This morning I had the chance to see real humanity (and Christianity) in action.
There is a guy who rides the train every morning asking for change for the bus. Most people pretend he doesn't exist, or offer a half-hearted smile and a slight shake of the head with a "sorry, man" (I am not excluding myself here).
This morning, a young man took the seat next to me as I rode to work. He opened a book and started to read. Probably 30, married, plain-looking guy. As the "train man" started his beggar's shuffle up the car before his stop, my seat mate paused.
"What's your name?" he asked, book closed in one hand while the other went to his bag.
"Mike," the man answered, after several moments of skeptical hesitation.
"Well, Mike," my seatmate said, extending the hand from his bag. "I'm Paul," he said, slipping ten dollars into the palm.
And Mike whispered "thanks" as he exited the car.
And Paul smiled softly, as he returned to his Bible.
It was the New Testament, from what I could tell; it was hard to see behind my veil of tears.
So thank you, Mike, for reminding me of humanity.
And thank you, Paul, for giving me hope.
Thursday, October 6, 2016
Sunday, September 11, 2016
REWIND: One Day
I first wrote this piece in 2012, after years of trying to find the words to express my feelings in exactly the right way. Now, four years later, I still believe this was and is the best I can do.
One Day
"The loss that we endured on that crisp September morning eleven years ago... the loss of lives, of our sense of security, of our perceived national innocence.... was, and remains to this day, impossible to capture in words. The sacrifice of countless innocent lives since, of men and women, mothers and fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, friends – it seems senseless in a way that I can't describe. The world as we knew it spun off course that day, and sometimes it feels like it hasn’t stopped since. The hatred and vitriol spewed across our televisions, facebook and other social media is increasingly alarming, particularly during election years such as this. I fear that as time goes on, the tragedy that occurred just eleven short years ago, a series of moments that most of us can recall in the minutest of detail, will be swept up in the tide of partisan politics and other modern issues, joining the list of anniversaries that prompt us to ask, “where were you?” and then, without even stopping to hear the answer, go on with our individual lives.
It feels easy to mash them all together, doesn't it? To wrap the whole thing in a neat bundle in our brains, dubbed "the tragedies of our nation," and drag it out of our mental dustbins to be reflected on once a year?
That cannot happen. We cannot LET that happen. We owe it to the people who woke up that morning excited for a trip across the country. The people who, just going about their regular day, didn’t get to see tomorrow. The incredibly brave, strong, heroic people who stood up on that day, and have continued to stand for us every day since, to say, “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever again.”
In 2009, Congress passed a bipartisan act declaring September 11th the National Day of Service and Remembrance. It isn't about political affiliation; it's about personal appreciation and respect for our fellow countrymen and human beings, for those here with us and those who are gone. With that in mind, I encourage you to step up today, if even in the smallest of ways, to show that you care. Donate blood, smile at a stranger, register to vote – whatever we can do to remember, to reflect on that day and to honor those people: do it.
We owe it to them." - CMW, "One Day," 9/11/12
One Day
"The loss that we endured on that crisp September morning eleven years ago... the loss of lives, of our sense of security, of our perceived national innocence.... was, and remains to this day, impossible to capture in words. The sacrifice of countless innocent lives since, of men and women, mothers and fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, friends – it seems senseless in a way that I can't describe. The world as we knew it spun off course that day, and sometimes it feels like it hasn’t stopped since. The hatred and vitriol spewed across our televisions, facebook and other social media is increasingly alarming, particularly during election years such as this. I fear that as time goes on, the tragedy that occurred just eleven short years ago, a series of moments that most of us can recall in the minutest of detail, will be swept up in the tide of partisan politics and other modern issues, joining the list of anniversaries that prompt us to ask, “where were you?” and then, without even stopping to hear the answer, go on with our individual lives.
It feels easy to mash them all together, doesn't it? To wrap the whole thing in a neat bundle in our brains, dubbed "the tragedies of our nation," and drag it out of our mental dustbins to be reflected on once a year?
That cannot happen. We cannot LET that happen. We owe it to the people who woke up that morning excited for a trip across the country. The people who, just going about their regular day, didn’t get to see tomorrow. The incredibly brave, strong, heroic people who stood up on that day, and have continued to stand for us every day since, to say, “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever again.”
In 2009, Congress passed a bipartisan act declaring September 11th the National Day of Service and Remembrance. It isn't about political affiliation; it's about personal appreciation and respect for our fellow countrymen and human beings, for those here with us and those who are gone. With that in mind, I encourage you to step up today, if even in the smallest of ways, to show that you care. Donate blood, smile at a stranger, register to vote – whatever we can do to remember, to reflect on that day and to honor those people: do it.
We owe it to them." - CMW, "One Day," 9/11/12
Friday, August 5, 2016
Flashback Friday: Five Rings
Note: I first wrote this in 2012 for the winter Olympics. My feelings haven't changed.
Every family has its quirks and traditions; I believe this is true because it's the only thing that reminds us that we are all one related unit and as such, it keeps us from clawing out each others' eyes at family parties.
My family, on both sides, has a vast array of traditions. My mother's side uses the same christening gown for every child, and the only one who hasn't been baptized in it is my brother Brian (and that's only because his twin brother was wearing it at the time). We have a habit of doing the Electric Slide in inappropriate places, stepping up as the fourth in the Siege of Ennis and, since we all suffer the famed "Irish Whisper," no family party is complete without a game that I like to call, "Who Can Yell The Loudest?" And there isn't a soul on the planet who can hold a candle to my Nana's mashed potatoes or her Irish bread, and no one on Earth will ever be able to convince me otherwise.
