The Year In Review

This year has been an interesting one to say the least and I have more than one lesson from it. But here is the biggest revelation of all...

The biggest lie we are told is that something can and will rescue us. No matter how bad life may be, there is always the possibility of being rescued. No matter how deep our debts, or our sorrows, or our pain, something can still rescue us. The lottery, a man, a woman, a job, god. Something. The possibility exists.

We are taught since birth that if we make the right decisions and choose the right path then eventually we will be rewarded with a neat and tidy life. It will be wrapped up perfectly in a bow and everything will be wonderful. If we choose the right job, the right lover, the right house/dog/outfit/shoes/words then, one day, life will be perfect. We won’t fight with our spouse, our children will want to spend time with us, and we will be appreciated by all those we give to. But this isn’t true.

No matter what path we take, life is messy. It never wraps up neat and tidy. It never turns out completely perfect. It is a struggle and can be painful at times, and we must learn to not only accept this but find the joy in it. No matter the amount of money in our bank account or the passion we feel for our beloved, there will always be something that keeps us on our toes. Keeps us striving for something else. That is what life is. That is what it means to be human. The most we can ask for is a sense of humor to cushion the blows, and the child-like wonder born from an innocence that allows us to approach life unafraid and excited about the possibilities.

My Year In Review:

• Number of new things tried: 25 (obviously there is more, but I am basing it off of documented experiences)
• Number of times I was asked to hold my paycheck: 5
  
• Hairs I lost during my 5 physics exams: 6 million (yes, I am now bald. I am joking by the way...)
• Family members who passed away or came close: 0! (Yay! Trust me, after last year, this is news worthy)
• Number of ganglion cyst I saw: 10
  
• Number of compacted wrist fractures I saw: 4 (I am starting to think it might be better to just fall on your face...)
• Number of dates I went on: 6 (yes, I am horribly pathetic, get over it)
• Number of dates I enjoyed: 1
• Number of times I was spun around like cattle at auction: 1
  
• Number of testicles that ass should be missing: 2
  
• Number of times I got food poisoning: 2 (both from my own cooking! Yikes, good thing I am not studying to be a chef)
• Best volunteer experience of the year: Free clinic
• Worst volunteer experience: Hospital (I think this one is getting dropped)

What the new year holds: Judo, hospice, o-chem, biochem, MCAT, med school applications, more hair falling out.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

Just Call Me Mr. Ed...

So I figured after yesterday's rant and proclamation that I would only date well off men, I needed to update you on recent events. I went out on a date today with rich bachelor #100&whatever, we will call him Mr. Pervy Gym (he is a pervert and he owns a chain of gyms, golf courses, and a slew of other businesses around the country- hence the name) and was subjected to the most mortifying and insulting moment of my young life. At the end of our brunch date (I find daytime dates much more relaxed so that is why I set all of these up during the day) I got up from the table to put on my jacket and before I could reach for it, he took my hand and slowly spun me around...surveying me!!! (Note, the only reason I actually ended up turning around was because I was beyond confused as to what the hell he was doing and by the time I figured it out I was already half way around). Before stating that I looked just like my pictures! And the way he did it was so sleazy I feel like I need a shower just thinking about it...a shower and a baseball bat!

What am I, a horse he is buying at auction?! I half expected him to tell me to open up my mouth so he could inspect the health of my teeth. Correct me if I am wrong, but we gave up slavery a while ago right? So the physical surveying of any person (outside of a physician's office) is REALLY inappropriate. Worse yet, the woman sitting at the table opposite us, reading a book, saw the whole thing and I am pretty sure she thought I was a prostitute!

I am sorry Mr. Pervy Gym, but unlike your fancy sports car I do not come in a variety of colors and sports package options. Your brazen physical appraisal was beyond inappropriate and earned you the title Biggest Asshole of the Year (B.A.Y.- hahaha it makes me think of Bay of Pigs, so appropriate, it was a disaster and he's a pig). Your prize is a swift kick to the groin and me running you down with my car. Oh, and just so you know, you even beat out $1.69 guy for the title. Seriously, are you not suave enough to check my ass out while I am not looking like any normal guy would? Or perhaps you think your financial assets entitle you to act like the piggy you are.

I of course fixed him with a stare that could have quite literally burned a hole through his forehead (if only), buttoned my jacket closed, and headed for the door without a word. But Mr. Gym, being the knuckled-headed jackass he is, actually thought it was ok to catch up with me, tell me he had a great time and move in for a hug and a sneaky pervert kiss. Unfortunately for him, I have plenty of experience in deflecting socially inappropriate individuals so all he got was an awkward moment on the street of hugging someone who was stiff as a board and kissing the air next to my head because I have perfected the head-tilt-avoidance maneuver. HA! that will teach him! :-)

Wait, You're HOW CHEAP?!

Sooooo, it doesn't take a genius to know that living in your parent's basement, spending all your time at school or a free clinic (as a volunteer- get your mind out of the gutter!), and working at a non-profit that doesn't even have money to pay you (seriously, still holding my paychecks- that's right people, that's plural) doesn't bode well for my, ahem...we'll call it my "personal" life. The point of my mentioning of this is to highlight the fact that I would probably sleep with the cute (but really dumb) baristo boy at the cafe I go to every morning if he gave me a wink and an extra shot of vanilla in my hot cocoa at no extra charge.

Why is this important you ask? Well, just keep this in mind as you read this little story.

Anyhoo, back to my grand adventure. While out at a local coffee shop last week, a good looking guy asked me out and I figured what the hell, at the very least I could count it as my new thing for the week. Knowing that I was attracted to him, I figured he was the broke artist type (since I am apparently attracted to nothing else) and suggested coffee as our first outing. I always try to be considerate of the fact that I am attracted to broke individuals and therefore choose a cheap date...well apparently, I was with the cheapest-skate of them all!

Upon ordering my $1.69 12oz hot cocoa (I kid you not, I even ordered the smallest size there!) he informed the barista that our orders would be separate! Oh my freaking god! Are you kidding me?! Did you seriously just ask me out then have me pay for my $1.69 hot cocoa?! I entertained the thought of slugging him in the head with my rather heavy mug but thought better of it...I like that coffee house and I would be sad if they asked me not to come back because I had accosted a customer, even if he was a cheapskate. Turning to pay for the extravagant $1.69 and I could see the barista was just as outraged and disgusted as I was, which made me feel better.

I decided to give him the benefit of a doubt- maybe he had just lost everything in a house fire (see people, this is the thought process that gets me in trouble every-freaking-time!)- and sat with him for about 15 minutes. The entire time I didn't utter a word, not even a grunt of approval or a mutterance (yes, I made up a word) of interest. Nothing. But Mr. Cheap-o didn't seem to notice, he chatted on about how he worked at the local computer company (it is a HUGE, widely distributed/used corporation...i.e. there was no reason for him to be Mr. Cheap-o) and as far as I could tell, he was completely self absorbed. 15 minutes was all I could take until I finally excused myself and took my $1.69 hot cocoa back to the car.

This experience has taught me one thing- I am over dating poor starving artists (I don't care if they can change a tire or not, they probably don't have the gas money or car to drive to where I am stranded anyway- true story by the way...). It's not like I am looking to get married anyway so why not have a casual relationship with one of these rich guys I am being set up with? Hell, at least he will pay for the $1.69 hot cocoa...Then again, on second thought, who the hell am I trying to kid? The first time some broke construction worker crosses my path this smart plan will go right out the window and I will be back to my old ways *cue devilish smile*.

Kale, Chia Seeds, And Regurgitation

My 26th birthday is just around the corner and as I begin the all-to-short journey out of my mid-twenties I am determined to have time back on my side. I am too young for these light wrinkles in the corner of my eyes and too old for the zit I am currently sporting on my chin...thanks Mother Nature, as if my life wasn't already a living hell every 28 days, you must always have my skin regress to middle school too...

So in this effort to stop the clock, or at least slow the bastard down, I have decided to test drive being healthier. Don't get me wrong, I have never really been unhealthy, I exercise, I eat my fruits and veggies (though admittedly more fruits than veggies), and I drink my recommended amount of water (and fortuitously dislike soda). And thanks to good genes, my weight is on the low end for my height- thank you Nana!!! and But I will admit right off the bat that I love carbs and sugar. If a piece of bread or a sweet is within 40 miles of me, I will sniff it out and partake. Yum yum. Why is it all the yummy stuff is bad for you?

Starting today (I was going to start yesterday but I found a stash of holiday M&M's which, um, *cough, cough* magically disappeared) I will be cutting drastically back on my carb and processed sugar intake and increasing my supplements with things such as Chia (pronounced Chee-ah, like the clay pot with plants for hair, not the same thing but the same sounding name) and gelatinized Maca powder. Yum, who needs a chocolate chip cookie when you have gelatinized powder of some root cultivated in the Peruvian mountains?

So today, I got up bright and early (or at 8:45am, but who is keeping track? BTW- I love being out of school and being able to sleep in, it is soooo nice!) and trekked to the store to buy a blender. Yes folks, I didn't even have a blender to start this whole health craze off. After returning home, and proudly setting up my blender, I proceed to make a health drink recipe that was recommended to me ("It is so good you are going to love it!" they had said...Never trust a raw-diet/vegan for a good recipe, their idea of tasty is VERY different from the general population). I stuffed in kale, beets (with tops), lemon, cucumber, and a few ice cubes and blended that garden medley right up.

