T15:46:00.004-07:00

The other day, my friend Tracy and I were discussing how we both have very vivid, memorable dreams. Technically, I believe this means we don't really get decent sleep at night because we spend too much time in REM. Anyway, I woke up this morning after having a very, very bizarre dream that was just too good not to share. Please excuse my lack of PC-ness....

My dream starts with my mom driving us in my big blue truck to Scott & Christine's wedding. On the way there, she drive us into a small pond because she was taking the "old" route over a rickety old bridge that was missing some planks...somehow she didn't see the brand new, concrete bridge RIGHT NEXT TO IT. My mother manages to get out of the truck and make it to the bank of the pond, dry as can be. I however am soaking wet, my hair is messed up and all I can think about is that I won't look nice in pictures for the wedding now. My dad miraculously appears with what my subconscious has convinced me is his new car; a very old-fashioned, pimped out Buick the size of a freakin yacht. He drives us to the wedding...which takes place in an atrium of a shopping mall. I was feeling uncomfortable in my wet clothing, and a little under-dressed since everyone else was all fancy in their dresses and tuxes, while I was still in my jeans & button-down shirt that I wore to get my hair done so I wouldn't mess it up when I took off my shirt to put on my strapless dress...which was left in the truck...which was apparently still in the pond because I never gave it another thought during the dream. So I decide to go shopping in the department stores to find a suitable dress for Scott & Christine's wedding, that is supposed to start in just a few minutes, in the atrium of a shopping mall.....

Suddenly, I am shopping in a department store with my friend Tiffany. A sales woman comes running up to greet us and says "Ladies, have you heard about our specials? We're giving everything away free today! Please only take what you really want, and you do have to wait in line and check out so we can be sure our inventory will be correct." Tiff and I immediately head to the bookmarks....Oh yes, in my dream we go straight to a display of wooden bookmarks and each pick out 3. Then we go to jewelry where I fall in love with a very gaudy pair of fake black pearls with diamonds and a huge amount of shaped silver. Tiff tells me they are "so my style" and we giggle as we try to find a pair for her.....

Suddenly, Tiff and I are waiting for a taxi that the saleslady has called for us...oh yeah, and I also have an infant in my arms. Tiff is carrying the diaper bag. Please don't ask because I have no idea where the infant came from, who's it is, why the hell we have it, or even where the hell we're going when the taxi gets there.....

I arrive at my destination, an old abandoned farmhouse, with the infant, diaper bag, "beautiful" earrings, but without Tiffany. When we walk in, my ex-in-laws (and not just the parents-in-law, it was the whole fam damily) are shushing me and the baby and tell us to hide. We all start looking for "weapons" in the kitchen, but manage to only grab things like letter openers, wooden spoons, and a telephone cord. My ex-mother-in-law tells me the knives are off-limits.....

We're all hiding from who-knows-what, I still have the damned infant that I'm trying to keep quiet, and we're all wielding our "weapons" in preparation for an attack. I rummage through the diaper bag several times looking for something to keep the baby quiet, and each time find new items that are not helpful, including an empty bottle, a changing pad, a stapler, and a hand-knit hat. (The hand-knit hat might be the ONLY part of the dream that makes any sense to me at all.)

After awhile, what appears like "Indians" from old movies, you know the ones dressed in feathered headpieces, loin cloths, with long spears, long-bows & arrows, and chanting "Oi-oi-oi" as they attack the "innocent" white people??? Yeah, they attack the house, but my ex-in-laws hold them off with the wooden spoons, letter opener & telephone cord while I sneak out with the infant.....

Suddenly, I'm back at the department store sans baby, shopping with Tiffany. We've discovered this particular department store has a huge selection of trendy clothing. We are walking down the tiled aisle-way in great anticipation of what free clothing we're going to take home with us. And just as we round the corner to the Women's section, my cell phone alarm rudely awakens me for work.

Anyone want to try their hand at dream-interpretation with this one????

Airline Scrooge

2011-01-04T15:33:00.002-07:00

I am a modern day airline Scrooge. When I fly alone, I prefer to keep to myself. There are only 3 things I want to do when in flight; listen to my iPod, read, or sleep. That’s it. I don’t want to chat, I don’t want to discuss politics, I don’t want to talk about where I’m going, where you’re going or share niceties about the weather. I don’t want to listen to you talk to the person across the aisle. I prefer if everyone is silent. If it’s dark out, I like all the lights off. It would be nice if the bathrooms were always vacant just in case I need to use one. I always have the window seat, period. Should anyone violate my in-flight preferences, I reserve the right to give dirty looks.

I’m not a complete bitch, I will talk with anyone traveling with me. On the rare occasions I have a travel companion, I do enjoy talking with them. I’ve even been known to play a rowdy round of Cribbage, quote favorite movie lines and debate the finer points of Smartwool socks. But that’s only with a traveling companion.

Despite my efforts to remain unsociable, I always seem to get stuck next to a Chatty Cathy or Chatty Corey. “So where are you headed?” They’ll ask. My short, clipped “Michigan” or “Montana” usually deters said neighbor from following up with any other questions. Usually….

When I flew in October, I happened to be standing at the gate near a woman who thought it prudent to make comments about the status of boarding. I tried to ignore her, but she was not to be deterred. I cordially smiled and nodded, all the while praying like hell her seat wasn’t near mine….clearly the Karma Gods were making their rounds because sure enough, she sat down next to me on the plane.

No sooner did she plop her butt in the seat than I furiously shoved my earphones in my ears. Just in case that wasn’t obvious enough, I also took out my 600 page Memoirs of Cleopatra book and buried my nose. Less than 5 minutes later she interrupted my pretend reading. If telepathy were possible, she would’ve heard a very unbecoming “Shut the EF up and leave me alone.”

On my flight back to Montana after Christmas, there was a choir of crying children. Soprano was somewhere near the front. I should’ve brought Benadryl and offered them some. When the choir finally died off, two toddlers started giggling….very loudly. NyQuil probably would’ve taken care of them. Regardless of the ruckus, I dozed off.

On the second leg of my journey, the college-aged gentleman in the aisle seat next to me (because I ALWAYS have the window seat), apparently knew the guy across the aisle. They carried on a very loud and obnoxious conversation about wolves. Now, I’m quite interested in wolves, but when in-flight I only do 3 things; listen to my iPod, read or sleep. Talking about or listening to another’s conversation about wolves is not part of my flight repertoire. To make matters worse, he kept the light on THE ENTIRE FREAKING FLIGHT!

I was so tired, and I cannot sleep when there is a bright light shining in my eyes. I put my hood on and pulled it down over my eyes, but it was no help. Thanks to Scott & Christine, I am now the proud owner of a purple Snuggie. I pulled it out and draped it over my head to my feet. Wolf Boy did not interpret my signals though.

After what seemed like an eternity, he put is book away. Hallelujah! My spirits lifted when he pulled out a 1980’s calculator-sized iPod and a pillow. I thought for sure the light would go off immediately….

I was wrong. He unhooked his tray table, folded his arms and laid his head down to sleep. Yet he never turned off the damn light! WTF?!?

Surely he is not going to attempt to snooze with a 45-watt light on???

I contemplated turning it off for him. That sort of flight-behavior really isn’t kosher though, and Missoula is a VERY small town. My luck will be he either ends up dating one of my friends, or he’ll be friends with a guy I date. Either way, I’d likely be dubbed rude…and he should really find that out AFTER he gets to know me.

Before I left Michigan, Scott made the comment “With all the money the Dekkers spend on flights, we probably could buy our own airplane.” Mom, Dad, that’s what I want for Christmas next year. You were disappointed with my list this year because there wasn’t a “big ticket” item, just a bunch of little things. I hope next year's list will be more pleasing to you. Oh, and maybe include a pilot. Just make sure he knows not to talk to me.

(DISCLAIMER: I am only joking about offering Benadryl and NyQuil to children! I would never give kids unnecessary medication. Just wanted to make that clear.)

Confessions of a Polyamorous Dog Lover

2010-12-27T16:38:00.002-07:00

My Dearest Reese & Harley,
It's been awfully difficult being so far away from you two. I've been missing you both like crazy, and in the midst of feeling so alone without you, I must confess I have strayed. I slept with another dog. I swear I was only thinking of you the whole time!

If you must know, she reminded me of younger versions of you both. Since you asked, she's a German Wire-haired Pointer, with similar coloring to Harley, but her hair is longer. She gave enthusiastic kisses like Reese usually gives. Harley, you used to kiss me like that when you were a young pup. Now, you don't give kisses unless I've been away for extended periods of time.