On my father's side, we have our common idiosyncrasies, too. My stepmom once commented on our reliance on ice cream, and she was right; in my experience, there is no situation, good or bad, that cannot be enhanced by a large, cold bowl of ice cream. Though we all tend to lean the same way, we are very politically informed and can (usually) see the merit in all sides of an argument. I've already waxed poetic on our love of college football and the fact that I can blame my running problems on genetics is well-documented. Our love of all things sport runs deep through our veins.
Today's topic is one of the few that I can say mean a lot to both sides of my family: The Olympic Games.
Winter, Summer -- it doesn't matter; much like parents and their children, I love them both equally, for so many different reasons.
I grew up in the frigid northeast, so the Winter games are particularly dear to me. My mom enrolled me in figure skating at the age of seven so I could be just like my idol, Kristi Yamaguchi. Once I hit puberty and my center of gravity changed, I spent a portion of my teen years convinced I would make a grand transition to speed skating, and I still lament the fact that my mom refused to let me play hockey. I'm so amazed by what people can accomplish on ice, snow and other various elements, particularly because I now refuse to run outside in the winter because hello, I could slip! It's also a bonus that when his hair is long, my youngest brother is a dead-ringer for Shaun White.
Yes, I love the Winter Olympics.
Ah, but then we have summer. I always feel like the Summer Games have an entirely different feel than the Winter, and it has nothing to do with the temperature outside. The intensity of the athletes remains the same, of course, because one does not reach the pinnacle of sport without a hefty dose of dedication, determination and drive. For whatever reason, though, a lot of the summer athletes seem more laid-back once their events are over, as well as a bit more open with the media (Hope Solo and Ryan Lochte and their "scandalous" confessions, anyone?). The world at large seems to prefer the Summer Olympics, which makes perfect sense considering that outside of a very small percentage, the events are more readily accessible to most countries, given the moderate climates needed to train.
Of course, the glamor of physically seeing so much skin and muscle in the Summer Games might have something to do with it, too; no one can argue that speedos and spandex are a lot sexier than mittens and mufflers.
There is often a debate between Olympics fans as to which sport is the best to watch. I love them all, from diving to track and field to table tennis, but I come out on one of the popular sides as far as my favorite: swimming, hands down. This has been true for my entire life, to the point that I once let my mother talk me into swimming as an alternate on our local Y swim team for a year (I never actually raced, thank goodness!). My sister and Andrew prefer gymnastics, both men's and women's, and I have to admit that I love watching people contort their bodies into ridiculous positions on insane contraptions. I'm also really looking forward to the running events this year, for obvious reasons, and am anxious to see which random sport catches my attention this time around (it happens every. single. time. For example, with Beijing, I found myself at a bar cheering on the steeplechasers like a maniac).
My family shares this enthusiasm for the world's largest display of athleticism and sportsmanship. Some of my fondest memories are of all of us gathered around an old tv on an ugly shag rug, cheering on Team USA and rolling in laughter as my sister perfectly mimicked Kerry Strug or my brother repeatedly declared his love for Shawn Johnson at Nastia Liuken's expense. These are the memories that I most looking forward to making each time the Games come around. I'm also looking forward to the long chats and arguments amongst my coworkers, aka my "work family", whom I am very fortunate to say comprise a true global melting pot. Over lunch breaks and coffee and happy hours, everyone will cheer on everyone else's home country, and together we will cheer on Team USA.
In this day and internet age, where we are inundated 24/7 with scandal and heartbreak and everything in between, a bunch of immensely talented individuals will remind us that while their feats of athleticism are nothing short of amazing, it's the texts, tweets, posts, articles, interviews and water cooler talk already taking place around the globe that will make the next few weeks truly special. That no matter what colors we wear, whether on the Olympic podium or sitting at home on the couch, we all have something in common: our shared humanity and a desire to achieve greatness.
That's what the Olympics are all about, Charlie Brown.
Every family has its quirks and traditions; I believe this is true because it's the only thing that reminds us that we are all one related unit and as such, it keeps us from clawing out each others' eyes at family parties.
My family, on both sides, has a vast array of traditions. My mother's side uses the same christening gown for every child, and the only one who hasn't been baptized in it is my brother Brian (and that's only because his twin brother was wearing it at the time). We have a habit of doing the Electric Slide in inappropriate places, stepping up as the fourth in the Siege of Ennis and, since we all suffer the famed "Irish Whisper," no family party is complete without a game that I like to call, "Who Can Yell The Loudest?" And there isn't a soul on the planet who can hold a candle to my Nana's mashed potatoes or her Irish bread, and no one on Earth will ever be able to convince me otherwise.
On my father's side, we have our common idiosyncrasies, too. My stepmom once commented on our reliance on ice cream, and she was right; in my experience, there is no situation, good or bad, that cannot be enhanced by a large, cold bowl of ice cream. Though we all tend to lean the same way, we are very politically informed and can (usually) see the merit in all sides of an argument. I've already waxed poetic on our love of college football and the fact that I can blame my running problems on genetics is well-documented. Our love of all things sport runs deep through our veins.
Today's topic is one of the few that I can say mean a lot to both sides of my family: The Olympic Games.
 |
| My Paint skills aren't the best, but just go with it. |
Winter, Summer -- it doesn't matter; much like parents and their children, I love them both equally, for so many different reasons.
