I have spent a large part of my week reading people's "25 Things" lists and although I know I'm fooling myself if I believe that listing this here is any less bombastic than it would be on facebook, I'm doing it anyway.
1. I love reading other people's blogs and facebook pages, even if we are just casual acquaintances. I am endlessly fascinated by people: who they are, what they deem eventful enough to write an entry about, what frustrates them, what elates them, etc... Chances are if you barely know me and are reading this, I'm reading your blog. I know, it sounds creepy, right?
2. I am ready to be married: one-hundred percent, no cold feet, wish it were tomorrow not eight months away ready.
3. Whenever I listen to instrumental music, I pick an instrument to focus on and daydream that I'm the one playing. I can't listen to instrumental music while I fall asleep because in order to fall asleep I have to listen to the same song multiple times so I can play all the different instruments.
4. As a child I HATED soda. I could only drink orange Fanta and even then only after I let it sit out on the counter for a few hours and become flat. I always regret training my palette out of its natural taste.
5. I also HATE ordering all my salads with their dressing on the side because I'm afraid the waitstaff will think I'm trying to count calories when in reality I really just hate lots of dressing and prefer my salads practically dry. I also am offending when Wendy's drive-thru employees give me a Diet Coke instead of a Dr. Pepper because I despise looking like the type of girl who would order a Diet Coke.
6. Six has always been my favorite number. I think my love of the numeral started in kindergarten when we were learning how to write each number. I just loved its swirl. A year later at church, I learned that Satan's number was 666 and was beset with an awful guilty feeling since six was my favorite number too. However, I decided that God must have known that I liked six before I knew anything about Satan's involvement, and that He wouldn't hold me accountable for things I couldn't know about.
7. One year at Kadesh during the evening praise time in the amphitheatre, God spoke audibly to me. He told me to stop watching X-Files.
8. I honestly believe in Bigfoot. Really.
9. During the most vivid dream I can ever remember having, I slit my own throat to save my friends (I had just been bitten by a zombie and was about to turn into one.) and died. I woke up from the dream the instant that I "died," panting for breath. Needless to say, it took me awhile to fall back asleep.
10. Also in my dreams, I experience pain and can taste and feel things strongly enough to describe the sensations in detail the next morning. Because of that, I have always been fascinated with dreams.
11. I believe that a universal and unbiased yardstick for the character of a stranger is how he/she treats the waitstaff.
12. Secretly, I wish I could be a singer and I hate the false hope my mother's compliments bring.
13. I'm ecstatic to go back and get my masters but I'm also terrified. I sometimes feel as though I tricked my professors into passing me and often don't feel capable to engage in deep literary discussions.
14. I regret the cursory approach I took regarding my past education and am scared it is a habit I can not easily break.
15. I never sucked on my thumb as a child; I sucked my wrist.
16. I sometimes worry that the Varner gene pool will see to it that I give birth to no little girls and only boys.
17. Although I have seen it a countless number of times, "The Little Princess" will always make me cry.
18. I thought I had discovered dinosaur bones in our backyard when I was six. I was incredibly disappointed to learn they were only tree roots.
19. I used to watched the home movies of my childhood so often that my parents hid them.
20. Although it used to be my favorite pastime, I hate sleeping until noon. I feel like my whole day is wasted and am usually cranky for the rest my waking hours.
21. The night before Ben proposed to me, I had a dream about becoming engaged.
22. I have often wished I was Catholic. I like all the traditions and liturgy. The C of C has a great dearth of both.
23. Whenever I take naps I practice lucid dreaming. Being able to control my dreams has to be the coolest thing I've ever learned to do.
24. My proudest accomplishment to date is reading my short story about Mr. Monroe as my last Creative Endeavor.
25. In third grade I practiced for hours training my left fingers to make the Vulcan symbol.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
CMH
So...I got engaged...two weeks ago. Eek!