Now this may hurt so brace yourselves, I fell for her on a walk. I know, I rarely take you for walks in the winter. But she was so much more well-behaved on leash than you guys are. I'm sorry, I know that's hard to hear.

Back at the house, she snuggled up to me and laid her head on my lap the way you do, Harley. I couldn't resist, so I petted her. Does it make you feel better to know your hair is softer?

When the time came to head to the bedroom, it seemed only natural that she should come with me. I swear, this is the first and only time I've done something like this. Please don't ask me to promise I won't do it again, we both know I'd be lying.

I'll be home again soon, and the three of us can snuggle and cuddle under the covers the way we all love; Reese on the left and Harley on the right. It's like a Melanie Sandwich. I'll make it up to you, and I'll do my best to show you both that you're my favorite. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.

All my love,
Your Mama

Vanilla

2010-12-12T12:39:00.003-07:00

In a conversation about significant others, sex, and dating a friend recently called me “Vanilla.” He was trying to be funny, and he’s pretty Vanilla himself, but I was slightly offended. He said it because I don’t date often, and I’m picky about who I’ll go out with. I don’t kiss on the first date, sometimes not even until the 3rd or 4th date. And don’t get me started about sex. With as much as people sleep around, and as prevalent as STD’s are, I’m careful about who has access. I’ve never been arrested, never been to jail, never done drugs, I haven’t even smoked pot. I do drink, and I’ve even been drunk on a few rare occasions, but again it’s rare. I usually only consume about one to 2 drinks in one sitting, mainly because I started an antidepressant and found out the hard way that Zoloft and alcohol don’t mix. I suppose this makes me Vanilla too.

I’ve been thinking about this whole Vanilla thing for a couple weeks now, and keep trying to come up with ways that prove I’m not Vanilla. I love rock music, and I swear like a sailor, that’s got to at least count for Strawberry status! I also own a leopard print bra. I have a very sexy bra, panty and garter set complete with thigh high stockings, but I’ve only worn it once so that might not count. I also own several pairs of thong underwear. I never wear them so they probably don’t count either. I’m divorced. I can’t drink Tequila anymore because I got trashed on Margaritas when I was 20 and the smell turns my stomach now. I had a one night stand in 2007. I once rear-ended a guy on the expressway in Colorado because I was too busy admiring Christmas lights to notice he had come to a complete stop in front of me. I took advantage at REI when a clerk accidentally gave me a huge discount on a pair of very expensive Asolo hiking boots, and I knew it but didn’t say anything. I almost ran over my ex-husband twice; once on the night of the Margaritas, and once when he pissed me off. (Honest, they were both accidental!) I also punched him in the face. That wasn't accidental. I recently put a shot of peppermint Shnapp’s in my hot chocolate when I was working. I swore at an elderly lady. I broke off a friendship because I didn’t like her kid. An ex-boyfriend and his best friend stole a Christmas tree out of someone’s front yard and I didn’t turn them in. I own an aggressive dog. Last spring I went on 2 dates in one day (sorry Chip). I used to drive 75 on a 55mph back road in Michigan. It scared the shit out of my brother on our daily commute to school. I have 2papers due tomorrow, only 1 of which is half done.

Need I go on?? Clearly I am NOT Vanilla…I may not be at the Chocolate level, but I at least have to be Strawberry… Right?

MSW Finals Weekend

2010-12-11T06:58:00.002-07:00

Ladies and Gentleman; my esteemed MSW colleagues and friends,

The weekend we have all been dreading is here. The last weekend of the semester is already upon us, and if any of you have been preparing as I have, then I’m sure you’re losing sleep, downing cups of coffee like shots at the Rhino, and frantically looking for sources to cite.

While we’ve all been aware of our final assignments for at least two full weeks, precious few took the initiative to commence work early. It is possible there aren’t any of us who did this. I know I didn’t. Other social work commitments got in the way; friend’s birthday celebrations, First Friday festivities, reruns of Friends and The Office, or for Barbs, Steph and I, needles, hooks and yarn.

As such, it is now time to officially buckle down and complete all unfinished assignments. It’s time to put words to paper, ANY words to paper, because let’s face it at this point it doesn’t matter if those words make sense. Now is the time to run, walk, slide your way on our snowy, icy Missoula roads to The Break, Liquid Planet, Mansfield Library, or Zootown Brew, because ironically, public locations pose fewer distractions than working at home.

We’ve come a long way, and we’ve become quite skilled at procrastination, the key to graduate work. Some are more skilled than others, and a few (Jake) will ski today, knowing there’s always tomorrow for paper writing. Procrastinate on, my friend! You’re a true inspiration.

In closing, I would like to encourage you to secure your location early and guard it fiercely, order espresso by the gallon, and be sure you cite and rephrase so as to not plagiarize. Go forth to your loud, public coffee shop of choice and remember, in the words of our Fore Mothers and Fathers “A good paper, is a done paper.”

Trapt...

2010-11-30T14:14:00.002-07:00

in the mind of a judgmental bitch.

Last weekend I went to another rock concert at the Wilma; Abused Romance, Since October and the headliner, Trapt. Of course I wore my ear plugs, and was quite ecstatic to see that a kid probably 10 years my junior also had in some ear plugs. Way to save your hearing dude!

While I love the name Abused Romance, I wasn’t so crazy about their music. Not only did they have their bass WAY too loud, but the lead singer’s mic wasn’t turned up enough for us to hear the lyrics. The members of the band all looked like they had indeed been abused…talk about some serious angst being taken out on guitars!

Being the shorty that I am, I was only able to see about the top half of the lead singer. While I didn’t find his head attractive, his upper body was killer! Nice arm muscles and a tight t-shirt showing off some defined pecs. Imagine my disappointment when the tall dude in front of me moved to the left and I was able to finally see lead singer’s legs… They were impossibly skinny, and he made the unfortunate choice to accentuate them with skin-tight skinny jeans. I’m no fashionista, but even I know that’s a major style mistake.

The second band, Since October was much better! I thoroughly enjoyed their music. The bass was at an appropriate rock-concert level, and the mic was loud enough for me to actually hear the lead singer. But while the music got progressively better, the crowd went downhill.

Somehow my concert-going buddy Will and I managed to be in just the wrong spot the entire concert. We were back far enough that I thought we’d miss all the moshing, but we were close enough to see the stage. Apparently at this particular concert moshing started farther back than normal. I was constantly being run into and thrown backward by the insane, drunk and/or high kids who were shoving each other around. I didn’t have enough to drink to nicely deal with this, so I very rudely elbowed and pushed people out of my personal space.

Two high school girls also managed to weasel their way in front of me, and one of them kept flipping her hair back and hitting me in the face! The other one bopped around like she was watching a pop boy-band or something. Umm, wrong type of music, sister. N’Sync went out YEARS ago.

Before Trapt came on stage, Will and I tried to find a new place to stand. We wanted to avoid the guy wearing the ever-appropriate “I’m fat, fuck off” t-shirt, as he was sweating like a pig and dancing around, flinging said sweat on everyone around him. We hoped to avoid such a shower. We had to move several times to get away from him!

We finally ended up on the complete opposite side of the stage, but somehow managed to bring the mosh-pit with us…and some new teenage girls who weaseled their way in front of me. These girls kept bouncing from whispering to each other about how hot the lead singer of Trapt is, to sticking their tongues down some very unattractive boy’s throats. It was very distracting.

The lead singer of Trapt is indeed rather sexy, and I couldn’t help but think he must get a lot of ass. But, the bedazzled, rhinestone studded thing holding up his pants was so large it looked like a chastity belt…perhaps he doesn’t get as much ass as I thought.

Aside from having to listen to my inner bitch, this concert was really fun! Trapt rocked the joint, and I danced and sang along to almost every song. I think my only disappointment was that they refused to do an encore.

Granny Mel

2010-11-18T18:01:00.003-07:00

Nothing makes me feel like more of an old lady than going to a concert. Don't get me wrong, I sing along and dance with the rest of 'em but I doubt anyone else is wearing earplugs. Oh yes, I wear earplugs to concerts. And while you may judge me, just keep in mind that when we're in the nursing home you'll have your giant-sized hearing aid turned up as loud as it will go and still yell "HUH??? Whadja say sonny?? I couldn't hear you, speak slower so I can try to read your lips."

While Steph and I were waiting for the concert to start, I couldn't help but think "I wish I'd have brought my knitting." Here are some other random thoughts that passed through my mind as I sat there listening to some good (and not so good) Indie Rock.