Not surprisingly, it smelled like, well, a garden. I took a taste test and fought back against the pronounced lump in my throat. Seeing how my goal was not to develop a bile inducing regimen, I added some apple, then some kiwi, then some orange juice, I even considered honey! But to no avail. No matter what I did to this drink it remained as crap-tastic as ever! Not to mention the beets turned your hands, tongue, and teeth bright red! I eventually gave up and opted for organic oatmeal without sugar and am now eating fresh green beans as I write this.

I may have lost the battle, but I am winning this war, gosh dang-it! I just need to find a recipe that masks that god awful- ahem, I mean, potent taste of kale and raw beets. If any of you have any recipes that are half way decent (by normal people standards) and doesn't included processed sugar, please, share with the class! :-)

Demon Photos and Tall Orthos

So, I have been shadowing an orthopedic surgeon for the last two weeks and have loved every ganglion cyst filled moment of it. As a pre med I can't be in the OR but I can see outpatient procedures such as Hyaluronan Injections (basically a lube job for arthritic knees). I have been so busy being the over-excited (but totally collected) pre med that it wasn't until the other day when I was standing at the nurses station, shadowing the surgeon as always, that I noticed no physician in that department was under 6 feet tall...and that is being conservative, they were more like 6'3. I have never felt so short at 5'7. I wonder if ortho's have some height requirement I am not aware of... Maybe to get to the job interview they make you climb steps built for a giant and that is part of the selection process...

In other news, my matchmaker sent another client's profile for me to consider... the only problem is, well, his photo. I am sure you are thinking, RP, why are you being so mean, people can't help what they look like. Well, it wasn't so much him as his actual photo. He has straight up demon eyes (red eye gone crazy) in the photo (if I could figure out a way to keep his privacy and post this photo I would, it is truly scary). And it made me wonder, of all the photos this guy probably has of himself, why the hell did he choose demon eyes? Was that really the photo he felt showed who he is? If so, that is a bit...um...scary. I haven't responded back, I am trying to think of a nice way to ask the matchmaker if there are any non-demon photos of him lying around that I can look at... Any ideas on how to say that in a PC way?

Pause For Contemplation

I am currently sitting in a hospital waiting room, listening to the low hum of the tv in the background and the hospital busy bodies floating around outside the open doorway, as is common for this breed of room. At the moment, I sit alone as the darkness blankets the sky outside and the hospital instinctively quiets down with the arrival of the evening. A few moments ago this waiting room was bustling with a large family waiting for news on how their mom did during surgery. They were like any family, they laughed and teased each other, made a coffee call each time one of them left the room, their close ties evident in every gesture. But as soon as the surgeon entered the room, a silence so deafening fell over them it almost hurt my ears. In that one moment, that microsecond between their silence and the surgeons first words, the tension was palpable. The humor fell away and all that was left was the silent desperate plea to fate that their loved one pulled through.

I do not know what the surgeon had to tell them (I am assuming it was ok since their tension melted quite a bit as they left the waiting room) but I knew in that moment, this is what medicine is about. Whether you are a surgeon or primary care physician, you are caring for somebody who means the world to another person. You are being trusted with someone's most valued gift, their body. Their livelihood. You are working not just to give them the best life possible but to give their loved ones the time they crave. Time to make memories and right wrongs. Time to live. Some days this isn't what happens, some days fate has other ideas and all we can do watch as she sweeps into our lives without warning and leaves us confused, and at times broken. But then there are the days that allow you to be the relief, the light at the end of the tunnel that gives them permission to breathe again.

The family I mentioned before seemed ok with what the surgeon said but once he left there were many tears as the wave of relief crashed against the tension they had been holding at bay. Their happiness was no longer balancing precariously in the realm of the unknown, they had firm footing once more. I have been there. I have been the one waiting, holding my breath, seeking sure footing. And I know the relief that comes with the knowledge that you can breath easily once more. I look forward to the time when I can offer that sure footing and reassurance to others. What an amazing experience to be able to serve others in this way, even if sometimes that isn't always how it works out.

The Sparkling, Blood Abstaining Irritation That Is Invading My Life

So as I sit here at nearly midnight working on yet more physics (just kill me now) I have various music floating in the background (yay pandora and youtube!). One of the songs I fell upon (and liked) was "Closer" by Kings of Leon, I love that band, which led to a flood of Twilight based fan videos (this saga has ruined several things for me, not the least of which is violent vampire stories...sparkling vamps, seriously? See, this is what happens when Anne Rice becomes a fanatical christian). Now, don't get me wrong, I love a good romance just as much as the next girl (though Edward is a bit of a pansy for my taste- give me a guy with a few scars for various fights, a checkered past, and a tendency to give in to his animalistic side...then again, I have detailed my demented attractions to men here. But I digress...), but these stories are just...ridiculous.

If I met a man who began telling me where I could or couldn't go, who I could and could not see, what I should do with my life, etc. you better believe his ass would be booted to the curb quicker than...well, I don't know what, but it would be really quick, let me assure you. Like I said before, I don't prefer pansies, I dish out a lot of shit (yes, I am a real gem) and any guy who doesn't stand up to me gets bulldozed over very quickly. But seriously, I am living my life, I have plans I am working toward (med school, etc.). What kind of dude just shows up and is like, "hey, I know you got your thing going on but I am super awesome (and sparkly too!), so why don't you just drop everything and become the perfect [read nausea inducing- seriously, do they need to embrace each time one of them leaves to go to the restroom or makes a sandwich in the next room?] couple. Oh yeah, and by the way, I will make decisions that I deem to be best for you without consulting you and then act on these decisions, again without consulting you."

I have nothing against women who are or want to be stay at home mothers/wives, that can be the toughest job out there and I give them props for it, they are stronger and more capable than I. But to feed our youth the idea that young women need to wait around for the guy to come before their life can really start is not only archaic but also unhealthy, for the individual and any relationships they might have in the future. Could you imagine being the dude who ends up with the woman who has no life outside of him? Eeeek! That might work for a vampire who has no job and all the time in the world to ponder the amazingness of their lover's eyelashes as they sleep, but for the average Joe who has other shit they need to take care of, that seems like it would be a pain in the neck. Worse yet, it tells women that any plans they had pre-guy weren't really all that valid or important and therefore can be discarded without a care.

I am sure my upbringing in a female dominated family effects my perceptions. As well as the fact that I have had my fair share of all-consuming relationships in the past (I am a sucker for a troubled bad boy who sucks you in and pulls you down with him), so I will not pretend to be unbiased. But why oh why can't we create stories for youth that show a push and pull between the sexes? A story that revels in that wonderful contrast (and value) between men and women and displays collaboration versus submission. I wonder if the popularity of this type of story becomes increasingly attractive to women as the economy becomes increasingly unstable/difficult... it would make sense, why try to conquer your problems yourself when you can just wait for a guy to do it?

Besides, as far as I am concerned, what is the fun in rolling over? If a guy (or anyone for that matter) wants to win a battle of the wills with me they'll have to work for it. Scratch that, they will have to work extremely hard for it. Nothing worth having is ever had through default or automatic submission. :-P

Update: Because I enjoy being thorough, here is an article in PsychologyToday.com by Regina Berreca that had me cracking up in the middle of the chem building lobby as I waited for my class to start.

Of Love And Lasers

Ok boys, here is your warning upfront: if you don't want to read a post on the grooming habits of women, skip this post.

So for my new thing this week I got my first treatment of laser hair removal. I am pale with dark brown hair, meaning that even when I shave my legs, the hair below the skin is still visible. Oh the joys. On top of that, I have sensitive skin...can you say razor burned underarms in the summer? Yeah, not fun at all. So with the recession and crappy economic state of..well, just about everyone, it appears that cosmetic procedures, such as laser hair removal, are being hit pretty hard. In response, they are offering deals that are nearly impossible for me to pass up.

Anyhoo, back to the story at hand...

So I scheduled my appointment in the evening and was promptly greeted that night by my very nice nurse who would be wielding the laser for the next year (6 treatments 6 weeks apart, it isn't a quick process). She was knowledgeable and efficient, two very good things when someone is zapping your hair in some pretty sensitive areas. Speaking of which, I can now safely say, that a petite 5'4 nurse, we'll call her A, knows my lady bits better than me, my gynecologist, and my past lovers. Under her scrutinizing gaze and the unforgiving bright lights of the procedure room, nothing was left to the imagination. Ah, the joys of being a woman...

As for how it felt... overall, it wasn't very painful. But I will tell you this, it is nothing like getting waxed. I have been a dedicated waxee for years and while that pain is startling, it is very quick. Over before you really start if you have a good esthetician. The feeling of a laser is completely different. It feels as though many of your hairs are being repeatedly tweezed out of your body simultaneously. Over time that can feel a bit agitating. And this is one of the "pain-free" lasers. But it is worth it. So worth it. Come summer, I will be one stubble/razor burn-free lady strutting her stuff...in long capris and flowy long sleeved blouses because I will still be pale and burn like a crisp in the sun. But I will know I am hair free under all those layers, even if no one else in the outside world can tell! Hahahahaha!

Tiring of Tactfulness

I spend 99.9999999% of my days being tactful- determining the best way to word things to a frustrating colleague, watching my words as I explain a situation so there is no misunderstandings, gauging my dealings with strangers to determine just the right level of involvement and interest I should display or hold back to ensure there is no mistaking my interaction as anything but polite and brief.

Perhaps it is my 3 hours of sleep I have received in the last several nights, maybe it is the power struggle occurring at my work as everyone seeks to wrestle the power of executive director (which we are currently lacking) into their corner, or perhaps it is the endless hours I have spent studying physics with no noticeable improvement in my performance, but whatever the reason...I am getting sick of being constantly tactful. Always aware of how others will likely perceive me in any interaction. Don't get me wrong, being tactful fits perfectly into my control freak nature, I am intentionally and actively manipulating my interactions with people to get a desire outcome (admit it, you do to. Everyone does to some extent, it is part of survival). Today has just begun and I find myself resisting the urge to respond to several situations with a bluntness that would border on rude.

