Addicted.

Exactly one week ago my sister introduced me to Lost. She had watched the entirety of Season 1 while at home sick. On our way home from dinner we stopped at Target where she proceeded to buy Season 2. I tried so hard to not be interested in it. I played around on facebook and busied myself with other tasks like doing laundry, painting my nails, cleaning out my purse, etc.

But after about three episodes, I was hooked. I needed so badly to know what was going to happen with every single plot line. So much so that I was googling things like 'Does Hurley find Sun's ring in the dog poo?' and 'Does Michael ever find Walt alive?' I was reading plot synopses four seasons ahead while still watching Season 2. I was reading character and actor bios on Wikipedia. I was searching for Lost in my facebook friends' profiles and checking to see if they were online so they could tell me what was going to happen. I couldn't get enough - and I had only seen a few hours of it.

I really shouldn't be surprised, though. I mean, I am very aware of how quickly I become addicted to things. It took me all of three pages to get addicted to the Twilight books...and Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings...you get it; two episodes of Rock of Love and I couldn't stop watching those trashy women throw themselves at Bret Michaels; one day of having a Twitter account and I was sharing every detail of my life with the world; I had a blackberry for a couple of hours before I felt naked without it.

So I'm easily addicted. Big deal, right? Let's just be glad I've never tried any hard drugs....

What's the deal?

I just can't figure out why I can manage my time so successfully at work, but as soon as I get home...I waste time like it's my job!

And it frustrates the hell out of me!

Oh, Canada!

I LOVE THE OLYMPICS. I love everything about them: the commercials, the traditions, the athletes' amazing life stories, the team uniforms, the way they bring the world peacefully together, the shiny medals, the fierce but friendly competition, and the idea that everyone has a chance.

I have particularly enjoyed watching these Vancouver Winter Olympics. This is, of course, because the winter games are my personal favorite. But also because they seemed to be just what the world needs at the moment. With half of the planet at war and the other half rocked by horrendously tragic natural disasters, it's nice to see people doing what they love in the name of country.

There's just something in the air when the Olympics are going on. And kudos to Canada for one of the most memorable Olympic Games. Let's be honest, the Beijing games left some big shoes to fill. And in true Canadian style, Vancouver didn't try to do the impossible and top those ceremonies. But what Vancouver may have lacked in Chinese grandeur, they certainly made up in emotion. From the tragic start of the games to the beautiful opening ceremonies, the gold medal underdog upsets to the down-to-the-last-second victories, and from the unpredictable weather to the constant feel-good vibes, it was definitely an Olympiad to remember.

So way to go, Canada! Keep it classy.

And damn, I love William Shatner.

The Scenic Route

So I recently started a new job. It's not really AT ALL what I went to school for. But it's fun, it's gonna pay the bills, I'm learning a lot, and best of all...I LOVE IT! In a nutshell (is that one word or two?), it's my job to make things happen. And I like that.

As a result of taking this job, I've been asked a lot the past three weeks what my eventual career plans and life goals are. I really don't have an answer. I have no big idea of how to gauge the success of my life when it's all over. And I think that's fine. I'm perfectly happy to meander through life without a big plan. I am certain of a few things, though...

I want to help people.
I want to be a good friend.
I want to always remember to laugh.
I want to feed people.
I want to live out loud.

So when people ask what my plans are, I tell them I plan to take the scenic route through life, and to enjoy wherever it takes me.



Also, I'm pretty sure Taylor Swift says it best in her song "A Place in this World"...

I don't know what I want
So don't ask me
Cause I'm still trying to figure it out
Don't know what's down this road
I'm just walkin
Trying to see through the rain falling down
Even though I'm not the only one
Who feels the way I do
I'm alone
On my own
And that's all I know
I'll be strong
I'll be wrong
Oh, but life goes on
I'm just a girl
Trying to find a place in this world
Got the radio on
My old blue jeans
And I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve
Feelin lucky today
Got the sunshine
Could you tell me what more do I need
And tomorrow's just a mystery, oh yeah
But that's okay
I'm alone
On my own
And that's all I know
I'll be strong
I'll be wrong
Oh, but life goes on
I'm just a girl
Trying to find a place in this world
Maybe I'm just a girl on a mission
But I'm ready to fly

Wake Up Call

Ok so the other day I woke up. To the sound of my very own laughter. I'm not even close to kidding here....I mean, who could make this up?

So anyway, I tried to remember what I was dreaming and this is what I pieced together...

I was walking into Walmart (an old school, non-SuperCenter one, where the customer service desk and restrooms are right inside the only entrance and to the left) with my cousin Dave. He's not really my cousin. We have the same last name and play the same instrument in marching band. In Kentucky that means you may as well be cousins since everyone assumes you already are. Oddly enough, I haven't actually seen Dave in a couple years, so who knows why he made an appearance in my dream. But that's neither here nor there.

We ran into another friend of ours, Andy. Facebook had recently told me that he just popped the question to his girlfriend who then became his fiance. Dave and I of course congratulated him on the now-impending nuptuals. And Andy is a funny guy. The kind who doesn't even TRY to be but always has you laughing. I wish so badly that I could remember what he said. That's the trouble with dreams, though - they're always fuzzy.

But whatever it was that he said, he said it right as I was taking a drink of water. So the water of course came pouring out of my mouth and all over the floor of Walmart. I kept laughing and the water kept coming until I was standing in a pool of water.

