Do you ever cry because you come across something that's just too beautiful in life? Something that
strikes a chord not only with you, but makes you feel that there's some sort of connection in the world? Something that feels like it transcends?
It didn't used to happen to me as much because I think I was too angry all of the time and I built shields that wouldn't let the world in. But as time has gone on and I realize life is about how open you are to it, I've realized that there's some pretty beautiful stuff around us. Jesus, I just realized I'm sounding like the guy from American Beauty with the plastic bag. But I get that dude, and that bag scene makes me cry. I'm not kidding, it totally does. I get it, kid. I get it.
Someone told me once that people do their best thinking in the shower.
This is not true for me. I do my best thinking driving.
I spend about 2 hours in my car every day driving to and from work, and I find my mind wondering a lot. About anything. About everything.
Sometimes I jam out to the radio. Other times I listen to NPR (very old-person of me). Sometimes I cry. (I read a study once that women cry an average of 24 times a year, and men 9 times a year - the study said most of them did their crying while driving alone in their car.) Sometimes I sit in silence and think.
As a kid, my family used to drive when we took trips. We didn't fly. We drove. We drove many trips of 8 hours or more. I remember sitting in the backseat on those trips, driving down desolate highways, and watching the cars that would zip by us going the opposite direction. And I would wonder what the lives of the people in those other cars were like. Where were they going? Was this a normal drive for them or were they on a trip like us? Did they ever wonder the same thing about me - the other car on the road? Did they wonder about my life, too?
I still have similar thoughts. In the middle of rush hour traffic, I now wonder what the people in the cars around me are thinking, what they are listening to on the radio. I wonder what all these other people are going to do when they get home.
If I take a route that goes through downtown, I look at the lights that are still on in the office buildings, and I wonder what those people are doing - how much longer they will be there, that one lonely cube of light in a building of darkness. What are those people's lives like?
I have many different routes that I take to and from work. On one route, I pass a tiny building with a sign that reads: "Jewelry Repair - Open 24 Hours" and I always wonder who would need to bring their jewelry in for repairs in the dead of night. What do those customers look like? I bet those are always interesting cases.
I've remembered a time in the third grade, when I made fun of a boy because he had ear wax literally coming out of his ears, and how hurt he looked. And how, when he came to school the next day, his ears were clean. And I think about how he probably went home that day and told his mom a girl had made fun of him, and how she probably helped him clean his ears. And how she probably thought I was a mean girl. I felt so guilty and ashamed that next day. I wonder if he remembers it, too.
I've thought about how I feel I have lived three or four different lives before I've even turned 30. And I wonder if everyone feels this way.
I've thought a lot about how to be a better person.
I've thought about all the things I wanted to write, but I haven't.
I have about six drafts of posts that I've written for this blog, and I haven't posted any of them. I want to try to do better. I really do.
Someone I grew up with passed away the beginning of this month. He was 25 years old, married, and had two kids. He died from a heart attack. We were good friends in high school. We had even made a pact that if neither one of us were married by the time we were 40, we'd marry each other. I hadn't seen him in years, but every once in a while, we sent each other messages on the internet. He read this blog, and he told me how much he enjoyed it and my writing. And he would send me things that he had written and would ask me to go over them and give him advice. I am so sad he's gone. I am so sad his children will never know who he was. I am so overwhelmingly sad for his wife.
His passing has made me think a lot, as death will do. But especially someone so young. If I died tomorrow, would I be happy with the life I had lead up to this point? What do I want out of life? I really want to appreciate life more. I feel like I am always so worried and stressed out. And sometimes, I am sad. With no reason, really. I have days,weeks, even, where the world seems like a sad and angry place and I don't want to participate in it. I know that this is a part of who I am, and it's a problem I will probably have my whole life, but I need to try to realize how great life really is. I'm happy to be here. I'm happy to be a part of it. I have so many wonderful people in my life. And things aren't perfect, but perfection is not really possible.
The day I found out my friend died, my boyfriend came home to me crying on the couch. And he did something I remember my parents used to do for me when I was really little - just hugged me and let me cry until I didn't have anything left. And then we talked about it. I mentioned to him how my friend had been one of the few people who read this blog and really supported me in it, and how I hadn't written in it for a long time. And Dan said, "Well, maybe you should start up again. Your friend would have liked that." And that's what I'm trying to do.
The other day, a girl told me she was an amateur palm reader. I offered her my hands. She looked at the lines on my right hand, then my left. I asked her what the difference was. She told me the lines on my right hand were indicative of what my life should be like, the ones on my left showed how I was really living it. I have been thinking about this for days now. Is there a destiny I'm not living up to? A fate I'm steering away from? Which hand is "better?"