Hey you, the one on the mint green guitar, cut your hair. Or at least comb it so it doesn't fall in your eyes.

Ugh, my knees hurt we've been sitting here so long.

Turn down the bass. I can't tell if my heart is still beating.

Whoa, look at Miss My-Dress-Is-Shorter-Than-An-ADHD-Attention-Span. In my day, dresses and skirts had to be at least finger-tip length. Hers isn't even wrist length!

You two making out on the dance floor, put your own tongues back in your own mouths. You're in public, no one wants to see that. Besides, you should be paying attention to the music your parents no-doubt paid $20 for.

Good lord they need to turn down the bass. I can't tell if my phone is vibrating from the bass or if I got a text message.

I can't even understand these lyrics. This isn't music, this guy is just yelling.

Why do concerts have to start so late??

TURN DOWN THE DAMN BASS.

Oh no, my right earplug is starting to fall out.

If this doesn't end soon, by the time I get home it'll be too late to take an Ambien. Then I won't get any sleep tonight.

I wish we'd sit down now, my knees hurt.

Nooooo, not an encore! I'm so tired, I just want to go to bed.

Turn DOWN the EFFING bass!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dear Mr. Fisher,

2010-11-15T22:12:00.003-07:00

While no one will mourn as deep as your family does, you’ll be missed by so many people. You were our friend’s dad, our teacher, driver’s ed instructor, mentor, sports enthusiast and friend. I wonder if you knew just how many lives you had touched. And it seems so sad now that we’ve lost the opportunity to tell you. How very cliché.

I knew you from church at Christ the King long before I knew you as a teacher. When I was younger my dad rarely sang in church, and I always thought it was cool that you sang along. I remember the last time I saw you there, which was probably a year or more ago, you still dressed up. Not many people dress up for church anymore, but you still wore dress pants, a button-up shirt and blazer. It impressed me, even though I don’t dress up for church…I also don’t sing along either. Yeah I know, hypocritical.

Even though I hated math in high school, I always looked forward to your class. Your energy and enthusiasm were contagious! One of my favorite high school memories is of you running across the front of the room, clapping your hands wildly while chanting “TC math, TC math!” The class laughed hysterically!

I think your personality blew us all out of the water! We weren’t expecting one of our teachers to be so much fun, so lively, and so funny. We also weren’t expecting you to be so passionate about math. I remember you gave the algebra letters personalities, which made it highly entertaining…even if it never fully made sense to us. I barely made it through your class with a B, and that was only because you spent so much time trying to explain it to me.

I wonder if you still had with your pointer stick. When I was in your class, you never taught without it. If we weren’t paying attention, you’d tap it on the chalk board and tell us to “Listen up.” I think you swore at us once too when we wouldn’t stop talking during class. It did the trick, and we shut up. After class, we all talked about how cool you were for swearing.

Kristi Cummings and I took driver’s training with you, and because our names were next to each other in the alphabet we practiced together as well. I distinctly recall you using the passenger’s side brake more than once with me. You also told me I didn’t use my mirrors enough…that hasn’t changed.

You were at so many sports events, and you cheered for us even if your kids weren’t playing on the team. You gave me softball pointers when I still played. It had meant a lot to me at the time, and I’m sorry I never told you so.

For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always had the high & tight, military style haircut and mustache. Not everyone can pull off a mustache, but it suited you well. You also had the same laugh, which I can oddly still hear now. Like so many others, I cannot believe you are gone. In yet another, sadly ironic and sadistic way, you’re still teaching us; your death is a stark reminder of just how fragile and short life can be. You were a Tri County icon, and you’ll be missed by countless individuals, no doubt world-wide.

So thanks for all the good times, Mr. Fisher, and you’ll be missed tremendously.

The Age of Technology

2010-11-11T12:10:00.003-07:00

I’m not writing about anything new, my ideas aren’t new, and you’ve probably heard it all before…but I’m gonna say it again anyway. Technology in this day and age (and yes I can say that now that I’m 30 and old) has changed the way we all communicate. Wow, big surprise there huh?!? Seriously though, let’s look at how things are done “nowadays” as compared to the olden days.

In the olden days, we hand-wrote each other letters. My girlfriends and I would sit in class writing letters to each other about our boyfriends, and then writing our boyfriends. We folded our letters in fun little cubes, or in triangles like a paper football, or my favorite, the cootie catcher. (Who the hell named that anyway??)

Nowadays, kids sit in class strategically hiding their cell phones to text one another. Gone are the days of two page hand-written letters. Now everything has to be said in 150 characters or less. How do you convey your undying love to your high school boyfriend who’ll really only be your boyfriend until the cute guy at the back of the class asks you out next week, in 150 characters?? “I’ll be yours forever” just doesn’t mean the same without following it up with four more sentences saying exactly the same thing but with different words…such as “I’ll always be yours” and “We’ll be together until the end of eternity.” Now it just looks like “w’ll b tgr 4vr.” Nope, not the same ring to it at all. What happened to the sanctity of the written word???

I must confess that I do love our new technology. I text all the time! Since my dad got texting on his new Android phone, or is it Evo? No matter, I communicate with him a lot more now than vr b4! And while that’s nice, some things do get lost in the world of digital communication. The other day, my dad and I were texting back and forth, and in response to me telling him I finished typing a social work paper, he said “That’s book!” Huh?!? Is that some new Michigan slang that hasn’t made its way to Montana yet?? Ooh, maybe I can be the one to introduce it in Missoula!

A few weeks ago, I was able to show my friend Jen my new haircut…which she had helped me decide to get. Instead of going to show her in person, I took a photo of myself with my cell phone and texted it to her. She responded favorably with “Sweet, I LOVE it!” But without seeing the expression on her face or hearing the tone of her voice, it was hard to tell whether that was a “Sa-weet!!!” in a high-pitched voice, or just plain old “Sweet.” And did she really LOVE it, or was she just being nice??? Then I didn’t see her for like 2 and a half weeks, and by then my haircut was old news and we never discussed it again. Luckily I know Jen pretty well, and she’s extremely honest even in texting. So, I didn’t get to see her facial reaction which likely had wide, surprised/excited eyes, a broad smile as she inevitably exclaimed “Sa-weet!” I felt robbed.

Today I was texting with my brother Scott. He sent “WOO HOO, only 4.5 more hours and I’m unemployed!” I texted back “:) woo hoo!” Then he sent “Yeah. I liked the spelling of ur WOO HOO better.” I was perplexed. I thought I spelled it exactly the same as he did, only in lower case letters because I’m too lazy to switch modes. So I respond “Huh? On my phone it looks normal. Did it not come thru normal?” Sometimes his fancy touch phone changes things on him. He sent back “Yeah, it’s normal. What are we talking about?” So I reply “I don't know. You said you liked the spelling of my woo hoo better, but I didn’t see where I spelled it any different than you.” He sends back “Oh. I just put an h in mine.” WHAT?!? My little outdated flip-phone, the Chocolate (which was popular like 5 years ago, but I always get the free phone when I need a new one, and the free ones are always old) doesn’t show all the back & forth texts. So I scroll through my Inbox and find his very first text, and realize I hadn’t read it correctly. He said “WHOO HOO” not “WOO HOO.” Yep, there was the extra H he was talking about. You know, had it been the olden days and he just called to tell me “WHOO HOO, only 4.5 more hours and I’m unemployed!” we could’ve spent the 10 minutes we devoted to a meaningless text-conversation about “woo hoo” to talking about how his day is going, if he got everything packed, how much he’s looking forward to heading back home to MI. Hell, we could’ve talked about COWS for all I care, and it would’ve been more productive than the “woo hoo” conversation.

So texting leaves a little something to be desired. And yet, there’s no way in hell I’m going back to spending an hour hand-writing letters to friends and family when I can shoot them a 30 second, 18 character text that lets them know “I’m thinkin bout u.”

The Big Three-Oh

2010-11-09T17:52:00.008-07:00

Yep, I did it. As if it's a big feat, or as if there was any question whether or not I'd "accomplish" turning 30. It's not like this is a huge deal, people turn 30 every day. Hundreds of thousands of millions of people have done it before me...and yet when it gets personal it feels like the first time anyone's ever done it.

I was so excited to turn 30 that I had two parties; one in Missoula and one in Michigan. Part of my excitement came from the awfulness of the previous year. I'm quite happy to leave 29 in the dust, in the hopes that I'll also be leaving behind the negativity and sadness as well. So far, so good.