In school, it seemed as though every year there was always a class assignment that required us students to make a list of goals. In elementary school, my list started out very long and very outlandish. I wanted to be a scuba diver (until I learned about sea worms), a doctor (until I learned about tapeworms), a veterinarian (until I learned about heart worms), an explorer (until I learned about grubs), and an actress: mind you, simultaneously. In middle school I started to narrow my horizons; it's easier to excel at one skill, rather than dabble in many. Sixth grade I would be a classically trained jazz flautist, seventh grade I would be a prolific and best-selling author, and in eighth a skillful award-winning actress. My goal list shifted again in high school. Professions were not on the top of list but rather varied feats I thought were more "realistic." Classics include: walking the entire Wall of China, visiting every continent (even Antarctica), writing and publishing one novel, and becoming an FBI agent.
It never failed; on each of these lists, getting married was absent. Sometimes "be a mom" would appear on the list but each time the other girls in my class read their lists aloud and "get married" was said I always thought, "Oh! I forgot that one!" I always assumed one day I'd get around to it, but figured my younger siblings would beat me to the altar. I remember deciding that of my high school friends I would be one of the last to get hitched. Now here I am, one of the first of my close high school AND college friends preparing to walk down the aisle. Planning my wedding is an elating but surreal feeling. I could not be any happier with this new addition to my life's todo list.
And on a final note: VISIT OUR WEBSITE!
In school, it seemed as though every year there was always a class assignment that required us students to make a list of goals. In elementary school, my list started out very long and very outlandish. I wanted to be a scuba diver (until I learned about sea worms), a doctor (until I learned about tapeworms), a veterinarian (until I learned about heart worms), an explorer (until I learned about grubs), and an actress: mind you, simultaneously. In middle school I started to narrow my horizons; it's easier to excel at one skill, rather than dabble in many. Sixth grade I would be a classically trained jazz flautist, seventh grade I would be a prolific and best-selling author, and in eighth a skillful award-winning actress. My goal list shifted again in high school. Professions were not on the top of list but rather varied feats I thought were more "realistic." Classics include: walking the entire Wall of China, visiting every continent (even Antarctica), writing and publishing one novel, and becoming an FBI agent.
It never failed; on each of these lists, getting married was absent. Sometimes "be a mom" would appear on the list but each time the other girls in my class read their lists aloud and "get married" was said I always thought, "Oh! I forgot that one!" I always assumed one day I'd get around to it, but figured my younger siblings would beat me to the altar. I remember deciding that of my high school friends I would be one of the last to get hitched. Now here I am, one of the first of my close high school AND college friends preparing to walk down the aisle. Planning my wedding is an elating but surreal feeling. I could not be any happier with this new addition to my life's todo list.
And on a final note: VISIT OUR WEBSITE!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Knit one, purl two
My tutoring center is located in the corner nook of a shopping center between Whole Foods and Joann's Craft Store. Often during a break between students, I wander over to Whole Foods and walk aimlessly through the aisles reading nutrition labels and looking for free samples, usually to no avail. I am at a loss for why the Whole Foods in Highland Park (the store down the street from my apartment) is replete with free samples and wine gurus pestering me to taste their latest pairing while the one near my work is devoid of both. I guess it's some grand scheme to keep people like me from taking up precious space in the cramped aisles. Whatever Whole Foods on Forest, get over yourself. Since Whole Foods obviously does not want me in its store unless I am buying something (like it thinks it's some kind of profit-based store or something) I started wandering around the store where the employees seem elated each time someone under the half century mark enters--Joann's.
Oh Joann's Fabric and Craft Store how I love thee. I first entered several months ago to buy yarn for a scarf I knit Jeremy for Christmas and there hasn't been a week, save the ones I've been out of town, that I haven't been in. Meandering through Joann's has rekindled the crafty bits in me. For example, I started knitting again. I finally progressed to something more complicated than scarves because really, you can only have so many scarves when you live on the blistering plains of Texas. I knit the first hat that I actually wear in public and yesterday I spent 45, yes 45, minutes picking out yarn. I also joined an online knitting community. (I know, I'm an 80 year old woman, you don't have to tell me.) After giving up flute in the 8th grade, I am determined to keep a skill/talent relevant in my life for more than just a few years. Thanks to Joann's proximity to work, I think knitting has decided it's up for the challenge.
