happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday dear Bryan,
Happy birthday to you!

I'd like to send out a special birthday greeting to a unique individual. The first year I knew Bryan, we celebrated his birthday by successfully annoying our entire class by playing his Bad Religion CD during our lab. We may have lost a few friends that day, but we had a good time anyway.

Some other happy memories with Bryan include the time we went camping at San Rafael Swells, and he pretended to be asleep the entire drive so that he could eavesdrop on the conversation taking place in the front seat. And when, on this same camping trip, we failed to bring sufficient fluids, and had to filter water from a small pool while we pretended not to notice all of the dead fishies floating around. Then there was the time that he honestly believed he had time to go climbing, take a video of it, shower, and change in the hour and a half between our friends' wedding ceremony and luncheon. I also still laugh whenever I think of the day he asked our fluids professor, in all seriousness, if he was teaching us a bunch of lies, or if this stuff was "for real". And I will never forget the day that I threw up repeatedly, forcing me to leave our flexibility class early, and he thanked me for getting sick because it gave him the opportunity to hit on the really hot girl he'd had his eye on for a while.

I especially am thankful to Bryan for allowing me to laugh at him the numerous times he hit on women who turned out to be married. Nobody can handle that situation quite as gracefully as he. And also for forgetting to tell his roommates that he had invited everyone over for breakfast, so that I could find them standing half-naked in the living room when I showed up. That was a wonderful moment for me. Finally, I'd like to thank him for driving me up to my aunt Cindy's house two years ago, so that Cindy could tell my grandma that she met one of my friends, which could then be translated into "I met Brittany's fiance." This was rather amusing for everyone involved.

Happy Birthay, Bryan! You really are something else.

Dear Future Boyfriend,

I know we haven't actually met yet, but there are a few things that I'd like to get out in the open ahead of time. I realize that you're counting down the days until we meet, and that you very well may have dreamt of my face and received revelation from the heavens that I am the woman you will someday marry, but if this is the case, I really don't want to hear about it. Please. You need to realize that in relationships, some things are best left unsaid. And that is most definitely one of them. But there are a few other things that I need for you to understand about me if we're going to make this work.

First of all, I really need for you to understand that I just don't dance. Yes, I've tried to enjoy it, and I've tried even harder to be good at it. And no, I assure you that you will not be the man who "teaches" me to love dancing. This deep-rooted hatred for dance goes all the way back to my elementary school days, when I would stick my foot in the doorway and force my sister to slam the door on it repeatedly, in hopes that I might break something and therefore be excused from Square Dance Week in PE. So please, please, please do not think that you can change my mind about this. Every man I have ever gone out with has tried, and all have failed miserably.

It's also important that you realize that my family does actually call me Poodle, and that there's nothing you can do to stop them. This has been going on for over 12 years now, and has progressed to the point where my sister's husband didn't even know my real name is Brittany until after they were married. So don't think you can just swoop in and change their ways, no matter how ridiculous a name you think Poodle is. You will just have to learn to love it.

I'd also really appreciate it if you tried your best not to be an engineer. This means that, the first time I meet you, I'd really prefer to not find you printing out the first 5,000 digits of pi to hang up on your wall. And all jokes that include the line "ohm" my gosh are not funny. They're just not. In addition to this, if someone were to ask you what you do for fun, "working out", "pumping iron", or any variation thereon are not acceptable answers. Even if you do work out for fun, at least have the sense to keep that information to yourself. I understand that this is the response all of your engineering friends give, but that's just the problem. Acceptable alternatives include mountain biking, camping, fishing, or even watching movies. And most importantly, you really need to understand that Stirling, Erickson, Brayton, and Otto are absolutely not acceptable names for our children. I realize that they are all famous enough to have engine cycles named after them, and Thermo was my favorite class, too, but let's be serious here.

Oh, one more thing. If you could just double-check to make sure you really do have brown hair and blue eyes, that'd be fantastic. And just so you know, they sell hair dye and colored contacts, just in case you find out that you're actually a blonde with green eyes. And if you have a mustache, shave it off right this second. This is for your own good. Really, it is.

If you could just keep these things in mind, I think we'll get along just swimmingly. I'm totally looking forward to meeting you.

Sincerely,

Poodle

bryan thinks i'm funny

I love using this blog to tell stories about ex-boyfriends. I've found that they generally prove to be the most humorous, probably because my attraction to a man is directly related both to how often he allows me to laugh at him, and how often he makes fun of me. But the problem is, I've only really fallen for two men in my whole life. The first was Ben, whom I loved mainly because he was brave enough to play "Jingle Bells" on the kazoo for our church's Christmas musical program, and because he handled my laughter rather gracefully after he informed me that he could never live in Britain because it was "right smack in the middle of Europe, and completely landlocked." So he moved to Wyoming instead. Much better choice. Then there was Derek, who had enough charm to convince me to not only purchse, but to actually wear an old bridesmaid dress from Goodwill, (something that I had promised myself I would never, ever do) simply because he honestly believed that it looked really good on me. But I still truly adore both of these men, so I will spare them the embarrassment of publishing their less-than-brilliant moments for the entire internet. (Derek, you can thank me later.)

Instead, I'll tell you about Marc, since I no longer have any particular attachment to him. I was initially attracted to Marc because our very first conversation consisted with his telling me how smart he thought I was, and how he was jealous that I was always the first to finish my programs during our C++ lab, and ended with an invitation to go skiing with him. Which was something that I had been trying for three years to get a man to ask me, with no luck. Later, however, he felt that the best way to win my heart was by telling me how awful I had looked that morning, but that he was glad to see I didn't look quite so horrible anymore. I accepted his invitation for a date, though, because he was smart enough to bring a candybar along with him. And if you can't win my heart through laughter, candy is your next best bet. I went on four dates with him, but finally had to end things because, although he let me laugh at him as often as I wanted, he was just too nice to ever laugh at my stupider moments. And if I'm going to make an fool of myself, (which everybody does at one time or another), I at least want the satisfaction of knowing that I am amusing those around me.

if only they knew

I've now received my first official job offer. They callled me a few weeks ago to let me know that I was their "front runner," but now it's official. They want me to work for them.

They sent me a letter explaining how impressive they found both my sense of humor and my understanding of the material, and how comfortably and naturally I interacted with the students. What they didn't know was that the last time I stood in front of a high school class was when I myself was in high school, and my history teacher made me play the part of John Calvin for our class skit. And that she asked me in the middle of the performance if I was feeling okay, because I really looked just that miserable. (But I was dressed as a man, so could she really blame me?) I also failed to mention that I'm not usually as funny as I was that day, but since I only slept for 2 hours the night before my interview, and fatigue has the unique ability to pique my sense of humor, I somehow managed to make everyone laugh. I also forgot to tell them that, since I could potentially earn about three times the salary that some schools are currently offering, I am doing this because it's really, truly my dream, and therefore will accept just about any salary they offer, no matter how small. But judging by the offer they gave me, they picked up on this without my having to point it out. Smart people.

Most importantly, they don't know that nobody seems to care that I have zero experience working with high-school students. Because I've also received several offers to interview with schools that, unlike them, are located in towns that have more than 5 single adults. Offers to interview for jobs that I never even applied for. Life is looking pretty great right about now.

eagles mere

Well, since the boy hasn't done anything entertaining enough to warrant its very own post, and Katie requested a funny story about Derek, I have reached into my archives from last June. The story isn't entirely about Derek, but I find it entertaining nonetheless.

The story takes place at Eagles Mere, Pennsylvania, in the Townsend family lakehouse. Those in attendance included me, who you have all come to know and love; Derek, who at the time had not yet admitted that my charm and magnetism were really just too irresistible; Phil, who leads you to believe that he is the most laid-back person on the planet, only to surprise you with a long list of rather amusing particularities; and Melanie, who is committed to spending at least 80% of her time either laughing or making everyone around her laugh. Then there was Caitlin, the 9-year-old who tried her best to use her own charm and flirtatious abilities to win Derek's heart, and Jenny, Caitlin's older sister, who didn't particularly appreciate this newly-developed crush. And let's not forget Phil's parents, who sincerely thought that the best way to spend their vacation was entertaining a group of twenty-something engineers. They truly are special people.

The time spent at the lake was particularly pleasant, with the exception of the instance when Derek made me cry because I wasn't paying close enough attention during my sailing lesson. That situation was remedied, however, when I went sailing with Phil and fell out of the boat without his noticing. The majority of our time, however, was spent lying by the water, pretending that it was warm enough to be in swimsuits. We finished off the week with a rather vicious game of King of the Mountain, followed by a good hard laugh at Derek's inability to swim.

Highlights from the time spent in the lakehouse included drinking gallons of hot pink fruit drink, eating hotdogs with lots of mustard (because, according to Derek, "that's the thing about girls and hotdogs... they eat a lot of mustard"), discovering Derek's guitar playing and songwriting abilities, and completing countless numbers of country crafts that Phil's mom had brought along. (The glow-in-the-dark paint by numbers princess castle was my personal favorite.) I also forced Derek to participate in the Engineering Problem of the Day contest (since, technically, I was paying him to be there), which included calculating just how small the shrinkydinks will shrink, and figuring out how many people we could fit on one innertube without sinking it. Melanie and I dragged Derek into our game of Truth or Dare (which he didn't even pretend to enjoy), after which we played endless rounds of Speed Scrabble (which Phil didn't even pretend to enjoy.) During these Speed Scrabble games, we all learned that Derek is exactly nine years old, which Caitlin took as an indication that he was interested in her. My favorite moment was walking into my room, only to find Melanie hiding behind the dresser with her ear pressed against the wall because she was learning some "really juicy stuff" from Derek and Phil's conversation. After we finsihed eavesdropping, we retired to our beds to discuss the many crushes we had each had on different BYU engineers, and concluded that the fact that none of these crushes amounted to anything was no fault of ours, but merely a result of engineers being incredibly weird. We also took the opportunity to make fun of Derek for flirting with the eighty-year-old woman we met at church, and vowed to tease him about it as often as possible.