So...I have lived by myself for about a year now. The last time I lived by myself, I was 18 years old and let's just say things were a lot different then. Except for that brief period, I have always had a man living with me who would take care of certain things. In the past year, I have had to do those things myself. Let me tell you, some of these things have not been a walk in the park.
Spiders. You may remember my post before about this, but it's the time of year where they are coming back out and I've already had to kill four. Killing spiders is one thing that I wish I could pawn off on a man.
Mice. Picking up traps with dead rodents in them? Not exactly my forte. Getting a shovel and trying to maneuver it through the kitchen with a dead mouse on it while screeching the whole time is as ridiculous as it sounds.
Clogged drains. I actually have to say, that after unclogging my shower drain twice and unclogging my sink who knows how many times, I can't believe anyone else would actually do this for me considering it is all my hair that is clogging that thing up. I know it's my own hair, but I still want to puke when I do it. Anybody see that "Modern Family" episode where they had a bit on this? It made me laugh so hard because it was basically me.
Shoveling snow. Yes, spoiled girl as I was, I never had to shovel my own walkway or driveway before. I had to do it this year. I would rather do this than the other things that I listed above, but I still wouldn't describe it as fun.
Electronics. Let me explain. I am horrible when it comes to figuring out how to hook up electronics or how to work new equipment. So when I got cable and I was sent a bunch of wires and cords, I sat myself down on the living room floor and spent a couple hours (yes, HOURS) trying to figure it out. This included a couple calls to the helpline, where I was so frustrated I could have thrown the cable box against the wall. I felt like a complete imbecile. And when the helpline people couldn't figure it out, they ended up sending a cable guy out who then had to do some work under the house. (Like I know what it was.) I didn't feel so much like an idiot. But I still get a little pang of anxiety just thinking about cords and wires and things of that nature.
Handy(wo)man stuff. You know, like putting a closet door back on the track (Mine comes off ALL the time. I wouldn't say it's especially difficult, but it's kind of hard for me since I'm so short - I have trouble seeing where the track is.) or fixing other things. This probably wasn't very smart of me, but the light in my bedroom had been out for WEEKS, and my landlord wasn't coming to fix it in a timely manner, so I decided I was going to mess with it one day. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, I was just moving and maneuvering and messing with electric wires when - BAM! - the light came back on. (You thought I was going to say I got shocked, didn't you? That's okay. I'm surprised I didn't.)
That's about it, really. I guess it hasn't been all that bad. Now I can say I know how to do these things, perhaps there isn't very much grace involved when I perform them, but I still do them. Worst one by far is unclogging drains. Blech.
Today at work, I told a customer I could ring her up at a register and she came forward with her shopping cart full of items. The first thing she did was hand me a candy bar. "I want a discount on that," she said. I looked at the candy bar, and then looked back at her - I'm sure confusion was written all over my face. "It's cracked. You can feel it. It's in two pieces." Again, I looked down at the candy bar in my hand, where I could feel that it was indeed cracked, and again, I looked at the woman with what I would imagine was an even more confused look on my face.
I said, "Well, we take ten percent off of items that are damaged. I don't really believe this candy bar is damaged. You can still eat it." (I just want to add that, in case it isn't obvious, the ten percent is used in instances like scuffed furniture or a spot on a blouse.)
"But it's cracked," she insisted. We both looked at each other. Neither of us spoke for a minute; I was still trying to figure out why this was even happening. I finally broke the silence.
"This candy bar is $2.00. You want me to take off 20 cents?"
She looked at me like I was the insane one and then gave a very annoyed: "Yes."
I figured, what the hell? I wasn't going to get into a fight over 20 cents. I gave her the discount for the $2.00 candy bar and then rang up her $100.00 purse.
I was going to write a Jack Attack's Jammin' Tuesday post, but I realized I missed Tuesday. So I guess I'll write something for Say Whaaat? Wednesday. This is a short one, though.
Oddly enough, this little anecdote is also customer service related. I was buying something a couple days ago at the grocery store, and as I was leaving, this is what the cashier told me: "Thanks! Have a great life!" I was just like, "Thanks, man. You, too!"
Keeping with what I wrote the other day, I'm going to try to write more regular blog posts. Today, I am trying out "Say Whaaat? Wednesday" (you hold out the a when you read it...and you will then know how I say it.) On Say Whaaat? Wednesdays, I will mention something a little strange/somewhat amusing/mildly interesting that I overheard, read, saw, etc.