I grew up in the frigid northeast, so the Winter games are particularly dear to me. My mom enrolled me in figure skating at the age of seven so I could be just like my idol, Kristi Yamaguchi. Once I hit puberty and my center of gravity changed, I spent a portion of my teen years convinced I would make a grand transition to speed skating, and I still lament the fact that my mom refused to let me play hockey. I'm so amazed by what people can accomplish on ice, snow and other various elements, particularly because I now refuse to run outside in the winter because hello, I could slip! It's also a bonus that when his hair is long, my youngest brother is a dead-ringer for Shaun White.
 | |
| [Source] |
 |
| Freaky, right? |
Yes, I love the Winter Olympics.
Ah, but then we have summer. I always feel like the Summer Games have an entirely different feel than the Winter, and it has nothing to do with the temperature outside. The intensity of the athletes remains the same, of course, because one does not reach the pinnacle of sport without a hefty dose of dedication, determination and drive. For whatever reason, though, a lot of the summer athletes seem more laid-back once their events are over, as well as a bit more open with the media (Hope Solo and Ryan Lochte and their "scandalous" confessions, anyone?). The world at large seems to prefer the Summer Olympics, which makes perfect sense considering that outside of a very small percentage, the events are more readily accessible to most countries, given the moderate climates needed to train.
Of course, the glamor of physically seeing so much skin and muscle in the Summer Games might have something to do with it, too; no one can argue that speedos and spandex are a lot sexier than mittens and mufflers.
There is often a debate between Olympics fans as to which sport is the best to watch. I love them all, from diving to track and field to table tennis, but I come out on one of the popular sides as far as my favorite: swimming, hands down. This has been true for my entire life, to the point that I once let my mother talk me into swimming as an alternate on our local Y swim team for a year (I never actually raced, thank goodness!). My sister and Andrew prefer gymnastics, both men's and women's, and I have to admit that I love watching people contort their bodies into ridiculous positions on insane contraptions. I'm also really looking forward to the running events this year, for obvious reasons, and am anxious to see which random sport catches my attention this time around (it happens every. single. time. For example, with Beijing, I found myself at a bar cheering on the steeplechasers like a maniac).
 |
| [Source] |
My family shares this enthusiasm for the world's largest display of athleticism and sportsmanship. Some of my fondest memories are of all of us gathered around an old tv on an ugly shag rug, cheering on Team USA and rolling in laughter as my sister perfectly mimicked Kerry Strug or my brother repeatedly declared his love for Shawn Johnson at Nastia Liuken's expense. These are the memories that I most looking forward to making each time the Games come around. I'm also looking forward to the long chats and arguments amongst my coworkers, aka my "work family", whom I am very fortunate to say comprise a true global melting pot. Over lunch breaks and coffee and happy hours, everyone will cheer on everyone else's home country, and together we will cheer on Team USA.
In this day and internet age, where we are inundated 24/7 with scandal and heartbreak and everything in between, a bunch of immensely talented individuals will remind us that while their feats of athleticism are nothing short of amazing, it's the texts, tweets, posts, articles, interviews and water cooler talk already taking place around the globe that will make the next few weeks truly special. That no matter what colors we wear, whether on the Olympic podium or sitting at home on the couch, we all have something in common: our shared humanity and a desire to achieve greatness.
That's what the Olympics are all about, Charlie Brown.
Thursday, July 14, 2016
It Isn't Okay
I have spent almost 10 days trying to put all of my thoughts into words and, for one of the few times in my life, even the Oxford English Dictionary seems to have failed me. I still feel compelled to say something, though, so here goes.
When I was little, my two dreams in life were to be either a lawyer or a diplomat. I appeared to be pretty well-suited to either of these jobs; as anyone reading this knows, I love to argue and I never, ever shut up. I also have what a therapist once told me is "an uncanny ability to take myself out of any situation, to examine it from all angles, and then assess all solutions as a third party, even when I am directly involved." In short, I'm an empath, which means that I don't just acknowledge other people's feeling or points of view; I actually feel them myself and I am so open-minded that I can see almost any situation from any point of view, even if it is one that I personally loathe.
This is both a blessing and a curse.
I grew up in the Northeast -- New Hampshire, specifically -- and it wasn't until I went to college that I realized how fortunate I had been to attend the most diverse high school in the state. I'm a white, middle-class woman, but I was blessed to grow up in a multicultural city with exposure to people of all types of identities, races and creeds. I was also lucky enough to have picked up, through a wide group of family and friends, the view that all people are the same and, as such, are born with an inalienable right to dignity, compassion,empathy and respect. It wasn't until I was firmly ensconced in a New England, land-grant university that I realized that my exposure to people of other colors, nationalities, economic status, orientations and religions was vastly different than many of my classmates, some of whom had never interacted with a black person in anything other than a passerby capacity.
For that, I am forever thankful.
I have been oddly quiet for the past 10 days because, quite frankly, I don't know what to say. The state of the country at this point in time is both horrifying and sadly predictable. It seems that a week doesn't pass that we aren't inundated with news reports of murder, both of the mass and individual kind. My "feelings" well is almost at capacity from it. Sick, sad, scared, mystified, confused, guilty -- all of these are words that describe some of my emotions. There are two words, though, that seem to have stood out.
Anger is one; resolve is the other.