Overall, it was an enjoyable week, thanks to Melanie's ability to make anybody laugh at any time, and Derek, for graciously being the brunt of all jokes.

maybe, maybe not

My friend told me on Saturday night that he's trying to date me. Which, quite honestly, took me by surprise. I probably should have picked up on some of his I'm-trying-to-date-you hints. Like:

How he found an excuse to call me every single night last week,

Or how he made me cookies, just because I said I liked them,

Or how, when he noticed my chipped nail polish that was a result of running out of nail polish remover, a brand-new bottle of polish remover mysteriously appeared on my doorstep that very afternoon,

Or how I frequently catch him watching me from across the room,

Or how, when I was supposed to go out with him and his roommate, his roommate mysteriously didn't show up,

Or how he repeatedly told me that I am the epitome of womanhood, and how much he loves a woman who "exudes femininity" the way that I do,

Or how every other question he's asked me in the past week is whether or not he is correct in assuming that I am really, truly over my ex-boyfriend,

Or how almost every question he asked me that wasn't about how over my ex-boyfriend I am was about the vision I have for my hypothetical future family,

Or how he called me exactly 30 seconds after I left his house to tell me that he thought I looked great that day,

Or how, when I was watching conference, and was the only person sitting on a couch large enough to seat my institute teacher, his wife, all nine of their children, and quite possibly six additional full-grown men, he sat just close enough to me that he wasn't completely sitting on my lap,

Or how, every time I told him something new about myself, he put his hand on my leg and told me how impressive I am, and how the more he learns about me, the more impressed he is. (Although this one shouldn't necessarily be a sign that he wants to date me. Because I am amazing and impressive, and everyone, regardless of whether or not they're trying to date me, should notice my impressive qualities. Apparently humility isn't on the list, but hey, nobody's perfect.)

I should have picked up on these hints, but I didn't. And they're all probably reasons that I should want to date him. Among others, such as:

If I date him, I will have kissed 3 men in the past year, which would DOUBLE the total number of men I've kissed in my lifetime,

Or because he isn't aware of the existence of this blog, so I can exploit his idiosynchrosies for the amusement of my audience. I frequently write funny stories about my ex-boyfriend, but since he reads this occasionally, instead of publishing, I have to "save as draft" until a later date, when he has completely forgotten about this blog. And I'm always looking for more humorous material.

Or because, although I've never actually tried dating someone that I hadn't' already completely fallen for, my sisters think it would be a great idea. And I do everything my sisters tell me to do.

We'll see...

I'm embarrassed every time I watch Napoleon Dynamite

because...

(1) I've called home (on more than one occasion) to ask my sister if she can bring me my chapstick.

(2) At my sister's wedding in December, I performed an impromptu dance routine very much like Napoleon's. Because I'm pretty much the best dancer I know.

(3) This is by far the most embarrassing. When I was a kid, I stuffed mini powdered donuts in my pocket, so that I could have them available to eat no matter where I was. I contemplated doing the same with tater tots, but it just wasn't practical. Tots get cold in your pocket, and really are only good if eaten with ketchup.

blind dates

Blind dates really should be against the law. Both parties inevitably spend the night praying please, please let them be clever enough to come up with questions other than

"so what's your major"

or

"where are you from?"

And when they realize that their companion is not, in fact, that clever, they desperately search for better comebacks to their resoponses than

"hmm... that's not my major"

or

"oh, I have a friend from there. Gee, what a small world"

And what makes a blind date even worse is when you're set up by the boy you currently have a crush on, who knows perfectly well that you have a crush on him and do not actually want to go out with his new roommate who apparently couldn't find his own date.

THE INVITATION:
I receive a phone call from Derek the night before the date is to take place, explaining that he and his roommates were doing a group-date-thingy the next evening. I'm feeling slightly confused, since that very day he explained to me how he had "kinda sorta" just gotten back together with the girl he had recently accidentally broken up with. Despite my wariness of group-date-thingys and concern that his "kinda sorta girlfriend" might not be thrilled that he was asking me out, I accepted. Because Derek has a certain charm that, even after four years of observation and contemplation, I still can't explain.

THE PLOT TWIST:
I hear Okay, hold on a sec, after which a new, unknown voice comes on the phone, thanking me for agreeing to go out with him on such short notice. I begin feeling even more confused than before, try to focus on the conversation taking place and figure out who exactly I'm talking to all at the same time. It finally dawns on me exactly what just happened. I pretend to be excited to be going on a date with Jason. Because, while he obviously couldn't find his own date, it's not his fault that Derek failed to tell me that he was actually asking me out for his roommate, and not for himself.

THE ARRIVAL:
Since the evening's activities are beginning at Derek's house, and I happen to know where Derek lives, and Jason has no idea where I live, since he has no idea who I am, it has been determined that I will meet him there. He's short, which, thankfully, I find incredibly attractive. He also has great legs and perfect skin, which I also totally appreciate. My feelings of Derek, you owe me BIG TIME are diminishing to okay, I may or may not ask you for a return favor sometime in the future.

A TURN FOR THE WORSE:
Jason begins the conversation with So, you're a friend of Derek's huh? Despite my best efforts, the entirety of our conversation for the evening rests on what we both know about Derek, and just to shake things up a little bit, he gives me information that I may not already know about him since I don't actually live with him. Do you know what pajamas he usually wears? No, Jason, I don't. Why don't you tell me about them? Mmm, hmmm? Really? Wow. I focus my mental energies (maybe not so successfully) on pretending to care about what he's telling me because I love to hear him talk and not because I'm wishing I were Derek's date for the evening.

THE DOOR SCENE:
There wasn't one. That's how well the date went. But at least I didn't have to deal with the dreaded "I know we've only been on one date, but I think I'm in love with you" routine. Because when that happens, I have no choice but to forget all about being nice and tell them rather bluntly what I exactly I think about that. Which, quite honestly, I really prefer not to do.

skills

Does everyone like my new design? Not to brag or anything, but I did it myself. I think I should add "HTML master" on my resume's list of skills. Because everybody knows that you can't get hired unless you have skills. And joke-telling skills and staying-up-all-night-and-still-being-functional-the-next-day skills aren't exactly what employers are looking for. But HTML skills? Now that's something I can bring up casually in an interview.

You know, I designed my own webpage. And I only copied a little bit from other websites.

Oh, what did you say? I'm hired? Hey, thanks!

So here it is, my loyal blog readers. I still have a little bit of tweaking to do, as you can most likely tell. But doesn't this page just scream Pink Poodle Prints? (Yes, I know it doesn't actually say Pink Poodle Prints anywhere. But that's not the point. Besides, I'm working on that.)

mail

I got mail today! Yippee!

It was an invitation for a bridal shower to be held in two weeks, at my apartment.

Who knew?

road trips

I like to think that I'm a really good road-tripper. I drove down to DC this weekend with a couple of friends, and they noted how pleasant I was to travel with. Not because of my pleasant and easygoing disposition, but because I didn't have to stop for a bathroom break the whole drive. Which, I have to admit, is an essential attribute of truly expert road-trippers.

As flattered as I was, I have to say that, were it not for my dad, I would not be the road-tripper that I am today. He taught me everything I know about making the most of a drive. Growing up, we drove to every vacationing destination. Now, most people will tell you that if you're driving with six kids and two parents all piled into one car, you should plan to be on the road twice as long as the drive should actually take. My dad, however, would not hear of it. We stopped for nothing but gas. We ate in the car, if someone needed to stretch, they just kicked their feet out over the person next to them. And if you had to go, too bad. You should have gone when we stopped for gas.

Now, I don't want you to think my father is heartless and had no mercy. I can remember two distinct instances when he made a special stop, just for me. Both times, I had been in tears for at least thirty minutes, begging him to please, please, PLEASE pull over. because I could not wait any longer. So he kindly pulled over at the nearest bush. Well, once he stopped at the nearest bush. The second time, there were no bushes to be found, but he did let me hide behind the car.

I've been trained well.

crush

Yes, that's right. I have a crush. And it's about time. Honestly, it's been way too long since I've had that can't-stop-smiling-head-in-the-clouds kind of feeling. And it's a beautiful addition to my already warm and spring-timey day.

I tried to get this guy to ask me out before spring break, but it didn't happen. I smiled, giggled, touched his elbow, but I forgot to bite my lower lip. Which, according to Katie , is necessary for really successful flirting. And if anyone knows how to flirt, it's Katie. She's just so darned good at it. It makes me a little jealous sometimes. But these are skills that can be learned, so I'm taking lessons from the best. Wish me luck.

fired

I've only been fired from one job in my life. Which, in my opinion, is one too many. I've always considered being fired an embarassment, and belived (somewhat naively) that people only get fired if they're not doing their job. And I was doing my job. I was doing exactly what I was supposed to, but still got canned. On my second day . And was fired by my own mother. Because I was doing my job too well. Now, that just doesn't make any sense to me.

I had just graduated from college, and had a few months before I started grad school, so I moved home for the summer. (Because I had nowhere else to go, and my parents weren't going to charge me rent.) I was spending most of my days playing with Cooper, reading, being lazy, and recovering from my treacherous senior year. So my mom decided to put me to work. Which was fine with me, because I was broke and she was going to pay me. And all I had to do was keep her from eating junk food. See, my mom is a sucker for anything sweet, and after having six kids, she's no longer the size 2 she used to be. So she decided it was time to get back in shape, and since I had nothing else to occupy my time, I helped her out.