Aging doesn't seem to bother me all that much right now...quite possibly because I still look about 22, and feel 21 inside. I'm pretty sure my 21st and 29th year should've been reversed. Staying out at the bar until 2am, drunk-talking to strangers, and praying I won't puke when I crawl into bed is not exactly what I thought I'd be doing at age 29. And cooking dinner every night for a husband, talking about 401k's, and buying a house weren't things I thought I'd do at 21. But such is life and I've learned to roll with the punches and "try" to appreciate what you have when you have it. I'm still working on that one.

I still clearly remember when 30 was old...now even 60 doesn't seem old. When I was 24, my ex-husband and I made a pact we'd think about having children when I turned 30. I cannot even imagine having a kid right now...hell I can't imagine being married right now. (I'm not sure where a husband would sleep. There's not much room in the bed between myself, Reese & Harley.) It's ironic how things turn out, and how things change. I'm happy where I'm at, and I don't feel badly (anymore) about being single and childless. That's mainly due to all of you, my friends and family.

You've all made bearable what felt like the worst year of my life. So thanks to you all! And thanks to all those who made it out for the parties, I had a great time getting "old" with you by my side :) Those who couldn't make it, you were missed!

My friends from school; Tiff, Sandra and Danni

The Missoula Party

Joseph, Jen & Eli

My dad, Ken & Rick

You should all know who this is.... :)

Dear Eddie Bauer,

2010-10-06T11:32:00.003-06:00

Regrettably I will have to cancel my free subscription to your catalog. Please understand this is nothing personal. While I enjoy your products, and browsing the catalog brings me great joy, it also leads to serious depression.

A new winter-wear catalog showed up in my mailbox last week. Initially I experienced giddiness in looking through the pages. I even thumbed through the catalog a couple of times to enjoy the snowy backdrops of beautiful women modeling your clothing. There were a couple of particularly lovely coats I admired, and this is where things went wrong.

As I’m sure is your desire, I lusted after a particular coat and immediately began envisioning myself wearing the jacket around town. The description says it’s windproof and warm enough to wear in zero degree weather, yet light enough to continue wearing inside. It would be the Perfect Bar Coat. You see I don’t like to drink and drive, so I often either ride my bike or walk downtown to meet friends for a few drinks. Winter bike-riding can be treacherous so walking is generally my preferred mode of transportation on such nights. This jacket would keep me toasty warm on my 20 minute walk to and from downtown, and yet also be light enough to wear inside the bar. I’m a little paranoid to take jackets off in such establishments, afraid I may forget it or perhaps it would fall off the back of my chair and be trampled. So I surmised I had found the Perfect Bar Coat….

Until I saw the price. Naturally this was the last thing I looked at, being it was at the bottom of the page and all. What a clever marketing technique, kudos to you! The price is just a bit far-fetched for me at this time. You see I’m a grad student at the University of Montana, and have loads of student loans that I’m currently paying off. I also have some rather significant credit card debt. So sending you $100 for the Perfect Bar Coat really wouldn’t be the most responsible use of my money. And while I know this, I can’t seem to get the jacket out of my mind.

In an effort to forget the Perfect Bar Coat, I hastily threw the magazine in the recycling bin. Out of sight, out of mind. And it worked pretty well….

Until I got another catalog from you in the mail a few days later. Again, a clever marketing technique. I’m sure you’ve done research and know that women love to look through magazines and catalogs. Especially free ones. I mean really, what could it hurt??

But you see Eddie Bauer, it hurts me. I rifled through the catalog only to be confronted with said Perfect Bar Coat again. A lovely brunette was donning it this time. It was like running into an ex-boyfriend all over town, sporting his new girlfriend on his arm. Nothing good can come from seeing them together. And believe me, seeing someone else enjoying what I can’t is pure torture and generally leads to feelings of low self-worth, hopelessness and a desire to dig a hole and hide. Perhaps you should sell shovels.

So you see, I believe you are the cause of my depression and I can no longer be tempted by your products. I thank you for your understanding, and would appreciate being taken off your marketing list.

Sincerely,
Melanie M. Dekkers

PS: Please ensure this only takes effect AFTER you expedite shipping on my recent order of item #B06 484 8126, the Perfect Bar Coat. Thank you.

Perspectives

2010-08-24T12:52:00.003-06:00

As summer nears it’s end, I’m getting ready to start graduate school with UM's Master’s in Social Work program. In preparation, I’m required to read a book called “Half the Sky, Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide” by Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. They’re a husband & wife team, who’ve traveled the world conducting research and interviews regarding women’s oppression.

Please understand they’re not talking about our American version of female oppression, such as men and women making different figures for the same job. (Which I will say IS important, and needs more attention…but this book isn’t about that.) Nick & Sheryl refer to things like genital mutilation (used to discourage girls from being “promiscuous”), brutal rapes, killings, floggings, low or no access to necessary health care, maternal mortality (where mothers routinely die giving birth because there isn’t enough or possibly any health care available), and the list goes on. Much of this happens in third world countries most of us will never see…and that makes it easy to ignore…which is precisely their point.

I know what you’re going to say “Melanie, you’re such a feminist and you’re always preaching about gender-equality.” You’re right, I am…but not enough, and certainly not EVER about things like this. To be honest, I wasn’t even aware of most of this shit. Did you know that in some places of the world women aren’t even allowed to leave the house without a man’s permission? Not even to go to the bathroom! What if all the men are gone, and she needs to use the outhouse? NOPE, she must wait until she’s given permission. And believe me, this is on the light end of things. In some parts of the world, it is considered acceptable punishment to beat and gang-rape a girl in order to disgrace her family for another family member’s sins. If the girl doesn’t commit suicide, (as is the ‘required’ action she should take after a rape), she’s considered an outcast or rebel, and her family most likely takes her to the woods and leaves her to die. One poor girl was put in a hut on the outskirts of town and stayed in the fetal position for 2 full years, praying for death. She didn’t die, and took many, many more years to rehabilitate just to be able to walk.

And for those of us single ladies waiting for the right guy to turn up (where IS he, btw???), if a guy wants to marry a girl in some areas, but her family refuses or can’t pay the dowry, it’s acceptable for him to rape her so she’s damaged goods. Then he can acquire her for a smaller dowry that her family could afford. Should the girl or her family refuse to sell her to her rapist, the local judge will most likely do it for them. I tell you what, if some dude raped me and then tried to have me as his wife…he’d better watch his effing back because you can bet that I’d be buying my time to torture the living hell out of him!!!!!! And it wouldn’t be enough for me to just kill him, he’d have to pay.

All of this is to say that female oppression around the world is so very different than what we’re used to here. Please understand I’m not trying to underscore what we experience on the homefront, because we are not a gender-equal society. We’re just light years ahead of some other countries. We still have light years to go, but at least we’re past the days of women needing to ask permission to go to the bathroom.

While reading this book, I couldn’t help but get all corny and have the oh-so-typical response of comparing it to my life. I know I have a pretty good life, but sometimes (many times, as of late) I start to think about how it could be much better. I could make more money, have better furniture, be able to buy more latte’s. I could have more clothes, or better hiking gear. When you compare what I live on to what people in other parts of the world live on, I’m rich! But by American standards, I’m barely above the poverty line.

I’ve been talking about wanting to live a simpler life…so I took steps to simplify by de-stashing my yarn and fabric. I got rid of 3 bags. Guess what? I still have an entire room of my house devoted to all my knitting and sewing supplies. I have 1 dresser and 2 full closets of clothing, and yet I declare almost every morning “I have NOTHING to wear!” I wouldn’t call that simple living. I’m not talking about selling all my stuff and living like a nomad with just the clothes on my back. Let’s face it, it’s ME we’re talking about here. How would I ever choose which shoes to keep?? (I know, serious issues, right?!?) Anyway, it’s time to revisit my lifestyle and think more about what I want to do my life…

I can't guarantee I'll make any significant changes, but I will think about it.

The Adventures of Ms. Independent

2010-08-08T16:32:00.001-06:00

By God, I was going to do it. I knew how, I had helped someone do it a couple of times before. An X, Mr. Mechanic had showed me exactly how to give my beloved car, Fang Fang, an oil change. She was 1000 miles overdue, and for the past 3 weekends I’d vowed to take care of it. For the past 3 weekends, something fun & exciting had gotten in the way. This weekend, I turned down something fun & exciting so I could finally take care of business.

Saturday morning I stopped by Parts Plus to pick up an oil filter, some oil and gloves. There was a bit of a dilemma regarding what type of oil to buy, and a quick call to Fang Fang’s previous owners solved the problem. (Thanks Mitch & Melissa! You guys have been so super helpful!!)