Don't get me wrong -- just because I have been quiet, just because I have not posted, just because I have not engaged people on my facebook feed just yet -- do not think that I am not angry. Because I am, in fact, seething mad.
Mad that fellow human beings are *still* being denied basic human rights.
Mad that people who I know, love and respect have chosen to turn a blind eye to that fact.
Mad that there are people who refuse to admit that black people and gay people and Muslim people (to name a few) are treated differently by society, and believe that there is not an endemic, inherent issue with race and homophobia in this great country that was founded on freedom of religion and the backs of Native Americans and African slaves.
Mad that there are people who can't see that these aren't just abstract, random strangers in the news; that they can't see these are our neighbors, these are friends, these are colleagues -- THESE ARE FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS, DAMN IT -- and that they need our help.
I find it ironic that the Hashtag Activists have drawn such a stark division between Black and Blue -- the colors we use to describe a bruise, the remnants and reminders that linger far after the initial injury has passed. Part of my hesitation to say something has been because I didn't want to get into "The Police Debate." I respect and acknowledge the profession of police officers, and I still don't have words for the amount of thanks I give for the sacrifice that they and their families and loved ones make to keep this country and our communities safe. I really, truly acknowledge that as well as the fear, uncertainty and downright danger that they feel and put themselves in the way of each and every day. Their lives and their jobs do matter.
The issue is that the majority of Americans, regardless of their color, don't need a reminder of that.
We do, unfortunately, need a reminder that Black Lives Matter. And Muslim Lives Matter, and Gay Lives Matter, and the lives of any actually oppressed population matter. Because when it isn't "our" lives (which do, in fact, matter), we tend not to care.
As I mentioned above, I am an empath -- and while that has its own unique set of problems, it also has its own set of benefits. For example, it is nearly impossible for me to view the world in black or white; I only see it in varied shades of grey. I don't think that anyone is inherently good or inherently evil. I take issue with the idea of "all." "All blacks." "All whites." "All police." "All Muslims." I didn't understand the concept of "all" at the age of five and I still don't understand, aside from the fact that we "all" have people who love us and we "all" need love and we "all" are products of our environments.
And we "all" can get past those environments if we want to.
Because of this, I believe that recognizing institutional racism and respecting our police officers are not mutually exclusive concepts. It *is* possible to do both. The answer is to eschew the concept of "all" and embrace the concept of "most."
For example: "Most" black people are not criminals, just like "most" police officers are not bad, "most" Muslims are not terrorists, "most" gay people are not perverts, "most" white people are not rich old men and "most" Christians are not members of the KKK.
And unless I'm mistaken, every single drop of needlessly spilled blood is the same color.
As I have tried to make clear from the beginning, I don't know the answer to all the world's problems, and I certainly don't have the words to articulate all of my thoughts. All I know is that I needed to and resolved myself to say something, and send it out into the ether, probably to fall upon deaf ears but hopefully to fall upon some. At this point, that's all that I can ask.
That, and send encouragement to those of you who also have words, and who feel the need to do the same.
When I was little, my two dreams in life were to be either a lawyer or a diplomat. I appeared to be pretty well-suited to either of these jobs; as anyone reading this knows, I love to argue and I never, ever shut up. I also have what a therapist once told me is "an uncanny ability to take myself out of any situation, to examine it from all angles, and then assess all solutions as a third party, even when I am directly involved." In short, I'm an empath, which means that I don't just acknowledge other people's feeling or points of view; I actually feel them myself and I am so open-minded that I can see almost any situation from any point of view, even if it is one that I personally loathe.
This is both a blessing and a curse.
I grew up in the Northeast -- New Hampshire, specifically -- and it wasn't until I went to college that I realized how fortunate I had been to attend the most diverse high school in the state. I'm a white, middle-class woman, but I was blessed to grow up in a multicultural city with exposure to people of all types of identities, races and creeds. I was also lucky enough to have picked up, through a wide group of family and friends, the view that all people are the same and, as such, are born with an inalienable right to dignity, compassion,empathy and respect. It wasn't until I was firmly ensconced in a New England, land-grant university that I realized that my exposure to people of other colors, nationalities, economic status, orientations and religions was vastly different than many of my classmates, some of whom had never interacted with a black person in anything other than a passerby capacity.
For that, I am forever thankful.
I have been oddly quiet for the past 10 days because, quite frankly, I don't know what to say. The state of the country at this point in time is both horrifying and sadly predictable. It seems that a week doesn't pass that we aren't inundated with news reports of murder, both of the mass and individual kind. My "feelings" well is almost at capacity from it. Sick, sad, scared, mystified, confused, guilty -- all of these are words that describe some of my emotions. There are two words, though, that seem to have stood out.
Anger is one; resolve is the other.
Don't get me wrong -- just because I have been quiet, just because I have not posted, just because I have not engaged people on my facebook feed just yet -- do not think that I am not angry. Because I am, in fact, seething mad.
Mad that fellow human beings are *still* being denied basic human rights.
Mad that people who I know, love and respect have chosen to turn a blind eye to that fact.
Mad that there are people who refuse to admit that black people and gay people and Muslim people (to name a few) are treated differently by society, and believe that there is not an endemic, inherent issue with race and homophobia in this great country that was founded on freedom of religion and the backs of Native Americans and African slaves.
Mad that there are people who can't see that these aren't just abstract, random strangers in the news; that they can't see these are our neighbors, these are friends, these are colleagues -- THESE ARE FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS, DAMN IT -- and that they need our help.