As Matt would say, "This picture is so emo." Yeah, yeah. I like my hat. And I made it. All by myself.
Oh Joann's Fabric and Craft Store how I love thee. I first entered several months ago to buy yarn for a scarf I knit Jeremy for Christmas and there hasn't been a week, save the ones I've been out of town, that I haven't been in. Meandering through Joann's has rekindled the crafty bits in me. For example, I started knitting again. I finally progressed to something more complicated than scarves because really, you can only have so many scarves when you live on the blistering plains of Texas. I knit the first hat that I actually wear in public and yesterday I spent 45, yes 45, minutes picking out yarn. I also joined an online knitting community. (I know, I'm an 80 year old woman, you don't have to tell me.) After giving up flute in the 8th grade, I am determined to keep a skill/talent relevant in my life for more than just a few years. Thanks to Joann's proximity to work, I think knitting has decided it's up for the challenge.
As Matt would say, "This picture is so emo." Yeah, yeah. I like my hat. And I made it. All by myself.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
It's Been a Hard Day's Night
Things I learned today:
-That when the air-raid/tornado sirens across the street wake me up in a panic the world is not ending nor is it being overtaken by zombies. Apparently the system is checked the first Wednesday of every month, although this morning was the first time I have ever heard in the year I've lived here. My heart didn't stop its rapid palpitations for an hour.
-That I should check the labels more closely when I peruse the sales rack at Target. I tried a dress on and thought "Ugh, this dress makes me look pregnant, no wonder it's on sale." As I took it off with slightly lowered self-esteem I saw the tag, "Liza Lang Maternity"
-That employees who drink on their lunch break will often leave a more generous tip in an effort to displace their guilt.
-That taking a two hour nap at 10:30 at night is never helpful nor productive.
-That when the air-raid/tornado sirens across the street wake me up in a panic the world is not ending nor is it being overtaken by zombies. Apparently the system is checked the first Wednesday of every month, although this morning was the first time I have ever heard in the year I've lived here. My heart didn't stop its rapid palpitations for an hour.
-That I should check the labels more closely when I peruse the sales rack at Target. I tried a dress on and thought "Ugh, this dress makes me look pregnant, no wonder it's on sale." As I took it off with slightly lowered self-esteem I saw the tag, "Liza Lang Maternity"
-That employees who drink on their lunch break will often leave a more generous tip in an effort to displace their guilt.
-That taking a two hour nap at 10:30 at night is never helpful nor productive.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Omni-riffic
Me: "I don't really eat much meat, huh?"
Ben: "That's why you poop like a deer."
These are the conversations Ben and I have.
In April of this year, Ben and I tried the pescetarian lifestyle for a month. We both had always been curious about living as vegetarians but realized after some cursory research the commitment was far to involved for our quick jaunt. The life of a vegetarian, I learned, requires carefully planned meals and constant vigilance to maintain a healthy vitamin and minerals levels. I gained respect for those that maintain the sans-meat lifestyle; it is one serious commitment. I also learned that vegans, who I have always found unnatural (how they think a slice of soy protein processed American "Cheese" is better for you than fresh, milky mozzarella is BEYOND me), have an even harder time maintaining their health; their life expectancy is the same as those with meat-centric diets. (Apparently, they just die from different things at the same rate.)
I had and have no political/humanitarian reason to stop eating meat and would certainly miss the occasional burger, but if I were to delineate my favorite foods, meat is nearly vacant from the list. See:
-Warm brie on a crisp granny smith apple or the latter with cream peanut butter and the former with really crusty, chewy bread.
-Caprese salad with firm, heirloom tomatoes and tangy balsamic vinegar.
-Dark chocolate with bits of orange rind mixed in.
-Red beans and rice, my mom's recipe of course with lots of added spice. Though it contains sausage my mom can testify that even when I was young I asked for my portion to not have any meat.
