Dear God, I Want to Learn About Periods Again

I am a planner.  I like to know what I am getting myself into.

I think it was my mother who instilled this in me when I was in fourth grade and she took me to the restaurant called Chi-Chi's to give me The Talk. I stuffed my face with chips and salsa while we talked about sex, boobs, penis' and periods.  She even showed me a book with pictures.  I knew what to expect.  That is why I never wanted to grow up.  Periods and penis' scared me.

You didn't click on my blog link to read about my realization of how babies are made, so I will move on.

This desire to know what lies ahead seems like a contradiction in my ever-tangled brain because I also like being sporadic and adventurous.  Whenever I take a personality test, I am more of the outgoing, leader type, but am pretty balanced when it comes to the other two.  It could mean that I have no idea as to who I am or that I am a well-rounded individual.  I'd like to think the latter, but I have a notion that it is really the former. I sometimes have that Zoolander dilemma, where he looks into the puddle and asks, "Who am I?"

As some of you know, my husband quit his job at Sweetwater a few weeks ago.  He is working in his studio full time.  I have NO CLUE where we will be in a month, let alone a week.  Will we be out of Grabill?  Will we be in a different state? What do I want to do with my life? Ah!

I don't know if you have ever had the feeling, but the past few years I've been surrounded by a constant sea squall and all I can do is grasp onto the edge of the ship and puke my guts out from seasickness.

I know that I DO have a foundation to cling to and that the storm will pass at some point. I catch myself praying that I can just BE, that there will be no more death and my stomach will settle.  But then, I look back and see that I am stronger because I didn't know what would happen and made it through.

I sometimes wish life was like that night at Chi-Chi's.  I want to eat my Mexican food and for someone to spell it all out for me.   Anyone up for some salsa?

Deutsch Therapy

To be honest with you, this week I have been in a grumpy mood.  It doesn't happen that often but this time it has lasted for days. 

Days.

You have heard this over and over again in the media but I cannot find a job. We are soooo not settled in Indiana yet. I could go on about this, but I won't.

At times life does not go the way you planned. Sometimes it seems everything ugly in the universe aligns to produce the suckiness - every snot faced, growling, grotesque thing.  There are those days as well when there is no reason to be grumpy, but you just ARE.

When I am down in the dumps I find it helps to randomly shout out German words.

Hilfe! Puppenstube! Nein!

It doesn't matter what the words mean, but for some reason I feel relief after saying them.  Try it. Shout out NEIN in a gruff voice and tell me that you don't feel better when you have a bad day.

Death to Carrots

I am an analyzer.  You name it and I probably have mulled over the thing, person, place or idea in my head at some point in my life. 

I most enjoy analyzing people- especially when they are doing something I wouldn't do.  There are times I decide that I want to try that thing or do what that person does, because there HAS to be a reason to do it or like it or eat it.

For example, I have never particularly enjoyed the taste of peas and carrots (specifically cooked peas or fresh carrots). Gross.  I know there is a reason why people eat these vegetables.  Someday I will figure it out.

I try a carrot every once in a while just in case my tastebuds have matured.

For example, the day I learned that my father had died and was flying to Indiana to be with my family, the stewardess passed around a small package of carrots for each of the passengers.  I remember thinking, I might as well get used to doing things I don't want to do. I ate every last raw carrot.

I still hate the taste of them.

Next up?  British Comedy.  My sister and I are going to spend an evening watching British Comedy on PBS because, gosh darn it, I am going to learn to like it (or at least appreciate it).  I have always wanted to be British... and funny.

The Man Knows That My Feet Smell

I have a theory.  I am asking that you test it out and let me know if I am correct.

Here it is:

     I believe that one of the best self-analysis tools is to look at the advertisements that pop up on your computer screen while you are surfing Twitter, Facebook or pretty much any site.

Whatever appears is based on what you write about and the web sites that you visit frequently.  My most recent ads were:

1) The Economist Magazine
2) Earn your Masters from a School in Seattle
3) Online Photography Degrees
4) Global Experience- What are you doing next summer?

What we spend time doing, reading and saying is a good gauge as to who we truly are on the inside. Oh, so deep.

Let us pause and ponder these things.

I bet that the ads on the right side of the page at this moment are related to your interests and the sites that you spend time perusing.  Am I right?

Food for thought.  It is kind of disturbing that the advertising folks may understand more about me than my neighbor. I didn't quite know what to think when I saw advertisements about how to fix smelly feet.  What are "they" trying to tell me?

If You Need to Fry an Egg, Put It on My Arm

I truly believe that God created me for cold weather.  I get grumpy if it is too hot and I am not afraid to tell everyone about it.  Sorry to all my Florida friends who had to listen to my rantings for two years.

I radiate heat.  And when I say that, I am not lick-my-finger-and-place-it-on-my-hip-while-I-make-a-sizzling-sound joking.  I am literally a furnace.

Last night I woke up to my husband's supplication to please move over to my side of the bed because he was sweating.  If you were to graze my arm during those moments, it would be hot to the touch. Being able to withstand the cold weather is one thing I can be thankful that I inherited from my father and my grandfather.

My perfect day would be a fall evening at dusk.  The temperature is below 60 degrees, the leaves have changed colors and it is cloudy.  Someone in the distance is burning leaves and... I have a million dollars... and a whiskey sour on the rocks... and cheese.

Dirty Dish Efficiency

I recently heard a story on NPR about an Efficiency Expert.  He is hired to go into businesses and find ways to save money by simply moving a copier closer to a department or to define which positions are not necessary.  I remember thinking that I would be good at that job because I pour my creamer in my mug before I pour in the coffee so I don't have to use a spoon.

Then, as I was emptying the dishwasher, it hit me - there are certain parts of my life where I simply don't care if there is order.  The way in which I place my dirty dishes in the dishwasher is included in that list.  It drives my husband mad.  But, come on, they are DIRTY dishes.  Next thing you know we will be organizing our trash.

Don't Touch My Nose!

Below is a short list of my ticks and mannerisms that make me... well, me.

#1
At night time I generally complete one Sudoku puzzle while I am laying in bed. I like to lay on my right side so the only hand I have free is my left hand. Even though I am right handed, every time I complete a Sudoku puzzle, I write left handed. I have become an expert in writing numbers that way. Go me.

#2
I also have Rain-Man-like tendencies. I catch myself counting the syllables in sentences when someone is talking to me. I count as if the person is talking in 3/4 time signature or 4/4 time signature. I tap my fingers while the person is talking. Yes. I am that person. Def-Def-Definitely.

#3
Also, no one is allowed to touch my nose. No one period - not even my husband. I am not sure why my mental state prohibits this but I think it has something to do with the thought that I might have boogers hanging from these orifices.

#4
My husband tells me that I frequently exaggerate the amount or the cost of something. Instead of saying, "I had 50 emails in my Inbox today," I will say, "I had a million emails in my Inbox today." Or "That run on the treadmill lasted ten hours."

#5
When I make a point that I think is definitive, I push my plate away at the dinner table. I also repeat myself purposefully at least three times when I feel a thought is profound or important because I am not sure that the other person understands the magnitude of my epiphany.

The Magnitude Of My Epiphany.

THE MAGNITUDE OF MY EPIPHANY.

#6
And did I mention that no one should ever, ever, ever, touch my nose or I will punch you in the arm with my left hand a million times while counting the syllables in your cries for mercy?