I find it ironic that the Hashtag Activists have drawn such a stark division between Black and Blue -- the colors we use to describe a bruise, the remnants and reminders that linger far after the initial injury has passed. Part of my hesitation to say something has been because I didn't want to get into "The Police Debate." I respect and acknowledge the profession of police officers, and I still don't have words for the amount of thanks I give for the sacrifice that they and their families and loved ones make to keep this country and our communities safe. I really, truly acknowledge that as well as the fear, uncertainty and downright danger that they feel and put themselves in the way of each and every day. Their lives and their jobs do matter.
The issue is that the majority of Americans, regardless of their color, don't need a reminder of that.
We do, unfortunately, need a reminder that Black Lives Matter. And Muslim Lives Matter, and Gay Lives Matter, and the lives of any actually oppressed population matter. Because when it isn't "our" lives (which do, in fact, matter), we tend not to care.
As I mentioned above, I am an empath -- and while that has its own unique set of problems, it also has its own set of benefits. For example, it is nearly impossible for me to view the world in black or white; I only see it in varied shades of grey. I don't think that anyone is inherently good or inherently evil. I take issue with the idea of "all." "All blacks." "All whites." "All police." "All Muslims." I didn't understand the concept of "all" at the age of five and I still don't understand, aside from the fact that we "all" have people who love us and we "all" need love and we "all" are products of our environments.
And we "all" can get past those environments if we want to.
Because of this, I believe that recognizing institutional racism and respecting our police officers are not mutually exclusive concepts. It *is* possible to do both. The answer is to eschew the concept of "all" and embrace the concept of "most."
For example: "Most" black people are not criminals, just like "most" police officers are not bad, "most" Muslims are not terrorists, "most" gay people are not perverts, "most" white people are not rich old men and "most" Christians are not members of the KKK.
And unless I'm mistaken, every single drop of needlessly spilled blood is the same color.
As I have tried to make clear from the beginning, I don't know the answer to all the world's problems, and I certainly don't have the words to articulate all of my thoughts. All I know is that I needed to and resolved myself to say something, and send it out into the ether, probably to fall upon deaf ears but hopefully to fall upon some. At this point, that's all that I can ask.
That, and send encouragement to those of you who also have words, and who feel the need to do the same.
Thursday, June 30, 2016
#TBT: 10 Years Ago vs. Now
In honor of #ThrowbackThursday, aka #TBT, here's a little insight into my life ten years ago and how it has changed today.
10 Years Ago vs. Now
Fast Food
Then: I was just telling a friend about the epic journeys my sorority sisters and I would take to Wendy’s for the dollar menu (jr. cheeseburger, spicy chicken sandwich, 5-piece nugget and a large D. Coke), followed by a stop at the McD’s drive-thru (vanilla cone and fries). Then I wondered how I gained 50 pounds in a year (see also: Light, Bud).
Now: The Thai place up the street delivered my order (yellow chicken curry, brown rice on the side) within 20 minutes, so does that count? Otherwise, I’m still a sucker for a guilty-pleasure run to McD’s on road trips (QP meal or a McChicken with a medium D. Coke). Also, Boloco (mediterranean salad, no olives, white meat chicken).
Favorite Food
Then: Angie’s grilled cheese and tomato soup*; Angie’s Friday brunch*; Stat’s FroYo and Bagelry Super Turkey. Also DHop dollar slices. (*Angie was our house chef)
Now: Ice cream. Soup. Ham and cheese on italian with lettuce, tomato and mayo.
Breakfast
Then: An apple or single pop-tart, depending on my mood.
Now: Eggs or egg whites with a bit of cheese and a chicken sausage.
Relationship
Then: Recently single and embarking on the foremost neglected relationship in my life: myself.
Now: Happily married after 7.5 years of happily dating.
Age/Life Stage
Then: 21 and just beginning to find that college experience you see in the movies and reminisce about over cocktails in your 30s. See also: Mess, Hot.
Now: 31 and just beginning to find that mid-life experience you look back on over cocktails in your 60s and think, “ah, and then it finally started.”
Work
Then: Work-studying for the world’s best boss and coworker, who was then and is now one of my best friends.
Now: Five months into a brand-new job in a brand-new field in the midst of a brand-new Master’s degree
Car
Then: Hitching rides from pledges – ahem, new members – to class and the mall.
Now: 2005 Chevy Cobalt that I’ve had since that summer. Old Kobe is the best.
Shopping
Then: Charlotte Russe, Forever 21, Wet Seal... JC Penney and Macy’s so my stepmom could buy me actual clothes.
Now: Loft, J. Crew, Old Navy, TJ Maxx/Marshalls, Nordstrom.
Hair Care
Then: Meticulous. Trims every six weeks, color every 12; the world’s most perfect highlight/lowlights; salon-brand products and a very expensive flat-iron.
Now: Lucky if it gets brushed.
Super Hero
Then: Britney Spears, right before the meltdown phase.
Now: My grandparents. I have learned so incredibly much from them.
Books
Then: Juggling three 700-level English classes, so fair to say “all.”
Now: Attempting to read 52 books this year, while branching out in genres – I'm currently at 31 with 2 in progress, and you can follow along here!