-Vegetarian chili without any of that tofu crumble nonsense. Really just the antithesis of Texas chili with lots of beans and vegetables.
-Spinach. Raw, steamed, boiled, sauteed I will eat it any way it can be cooked. Favorites include sauteed with garlic and spinach enchiladas.
-Ahi tuna, either raw with sushi or barely seared. And on that note, really any fish, raw or cooked I'll eat. I'm slightly obsessed.
So I like seafood too much and can never be a vegetarian. I share a diet similar to bears, Giant Pandas and hedgehogs... and I'm okay with that.
Ben: "That's why you poop like a deer."
These are the conversations Ben and I have.
In April of this year, Ben and I tried the pescetarian lifestyle for a month. We both had always been curious about living as vegetarians but realized after some cursory research the commitment was far to involved for our quick jaunt. The life of a vegetarian, I learned, requires carefully planned meals and constant vigilance to maintain a healthy vitamin and minerals levels. I gained respect for those that maintain the sans-meat lifestyle; it is one serious commitment. I also learned that vegans, who I have always found unnatural (how they think a slice of soy protein processed American "Cheese" is better for you than fresh, milky mozzarella is BEYOND me), have an even harder time maintaining their health; their life expectancy is the same as those with meat-centric diets. (Apparently, they just die from different things at the same rate.)
I had and have no political/humanitarian reason to stop eating meat and would certainly miss the occasional burger, but if I were to delineate my favorite foods, meat is nearly vacant from the list. See:
-Warm brie on a crisp granny smith apple or the latter with cream peanut butter and the former with really crusty, chewy bread.
-Caprese salad with firm, heirloom tomatoes and tangy balsamic vinegar.
-Dark chocolate with bits of orange rind mixed in.
-Red beans and rice, my mom's recipe of course with lots of added spice. Though it contains sausage my mom can testify that even when I was young I asked for my portion to not have any meat.
-Vegetarian chili without any of that tofu crumble nonsense. Really just the antithesis of Texas chili with lots of beans and vegetables.
-Spinach. Raw, steamed, boiled, sauteed I will eat it any way it can be cooked. Favorites include sauteed with garlic and spinach enchiladas.
-Ahi tuna, either raw with sushi or barely seared. And on that note, really any fish, raw or cooked I'll eat. I'm slightly obsessed.
So I like seafood too much and can never be a vegetarian. I share a diet similar to bears, Giant Pandas and hedgehogs... and I'm okay with that.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
I Caught a Ride on the Dreamland Express
Since I was a child I have always been obsessed with dreams. I often make my friends listen with feigned patience as I try to recall the salient details of each one the next day. However, per usual, I get distracted halfway through the story and drift off into a blank stare. It happens. Out the myriad of dreams I have been visited with over my lifetime, the ones that have stuck with me the most, those whose details remain sharp and emotions acute, are my nightmares. As I got older my nightmares began to change. Instead of being chased by dinosaurs who could breathe fire and travel through time (scary, right?), I was shoved on stage and told that "Duh, Courtney. Didn't you know you were in this scene?" even though I was certain I was just the spot operator. I didn't know terror, however, until the waitmares started.
I am certain everyone has some sort of perpetual nightmare concerning his or her occupation, but I will venture to suggest that the nightmares associated with the waiting profession are among the worst. The general theme of these nighttime illusions usually coincides with something I have been frustrated with at work. While working at Carinos, I would dream that large parties kept coming in and, despite my best efforts, I could not surpass the velocity of molasses. No matter how fast I tried to make drinks and take entrees out, there was always more people at the table than I was able to help. When I started bartending, the dreams evolved. Never-ending waves of drinks would spew out of my printer and I couldn't find any liquors or wines I needed. In fact in one variation, each time someone ordered wine I had to climb up a ladder behind the bar and get the bottles from the roof. (There have been ones with zombies too, but I refuse to dwell on those. Eek.)