What freedom that would be. To respond with no investment in controlling the outcome. The fantasy of it titillates my thoughts but each time I come close, I pull back, unwilling to relinquish that control. I do not yearn to to become a rude, abrasive individual in all my interactions, I simply yearn for one moment, one instant in which I do not care. I am not there yet, but give me a few more sleepless nights and stressful mornings to match and I might reach that point quicker than expected.

The Physics Of Bronchitis

The component vectors of a coughing object (me) are Ay= .25m, 30 degrees and Ax= .5m, 45 degrees*. What is the total motion vector for that object?...Do you have the answer yet? Let me save you the trouble. The correct answer is "0". How can that be you ask (I am sure any physicist that stumbles across this posting will be driven nuts by this nonsensical physics problem. Hehehe), well it is simple really, I haven't moved from my bed in about 4 days.

An annoying cough appeared on Saturday and by Sunday night I was down for the count. Wishful me figured it was a 24 hour thing. Ha! I went to school on Monday and just about died. Called into work for Monday...then Tuesday...then Thursday (I don't work Wednesdays). I had a physics exam yesterday night and emailed my professor that morning explaining to him I might need to periodically leave the testing room (it is a closed exam- i.e. no one goes in or out after it has started) to have a coughing fit. The image of my hacking, feverish, mucus filled self must have terrified him because he requested to administer an alternative exam to me at a later date. Thank the lord for small miracles.

Today was the first day I have been out of bed and functional and being the industrious student that I am I headed straight for the books (you know, after watching the latest Iron Man movie or course...a girl has to have her priorities). And what should I find when I begin to get into studious student mode? Why, I am so glad you asked because I found nearly 50 flashcards that I created on my ipad to be incomplete. Somehow the changes were not saved and so I am now recreating the cards (on the online site then downloading them to the ipad so I can have them backed up so this can never happen again).

On top of all that loveliness, now it seems that my congestion is vacating my chest and moving up to my head...yay for not being able to see, smell, breath, or taste.

* And for all you freaks and geeks out there, I created these values from the guessimate of the decrease in height from bending my knees at a 30 degree angle and the motion of moving forward when coughing.

Then There Are The Days That Suck...

Some days just seem to swallow you whole and the only thing you can do is keep pushing through it knowing that tomorrow will (hopefully) be a new start. Yesterday started with child abuse and ended with a physics exam.

A little boy, who is barely over 2, is getting punched in the face at home. There I said it. I am sure there is more than one child going through this, but this little guy I know personally. What a world to live in where we must hear this, betray none of our internal horror, and then hand the child back over to the parents at the end of the day? Sure, mandated reporting has placed him on the radar of state authorities, but since he goes to this facility that is specifically designed to serve children who are at risk and their families, he was probably already on their radar to begin with.

How can I tell him he is safe at school, help him feel secure, when I still must send him home at the end of the day? How to I address seeing a child just under the age of two bind his hands so tightly together that they turn purple before throwing himself backward (a very violent action against his own body, and something that he should not be familiar with at his young age)? One of our most basic biological instincts, protecting our young, is now useless in a society so large and anonymous that the people who witness and know what is going on in the home (teachers) are not the same ones to address the issues (case workers, other state employees). How is this considered functional?

Hey You, Exaggerated Respons Guy. Yeah you. Read This.

We've all been there, we're in some public place (in my case, a chemistry lecture hall of nearly 200) and something entertaining/mildly exciting/etc. happens. Most people simply acknowledge it, process the niftiness of it all in their mind and then go about their day. But there is always someone who must shout some over exaggerated, "WOOOOOOOOOOOO!" from the back of the room. To all of you over exaggerated responders, this rant is for you...

Listen up. We get it, you have limited self esteem and therefore must define yourself by drawing attention to yourself. But might I offer a suggestion, do so discreetly. Shouting, "WOOOOOOOOOOO!" from the back of the room (where you have been sitting talking to your friends for the entire lecture. Seriously, just stay home so the rest of us can hear the professor) does not make us turn to you and think, "Wow, he must be a totally awesome dude because he really knows how to emphasis the exclamation point at the end of his utterance." Instead we think, "Seriously, this guy is that impressed by a floating soda can? Just wait until we get to make foaming volcanoes for the science fair...oh wait, we did that in the second grade. Maybe he should go back a few grades."

I admit, science lectures a fun. Balloons explode, cathode ray tube electrons bend with the application of a metal, and diet soda cans float while their regular counterparts sink. This is truly exciting stuff (no, really, have you ever sat in on a psychology lecture? Comparatively speaking, science lectures are WAY better) but each demonstration does not require an over exaggerated (and forced, might I add) response from you. Learn to internalize this tendency to shout every minute reaction that you feel. Trust me, your classmates will thank you for it.

You Have To Let Go Of Your Penis

For anyone who has worked with kids, you'll understand when I say, there are some moments when you realize that there is no way the situation you are currently in would happen in any other setting than with kids.

I started my volunteer work in a relief nursery this week. I have missed working with the toddler set and decided to do this a while ago (with training, schedules, etc., it has taken this long to get started). The relief nursery serves at risk kids and because of this, the legal policy of the nursery is there will always be at least 2 adults with any given group of kids, be that a group of 1 or a group of 8. So yesterday one of the little boys had to go to the bathroom and as a volunteer I cannot take him but I did need to accompany the staff member so that I could be the 2nd adult in the area. I was waiting outside in the hall (the bathroom door was open) and the staff member was standing in the doorway with her back turned, facing me. The little boy called her into the bathroom once he is done and asked if she can help pull up his underwear. In response to this and I quote, "Ok, you have to let go of you penis."

That was it. So simple, so matter-of-fact and yet it so perfectly sums up what working with kids really means. There are few places and even fewer circumstances where you would ever hear that phrase uttered so matter-of-factly. It just summed the situation up so perfectly. Maybe I should start making bumper stickers and that will be my slogan... :-)

As a side note, my chemistry professor looks like John Lovett, he even has nearly the same tone of voice. But he is way more animated and talks much more quickly, plus his vocal intonations are completely opposite. But I still find it amusing, and a little hard to concentrate sometimes because all I can think about is how funny it is that John Lovett is teaching me chemistry. Hahahahaha!

iHappy...Wait Maybe iNot...

Well, I did it. This Mac girl finally jumped on the iPad bandwagon and I am blogging from it right now. My new black, sleek, user friendly iPad is my new best friend (sorry A!). This little rectangle that is only a pound or two is replacing 3 of my 4 MASSIVE science textbooks, you know the ones that weight five hundred pounds that you must lift with your legs or you'll throw your back out? Instead of those ungodly books I just download them into this great little box, and stuff it into my purse before walking out the door. And just like hardcopy books I can still highlight and annotate right in the text. Plus I can search the text for specific words, phrases, or annotations!

Better yet, with the apps available I can use this as my notebook. I can take notes that sync up the recordings of my professors,lectures so that when I click on a section of my notes I have the option of playing the portion of the lecture that was recorded while I was taking that particular section of notes. How cool and amazingly useful is that?!

So why is this blog worthy you ask (aside from the fact that it fulfills my new-thing-for-the-week requirement)? Well as it turns out, there might be a slight hitch in my giddyup... I may be returning this great little device (14 day return policy) if I cannot permanently download my textbooks. It appears that some distributors only let you RENT the textbooks for a given amount of time. Which is completely useless to someone who will be studying for the MCAT and need to refer back to old textbooks and notes. I will be calling one of the main distributors tomorrow when they are open to see what's up with that fishy business and will keep you posted.

iPad freak signing off :)

Update: Apparently the iPad does not like to format in Blogger (i.e. this was one large block of sentences) so I had to come back in on the Mac and revise it a bit. So there are limitations. But overall still very happy. Here's hoping rent-a-book is just an option for poor college students and not a requirement for e-textbooks...

A Fever You Say? Good Thing I Know My Calculus, I'll Cure You In No Time...

I was never one for math.  Truthfully, anything I couldn't conceive of as being a direct benefit usually received very little attention from me.  So you better believe when I took all my math in college (nearly a DECADE ago!!!  My god, how did I get this old!!!) I couldn't give two hoots about trigonometry.  What did I care, I was never going to use it again.

Well, consider my ass bit.  I am now looking down the barrel of a very long, dark, and terrifying quarter that involves differential calculus and what I am sure will consequently include large quantities of my hair vacating my head.  As I review trigonometry to prep for my forthcoming calculus course I find myself without the vaguest recollection of what a radian is or why the hell it is even used (among many, many other things).  I mean really, degrees make much more sense.  What self important genius decided it would be fun to stump the greater populous and come up with a completely nonsensical way to measure angles?  I would like to find myself a Delorean, go back in time, and pop him one just on principle.

Besides, at what point am I going to employ calculus or trigonometry while practicing medicine?  The most I can conceive of is using basic algebra to determine dosage amounts.  I can't see radians being pertinent to that in any way...Awesome.  Ah well, I just keep reminding myself that while it wont be helpful in life, it is needed to achieve my goal which is good enough for me!

Until next time!

Paging Fake Dr., Paging Fake Dr., We Need 3cc Of Sanity...STAT!

Ok, you are probably wondering, "RP, you've always been nuts, why are you suddenly looking for sanity now?" And I have to admit, that is a darn good question...one I should ask the team of therapists it will take to put me back together after my next decision.

