Note to my best friend

To you,

It's after 1 o'clock in the morning, and I'm catching up on emails, straightening living room throw pillows, and holding my breath to see if I missed any deadlines today, all before waking up at 6am. But I'm writing this note to let you know I don't mind. Because today, I slept in until I noticed your arms were around me. We ate breakfast and watched Let's Make A Deal until we were hungry again. Then we went downtown for lunch where we stayed and talked so long I'm pretty sure the manager at Sweet Tomatoes was staring us down. You complimented me not once but twice on the pair of skeleton key earrings I hadn't worn in awhile, which I thought was sweet because I'm pretty sure they cost me $6 three years ago. We (ok, I) substituted every Rascal Flatts lyric on Pandora for "meow" while on our way to pick up that dress you were sweet enough to wait around for me to try on, despite your heartburn from lunch (which mysteriously increased in severity every time I broke out in song). 

That nap we took when we got home was so long and intense, you'd think we'd just accomplished something. You appeased my sudden desire to take a walk to enjoy the gorgeous fall weather as the sun went down, and then ate leftovers with a smile so that all I had to do was heat up ravioli. We squandared the rest of the evening with blankets, cookies, and cocoa, in front of an odd show about a Pawn shop which haggled with customers over things like monkey skulls and human gall stones -- that was for me; twenty-six minutes of a bad Mel Gibson movie -- that was for you; and then eventually we settled on too many episodes of Frasier -- so unoriginally us.

Basically, I love being your wife. 

Love, love, love,

me.

PS. Thanks for the neck rub.

To everyone else -- hopefully more pictures from our anniversary trip to Colorado will be up soon. :)

The Checklist

I've always had it easy in the husband department. 
We started out as friends -- the best kind. I once noted in my personal blog (ok, diary) that I could tell Roberto would someday be a great husband (and maybe particularly attractive). He was my first boyfriend. When we were dating, I dusted off a list of ten or fifteen crucial things I once made of non-negotiables I required in a husband -- and checked off every single one of them. So when he asked me to marry him, there wasn't too much to think about. There's no doubt in my mind that it'll end with rocking chairs and clasped, wrinkly hands.

Photo by Cintia Ally

I'm lucky. I know because every time I have trouble finding that perfect dress for a special occasion, or just the right photographer to hire for a portrait session, I find myself half-joking that it was easier to find a husband; because fact is, it's not even that easy to find a friend.

Now when I say friend, I mean an actual friend. Someone you make long-term investments in because frankly, they're deserving of your friendship. If I've learned one thing about friends in 23 years, it's that no friends are absolutely better than bad ones. Being a military wife, friends come and go and are scattered throughout the country --- so settling for someone because they're in the same zip code and sport a pulse can definitely be a temptation.

Through the years I've had my share of true bffs, but I've also invested frustrating amounts of time I'll never get back into ones who didn't deserve ten seconds. I'm almost more thankful for the latter, because I've learned so much more about what a friend should be by experiencing the pain and frustration from someone who clearly wasn't.

Re-enter the "husband checklist". Although I give all the credit to God for finding my Knight in Shining Armor, it didn't hurt that I was purposeful about who I chose to be apart of my life. Because of this, I have no doubt that enormous amounts of baggage and heartache were prevented along the way. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" as my current fave cliche goes; so as Roberto and I slowly prepare for the next chapter of our lives, I thought I'd adopt the idea of a "checklist" for a new circle of friends.

So here goes. Fifteen things, in order of immediate importance, on a list I should have made a long time ago.

My next friend...

#1 - WOULDN'T TALK ABOUT ANYONE BEHIND THEIR BACK.

Especially if it's a mutual friend. Heel to the no, honey. Everyone knows that if you're talking about them, you either have been or will be talking about me. No one but no one is exempt from the insatiable appetite of a gossip. I'm not innocent, but I have decided to be very proactive about this in my relationships. If I'm smart, the first time you talk crap will be the last time we hang out.

#2 - WOULDN'T STAND ME UP.
This is Consideration 101. If she makes plans with me, she better not break them on a whim. Plans are your word --- something I take very seriously and try very hard to keep. Not gonna lie, blatant inconsideration is a major peeve of mine and has lead me to end friendships. If you're going to do this, honesty is of course preferable to made-up excuses that serve as a slap in the face.

#3 - WOULDN'T ASK ME TO DO ANYTHING THAT COULD BORE ME TO TEARS.

If it makes my friend happy, it makes me happy --- most of the time. But questions such as "I gotta go to the DMV... wanna go with?" can be quite frustrating for a few reasons. 
We both know the honest answer is um, NO. But there's also that underlying message of "We both know your time isn't that valuable; and let's be honest, I'm important enough to have an escort" that I can't get past. I try to not even ask such things of my spouse. I'm not concerned with boredom or inconvenience; I will give rides home from the eye doctor or wait in emergency rooms all day long because that is what friends do. But if I suspect I'm being an escort, you'll be going everywhere alone --- and receiving a blow-up doll and an electric blanket this year for Christmas because it's clear that all you want is a warm body to sit next to your ego. Just for practice, the conversation "Do you want to go shopping and get our nails done?""I'd love to! Oh, but I don't have the money right now." "Sucks. Will you go with me as I go shopping and get my nails done?" SHOULD NOT HAPPEN. Which leads me to #3---

#4 - WOULD NEVER USE ME (OR ANYBODY).

Another no-brainer, really. Been there, done that, the bus is leaving to middle school. I find a lot of joy in giving, but no one deserves something they've made up their mind not to do to anybody else.

#5 - GETS CUTE FOR GIRL'S NIGHT OUT.