Friday, February 19, 2016
Five on Friday
So, once upon a time I was a "decently-known" blogger, and I cared about notoriety and all kinds of other factors. I had a bunch of twitter and blog followers who meant... what? Nothing. And I realized that, yet still yearned for the "blogosphere" connection. And so, without further ado, I present my very own, "Five on Friday" while on my way to a random Friday adventure with my husband and best friends:
11)
Work It Out
If I were to embody a deadly sin, it would
be, without a doubt, sloth. You know the song “Sexy and I Know It”? Well, I’m
Lazy and I Know It. It takes real effort to drag my carcass out of bed each
morning and be a functional, productive member of society. I do it, but when
all is said and done, I would much rather lie around for days on end reading
trashy chick lit and snoozing when the whim strikes (my husband will attest to
this). Unfortunately, it has recently come to my attention that this lifestyle
doesn’t exactly jive with my genetics and, unless I want to find my fifteen
minutes of fame on My 500lb Life, I have
to spend a little less time running my mouth like a Real Housewife and a lot
more on the treadmill. So, I packed up my gym bag, stuck in some headphones,
and made it to the gym four times this week. One would assume that for someone
who ran a marathon just over two years ago, this would not seem like a major
accomplishment; I, however, am a product of the Millennial Generation and as
such demand my gold star, head pats and a new dress size
RIGHTNOWTHISVERYINSTANT (please and thank you).
22)
Marital Subterfuge
The other night the husband and I were
trying to figure out what to watch next on Netflix. Being the sneaky little
sucker I am, I told him that I’d heard really good things about Call the
Midwife. My high school bff has been trying to get me to watch it for AGES, but
I just haven’t had time to add another show to my “me time” repertoire. The good
news is, he fell right into my perfectly-laid trap by admitting he’d never
heard of it before, and now we are happily ensconced in Season One and I no
longer need to figure out where to fit it into my delicate balance of The Originals,
The Fosters, Pretty Little Liars and Scandal when he isn’t home to complain
about how much trashy “Lady TV” I watch. And that, folks, is what I call a
win/win.
33)
Marital Bliss
We’re going to our first wedding since our
own tomorrow night. Without the madness of playing Ringmaster and corralling
150 people into three separate spaces during the day, I really love weddings
and can’t wait to attend. Plus, the bride and groom played a vital part in the
early days of our own romance, so we’re really looking forward to watching them
enter into the eternal shackles bonds of marriage themselves.
44)
Butt-Dials
of the Loud and Adorable
The other day, I was texting my sister as I
left work, accidentally hitting the “call” button as I slipped my phone into my
jacket pocket. Apparently, the world’s most motor-mouthed five year old (aka my
niece/goddaughter), saw my face pop up on the screen and automatically assumed
that I was calling at 5:30 on a Wednesday evening to chat with her. After
screaming into the phone and scowling like Posh (you’re welcome for that, Kelly),
she realized I wasn’t on the other line and hung up. When I finally pulled my
phone out of my pocket ten minutes later, I saw I had a voicemail – because she
not only called me back, but also left me a message telling me she did so, and
instructing me that she would talk to me later. I seriously felt like Anne
Hathaway in the Devil Wears Prada, only instead of statuesque, couture-clad Meryl,
my boss is a four-foot-tall pipsqueak in pigtails. AND SHE’S NOT EVEN MINE!
55)
It is embarrassing to admit how many times I
look away from these two gifs, only to realize that a full five minutes have
passed. You’re welcome.
Friday, January 22, 2016
REWIND! Snowpocalypse: A Survival Guide
Note: This post was originally published on January 30th, 2014. With an historic blizzard bearing down on Washington, D.C. and other locales south, I thought it prescient to repost -- for the good of the people, and all.
Greetings from the frigid Northeast!
Unless you've been living under a rock (or live abroad, in the case of the onslaught of Russian readers/spambots that my stats inform me are viewing this blog), you probably know that most of the continental United States has been trapped in the clutches of the ominously-named "Polar Vortex" for the past three weeks or so. For most, this has meant near-record lows for temperature as well as the constant threat of "winter weather events."
Or, as we here in New England like to call it, "winter."*
I have a huge amount of family and friends spread across this great nation of ours, including several who either currently reside in, or are originally from, The South. One of my best friends packed up her shit and moved to Tampa practically before her high school graduation cap hit the ground, and two-thirds of my immediate family are residents of the Lone Star State (one brother is in San Antonio with his family; the rest are in Waco while my sister attends Baylor). There are several more across the country, but they all share a Yankee heritage and have flown the coop simply to avoid this phenomenon called "snow."
A lot of people are giving our Southern friends a hard time because an entire major metropolitan city was brought to a standstill by approximately two inches of snow. This isn't cool, guys. Some of the stuff being said and, more obnoxiously, written, is downright mean. And while I'm as guilty as anyone else of giving the side-eye to the entire situation, it was based not on the actions of (most) individuals, but on the inability for the city and state infrastructure to weather such an event (see what I did there?). To my Yankee brethren, remember how the entire Northeast shut down for Nemo last February? Sure, that was two-three feet of white stuff, but impact-wise, there isn't much difference between two feet in Boston and two inches in Atlanta. We operate annually with snow removal budgets and know from experience to never trust a snow/rain line on the doppler -- but would we know that if we didn't live with it all the time? Of course not, just the same way that I don't know how to deal with 110 degrees and 100% humidity or an actual intense hurricane (which, coincidentally, took down what is arguably the most important city IN THE WORLD last year, as well as an entire coastline that still isn't back to normal). Cool it with the personal attacks already.