After changing clothes and putting on a pair of latex gloves, I opened the hood and the owner’s manual to double check my plan of attack. The manual wisely recommends an approved oil pan to drain the used motor oil. I’d forgotten to buy an approved drain pan, but I figured an old cookie tin would suffice. To keep my investment at a minimum, I’d also purposely not purchased the necessary socket wrenches to take off the bolt for the oil drain…I was certain I had something at home with which to improvise.

As I got started it became obvious fairly quickly that the only hand tool I owned, a pair of locking pliers, was not going to loosen the bolt. After a few tries, I realized a trip to yet another auto parts store was in order. Thankfully the gentleman at O’Reilly’s on Broadway set me up with a pretty inexpensive socket set. I also decided to fork over the cash for a drain pan and funnel. After confirming I already had oil, a filter, gloves and rags said gentleman sent me on my way.
Finally certain I had everything I needed to do this alone, I set about once again to open the hood, take off the oil cap, set the drain pan underneath and find the correct sized socket. All systems were a go….

Until I attempted to once again loosen the bolt. Mr. Stubborn wasn’t budging. I tried pulling to the right, I tried pulling to the left, the bolt would not move. I wiggled a little higher up, positioned my feet on the wheel and gave a good shove. Mr. Stubborn still would not move. After several failed attempts, there was nothing left to do but admit defeat and call for Help.

Help had already tried to seduce me into going to Helena on Saturday with him in exchange for helping me with the oil change on Sunday. Ms. Independent turned this down, feeling the need for a laid-back Missoula Saturday…and for the satisfaction of changing her oil all on her own. Please believe me when I say admitting defeat was not easy. Help didn’t answer his phone, so I moved onto something more manageable and mowed the lawn.

Help wasn’t available until Sunday, so I did other fun and exciting things Saturday afternoon and evening…Miriam and her girls invited me to Splash Montana with them, what blast! We played in the pool, floated the lazy river, sat in the sun and just had a fantastic time!

When Sunday morning rolled around, Help and I set about to finally change the oil. After convincing me to pull the car out of the gravel and up onto the grass, Help quickly loosened the drain bolt. I had been seriously confident that Help was only needed for this one aspect. Thankfully Help waited around to see if there was anything else to do. Turns out the filter wrench I have is slightly bigger than the oil filter canister, and I couldn’t loosen this by hand. Help effortlessly took care of this as well. With a slightly bruised ego, I finished the entire rest of the oil change all on my own. Which of course only entails putting the bolt and filter back in (new filter of course) and adding oil. Hopefully now that I’m the one who tightened them, I’ll be able to get them off myself next time.

Help proved to be useful once more when it came time to pour the used oil into some plastic jugs for disposal. His ingenuity turned a cereal box into a funnel that I held together while he poured the oil. Dammit, yet another task that would’ve been awfully difficult alone. I’m really trying hard to do things all by myself, like the Big Girl that I am. But I keep finding out over and over again just how much easier life is with two people.

After all was said and done, I couldn’t help but think how this entire fiasco took so much time, energy and money. I invested 2 hours total including trips to auto parts stores, getting supplies out 3 different times, and actually changing the oil. I spent $39.10 on the socket set, oil, filter, drain pan, funnel and gloves. I could’ve taken Fang Fang in to have a professional oil change, which includes a check on tires and all other fluids, and probably a car wash all for around $30 and about a half hour of my time. But the satisfaction of having done it (almost) all by myself was well worth the extra effort in the end.

Gym Pet Peeves

2010-08-04T23:31:00.002-06:00

While I used to go to the gym religiously, lately I’ve been rather lax in my gym appearances…so lax that I’m basically absent. However, I recently went three times over the span of a week. In that time, I’ve noticed some new things at my gym. While it might not always come across, I am a pretty opinionated and judgmental person, I just try to keep it under wraps so I don’t hurt anyone’s feelings. Since none of my fellow gym mates read this blog, I think it’s probably ok if I voice some of my thoughts.

1. There’s a big guy who’s been going to the gym probably since he walked out of his mother’s birth canal, and he has muscles to prove it. They are huge! I would liken him to Hulk Hogan. And believe me, he not only knows this but is quite proud of it. I often catch him checking himself out in the mirrors, no doubt thinking “Wow, I’m so effing cool. Look at those muscles, all the girls must want me.” Well Mr. Macho, no they don’t. While there are some exceptions, among my friends the consensus is that overly large muscles really just look gross. You see those veins that are sticking out all over your body…they’re really supposed to be barely visible, buried under layers of skin. When we see you walking bull-legged down the street, our first thought is “What’s up that guy’s butt that he has to walk like a linebacker???” Our next thought is “Eww.” Seriously, only guys think huge bulging muscles are sexy.

2. Another guy has been working out at the gym for about the last year or so. When he started, I judged him to be late high-school age. He had a baby face and was a bit pudgy. Last week I saw him for the first time in a few months, and man has his gym-time paid off!!! While I’ve been on the couch watching NCIS reruns and eating banana cream pie, he kicked it in high gear. The boy is now ripped! And in that “can wear tight t-shirts and show off nicely defined pecs and biceps” kind of way. Not the way of guy in #1. He also used to appear very shy, never making eye contact or nodding “hey” at the other gym-goers. (There’s a whole group of us that workout at the same time and see each other on a weekly, if not daily basis. After several months we’ve finally started acknowledging that we recognize one another with a quick head nod.) Now he looks confident and sexy, making shy-eye contact (you know in that innocent, cute way that makes cougars think “I could teach that guy a thing or two.” And no I don’t think I qualify as a cougar quite yet so I’m not referring to myself!!) He’s completely transformed himself inside and out! Way to go dude! You could be the poster child for gyms everywhere!

3. Onto the Barbie Dolls…You know who you are. Bleach blond hair, perfectly French manicured nails, cute gym clothes, boobs that stick out farther than your stomach. Yeah, you know who you are, and yes I’m jealous. You barely do a set with 10 pounds, then spend 15 minutes discussing the finer details of what he said to you and what you said back and how he cocked his head to the side, and how you interpreted that to mean he wasn’t listening. Honestly, I wasn’t eavesdropping, it’s just that I can hear your entire conversation while I sweat trying to work my ass off. Next time could you talk about how you worked yours off?? Was it a specific kind of diet or do you just naturally look like you stepped out of a model shoot? It clearly wasn’t from your workout at the gym. Seriously, you’re not even sweating.

4. Speaking of the Barbie Dolls, they didn’t step foot in the gym back when it was called The Gym on North Reserve. Perhaps the huge drooping barbell on the sign made you think it was a gym just for meatheads. But now that it’s got the trendy name and newly painted walls, you’ve come out of the woodwork! I used to feel reasonably attractive while working out. Thanks to you showing up, rocking the spandex and exercising without breaking a sweat, I feel like a complete slob; sweating like a pig, wearing pants that are so tight they show my underwear line…and they’re not supposed to be that tight!

5. Thankfully, the music selection at the gym has gotten better since I last visited. Normally, rock and/or pop music is played over the loud speaker. That is acceptable gym music. It’s upbeat, has good rhythm to match reps to, tunes out the chatterboxes and it’s my favorite kind of music. For awhile though, someone was playing country music. Have you ever tried to workout to a slow country song?? Trust me, it’s worse than you’re imagining. The twang really gets in the way of the rhythm.

I love my gym, so much so that even though I knew I wouldn’t be going, I continued to pay the fees for several months just so I could do my part to try to keep them in business. I’m glad all these other people go too, not only do they help keep the gym in biz but they also provide decent entertainment for me while I attempt to work my ass off. Should any of you read this and know who I’m talking about (or God-forbid YOU are who I’m talking about), I do apologize. No harm intended… except to the guy in #1. You should really lay off the steroids and protein shakes, please.

Fireworks

2010-07-06T22:37:00.000-06:00

It’s the 4th of July; Independence Day; the day our beloved country became our own. I’m not exactly sure how we came to celebrate this magnificent day with fire embers in the sky, but for the 29 years I’ve been on this earth, it’s been tradition. I suspect it goes back even farther than that.

This tradition is one I’m especially fond of. I have vivid memories from my childhood on Blue Lake in Michigan where my Uncle Greg would load up the pontoon, venture to the middle of the lake, and light off a spectacular display of fireworks. He bought them in Indiana every year on his way back from Florida since any fireworks that left the ground were illegal to purchase in Michigan. Oh how I looked forward to July 4th at his house!