I'm not asking that we look like the Kardashians, but feeling overdressed because I'm not wearing my husband's t-shirt, my comfiest pair of jeans and no make-up to dinner on a Saturday night is depressing. I know it's just me, but this strikes me as absolutely no fun and I have no desire to understand it. At all.

#6 - CAN HANDLE / APPRECIATE HONESTY.

So many girls remind me of Kelly Kapoor: "Daryl Philbin is the most complicated man that I've ever met. I mean, who says exactly what they're thinking? What kind of game is that?" Unlike some girls who swear they hate drama and then proceed to create it, I really do detest the stress that is brought into a relationship by communication that is only speckled with genuinity.

#7 - DOESN'T THINK THIS IS A COMPETITION.

Oh, you know. "Everything you can do I can do better." And, "You're into that? Oh well I'm into that." "You bought what? I'm on my way to the store now." "You're innocently sharing your excitement that you might be going to Ireland? Well I've been looking into airfare to New Zealand since 4 seconds ago." Some people are perfectly content with what they have and where they're at, and if they aspire for more it's for none other than their own personal satisfaction. I'm not the kind of friend who wants, needs, or can stand that, so if you are, I promise you would die from lack of stimulation.

#8 - DOESN'T HAVE TO SPEND MONEY TO HAVE FUN.

I don't need distracted from life with nonstop entertainment or pleasure, or desire to spend spend spend to have a good time; just being together should be a good time --- no supplements required. The main concern here is that the type of person who always has to spend is usually someone who considers home peddies, kettle popcorn and Netflix an absolute last resort. Just personally, that is not a person I wanna spend many weekends with!

#9 - WOULDN'T ALWAYS PRESUME WE'RE TAKING HER CAR.
This may seem silly, but the person who is constantly and unquestionably assuming the drivers seat is usually if not always the type of person who does so to let everyone else in the car know that they're in control and, whatever happens during the time that we're about to have, she ultimately calls the shots (or otherwise just assumes we both agree she has the superior car). I'm going to give the benefit of the doubt and say it's a subconscious thing, but either way I detest it --- and girls, you know its true. I was hoping that this type of thing went away after high school, but I don't think that's always the case.

#10 - KNOWS HOW TO LISTEN.

Like... listen. To actually hear and process instead of thinking about their reply/conjuring their best one-upper. I know this is kind of an unrealistic from people these days, but I can dream!

#11 - IS WILLING TO TRY NEW THINGS.

Because what fun is someone who won't try new things?!

#12 - APPRECIATES DIFFERENCES.

She wouldn't get annoyed or judgmental about the things that makes us unique, because being exposed to differences is what make us better individuals. This means we'll have different priorities. Yep: we're going to think, act, respond, appreciate, and spend differently. She wouldn't be so naive as to think that differences in priorities isn't what largely defines the difference between every person in every country throughout the world, because to deny that would be to assume we're all the same.

#13 - DOESN'T TALK TRASH ABOUT HER HUSBAND.

I don't sling mud on my best friend. Don't try this! I will intentionally make things awkward.

#14 - WOULDN'T INSIST ON PAYING.

And especially wouldn't get her panties in a twist if I don't get her back. I could see how the fact that this is even on my list would strike some people as odd; we're friends, not lesbians. Yet there are those people who get something out of giving, or rather "faux giving" --- "oh let me, let me (but if you don't have my back next time, so help you...)". No, thank you. First of all, a gift should be a gift --- not some twisted burden of obligation. Second of all, if you continually insist on paying for me, you can count on me to try to break the cycle. I didn't ask you to pay for me. I don't want you to pay for me. In fact, we undoubtedly fought over you not paying for me. And anyways, there's always a short straw in this game. But basically, we're not rich, and we're not dating. Unless it's someone's birthday, I think it'd be nice if the question "Seperate checks?" was a no-brainer.

#15 - WOULDN'T EXPECT ME TO RESPOND TO THE SILENT TREATMENT.

Silence should speak nothing. Besides, this is a little pretentious, idn't it? If there's something on her mind, she'd approach it. I'm not her boyfriend, I'm not interested in being her boyfriend, and I'm not going to try to guess what I could have possibly said or done wrong or what she's thinking, because I would not expect her to do the same thing. If our friendship is going to be as much work as a marriage, count me out because I'm already in one.

I know I'm not perfect, but these are areas I feel are inexcusable for both parties. Call them petty pet peeves, call me crazy, call it however you want --- I call it preventative measures for a happier life.

We can't all have fresh starts, but we all deserve to be particular with who and how we invest our time...

What do you deserve in a friend?

Don't be caddy!

I love those people who get offended when someone doesn't say hi. Then they get their caddy on and go rant and complain to another girl about how the other girl did them such a rude injustice and that "biatch" is such a snob. Unless you greet someone and they ignore you, you can't get your panties in a twist because they didn't rise above your level by failing to do something you yourself didn't even do. Cause I'm pretty sure that's one of the definitions for arrogance.

It seems I'm one of those people who've been "graced" with the responsibility of always being expected to take the initiative --- in greeting, and in life. (Why, why, why? Am I the only person who feels like this?...) For example: I walk into a room and see someone I kinda know. We make eye contact and I smile. But if I don't follow my grin with a "heyyyyyy girllll!!", there's often a vibe of "ahem. Shauna, don't you have something to say...?" I'm sorry, I failed to realize my mouth released the lock and bolt on yours.

Does it take class to grant a common courtesy, regardless of reciprocation? Yes. Do I ever intentionally not tell someone hi? No. Not that it isn't tempting if I detect you're one of those people. Which are usually detectable about a mile away.

If there's a moral to this story, it's treat others as you would like to be treated. If there's three morals to this story, it's treat others as you expect to be treated, act your age, and don't embarrass yourself by acting foolish.

Just sayin'. :)

Character means everything. Unless you're the President of the United States??

