Tomorrow Is Another Day...

The Reasons I Drink

So, I have two enormous fears: rejection and heights.  I know they're not terribly original, but there you have it.  This weekend I had to deal with both, with varying degrees of success.

I think I've talked before about how much I enjoy planning parties and hosting them, but hate the part about inviting people because I am always convinced that no one will show up.  In the past couple of years, I've forced myself to get over this and was even brave enough to plan my own birthday party, which falls over the Christmas holidays meaning that generally speaking no one EVER shows up.  I was just starting to get over this fear, when this weekend happened.  A few weeks ago, I went to a jewelry party and had such a good time I decided to host one at my house and invite all of my girlfriends over for a ladies night.  *Cue ominous foreshadowy music*

I've managed to collect a respectable amount of lovely friends and quickly set to work notifying them of the event and sent out invitations early so there would be lots of notice.  I invited nineteen girls.  Of those nineteen invited FIVE SHOWED UP.  Bless them, Becky brought three of her friends and another friend brought her teenage daughter, so it wasn't a ghost town, but still, it was a little mortifying when I'm assuring my jewelry party host that eleven people RSVP'd yes and were probably bringing friends and 30 minutes into the party only three people are sitting around listening to the crickets chirping.

And I swear, I'm not angry at my friends.  I know things happen.  Four girls were out of town, one is pregnant and had a back ache so bad she couldn't walk, one totally forgot (it happens), one's husband was leaving for a deployment the next day and she wanted to be with him for his last night home, one was getting her house prepared for an upcoming open house, one was running a marathon that morning and so on in that same vein.  Point being, everyone who couldn't make it had an excellent reason, it was just... Ugh, I half expected to look down and realize that I'd forgotten to put on pants, it was that nightmarish.

Fortunately, I did manage to have a good time with the ladies who could make it, and I don't regret having the party.  It'll just take me a while to psych myself up for trying it again.  And probably some therapy.  And a drug cocktail of some sort.

Then on Sunday, I gave in to Colby's request to go hiking at Mt. Rainier, mainly because he always so sweetly goes along with everything I want to do without (much) complaint.  What he didn't tell me was that the hike was nearly two miles of VERTICAL paths, many of which overlooked vast drops into space at the bottom of which a rushing river would collect any hapless, trip-happy victims.  And then, to really make it as horrific as possible, portions of the most treacherous passages were covered in slippery, not-fully-solid-all-the-way-through, banks of snow.  SNOW!!  In late JUNE!!  Under the beating sun!

Our end-goal was Comet Falls, but in order to get to the falls I would have had to cross a snow bridge, covering a trail that was, I shit you not, about a foot wide with no margin of error to the left and nothing to hold on to on the right.  Colby asked me if I would consider crossing it if I had a big stick and I laughed in his face.  Then I started crying when I realized I would have to get back down the snowy slope we had just climbed and witnessed four hikers with sturdy walking sticks and sensible hiking shoes nearly plummet to their deaths.

So.  Fun weekend all in all.

Obligatory 20-Something's Michael Jackson Tribute

A little bit before 3 o'clock on June 25, 2009.  I was sitting on the sofa, tying my shoes, preparing for an afternoon of running errands.  I refreshed Twitter one more time, because it is physically impossible for me to leave the house without first checking Twitter and then checking it once more from the driveway.

From there, followed a flurry of updates as the internet exploded with a confusing mix of rumors, facts, and tasteless jokes.  My first reaction was fairly blase.  I've never been a rabid Michael Jackson fan.  I like his music.  I'm always up for a good MJ joke.  He seemed like a pretty tragic figure.  That was about it.

But still, I found myself glued to the computer, putting off my errands until we knew what was going on.  He was dead.  Then he was just in a coma.  Then he was dead again.  And that time it was real.  I felt a little sad.  The full impact of this huge moment in pop culture history was just beginning to dawn on me.

I left the house, and a few minutes later Man in the Mirror came on the radio.  A few seconds after that, I started to cry.