I, RP, have made the most gut wrenching, terror inducing decision man (or woman) has ever known. Am I starting a family? Marrying my favorite baristo-boy from Starbucks (Hi Joe!) and running away to Columbia to start my own coffee business? Perhaps taking a page out of Blast from the Past and building my very own fallout shelter in my parents basement and locking myself in there for the next 30 years? Nope, well, the last one was close enough, but no, it's scarier. I have decided to aim for med school. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I desire to work with that gelatinous goo filled, puss oozing, fecal matter storing organism we fondly call the human body. Yummy. Nothing says pee-on med student like a 56 hour day filled with rectal exams and foot fungus.

So why am I doing this? Obviously it isn't for the glory, something I never really understood- why are physicians glorified? If the above paragraph didn't get the message across, they have a pretty icky job when you get down to it. Rewarding but icky. Anyway, I digress. I am doing it because it feels right, because I believe in bettering the lives of others in a purposeful way, because I know the value of having a physician that treats you like a complete human being instead of a set of symptoms. I want to work in rural communities that have limited access to good health care. Heaven help me, I probably wont be making enough once I am practicing to actually pay off my massive student loan debts...why can't I be interested in becoming a plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills? Ah well. Wish me luck! :-)

Edit: I thought I should clarify, since some of my dear readers (yes, one of the two) believed my decision to go to med school was influenced by my experience of being denied state funded health care (see post below).  I am not sure what the connection is there (I can't really treat myself as a physician...) but I thought I would clarify that I actually began this journey 2 years ago in 2009, but got scared away by the MASSIVE student loans needed to complete med school.

The Lap Of Luxury...And Some Sap To Go With It

Time to play which one sucks most! Are you ready?

Question: What sucks most?
a) Learning that you no longer qualify for state funded health care because you make a lavish $900 a month at your part time job that doesn't even have enough money in the bank to pay you at the end of the month...no really, they asked us to hold our paychecks for a couple weeks...for the second month in a row.
b)Learning that the 150th job application you sent in for a position opening didn't make it into the candidate pool because you were competing against people with a masters degree and 40 years experience for an entry level administrative assistant job.
c) Going out into nature to calm yourself down and try to forget about your crappy day only to get a HUGE clump of sap in your hair...you know the kind that doesn't wash out?
d) All of the above happening on the same day.

If you answered "d" than you are today's winner! Congratulations, your prize is a getting laid off and evicted from the home you've lived in for 60 years! Yay!

The best part about all of this is that the health insurance I had for 6 months, which I qualified for in last December required that I apply for unemployment (which they never required me to do before) in order to reapply (participants have to reapply every 6 months). Even after I explained to them that I did not want to because the system was already overburdened and I was making ends meet with my part time job, they said I would be disqualified if I did not. I tossed and turned for over a month, really resenting the fact that in order to have health care I was being forced to apply for unneeded unemployment...when I had a job! Then when I finally caved and applied for unemployment the state decides my $902.48 take home monthly income is just too lavish and I don't qualify. So now I get the joys of calling up unemployment (who are harder to get on the phone than the IRS during tax season) and ask them to cancel my claim.

On top of that...I can still smell the sap in my hair.

What Does The Starving Artist Have In Common With The Multimillionaire? Doggishness

So I am going on my first face-to-face date with bachelor #1 this Saturday. The photos the matchmaker sent me along with his profile are nice enough. And while I feel he isn't really my type (read: broke and jackass-ish) I figure I will step out of my box and see what happens. He has been very nice when we have talked over the phone, if not a bit direct. Side note: I have noticed there is a distinct difference between conversations you hold with someone you met on the street and are trying to see where things go, and someone you met through a matchmaker and know exactly the expectations of each interaction. It's a bit odd...

Anyway, back to the story at hand. So we have been exchanging emails back and forth and today is the second time he has mentioned that he still needs to secure a place to stay in town (he is coming from out of state). The first time I passed it off as information sharing, but now that he has mentioned it a second time I am beginning to think he is a bit of a dog. Mention it once, that is information sharing, mention it twice and your are bordering on flat out asking if you're getting lucky after the date. Unfortunately for him, needy/assuming pressuring has never been the way to go with me. So, I changed our dinner date to a lunch date so that he will have time to travel back home that same day and not need to secure a hotel.

I don't think that was the response he was expecting, but he accepted it. Of course, there wasn't a much more he could do. Moral of the story- don't be a dog, it might bite you in the ass.

Want An Ego Boost? Find A Matchmaker...And Then, Call A Shrink!

So the very first entry of this lovely blog illustrated my amazingly exciting love life... you know the one where I live in my parent's basement and haven't really dated in over 2 years...remember, that one? Yeah, so there appears to be a turn of events. My phone, which has seen about as much action as I have, is suddenly getting calls from men the matchmaker has set me up with (with my approval of course :-). My once empty email box is filling up with men asking if I am available this weekend (heck no, make them work for it!) and if they can fly out to see me or buy me a plane ticket to come meet them (most are out of state).

Wow, where did this come from? How did I go from dateless girl to girl wonder? I am not going to play shy and humble, I am aware I am attractive. I come from attractive stock. Yay me. But to go from catching a few eyes as I walk down the street, to setting up dates with multi-millionaires (yes, some of these guys are very affluent) seems to be a crazy turn of events. And it begs the question, why do I need a professional matchmaker to get a date with someone who isn't a complete loser?

I guess I should admit it right now, I am a sucker for the blue collar worker. If there is a starving artist, penniless grad student, or broke construction worker within a 40 mile radius I am inevitably attracted to them. They generally can't pay for a meal much less make rent on time, but for some reason, that is my type. But now, I find myself talking with men who know who the GOP candidates are and that The Economist is a magazine, not just some guy who knows about money. They know how to use a knife and a fork simultaneously rather than just hacking away at their meal with the side of a fork until it resembles ground beef. They speak 3 languages fluently and travel to Europe several times a year. Perhaps they even own a home over there.

So here I am, talking with these amazingly worldly men (who are looking to get married!) and all I can think about is how they wouldn't know how to change a flat tire. What the hell is wrong with me?! Who cares if they know how to change a tire, they can hire someone to do that! Hell they could buy their own Les Schwab and have one of the roadside trucks follow them around for the rest of eternity! How can I actually think that staying at home with the starving artist, or more accurately, going out with the starving artist and paying for both our meals, is more appealing than flying first class to Spain of an all expenses paid vacation? I think I need psychological help. Someone quick, call me a doctor!

Matchmaker, Matchmaker...wait- what did you just ask me?!

What would you do if you were shopping one day and a woman came up and asked you, "How old are you?" Let me tell you, you probably wont end up reacting the way you'd imagine. I would know, it just happened to me.

I, being the quick to annoyance person that I am, would have figured I'd come back with a facial expression that displayed my evaluation of her sanity and a retort that turned her face red. But surprisingly, in the moment, all I could say was, "Uhhh-um- 25?"

After being peppered with questions regarding my relationship status (single), my lifestyle (non-smoker, no kids, living with a beagle and a cat), and my family ties (I am close to my family) the woman introduced herself as a matchmaker. She is a headhunter for clients paying upwards of $25,000 for her to find them their next great love...or at least someone who isn't a total gold digger. In a span of mere moments I went from thinking she was hitting on me to thinking she was a pimp.

She asked me if I were interested in meeting a client of hers who was a vineyard owner. She tells me he has a great personality and a 10-year-old son who doesn't live with him. Oh yeah, and he is 51.

I politely schooled my face and let her know that while I enjoy the company of men older than myself, I prefer them not to be old enough to be my father/grandfather/great-grandfather. She merely shrugged and told me I would be a great fit for the type of men she works with and asked for my contact info. Still a bit stunned at the surreal-ness of it all, I handed it over to her. She gave me her business card and encouraged me to go onto her website and create a profile so she can keep me in mind for other clients. I smiled and said I will check it out and with that, she was gone.

Dazed and confused I googled her business when I got home. Sure enough, she was legit. Independent reviews from various websites rave about her services. I toy with the idea of filling out a profile, it feels too much like online dating for my taste. Something I never really wanted to try, but I figured, at the very least it can be my one new thing for the week. So, who knows perhaps one day I will be writing to you about a terrific date I just went on with Bill Gates' business partner... or more likely, I will write about how I was on a date with grandpa and constantly looking to find out if he was wearing the "help I've fallen and I can't get up" alert system.

The End Of Innocence, Dole Whip Style

I haven't written in a while, as I am sure all 2 of my readers have noticed (where did you go Germany?) because I have been on vacation! I had a blast saw family, went camping, and ended by going to Disneyland! Yay!

Now, for anyone who may be familiar with Disneyland I am going to assume that you are also familiar with the Pineapple Dole Whips that are there (if you have been to Disneyland and don't know what I am talking about that is blasphemy!). Now I was with a friend waiting our turn to go into the Tikki Room (that smooth talking Jose parrot is so dashing, don't you think?) when we saw a sight that forever tainted our future Dole Whip experiences... *reader beware, you are going to need brain bleach after reading this post*

So we are sitting there minding our own business just enjoying the opportunity to sit down and rest. I am a big fan of being pale (and consequently, wide brimmed hats) and was blissfully unaware of anything above waste level since the brim of my hat blocked everything else above that. Suddenly, my friend poked her head under my hat sanctuary and said in a hushed tone, "Oh my god, look at the lady next to you!"

I look over and see her from the knees down and shrug my shoulders, she was an extremely large woman who had dressed herself in a skin-tight turquoise tube top dress but other than that I didn't understand what I should be looking for. "Ok... What am I suppose to be looking at?"