And that's when I woke up. Laughing. Hysterically.

Wanted: Gene Pool Lifeguard

If you want to drive a car, bus, tractor-trailer, motorcycle, ATV, snowmobile, boat, or plane, you have to have a license. If you want to hunt, fish, or go scuba diving, you need a license. If you'd like to own rare animals or a large number of pets, you need a license. You need a license to prepare someone else's taxes, practice medicine, defend or prosecute a case in a court of law, perform CPR and basic first aid, lifeguard, own a gun, be a mall cop, pierce ears and tattoo people, chlorinate a pool, or operate a ham radio. You also have to have a certificate in order to teach in public schools.

Last time I checked, parents are the most important teachers. But there's no certification or licensing process to become a parent. No requirement to learn basic care or lifesaving techniques. No law that says you actually make the effort to think about the best interests of your children. Nothing. So long as you are physically able to make a baby, a parent you shall be! But when will enough be enough?

I realize that this does not apply to all parents. For that I am grateful. I also realize that any sort of parental licensing is outlandish and completely unrealistic. But I think about these things, so I will share those thoughts with you.

This has been on my mind lately for a couple of reasons. The first was this past Saturday night. I went to a party at a friend's house. The kind of party where women invite all their friends over to see a demonstration or two and then buy a bunch of make-up/jewelry/home decor/kitchen products/etc. so the hostess gets a bunch of free stuff. I love that kind of party! One of the other women there brought her one week old son with her. He was sleeping peacefully in his little car seat carrier thingy and I'm sure Mom was glad to get out of the house. That's not the problem. She was going to change and feed him so she picked up him and his diaper bag. Something fell out of the bag and when she bent over to pick it up, I noticed that she was just holding him under the bum with no support for his back or neck. That poor infant's head was rocking and rolling all over the place.

ISN'T SUPPORTING THE NECK AND BACK THE NUMBER ONE RULE OF HOLDING INFANTS?!?!?!?!?! My only explanation for this behavior is that her first time holding a baby was when her son was born a week ago. I gathered from the things she said throughout the party that she was around 30 years old. CAN YOU BELIEVE A THIRTY YEAR OLD WOMAN DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO HOLD A BABY!?!?!? Yet here she is, with a kid, about to RAISE A CHILD without the first idea of how to take care of his basic needs.

Another instance of parental idiocy happened today when I went with my sister to see New Moon. I know that women and gay men of all ages are obsessed with Bella and her selfish indecisiveness and constant attraction to danger. That's fine. But get a babysitter for your seven children under the age of FIVE. Unless it's a kid movie with lots of colors, slapstick comedy, and very little plot, leave them at home! It's not even that I mind the crying and little voices during the movie. It just isn't fair to expect a toddler to sit still through a two and a half hour movie that's dark, slow-moving, and uninteresting (to a two year old anyway).

On another note, I keep hearing ridiculous names that parents give their children:
Ever (just like it's spelled)
Urine (yur-een)
Heaven (wishful thinking much?)
Neveah (Heaven spelled backwards)
Female (rhymes with tamale)
La-a (la-dash-uh)
S'nc'r'ty (Sincerity?)
Shithead (shith-eed)

REALLY? You named your kid SHITHEAD? That one came from one of my high school friend's mom's classes. (I hope I used those apostrophes correctly.) And then there's all the famous people who feel they have to name their kids things like Pilot, Apple, Lyric, Aspen, Lark Song, Fifi-Trixibelle, Peaches, Pixie, Atherton, Nico Blue, Rumer, Satchel, Brawley King, Dweezil, Chance Armstrong (no relation to Lance), Diva, and my personal favorite...Moon Unit (I guess that's how it feels to be Frank Zappa's daughter). No wonder regular people are naming their children crazy things...they're trying to live up to Hollywood namesakes!

I can respect that parents don't want their children to be one of seven Michaels in their class at school. Whatever. But sometimes I think parents are so eager to give unique names that they fail to realize what that name is going to mean for that kid. Now, there is always speculation on some of those names I listed above. I don't have firsthand knowledge of all of them, but I'm only three degrees of separation at most. I just really wonder how those kids feel about their names when they're all grown up.

I wish people were responsible enough to spend even a minute thinking about what they're doing before they decide to have children. I had a teacher in high school who would sometimes stand in the hall during class changes, blow a whistle at kids doing stupid things and tell them to get out of the gene pool. It's too bad he's not the real deal. Some kids might actually have a chance at not being raised by idiots.

And on a completely random side note, Shithead did not come up on spell check. :)

Kicking the Habit

I have been a nail biter/cuticle chewer since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I've never really thought much about it. But I've recently decided that it's super gross. So I really tried to think about when/why I do it.

I remember the summer after high school graduation, my nails grew so long so fast. Probably because I literally had not a care in the world. I also like to fool myself into thinking that I don't stress out about anything.

HA!

It's been a long time coming for me to realize that I stress internally over EVERYTHING. Which is fine. I guess. It works for me. But I am determined not to let that translate into me having disgusting fingernails anymore!

So two nights ago I did the unthinkable. I painted my nails PINK. So far, it's working for me. I mean, the pink scares me a little, since I rarely do anything girly. But whenever I find my idle hands finding their way to my face I remind myself that as soon as that nail gets between my teeth, the polish is ruined. And I certainly don't want to spend more time than I have to painting my nails.

We'll see how long this lasts.