There have only been a few times in life that I have ever had a stressful enough shift for it to be called a living waitmare. The most recent, and the worst, was my shift Saturday night at Snookies. The fates, with their obviously ironic sense of humor, ordained an epic catastrophe. Usually on Saturdays we're slow until the late night crowd stumbles in, so to keep the employees happy and making money our mangers decided to stagger waiter arrival times. I was the first; I came in at five and had two tables until six when the second person came in. Since the Tech/OU game was on at 7 and we are generally slow during games due to our proximity to the gaybourhood, I found the crossword and settled in for an uneventful few hours. Then it happened. I had four tables when our POS system crashed. It was more of an annoyance than a hindrance at the time. Everyone was cool. It's happens every now and again and takes fifteen minutes to reboot. But the system never came back up. And I got eight more tables. At the same time. And the bartender went MIA, apparently he was upstairs to try to fix the computers, while I was left searching for Amstel Light in one of our six coolers using a broken pen light. Because the computers were down, I had to not only hand write every order for the kitchen but recall the exact specifications of my prior tables orders (whose average tab was 50 bucks of 3 dollar drinks) so I could calculate tax on an old 9 key and slide credit cards on the knuckbuster. On one trip back to the kitchen, I saw my manager pounding numbers into the calculator screaming "You have GOT to be kidding me! WE KNOW PRIMO!!!! WE KNOW!" while the cook slammed his fist on the bell to signify the growing number of burgers drying out under the heat lamps and watch my co-worker Erin fumble with a tray on the verge of tears saying "Why do they need water! They already have Diet Cokes!"
Thankfully the chaos was relatively short-lived and normalcy was returned. However, I'm still drained. Though I enjoy the flexible lifestyle I'm allowed by waiting tables (i.e. tutoring part-time at Huntington), it's nights like Saturday spur me to search even harder for a "real" job. I'm tired of smelling like french fries and vodka and getting home at 2:30 AM every Saturday and Sunday.
I am certain everyone has some sort of perpetual nightmare concerning his or her occupation, but I will venture to suggest that the nightmares associated with the waiting profession are among the worst. The general theme of these nighttime illusions usually coincides with something I have been frustrated with at work. While working at Carinos, I would dream that large parties kept coming in and, despite my best efforts, I could not surpass the velocity of molasses. No matter how fast I tried to make drinks and take entrees out, there was always more people at the table than I was able to help. When I started bartending, the dreams evolved. Never-ending waves of drinks would spew out of my printer and I couldn't find any liquors or wines I needed. In fact in one variation, each time someone ordered wine I had to climb up a ladder behind the bar and get the bottles from the roof. (There have been ones with zombies too, but I refuse to dwell on those. Eek.)
There have only been a few times in life that I have ever had a stressful enough shift for it to be called a living waitmare. The most recent, and the worst, was my shift Saturday night at Snookies. The fates, with their obviously ironic sense of humor, ordained an epic catastrophe. Usually on Saturdays we're slow until the late night crowd stumbles in, so to keep the employees happy and making money our mangers decided to stagger waiter arrival times. I was the first; I came in at five and had two tables until six when the second person came in. Since the Tech/OU game was on at 7 and we are generally slow during games due to our proximity to the gaybourhood, I found the crossword and settled in for an uneventful few hours. Then it happened. I had four tables when our POS system crashed. It was more of an annoyance than a hindrance at the time. Everyone was cool. It's happens every now and again and takes fifteen minutes to reboot. But the system never came back up. And I got eight more tables. At the same time. And the bartender went MIA, apparently he was upstairs to try to fix the computers, while I was left searching for Amstel Light in one of our six coolers using a broken pen light. Because the computers were down, I had to not only hand write every order for the kitchen but recall the exact specifications of my prior tables orders (whose average tab was 50 bucks of 3 dollar drinks) so I could calculate tax on an old 9 key and slide credit cards on the knuckbuster. On one trip back to the kitchen, I saw my manager pounding numbers into the calculator screaming "You have GOT to be kidding me! WE KNOW PRIMO!!!! WE KNOW!" while the cook slammed his fist on the bell to signify the growing number of burgers drying out under the heat lamps and watch my co-worker Erin fumble with a tray on the verge of tears saying "Why do they need water! They already have Diet Cokes!"