This year, I spent July 4th in West Yellowstone with Scott. He had to work the 3 to midnight shift, so I was on my own for the evening. After perusing the town, having a dinner of Honey Nut Cheerios, and wandering the town some more, I found myself at a local bar downtown. It’s awkward to sit in a bar alone, so I grabbed a paper and ordered a Coors Light. After reading the paper twice through, I started texting friends to appear busy and not the “lonely lady at the end of the bar.” One text was to my friend Jen who said she wasn’t watching fireworks tonight because they are too loud and bad for the environment. Hmm. It had never occurred to me that fireworks were bad for the environment. But as I watched West’s display, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It got me wondering who invented fireworks in the first place. Who came up with the brilliant idea to put some gun powder in a small cardboard container, add a drop or two of food coloring for flair, and light them off for spectators who crane their necks at 45 degrees backwards to watch the flaming embers fall to the ground during one of the hottest, driest months of the year. I’m convinced chiropractors must make bank July 5th. (DISCLAIMER: Do not try this at home. I have no idea how fireworks are made, I’m merely being a smartass. Attempting to make your own fireworks is a great way to only have the ability to count to 6 on your hands, and 2 on your toes. I won’t even mention what’ll happen to your eyebrows and hair. I repeat, do NOT try this at home.)

With each loud boom and every incredible display of sparkling light, I wondered who in the world invented fireworks. Oh I know, I could actually Google the origin, but sometimes speculation is more fun than fact. So, here’s how I think fireworks got started…..

Jim-Bob and Willy-George were sitting around one afternoon. It was hot, and they’d had about a 30-pack each. They were out of rounds and ready to make some more. Willy-George said to Jim-Bob, “I’m tired of shooting pop cans and beer bottles. What else could we blow to smithereens???” “I dunno Willy-George,” said Jim-Bob. (Please read with your best hill-billy accent.) “Oh I know,” exclaimed Willy-George. “Let’s fill them there empty cardboard PBR boxes with gun powder. We kin light’em off and see what happens!”

After losing 2 fingers, an ear, and singeing their eyebrows off, Jim-Bob and Willy-George had themselves a good time sending lit gun powder to the sky and watching the embers fall to the ground. After awhile, Willy-George confiscated some food coloring from his wife Norma-Mae and added it to the mix. “You jis’ stand back Jim-Bob, hold my beer and watch this!”

Jim-Bob and Willy-George made a fortune selling their idea to Black Cat, Inc. They’re now living it up in their mobile home out in the middle of nowhere. And by God, they can afford the Champagne of Beers now, no more PBR or Kokanee for them!

I hope you all enjoyed the 4th as much as I did. And even though they’re bad for the environment, and our spines, I hope you enjoyed the fireworks if you watched them.

Yellowstone

2010-06-24T15:23:00.008-06:00

This last visit to West Yellowstone with Scott re-ignited my love and sense of adventure. These last several months have been filled with a mundane feeling of blahness. My mood and emotional state have remained somewhat stagnant, while I’ve longed to feel excitement, motivation and ambition.

My first trip to see Scott was wonderful! Weather could have been better, but rain didn’t deter us from small hikes or sight-seeing. The time with Scott reminded me of when we lived in Missoula together. The 250+ mile drive took me as far away from my sallow mood as it did Missoula. I was reluctant to leave West Yellowstone, afraid my mood would once again turn sour. I was right.

I spent a week in anticipation of my second trip to see Scott. The niavete of thinking 3 days would change my emotional state was gone, and I knew I was simply in for a reprieve from my sorrows. I eagerly loaded my car and took off down the road.

The weather cooperated better this trip, and we hiked longer trails off Highway 191. Our first hike was Tepee Creek. It followed a beautiful meadow in which we saw grizzlies foraging in the distance, and moose traipsing the hillside…close enough to get a decent picture with a point & shoot camera!

This trail is not within park boundaries, so hikers are able to bring canine companions. Several times throughout the hike, Scott mentioned how much Reese and Harley would’ve liked to be on the trail with us. Maternal instincts made me teary thinking about them in a small 10 foot kennel while I was hiking the wilderness without them. That lasted only a moment, and was quickly replaced by not-so-distant memories of hiking with Harley and being jerked every which way, while intermittently being tripped up as he stopped to investigate something along the trail. Sure, they would’ve enjoyed the hike, but how much would we???

Scott had to work the 3 to Midnight shift all weekend, and Friday night turned into a 3-4am shift while they completed an arrest that took much longer than necessary due to the person’s reluctance to share correct information.

Subsequently, we slept in Saturday morning and didn’t head out as early as we’d planned. After we left, Scott remembered something and attempted to get back into the house. When he returned to the car moments later asking if I had the house key, my heart sank. I had taken his one and only house key the night before so I could hike on my own while he worked. And I had put it on my keyring and left it on the counter. Oh shit! We rummaged through some drawers in his office hoping to find a spare key, to no avail. Finally Scott called one of his co-workers who was on duty and asked if he had a master key which would open his place. The guy chuckled and offered to come by and let us in. Scott decided we could still salvage the day and go for a shorter hike, and his co-worker could come open and unlock the house before 2, just in time for Scott to come home, shower and head back to work.

So we headed back to 191 and hit up Bighorn Pass. This trail is also through a gorgeous meadow next to a stream. It was so peaceful and calm. Luckily the bear tracks and scat we saw were old, so as to not ruin our peaceful mood! We walked for a couple hours, ate lunch and headed back to West.

For some reason on Friday, I acquired huge blisters on each of my feet. They were both in exactly the same spot, running between the first two toes and down the bottom to the pad of my foot. You know the part you put the most emphasis on when you’re walking. They hurt like hell. I played it safe and decided to just sight-see on Saturday night instead of going for another hike.

Luckily by Sunday morning, the blisters were better, but in their place I had a weird random pain in the back of my ankle whenever I took a step. Sometimes it was excruciatingly sharp, and sometimes it just felt like a blunt pain. I limped along Daly Creek anyway, frustrated to have my weekend riddled with uncomfortable physical pain. I was feeling really great emotionally, and now to have physical discomfort was infuriating. Several times Scott asked if I was sure I wanted to hike because it looked like I was limping pretty bad. Yes, I assured him, I wasn’t about to let a little ankle pain ruin a perfectly good hiking day!

I made the right choice! Daly Creek also winds through a large meadow, occasionally trailing through small stands of pines. We off-trailed it a bit and Scott found an elk skull complete with antlers, and a random lone dropped antler farther up the trail.

We found new wildflowers neither of us had seen before….

and Scott jumped the creek to investigate some bones.

After our hike, we both showered and got ready. Scott had to head into work again, and I had to head back to Missoula. I was still feeling high and enjoyed the entire trip home. Along the way, an idea I’ve had in the back of my mind took hold. While I’ve since realized it would be rash and irresponsible to do it now, I’m filing it away and may in fact work towards it for next year.

I’ve always thought I would buy an RV when I retired and travel around the country, hell maybe even the world! The more I daydreamed about this, the more I realized I don’t necessarily need to wait until retirement. I have the perfect job! I could work from absolutely anywhere, so long as I had internet and telephone access. Unfortunately, my lease is renewable July 30 which means I would need to make a decision by June 30. And that’s not much time to decide to sell all my stuff and live in an RV I don’t even own yet! After some discussions with friends, and more contemplation I’ve realized now isn’t the best time. But next year might be.

Life Update

2010-06-11T11:42:00.007-06:00

So my friend Silvia just updated her family blog with this amazingly humorous story about what's been going on in each of their lives recently. Her son Lucas just graduated from middle school and will start high school in the fall, her daughter Rebecca is in college and working this summer in the Dells, her husband Dan is in Afganistan for a year, and she's holding down the fort as Gardener/Farmer/Mother/Wife Extraordinaire of the Year. After reading her blog I realized that for those of you who read mine, the last several posts would give the indication that my life is currently filled with anger, regret, sadness and sarcasm. Yeah, that's about right.

Seriously though, there is more to my life. I officially graduated with my Bachelor's in Social Work on May 15. My parents flew in to see for themselves that I had actually finished. And yes, there was some doubt after 10 years of school off & on. Like a bad relationship, you can't believe it's really over until you see the wreckage for yourself. Boy oh boy did they witness the wreckage. For months I put off cleaning my house due to lack of time, lack of desire, lack of motivation, but mostly due to lack of time. What I considered to be sufficient cleaning moments before they arrived clearly didn't fool them. Within days my mom was dusting my house and not-so-subtly letting me know my blankets needed washing because they smell like "dog."