My friend takes my head and turns it to the perfect angle, just in time for me to see the woman poke her tongue (in a grotesque fashion that made me think of a stereotypically bad porn movie) into the center hole of her Dole Whip and pull out the delicious ice creamy goodness in a manner that should have been x-rated. With a spoon resting unused in her hand, she continued her bile-inducing food trance as she molested the poor unsuspecting Dole Whip.

My friend and I both averted our eyes in horror, scarred forever with the image that had been seared into our brains. We didn't eat another Dole Whip during that entire trip...

So the moral of this story... no one, no matter how happy your food makes you, wants to see you molest the unsuspecting sustenance.

A Rant

Unless you have been hiding under a rock recently, I am sure you're aware of the issue the U.S. is facing with its budget and debt ceiling. And even though I am an NPR/PBS News hour-oholic, I tend to keep my opinions out of most politics, but after reading an article today, I can't keep my mouth shut any longer.

I am sure this post will make me unpopular, so I want to preface it with this: I believe that it is only through humanity and compassion that we will better ourselves and survive into the future. I have always been the person who loves the unwanted (whether it is a stuffed animal with a big black mark on its face when I was 3, or the puny plant that is about to be tossed out at the nursery just last month). I root for the underdog. I am neither democrat or republican, I am not a right winger, and I don't believe everyone should fend for themselves...

Now onto the unpopular part...

The article I just read was talking about the stalemate over the budget and the implications of what could happen after August 2. In the article it stated that we would have funds to cover medicare/medicade, social security, interest on debts, defense vendor payments, and unemployment insurance*. They would not however, be able to pay federal employees, active military members, and would leave whole government departments- such as Labor- entirely unfunded*. This made me nearly lose it. I understand the importance of taking care of the less fortunate but the nation (at this point and in my opinion) can not simply continue to take care of those that do not help the economy or productivity of the nation and completely neglect those that do.

I have been unemployed, I know exactly what I am talking about, but the truth of the matter is that if we continue to help the down trodden who are a weight on the economy while sacrificing those that are contributing to the economy, we are headed for a collapse...of everything. At which point we will no longer be able to help those in need either.

*http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/43954150/ns/politics-more_politics/?gt1=43001

Get The FUCK Out Of My Car!

I sold my beloved Honda Civic. It was my first car ever and I had it for nearly 10 years and it was 16 years old. It got 30 miles to the gallon and was loyal beyond compare. But, as 16 year old cars tend to do, it began needing more and more repairs and I needed to make the decision on where to invest my money- repairing and old car, or buying a new one. In the end my trusty Red Sled (my name for the Civic) went to a terrific family that would love it and actually wanted and need it. So I feel good...But my experience selling my car, was not without its, ahem, shall we say adventure...

Some pointers to potential car buyers...

If you respond to an ad selling a 5-speed manual transmission vehicle, perhaps it is best if you can actually drive a stick. And that one time you were going to drive down the cul-de-sac in your friends car but killed it before you got out of the driveway doesn't count. I mean you need to actually be able to:

• Know when the engine is running high because you have it in 3rd gear going 50mph
• Know you must push in the clutch to start the car
• Not kill the car...twice in a three minute test drive
• Not rev the engine so hard when initially starting to move in first...each and every time you're in first
• Knowing the difference between the foot brace on the floor to the left and the actual clutch pedal...
  

I should also suggest that you know how to drive a car period. Be sure you can accomplish the simple things such as:

• Knowing how to turn the car on (i.e. you must turn the key from lock, to on, to acc, and then to start). If you turn the key to acc and think that will start the car, you are going to be there for a while
• Knowing the difference between the footbrace on the floor to the left and the actual clutch pedal... yes I know I said it above, but really? Seriously, you can't tell the difference between a unmoving hunk of plastic and a depressable clutch pedal...? Really?
• Knowing you shouldn't turn left onto a road and them pull an immediate u-turn in front of a HUGE POLICE suv that is turning left behind you, nearly getting the car t-boned and pissing off the cop.

And on a final note, if you want a seller to select you as the buyer, don't be an idiot. This means:

• Do not try to pressure the seller into selling it to you after they already politely told you that they have another person test driving the car later that evening. And no, getting into a staring contest with the seller will not increase your chances of purchasing the vehicle.

Now that I have imparted this great wisdom on you dear readers, go forth and practice non-douchbagish car buying behavior. :-)

Like The Dying, I Laugh Because There Is Nothing Left To Do

I know I am not only one who notices how lovely all of our headlines are, and how much lovelier they get with each passing year. "Record Number of Tornadoes," "War Debt in the Trillions," "Fires Heading Toward Nuclear Lab," "Water Becoming a Precious Resource." I am generally an optimist regarding the state of the world (I am sure that is a bit hard to believe considering my sarcasm, but it is true). I see the good, the honest, the inspiring, and find myself awed by how amazing the natural world and humanity is. Seeing someone hold open a shop door for a stranger, or seeing a child say thank you brings a smile to my lips. Hearing of the tireless volunteer efforts by those who put themselves in danger to help others (Doctors Without Borders, Red Cross, PeaceCorps, etc.) makes me proud to call myself a member of the human race. So why is it that I find myself unable to completely block out all of the news that wraps its suffocating arms around me, enveloping me in a confusing blindness?

I think it is important to keep my head out of the sand. I listen to NPR and watch the PBS News Hour (hell, I even pick up the Economist when I am feeling particularly brainy) and absorb the recent news and status updates in my quest to be a well informed. And for the most part, I am able to keep from letting the news effect my mood or outlook, but not always...

I just read an article regarding water and its increasing scarcity. I earned my degree in natural resources, I have an aunt who is a water conservation nut, so the concept is not new to me. But this article was different... it was written from a financial perspective, listing off the values of water over traditional investments (the main one being that it is required for survival- we can live without gold, we can't live without water) and outlining the very real threat to this resource all the while saying, "so get in there and invest."

Did the author not make the connection? Did he not see that it doesn't matter if you invest your money in H20 and become a billionaire, if a glass of water costs you a billion dollars because we mismanaged the resource and outsourced it to private companies (what do you think bottled water is???) then you still only get one glass of water. This isn't like oil, we cannot come up with a new alternative resource to replace the current one. This is it. We have the water we have, most of which is undrinkable salt water, we can't magically make more. Once it is used up, it is used up. Why oh why would you write an article that recommends investing in our downfall? Why not use that space to write about water conservation? Hell, why not just leave it blank?

Thank You For Calling XXX How May I Service You Today?

Oh my freaking god! I think I just called a sex line from work! Ahhhhhh!

It has been one of those days- you know that type, you spend all day on the phone with customer service and keep getting passed from one department to another. Worse yet, they don't even transfer you, they tell you numbers and you have to hang up and redial. Awesome. So here I was at work, doing my thing, addressing office issues with various customer service departments and I get- yet again- referred to another number. The woman on the phone said the number so fast I barely had time to even hear her. There is nothing unusual about the number, just your run-of-the-mill 1-800 number.

But when I dialed, oh god, little did I know I would be scarred for life! Who should pick up on the other end than a husky voiced recording of a woman asking me if I want to- I hang up the phone before the recording can finish. Whatever she was asking I really don't think they have enough brain bleach for me to scrub that memory away so it is better left unfinished. But now, of course, I am terrified that the work police are going to come arrest me. I can see it now, diligent RP working hard at her computer when the office door is busted down and straight-laced suits march in and haul me off to Bad Office Manager jail. Eeeek! It would be like the scene on Mr. Toads Wild Ride, where he is standing in front of the devil judge and sentenced to hell (I am not sure if this is accurate interpretation of the ride, because while fun, it never really made much sense, maybe I should watch the cartoon...)

I guess if you don't hear from me in a week or so, you will know what happened to me.

P.S. Shout out to my one reader from Germany! I don't know if you are intentionally reading this blog or if you keep accidentally stumbling upon it but either way- hi!

A Thought To Ponder...

So no, this is not a new thing entry, but it is food for thought.

If my job duties require that I spend hours on the phone with customer service to ensure my office runs smoothly, then I have to come home and call customer service to ensure my life runs smoothly... will I snap twice as soon???? Drink that in....

Monkey See, Monkey Do

So I went bouldering for the first time today and it was AWESOME!

Of course it was a little awkward, like all new things. I didn't know what to wear and I had to rent my shoes because I wasn't about to spend $100 on a new pair when I didn't even know whether I would like the sport or not. And why, by the way, must rented shoes always look in such a way that they loudly proclaim, "I AM RENTED!"? Mine had an annoying, bright orange plastic tab on the back of my right shoe, and it served no purpose what so ever. Come on people, don't make my first time any more awkward than it has to be; I mean, my muscles already ache in ways that I didn't even know where possible, must we add humiliation to the pain?

My arms feel like jelly, I have a head ache, and my super soft feminine hands are now developing blisters and callouses. But it was worth all of that and more. The combination of using all of your body while problem solving to make it to the top, is like nothing I have ever done. I will be buying a membership to the gym and going several times a week...as soon as my arms can lift more than a pencil. ;-P

On a side note, in order to use the bouldering facilities, I was required to take a belaying lesson and test (because there is a rock climbing area within the same facility). I actually enjoyed this lesson and want to become more proficient in rock climbing as well, now I just need to find a climbing partner...

Giving Blood In The Wienermobile

So, claustrophobic me decided it would be a smashing idea to participate in a local blood drive that was happening out of the Red Cross bloodmobile- or what I like to affectionately refer to as the Wienermobile. Now, to be perfectly honest, I didn't know it was happening out of the hotdog on wheels, I assumed it was in an actual building. Ha! Little did I know...