Thankfully the chaos was relatively short-lived and normalcy was returned. However, I'm still drained. Though I enjoy the flexible lifestyle I'm allowed by waiting tables (i.e. tutoring part-time at Huntington), it's nights like Saturday spur me to search even harder for a "real" job. I'm tired of smelling like french fries and vodka and getting home at 2:30 AM every Saturday and Sunday.
Monday, November 10, 2008
With A Rebel Yell
Today officially marks my move DFW. I have been a resident of Dallas County for one whole year now. Ben and I drove in from Austin late last night. We spent the weekend at FunFunFunFest, which was really a FunDustyAntBiteI'msurroundingbykidsthatlooklikeRuffioFest. A good time for sure, but a very disparate festival. Of course, going to any festival hosting an electronica, comedy/experimental, punk/hardcore, and alternative-esque stages, we shouldn't have expected anything less. It was odd, however, that the plastic 80s sunglasses count was the same as the studded jean jacket with an old t-shirt on the back count. Just to allay any doubt of the bizarro characters at the festival, take a gander at this Billy Idol look-a-like getting down to Toxic Avenger:
I have a video of this dude dancing that is even better, but my stupid computer isn't cooperating. You'll just have to imagine him pumping his arms like he's swimming the breaststroke to techno music. Also while in Austin I went to the Capital for the first time with Malinda. I missed out on so much Texas history by moving here in the seventh grade; I've had to spend the last twelve years catching up. While in the Capital I found some floor art that would have been even more fun to find as a fourth grader on tour with my classmates. I mean, I know it's Austin, but how could have someone overlooked that. Really.
Coming home the to sprawling metroplex is still surreal. When I was in college I swore I would NEVER live here, just like how I swore I would NEVER be a teacher when I was in high school. Lesson learned. There are actually quite a myriad of things I thought I would NEVER do and my year in Dallas has proven me wrong.
-I NEVER thought I would learn how to negotiate a rush hour without crying or crashing into a median/other cars.
-I NEVER thought Texas would be significant enough in ANY type of election, let alone the Democratic Primary, to justify candidates speaking within a one mile radius of where I watch Jon Stewart make fun of them.
-I NEVER thought I could be a sassy enough waitress to get called a smartass and get tipped extra for it.
I swear I had more but all the mud/snot that is in my sinus cavities must be hampering my didactic impulses. Hopefully some sleep will help expunge the funfunfundust. Thanks for reading Malinda, I had fun this weekend. COME VISIT ME. (And to conclude, some belated Barack and Roll Election Night celebration pictures)
I have a video of this dude dancing that is even better, but my stupid computer isn't cooperating. You'll just have to imagine him pumping his arms like he's swimming the breaststroke to techno music. Also while in Austin I went to the Capital for the first time with Malinda. I missed out on so much Texas history by moving here in the seventh grade; I've had to spend the last twelve years catching up. While in the Capital I found some floor art that would have been even more fun to find as a fourth grader on tour with my classmates. I mean, I know it's Austin, but how could have someone overlooked that. Really.
Coming home the to sprawling metroplex is still surreal. When I was in college I swore I would NEVER live here, just like how I swore I would NEVER be a teacher when I was in high school. Lesson learned. There are actually quite a myriad of things I thought I would NEVER do and my year in Dallas has proven me wrong.
-I NEVER thought I would learn how to negotiate a rush hour without crying or crashing into a median/other cars.
-I NEVER thought Texas would be significant enough in ANY type of election, let alone the Democratic Primary, to justify candidates speaking within a one mile radius of where I watch Jon Stewart make fun of them.
-I NEVER thought I could be a sassy enough waitress to get called a smartass and get tipped extra for it.
I swear I had more but all the mud/snot that is in my sinus cavities must be hampering my didactic impulses. Hopefully some sleep will help expunge the funfunfundust. Thanks for reading Malinda, I had fun this weekend. COME VISIT ME. (And to conclude, some belated Barack and Roll Election Night celebration pictures)
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