Things were working out pretty well for a while. I got to eat all of the junk food in the house (so it wouldn't be there to tempt her) and was getting paid for it. Honestly, what more could I ask for? Not much. On the second day, however, just as we were finishing dinner, I saw her heading straight for the last piece of cake. Now, my mother has very few weaknesses, but that cake is one of them. And I can't blame her. Who wouldn't love homemade vanilla cake with a layer of raspberry filling and sweet buttercream frosting? But I couldn't let her eat it. This was my chance to prove to her that I'm the best little worker bee she's ever hired. So I grabbed the plate at the same time she did, and pulled it away from her.

Give that back to me!

Sorry, Mom. I can't do that. I'm just doing my job.

Well, I don't want you to do your job anymore. You're fired!

Well, that's fine with me. But I'm still not letting you eat this cake.

So I grabbed the cake off of the plate, squished it in my hands, and dumped it down the sink. Did she really think I'd just back down? She's the one who taught me to never, ever give up. Honestly, this is the woman who refused to shorten her running route, even after she fell into a pile of wet cement. She should have known better than to think any child of hers would give up just because she was fired. Yeah, right. Sorry, Mom, but that's not how I was raised.

a compliment from a friend

Hey, Brittany, I was thinking about you yesterday.

Really?

Yeah, I met this girl and thought, "Wow, this girl is nothing like Brittany." So there's your compliment from me today.

Huh?

learn to ski

I think I have an invincibility complex. It never crosses my mind that maybe I couldn't handle something. Or that I might get hurt. I see something that I want to try, and I do it. I go into everything almost completely blind, knowing nothing except that it looks like fun. People are always trying to tell me about the skills and training needed to actually succeed, but I generally don't listen. Partly because I don't want to hear it, and partly because I've learned that people aren't always right. Besides, I don't really care that much about succeeding, I'm usually in for the experience, and nothing more.

So, in my latest attempt to conquer another feat, I went skiing. For the first time. I tried to buy a pass to ski the entire mountain, but the salesguy informed me that 99% of skiers don't make it off the beginner slopes on their first day, and it might be better for me to buy the beginners package. After my initial shock that anyone would ever suggest that I might not be able to conquer an entire mountain in three hours, my wallet spoke up and kindly reminded me that I am actually far worse than broke right now, and in order to save money, I should probably break down and buy the I've-never-skied-before-and-need-all-the-help-I-can-get package.

So, I didn't get to ski the black diamond slopes as I had hoped I would, but I totally mastered the beginning slopes. Seriously, I'm a pro. And skiing is way more fun than I had ever imagined. Way more fun.

But, even with all of the fun I was having, and the pro skier I was becoming, I just don't understand a few things. Like, why on earth they would put the beginner slope right next to the road. The road that cars drive on. Don't they know that beginning skiers generally don't know how to turn? And when a beginning skier is headed right off the ski slope and straight towards the road, she really has no option but to throw herself on the ground? Even though she knows perfectly well that throwing herself on the ground is not the best way to stop, and could potentially injure her wrist? And why they would put unpadded metal poles right at the bottom of the steepest section of the beginner slope? Now, I understand that ski jackets are thick and soft, and provide excellent padding (trust me, they really work wonders). But really, lets be serious here.

I still managed to escape with no cuts or bruises. Not even a sore wrist! I really am invincible.

fate, you laugh

I got a phone call last week from Penn State's psychology department, telling me that I was one of eighty well-rounded individuals they had chosen to participate in a study. They thought I was well-rounded. It didn't matter that they'd never met me. Or that they knew absolutely nothing about me. I have no problem accepting any and all compliments, no matter how unfounded. And I've always wanted someone to tell me I'm well-rounded.

So anyway, all I had to do was give them my opinion on exceprts from a book they're publishing, and take a little test that apparently provided them amazing insights and understanding of how my mind works. I didn't tell them that I've been asking myself questions for the past 24 years, and still don't really understand my own mind. Because they were going to pay me. Three hundred dollars. I'll offer my services to science, if science agrees to help pay for my next vacation.

But fate had other plans. There was no psychology study, no three hundred dollars. Just a brief telephone conversation with a rather disturbed man trying to convince me to show him my "dark side." And apparently everyone's "dark side" is dirty.

Sweetheart, I don't feel like you're letting yourself into your dark side.

Well, maybe I don't have a dark side.

You do. I'll find it. Tell me you love me, sweetheart.

What?!?

Right now I want to take you and..... (I'll let you use your imagination on this one.)

Yeah. Right.

i'm a liar

I lie. All the time. Well, it's not really lying, but more pretending to be something that I'm not. Not so people will like me, or so I look super cool. But if I notice something that I don't like about myself, I pretend it's not a part of me. And I've found that after awhile, I don't have to pretend anymore. Because it's GONE. Now, I know that ignoring a problem doesn't make it go away. I've tried that, and it failed me completely. Bad idea. Horrible, in fact. But I'm not talking about ignoring a problem. I deal with it by making it disappear. And for the most part, it works.

I had a friend in high school who drove me crazy. Seriously. Insane. But she was incredibly kind-hearted, and honestly, one of the best friends I've ever had. She told me one day that I was sometimes mean to her. Mean! I hate being mean. But she was right. I was. So, I pretended not to be annoyed anymore. Because her annoying habits triggered my meanness, and that was my problem. One that I had to deal with. There was nothing wrong with anything she was doing. She wasn't being mean or insensitive, or really doing anything worth getting upset over. So I pretended that the way her teeth clacked when she talked didn't annoy me. Because, in all honesty, it shouldn't annoy me. And it especially shouldn't annoy me enough that I could no longer be nice to the girl. That's just ridiculous.

I've been criticized for this before. Because it's not honest, and I'm not being myself. Which is true. I'm not entirely being myself. But what if I don't want to be myself? Don't get me wrong. I like myself a lot. I think myself is a pretty adventurous girl, and for the most part, a good person. But she's not perfect, that's for sure. So I'm refusing to settle for just being myself. I want to be better than that. Nobody's perfect. So why not take action? Why not make an effort to correct my imperfections? It may not be the ideal method, but it's better than remaining stagnant.

just call me tinkerbell

I was accused this past weekend of living in a fantasy world. A friend of mine expressed his concern that I live in my own little make-believe dreamland, a place where everything is happy and nobody has to do anything they don't like. At the time, I was more amused than insulted, mainly just because I've always considered myself a fairly practical person. I'm happy probably ninety-nine percent of the time, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'm not living inside of reality. It shouldn't, anyway.

The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that he was right. Yes, I'll admit it, Derek was right. I've never really done anything that I didn't enjoy. I've been bombarded my entire life with the ideas that I should find a career that I love, and that I should never, ever settle. And apparently it sank in, because I fully subscribe to these beliefs. So, I've always done what I wanted to. I majored in Engineering because that's what I wanted to do. I went to grad school because I wanted to. And now I'm going to teach high school, also because I want to. The idea that I might have to enter a new career, relationship, or locale that I didn't like has never crossed my mind. It's just never been an option for me.

Now, don't get me wrong. Everything I've done hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows. There have been elements of everything that I've disliked. I disliked doing my senior project, but knew that it was necessary to get my degree, so I did it anyway. I hate, hate, HATE grading papers, but that's part of being a teacher, so I'll do it. It's not a matter of refusing to do anything that isn't fun and exciting, but rather a matter of making sure that I like where I am and what I'm doing with my life. It's figuring out what you love, and not being afraid to make it happen. Maybe that is a dreamland. But it's one that I like, and one that I'm not ready to leave any time soon.

ruins

Guess who's going to Machu Picchu in May? That's right, I am! A friend and I are hiking the Inca trail, exploring the ruins at Machu Picchu, and visiting Lima, Cuzco, and Huayabamba during our two-week adventure. Can you tell I'm excited? Yeah, me too.

reasons why

(Not necessarily about me, just something I've been thinking about.)

His charm and his mind. That's why she loved him, for these things and also for him, for all of him. For what he was and for everything he could be. She did love him, more than either of them fully recognized. And that love had become so tangled in the branches of her emotions and of herself that it could no longer be extracted, but was there to stay. She had always been competitive by nature, had always wanted to be the best, smartest, and in this case, the most loving. At the beginning, she had loved him, absolutely and exhaustively, but with little recognition from him. Or, at least not the recognition she felt she deserved, the admission from him that she loved him better than any other woman had or could. She kept loving him anyway, and the best way she knew to love was to forgive. And so she did. She held on, held on to him, the last autumn leaf hoping that by refusing to fall, it can prevent the harsh realities of winter. It was her means to an end, the day he would realize the sacrifices she made for him, the unselfish forgiveness extended. Who else would love him that way, and forgive all that had been done. This would be her final victory, to give him this unreturnable gift, asking nothing in return. Asking nothing out loud, at least. He loved her to, but she never fully knew this. She asked little of him, so that's what he gave.

But she finally found another, one who also loved her. Again, she asked nothing of him. It was the only way she knew how to love, to give everything and ask for nothing. So that's what she asked, but this time he gave everything. She was no longer competing against an imaginary woman, someone who could give him everything he wanted. Because he wanted her, not for what she gave him, but partly for the person she was and mostly for the person she was becoming. And she finally knew how to love and to be loved.

read my pages

Welcome to my first attempt at being an open book. (This is very exciting, I know.) So today, the major item of concern for me is that my back hurts and I would like a man to stop by and rub it for me. (Yes, I'm very deep. I know.) This is not a I'm-feeling-sorry-for-myself-that-I-don't-have-a-boyfriend post. Really, right now I need a man solely for the physical benefits, and nothing more. My back really hurts, and frankly, it freaks me out to have a girl rub my back. That's just a little too intimate for me.