Quite possibly the second best surprise in my life was my brother showing up the evening before graduation, when he'd already told me he couldn't come because he had to work. Scott's presence at my graduation was super important to me, and I was so surprised and happy he made it! Thanks to his supervisor for giving him the time off!! (For anyone curious, the best surprise was for my 25th birthday when Nate invited Scott to come spend the weekend with us and I didn't find out until Scott pulled in the driveway!)

While my mom was in town, I finally upgraded my yard-sale-find-twin-sized-super-uncomfortable bed to a Big-Girl's-Queen-Sized-Super-Duper-Comfortable-And-Expensive bed! I treated myself to some pretty sheets from TJ Maxx and now I can't wait to go to bed every night! The extra good quality sleep I'm getting is super helpful, because now I can make it through the entire morning and only need my 2pm nap. Goodbye 11am naps! :)

Now that school has ended, my free time has increased significantly, and if I do say so myself, I'm filling it up quite well. I've taken the last few weeks to re-acquaint myself with my television. Our relationship fell to the wayside during the last year of school. So I've stocked up on my favorite TV shows from the library, picked out some super easy knitting patterns, and strategically placed myself in the perfect spot on the couch to knit and catch up on NCIS, The Office, Seinfeld (I know these aren't new, but you gotta love the classics!), and some random movies. The dogs are loving my new-found free time, as they get to sleep under the blanket snuggled on either side of me for hours on end. (I know, I know, it's summer and I shouldn't need a blanket, but apparently Mother Nature didn't get the memo.)

My free time is also filled by my girlfriends. For anyone who doubts the necessity of girlfriends, I am living proof of their importance. Without my girlfriends, I'd be walking around talking to my imaginary friends Jerry, Elaine, Kramer, Abbey and Gibbs. Luckily my real friends are great at getting me out of the house, out of my head, and back into the real world on a weekly basis. Daily is too much for me to handle right now :) Drinks at the bar, happy hour at the Holiday Inn, trivia, game nights, knitting and breakfasts have been instrumental in keeping me out of the loony bin. I hear they don't allow pointy sticks or scissors. That wouldn't bode well for my sanity, thus reinforcing their beliefs about my mental state.

Speaking of pointy sticks, needles and yarn are no longer contraband. In the past few weeks I've managed to knit 2 scarves, start another baby blanket (my go-to knitting when I can't seem to figure out what else to knit), search through hundreds of patterns on Ravelry, and look through all my books and magazines several times. Quite an accomplishment, and yes I am proud!

I wish I could say gym time has increased now that I've graduated, but that would be a lie. Gym time is in direct conflict with TV time, and right now TV is a tad jealous. I think our relationship is too fragile at this point, so it's best I oblige her demands.

I took a few days to visit Scott in West Yellowstone last week. He doesn't own a TV so I was forced to enjoy the outdoors....and be confronted with the results of my recent lack of exercise. Even the easy hikes kicked my ass! I was huffing and puffing on flat trails like an asthmatic smoker running full-speed on a treadmill.

Earlier this week my cousin Liorah (whom I pen-pal with) asked me how my garden is coming. Mental headslap. Oh yeah, I told her back in April I was excited for summer so I could plant my pots with veggies and flowers. Hmm. Apparently my enthusiasm was washed away with all the rain we've been getting lately. It just doesn't seem like much fun to be outside right now. When my mom was in town, we had a momentary lapse in bad weather and I succumbed to the illusion that we might in fact have sun to help plants grow so I bought a lone tomato plant from the Farmer's Market. It's still sitting outside next to the pot it should be planted in. I have yet to buy potting soil. I don't believe I'll get the much coveted Montana Gardener Extraordinaire of the Year award.

Well, there you have it. I'm sure you're all very jealous of my exciting life, and I bet you want to live vicariously too :)

Shout Outs & Shin Kicks

2010-06-07T21:05:00.003-06:00

So the UM campus newspaper, the Montana Kaimin had a column last year called Big Ups & Backhands. Big Ups meaning "Nice work. You Rock! We agree. Sweet." Backhands referring to "WTF? What were you thinking? How ridiculous." So as to not plagiarize, I'll call mine Shout Outs & Shin Kicks.

A big Shout Out to Mother Nature for giving us 1.75 days on the weekend without rain! Saturday was sunny and beautiful! While Sunday wasn't sunny, it was dry and relatively warm.

Shout Out to one of my favorite rock/alternative bands, The Classic Crime for making a last minute stop in Missoula on Friday! On the same token, a Shout Out to my friend John for being game to check them out when he'd never heard of them! It was a great concert in the SHEC Community Center that took John & I only a few minutes to find once I figured out how to use the phone book properly. John and I were quite possibly the oldest people in attendance....Well, besides chaperoning parents wearing ear plugs in the back. (And before you laugh, you should know I wished I had remembered to stop on the way to buy a pair for myself.) I thoroughly enjoyed listening to the band, as well as people-watching the pre-pubescent teens in front of me. If the laugh lines around my eyes didn't give my age away, the fact that I was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans instead of a trendy tank top and way-too-short skirt probably did.

A loud Shout Out to Andrea & Mason for inviting me to the driving range with them. What a blast we had! I'd never hit golf balls before, thus never knew what I was missing out on! Turns out I'm not super good, but I can whack the ball pretty far...just off to the right instead of straight down the lane. My inspiration was pretending the balls were a certain X's testicles. Man what a good time!

Speaking of which...a steel-toe Shin Kick to myself for still whining about a break up that happened months ago. Seriously, get over it and move on. Geez.

A sarcastic Shout Out to whomever prices goods at the Secret Seconds on Kensington & Stephens. I scored a barely used Abercrombie & Fitch zip-up hoodie for $5 while a Griz Sweatshirt with huge coffee-like stains down the front was priced at $10. A swift Shin Kick to Missoula priorities.

A Shin Kick to Reese for growling and attempting to bite a sweet chocolate lab that tried to say "hi" by sniffing his butt when we were hiking in Blue Mountain on Saturday. It was quite embarrassing, especially since I already told the lady my dog was nice and friendly and it was ok to let hers come over.

Last but not least, several grateful Shout Outs to all my friends for making me feel loved and wanted, and for reminding me that I do belong in Missoula, after a great week with my brother in which I didn't want to come home. Erin, Christie & John, thanks for getting me out of the house (and my head) and out to the bars for a drink and some laughs! Andrea & Mason, as always thanks for the good times, and for teaching me something new and fantastic!!! Jen & Miriam, I love you girls and seriously don't know what I'd do without you! Thanks for all the knitting, bitching and eating :)

Appetites

2010-04-19T19:37:00.005-06:00

So the X and I have been talking again. We're attempting to be friends, work through our own shit and see what happens. Mostly we both knew it was over; we know we have some major differences, and we both have feelings for other people.

Tonight I met to help him pick out glasses. Watch out ladies, he'll be even sexier in frames. As a thank you for providing a girl's opinion, he bought me my favorite dinner, El Diablo. In the process he managed to piss me off, lose some of my respect and seal the deal on what romantic feelings I had left for him. My judgmental side takes over in situations like these, and although others may think I'm idealistic, delusional or just plain niave I'm going to stick with my opinion.

K, if you're reading this, you're right. We have some "fundamental" differences:

FUN - is what you think it is.
DA - as in DUH, I think that's so effing stupid.
MENTAL - is what I think you are for thinking that way.

The X is a good person and will remain that way in my eyes. He's one of the greatest guys I know. I'm sure, in fact I know there are women out there who agree with him so he'll have no trouble finding someone who doesn't have this fundamental difference. I, on the other hand, will need to be patient, continue to work through my issues and hope like hell there's some dude out there who believes what I believe.

Sorry guys, I'm not on board with the belief "it doesn't matter where you get your appetite so long as you go home to eat." I refuse to even entertain the idea that it's healthy to flirt, be all over, & get turned on by someone else but go home to your sig other for the goods. It's one thing to appreciate another's attractiveness, but quite another for them turn you on and let it get physical...but you go home to your sig other and think of the previous person. SORRY, no deal with me. I'd rather spend the rest of my life "employing" myself (to quote a great movie, 500 Days of Summer. That's also for you Chip) than be with someone who's mind is elsewhere.

In all honesty it's not like I didn't know that was his motto. We've disagreed on this item before. But I didn't think to ask specifics. I assumed 'looking' was what he meant. Specifics are good. They are our friends. Had I asked for specifics I could've saved myself 2 years. While they were a good 2 years and I don't regret them I could've lived without the last 4 months of misery.

Lesson learned. Now I know to find out where and how a guy believes he can and should get his "appetite." While it's not exactly appropriate conversation for Date #1, it's definitely something I'll need to know before, say, Date #8.

