Another Reason Apple Rocks

Somehow my iPod lives.

Apparently, he just needed a little time overnight to gather his wits about him. He has now been christened Amerigo because of his soggy journey.

Proof That TODAY Was Out To Get Me In Teeny Tiny Ways From The Start

1. Something told me this morning not to get out of bed TODAY. I had to argue with that something for quite some time before I DID get out bed. Something, I owe you an apology. You were right.

2. I had to go to the dentist

3. I had to wait an extra half hour at the dentist because the man in front of me was rear-ended on his way (I know what you are thinking. Surely THAT is the man who had a bad day, not you. My response to that is that I said "teeny tiny" ways....OK?!)

4. A thousand little and big things went wrong at work that I would gladly go into into great detail about, except that it's still TODAY for another few hours and with the way that TODAY is going, someone from work would see it and email it to everyone else I work with.

5. And last but certainly not least....I was leaving the house to go work out tonight (since I didn't go do it this morning as planned since I was arguing with "something"), and I was opening the door to the garage when I heard my load of laundry finish. I almost kept going, but I thought "No. I'll be productive and move them to the washer and get the next load started". (This may not seem important....but just be patient). So, I start the next load and go to the gym. Upon arriving at the gym, I realize that my new iPod Shuffle is not in my gym bag as usual. I had it the night before, but now it's gone. I look at lost and found with no luck.....do my workout (which I wind up cutting shorter than usual since I'm too annoyed about where my iPod could be to concentrate). I get home only to discover that yes.... I had just WASHED my new iPod. It's very clean now, and very dead. According to various websites I've read now, this isn't necessarily a fatal thing. But everyone agrees that the most important thing is to NOT PLUG IT IN RIGHT AWAY. I bet you can't guess what the first thing I did was, can you?


Looking over this list, you might conclude that I am being massively whiney about a day that wasn't all that bad in actuality. But you know what? Attitude is everything-- and I have a terrible one today. So there you go.

A Rambling Question With No Real Answers

I've been thinking lately about how different people are when it comes to letting others into their lives. How do we pick the people we let in? There's no automatic default when it comes to something like that-- even family is ultimately subject to whatever "test" we've come up with to determine whom we trust with our thoughts, time, words, worries..... the list goes on and on. And just because you love someone doesn't mean you let them in. I have some friends who view their parents as good friends...and others who view them as the people who happened to raise them but could never possibly understand them. Some people can't imagine life without their siblngs and others see them as a stranger they happen to share DNA with.

So why do we let certain people in while keeping others at bay? Is it an instinctual thing? Is it a checklist we go through without even realizing it? I've been trying to understand why I trust certain people immediately while others have to earn it....and why even after some people prove over and over that they DON'T deserve it, I still have the impulse to extend it anyway. Or maybe my real question is why do I WANT to trust some people even when they've proven I shouldn't? Part of me thinks that it is a refusal to accept what I don't want to be true. We rationalize behavior we can't understand to try and turn it into something relatable.....maybe so that we don't have to believe that we misplaced our trust in the first place. Mistakes are hard enough to accept, let alone if the mistake is a person.

A History of Intimidation

Laurie's comment on the last post made me laugh and then think "That's a post title if ever I heard one!".

So the question is- do I have a history of intimidating people? The short answer is, I don't know. But a short answer does not a good post make. So how about the long one?

For as long as I can remember, I've been told that I initimidate people, but I've never been quite clear why. I'm also not exactly sure if it's true. I think more often than not, the comment has come from the people who love me trying to explain away the people who don't--- so you see why the source of information might be problematic.

So what are some possible instances of intimidation?

*A girl at church camp who apparently hated me for years because she thought I hated her. She was assigned to be my cabin-mate secret sister for the day and decided to write me a note talking about how much she had hated me for years and talked about me behind my back. She went on to discuss how much she knew I hated her and obviously talked about her behind her back as well. She then declared that she was "willing to bury the hatchet, and not in your head". The best part? Before that day, I had no idea who that girl was that had apparently spent years thinking we were in the midst of a mega grudge.

*A girl in college who hadn't liked me for years who finally admitted that when she met me I seemed "popular and unapproachable". The sad part? I didn't tell her this, but I found it rather amusing and slightly flattering. I know. It was terribly, terribly wrong of me. But it was just such a novelty to be considered popular!

Ultimately, I don't know that intimidation was so much the problem in either of those instances as the girls just really didn't LIKE me. Is that the same thing? It seems like if I believe that these things happen because I'm "intimidating" it's just another way of saying that people have a problem with me because I'm just SO AWESOME. And that thought just makes me laugh....not to mention that it seems like a major cop-out.

As for the specific case in question......do I intimidate the eye-avoider? I don't think so. It's been suggested by a coworker that she might have a problem with my weight loss-- but again, that seems like a stupid reason to stop acknowledging the existence of someone.

The Eye Avoiders

There's a woman at work that I'm convinced doesn't like me. We'll call her "Tina". For the past two weeks, I've been trying everything I can (short of actually, you know, talking to her) to get "Tina" to look at me, to smile, to acknowledge my presense in some way as we pass each other in the hallway. This happens at least three times a day, if not more. Every time I come within a 4 foor radius, though, her head automatically ducks to the floor as if I'm Medusa and can turn her to stone if she looks too closely.

Now I know what your thinking: Maybe she's just shy. But you know what? That is NOT IT. I see her talking to other people all the time. I checked with my office mate today, and she said that "Tina" is always super nice and friendly. FRIENDLY! So what have I done? I can't figure it out.

