Me and my bright ideas

A couple of weeks ago, I began reading a book entitled "99 Thoughts on Leading Well."  I would love to give credit to the author, but the book is at work.  And I am not. 

I've found some of the "thoughts" to be kind of obvious (like thought #6, which went something like this: "don't be a jerk.") and still others to be pretty enlightening.  Like the one which encouraged the reader (me) to identify distractions which cloud their thoughts and vision (not literal vision, mind you.  We're not talking cataracts here.), and then eliminate said distractions.

When I first read that "thought", my immediate reaction was to decide firmly that I didn't have any strong, consistent distractions.  Just as I was about to pull an arm muscle from fervently patting myself on the back, I remembered. 

Reading blogs. 

You see, not only do I enjoy writing this blog, I've also become quite preoccupied with reading blogs.  And when I say "quite preoccupied", what I really mean is "really...quite...preoccupied." 

Over the years, I have discovered (either by chance or recommendations from friends), a number of blogs which I read regularly.  Sometimes at work, I get bored with a project and begin casually clicking through the blogs I have bookmarked.  Sounds harmless, right?  Well, it is, until I catch myself doing said clicking almost compulsively.  It's annoying.  And distracting. 

Enter the start of Lent last Wednesday.  Long story short, I decided to give up reading blogs for Lent.  Not writing this blog, mind you (so no, I'm not cheating right now), but specifically reading other people's blogs. 

I wrote down the web addresses of the blogs I'd bookmarked so I can re-bookmark them after Lent is over (here we go Easter, here we go.  clap, clap.).  There were FORTY-SIX blogs.  FORTY-SIX. 

Hello, my name is Elizabeth and I'm an electronic hoarder. 

I read blogs of people who bake, even though I rarely bake.  I read blogs of people who garden.  I do not garden.  I read blogs of people who have children, adopt, take pictures, foster parent, battle cancer, write about daily life, post their craft projects.  Mostly, the blogs are written by people I've never met. 

I gave them up 7 days ago, and I feel liberated.  Of the FORTY-SIX blogs formerly on my radar, I only really miss reading maybe 7 of them.  Otherwise, it's been a great chance to reset and keep myself in check. 

I do wonder if Heather is really getting a divorce, if Amanda's house really flooded, if Ree will be holding a book signing within 700 miles of my house, if Carter is 6-feet tall yet, and so on and so on and so on, but it's also rather nice to be a bit disconnected. 

So anyway, that's what's going on here. 

Rather mind numbing, isn't it? 

Don't feel sorry for yourself. Laugh at me instead!

Late last week, I started thinking how much I used to hate Valentine's Day when I was a teenager.  Then I started thinking about all the teenage girls I know, and I decided to make them each a Valentine.  I stopped short of cutting hearts out of doilies (though I do LOVE a good doily) and instead "designed" one on the computer.  In the interest of keeping things sappy-free, I used this here picture on the card's cover:

Do teenagers appreciate sarcasm?  Here's hoping!

I found that picture on the Internets.  It's probably copyrighted (copywritten?  copywrote?  huh?) and I'm probably going to get fined by the Feds.  Do the Feds fine for such things?  Copyrit? 

In case you're like me and don't really L-O-V-E February 14, I'm hoping the following story will lessen the blow of tomorrow. 

The short version of the story goes something like this:

All through middle school (both years), I had a crush on a boy.  The same boy.  For the purposes of this story, we'll call him Walter.  After said crush had gone on for many agonizing months, Walter finally "asked me out," meaning we could officially blush and ignore one another in the hallway between classes.  Mind you, we never actually went anywhere.  After a week or so of "going out", Walter made his stepbrother call my house and break up with me, for him, ON THE ANSWERING MACHINE. 

THERE WAS A MESSAGE.  OF SOMEONE'S STEPBROTHER.  BREAKING UP WITH ME.  FOR EVERYONE IN MY HOUSE TO HEAR.   