Now, I know that after yesterday's bold statement that I would reveal my deepest, most hidden emotions, you were probably all expecting drama and intrigue. Well, so was I. But the fact is, I haven't been dating for six months now, and have resolved most of my issues in that area. (Most, but not all.) And let's face it, if you're a female over the age of ten, men usually are the source of the most drama. But don't be disheartened. Like I said, I've only worked out most of my deeper issues, so I'll be sure to fill you in on the details of the remaining few.

read on

So Katie, who is a great girlfriend to the ear doctor and currently would rather be skiing than working, mentioned on Sunday morning that my posts have changed since I realized that people are actually reading this. My immediate thought was, "No. Not possible. I would never try to hide my feelings. I'm an open book!" and then began making excuses and trying to explain why my posts, while they may seem different, are really just exactly the same as they were before. But the truth is, they're not the same. She was right, and all of my excuses were just that - excuses. And pretty lame ones at that.

So. In an attempt to become the open book that I apparently think I am, I am revolutionizing the way I post. Because, the thing is, I really do want my friends to know how I feel. About everything. I hide my emotions not because I don't want them known, but because I'm afraid that people won't want to hear about them. I've tried blaming this insecurity on my past dating relationships (because, honestly, how can you expect me to be completely open with you when you behave either indifferently or critically every time I try?). But the truth is, it's my own problem, and up to me to fix it. So be prepared to dive into the deep, dark abyss of my mind. I hope you enjoy your journey.

Read on, friends.

*Disclaimer: Names may be deleted privacy's sake. However, the thoughts and emotions will be full and complete. And if you know anything at all about the situation, it shouldn't be difficult to figure out to what I am referring.

know me

I love getting together with old friends. The feeling of knowing that there are people who are important enough to me (and that I am important enough to them) that we are willing to put forth the effort of maintaining our relationships after we no longer see each other on a daily basis, the excitement of once again witnessing their everyday, even if it's for only a brief time. I love catching up on our lives, and talking and laughing together.

The problem? I always, always, always get nervous. My stomach gets queasy, my hands shaky, and I never know what to expect. I've changed, they've changed, and our relationships have changed, and there's always the challenge of re-discovering where you fit each other's now separated worlds. It requires finally abandoning your past relationship, and redefining it in new terms. The transition from dating to being just friends, or from every-day friends to long-distant friends all at once becomes final. And you must rediscover each other. You allow yourself to see them as who they are now, instead of who they were when you knew them last, and hope that they will do the same for you. Hope that they will accept and recognize the changes that you have made in yourself, and the effort it took you to get there, while maintaining the closeness you once had. A reunion requires a final admission that your friends have become new people, and no matter how much you care, or how hard you tried, you were not present to witness it.

fly me home

What the ticket counter worker told me, after finding out that my flight was delayed and I might not make my connection:

Well, you look like you're in pretty good shape. So I'm going to put you on this flight anyway, and hope you can run fast enough to make your connection.

I'm not sure I trust an airline whose back-up plan depends on the physical fitness of their passengers.

my friendly neighborhood.

This is Cooper. Isn't he adorable? Yeah, I think so, too. He gets to come live with me next year after my parents move to Mexico. Which will be so much fun, except that he's totally mastered the sad puppy eyes and puppy whimper, and can get me to do basically anything he wants. Which can be very annoying when I want to watch Gilmore Girls and he wants to go for a walk.

So, one Saturday, after spending an hour trying to finish my latest book, I finally gave in to his sad puppy eyes and pathetic puppy whimper and took him out for his daily sniff around the neighborhood. We were walking down the street, sniffing the trees, making sure none of the other neighborhood dogs had marked on Cooper's territory, when a van pulled up to ask directions to a nearby church. (Well, it was actually just outside the neighborhood. They never would have made it past our very own self-appointed traffic cop.) So I stopped and gave them directions, and Cooper, being himself, needed to sniff their tires. Because this was an outsider's car, with outsider's mud and new exciting outsider doggie scents. And as Cooper was still sniffing the tires, and my mouth was still forming the words have a nice day, this car full of lovely church-going people took off (so as not to be late) and ran over my dog while I was still holding the leash. And then, while my dog was still lying in the road, and I was still holding the leash, they backed up and, completely avoiding eye contact, drove away. (This time, they were careful to go around Cooper's body, which was still lying in the road.) And then they were gone, and Cooper was trying to be brave and pick himself up, and I was still holding onto his leash with my mouth open, trying to finish my have a nice day. Maybe they didn't know that it's a law in Texas that if you hit an animal you have to stop and find the owners to notify them. Of course, his owner was standing right there, and clearly knew that her dog had been hit, so I guess there was technically no need to stop. But at least they were on time to church so that they could learn about the good Samaritan and how, while it says we need to treat all men as our neighbors, it never says anything about dogs or any other animals for that matter, no matter how cute or loved-by-their-owners they are.

*Don't worry, although Cooper was limpy and whimpery for a while, he has since made a full recovery.

traffic patrol

My sister and I went on a pre-shopping excursion yesterday. You see, my mom is taking us shopping tomorrow, but what with her school and orthodontist appointment and boot scootin' boogie dance practice, we were afraid we just wouldn't have enough shopping time. Because you have to browse the sales, try on outfits, convince my mom that the clothes we want are cute enough and on-sale enough to buy. It's really a pretty extensive process, and takes a lot of practice before the whole shopping process is really mastered.

So we finished our browsing and were headed home for a late dinner with my parents. But we pulled into our neighborhood, and our neighbor jumped right in front of our car. Apparently, he had appointed himself Falling Brook's very own traffic cop. Which, when you think about it, is really very sweet of him. And what's even sweeter is that he put the good of the community ahead of his own life. I mean, I know very few people who would jump in front of a moving vehicle just to protect their neighborhood from unwelcome hoodlums like myself. So there he was, arms flailing, pounding the hood, shouting BACK UP! GET OUT! YOU CAN'T COME IN HERE! BACK UP!!

Excuse me? I can't come into my own neighborhood? Actually, sir, I'm pretty sure I can. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to. You, my friend, are more than welcome to stand in the road all night. I won't even get mad at you for pounding on my hood. But, just so you know, I'm not backing down. I will wait patiently until you get out of my way, and then I'm going home. (I can be amazingly stubborn when I want to.) So, I put my little car into park and waited. Which didn't go over so well. Nor did the fact that I found the situation incredibly humorous. THIS ISN'T FUNNY! YOU CAN'T COME IN HERE!!! No, I'm sorry, sir, but that's where you're wrong. This is funny. This is very, very funny. So we had a stand-off right there. I won. He finally gave up and moved out of my way. He did, however take down my license plate number so that he could call the cops and have them tell him that I was doing nothing illegal, but that it just might be illegal (if not very STUPID) to jump in front of a moving vehicle and pound on its hood.

I'm glad my neighborhood is safe in the hands of men like him.

only the good die young

My mom still thinks I'm getting married this year. Never mind the fact that every time I talk to her I report that, no, I still haven't been on a single date in the past six months and, no, I still have no interest in the same men that I've had no interest in for the last year and a half. She's beginning to think that I'm either just too picky, or am completely incapable of committment. (Which both may very well be true.) But I'm not the problem here. Not really. No, the real problem is that men these days (or at least the ones I've dated) are just way too healthy. Not okay. At all. See, I pinky swore that I would live with my sisters after our husbands die. And, in my family, a pinky swear is even bigger than a triple dog dare. It's solid. Unbreakable. Nothing, not even death (or, in this case, a husband who refuses to die) can get you out of the deal. We have it all worked out. Ashley will be the crazy old woman who everyone thinks is senile, and I'll be the sweet little grandma who feeds cookies and lemonade to all the neighbor kids. And Bex will provide the house. (Because her husband's going to make way more money than ours will, so she'll have plenty of extra room.) So, I really need to live longer than my husband. Really. But nobody I've dated really seems to understand this. It's not that complicated, guys! You die first, I live with my sisters. Easy, right? Wrong.

The last relationship I was in was doomed from the start. I mean, the kid was in great shape, and really tried his best to stay that way. I knew all along we'd never make it, but he was cute and charming, so I thought I'd give him a chance anyway. (I'm nice like that.) But honestly, he insisted on buying whole grain bread. The kind with the little seeds and other bits of nature that serve no purpose other than getting stuck in your teeth and completely ruining the texture of any sandwich. Well, that and lowering his cholesterol. I almost ended it right then, but like I said, he was cute, and really, the guy had a few other redeeming qualities. And I found his one weakness. Chips Deluxe Cookies. He could eat an entire package of them in one sitting. So I bought a box or two every time I went to the store, hoping to ignite the downward spiral into a couch-potato lifestyle. He thought I was just trying to be nice. It was way more than that, though. Way more. I was salvaging our relationship. But he seemed to think everything was just fine. He clearly failed to understand the depth of the problem. So the cookies worked for a while, but the more he ate, the more he exercised. Didn't he know that that was just counteracting any effects that these cookies might have? Apparently not. So the Chips Deluxe campaign was short-lived. (I can't entirely blame him for this, though. It really wasn't the best-laid plan to begin with.) Towards the end, I made one last-ditch effort that resulted in a rather unfortunate kool-aid incident, but which really brought no long-term effects. We finally ended things one sweltry day in late August. I gave it my all, but in the end, it just wasn't meant to be.

So, overall the search has been long and fruitless. I thought Americans were supposed to be lazy and out-of-shape. But where are all these guys? I can't seem to find any of them. It looks like my mom's going to have to settle for one more year with no wedding.

welcome to texas

So. Gordon B. Hinckley is coming to San Antonio in May. Now, to Mormons, he's kind of like a modern-day Moses or Abraham. Kind of a big deal for us. Actually, a huge deal. And he's coming to officially open a new temple in town. (Which, by the way, is also a huge deal.) So, the Mormon community in the area decided that it would be nice to put on a production to welcome him to Texas. A jubilee is actually what they're calling it, mainly because jubilee sounds big and impressive. And it's for the prophet, so we really wouldn't want anything less than that.