That being said, I feel that, as someone with almost 30 years of experience with this situation (and a lover of bad weather), I am qualified to give advice regarding how to survive in a Snowpocalypse, regardless of whether said incident brings 2 inches or 20. Should you find yourself in an impending "snow situation," here are some tips that I've found work for me and most people I know who deal with it on a regular basis.
A few basic rules:
Rule 1: If there is even a single flake falling somewhere in a 100-mile radius, you could get snow and should act accordingly.
Rule 2: Never, ever, EVER trust a meteorologist attempting to predict a snowstorm, especially if he or she uses the phrase, "rain/snow line." This is the weather equivalent of throwing one's hands up in the air and declaring, "HELL IF I KNOW! I just get paid to stand here and talk about the unpredictability of Mother Nature." While you can't control how your city/state/municipality prepares for a snowpocalypse, if there is even the remotest possibility of snow in the forecast, the suggestions below will help if you get slammed.
Preparation:
First off, you need to make sure you're properly prepared for a snow storm. This includes, but is not limited to, stocking up on a few essential items:
Seriously, though -- get yourself a bag of rock salt; a shovel; a good pair of mittens (those are the kind WITHOUT separate fingers -- they look stupid as hell but trust me, they're warmer than gloves); some long underwear (I actually think fleece-lined running tights work best); a pair of boots (order online if you have to. LL Bean: not just for monogrammed dog beds anymore!), and one of these handy little do-dads.
Another pro tip? Prior to the predicted storm, take five seconds and pull your windshield wipers up as though you were going to clean the glass; this way, when the snow is over, you can just flip them back down, turn them on and watch as your windshield magically appears with very little effort on your part).
Most importantly, IF YOU HAVE OIL HEAT, make sure that you have enough oil for the next few days. Now is also a good time to locate your flashlights, candles, blankets, etc., in the event you lose power. I also like to round up my board games and books, because nothing screams "BORING" like sitting in the dark for several hours with nothing to do but stare at each other.
Lastly, you want to be sure you're properly fortified with rations, because the absolute LAST THING IN THE WORLD you want to be doing during a snowstorm is sleeping on the floor of your local supermarket with a bunch of random strangers. For some reason that I assume dates back to World War II, there is this pervasive rumor that once a single snowflake falls, the human body magically switches over and is only able to convert bread, milk and water into fuel. Perhaps I've been doing it wrong, but I usually stock up on the important, shelf-stable food groups (wine, cans of soup, wine, EZ Cheez, crackers, beans, beer, wine) at the beginning of the winter, and I've managed to survive on this planet for almost 30 years, so that's something.
::Sigh:: You ignored the first rule. Luckily for you, if Northerners didn't learn to drive in the snow, our entire economy would shut down for six months out of the year. So here are some tips:
- Understand the concept of black ice. First up, a clarification: black ice isn't actually black; it's just called that because it's so thin that it isn't visible over pavement.More importantly, it is slippery as hell. Before you even set foot out the door, heed this advice when it comes to ice: just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there. What it *does* mean is that if you aren't extremely careful, you're going to find yourself either in a ditch or (literally) on your ass.
- DRIVE. SLOWLY. I can't overemphasize this enough -- you might be cruising along, thinking "wow these roads look so clean I don't understand what all of the fuss was abo-- SCREEECH!!!!" Remember that black ice we just talked about? Now you can admire it up close, because you're going to be waiting awhile for that tow truck.
- Turn INTO the skid. I speak from thirteen years of experience when I say that there are few things in the world more nerve-wracking than losing your traction on a sheet of ice or packed snow and feeling the back end of your car slide out from underneath you. Generally speaking, you want to steer into the skid, which defies common sense but works. Here is a video demonstration:
Congratulations!
You are now prepared for a snow storm. Now grab your stash of Blizzard Wine and a loved one, heat yourself up a can of soup and settle in for a marathon-viewing of whatever Netflix show suits your fancy
Go get 'em, Tiger.
*cue the Russian readers laughing. I don't blame them.
Greetings from the frigid Northeast!
Unless you've been living under a rock (or live abroad, in the case of the onslaught of Russian readers/spambots that my stats inform me are viewing this blog), you probably know that most of the continental United States has been trapped in the clutches of the ominously-named "Polar Vortex" for the past three weeks or so. For most, this has meant near-record lows for temperature as well as the constant threat of "winter weather events."
Or, as we here in New England like to call it, "winter."*
I have a huge amount of family and friends spread across this great nation of ours, including several who either currently reside in, or are originally from, The South. One of my best friends packed up her shit and moved to Tampa practically before her high school graduation cap hit the ground, and two-thirds of my immediate family are residents of the Lone Star State (one brother is in San Antonio with his family; the rest are in Waco while my sister attends Baylor). There are several more across the country, but they all share a Yankee heritage and have flown the coop simply to avoid this phenomenon called "snow."
A lot of people are giving our Southern friends a hard time because an entire major metropolitan city was brought to a standstill by approximately two inches of snow. This isn't cool, guys. Some of the stuff being said and, more obnoxiously, written, is downright mean. And while I'm as guilty as anyone else of giving the side-eye to the entire situation, it was based not on the actions of (most) individuals, but on the inability for the city and state infrastructure to weather such an event (see what I did there?). To my Yankee brethren, remember how the entire Northeast shut down for Nemo last February? Sure, that was two-three feet of white stuff, but impact-wise, there isn't much difference between two feet in Boston and two inches in Atlanta. We operate annually with snow removal budgets and know from experience to never trust a snow/rain line on the doppler -- but would we know that if we didn't live with it all the time? Of course not, just the same way that I don't know how to deal with 110 degrees and 100% humidity or an actual intense hurricane (which, coincidentally, took down what is arguably the most important city IN THE WORLD last year, as well as an entire coastline that still isn't back to normal). Cool it with the personal attacks already.