“If you don’t have any fresh ideas, then you use stale tactics to scare the voters. 
If you don’t have a record to run on, then you paint your opponent as someone people should run from. Make an election about the small [insignificant, meaningless, distractful] things.” 

-President Barack Obama

Those who know me well know me to be a pretty good judge of character. Sometimes it's an uncomfortable feeling in my gut. I can't help but cringe at their smile and instinctively distrust everything they say. But for times when it's not so obvious, I defer to the combination of actions and words which make up that priceless thing called character.

"Everyone tries to define this thing called character. It's not hard. Character is doing what's right when nobody's looking." 

- J. C. Watts

Although I'm "technically" a Republican, I don't have it in my head that Democrats are bad people. I know many of my Democratic friends to be smart, objective, analytical people. Most of the closest and dearest friends I've ever had are Democrats. We're not that different. We all want the same things---we just believe in going about them in a very different way.

I implore those friends, and all Americans, to consider this:

The thought process behind someone's ethical beliefs (or lack of) tells you everything, everything, EVERYTHING about whether or not they're someone you should be rooting for. If I paid attention to someone's words alone, I'm likely to build an unrealistic opinion of that person. No presidential candidate has ever been close to perfect; truly, we'd be naive to deny that sometimes the reality of the situation is a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. But if we're objective---that is, if we're honest with ourselves (admittedly, the most difficult kind of honesty) and truly want what's best for the greater good---we can use our discernment to pick out the traits that comprise someone's character.

A good place to start is looking at someone's actions. Because as the old adage goes, "actions speak louder than words."

"I have always thought the actions of men the best interpreters of their thoughts." -John Locke

Do your own homework about the person you plan to vote for. What's their REAL history---the things the media has decided that you should overlook? What are the things they've said in the past that revealed their character before anyone was really paying attention to it? Do they take good care of their health, or do they allow their stress to manifest in unhealthy ways such as smoking? Do they maintain good relationships with others, or do they have immediate family in Africa who are reaching out to locals to help pay the medical bills for their child because their multi-millionaire brother has disowned them? (Ok, so it's obvious who I'm picking on a little bit! But don't shoot the messenger, do your own research.) Whether you like to admit that these things are indicators of character or not, they are. It doesn't mean they're a bad person, but it DOES mean you don't want them leading our nation.

Watch your thoughts...they become words.

Watch your words...they become actions.

Watch your actions...they become habits.

Watch your habits...they become character.

Watch your character...it controls your destiny. 

(Or, if you happen to be, like, the President of the United States, your character controls the nation's destiny.)

So many people these days say "eww! I don't deal with politics." If that's the case and we're being honest, can you please stop feeling special? An ostrich with its head in the sand is a worthless asset to society, but will be present and held accountable for its decisions nonetheless.

Character is everything. It's who that person really is. And like it or not, it WILL play a role in every decision they make.

Consider that this November.

Coi ponds, Batmans and power outages

Wow, so I've been running behind on things all week. The fact that it's Thursday and I'm just now blogging the week end is a pretty good example of that.

On Friday, Roberto found out where our next station may very possibly be. Nothing is certain with the military until it's certain, however, and even then that means nothing until we're there (should be early spring). Nonetheless, it threw a wrench in my day. Not much a sweet husband who gets home early, a fruity drink and good flick can't fix, though.

Saturday we drove a friend of Roberto's to the airport and, while we were in the area, tried to catch a showing of Batman III. But when you show up to buy tickets 15 minutes late on a Saturday afternoon to a popular movie that came out less than two weeks ago, there's not going to be any good seats left (who knew). Which made me soooooo sadddd (remember how I hate packed movie theaters???). So we took the snacks we grabbed at Walmart for the movie (shh) and found a gorgeous little park in downtown Grapevine.

We didn't know about it until we stumbled upon it (21st century definition of stumbling = searching in the Maps app). But I love that we found it. Because I'm always looking for hidden gems just around the corner. I rarely find them, but I always believe they're there----it's just a treasure hunt, and the key is not to settle. For example, we almost awkwardly ate our lunch on a bench that sat about 30ft from a downtown curb----if it wasn't for my belief that there was something waiting for us nearby that was perfect.

We traded a bum hotspot for shaded cobblestone walkways, trail bridges, sunny courtyards and ponds teaming with coi. We ate our snacks under a canopy of trees at the peak of a miniature hill overlooking a nice area of the park surrounding a water fountain. It was like the park was made just for us.

As if I wasn't already as happy as a kid in a candy shop, Roberto pushed me on the swings and bought me froyo. Yeeaaaaap, it was my kinda Saturday afternoon.

Sunday we grabbed some snacks at Whole Foods after church before heading to the first matinee (empty!) showing of Batman III. And can I JUST SAY that Katie Holmes in the first Batman was a very confused look, tilt-of-the-head "seriously?" Maggie Gylenhaal in Batman II was an "I don't know how this happened, but I don't know where to begin." But when Anne Hathaway appeared on the screen, I thought insanity had turned to torture. Oh NO, I have to put up with THIS chick for the next two and a half hours?! But she actually fit her role quite well. I will say, though, that I'm not amused by the glamorization of shootings and bombings throughout the entire movie. Bad guy is featured as an ultimate bad-ass, shoots up a place, camera pans to close-ups of people in horror at his mercy, flashes to news casts and talk shows revolving solely around him. Even if the majority of human beings weren't as impressionable as children, they'd do a lot less for that kind of attention. Couldn't really get passed my overwhelming dislike of Hollywood and the general stupidity of society to be impressed with that movie. 

Annnnd Roberto longs for the day of simple answers when he asks me what I thought of a movie on the way out to the car.

Afterwards we went to Sweet Tomatoes!! Courtesy of a gift card I had received in the mail the day before from a sweet friend who obviously knows me well. Cause I love me some Sweet Tomatoes. 