I was humiliated and totally embarrassed every time I saw him from that day forward, until the day in 10th grade when he came walking into Spanish class with a solid gold deer pendant hanging from a gold chain around his neck. 

It was in that glorious moment that I fully understood the meaning of karma. 

So, Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.  And if I could just offer a word of advice:  play it safe tomorrow.

Don't use speakerphone.

Nachos on the bayou

Why this idea didn't come to me sooner is totally beyond me.  Just goes to show that inspiration for writing often comes from the most obvious places.  In my case, the obvious places include total irritation, babies, and food.  

In my last post, I shared the beginnings of my love affair with nachos.  In case you spent last week with your head stuck in the oven, allow me to first offer my sincere concern, and secondly...provide you this link so you can read the back story.

After writing that post, I realized that I have several vivid, nacho-related memories, and I've decided to share them all here.  If you don't like nachos, pretend I'm talking about lasagna instead. 

Delicious Memory #2:

If I'm correct (which I so am...probably), it was a few months after my first nacho encounter that my second memorable encounter occurred.  It was summer, and I was somehow lucky enough to get to go to Baton Rouge, LA to visit my Aunt Cindy and Uncle David.  I have no idea why.  Perhaps my parents grew concerned when I tried to capture the magic of nacho encounter #1 by barricading myself in my room. 

ANYWAY. 

Because she is the consummate hostess, I'm sure one of Aunt Cindy's first questions to me was, "what snack food would you like?"  To which I promptly and eagerly (with only a little madness in my eyes) replied, "nachos." 

So off to the store we went, where we bought a jar of "Mild Mexican" flavored Cheese Whiz.  Enter nacho encounter #2. 

This encounter was significant for a couple of reasons:
-  First, it is significant to note that, despite what must've been a shocking display of nacho consumption (the keep-your-fingers-away-from-the-cheese-bowl variety), Aunt Cindy still speaks to me and claims me as her niece.  Remarkable. 

-  Secondly, it was during this encounter that I discovered the significance of a runny nose while eating nachos.  In short, my long-tested and often-proved theory is this:  If the nachos are good, your nose will run.  It's all about the spiciness, and the nose is the perfect barometer. 

___

It's also worth noting that my first-ever pair of denim overall shorts were purchased on this trip.  Despite that, I still speak to my Aunt Cindy and claim her as my family.   

I must really be hungry

To examine my earliest memory of nachos, we must travel back in time to 1991.  It should come as no surprise that the memory is not a vague, hazy one...especially considering how the mind has a way of cataloging vivid memories at the beginning of any love affair. 
____________

When I was a child, there were many steadfast rules in our house.  Chief among them: if ever you asked to purchase a book, the answer was always "yes."  Toys?  Candy?  Clothes?...probably not.  But a book?  Absolutely.  With certainty.  Which one would you like?  This encouragement to read fueled the red-hot flame that was my obsession with The Babysitter's Club series, created by Ann M. Martin (I always thought it was so sophisticated how she included the "M.").  I devoured those books like it was my job.  While my friends were busy having sleepovers and talking about boys, I declined their invitations so I could prop myself up in bed and live vicariously through the adventures of Kristy, Mary Anne, Dawn, Stacey, and Claudia.  I was 11 years old.  If Snuggies has been invented back then, I totally would've rocked one. 

It came as no real surprise when my parents announced one evening that my aunt and uncle would be visiting from out of town the following weekend.  The adults, my mother explained, wanted to have a night of peace and quiet so they could sit around and gossip about people they went to high school with, or family members who fell in love with their own first cousins.  I'm sure my parents pleaded with me to go over to a friend's house for a sleepover.  But alas, I was a home body (cough, cough...nerd...cough, cough) and wanted nothing to do with socializing on a Friday night.  I mean, who did they think I was? 