This week, I would like to share something I heard at work. I was helping a gentleman check out, and I asked him my standard, "How are you today?" After asking people this day in and day out, I would say I get the standard "I'm good," or "I'm fine," 95% of the time. Every once in a while I get a "fantastic," "wonderful," or "peachy," (peachy is one of my favorites). Sometimes, (usually from men) I get a sarcastic "I'm great," or a "Fair to middlin'" (I've never really understood that one.) This particular gentleman responded as such:
"I feel adorable."
I stopped ringing for a second, looked at him to see if he was kidding or not, and then continued checking him out when I realized he was completely serious.
Life has been dreary as of late, hence me on a Friday night completely alone doing pointless things on my computer. But at least now I can write a blog post. I already decided what I wanted to write about. Spiders.
I am very much a stereotypical girl when it comes to three things: spiders, snakes, and mice/rats. When there was a mouse in my house last winter, I literally climbed onto the kitchen table and screamed as it ran circles around my kitchen floor while my rat terrier (yes, a breed that is bred specifically to KILL rodents) was more interested as to why I was on top of the table freaking out than the scurrying, disease-riddled, unbelievably fast mouse that was doing laps in my kitchen. (Okay, it probably wasn't disease-riddled but those things freak me out!)
And snakes? Don't even get me started on those. I have a story about the time my lovely friend Miss Roro and I saw one at the river (slithering up onto the rock where we were sitting, I might add) where I literally fell down about four times trying to run away from it.
Oh! I forgot to add, I'm also absolutely terrified of bats. That includes a story where I came across one in the woods one summer when my brother and dad and I were out chopping wood. (We're mountain folk.) There had been a bat in the tree my dad had fallen and I poked my foot around in the wood chips and it popped out hissing at me. I turned and booked it into the middle of the woods screaming my head off. I had no idea where I was going, I just decided that running into the woods was my best option. My dad, (who is becoming hard of hearing, anyway) had his ear muffs on and the chain saw going and he could still hear me screaming like a banshee.
But the thing about mice and snakes and bats is that I don't come across them very often. There are only a handful of times I've encountered those particular shriek-inducing creatures, but spiders, on the other hand, are always around. They're everywhere. I think that's probably why they terrify me the most.
It's been unbelievably hot here in Colorado the past couple weeks, and I have been leaving my windows open. As a result, the spiders have been coming in. I probably have been killing, I would say, about three spiders a day. That means, on average, I've killed 21 spiders in a week. 84 spiders in one month?! This is just not right, I say. Not right at all. This is one of the times that makes me wish I had a man around because I've never been good at killing spiders.
While I never particulary like killing spiders, I feel like I am much more capable when they are of a certain size. Nickel sized or smaller, I can handle it. It's the big ones where I really freak out. All my life, I have always had someone else to call to come and kill the behemoth, hairy ones. Until now. Now I have to do it on my own. And let me tell you, it hasn't been pretty.
I've found two very large ones in my bath tub, and instead of squishing them (I will get to that in just a second) I run the shower and aim the shower head at it so it will go down the drain. One of these spiders and I had an epic battle. I aimed the water at it, and it did its creepy fast-crawl thing as it desperately tried to get away. (You know what I'm talking about? Whenever you first see a spider, it's always stock still and completely unmoving. But the second you make any movement to kill it, it suddenly goes into some sort of turbo mode where it is all over the place and you don't know where the hell it's going to go and its eight legs are flying like crazy!) Anyway, this particular spider abandoned the creepy fast-crawl strategy and instead decided to cling to the side of the tub for dear life. I tried desperately to break its death grip with the shower water, but I had to resort to collecting water in my hands and splashing the spider with it for it to finally let go. Then it curled up into a gross little ball, and I thought he was dead so I turned the water off only to see him unfurl himself and start doing his creepy fast-crawl again. The battle waged on. I finally watched it get swept down into the drain. I sat for a moment, reveling my victory, when I saw the bastard crawl its way right back out. I finally had to buck up and squish him.
I don't like the squish for two reasons. Number one: I don't like the way it feels when you squish them. I have to use about 50 paper towels just so I won't feel that moment where it pops. Ehh. I'm getting the chills right now just thinking about it. Number two: I mentioned before how they do their creepy fast-crawl thing. I'm always worried that as I go to kill it, it will jump on me or get on me somehow. I don't know about you guys, but whenever there is a spider on me, all hell breaks loose. So, lately, my squishing weapon of choice has been the shoe. I don't like that it is more messy than the paper towel method (Because then you have to wipe the guts off your shoe! And that's just gross.) but it creates more of a barrier between the spider and myself.
Today, I came across the biggest spider yet. This one, my friends, was a Goliath. He might not look that big in this video you are about to watch, but trust me, he was huge. (I have no idea why I make the noises that I do. It just comes out.)