Later that evening we woke up from a nap to orange light shining through our blinds and the sound of tornado sirens. We frantically began emptying the stairwell underneath the stairs when we lost power...

The storm passed quickly, but the house was dark and HOT for the next 28 hours. Night time was miserable but during the day we used the excuse to do some of our fave things. Our time was spent hopping between restaurants, shops and bookstores in an effort to avoid being at home, where our only option was to lay still. We for sure made the best of it though!

Thank God for the books, AC and the free wifi of B&N!

Don't you hate when the power goes out?

We lovvve Buca di Beppo. Their veggie pizza, which is thin crust, practically no cheese, chunky sauce, fresh veggies and breaded eggplant, is officially my FAVE. By the way, that pizza made at least four amazing meals.

Yea know, life treats me pretty good.

Letter to me

If I could write a letter to me

and take it back in time to myself at 17...

Roberto and I were talking the other day when he brought up in passing the fact that 2007 was five years ago.

I don't recall what he was talking about, but I can tell you that my attention froze right there.

I can do basic math, so this should have been of no surprise. And yet I had never stopped to count. Has it really been five years since I was 17? Five years.

Years since my old bestie and I spent our evenings in abandoned parking lots working on our skateboard skills (well, utter lack of) just to have something to talk about with the boy from school.

Yeah I know you really liked her, and it just don't seem fair

But all I can say is pain like that is fast, and it's rare...

Years since weekends of speeding through the streets of our neighborhoods blasting The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. Years since a curly haired boy with a natural tan asked if he could sit with us at lunch. Years since I wondered if he would ever ask me to prom.

Um.. yeah.

Each and every time you have a fight

Just assume you're wrong, and dad is right...

Years since I got my first car, an old Nissan Sentra which smelled of cigars but made me feel bad-a as I ran to Walmart to pick up last minute things for my mom that rainy Thanksgiving---because it was mine. Years since I navigated the corridors of my high school with my fellow classmates to the sound of Pomp and Circumstance in my rebelliously floral heels.

Oh, you got so much goin' for ya, goin' right

But I know at 17 it's hard to see past Friday night

Tonight's the bonfire rally, but you're staying home instead

Because if you fail algebra, your mom and dad will kill ya dead

But trust me, you'll squeak by and get a C

You're still around to write this letter to me

Years since we danced on the beach that night he asked me to marry him. Years since I got on a plane to Paris, absolutely certain I would die. Years since we moved only 6 hours north of our family----and yet a part of me felt we had taken on the world.
Years.

I wish you'd study spanish, wish you'd take a typing class

I wish you wouldn't worry, and let it be

Have a little faith, and you'll see...

Honing my skateboarding "skills"

I love listening to Brad Paisley's If I Could Write A Letter To Me. I can relate to pretty much every line (except that part about the playboy and the skoal can... honest). I feel I've done an ok job at keeping the mistakes in my life to a minimum----and still oh, if I could write a letter to me.

I might say that high school didn't matter. Grades weren't everything. Athletics teach you more about life than you'll ever learn in a classroom. No friends are better than bad ones. Life is short. Some things can wait. Don't give up Photo for more OJT. Family is more important. Be sweet to your parents, they want what's best and they know what they're talking about. Follow your gut. Don't worry. And believe it or not, despite the fun you're having now, these really aren't the best years of your life.

It makes me wonder, as I sit here, slowly freaking out as it becomes obvious that our next duty station will only take us farther from my scholarship and home, what wisdom I would impart to my 22-year-old self five quick years from now. Oh, if I could expedite that letter to me.

You've got so much up ahead

You'll make new friends

And you should see your kids and wife

Then I'd end by sayin, have no fear

These are nowhere near the best years of your life.

If I could write a letter to me...

March 2012

Happy.

I like to dwell on things that make me happy.

I found a hair at the bottom of my cup of tea thismorning. That makes me not happy. I was tempted to dwell on it. In fact, to torture myself, I raised it from its watery acai-infused grave for a close and thorough inspection. How could a hair end up in my tea? My tea? A cup that I washed in my dishwasher and put away into my cupboard? I don't have hairy cupboards. Or so I thought? D:

What kind of hair could this be? I'd like to divert your attention from the fact that such a gross incident occurred in my home by blaming on those responsible for the tea. Yes, certainly it was the nose hair of a Brazilian berry picker. No, stop. I'm throwing up a little. Honestly, I think it was a little Lacy hair. That makes me feel a bit better (somehow?). Still, how did my dog's fur end up in my cup of tea? That stuff happens to the people featured on Animal Hoarders, not the OCD owner of a 5lb 7" short-haired dog----right? Clearly I'm over thinking the matter----which brings me to my point that it's all too easy to dwell on things we don't like. Rather we should make an attempt to reflect on the things we do like. The things that make us smile.

Tea makes me smile. The more hairless the cup, the better. Seriously though, I get a kick out of selecting, brewing and drinking tea. I could spend 20 minutes shopping for a box of tea at the health food store. For years I boycotted tea because of its effects on my teeth. But now, I let both hot and iced tea----and the occasional latte----make me smile. In the words of Rascal Flatts, I'd like to have the time I lost, and give it back to tea (<my version). It's enriched my life on a minuscule scale. I'm happier, alert, and infused with antioxidants, and stuff like that. I've even recently made the upgrade from Lipton to The Republic of Tea. I know I know----pure FRIVOLITY. But that's how much I love my tea.

It doesn't need to be chilly & rainy for me to put a kettle on. But when it is, it makes me happy....

I could probably list hundreds of things right here and now that tend to brighten my every day. But instead, I think I'll let it give me something to blog about. I'll blog every week about something that makes me happy. Maybe every Thursday, because (topic spoiler) Thursdays are my fave(!!!!) and they make me happy. And I'm all about bein apropo.