The other strange factor is this: she's been at this job for at least as long as I have. And I don't know what made me all of a sudden notice her ability to ignore me. Has she been doing this for four years, and I just never noticed? And if so-- why did I suddenly notice now? And why do I care? I don't find this person particularly interesting. I don't know that I'm missing much from a lack of "hello" from her since I get it from 50 other people I don't know everyday. Plus, I'd much rather glide through the halls unnoticed than prance down the corridor holding court like some people do. So why her? I don't know.

It's just weird. There are a lot of people who would probably be justified in not liking me at work for some very good reasons. "Tina", however, is NOT one of them. We work at a friendly place, dang it, and she is NOT being friendly. She's being shifty and I want to know why.

And so I will continue my passive aggressive eye contact game in the hopes that one day I will make her LOOK AT ME. Of course, now I don't know if I want to smile once she does.

All Cooped Up

We're in the midst of the "great ice storm of 2007" here, and while it's not quite the armageddon situation the weather men seemed prepared for, I have been cooped up in the house for most of the last two days. I woke up this morning with the grand plan of cleaning out my room in a major way. However, this great "event" quickly digressed into me spending the afternoon doing two things:

1. Throwing away yarn I will never, ever get around to making into anything

and

2. Discovering yet more scraps of paper with scribbles on them. I know I've mentioned my strange need to cover random pieces of paper with random thoughts, half-told stories (oh, who am I kidding? I've never gotten half way through one of those stories), and mutterings that I can't bring myself to dignify with the word "poetry" (which sounds ever so grand). I suppose it speaks of a terrible self-absorption that I can spend an afternoon getting lost in reading my own scribbles, but it always fascinates and amuses me to read them. Half of the time, I don't remember what spurred the words in the first place. I say all of this as a warning because I have two "scribbles" I'm going to share....

My main reason for doing this is that I suspect Laurie might enjoy reading them (she likes to humor my pretentions at "writing"...and I owe her a thank you for the book she sent me.....I have begun reading by the way, and am once again swept away by envy at another person's ability with words).



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I used to believe that there comes a point in every life when a decision gets made that forever changes who you are. But I've since realized that point comes every day. Like it or not, you expose yourself time after time with the people you ignore, the choices you refuse to make, and the words you don't say.

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If we're only ever around people that make us happy, then we can never know a big part of ourselves. If no one ever asked me a stupid question, would I have ever discovered the joys of sarcasm? If no one ever told me a lie, would I have learned to watch people's expressions? If no one ever tried to outsmart me, would I have ever learned to play the airhead?

Without dumb people with their dumb questions, without mean people with their mean words, without selfish people and their thoughtless lives, I would have fewer forehead wrinkles from raising my eyebrows, I would have a lot less to complain about, I would have fewer people to blame my own mistakes on, I would have no sense of humor, no sense of self, and no real worries. My work would take less time, I'd be a lot more bored, and I'd have crows feet from smiling all of the time in between my yawns. Life would be simple. Life would be dull. And I'd have no one to make me feel nice, smart, caring, and generally superior in comparison.

Most importantly, I never would have learned to roll my eyes, and I think we can all agree that would make me unrecognizable.

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As Seen On Laurie's Blog

You Are An INFP

The Idealist You are creative with a great imagination, living in your own inner world. Open minded and accepting, you strive for harmony in your important relationships. It takes a long time for people to get to know you. You are hesitant to let people get close. But once you care for someone, you do everything you can to help them grow and develop. You would make an excellent writer, psychologist, or artist.

What's Your Personality Type?

An English Major's Confession

I alluded to this in an earlier post, but I haven't been reading much lately. It's a very strange thing to admit because reading has always been such a constant in my life. I've really begun to realize lately, though, that it's not just a matter of it being something I've always enjoyed doing. In a strange way, it really is a vital part of how I perceive myself and how the people who know me perceive me. Sarah loves to read. This is a fundamental in getting to know me.

But lately, I've started to wonder, how can someone who reads as little as I do these days count themselves as a book lover? Is reading the only thing that makes you one? I hope not, because that would mean that for the past year or so I've been a great big faker.

But you know, I don't just love books because of what they say. I love how they look-- be it old ones or new ones. I love how they smell (most of them, at any rate). I love the quiet atmosphere of book stores and all of the possibility of ideas that you know is just sitting there on the shelf. I love the weight of a leather bound book in my hand. I love the way you can guess things about people by the books on their coffee table or bookshelf (including whether or not the books were put out to "impress"). I love that a person's interest in books gives you an instant insight into their personality. I love what people accidentally reveal about themselves through the books they read at the airport. I love giving a book I really love to someone else and then getting nervous as if I've handed them my child until I know whether or not they will love it like I do. I love imagining where really old books used to live.

I love books. Now I just need to find one to read.

3 Decades

Last time I was at my parent's house, I grabbed all four of my high school yearbooks out of my closet and brought them home with me. Reading them (or the comments within them) was both hilarious and depressing. Hilarious because of the truly random and odd things I chose to stick in the yearbooks for safe keeping. Depressing because of how difficult it is to relate to the person that these books belonged to.

If you were to ask me, I would have told you that I feel like I know who I was when I was 16. My memories seem real and comfortable. But the problem with memories is that they age with you as you grow older and become no more reliable than......(Ok, I've literally been sitting here staring at my screen for 5 minutes now trying to think of something really unreliable to use there and nothing is coming to mind. I'm drawing a complete blank....) well, something no more reliable than something REALLY unreliable.

Anyhoo.

Looking at the yearbooks, I'm hit with fairly solid proof that people and things weren't exactly as I recall them now. The nuances that the years have stripped away return. Not completely, of course....too many years have gone by for that. But it's more about the shadow of them, I guess. Just enough to remind me that there was so much more there than I've remembered.

And it makes me wonder if 10 years from now I'll be a stranger to myself once again. If I'll look back on these scribbles and have to work to remember how that girl felt...how she dealt with the world......how she remembers the world.