The thing is, no matter what your personal opinions are on the King of Pop, his music touched quite literally generations of people.  My parents' generation and their parents cooed over him on The Ed Sullivan Show.  People a decade older than me loved him for the way he changed the pop genre forever with his music and groundbreaking moves.  By the time I was old enough to understand his contribution to music, he was already beginning to unravel in frightening ways, and still his music was powerful enough to transcend the insanity.

The fact is, Michael Jackson was the product of an abusive family, he was given a level of fame he was clearly not equipped to deal with at an extremely young age, and I don't believe he ever emotionally stopped being a scared thirteen year old kid.  Was the way that he related to children appropriate?  Probably not.  Does it matter anymore?  No.

I can tell you what I think about when I think of Michael Jackson.  I remember singing ABC in the car with my sister on family road trips.  I remember sitting in a dark bedroom of my grandmother's house when I was about nine-years-old, simultaneously transfixed and terrified by the Thriller video.  I remember learning Black & White in my fifth-grade music class, and begging my parents to change the radio back when they would flip past it in the car so that I could sing along.  I remember trying to moonwalk in the gym of my church with my youth group friends, and listening to Billie Jean on repeat, trying to understand all of the lyrics.

I feel fairly confident in saying that Michael Jackson will be my generation's John Lennon or Elvis Presley.  I think he was a person who wasn't fully able to deal with life in our world, and I think that wherever he is now, he's better off there than here.  I'm sad for the way his life fell apart over the last two decades and that he was never able to stage that big comeback he was preparing for, but I'm grateful that he gave us his music and, perhaps in what was his ultimate undoing, his soul.

"There's a place in your heart and I know that it is love,
And this place could be much brighter than tomorrow.
And if you really try, you'll find there's no need to cry.
In this place you'll feel there's no hurt or sorrow.

"There are ways to get there if you care enough for the living.
Make a little space, make a better place...

"Heal The world, make It a better place.
For you and for me and the entire human race.
There are people dying, if you care enough for the living,
Make a better place for you and for me."
~Heal the World

Lessons Learned

I've had a lot of jobs in my lifetime... hostess at an Italian restaurant, administrative assistant in an oil marketers lobbying association, Air Force officer, office manager at a technical marketing firm, and most recently child care assistant and then child care director.  I think I've learned something from every single one of those jobs that has contributed to the person I am today, but no other job has opened my eyes and taught me more about myself and who I want to be than working with children.

Like most pre-teen and teenage girls, I spent most of my middle and high school years with pretty steady work as a babysitter.  I knew I liked working with kids, and that combined with my love of teacher's manuals and roll books plus bossing my sister around while playing school were the main reasons I decided on teaching as the next step in my life.  I wouldn't say I went into that decision naively, but I certainly think I had a rather rosy view of the teaching profession.  I haven't changed my mind about teaching, but I have had a lot of revelations about what kind of teacher I want to be and what exactly teaching IS over the past year.  And I'm not even officially a teacher yet--I can't even imagine the "lessons learned" I'll have after my first year of teaching.  So, here is my not all-inclusive, but fairly comprehensive list of this I've learned about being:

A Teacher

• Your primary job is babysitting and discipline.
• It's a major plus if you manage to squeeze in a little education.
• A child will scream and cry and curse you and your family, then ten minutes later be your best friend again.
• Gratitude comes rarely--appreciate it when you get some.
• Nine year olds today are getting into the kind of trouble middle schoolers did in my day.  Don't ever underestimate what kind of mischief or far more serious trouble a child can make just because he or she has an angel face.
• Your biggest battle, far more treacherous than managing a classroom, will be dealing with parents.
• Try to form good relationships with the parents regardless, but don't beat yourself up if there's one that refuses to cooperate.  Usually, it's not really about you, but you make an excellent scapegoat.
• Whining.  Complaining.  Lying.  Tattling.  Get used to it.

A Parent

• No one else thinks your kid is as cute, lovable and perfect as you do.
• When multiple child care givers have the same problems repeatedly with your kid, they're probably not making it up.
• Kids lie.  They exaggerate.  They manipulate.  Get a clue.