So. The 2000 youth in the greater San Antonio area are all getting together and dancing the Cotton-eyed Joe and the Boot Scootin' Boogie line dance. For the prophet. Complete with Wrangler jeans and bandanas. And, to finish it off, they're all singing The Stars at Night... Are Big and Bright. clapclapclapclap Deep In the Heart of TEXAS! (It's a good thing they don't know that there are actually ten verses to Deep in the Heart of Texas.) Only in the good old Lone Star State. And we wonder why Texans get such a bad rap. Hmmm....

honk if you love me

Why can't they make a horn that says "I'm not mad at you, kind sir, but your car is moving towards mine very quickly, and I just want to make you aware that I am here. You know, so you don't hit me." Because, really, that's all I want to say. And horns just sound so angry. I don't want to sound angry. I'm not an angry person. I'm nice. Complete pushover, let people walk all over me kind of nice. And I don't want to contribute to the ever-worsening road rage epidemic, either. I just want to be recognized, to let people know that, yes, I'm still here, and am pleased to be driving on the same road as you. So every time I honk my horn, I panic, worrying that "oh, no, what if this guy's already having a bad day. And now he thinks I'm angry because he inadvertently cut into my lane. I don't want to make his day any worse than it already potentially is!" So I really need something besides a horn to warn drivers that they're about to hit me, a friendly reminder that, hi, I'm here, please watch out, and by the way, I hope you have a great day. I've tried waving before, but that didn't do anything. They hit me anyway. Which is really what I should have expected. I mean, if I'd thought about it at all I would have realized that if they didn't see my car that they were about to hit, probably they wouldn't see my waving, either. (Dumb, I know, but I panicked and couldn't think of anything better at the moment.) Back in the eighties, everyone thought talking cars were the wave of the future. Well, I say bring them back! Restore civility to our roads. Please?

happy birthday, old man

Yes, that's right. Today my dad turns 51. Fifty-one. Although people usually guess that he's about 70. Which he absolutely loves. Because he's in really great shape for a seventy-year-old man. Never mind the fact that he's only 51. People think he's seventy, so he can amaze them all when he runs 10K's or bikes his favorite 100-mile race. Plenty of 51-year-old men can do that. But seventy? Now, that's pretty impressive.

But, all joking aside, I really love my dad. He's taking Monday off of work, just to hang out with me. Me! That's an entire day away from Mexico, to spend time with his very American daughter. Now, if that's not love, I don't know what is. He'll take me to the batting cages, even play Dance Dance Revolution with me, will wait patiently in the car when my mom and I run in to check out the latest Ann Taylor sale. And he'll only roll his eyes a little bit when my mom sends me back out to the car to ask if we can please borrow his credit card. Dad, you truly amaze me. Thanks, old man.

the brittany

I know, I know. After reading my dear butterfly post, you are all asking yourselves, "Wow, did this girl really have a cactus named after her?" Well, the answer is yes, this girl really did have a cactus named after her. It was actually named The Brittany. Kind of like Donald Trump is known as "The Donald." Except that Donald Trump is an arrogant moron, and I really would not like to be associated with him in any way. So never mind that analogy.

The cactus actually belonged to my friend Meagan, back when we were thirteen and were still going through the all-inanimate-objects-need-human-names phase that most pre-adolescent girls experience. (Why we ever thought that was cool, I'll never entirely understand. But we did.) So, she named her cactus after me.

Hey, look at my cactus. I named it The Brittany.

But it's dead.

Yeah! I know.

Um... Thanks? Thats, uh, really sweet of you.

Well, yeah...

Yes, folks, that's right, a dead catus. And not dead as in a little-bit-brown-around-the-edges dead. I mean dead dead. Dead as in a limp-carcas-flopping-over-the-edge-of-the-pot dead. As in there's-no-way-this-plant-will-ever-be-revived dead. So. A dead cactus was once named after me. My life is complete. I mean, really, what more could a girl want? Well, besides a new outfit...

i'm mexican

Well, only half-Mexican, actually. Or, I guess I should say that my family is half-Mexican. My mom's American, my dad's Mexican, so, you know, half of their children should be Mexican. It only makes sense, right? Right? I mean, isn't that how genetics works?

This is all according to my dad, anyway. Half of his children speak spanish, so, you know, they must be the ones who inherited the Latin blood. The rest of us just take after our mom. But he loves us anyway. (That's sweet of him, isn't it?) And he's been known to say (on more than one occasion) Well, since I'm from Mexico....

Really? Midvale, Utah is in Mexico? Because, you know, last I checked....

Well, what I MEANT was...

Oh. Now I'm interested. How are you going to explain this one, Dad?

Now, in his defense, he does spend seventy percent of his time in Mexico, and has grown quite accustomed to the Latin influence. (Meaning, he gets have a maid and sleep in on weekdays.) But really, his idea of "let's party!" is just not quite the same as your average Mexican's. And I just don't see him dancing on a beach with topless women. He's my DAD. Seriously. But we let him believe. Because, if you just believe in yourself, you can do anything. Even become a Mexican. Right?

dear butterfly,

Would you please stop flapping your wings? Pretty please? Now, I know that you're very beautiful, and only trying to make the world a more beautiful place, but really, you're triggering all sorts of snowstorms here in State College. And, in all honesty, I could definitely live without those.

Now, you're probably feeling pretty good about yourself right about now. I mean, you had this "butterfly effect" named after you while I, for one, have never had anything named after me. Well, besides a cactus. So you have sufficient reason to gloat and flutter about, just to see what meterological phenomenon you might create this time. But honestly, don't you think that's a little bit selfish of you? I mean, can't you think of others just this once? And when I say "others" yes, I mean me. Me, me, me. Me. You see, I'm not very skilled in the art of snow-driving, and tt's embarrassing to get my car stuck in a snowdrift and hold up traffic for five minutes while my fellow drivers brave the blustery winds to help push me out. I realize that this is something that you are completely unfamiliar with, as you spend your days dancing about in warmer climes, but I'm asking for your help. Just this once.

But, just so you don't think that I'm selfish, I'd be willing to strike a compromise with you. All I'm asking is that you hold off the wing-flapping for a few more weeks, just until it gets warm enough up here so as to trigger rainstorms instead of snowstorms. I love rainstorms. If you do me just this one favor, I will frolick through fields all springtime long, just to admire your beauty.

Sincerely yours,

Poodle

something stupid

Eating pizza straight out of the oven, leaving your mouth blistered and gums sore for the next two weeks. Ouch.

breathe

I hear the door slam, and know it's you. I turn over to face the wall, pretending to be asleep. Because while I'm sleeping, I'm not here. I can escape to another world, a place of comfort and serenity. But I'm not in this safe place yet, but still here, only hiding my face so you don't see the tears rolling across my nose and soaking my pillow. These tears are the only release I will allow, a small physical manifestation of my inner grief. This is the only escape, but not because I don't want to release everything. I do. My hurt and pain are trapped inside, aching to come out, like a small bud waiting for sunshine and rain to release it from its fleshy prison, to reveal itself in all of its color and splendor. But it's not only my hurt and pain that are trapped, but my love. A stronger, more vibrant love than I've ever known. But the three are too intermingled now. Three separate colors thrown together on the canvas of my heart, mixed until each distinct image is unrecognizable, but is only a large, ugly smear. I hear you whispering now, quietly so as not to wake me, and my pillow is now completely soaked. Why are you saying this, all of these things that I'm not meant to hear? How did we let this happen?

I remember another time, and I'm crying then too, but now you're the reason I stop. It's late, later than we should be up, but we're together, and nothing else hurts anymore. I tell you everything, and you understand. You tell me jokes until I smile, and I'm happy, being with you.

And now you're the one crying. I see you, and I know. Neither of us speaks, but I know, without saying a word. I look at you and know. I've seen that look before, so many times before, and know what it means. So we run, run away from everyone because you don't want them to know. When we finally stop, you're still crying, but I can make you laugh. We sit down and talk, and you tell me everything that I already understand. I already understand, but I listen, knowing that these words are your release, the only outlet for your hurt. By the time we leave, you've stopped crying.

This time we're both sad, but neither of us is crying. You're leaving in the morning, and we both know of the emptiness that will result. But we don't cry, not yet. Instead, we talk. Not about your leaving, but about everything else. We talk of anything that means less than us, which is everything. We look at each other, and we know, but don't speak of it. With every meaningless word, we understand a little better. Each word gains more meaning because we're able to speak it, not speak of the hurt, and still understand. I'll cry after you're gone, and you know this. But I no longer need this physical manifestation of my pain, not while you're here, because you know it already. You know me that completely.

And now I understand. I still hear you whispering, but it no longer hurts. Tears are my outlet, these words are yours. You carry the same muted canvas as I do, and you only want to show me yours and to see mine. And now you can. I can show you everything I am and everything I feel. It's no longer the ugly smear of color it was when you walked in, but now appears as a vibrant splay of reds and oranges, the colors of love, with nothing else to dilute it. I finally understand. And after suppressing everything and suffocating my heart, I can finally breathe.

highlights of my trip

1. Walking around Pentagon Row and Georgetown with Wendy and Erin. Realizing how much fun it is to have good girlfriends.

2. Finding a great jacket and tote bag on sale at Ann Taylor Loft and some fabulous jewelry on sale at Mexx.

3. Sitting next to an amazingly interesting man on the flight to Atlanta.

4. Striking up a conversation with an eighth-grader in the front office. Finding out that he thought that I was also an eighth grader.