I gotta say, my brand new background makes me happy! How can yellow chevrons NOT MAKE YOU HAPPY.

Tea, Thursdays, and yellow chevrons = :) :) :)

A margined life

Time. It's the one thing in the world of which we share an equal amount every day. The one currency in which we're neither rich or poor. The intangible value that ever escapes us. Some of us have been blessed with the prerogative to manage it to our liking more than most. At this point in my life, I'm fortunate to be able to. Although I consider it a great responsibility, I will never take for granted the priviledge I currently possess of managing and using my time at my own discretion. And yet somehow, I still find myself pressed for time.

I doubt I'm the only person who suffers from this self-inflicted syndrome. I know I have no one to blame but myself. For example: if it's 5:30am and I have somewhere to be in three hours, I really and truly believe that I have enough time to squeeze in a workout (1hr 20 minutes), take a shower (30 minutes), scarf breakfast (who wants to scarf breakfast?!), find something to wear, walk the dog, do my hair and makeup (let's just say it takes more than an hour, mk), and leave room for driving time (average is 30 minutes in Texas) plus traffic (at least 10, although I never do). This is how I live my life. BEST possible case scenario? I'm not late to where I'm going, I arrive alive and hopefully speeding ticket free, and my life goes by way faster than it needs to.

In short, I'm learning the value of margin.

Margin is defined as an edge or a border. In a Word document, it's the extra inch on every side. In life, it's the space that allows room to breathe. It's the brink that makes all the difference between falling off a cliff and standing on it. It permits for inevitable hiccups and valuable reflection. It decreases the stress in our lives and improves the quality. It's smelling the roses. To deny yourself the option of doing so is decidedly no way to live.

I'm by no means a fatalist. I'm a firm believer that our lives are direct outcomes of the choices we make, and that if we aren't proud or happy with our life, we can only do something by taking it up with the one person who has the power to change it (ourselves). But as someone with a personality which has a tendency to control, I've had to accept there's few things I have direct influence over in my daily life.

One is my reactions. The other is my time.

So today, I traded a workout and makeup for an extra hour of needed sleep, which I considered an investment not only for the day but for the rest of the week. I watched the Olympics for a record time of five whole minutes while I ate my breakfast. I had time to brew water for tea before I headed out the door. I arrived where I was going on time. It may not sound like THE LIFE, but if the present is the only life we have, then I improved the quality of it in the capacity that I was able to. And what a better life it is.


Makeup free but happy.



Gyros, recaps, and creepers

I have trouble hating Mondays. Yes, I couldn't fall asleep last night until 1am because Roberto and I ritually annihilate any sleep routine we may have developed by the time Friday night rolls around. Yes, I had to wake up at 4:50am because it was a weekday. And yes, I've already driven two hours, procrastinated the gym, fought (well, fighting) the urge to take a nap, have no idea what I'm making for dinner, and still have errands to run in a 130* car whose AC is flirting very intimately with me wanting to punch it in its face. Ya know, Monday stuff. But I'm realizing that if you play your weekend right, it's all ok.

Ahh Monday.

Until recently, I've spent the majority of every weekend trying to "get ahead"... Come to think of it, I guess that's how I've always kinda been. Editing, replying to emails, improving the website, finally cleaning the tile in the shower which had been staring holes into my head all week----you name it. But when Roberto started working 60+ hour workweeks, I let his off-time become a little more sacred----without realizing how much I would benefit. By the time Sunday night rolls around, I am ready to take on the world. I'm about to do a face-plant on the keyboard, but mentally, I'm ready to take on the world.

Friday night, we saw the Hunger Games.
Correction: Friday night, we finally saw the Hunger Games.
The three month delay was for a few of reasons:
--I don't like big, crowded movie theaters. The more popular the movie, the more people, the more likely I am to avoid it. The recent Colorado shooting has nothing to do with it----though I believe it's lead Roberto to share this preference.
--Not to be an annoying contrarian, but I usually assume a movie that the general populous finds fascinating to be a mind-vegetating waste of time. Unless it sounds like something we BOTH could find remotely interesting, which in that case it's a goldmine. Which is why we saw the Hunger Games.
--Once a movie hits "the cheapseats" as my family calls them, it's $2 for an evening showing in a cute little theater. You know, the ones with checkered tile floors and old red carpet that smells like 30 years of overpriced popcorn. Who can beat it? No one. No one can beat it.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, my fave part of the movie had to be when the guy said "I watched you walk home every day after school"----and the word CREEPER resounded in whispers throughout the theater. Made me smile...

Saturday evening was spent driving around the metroplex in search for gyros. We had a mutual craving; I was even prepared to temporarily abandon my vegetarianism (I later paid for this with a headache). Finally we found a place that didn't close at 6pm, wasn't a gross fast food restaurant that embodied why health inspections exist, and would allow you to step out of your car without being bum rushed by panhandlers because you were in the ghetto. We had read that it was a Mediterranean grill, however it took the entire customer experience + wondering aloud why it tasted nothing like any Greek food we've had before + a couple of hours to slowly realize that what we assumed to be Greek was actually more generally Middle Eastern (specifically Arab, I believe). Annnnd then we accepted the prize for being culturally-rounded geniuses. All in all, we found gyros that weren't handed to you in a bag dripping with grease, landed free parking downtown on a Saturday night, and tried something entirely new = a fun and exciting success. :)

Sunday was spent being bums, skyping my parents, and watching some of the oldest, oddest movies that Netflix has to offer. But, what else is new.

I think I'm going to use every Monday to recap the weekend. It guarantees something for me to write about. And anyways we always find something to do worth recapping... :)

The road. You know, the one not taken.