Are there certain words you guys can never remember how to spell - no matter how many times you look them up? I have some words like that. The ones that I can think of are: vacuum, feud, and rhythm. I can never remember how many cs and us are in vacuum, and for some reason I cannot explain, I always want to write fued instead of feud, and whenever I try to spell rhythm it's always a complete mess...I don't even get close. But there are some words I notice get misspelled a lot. One thing I noticed a lot in my writing class was that people would write "breathe" for "breath" or vice versa A LOT. And I've noticed a lot of people don't know how to spell "definitely." I just think it's strange how our brains have these repeated trip ups.
I need to do my laundry. Do you know what I hate about getting near the end of my clean clothes? All that's left of my underwear is either my old lady underwear or the really uncomfortable underwear. It sucks. I don't know about you guys, but I definitely have an underwear cycle. The most comfortable (and my favorite) underwear get worn first. Those are the hipster underwear. I like those the best. Do you guys know which ones I'm talking about? Maybe it's just me, but I hate wearing my really cute underwear when I know they won't be seen. (You know, the ones where they actually match? As in the bra and panty actually have the same design and are supposed to be worn together - not just a mish-mash of colors...which I usually have.) It feels like a waste. On the days I wear my really cute underwear, I walk around all day thinking if there was some sort of spontaneous contest, where someone judged who was wearing the cutest underwear that day, I would totally win. (These are the kinds of things I think about it. I know, I'm so cerebral.) Maybe, on those days, I just need to start dropping trou and flashing people so my underwear has a chance to be seen and admired. This is completely ridiculous to be blogging about, isn't it? It's okay if you think it is. I think it is, too.
Do you know what I love? I cleaned my house yesterday (it sorely needed it, I might add) and it hadn't been cleaned for a while, and it had gotten to that point where I would come home and be disgusted the second I walked through the door. But now that it's clean, it was like a little surprise when I came home today. Like, "Oh, yeah. I forgot I cleaned. Look at how good my place looks." And I reveled in my clean house for a little bit... the fact that there are no smudges on my table or dog hair on the carpet or dirty dishes in the sink. I love coming home to a clean house. (Is it just me, or do I talk about cleaning my house A LOT in this blog? I think I have issues.)
I have a confession to make. This is going to seem random, but again, this particular post is about the things I find myself thinking about. I have an odd mind, I suppose. But let me continue with my confession. Whenever I go grocery shopping, I do not know how to pick out fruits or vegetables. Do you know what I'm talking about? I never know what I'm supposed to be "looking" for. I always glance at the other people near me, picking up and inspecting their fruit and eyeing it thoughtfullly. (Or maybe suspicously? Because people always seem to pick up a few before they settle on the "right" one.) I fake it. I pick up and "inspect" a few just for appearance's sake and then just settle on one. The only two pieces of produce where I actually know what I'm doing are avocados and watermelons. I know how to pick a good avocado...and I'm sure I look pretty ridiculous when I'm checking those out, because I inspect and squeeze those things like none other. And the trick for picking watermelons, by the way, is to look for the ones that have the little hard brown spots...that means they're sweet. Anyone have any tricks or tips for other produce? I have to look like I know what I'm doing out there instead of just faking it.
And now my final thought I will share with you guys. A little background info: I am not a morning person. (Huge understatement.) That means on work/school mornings I hit the snooze button about 10 times before I finally roll out of bed, and as a result, my mornings are always a mad dash to get ready. But I have a system...what kind you may ask? Well, let me tell you. I have a priorities list. The things I deem most important I do first, that way, if I run out of time to get ready, the less important things fall by the wayside. First and foremost on the list is brushing my teeth. Then getting dressed (you would think that would be first on the list, because it's not like I'm going to leave the house in my underwear, but still, the brushing of the teeth is always first) then the contact lens, then brushing the hair, then the make up, then styling my hair if their is enough time. Which there usually isn't. So I wear a pony tail a lot. And it is a very rare thing indeed if there is time for breakfast. I think it has happened maybe twice in the past six months. (I know, I know. It's the most important meal of the day. But I will just eat the breakfast of champions later aka a burrito with a Dr. Pepper and sometimes a Snickers bar. Jesus...I just realized how awful that sounds.) But I found myself wondering, do other people do this? Do they have a priority list in the morning? I would really like to know.
Things have been weird lately. I think I'm in a strange time of my life. (That kind of just reminded me of the very end of Fight Club, when Tyler Durden tells Marla Singer: "You met me at a very strange time in my life." Granted, I have not gone so far off the deep end that I have created an alter ego. Not yet, anyway.) I have no idea what I want, and I can't help but think I'm sort of lost in my direction - like I'm bobbing out at sea, just waiting. Waiting for a ship to come save me, or the shoreline to show up, or a shark to come and eat me. That last little line was supposed to be a joke, to assure you that although I may feel lost, I do not feel helpless. Or hopeless. I think I just have to make decisions in my life right now that I do not know how to make.