5. Getting an incredibly shy student to voluntarily answer a question during my physics class. Have her teacher tell me how impressed he was, and that, in the 5 months he's been teaching her class, he has not once gotten her to say anything voluntarily. Feeling pretty good about myself for that.

6. Making the head of school laugh uncontrollably during my interview with her. Having her tell me that I have "a lot of adventure" in me.

7. Leaving freezing weather and several inches of snow for 70-degree weather.

8. Sweet southern comfort.

9. Going back to my hotel and sleeping for 5 hours after my exhausting 6 hour interview process.

10. Waking up just in time to watch Gilmore Girls.

11. Being tempted to answer (untruthfully) "yes" when a man invited himself to sit at my table at dinner and asked me if I had a boyfriend. Being unable to answer "yes" after my post about how lying is bad, period. Stupid conscience.

12. Having this man give me his phone number. Finshing my dinner and running out of the restaruant before he could invite himself to do anything else with me.

13. Reading an entire book of poetry on the flight home. Repeatedly re-reading some of the better poems. Feeling inspired to write poetry of my own. (We'll see how that goes.)

14. Only getting lost once on the drive home from Baltimore.

15. Singing along to Def Leppard. Without you... Can't stop the hurt inside... When love and hate collide.

16. Being reminded of my brother's ex-girlfriend, who also loved that song. Being very grateful that he married the dynamic red-head that he did.

17. When I finally get back to State College, instead of going home to my warm, soft bed, heading straight to campus to catch up on my emailing and blog-reading. Feeling incredibly pathetic for making that decision.

18. Being grateful that I've found a career that I truly love.

19. Realizing that I can change my career or location whenever I want without being afraid.

an apology

To my dearest loyal blog readers. I sincerely apologize for my lack of blogging posts over the past few days. I understand the need to have daily updates, but have been sans internet for the past four days. And, if you know me, and have witnessed my obsessive check-email-every-five-minutes tendencies, you will recognize what a complete, total annoyance that was for me. But I received a grand total of zero emails during that time, anyway, so it was probably better to only be disappointed once as opposed to 50 times a day. (Well, I did get 28 junk emails, but those don't count. Unless they count as having negative value.) But I'm back, and ready to entertain you once again.

For those who are curious, my interview went well. I made them laugh, made their students laugh, and impressed them with my fabulous fashion sense. (I found a great jacket on sale at Ann Taylor Loft the morning before.) But, after 25 hours of travel, and nearly $800 in travel expenses, I'm not sure if I want the job. So now I'm broke and jobless. *sigh*

dream weaver

Dreams reveal our true desires. They are a means for our subconsious to manifest to us our deepest wants, divulging answers we have not yet thought to seek. Dreams are the light needed to uncover dark, hidden recesses of our soul.

I had a dream two nights ago. I was in a room, surrounded by women talking and laughing. I sat down, joining the group. One woman stood at the front of the crowd, pulled a slip of paper from a jar, and called out my name. I had won the early-bird prize at this month's Enrichment meeting. And then I woke up.

Apparently, my deepest subconscious desire is to win a cheap woven oven mitt. Sometimes I'm amazed at just how shallow I really am.

money matters

Why is finding a job so expensive? Seriously, the purpose of having a job is supposed to be make money. After that, you can start spending it. But no, if you want to be a teacher, you have to spend money up front. Lots of it. And then take a job paying half what you could be making as an engineer. And one that requires more hours. (The first couple of years, anyway.) Sometimes I wonder if my sanity is fully intact.

I headed out to the mall to find the perfect interview outfit for my big teaching debut on Tuesday. And left the mall with nothing. Well, that's not entirely true. I managed to procure a sad, horrible ache in my stomach, telling me that no, I can't really justify buying a new outfit with money that I don't currently have. And, no, I have no choice but to justify spending $400 that I don't have on a plane ticket and rental car for my interview. Apparently, private high schools don't have quite the amount of money I once thought they did. Which is why they have one teacher (oh, that's me) coach cross-country, teach two sections of three different classes, advise 20 students, and lead a club. And go into debt getting there.

But, really, I'm not complaining. I'd honestly much rather be overworked than underworked, and would much rather be poor than stuck in a job I despise. So, really, this money is well-spent. Really.

are all lies bad?

In response to Katie's and Bryan's posts.

Are all lies bad? The simple answer is yes. All lies are bad. Because they're deceitful, make the liar an untrustworthy person, and are just wrong. Period.

But that's the simple answer. And, as I'm sure we're all aware, life generally isn't as simple as we'd like. We make justifications, worry about hurting others or even ourselves. We try to be nice, try to keep from hurting others, and sometimes at the expense of the truth. And so we lie. We all do. Some more than others, but we all have at some point. So where do we draw the line? When are we truly justified in lying, omitting crucial facts, or "tweaking" the truth, and when are we doing it simply to save face, or because we're afraid to admit the truth? Those answers aren't quite as simple.

I cannot condone lying simply to get gain, or to improve one's own standing. It's easily justified with the "anything that improves our overall existence is good" mentality. But the truth is, as much as we hate to believe it, lying for this purpose cannot improve our overall existence. Because, in order for your existence to truly improve, you must become a better person. And lying simply doesn't do that. If anything, it makes us worse off, simply because we were willing to compromise our integrity, and somebody else's trust, for selfish gain. It may get you the job or promotion you wanted, or win you respect, but if you couldn't earn those from your own merits, you don't deserve them to begin with, and could be inadvertently denying someone else greater accomplishments. If you get a job because you lied about your qualifications, not only do you not deserve it, but you're more than likely taking that job from someone who did, thereby decreasing their overall existence, and hurting society in general.

Lying to spare someone's feelings is a little tricker. I think everyone would agree that it's just downright rude to go around telling people you think they're ugly, stupid or boring. Humans, by nature, have a lot of opinions, and tact dictates that we keep most of them to ourselves. But feeding people sugar-coated lies could end up hurting them just as badly. I cannot believe that it's ever okay to tell someone a flat-out lie, even to spare their feelings. Tact and discretion should be used to determine when to keep our mouths shut, but lying hurts even worse than the truth. There will always be things that we don't like in others. Always. But if we keep our eyes open, we can also always find good in everyone as well. Focus on that. Tell them things you honestly like about them.

Truth can hurt. But sometimes, not knowing the truth can hurt even more. So there are three simple questions that determine whether or not being completely honest is the right move, even if it might hurt another's feelings.

1)Do they already know it? People are generally very self-conscious. Most of us are more than aware of our faults and weaknesses, and certainly don't need constant reminders of how imperfect we really are. So, if the person already know the truth, leave them alone. When we insist on constantly reminding others of their shortcomings, simply for the sake of "honesty" or "telling it like it is", we being to nag, rub salt in already-opened wounds, and ruin otherwise wonderful relationships.

2) Will this knowledge benefit them in the end? If somebody's boyfriend is cheating on them, as much as it would hurt to find out, it's better than finding out later, after investing a lot of time and emotion. Telling somebody you think they're a complete moron probably won't benefit them.

3) Is it my place to tell them? Everyone has their own network of friends and family that they count on for advice. If you're in that network, not only is it your place, it's your responsibility to tell them things that will benefit their lives and help them to become better people. You don't have to be rude or insensitive about it, but sometimes, something should be said. Even when it hurts. If you're a stranger in the grocery store, unless there is an immediate threat to somebody, mind your own business.

Changing stories to make them funnier? Perfectly okay. Anything for a good laugh.

please don't think less of me because of this

1. Total amount of music files on your computer:
Zero. No joke. I love music, LOVE driving around listening to it, and my sisters and friends are always introducing me to great new artists, but I've never actually downloaded any onto my computer. I was frantically trying to download some songs after I saw that Katie wanted me to do this, so I wouldn't look like a COMPLETE moron, but Napster's not currently working on the computers at school. Sad.

2. The last CD you bought was:
I haven't actually bought a CD since high school. Again, no joke. I do, however, have a huge, ever-expanding lists of CD's I want to buy when I have a real job and can afford to spend money on something other than basic necessities. The last CD that was given to me was Rhythm of the Saints (Paul Simon).

3. What is the song you last listened to before reading this message?
"When You Come Back Down" by Nickel Creek. They're my newest favorite band (I LOVE bluegrassy type stuff)and it's really the sweetest song ever.

4. Write down 5 songs that you often listen to or that mean a lot to you:

This should be easy. I'm the queen bee of cheesey sentimental songs, so there are WAY more than 5 I could list.

"Drift off to Dream" by Travis Tritt. After I moved to San Antonio my senior year of high school, the first boy I fell in love with used to play this for me every time I went back to Houston to visit him. I totally thought I was going to marry the guy.

"Car Wheels on a Gravel Road" by Lucinda Williams. Love her music. When my family was on vacation in Brazil, we sang all of our favorite songs everywhere we went, since we never heard them down there. We were talking about this song, and I forgot the name and called it "Cartwheels Across the Desert." When we got home, my sisters and I made a "Sister Mix" of all our favorite love songs and called it "Cartwheels Across the Desert." We thought we were very clever.

"Oh! What a Beautiful Morning" from Oklahoma. My dad used to stand at the bottom of the stairs and sing it at the top of his lungs to wake us up in the morning. He is an itty-bitty man (barely bigger than me) and would sing it in a LOUD, DEEP voice. (He still does, when I'm home.) It makes me laugh whenever I hear it.

"Listen to Your Heart" by Roxette. My best friend and I used to drive to high school together every morning, and would play that month's favorite song over and over and over again every single day, until we found a new favorite song. This one lasted the longest out of all of our "morning songs." My friendship with her was exactly what a best-girlfriend relationship should be like. Listening to cheesey songs over and over again, walking home from school the long way, just to pass a boy's house, staying up late painting our nails and gossipping, etc etc. I miss that a lot. It reminds me of how great it is to have good friends and how much mine mean to me.