So after a 2 hour drive (this location was giving away nifty gifts as thank yous- free access to Rose Festival events, private tours, etc.) I found the location. After walking into the building to sign the paperwork and read the mandated reading, they point me back outside to the Twinkie bus. Oh joys. When I enter said bus, they proceeded to enclose me in what I can only describe as a renovated bathroom that was now a "intake room". Why the small room you ask? Well apparently they needed to give me complete privacy while asking me about my blood history... never mind the 2 inch crack between the door and the floor, I am sure it was totally private. I mean, really? They should let participants waiver their right to privacy and leave that damn door open, that room was not only small and getting smaller by the moment, but it was HOT!

After an eternal 10 minutes I finally got out and was laid down on one of their 4 donating beds. The nurse hooked me up and ran the tubing down the length of my lower arm to the bag on the floor. I never liked this, something about the tube, that is warm with my blood, tracing my arm is kinda weird. After it was all done they directed me to the snack area, which was exactly 1.5 steps from where I was laying. I turned down the offer of juice and cookies and opted for my water instead. As I sat there waiting for my ten minute recuperating period to be up, I tried to figure out if the slight dizziness and vertigo I was having was from giving blood or from the giant Twinkie (I get that way every time I am in a small-ish enclosed space). I finally decided it was the Twinkie and left, I figured it was worth the risk of falling on my face to get out of the little tin can. And whatdayaknow, it was the Wienermobile after all.

So the moral of today's story: always check to make sure a blood drive is happening in an actual building and not in the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.

At The Risk Of Sounding Republican...

I feel that with my posts about religion and supporting the troops this blog could very well turn republican (EEEEEEK!), but I am willing to risk it today.

It is Memorial Day weekend, a time to get out your BBQ and dust off the pool toys. Unless you live in my town, then it is the day to dress warmly and pull out the old umbrella once again. But whatever you are doing this wonderful weekend, I hope that we each acknowledge, in our own way, the sacrifices given for all that we have. If our forefathers never sacrificed for that original fight (read the American Revolution) things would be drastically different. If the Civil War never happened who knows where we might have ended up. And so on and so forth, you get the picture.

Don't misread this, I don't support war as an option in the grand scheme of things, but the scientist in me- the one that has studied human evolution and behavior- recognizes that violence and war are a part of human existence. And until we are able to exist in a manner that cherishes all beings (plants, animals, rocks, the earth, and each other) war is an inevitable side effect of existence in my mind, and I truly appreciate those who have sacrificed so much for so many.

I went to a Memorial Day service at a local cemetery today- it happened to be at one of my favorite cemeteries, when I lived closer to it I use to walk there regularly because I found it comforting; yes I am weird, get over it- and it nearly broke my heart. Those that sacrificed were there to honor the fallen, but very few of the general public had shown up. There were so many war veterans and so few of those they sacrificed for I wanted to cry. There was actually a WWII veteran and despite being very old, stooped over, and walking with a cane, he rose and saluted the flag and the fallen men when the time came. The very few younger people that showed up didn't even place a hand over their heart.

So I guess my message is this, one day, in the not to distant future, we will be the older generation. We will soon be the ones that (hopefully) made the sacrifices that allowed future generations the luxuries we now enjoy. When that time comes, I sure hope the younger folks are respectful and appreciative enough to recognize it and pay tribute to it. And the best way to ensure that happens is to start doing it ourselves.

To Be Rude Or To Be Sacrilegious...Decisions, Decisions...

Perhaps a little background would better set the stage of understanding for this entry so here it goes...

I was raised nondenominational-ish/christinan-ish/eclectic. I went to Sunday School for less than a year and haven't really stepped foot in a church since- unless you count touring the cathedrals of Italy. For the last few years I found myself tending more toward being an agnostic than anything else. I am sure there is something out there, and I am sure it is bigger than me, but I have a very hard time with the whole concept of God. I am a person who adores science and the whole process involved in explaining life's mysteries, the idea that there is some guy on a cloud above me looking down at me as I write this blog and eat my sinfully delicious key lime pie is a little hard for me to get behind. I used to get it, not to long ago I was at ease with the concept, but now...not so much. So in response to this lack of faith (can't really call it a crisis since there isn't really anything there) I decided to begin searching for a spiritual experience...and since I am horribly lazy as soon as the novelty wears off of any experience, I am searching in structured communities that focus on this kind of thing, from here on out I will call them religions.

My first step out onto this rather unsteady limb was with the local Universalist Unitarian church. It wasn't a bad experience at all, the people were very nice and friendly. They were all very careful to allow each member full religious freedom and incorporate everyone's beliefs. But because of this desire to incorporate all of it, I felt it akin to herding cats...or what I like to call a family reunion. I have grown up in a family where religion is not a common thread. With one Born Again Christian, one Mormon, a couple spiritualists, a pagan, one Jewish individual, and god (small pun intended) knows what else, my family could practically teach a class on world religions. Either that or be the starting line of a really bad joke ;-)

So upon realizing that I needed a bit more structure than the UU church I took up the quest once again, which brought me to the episcopal church. I specifically chose this one even though it was 2 hours away from my home, because it is absolutely beautiful. The cathedral has large stained glass windows and an alter that is truly breathtaking. I am a person who likes aesthetically pleasing environments, so the 2 hour drive was worth it...then again, when I am eating Top Ramen next week because all my money went to gas I might feel differently.

But I digress, today I went to my first episcopalian Sunday Eucharist. I arrived with plenty of time to spare- I didn't want my first impression to be the late girl who opened the massive and squeaky cathedral doors exactly during the wrong moment. I poked around the church grounds- beautiful, built in 1906- and talked to a couple of people. 15 minutes before the service started I took my seat. Now usually I am a back of the room kind of person, just in case I want to leave I can do so quietly. But this time I thought, "RP, you need to shake it up, don't be scared, get in there." So off I marched to the 11th or 12th row of pews (out of about 60 or 70) and pluncked my solo rear right at the edge toward the center aisle that headed straight for the alter (this is important so remember it for later).

I watch as people file in. Most of them are older, and I have to wonder, what will happen to churches (and religions as a whole) if the younger generations no longer attend church...? Anyway, I see each person bow to the alter (perhaps it was the cross on the alter, I am not sure) before moving into a row to take their seats (and each time they pass the alter). It is not a moment later when I notice that everyone has this handy dandy white booklet and I do not. Uh oh. Never good. So I try to nonchalantly look around to see where I can get one. Of course it is all the way back at the entrance. Great. I then spend about 2 minutes contemplating whether I should bow to the alter (cross?) when I get up before I turn my back to it and walk to the entrance. I have a brief image of the agnostic, new girl bursting into flames for she had bowed to the alter when she in fact didn't really see the relevance. Then again, if I didn't bow before I turned toward the entrance maybe the members would stone me. I finally decided to get up and bend my knees in such a way that could be interpreted as either bowing or my knees giving out. I figured that way I would be safe either way.

With my little white booklet in hand- which by the way is awesome, it laid out the entire service, moment by moment, so I didn't feel like a total idiot and remain seated when we should stand or stand when we should kneel- the service began. Let me say this, regardless of which path I may choose, the music and ceremony of the service is enough to make me want to go back again. It was truly amazing. The chior, the sermons, everything.

Now for the juicy part. Just before the service ended the attendees took communion. Which for the agnostic, germaphobic, new girl came out of nowhere. So the (ushers?) came down the center aisle and began dismissing one row at a time through the center aisle to go down to the alter, kneel, have communion, and then return back to their seats down the side aisles. You remember where I chose to sit, right? At the very edge toward that darn center aisle. I knew I should have sat in the back.

So I watch as the ushers get closer and closer to my row. I look around for clues as to what I should do. I felt it might be sacrilegious to take communion when I wasn't a member of this church or any other, had never been baptized, and wasn't even sure I believed in all this. Then again, if I didn't I thought it might be seen as rude and disrespectful if I stayed put. Now, let me interject here, I have only been to one other service where communion was part of the service. I was with a catholic friend, he was a member of the church, and the communion was optional- i.e. not everyone went down to receive it. Today was nothing like that, everyone went down and took communion, there was no way I could blend in with the crowd if I chose to remain put.

Next thing I knew the usher was at my side, indicating for me to lead my row down that darn center aisle to the alter. I decide to step out, allow everyone to go down the aisle and then take my seat again. It is definitely noticed that I didn't not participate. I don't think there was any disapproval, but I am sure there were some "What is up with the weird new girl" stares.

After the service ends and we are dismissed, there just happens to be a new comer meet and greet. So I pop my head in and meet the cutest older lady (shout out to Mona!) who, when she suggested I put my purse on the table beside me while I write my name card said, "Well, you probably shouldn't leave it there, lets be practical" and gave a little chuckle. BTW, Mona, if you are reading this, I think you are so adorable I could just take you home. I then proceed to meet the most extroverted introvert I have ever come across and a member of the church (is the appropriate term, clergy? She was holding up what appeared to be an important book and was followed around with a large cross during parts of the service, so I am pretty sure she was a priest or something along those lines) who popped in random conversation starters when there was already a conversation going on that had nothing to do with what she said.

So here I am lugging around my extremely heavy purse (I carry a large steel water bottle around with me), my long coat, a new comers welcome packet, and lord only knows what else, as the three of us try to carry on a conversation. The gentleman (the extrovert) was obsessed with the Myers Briggs personality test, he classifies everything according to that. It was actually quite impressive, I was tempted to see if he could classify how best to go grocery shopping based on the MBPT but decided against it. And while he was explaining to me that despite his daughters similar MBPT results they had a very different skill set, the woman was interjecting little spinets about her daughter studying biology in Australia... Needless to say, it was very hard trying to carry on two different conversations while trying to turn them into the cohesive discussion the two other individuals perceived it to be.