Do you know what would be great? If money wasn't such a big deal. I hate how important money is. I know it doesn't make you happy, but damn, doesn't it make things easier?
Do you know what else would be great? If we could spend our days doing all the things our heart desired. Really. Think about it. How often do we do exactly what we feel like doing? I think my days would include an endless supply of my favorite snacks (because I like snacks better than meals): avocados, cheese and apples, pistachios, grapes, cookie dough, chips and salsa, slices of raw potatoes, yeah, that's right, raw potatoes, and plenty of Dr. Pepper, of course....and there would be hours spent reading and swinging on the hammock in my front lawn (without me becoming sunburned, that is) and I would do something new and exciting every day...a new adventure to be had. Because how boring is life without experiences?
And I would write all the time, (Because as of late I have been a bit blocked...that sounds like I'm constipated...just mentally/creatively so.) and everything I wrote would be fabulous and everyone would want to publish it. And after my first big success I'd become like J.D. Salinger and hardly ever publish anything again, and people would wonder: "Whatever happened to that Jackie Harris*? Why does she deprive us of her writing like this? Remember how great her first piece of work was?" Except I wouldn't be as reclusive as he was. But I think he stopped publishing because he didn't like the media attention. I would stop because I'd be worried anything I wrote after wouldn't come anywhere close to being as good as the first.
*This is a total aside, but if I ever did get something published, I'm not even sure what name I would use. Jackie Harris? Jaclyn Harris? Jack Harris? J. Harris? J. N. Harris? The initials seem kind of pretentious to me. Maybe I should come up with a pen name. I'm open to suggestions. The funnier, the better.
And since I'm going into a fantasy land...do you ever think about the things you would buy or spend your money on if you were rich? I think about that a lot. I really don't think I'd go too overboard. Not too many possessions, really, probably just a jet and a boat and ten cars. (Kidding.) Nah, more like a bunch of clothes and shoes and purses and the like. Because I'm typical like that. And a really awesome TV (because mine is so crappy, it makes me sad) and I would actually get cable. I consider that a luxury, folks - haven't had it for about six years. And I would travel all the time. Everywhere. You know what else I would do? I would hire people to work for me. Seriously. And hey, what's wrong with giving people jobs, eh? Stimulate the economy. You want to know who I would hire? Obviously, I would hire a cook. Because 1. I hate cooking and 2. I am really awful at cooking. I would hire someone to do my hair and make up every day. No joke. Can you imagine how awesome that would be? That would be awesome. I guess that's about it, actually. I can't think of anyone else I would want. But you know what I wouldn't hire people to do? I wouldn't hire a chauffeur, because I like to drive way too much. And I wouldn't hire a maid because (this might sound strange) I would feel bad having somebody else cleaning up after me. Plus, in a weird way, cleaning is kind of my therapy. And, although I don't have any kids, I would never hire a nanny. Why do people pay someone else to raise their children? I don't get it.
I had no idea what I was going to write about it when I sat down. I just wanted to write something. I think I feel a little better now.
Alright, blog post time. Do you know what I want to talk about? I want to talk about the different things that make me not like people. I usually really like people, I do, but sometimes I find them absolutely ridiculous and retarded.
Middle aged + women who shop in the juniors section. Really? I mean, really? Don't try to dress like you're a teenager, it's embarrassing. For everyone. It's called the "juniors" section for a reason. Trying to pass yourself off as a 20 year old is not attractive. It makes you look desperate and silly. If you qualify for a senior discount, you should not be wearing ripped jeans and a tank top. You think these women don't exist? Oh. Trust me. They do.
People who say "volumptuous." There is no "m" in that word. Also, people who say "supposibly." It's "supposedly." With a D. (Chandler Bing and I agree on this one, by the way. I know. I am a "Friends" dork.) Maybe I am being a snob, but I feel like if you can't pronounce a word correctly, you shouldn't be using it. Say something else. You look and sound stupid.
Women who have anything to do with married/taken men. (Vice versa, is true as well, but I feel like women have more of a comraderie than men when it comes to these things, so it somehow seems more upsetting when they step out with another woman's husband. They're breaking the lady code.) I think any woman who knowingly tangles with a married man is either a complete idiot or a heartless bitch. Either way, I don't want anything to do with them and karma is coming their way. (These ladies are usually the aforementioned women who try to dress decades younger than their age, or they will later become those women. You know what I'm sayin'?)
Most men. (I have been thinking about something my uncle told me more than once growing up: "Men are either dogs or pigs." So true. Little Jack Attack had no idea.)