That being said, I feel that, as someone with almost 30 years of experience with this situation (and a lover of bad weather), I am qualified to give advice regarding how to survive in a Snowpocalypse, regardless of whether said incident brings 2 inches or 20. Should you find yourself in an impending "snow situation," here are some tips that I've found work for me and most people I know who deal with it on a regular basis.
How to Survive a Snowpocalypse
A few basic rules:
Rule 1: If there is even a single flake falling somewhere in a 100-mile radius, you could get snow and should act accordingly.
Rule 2: Never, ever, EVER trust a meteorologist attempting to predict a snowstorm, especially if he or she uses the phrase, "rain/snow line." This is the weather equivalent of throwing one's hands up in the air and declaring, "HELL IF I KNOW! I just get paid to stand here and talk about the unpredictability of Mother Nature." While you can't control how your city/state/municipality prepares for a snowpocalypse, if there is even the remotest possibility of snow in the forecast, the suggestions below will help if you get slammed.
Preparation:
First off, you need to make sure you're properly prepared for a snow storm. This includes, but is not limited to, stocking up on a few essential items:
Seriously, though -- get yourself a bag of rock salt; a shovel; a good pair of mittens (those are the kind WITHOUT separate fingers -- they look stupid as hell but trust me, they're warmer than gloves); some long underwear (I actually think fleece-lined running tights work best); a pair of boots (order online if you have to. LL Bean: not just for monogrammed dog beds anymore!), and one of these handy little do-dads.
 |
| Source |
Another pro tip? Prior to the predicted storm, take five seconds and pull your windshield wipers up as though you were going to clean the glass; this way, when the snow is over, you can just flip them back down, turn them on and watch as your windshield magically appears with very little effort on your part).
 |
| Like so. |
Most importantly, IF YOU HAVE OIL HEAT, make sure that you have enough oil for the next few days. Now is also a good time to locate your flashlights, candles, blankets, etc., in the event you lose power. I also like to round up my board games and books, because nothing screams "BORING" like sitting in the dark for several hours with nothing to do but stare at each other.
Lastly, you want to be sure you're properly fortified with rations, because the absolute LAST THING IN THE WORLD you want to be doing during a snowstorm is sleeping on the floor of your local supermarket with a bunch of random strangers. For some reason that I assume dates back to World War II, there is this pervasive rumor that once a single snowflake falls, the human body magically switches over and is only able to convert bread, milk and water into fuel. Perhaps I've been doing it wrong, but I usually stock up on the important, shelf-stable food groups (wine, cans of soup, wine, EZ Cheez, crackers, beans, beer, wine) at the beginning of the winter, and I've managed to survive on this planet for almost 30 years, so that's something.
 |
| Don't be this person. |
But what if I've ignored this advice and listened to the weather man, only to find out the storm *is* going to hit so I immediately went to the store three hours before the storm to get my bread and milk and now, after being trapped in Aisle 4 for five hours, my options are to brave the roads or sleep next to the feminine hygiene products?
::Sigh:: You ignored the first rule. Luckily for you, if Northerners didn't learn to drive in the snow, our entire economy would shut down for six months out of the year. So here are some tips:
- Understand the concept of black ice. First up, a clarification: black ice isn't actually black; it's just called that because it's so thin that it isn't visible over pavement.More importantly, it is slippery as hell. Before you even set foot out the door, heed this advice when it comes to ice: just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there. What it *does* mean is that if you aren't extremely careful, you're going to find yourself either in a ditch or (literally) on your ass.
- DRIVE. SLOWLY. I can't overemphasize this enough -- you might be cruising along, thinking "wow these roads look so clean I don't understand what all of the fuss was abo-- SCREEECH!!!!" Remember that black ice we just talked about? Now you can admire it up close, because you're going to be waiting awhile for that tow truck.
- Turn INTO the skid. I speak from thirteen years of experience when I say that there are few things in the world more nerve-wracking than losing your traction on a sheet of ice or packed snow and feeling the back end of your car slide out from underneath you. Generally speaking, you want to steer into the skid, which defies common sense but works. Here is a video demonstration:
Congratulations!
You are now prepared for a snow storm. Now grab your stash of Blizzard Wine and a loved one, heat yourself up a can of soup and settle in for a marathon-viewing of whatever Netflix show suits your fancy
 |
| I'd go with the back shelf, rather than the front. |
Go get 'em, Tiger.
*cue the Russian readers laughing. I don't blame them.
Wilkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome
Here are three interesting facts about me:
1) I finally realized that it's time I just embraced the fact that people are always telling me to write an autobiographical novel and put it all out there... again (I've had several blog iterations in the past).
2) I'm probably going to re-post old throwback posts here sometimes because... why do the work twice?
3) I have a deep love of musicals. It's nerdy, ridiculous and my husband totally hates it, but the opening chords of "Oh What a Beautiful Mornin'" or "Maybe This Time" will always remind me of my mom and sister, and if you knew this fact based on the title of this post, kudos to you.
And scene.
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