Oh yeah, the extroverted introvert had one eyebrow hair that was so long it fell in front of his eye and it was all I could do to keep from staring at it instead of into his eyes while he talked. The perfectionist in me really wanted to take a pair of scissors and snip it down to size, along with all the other extraordinarily long eyebrow hairs he had. But I didn't, I just tried to ignore it... Somewhat unsuccessfully, but hey, I tried ;-)

All and all, I really enjoyed the experience. I hope to go back, probably not next week (gas it still crazy expensive) but maybe the week after :-)

Until next time dear readers (all 5 of you)...

Supporting Causes Without Using A Bumper Sticker

We have all seen them, the cars that have the "Have you hugged a farmer today?" or "I support the troops." I definitely have causes I support, I just don't do so on my car. I mean really, how is a "I love my dairy farmer" declaration on the back of my car going to help out my favorite milk company (shout out to Horizon Milk!)? I always feel (and say) that if you want to make a difference, go out there and make one, don't just talk about it.

Well, I finally decided to stop being a hypocrite. Inspired by a video clip of WWII veterans I decided to adopt my very own soldier (the terminology makes me feel as though I should be running to the pet store for a food bowl and posting pictures of a cute fuzzy face on here). The basic deal is I write a letter each week and send a care package once a month. And never expect to hear back...boy, I hope I am sending non-lame stuff in my care packages...

Why the sudden feeling of patriotic pride you ask? Truthfully it wasn't necessarily patriotism that sparked this new opportunity, rather the knowledge that regardless whether or not I support the decisions made by our government/military, without the individuals who sacrifice so much I wouldn't have the luxuries I do. The least I can do it send a few letters and some Clif Bars.

But despite my new experience I can guarantee that I will not be plastering on a bumper sticker that reads "Have You Hugged A Soldier Today?"

A Watched Pot Sometimes Boils...

Yet again, my new experience came from an unexpected place this week. I lost my temper. I mean, full on screaming, yelling, crazy woman losing my temper. I will not go into the details but the end result was very surprising... I feel better than I have in a long time. All that repressed, pent up crap came raging out of me and now, I can't stop smiling. I feel so free and so light, as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I don't necessarily think what I did was right, but man, it was needed.

I jog 3 miles a day in an attempt to release all this crap, but apparently it wasn't working. I will need to find a more appropriate way to find this same release I feel now. I had no idea how heavy the stuff I had been carrying around had been until it was gone. There really isn't anything like total release of all your anger. My anxiety and concern for every minor detail is gone, replaced by a neutrality that is a refreshing and welcome break.

Giving Back

This week, my new thing is meeting with a mentoring program. I originally submitted my application to volunteer with the program with the intention of working with youth, however, they have a big need for adult-to-adult mentors so that is where I will be helping out.

I am a little nervous, I explained that I didn't want to mentor anyone older than me (25) because I know that if some 16 year old tried to mentor me I wouldn't be to thrilled about it. I will meet with my mentee (is that a word?) for two hours every other week. Basically it just involves us meeting for a cup of coffee (or in my case, tea) and just talking.

I hope I am able to be a positive influence in someone's life. I think it is so important to give back if we are able. I will let you know how my first meeting goes :-)

Oops...

Can my new thing last week be forgetting to do a new thing???? No? Hummm, looks like I am up a creek without a paddle... ;-)

Technically I could use the fact that I found a pair of capris I like to be my new thing (trust me, that is a very rare occurrence) but it feels like cheating, so I wont. I guess I will just chalk that up to a hectic week and march on.

Ready, Set, ZUMBA!

So, this week was just full of unexpected surprises. First my little spider rebel tried to overtake my desk and then on Friday my belly dancing class was switched up and turned into a Zumba class. Let me just say, if you would like to have your a** handed to you, take Zumba. If you would like your a** handed to to you while having a terrific time, take a Zumba class just for women!

It is definitely different from any dance or aerobics class I have ever taken. It isn't the "take is slow and learn the steps kinda thing" but instead a jump in, do what you can, and be ready to laugh at yourself experience! It was a mix of Latin, hip hop, middle eastern, African and much more. By the end of the class, my brain was so fried from learning so many quick combinations I couldn't even manage a decent grapevine (something I can do in my sleep). But I had tons of fun doing it! I think I will be doing it again- hopefully with more success- in the future :-)

Little Miss Muffit Can Kiss My A**

So my new thing came quite unexpectedly this week. I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when along came a black spider who thought it was a good idea to crawl all over my desk and WAY too close to my hand resting on the mouse. Now, I had been eyeing this sneaky bastard for a while- he had been crawling along the wall next to my desk, weaving in and out of the bookcase beside me. And up until this point I had been trying to live in a peaceful coexistence with him, after all, I do work at an environmentally centered organization...it seemed somewhat sacrilegious to kill him in such a place.

But when that little f-er started crawling on my desk, you better believe I went looking for something to squash his brazen a**; I was the only one in the office, so if no one was there to witness the murder, it never happened. But when I returned, he was nowhere to be found. That smartass hid from me!

So I went back to work (after picking my purse up off the ground just in case he wanted to hitch a ride). My colleagues came in and the hours began to roll by, but as luck (or craptastic luck in this case) would have it, that damn black spider slid right down a thin thread of silk and dangled right in front of my face!!!! OH. MY. FREAKING. GOD. There is a spider in my face!!!!! My first inclination is to always squeal like a girl and run away (you think that is bad, you should see me working in the garden when a bee starts stalking me...). But I couldn't do that, I was at work, there were witnesses to this embarrassing behavior. And I couldn't kill, not with everyone around. I stood there frozen in fear. My coworkers of course noticed that I was standing away from my desk just looking into the air like a complete idiot and I had to confess that I was "somewhat uneasy around spiders" (understatement of the year...decade...millennium).

One of my coworkers handed me the tiniest paper cup I had ever seen and a way too thin piece of paper. I took it, too embarrassed to say "can you please catch it?" (I mean it is ok to say it to a guy- he's socially obligated to "be the man" but in an office full of women, there was no way to say it). I faced the dangling spider, and, as if seeing me too, it began to crawl back up its thread. That little sh*t, how dare he run from me twice!

My heart was racing as I moved forward. I got him in the cup and threw the paper over it. Oh god, I can feel his little spindly legs crawling inside! AHHHHHHH!!!!!! EWWWW! EWWWWW! EWWWWW! My coworker opens the door and I release him onto the sidewalk, free at last of his conniving little schemes. I then spent the entire day glancing above my head, determined that he had a gigantic family somewhere just out of eyesight, who were going to take their revenge by jumping on me.

And that is how I, RP, conquered my fear of spiders (for a brief 5 seconds, let's not get carried away here).

You Can Rest When You're Dead

My brain seems to have taken this phrase to heart (no pun intended... well, maybe just a little bit). My mind is an endless stream of thoughts. Not even when I sleep do I get a break- I dream nearly every night, if not every night.

Meditation was an epic fail for me when I tried it a while back. It when something like this:

Ok, clear your mind Reforming Perfectionist (RP). Let everything melt away. Imagine white light. If a thought comes just let it float past like a leaf, acknowledging it but not digging into to it.

My toe itches. Should I itch my toe? If I itch my toe will that break my meditative state? Wait, clear your mind RP. Clear your mind. Ok, back on track. Focus on the white light spreading through your body, from your head down.

Should I imagine it spreading over my inside organs too? It seems a little neglectful and half-hearted to not give them so love too. Maybe that isn't the point. Wait, I'm getting side tracked.

Oh crap, I can hear my dog in the other room. I wonder what he is getting into...

Needless to say, it wasn't a very successful endeavor. So, to make a long post even longer, this all brings me to what I will be doing this upcoming week. I will be attempting to quiet my mind. Heck, at this point I am willing to settle for just one focused thought. I have the distinct impression that this will take longer than a week, but I will keep at it :-)

Until next time!

The Circus Under The Big Top

Well here it is, the good, the bad, and the really awkward. All my meticulous planning, sleepless nights, and stress knots in my shoulders had come down to this one day.

I warn you, while this might be something new, it definitely was not done in the vain of giving up on perfection. With my name attached to this event and paying participants who deserve to get their money's worth, you better believe this thing was going to be perfect. Note to all potential event planners, this job will throw your perfectionistic tendencies into overdrive, possbily pushing them to the edge of obsession...

The Good:
Everything was right on time, each stage of the 3 hour setup was perfectly in sync with the timetable I had worked out. Then again, what else could be expected since I had actually gone so far as to take the 10x10 foot pole-and-joint canopies home with me to time how long it would take me to set them up as well as calling the furniture rental business and ask how long it took their workers to set up the 20x60 foot (aka: group) canopy... Nothing was being left to chance.

My graph paper model of the group canopy was a perfect replica and all the tables fit perfectly as they should have.


My 3 volunteers showed up and were wonderful. I am getting them a gift card to go in their thank you cards.

All 4 bands showed up (thank you guys!!!!) and the African drummers were a HUGE hit! There is something about drumming that is just mesmerizing. The fact that they showed up was a gigantic relief since our communication was spotty at best- is it me or has anyone else noticed that creative people tend to have chaotic communication styles? Sometimes they respond right away and other times they disappear for weeks at a time...

No one was hit by a car during the parade. That is always a sign of a successful event. No volunteers go into it was car drivers as they directed traffic, another sign of a successful event.