Women who get plastic surgery. And it's rough because I actually know someone who I love very dearly who has gotten plastic surgery, but all the same, I have lost some respect for her after she did so. Women have it hard enough in this society to try to be "perfect." Why not have more respect for yourself and your body? Don't conform to someone else's idea of beauty. (Which, in the society we live in, is: blonde, tan, and a body that less than 10% of women naturally have aka the Barbie body.) Realize that it is so much more attractive to be a woman who has enough sense to realize she is too good for that shit. It makes you look cheap.
People who talk during movies. I swear nothing will make me dislike you faster. I take my movie-going experiences seriously. I just went to a movie last week where the girl in front of me literally talked through the ENTIRE thing. Then she literally screamed at one part. (I must add there was no reason for screaming. Whatsoever. This was not a scary movie.) I was not amused.
People who do not get off their cell phones. In class. In the movies. (Again, I am a strict bitch in the theater.) While they're driving. The worst is when you are trying to talk to someone and their face is looking down at their screen and their fingers are typing some stupid text message or facebook update that just cannot wait until after you are done talking. I mean, I use my cell phone, don't get me wrong. But I'm not crazy with it. We all know those crazy phone people, and if you don't know, then you're one of them.
And now, I would like to share something. Whenever I know someone I really can't stand I have a list where I write something about them. I have compiled this over the past four years. Keeping with the tone of this piece, I'd like to share it. Here we go:
The Fake: You put on the biggest act and you are always the martyr. It makes me really not like you. The Dragon lady: You are, without a doubt, the biggest see you next Tuesday I have ever met in my life. All I can say to you is: karma is a bitch. You got what was coming, and I don't feel bad for you.
The Hipster: You are a hypocrite. You know it, I know it, we all know it. But you're too proud to admit when you're wrong. Keep up with your self-righteous bull shit, you'll figure it out sooner or later. Do you really want to know? Try listening to a real poet: Positively 4th Street.
FAT VEGAN: You pretty much suck. And that’s all I have to say about you.
The whore: You are by far the most pathetic person I have ever met. You think that controlling men is getting them to love you. Your self-esteem is so low that you need other peoples’ affections to validate your own sense of self. I’d feel sorry for you if you weren’t such a conniving, manipulative bitch.
That One White Trash Witch: I don't understand why you have to be so nasty all the time. Stop dating men who just got out of jail, take care of your kids, and clean yourself up. You look like a troll.
The Giant A-hole: You didn't used to be one. The thing that keeps coming to mind when I think about you is: what goes around comes around. It's a cliche for a reason. Is this really how we say goodbye?
Seven people that I don't like over four years? Not too bad, right?
Do you guys remember that Nook commercial where it shows the girl growing up and how books have been involved throughout her life? I love that commercial. I kind of consider it modeled after me.
And I wanted to write a post about the different books that have been in my life. The VERY first book I can remember is "The Little Mouse, The Red Ripe Strawberry, and The Big Hungry Bear." Anybody remember it? That is the very first book I can remember being read to me.
I also remember my mom reading "Love You Forever" and crying every time she read it. But I didn't really get why it made her cry. If I read it now I would probably bawl.
Oh! Do you know what else I remember? "Corduroy" about the bear, Corduroy, that lived in the mall! Oh, that was a good one. The little girl wants him but her mom says he's missing a button from his overalls and they probably shouldn't get him. But then she comes back and buys him with her allowance and sews a button on for him! I loved that story when I was little. It made me so happy for Corduroy. It kind of made me believe that my toys had feelings. I just didn't want to admit it to anyone because I thought it would sound crazy.
Now, there are other books I remember reading in school. In the first grade, I remember "The Owl and the Pussycat" but I didn't like it very much because I felt an owl and a pussycat should not get married. But I liked the illustrations to that book and they were by Jan Brett so then I got into Jan Brett's books. There was "The Mitten," "Town Mouse Country Mouse," "The First Dog," "Christmas Trolls" and a bunch of others. I fell in love with all of her books. My mom ended up buying all of them. I loved her illustrations; there was always hidden things along the borders that I liked finding.
Also, in the first grade, I remember finding a book in the library titled "Molly's Pilgrim" that I would check out over and over again. My mom would always ask me why I kept checking it out when I had already read it, but I really liked it. It was about a little girl named Molly whose family immigrated from Russia, and Molly wanted to go back home because she was different from everyone in America. When Thanksgiving came around, the teacher gave them an assignment to make a pilgrim doll out of a clothes pin. Molly took her clothes pin home and her mom made an outfit that looked like their Russian clothes instead of "Pilgrim" clothes. Molly didn't want to tell her mom that it was wrong because she had worked on it so hard, but she was embarrassed to go to school with it because she knew it would be different from the other Pilgrim dolls. But then her mom explains how they are immigrants to America like the Pilgrims were, and they are just modern Pilgrims. And Molly tells her class this and everyone is stoked on her doll. Isn't that a good story?