Like most Americans, I have a tendency to be an opinionated person. However, the years have taught me two important things...

No one asked, &

it's not my job to change the world.

These sobering realizations have turned many this-is-what-I-have-to-say's into what I call fish-lip motions: the mouth opens wide to speak, only to be followed by the lower lip quickly re-meeting and pulling down on the other, as if all I had intended to do was let out a few bubbles of air. The more I immerse myself into the unforgiving professional world, the more I realize how much these fish-lip motions make my life easier. No colleague, friend, relative, acquaintance, or potential client wants to hear my attempts to, oh say, expose the media's bias agenda. I get that.

Earnest people who care more about things that matter than they do social status lose friends, credibility, and favor. Totally makes sense. Again, get it.

Those who attempt to bring what they believe to be truth to the surface get less blog hits and Facebook likes (#endoftheworld). I get that, too.

But

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." 

- MLK

I see statuses on Facebook receiving tens of likes for taking stances of neutrality. It's what's in. Be cool and instantaneously rewarded with acceptance for not ruffling our feathers. Congratulations, they'll say you were "nice" at your funeral. But I remember a wise person once telling me that popularity is directly correlated with ineffectivity. And honestly, I could not agree more.

I love to hear people smugly boast, "I leave my politics off of Facebook." Politics are the vehicle of which we enact what we believe and enable the average person to help make a difference in the world, and let's face it, Facebook is the biggest audience you'll ever have. But you're right, you're doing far more with your voice and finite time here on earth by telling us you're heading to the food trucks for lunch.

I care SO MUCH MORE about things that matter than I do about whether or not someone's going to defriend me, post a status saying something in rebuttal to mine because they lacked the hootspa to shoot me a message or make a comment on mine, or shake their head. Cause people shaking their head are on the sidelines. Sorry, but in order to respect what you think I have to respect you.

MLK couldn't have hit the nail more on the head. If you stand for nothing, what won't you fall for? If life doesn't have meaning, what are we doing here? If it does, what good are your neutral stances doing for it? 

There's a huge line between "you're a BAD PERSON if you don't think how I do" and "I care enough about the direction of society to use what voice I have to occasionally make them question why they think what they think".
Huge.

It was so inspiring to see the nonstop droves of people pour through the door every hour at Chickfila. For them, it wasn't about being "anti-gay". (Puhlease. I was the one who waited in that line; I'll tell ya what it was about.) Rather, it was about standing up for free-speech. About being an American. About saying enough is enough. Millions of other Americans have laid down their lives in defense of our constitution, I think I can wait twenty minutes for dinner.

It's hard. It's frowned open. In a world where acceptance is our green light, a lack of warm teddy-bear feelings seems like a death sentence. I get that (no. I don't.), I do. Sometimes you'll be wrong; none of us are perfect. But the truth sets us free. 

Life is short. Do you wanna spend it keeping your head down? Cadavers keep their head down. I wanna make a difference. I'd rather set the world free.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

and that has made all the difference.

Moth and rust destroy

Last night I had a dream that Roberto and I were hanging around the house when suddenly I realized it wasn't ours. I received my first clue when I bumped into various chimes made of glass and brass that hung over a table with light brown fake wood venere with a wraparound bench. The smell of no-name brand oreo cookies and the sounds of grandfather clocks and twangy country music couldn't have made it any more clear.

I was at my granny's.

I was somehow then aware of the situation: Roberto and I were stationed in Pensacola, and apparently my granny had a house there (more like a huge and unusually shaped trailer) that she had offered to let us stay in (as long as we paid her rent...). The house had many rooms, most of which we were instructed not to touch. We had known this and respected it without question, and yet all of the sudden it was beyond me why she would make this request---and why I had never challenged it. All at once, inquisition and a delinquent disregard got the better of me (isn't it funny how entire thought processes occur all at once in dreams?), and I waltzed over to the closest forbidden room, I lunged over strings of caution tape and into the satisfaction of my curiosity.

A queen bed adorned with heaps of throw pillows sat in the middle of a room tastefully decorated and teaming with valuable items. The bed in particular is what caught my attention. At the head, there were presents scattered between the throw pillows addressed to different people. I was pretty certain there was one for me; in fact, it would be my rationale for trespassing if she ever found me out. Sure enough, I found one. I tore at the paper of the little package with excitement. What important heirloom was it that granny was waiting to give me?! Upon opening the box, some old and half-eaten chocolates fell out. It seemed of no importance to me, but after waking up I had to laugh. (Kind of an old and not-so-funny inside joke.) At the foot of the bed lay a gun. In no way did I find this odd; it seemed perfectly normally that granny would have a gun. Its extreme accessibility would be her savior from suffering fates like the victims from the Dateline Marathon she'd undoubtedly watched before going to bed. Roberto looked on with angst from the door as I flipped the gun back and forth on its butt, getting a real thrill out of being a (albeit, 22-year-old) grandkid messing around with forbidden things in a forbidden place.

Exploring the rest of the house lead us to similar situations (minus the obviously placed firearms). Bedroom after bedroom with beautiful, immaculate oversized bathrooms with jacuzzi tubs. The backyard also had a jacuzzi, a large pool, a waterfront view, and miscellaneous valuables, including multiple RV's. We couldn't believe that the whole time we'd lived there, all of this was just a wall away! She hadn't been there for years---in fact, I'm not sure if she'd ever been there. But one thing was certain: she had no intention of ever living there. It was just a gem. A treasure trove. A nice placed filled with things that mattered to her enough to buy a house to store them in and never tell anyone else about.