"Rhythm of the Night" from the Moulin Rouge sountrack. I love love love dancing to this song. I've always wanted to enjoy dancing, but just never have, except to this song. So I get really excited whenever I hear it.

5. Who are you going to pass this stick to? (3 persons) and why?

I'm not even sure that 3 people read this blog. So I'll have Bryan do it, and Wendy, if she still reads this. (Which I think she does.) Can't think of a third person. Sorry. That'll have to do.

don't talk to me

I'm a Gilmore Girl's fanatic. I love it. Love. More than I've ever loved any man, and quite possibly more than I ever will love one. Because, let'sface it, as great as men are to have around, they just don't quite provide the wit and drama that the Gilmore Girls do. (Well, maybe the drama, but it's not quite as fun when I'm the one crying.) So, every Tuesday night (hey, that's TONIGHT) at eight o'clock, rest assured that I will be in front of my TV.

My roommate has started inviting her friends over to watch with us. Sounds fun, right? A Gilmore Girl's party! Wrong. Big. Fat. Wrong. The problem? Unlike me, these people have not been obsessed since season 1. They weren't there when Rory got accepted to Chilton, or even to Yale, aren't aware of her past relationships with Dean and Jess, or about Lorelai's dating history. So. They show up late. Which means that I have to go downstairs to let them in. (Because my roommate shows up even later than her friends.) I've been tempted to leave them out in the cold until a commercial break, but I'm too much of a pushover to really ever do that. And then, of course, they need to be caught up. Not only on today's episode, but on the entire history of the Gilmore Girls.

Wait, that's her mother? Is Luke her dad? I'm confused. Could you please explain the last five seasons to me?

No, I absolutley cannot. Not during the show, anyway. If you want to know what's going on, show up an hour early, and I'll tell you whatever you need to know. But do NOT talk to me while the Gilmore Girls are talking. It's really a simple rule that we should have learned in elementary school. Listen when someone else is talking. And, yes, Rory and Lorelai count as real people.

Now, maybe you think I'm a little pathetic for getting so worked up about fake events happening in the lives of imaginary people. But they're FUNNY. Just watch, you'll see.

sweet contentment

Everybody needs to celebrate being in love on Valentines day. So I woke up this morning, and at the risk of re-living a lot of heartbreak and loneliness, pulled out my notebook of love letters I've collected over the years. I read cautiously at first, skimming over some and entirely skipping others. But then I became more brave, reading and re-reading each, laughing at old memories and drawing myself into what seems now to be somebody else's life. It was marvelous to realize that I can now relive all of my past memories, even the ones that devastated me at the time, without any anger, bitterness or hurt.

After school, I had a cozy homemade dinner with friends, then drove home and played my cello for a while. (It's amazing how therapeutic that can be.) Then I changed into my enormously warm yellow hoodie, and snuggled under my covers with ginger ale, candy, and a book. I finished The Grapes of Wrath, then stayed up until 3 am starting Madame Bovary. Perfect.

how to win my heart

In honor of Valentines Day, here are some ways men have charmed me. (To make up for the not-so-charming conversations that never should have taken place.)

God must hate me for taking you away from me. I don't know what I'm going to do without you.

Every day, you become more and more beautiful to me.

I think you're being savead for someone special, somebody worthy of your greatness.

I've never met anybody quite like you. You're the most incredible friend I've ever known.

I love you. You may not believe me right now, but I do.

I am so grateful for you. I can't think about you without having hundreds of wonderful memories come to mind. I love you for who you are and everything you do.

My life is so blessed to have you in it.

Now, this is why I love dating.

christmas joy

I opened one of my presents labeled "To: Poodle From: Mom" and peeked inside.

Um, mom? Isn't this Ashley's sweater?

Yup. I took it out of her drawer last night.

And gave it to me? For Christmas?

Well, it's not really mine to give, so you can go put it back in her drawer now.

Okay... But why did you wrap it up and put MY name on it?

Well, I was looking at all of the gift piles last night, and yours looked smaller than everyone else's. So I found some things around the house and wrapped them up to put in your pile. You know, so they all look even.

Right.

whoa, twins!

I've been on lots of dates in my life. Granted, I haven't had a single offer in the past five months, but during my glorious college days, I usually had a couple a week. But these were not just regular old dates. They were first dates. Every one of them. Because, somehow, I never managed to score a second date with anyone. Ever. Now, most of the time, I was more than okay with this, but still. It would have been nice to know that somebody wanted to spend more than just one evening with me.

I thought I was getting pretty good at the first-date-get-to-know-you conversation and body language. Lean forward and smile intently during a story. Toss head back and laugh at punchline. Really, I had it down. I repeated it a hundred times a semester, so I definitely had enough practice. Was my personality really that lame that not one single man wanted to call me again?

Now, my little sister and I look a lot alike. A lot. Which can be pretty funny at times. We had our bishop convinced for an entire year that we were twins.

Hey, girls. My wife tried to tell me last week that you two actually aren't twins. Don't worry, though. I didn't fall for it.

Good job, bishop. You're too smart for her!

I had a large 8x10 picture of her in my apartment last year, and every single person who walked in thought it was me. Without fail. (Did they really think I was that vain? Seriously, that's embarrassing.)

Hey, that's a really good picture of you!

Oh. Thanks. That's not me.

Wow, I didn't know you were a twin!

That's probably because I'm not.

(Apparently, she's the cute one, because every "really good picture of me" has actually been of her.) So I've come to understand when people may occasionaly mistake us for each other. Complete strangers often smile, wave, "Hi, Ashley!" "Oh, hey. I'm actually her sister." And the same thing happened to her. A lot.

Um, Poodle, could you tell your friends that I'm not you?

What?

Oh, some boy today thought I was you.

Well, who was he?

I don't know. Brown hair, looked like an engineer.

Well, gee. That sure narrows it down.

He thinks he went on a date with me last week.

What?! Did you tell him you're my sister?

Well, no. I just told him I had no idea who he was. (She really is quite a charmer.)

Wow, thanks. That's wonderful. How often does this happen, exactly?

Oh, about once a week.

Great. That's just fabulous.

Well, at least it wasn't my lame personality that kept them away.

how not to charm a woman

conversations that probably never should have taken place, but did.

him: I want you to be my girlfriend.
me: I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I'm just not attracted to you.
him: Okay, well then, I'm going to ask you not to date anyone else for the next six months. That should give you enough time to fall in love with me.
me: You have GOT to be kidding me.

him: Hey, happy birthday!
me: Wow, thanks for remembering!
him: Well, did you get the present I sent you?
me: No, but I'll check the mail as soon as I get home.
him: Oh, don't bother. I didn't send anything.
me: Oh. Thanks, anyway..

him: Wow, you really should not ever wear those jeans.
me: Silence. For the rest of the evening.

him: You want to marry me.
me: What?? No, I don't.
him: Yes, you do. I know you do. All I have to do is ask. Of course, I'm not going to, but still. If I did, you'd say yes.
me: Well, I didn't want to before, but after that charming speech, how can I resist?

me: (towards the end of a date) Can I use your restroom?
him: No. You should have gone while we were at the concert.
me: What? Seriously?
him: Yes, seriously.
me: Wow.

him: I just hurt you pretty badly. You should be crying right now. I know you want to. So why aren't you?
me: Right. Bye.

him: Wow, you looked really terrible this morning.
me: Um, yeah. I know. Thanks for reminding me.
him: Well, do you want to have dinner with me on Friday?

me: Sometimes I worry that people think I'm boring.
him: Yeah, I can see how they'd think that.
me: Thanks a lot. Really.

mother dear

They were arguing, this time louder than usual. It was the same debate that seemed to have crept up again and again over the past several months. Only now, it was worse. She threatened to leave him if he didn't grant her this one request. Leave him, tearing apart their family and their home. She loved him, and her childern, but she desperately needed just this one thing. Just this, she thought, could make it okay. Could make her okay.

It was late, almost midnight, and the kids were all in bed. But the arguing had woken one, the young girl. She crouched at the top of the stairs, listening, tears trickling slowly down her thin red face. She was so scared, so unsure. Unsure if her mother would still be there in the morning, or if her mother even loved her. The child needed her, so desperately, but wondered how much longer she would be there. How could she threaten to leave? A mother couldn't do that, not if she really loved her family.

But the mother did love her child. She loved her whole family, desperately, and knew that her threat was blank. She never really would have left. Not really. She couldn't have - she loved them too much. But the abuse she had faced years ago, throughout her own childhood, had caught up to her. To a child, a mother is a protector. But hers had not been, had only added to the threat, and she knew that other children faced that same terror now. And, while she hadn't been able to protect herself, she could protect them. She had always provided safety for her own family, but that wasn't enough. No, she had to do more, to provide that surety for every child who lacked it. It was the only way.

The child, however, didn't understand this. Not then. She was only eight years old, and knew little of who her mother really was, of what she had faced. But, with time, she learned to understand. Slowly, pieces of a shattered life, an ugly life at times, began to fit together, finally forming a magnificent whole. Her mother had always loved her, she knows this now. But the woman had known so little of love in her early years, she struggled to convey its full depths to her own children. But now the child knows, and has forgiven. But what really is there to forgive? She had simply shown her how to love, to love all, and to provide for those who need it most. And that is her greatest gift.

this is a true story

Now, just so you know, I love my roommate dearly, and she really is much smarter than this may make her sound. But it happened over 2 years ago, and I still laugh out loud every time I think about it.

Poodle! Guess what I got at the store!

Um, a box of milk duds you want to share with me?

No. Good guess, though. I got TWO GALLONS for THREE DOLLARS.