But then I began reading chapter books in the second grade; I especially loved series. Do you guys remember "The Boxcar Children?" I freakin' LOVED that series. I wanted to BE one of the Boxcar Children. (I totally would have been Violet. She was the shy one who liked animals.) And I had a crush on the eldest brother, Henry.
Then I got into "The Indian in the Cupboard" series, which lead me to read Lynne Reid Banks' other books, and she wrote one called "The Fairy Rebel" that I absolutely adored which inspired me to write to Lynne Reid Banks and tell her how much I loved it. And she actually wrote me a handwritten letter back. (Mind you, this was in the midst of the HUGE success of "The Indian in the Cupboard" and she even said in her letter that she usually didn't write fans back, but she really liked my letter.) I was so stoked. I still have that letter.
Then I started reading "The Little House on the Prairie" series, which is A LOT of books. I liked Laura Ingalls Wilder and I fell in love with her husband, Almanzo. (Remember Almanzo? She wrote a book in the series that was centered around his childhood, and then in later books, when she was older, she wrote about their courtship. I decided I loved him.) But I didn't really like Laura's daughter's (Rose) books because it made Laura Ingalls Wilder sound like a mean mom. And that kind of shattered my whole fantasy around her.
But do you know what series I REALLY loved? The young sleuth Nancy Drew, man! Nancy Drew was so awesome! I wanted to be just like her. I got a bunch of Nancy Drew books in the third grade, and then I was always on the hunt for more (very Nancy Drew of me, right?) wherever I went. I ended up finding a whole bunch at a yard sale with my grandma and I was stoked!
So all of these series kept my occupied for a while. I tried reading the Goosebumps series but I think I read one and I didn't really care for it too much. My family actually used to read books together. It's some of my favorite memories. We would gather together around the kitchen table and my dad would read a book aloud to the rest of us as my mom did the dishes and Teddy and I would sit and listen. If it was a book we all really liked, we would go into the living room after my mom was done doing the dishes and we would sit on the couch and listen. Some of the books we read then were "The Bronze Bow," "A Voice in the Wind" (and the rest of the Mark of the Lion series), "Big Red," "Across Five Aprils," and some classics like "Swiss Family Robinson," and "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea." Some of them were more difficult for my brother and I to pay attention to (the classics) but I really enjoyed our book time.
I still remember the very first book I bought with my own money. I was in the third grade, and I had saved up some money to buy something at the annual book fair we had at my school. I was really into dogs back then (What can I say? I'm a dog person!) and I saw a cover that had a boy with two dogs and I picked it up and read the back and I decided I wanted to get it. It was "Where the Red Fern Grows." Seriously still one of my favorite books to this day. Makes me bawl every time I read it. (And I've read it a lot. I still have that copy and it's all worn out.) I decided I would ask my dad if he would read it as one of our family books, and we all ended up loving that book more than anything! Seriously, it's so good.
I know I read a ton between 4th grade and 6th grade, but for some reason, I can't remember very many specific books. The only ones I can remember clearly are James Harriet's books. He's a famous veternarian in England and he writes books about the animals he treats. I enjoyed those, but I found some of the language difficult when I was 12.
BUT THEN, in the 7th grade, I started reading Harry Potter. Don't hate, people. Harry Potter is wonderful! It's one of those things that I'm excited to share with my own kids some day. (If I have kids, that is.) I pretty much loved Harry Potter. (I still do!)
Then, when the 8th grade rolled around, I got into the teen scene books. I started reading a series called "Fearless" about a girl, named Gaia, who was born without the fear gene and she'd prowl New York City at night and kick ass. There was also a love square (is that even a term?) with her best friend, Ed, who was in love with her, (but she doesn't know, of course) and Gaia is in love with Sam, who is dating Heather, who is Ed's ex. Got it? Anyway, I thought Gaia was a badass and I really liked the series. It was crazy long, though. I never ended up finishing it. I think I stopped after book 24 or something because it was just too much.
I remember I also read a book called "Violet Eyes" in the 8th grade that I was pretty jazzed about. It was set in the future with these genetically enhanced teenagers, but here's the kicker, they lived in a "live" museum which was supposed to be set in the 1980s where people could watch these teenagers without them knowing. But the teenagers didn't know that it wasn't really the 1980s. Weird, right? Then they find out and they end up busting out. (They were only kept there because people were scared of what they were capable of and it was society's way of controlling them.) There was a sequel called "Silver Eyes" but I didn't really like that one too much.