The Bad:
The night before my event, some jackass (that's right, I said it) vandalized the "No Parking/Tow Away Zone" signs I had so painfully posted (in the rain might I add). Who does that?! I mean really, of all the things to do, vandalizing is by far the most idiotic thing. It is rude, disrespectful, and just plain old stupid.

The large sound system that was rented for the bands who where playing at the event was so large it didn't fit into my car... This meant caring 2 60lbs speakers, 2 speaker stands, a mixer, cords (too many for me to count), 2 microphones (their stands), and god only knows what else 2 blocks to the event. Not so bad, right? Hahaha, young grasshopper, getting them there wasn't so bad, but after a day of setting up 40+, very heavy 6' wooden tables and then taking down said tables, plus 3 10x10' canopies and speedwalking god only knows how many miles, those speakers and stands and the mixer were painfully heavy.

It rained. But, admittedly, not too bad during the event, just a light drizzle. It was after the event that it began to pour as we were taking everything down. That is the nice thing about this area, it rains so much that people don't really let that stop them from attending- otherwise they would never go anywhere.

I forgot my camera. All I have to say is thank you to the inventor of the camera phone.


The Awkward:
I am sure most of you have been in the situation where someone goes in for the hug and you go in for the handshake and the whole thing ends in a really awkward dance of the handshake-hug cycle as you each try to accommodate the other person... well unfortunately, this isn't what happened, this was so much more awkward than that.

While running around, managing the event I ran into an old teacher of mine. He had always been an inappropriate flirt and I guess somethings never change. So he went in for the hug and I went in for the handshake but seeing that he was not going to be shifting to a handshake I twisted my body at the last moment to avoid a SUPER awkward full-frontal hug (let's face it, it wouldn't have been the a-frame, church appropriate hug) and instead had the less awkward one arm hug while my other arm lay limply at my side.

The first time was bad enough, but he did it twice! I mean really, you would think that the socially appropriate thing for him to do would be to go in for a handshake since we had already done his hug. It would have balanced out the situation. But did he? No. Once again my cat-like reflexes saved me from the super uncomfortable full-frontal hug but my annoyance couldn't not be quenched, no matter how many contortionist moved I pulled out of my pocket. Fortunately I was too busy to spend much time stewing on the subject so I guess all's well that ends well.

Stay tuned, I have no clue what i am doing next week. But I promise, it will be back on the non-perfectionist route :-)

The Flaw In The Plan

This week I am going to cheat, I mean technically it's not cheating, but it kinda is...

Currently my life has become consumed with event planning. The organization I work for is currently in the throws of outreach season and can you guess who is in charge of it...? Yep, yours truly. This type of thing is not good for my perfectionist nature, events are unpredictable, like a child who hasn't slept in a while and is getting grouchy. It is just a matter of when something is going to go wrong, not if.

So this week, due to my lack of a life and lack of time (both of which were generously donated to me by this event coming up next Saturday) I will be writing about my misadventures in event planning. And trust me, there is plenty to write about. You see, I inherited this position without any back story, no infrastructure, and no guidance. Everything I do is a result of a self-educated guess- a shot in the dark if you will. And during this time I have become very well acquainted with the concept of the early bird gets the worm (& the late bird is left frantically searching for a replacement worm because no one told him that he should be getting ready at all). Guess which little birdy I am...

Stay tuned. With any luck I will be spared the horror of a 20x60 foot canopy collapsing on participants heads or the torrential downpour that has been known to strike without warning on these lovely PNW days. Did I mention the event is being held outside?

Goodbye Food Poisoning, Hello Body Shimmies

It's me again, your cake decorating belly dancer. I just returned from my first belly dancing class and I have to say, I AM HOOKED! And really imperfect at it.

I had no issue jumping right in and keeping up with the steps, but man, I dance as stiff as a board. The years of pilates and ballet have left my carriage impeccable, but my movements stiff and very technical. It was amazing to watch the instructor moved with the music naturally, her arms and hips creating a visual representation of the hypnotic rhythm. I admit I am jealous, but I take heart in that she studied 12 years of ballet and had similar issues with dancing rather stiffly, so hey, there is hope for me yet! ;-)

In our small class of 10, our feet pounded against the cork floor in a captivating beat as we danced in a circle around the room. The coins dangling from the hip scarves jingled along to the music as we swung our bodies forward toward the center of the room and rolled our hands through the air. The music sped up to a frantic pace, beckoning for us to keep time. The pounding of our feet and the rustling of the scarves came to a sudden halt as the music changed tempo and we stretched to catch our breath.

The hour when by with amazing speed. We ended the session in a circle, sending out a blessing to all whom we know, and don't know. We took the time to show appreciation for our bodies, even if just in thought. We thanked our eyes for sight and our mouth for words, even our hips and knees. During this whole ending, I couldn't help smiling spontaneously. And it wasn't that smile you get when you think something to be ridiculous, it was actually joyful.

I thought about this on the way home, why would such a small thing- showing gratitude to a body part- bring on this feeling of happiness? It wasn't a prayer to have a slimmer tummy or more toned butt, it was just an expression of thank you for being exactly the way they are. But I guess it really shouldn't surprise me that this new experience brought out unexpected joy, we are bombarded everyday with the idea that we should hate ourselves, that we are never good enough. We buy makeup to have doll-like skin. We abstain from carbs to make sure we can fit into our itty bitty jeans. The anit-aging/wrinkle industry will never hurt for business as they pressure us to hide our age instead of honoring our years of wisdom.

And this lead me to a surprising revelation- when we accept our imperfections, when we put them out there for the world to see, it is an utterly freeing experience. There is no longer a need to work so hard at keeping up the pretense of perfection and instead you can be fully open to experiencing whatever life brings you. I don't claim to be at this space, far from it I am afraid. But I feel I should put in a caveat to this idea, because I also feel that there is a distinction that should be made between keeping up pretenses and observing social manners. But that is a musing for another time.

I Am So Imperfect It Makes Me Sick

So, I baked my first-ever cake from scratch and decorated it with homemade frosting. I was on cloud nine, I mean, look at this thing, it is gorgeous!

And just a note to all you future frosting makers out there- abandon the crisco, stick with butter. Crisco does make the frosting more fluffy, but the taste is not so hot.

Anyway, back to my cake adventure. So I created this beautiful cake- sans color because I have yet to find all natural food coloring- and was feeling mighty proud. I didn't even dig into it right away, I waited to show if off that evening. Of course the first second after I had proudly displayed my amazing talent (read with dripping sarcasm) I cut myself a piece. With that first bite I was ready for baking perfection, an amazing feat of baking skill like the world had never known...but the texture was...off. The center wasn't quite done- even though my toothpick had come out clean. No big deal I figured, I would just avoided that area and eat the outside part. But it was too late, the food poisoning had already snuck its way in (salmonella anyone?). Two hours later, I was one sick girl. It brings the idea of internally knowing my imperfections to a whole new meaning.

Needless to say, the cake ended up in the garbage. Maybe I should be like the Caesars of ancient Rome and have a person taste/test my food first... of course that could be seen as some sort of extreme abuse so I guess I will stick with sacrificing myself.

Next up, belly dancing.

Jumping Into The Deep End Of Failing

Oh my, what have I gotten myself into? I have officially started my quest to expose my imperfections... and boy-oh-boy did I land in the deep end.

Cake decorating might not have been the best thing to start off with. You see, despite what some of my loved ones might say, I lack nearly any inkling of artistic ability (see proof below)... and my cooking isn't all that great either. I once made fudge that never hardened, not even when frozen, and no, there was no liquor in the batter. Looking back on it, I really should have kept that and submitted it to science to be studied ;-)

Yes, it's fuzzy, but you get the idea.

Normally, my version of baking/decorating a cake is buying a pre-made cake at the bakery and sticking a candle in it. Although I confess I have on occasion bought cake mix and pre-made frosting to what is often a disastrous end. So what better way to begin exploring and exposing my imperfections than to be humbled in a class of 21 people as I try to keep my unsteady hand from worsening my already horrendous handwriting and my pathetic attempts at artistic design.

Note to all you (probably non-existent) readers out there: whatever your flaw- crappy handwriting, lack of artistic ability, etc- it is exaggerated when done in icing. Beware of the icing, it is out to get you.

Taking my seat at the front of the class, other students began to trickle in as the hour approached and I soon realized that while this class may be advertised for beginners, most of these women were far from it. I took little comfort in the fact that I was in good company with the two- very miserable looking- men (note to all the women out there, spare your men, don't force them to take cake decorating classes). These women were greeting each other by name, discussing the cakes they have created, and talking about how much they enjoyed taking a previous class with this same instructor. It was as if the universe had taken advantage of my vulnerability and schemed to make this as difficult as possible for me. And to make matters even worse, I was seated next to a woman who worked in a bakery... as a cake decorator! (I mean really, why was she there? just to showoff?) I could already begin to feel the perfectionist in me yearn to go home and decorate a hundred cakes until I was better than everyone in the room, including the instructor!

We made our introductions and then created parchment paper icing tubes and began piping butter cream icing onto our "cakes" (which for this class are merely cardboard cake plates).

The first hour of class passed agonizingly slowly as I grew more determined to perfect everything I was doing. But no matter how many things I added to my "cake" it just kept looking worse and worse. But then, halfway through, I remembered why I was there and I began to let it go. My lines had gaps in them and my writing sucked and still I let it go. I began to just enjoy the process of watching my creating come to life, not really caring that it wasn't going to win any cake decorating contests. I stopped trying to create the best and just enjoyed the process of creating it, regardless of the outcome. And I'll admit, I actually ended up having fun.

And, in the spirit of exposing my flaws and accepting the imperfections within myself, I have even posted a picture of my creation below.