Two gallons of what?

You know, two gallons.

Um, right. But two gallons of what?

Just two gallons.

You know, I still just don't really get it.

Two gallons. For three dollars!

Right. You said that. Two gallons of what?

Nothing! Just two gallons.

You bought two gallons of NOTHING for three dollars?

Yes!

Friend, I think you just got RIPPED OFF.

No! They were selling one gallon for $3.50 So two gallons was a better deal.

Oh, yes. Smart move. I'd much rather have two gallons of nothing than just one.

Yeah, I know! That's a lot more, for less!

Right.

I have no idea why Smith's thought they could sell intelligent customers two gallons of nothing for three dollars. But thanks to my roommate, they did.

*This story is completely, totally, 100% true. Well, maybe only 95% true. I don't think I ever said anything about milk duds. But they sure sound good, don't they?

my biggest pet peeve

Hating. Specifically, hating a generalized group of people. Such as Those Who Drive With Their Brites On. Those Who Drive Slow in the Fast Lane. Or, Those Who Hold Up the Line at the Post Office. How can we hate someone for such petty acts? Can you really believe that people who commit such heinous crimes can have absolutely no redeeming qualities? That they are all menaces to society, and probably have a secret, underground group called Lets Annoy the Masses (LAM)? That they spend their days driving up and down the freeway with their brites on, simply to bug us? Now, doesn't that sound just a little ridiculous?

But I guess this makes me one of Them. One of The Haters that I hate so much. Only, I aim my malice at Those Who Hate for Stupid Reasons. But I have a righteous reason for my hatred. I'm just want some love in the world.

What the world needs now is love sweet love....

So, clearly, I'm justified. Right? Right?

Right.

Can I really believe that Those Who Hate for Stupid Reasons have no redeeming qualities? That they spend their days hating for stupid reasons just to bug me? Now, that does sound just a little ridiculous. I guess you can't conquer hate with hate.

is it considered lazy

if you walk an extra 15 feet so you can use the automatic door?

saying goodbye

It had been a year since I'd left, and had returned for a brief visit. My sister was leaving, and I had come back to say goodbye. She was gone now, and I wandered around campus, marveling at how little had changed in the scenery, but how it all somehow seemed different. It was no longer a part of me, but merely memories, a part of my past. My life had moved on, had moved east.

Then I heard his voice. A voice from an even more distant past, but one that I could never forget. No, I had spent too many nights dreaming of it, and too many days absorbed in its words, consumed by their meaning, knowing that every moment established a deeper and stronger connection with him. But those days were over. He was married now, happily married, and had a son. I walked hesitantly toward him, unsure of what to say or if I should say anything at all. After all, he was married. And, although years had passed since I last longed for and craved his love, his wife knew me and of our past. She had been present for most of it, since the three of us had grown up in the same neighborhood. I knew that I had moved on, but was unsure if she completely believed it, or if the past still haunted her. My past, with him.

But it was too late. He saw me, and walked towards me.

Come have dinner with us.

Ummm... I don't know.

Have dinner with us. Tonight. I'll have her call you.

And that was that. I spent the evening watching them interact, as husband and wife. They played with their son, discussed plans. I told them about the men who had come in and out of my life, and how I was still looking for one who would enter and stay for good. He talked about school, she, about her child. He and I had needed each other for a time, but that time was over, for both of us. They had each other now, and gave each other what they both needed. And I had been provided with everything I needed and more, through other men and other means. And I was glad he hadn't chosen me.

Welcome

Hello, Katie, and welcome to my blog. Please feel free to peruse at your leisure. I hope you enjoy your time here at Pink Poodle Prints.

who am i, really?

I really feel like there are a billion and one different versions of me. I'm constantly changing, adapting, and being influenced by the people and events surrounding me. And by the scenery. As I type, I am gazing out my bedroom window at snow drifting lightly over the forest of trees in my back yard. It's enchanting, and somehow makes me believe that life is good, that I'm okay. And this moment, watching the snow fall and enjoying the warmth of my blanket, has changed me, just like every other moment and every other experience. I'm no longer exactly the girl I was ten minutes ago. Even if you knew everything there ever was to know about me yesterday, you wouldn't know me so completely anymore. The summation of an infinity of near-nothings has shaped me into me. But only for this brief moment, for the moments never stop adding up.

But if this is true, why am I ashamed of who I used to be? Why am I still embarrased at the home videos of a skinny, white-haired girl jumping in front of the camera to attract attention? Enough moments have accumulated since then that I no longer see any sign of that girl in me. The new episodes have entered in, crowding the old and pushing them out of existence. Although I may no longer be the dorky seven-year-old, she is a part of my past, a the pages of my life neatly folded away and nearly forgotten. If I hadn't once been her, I would not now be me. Not completely.

100 Things, all about me

1. I love the color pink.
2. I love shoes with tall heels.
3. I have a BS in mechanical engineering.
4. I'm currently working on my master's degree in mechanical engineering.
5. Grad school made me realize that I love taking classes, hate research.
6. I'm graduating in August and teaching high school.
7. I'm more excited about it than anything else I've ever done.
8. I come from a very accomplished family (2 doctors, a CEO, an accomplished pianist, etc.) and feel a lot of pressure to live up to their expectations.
9. I love my sisters more than anything in the world.
10. I'm naming my first daughter after my mom.
11. I get really jealous of people I don't love.
12. As soon as I start really loving them, the jealousy goes away.
13. I never complain at restaurants or other establishments, no matter how bad the food/service/experience was.
14. I love staying up late at night talking.
15. I love my quiet time in the morning.
16. I read about 30 books last year.
17. I've already finished 4 this year.
18. I'm willing to try anything, as long as it doesn't go against my beliefs.
19. I hate dancing.
20. I'm terrible at it.
21. A boy once stopped dancing with me in the middle of a song and walked away.
22. I thought it was kind of funny.
23. I love road trips.
24. I have a hard time finding people who love them as much as I do to come with me.
25. I doesn't take much to make me really happy.
26. One of my closest high school friends told me during my senior year of college that he was in love with me and wanted to marry me.
27. I wasn't in love with him, but still really really hated hurting him.
28. I've been in love before.
29. He wasn't in love with me.
30. I've realized recently that I'm okay with it.
31. I went to prom with a guy who had his ears, eyebrow, nipples, and tongue pierced.
32. He claimed he had something else pierced, but I never saw that.
33. I love dogs.
34. I'm a sucker for charm and romance.
35. That can cause problems for me.
36. My favorite flowers are tulips and orchids.
37. I love valentine's day, even if I don't have a boyfriend.
38. Stay-at-home mom is my ideal job.
39. I can't wait to have kids.
40. I want to have as many as possible, but I worry I won't be able to have a lot...
41. One of my bones is attached backwards from the way it's supposed to be.
42. My hair was practically white when I was a kid.
43. Until about 2 years ago, I thought it was still really blonde.
44. It's brown.
45. I'm learning to play the cello.
46. I love the sound of string instruments.
47. I've always wanted to be a ballerina, even though I usually hate dancing.
48. I lost weight freshman year of college.
49. I gained it all back.
50. I'm still really skinny.
51. I lose weight every time I move somewhere new.
52. I would do anything for my friends.
53. My favorite feeling is knowing I've helped somebody recognize their potential. Maybe that's why I always fall for men who have way more potential than they give themselves credit for.
54. I can't stay mad at anyone for very long.
55. The scariest moment of my life was when I thought my sister hated me.
56. I completely fell apart and could hardly function.
57. She didn't hate me.
58. My relationship with her now is better than it's ever been.
59. I love eating candy during movies.
60. I inherited my mom's sweet tooth.
61. I've never had a falling out with a friend that wasn't resolved.
62. The smell of coffee makes my chest hurt.
63. I'm incredibly competitive.
64. I hate that about myself.
65. Texture is more important to me than taste in food.
66. I love to bake, but rarely do because I'm poor.
67. I used to have to take pills every day that made me throw up.
68. I stopped taking them without consulting my doctor, because I was tired of feeling sick all the time.
69. Turns out I'm perfectly healthy without them.
70. I love wearing dangly earrings.
71. I love to travel.
72. That's why I'm broke.
73. No movie has ever made me cry.
74. Arachnaphobia was the only movie that gave me nightmares.
75. I love giving and getting surprises.
76. I hate looking like I'm lost.
77. If I realize I'm going the wrong way, I'll go into the bathroom and walk the other way when I come out, so nobody sees looking lost.
78. I love being in nature.
79. This usually surprises people, because I'm almost always dressed up.
80. I've never once worried that I won't get married.
81. I love listening to the Lizzie McGuire soundtrack.
82. My new favorite band is Nickel Creek.
83. The elders in my little sister's mission told her they think I'm hot.
84. I've always wanted to date a younger man. Maybe I'll have her set me up with one of them when she gets home.
85. I always walked on my toes as a kid. Sometimes I still do.
86. I love organizing cupboards/pantries/desks/etc.
87. It takes me a really long time to fall asleep at night.
88. I lived in the same neighborhood my whole life until senior year of high school.
89. Then I realized I really like moving and trying out new places.
90. I'm excited to find out where I'll move in August.
91. I obsessively floss/whiten/brush/listerine my teeth.
92. I am incredibly attracted to both intelligence and humor.
93. My first kiss was on the fourth of July when I was 16.
94. It's really hard for me to admit when somebody has hurt me.
95. I don't really like talking on the phone. I still do it a lot, because I have friends and family all over the country, and it's the only way I can talk to them.
96. I'm obsessed with email.
97. I sign up for the YOU COULD BE AN INSTANT WINNER!!!! popups, just in case I might win.
98. I never win.
99. I love telling people about my dreams.
100. I sometimes alter stories to make them funnier.