And then the people started to appear. They showed up in the backyard as if there was one of those "GARAGE SALE" signs my granny would drift her car like something out of the Fast and the Furious just to follow. Before we knew it, the jacuzzi had been plucked away and was being toted off to the flatbed of someone's truck. Even the garden gnomes became a dying breed. My uncle appeared out of no where and started kicking the tires on the RV's. The waterfront view turned into an ocean tsunami which threatened to wash everything away. Before I knew it, a tidal wave came, went, and took the pool with it. The entire yard was obliterated. Strangers---more like looters---had made their way into the house and were staking their claims. My granny herself finally appeared onto the scene, snatching things out of people's hands---including my own. (I should have known better; I already had chocolate.)

I don't know why my granny played such a role in this dream, except that I suppose she's always been frugal and somewhat mysterious. But I do know that it reminded me an awful lot of the scripture that our pastor preached on last Sunday---

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be, also." Matthew 6:20-21

Tastes like summa time

Don't you love those home cooked meals that are so good you leave it on the stove for three hours after dinner to "let it cool", then nibble it every time you pass by until your husband and dog are eyeing you like a fatty and you have to forego your evening workout because you can't move? I do. :) Especially when the ingredients are fresh, organic, local and in season, 'cause they're oh so tasty and better for you. I'm referring to summer corn chowder. Yes, I realize that my local forecast is a sunny 108 degrees, but if you can forget that minor detail you'll be good to be go! ;)

• 2 tablespoons olive oil (I used coconut oil)
• 2 tablespoons butter (I didn't use that much)
• 1 large onion
• 3 tablespoons flour
• 5 cups vegetable broth
• 2 russet potatoes
• 4 cups fresh corn kernels (approximately 8 ears of corn)
• 1/2 cup diced red bell pepper (ew)
• 1/2 cup diced green bell pepper (ew)
• salt to taste
• ground black pepper to taste
• 1 cup half & half
• 2 plum tomatoes, seeded, for garnish
• thinly slivered basil leaves, for garnish

Place the oil and butter in a pot over low heat.

Add the diced onion until its transparent.

Sprinkle in flour; cook, stirring, for about five minutes.

Add the broth and potatoes; bring to a boil.

Reduce heat to medium and cook partially covered for 10 minutes.

Add the corn, peppers if you like those things, and half & half; cook over low heat for about 8 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Top generously with garnishes and serve with a glass of sweet iced tea.

Summa time in the midwest at its best:)

Penpals & sacrifice

Considering I'm supposed to wake up in less than three hours, you could say it's a bit late on the home front. Two days filled with dead sleep, hopeful planning, quality time with my favorite guy & canine, impromptu naps, good reads, tacky flicks, and mint & honey sweet iced green tea has got me prepped for the workweek ahead of schedule, I guess.

All despite the fact that Friday's wedding was just short of horrendous.

Think: Friday traffic, midday summer Texas heat, a large bridal party comprised of sorority bitches I mean girls, typical dark and dank denominational ceremony venue, and rooms full of Methodists. Mmm, mm, mm. I may or may not have whispered to Roberto halfway through the first reception (yeah...first) that if I never participated in another wedding as anything more than a guest or crasher in my life, I would die a happy person. Later that night he admitted that he wholeheartedly agreed. Though, sororities do have a way of making you hate life like that. F'real though, for me the stress would be worth it if it wasn't so routine and fussy. Stress + yawn = I didn't know this combination was possible but take my name off the list. But then, upon arriving home the next morning from dropping off rental gear after waking up way too early following a late night of drowning horror stories in Applebee appetizers and bahama mamas, (deep breath) the rewards reveal themselves on your SD cards. And they take your breath away. Whether weddings per se are required conduits for said rewards is entirely up for debate.


I've acquired a foreign penpal!!! After creating a profile on three different penpal sites and enduring multiple days of emails from halfwits trying to hit on a married person halfway around the world, I was finally contacted by a 25-year-old girl in Sweden. I once had a Romanian penpal when I was in middle school and still love the idea of exchanging physical letters. Even though Roberto and I have since decided it was a bad idea, I originally put on the advertisement that I was interested in snail mail, so she included her address ....annnd I may or may not have already used it to stroll up and down the streets of her city on Google maps. (I know, I know. Creep much?) Just imagining what it would be like to live in Sweden. Zooming in on the faces of pedestrians to see what Swedish people look like. The world is so big, and despite our diversity I can't help but feel that Americans are exposed to so little of it. Certainly and apparently, I'm no exception. I haven't been to Sweden. But I can now assure you that the grass is very green, the sky is very blue, and people there drive impractical cars and speak a funny language I have no desire to learn. And that I hope to go there someday. There are so many places I've never been but love to go to that it sometimes depresses me. I will say, though, that I'm excited to get to know someone from an entirely different culture, who will hopefully expand the horizon of my little world.

In related news, this past weekend Roberto and I have more or less decided to give up my birthday trip to the Colorado Rockies in hopes to do some more international travel sometime within the next year instead. We've been promising ourselves for years, but trips home always take up what travel money we have. I'm ohhh soo tired of getting my hopes up. But I'm determined this time. Backpacking in Europe is probably what'll be on the menu. Dare I say, we've earned it.

Till tomorrow:)

Something else

From this one place, I can't see very far.

In this one moment, I'm square in the dark.

These are the things I will trust in my heart:

You can see something else...

The phone rang on the empty pillow next to my tousle-haired head. The time above the incoming call read 5:30. "Hello?" I answered in a groggy voice that tried to sound awake, as if someone were going to judge me if they caught me sleeping before 6am. Roberto's work hours during the summer time require that we set our alarms an hour earlier than usual---3:50am. Normally I would stay awake after he has left and start my day, but there's just something ungodly at sitting down at a desk at 4:15 in the morning.

"I got the orders."
"And?"
"And I'm really upset right now."