Cuz let me tell ya, any guy with the same belief as K, won't be eating at my table.

2010-04-11T00:36:00.004-06:00

Today’s post is going to be a little different than normal (also a little longer). You’re probably used to reading sarcasm, humor and/or downright rudeness. Today’s post is nothing like that. But before I explain what today’s post actually is, I want to explain something. Recently someone equated this blog to my journal. Please don’t misunderstand…this is not a journal. A journal is meant for the writer’s eyes only; it’s a way for one to process their thoughts and feelings. It is not meant for anyone else to read. A blog, on the other hand, is meant for others to read, and as such is often embellished, induced with more sarcasm than normal, and portrayed in such a way as to be entertaining, informative regarding my life & experiences, and written with YOU (the reader) in mind. So, to bring this back around full circle (that’s for you Chip), this post is intended to offer some insight into something many of you have expressed utter bewilderment about. This post is more along the lines of reflection and contemplation. For the first time in a long time, I’m not feeling extremely sarcastic or rude.

I talked to my ex-husband today, for the first time in almost a year. It was around this time last year that he called to say he was engaged, his fiancée was pregnant, and he was in the process of being discharged from the Army. (Honorably, by the way.) When our conversation ended this time, I had a very different feeling than last year.

Most of you didn’t understand my attraction to Nate, nor his to me, and looking back I can see why. We were very different; we had dissimilar backgrounds, opposite personalities, and we clashed in almost every way. It was Paula Abdul’s “Opposites Attract” to a T. And yet. We fell in love…the way only teenagers can; head over heels with no regard for logic. It didn’t matter that we argued about everything under the sun, and everything over the sun too. It didn’t matter that we broke up almost every 6 months after the first year, I think. We always came back together. We had a bond, a pretty serious one. I know it’s hard to understand. Part of that bond is because we grew up together. We met at 17 and 18, when we thought we knew it all…yet we were too naïve to even know ourselves.

We were best friends. The kind of best friends who told each other everything! You know those things you swear to yourself you’ll never tell another living soul?? We told each other those things. I have secrets of his I’ll take to my grave, and I hope the same is true for him. (If not, he and I might need to have another go-round.) We shared thoughts and feelings, ideas and beliefs. We shared our goals and dreams, and we made plans. We had a connection so deep and so strong, we could tell what the other was thinking just by the look on their face, or a sigh heard over the phone. Arguments started over what we knew the other was thinking….and believe me when I say these arguments weren’t in vain. We knew each other that well.

In some ways it was fairy-tale-ish. But in others it was more of a nightmare. Arguments increasingly got worse; words that should never be spoken were voiced over and over and over again. One of us tried to jump out of a 70 mile an hour truck just to get away from a never-ending argument. One of us almost ran the other over (and succeeded in dislocating the driver’s side door) trying to put some space between a ridiculous disagreement. (Both me.) One of us never wanted to walk away from an argument regardless of its stupidity. (Him.) Apologies were thrown around like birdseed at a wedding. When it was near the end, apologies became more like weed-free parties in Missoula…few & far between.

Despite all the anger, hatred and hurt, we still had that bond. So many times over the course of “the end” we’d pull it back together and try once more. I believe we’re still in the running for “Most Failed Attempts at Ending a Relationship.” There were days we’d sneak away from work to sit for hours at our kitchen table hashing through what had happened, how we could fix it, and what we wanted our future to look like. We tried so hard, but in the end divorce was the right thing for both of us.

He wasn’t home the day I moved my things out. He’d simply left a letter on the table. For awhile, I kept it in my planner. A simple reminder of how few words there were left to say. There was a time we’d write several pages to each other, front and back. This letter was different. After I moved to Missoula, I read the letter many times and memorized several of the lines. In a “letting go” ritual, I burned it. But long after the ashes flew away, the words stayed with me. I can no longer remember what the letter said, but I can still see his handwriting clearly. Like his voice, so uniquely Nate. I’ve no doubt I’ll recognize both of them for the rest of my life. The same way I’ll know his social security number until the day I die. (Don’t worry, I won’t use it for evil. Every Army wife knows her husband’s soc, current, former or otherwise.)

He made a comment on the phone today. One that let me know that bond is still there. Not as strong as it once was, and it’ll continue to fade even more with ever-changing times. But it’s there. And I take comfort in that. It means we weren’t entirely wrong in our choice of one another. I know many of you didn’t think our choice to marry was wise, in some ways I agree. But the lessons I learned from him and our time together are worth all the pain and suffering to me. We’ll both move forward in our lives living and loving healthier, stronger because of what we put one another through.

The love we once had for one another is probably all gone. It’s been replaced with a new kind of love; no longer co-dependent and immature, it’s now full of appreciation and fondness for lessons and a history only we share. For the longest time I believed I would never love again. I often wondered if he thought the same. Now we both know. He does, and I do, though in a different, better way. It’s healthier and more sophisticated.

We wished each other well, and I know we both meant it. The hard feelings are gone, and there’s no longer a need to prove how well we’re doing. I feel appreciative for what I went through with him. I know myself so well now, and I’m proud of who I am. I can go forward in my life knowing I’ll never make certain mistakes again, and while I’d like to be able to pass that wisdom onto others, I know those lessons can only be learned through experience. Just ask my most recent X.

Nate’s remarried now with a daughter and another baby on the way. In some ways I think his life went the way he’d hoped ours would go all those years ago. My life is a little less planned out, but nonetheless satisfying. And it’s how I always envisioned our life to be; peaceful, carefree and just the two of us (only technically it’s only “just the one of us”). This is a perfect example of how we were so not “meant-to-be” and yet we believed we were. Love defied logic to us. Our lives are now as they should be; we’re living the opposite dreams we had so long ago, and I think we’re both happier and more secure in ourselves now.

I wonder if his wife can appreciate me for the man she has now. If I ever marry again, it'll only be to a man who can appreciate Nate for shaping me into the woman who stands before him.

You Look Good in Grief

2010-04-07T14:27:00.002-06:00

I’m just one of those people. I don’t try to be this way; I think it’s hereditary. When I’m stressed out, I lose my appetite. That and sleep are the first to go. Somehow, lack of sleep doesn’t seem to affect my physical appearance as much as lack of appetite though.

All this means that I’ve effectively lost any weight I had previously put on. (I’m also one of “those” people who doesn’t give a crap about what the scale says, so I don’t weight myself or ever know how much I’ve put on or lost until the pants do/don’t fit anymore.) More than one person has commented on how I look like I’ve lost weight…usually it comes across in a positive tone. I’m not sure if it’s meant as a compliment, or if you’re trying to nicely say I look Ethiopian. (No offense to the Ethiopes, I understand you don’t have enough food or nutrition.)

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way offended by these comments. If it’s meant in a positive way, thank you very much! If it’s meant to mean “You need to pig out and put on a few pounds” thanks as well, I’m trying but stress is slowly killing me right now.

As I was getting dressed in front of the mirror this morning (let’s face it, who amongst us isn’t a little vain every once in awhile???) I realized that I have in fact lost more weight than I thought. The reflection in the mirror reminded me of an NC17 picture my ex-husband took of me on our honeymoon. Apparently my taste in bras & underwear hasn’t changed because I’m wearing something similar in both. I weighed in at about 105 then (back then I did care about what the scale said). I’m sure I’m quite a bit more than that now, but the super flat stomach and bony elbows look the same. I flashed back to 2 days ago when a friend said I look like I’ve lost more weight. I know she meant it nicely, and I felt complimented and happy at the time. But today my sarcastic mind twisted it into “You look good in grief!” Some days I crack myself up…today was one of those days. The dogs looked up from their naps wondering who had just said something to set me off into a fit of laughter. They were not amused, but I was.

Then I started to wonder why the lack of appetite shows but the lack of sleep doesn’t. I’ve been going on less than 3-4 hours of sleep per night for exactly 90 days. I should have thick black circles under my eyes. How am I still functioning as a relatively normal person?? How in the hell am I able to put an intelligent sentence together on so little sleep? I should’ve lost my job by now due to lack of production and rudeness to customers. When I’m “normal” (and I use this term loosely) if I don’t get 8 hours every night I turn into a cosmic bitch. But somehow now, I’m still nice and no one’s tried to kill me yet.

Am I just lucky, or am I speaking too soon? Perhaps the karma gods are getting ready to pounce for all the horrible things I’ve done in my life. Only time will tell. Should I start to look like the zombie I feel, just give me a healthy dose of NyQuil and lock me in my room.