My mother, undoubtedly perplexed, came up with a brilliant solution.  If I promised to stay in my room for the whole night and not bother the adults, she would buy me the brand new Babysitter's Club Super Special, entitled "Baby-sitters On Board!".  

What?  The Super Special?  You mean the book with more pages than the average Babysitter's book?  More to read?  Longer chapters?  The telling of the dramatic adventure that ensues when all the babysitters go on a cruise to the Bahamas? 

Uh, yes please.

So the deal was struck.  My brother gallivanted out the door to go read the encyclopedia with his friends and I retreated to my room.  Just as I was removing the Super Special from the B. Dalton Bookstore bag, my mother knocked on the door. 

They had ordered take-out from El Sombrero, the Mexican restaurant in town.  Would I like to try some nachos?  She hoped they wouldn't be too spicy for me.  She wasn't sure I'd like them, so she also got a beef taco just in case.  Oh, and here's some water. 

Friends, I kid you not.  The memory of that night, in my room with the book and the warm, delicious nachos is one of my most favorite from my entire childhood.  I could hear the adults on the back patio, chatting and laughing as the sun gradually set and the cicadas began their nightly songs. 

I discovered nachos that night.  And I only got a little mad when I spilled salsa on the pages of my new book. 

To be continued...

Shock and awe

I just went to Target for the first time in awhile.  There are two remarkable things about my visit:

1). I only bought what was on my list.  A feat of strength, fo sho. 
2). THEY ARE REARRANGING THE ENTIRE STORE AND I COULDN'T FIND ANYTHING I WAS LOOKING FOR AND I WANDERED AROUND AND AROUND AND AROUND NOT ABLE TO FIND THE TOY SECTION OR THE DIET COKE (both tragic in their own right).  But apparently, in March, there will be a fresh veggie section.  So.  There's that. 

Does Hallmark make a card for that?

In my not-so-distant past, I have achieved several milestones.  I would like to share them with you now:

1. I have become more like my mother.  This milestone was achieved last Sunday when I began lecturing myself about how I should hang my clothes up when I get home from church instead of flinging them on the floor.  Apparently, it's a lesson I never learned, despite my mother's relentless efforts.  By the end of any given work week, every shirt, pair of pants, and shoe that I've worn are strewn all over the place.  I spend each Friday morning (the first day of my Friday/Saturday weekend) sorting out the mess and returning things to their proper place.  WHY DO I DO THIS?  I drive my own self crazy.

2. When I began working with teenagers 3 years ago, I wondered whether, if I stayed in "the business" long enough, eventually one of them would call me asking me to bail them out of jail.
The answer?  Yes.

My answer?  No.

3. When I began working with teenagers 3 years ago, I wondered whether, if I stayed in "the business" long enough, eventually one of them would see me in the grocery store and their guilty conscience would cause them to run the other way to avoid me.   
The answer?  Yes.

My reaction?  Total.  Power.  Trip.

All in all, 2012 has been quite eventful already!

Half the battle

Since we got married, Jeremy has lost 40 pounds.  Your jokes about how terrible my cooking must be are not funny.  Much. 

He's been working hard at his weight loss, and I've been a-watchin' my weight, too, so we really planned ahead to have some healthy options during the Super Bowl.  Heaven forbid we feel deprived on this day of much celebrated gluttony.   

We decided to make a pork tenderloin in the crock pot with a really dry healthy slaw recipe, and I spent a considerable amount of time at the grocery store yesterday, shopping carefully.  Jeremy woke up this morning and headed straight to the kitchen to begin the hours-long pork cooking.  The house smelled AMAZE-TOWN  when we got home from church. 

We set our sights firmly and with much longing on 6:30pm.  Dinnertime.  Oh, and game time, too.   

Then, at about 6pm, we had a collective break down, jumped in the car, drove to the store and bought Velveeta, Rotel, chips, and cookie dough, and ate every single bite of it without ever even touching the healthier stuff. 

Sigh. 

(and *burp*)