It's time for us to pick where we'll be stationed next. Naturally we would like to go back to Florida, but of course we can only take what's available. Unlike all the other 20-somethings vying for Florida orders because they think it'd be fun getting slammed on the beach every weekend, we have all of our family there. But almost more than that, my scholarship is in Florida.

I refuse to adopt the ball and chain that so many American students have laden themselves with indefinitely. My scholarship would save us $30,000-$60,000 (a small house, two top tier tickets for a World Cruise, a luxury vehicle).... It's only caveat is its statue of limitations: like an hour glass glued to the table, it starts over for no one---only grows ever closer to running out. I'm almost 23 years old. According to most universities, I have three years left on my bachelor's degree. And I'm not intentionally having kids or moving on with my life until I get it.

So if you ask me, we need to get stationed in Florida.

Jacksonville was available the month before. We missed it by a few days, but had complete confidence the opportunity would circle around again.

I was about to find out if we were right.

"Our options are Texas, Maryland, or New Orleans."

My sleepy little heart sank.
For the first, I'd rather have my fingernails removed. The second, I'll take walking into oncoming traffic. The last? Several quick, simultaneous bullets to the head would be much appreciated. Surely only God could construct such a perfect list of the last three places on the face of the earth we would choose to go.

I spent the rest of the day nursing a throbbing pain behind my left eye. Ya know, the one I get when we're camping on the beach of an uncertainty which threatens to make indelible marks on our lives.

Roberto is pulling every string he can for other options and/or an extension of time. But oh how I detest this helpless unknowing. And yet, I'm not the distraught mess I probably should be. The thing is, we'd be far better off getting stationed in New Orleans than we would in Jacksonville if New Orleans is God's will.

He withholds no good things from us (Psalm 84:11). 

His plan is so much better than anything a short-sighted, 5'7" 22-year-old can tell. He's got boxed seating while we're sitting at the baseline. I'd be cutting off my nose to spite my face if I fought for the best plan only as far as I can see. I know these things. I'm not saying it's an easy pill to swallow. But it's one that brings a peace which passes all understanding.

Worth recounting

I've decided to start blogging more!! I love writing and being able to reminisce. And since I have the memory of a goldfish, I really should have been doing this all along. Some days I won't have much to say, but some days will be worth recounting.

Like yesterday.

Roberto had six consecutive days of 12 hour shifts---which meant if he wasn't running miles or working under the sun, he was dead to the world at home. Finally Monday rolled around and we got to spend the whole day together. Sunday night we fell asleep on a tacky horror movie about a bear that attacks a minivan stranded in the mountains (my pick). I woke up early the next morning to get ready and make our breakfast. We headed to Dallas to buy a gun, which we've been meaning to do and of course which Roberto was very happy about. On the way there we stopped at the Dallas Farmer's Market.

It looked like a cute little must-see online. But now that I'm thinking about it, I realize I must have gotten it confused with something else somewhere far away because there wasn't much that was cute or must-see about it. We had a good time strolling up and down under the empty shaded rows of vendors, though. Stand after stand of farmers with loads of fresh fruit and vegetables, which they would desperately offer as samples. I feel bad for them and in fact I'm still wondering how they make a living. I think me and Roberto were the only customers there, and we weren't even there to buy! I couldn't bring myself to try anything they peeled and offered with their rough and dirty extended hands, or buy their pesticide-ridden (none of it was organic) goods, in bulk at that. (Generally I'm a quantity-over-quality kind of gal... except when it comes to my produce.) But oh, poor lil farm-farms. It made me and Roberto reminisce about Paris, and daydream about someday living in a place where food wasn't all about qauntity quantity quantity, people value fresh produce enough to shop for it on a daily basis, and there isn't a WalMart to be found. Sadly, I can't even say if there is such a place in this country. I wanted to buy something before we left though, so I picked out a little bushel of asparagus for $2.

The gun shop was SO BORING. Like, I was looking for a loaded one. I'm pretty sure we were there for eighteen hours. I stood next to Roberto for awhile as he went back and forth over whether he should get an ugly black glock or an ugly black glock. Eventually I collapsed on a grungy couch there that some bachelor must have donated. Which, I might add, was every bit as comfortable as it was an eye-sore. I have since decided that bachelor couches are where it's at.

After that, we raced faster than famished bunnies to the closest Panera Bread. Panera Bread is a mutual fave for us. We allowed ourselves to feel guilty for not branching out with restaurants for the length of time it took to park, then indulged in the incomparable goodness. I got the Mediterranean veggie sandwich + summer corn chowder and I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT IT.

Later that evening we went to the bookstore to pick out one we could read together. We would both like to work on our observational skills and becoming more aware of our surroundings, so we thought we could grab two copies of something to that effect in self-improvement. (Don't hate; self-improvement mumbo-jumbo is my fave.)

We scanned the shelves until our necks were sore. There were probably 400 books in the self-improvement section alone, 392 of which we enthusiastically stated we would read. In the end we found our own separate selections, which of course had nothing to do with what we started out looking for. After flipping through a few bogus books (is it me or are there a lot of those to be found?), I settled on one called The Last Lecture. Like most books I read, it kinda caught my attention because it had a cute cover (hey, I'm honest), but it was actually right up my alley.

It's about a professor from Carnegie Mellon who was commissioned to give the last lecture of his career---the subject of which was whatever he found most personally or professionally profound---all just before he found out he had two months to live. I'm still in the very first chapter, but the writing is good and obviously it's thought-provoking. It's hard to believe that with such meaningful books collecting dust at our fingertips, the storefront windows were still plastered with advertisments for books like "THE DIARY OF A GREEK DEMI-GOD". Ha. Ha ha..

We left the bookstore, Roberto complaining about how he was only going to get four hours of sleep. Yet as soon as we got home, he showed me everything there is to know about how to shoot a gun... Gotta love him.:)