Alright, so then high school came around. I remember reading some books in high school, but I think there were a couple years when I didn't read very much. I remember reading "The Lovely Bones" and liking it only because I liked the author's portrayal of heaven, "The Perks of Being a Wallflower," and "Snakes and Earrings." All of them I liked okay, but I didn't LOVE them. I remember reading "The Old Man and the Sea" and "Huck Finn" for school, but I wasn't impressed with them at the time. Strangely enough, I think the book that had the biggest impact on me in high school was a short little book with photographs entitled "The Blue Day Book." I was depressed a lot in high school, and this book would honestly make me feel better. Actually, I still read it every now and then. Check it out.
Once I graduated and moved out on my own, I began reading a TON again. As I've mentioned before in this blog, I like Joshilyn Jackson's books, "White Oleander" is one of my favorites, also: "I Am Charlotte Simmons," "The Bell Jar," "Sight Hound," "She's Come Undone," and a whole bunch of others. One of my favorite books ever is "The Dogs of Babel." It has it's strange parts, but I still love it.
Recently I have been reading a lot of classic literature for school, which I enjoy, but some of it is kind of rough, you know what it mean? But I love reading and I love books. I love being transported somewhere else and being able to forget all the troubles going on in my own life. I guess what I'm saying is: I totally should have been in that Nook commercial.
Breed: Yellow Labrador (but she is a copper color)
Birth date: April 12th, 2002
Likes: her momma (Maggie), reflections, swimming, fetching, walks, car rides
Dislikes: being left alone
All about Penny: Penny was one of Maggie's puppies that we kept. We didn't know what to name her, and our neighbor suggested Penny because she was copper like a penny. To be a little more sophisticated, her first name was Penelope, but keeping with the Beatles theme, her middle name was Layne, like Penny Lane.
Penny is the copper colored one in the middle. These are the rest of her siblings. Aren't they cute?
Penny was inseperable from Maggie. She loved her momma more than anything. Anywhere Maggie went, Penny was there, too. Since Maggie has passed away, Penny has been very depressed, and my parents have told me that she seems to have gotten very old very fast.
Penny and her mom Maggie. Penny is on the left, Maggie on the right.
I always feel a little bit guilty, because I didn't spend as much time with Penny as I did with Maggie. Penny was born when I was in high school, and I was more interested in teenager things that spending time with her.
One thing that Penny absolutely loves is chasing reflections or lights. If there is a reflection from your watch, she will chase after it for hours. No joke. If you get a flash light and shine it on the ground near her, she goes bonkers. She will completely fixate on it and even after it's gone, she will look for it for at least 10 more minutes.
Before she aged, Penny loved to play, just like Maggie. She was always wanting you to throw a toy and when we took her to to the lake she would go crazy. She is actually a very crazy, hyper-active dog. She gets so excited about things sometimes, that she starts yelping and crying at ear-piercing pitch. Whenever she sees that she is about to go for a car ride or a walk, she completely loses it and begins yelping, and she won't stop until she gets to wherever she's going. At times, it can be a little embarrassing, because everyone looks at the commotion she's causing and there is absolutely no stopping her.
Penny is a very sweet dog. She doesn't want to harm anyone or anything. Once, when my parents were walking her, a neighbor's dog attacked her while Penny stood and did nothing to fight back. The dog ended up biting Penny right on her nose, and Penny had two puncture wounds on her snout. She has a scar from it.
She is also the most cowardly dog you will probably ever meet. Once, my mom was walking her in the woods near their house, when she came across a bear. Penny was off her leash, and my mom and Penny both froze when they saw it, and then Penny turned around and booked it out of there, totally abandoning my mom. My mom backed away from the bear and then caught up with Penny down the road. My mom kept on telling her, "I can't believe you just left me up there!" It's one of her favorite stories.
Penny loves people and she loves any attention she receives from people. I think her ideal day would involve someone petting her all day long. Unlike her mother, Penny loves to be pet. Penny has really big, floppy ears, and she loves it when you pet them. She is one of those dogs where if you stop petting her, she inches in closer and keeps nudging you until you pick up where you left off.
This is my brother's puppy, Bonnie, and Penny together.
Since Maggie passed away, Penny has become more depressed, and my parents have made her an indoor dog because they think she is too lonely all by herself outside. (My parents have slowly but surely become indoor dog people.) My mom says Penny has grown an unusual attachment to my dad (I think it's replacing the attachment she had with Maggie) and whenever he leaves the house she will cry. It makes me sad to think of Penny being so sad. Even though she is one crazy dog, I miss seeing her since I've moved out here to Colorado.