A Child Care Giver

• It is highly likely that you are the person that a child spends more time with than anyone else outside of school--including their parents.  Whether you know it of not, you are making a difference in their life.  Try to make it a positive one.

The Good Life

School's out for summer!  School's out forever!!

Okay, well, not forever, but until September 2nd anyway, which is good enough for me.  If it was out forever, I'd have to seriously reassess my education and career plans.

Our last day of before and after school care was last Thursday, and it was... strange.  As I was cleaning up the stage where we have our care and watching the kids slowly trickle out the door for the last time this year, I actually felt a little sad.  It's funny, as horribly as they behaved sometimes, as absolutely insane as they drove me, as completely tired as I was of conversations on an elementary school level--I still managed to form an attachment to those kids.  Some of them I even really, really liked, and actively miss.  It was a surprising realization.  Like Stockholm Syndrome for non-captives.

Anyway, I am now a lady of leisure for the next 10 1/2 weeks, and I plan on enjoying the hell out of them while they last.  Is it just me, or is that an unusually short summer?  I feel like in the South our summers were a few weeks longer, but maybe that's just my imagination.  It would also reinforce the stereotype of the dumb Southern hick that I hate so much, so maybe we just shouldn't discuss it any further.

I spent my first three days of freedom in mostly bliss, with a little homework thrown in just as a reminder that life is inherently not fun, and I shouldn't get too caught up in the enjoyment.  On Friday, I caught up on all the sleep that I'd been missing over the past 10 months, then after a little 30 Day Shred action, got myself all gussied up for Rent at the Paramount in Seattle.

Let me tell you, as much as I ADORE Wicked (and you know I do), seeing Rent with the original Mark and Roger MIGHT have been the coolest theater experience I've ever had.  It was so amazing to hear the same voices that I listen to on my soundtrack, and see the people who made those characters into real people for millions of fans.  Not to mention the rest of the cast was absolutely incredible, and yes, I cried my eyes out at the end.  I really wanted to haunt the stage door and wait for Adam and Anthony to come out, but Colby had to wake up to leave for a trip at 3:30 am the next morning, and the show didn't get out until 11 pm, so we headed home for some sleep.

Sunday was a pretty dull day of homework and catching up on BBC costume dramas, but Saturday, I went to support a friend who was taking part in a Crossfit challenge (um, completely insane), and she ended up not competing, but we cheered on a group of competitors nonetheless.  And it was probably a good thing she didn't, because after that experience, I think she would have been dead on her feet and unable to participate in our POLE DANCING CLASS that afternoon! 

Oh yes, indeedy.  I am well on my way to changing my name to Bambi and installing a spinning pole in our loft.  Ostensibly, pole dancing is a good workout, and I can tell you that my arms and back were feeling it yesterday, but let's be honest here, this is really just a fun way to hang out with gal pals and figure out how to feel a little sexy without busting out laughing at myself!  We spent most of our time on Saturday learning the basics on the pole, but did eventually get ourselves in the air and spinning toward the end of class.  Get your dollar bills ready pals, because I am once more rethinking my career goals!

*Tap Tap*

I swear, I have not forgotten about my blog.  In fact, I think of multiple blog ideas per day, and am constantly composing epic posts in my brain while refereeing kickball games at school, gasping through a run, cursing Jillian Michaels, or trying to fall asleep at night.  I just cannot seem to find the time to both live my life and actually write those posts down.

Times like these, I really miss the days when I filled endless hours sitting at a boring job with this darling blogging hobby.  I got paid a lot more then too.  Man, what was I thinking quitting that gig?  Oh, right, that I needed to find something more meaningful to do with my life.  But really, what is so wrong with meaninglessness!  Front desk girls are important in their own coffee providing, package signing, office organizing way!

Anyway, right now my life consists of: work, sleep, school, eating, trying to maintain some semblance of a social life, and from time to time, working out.  In exactly one week, work will be gone from that equation, which should give me an extra 40+ hours per week to dedicate to blogging and other amusements for the summer.

Until then, let it be known, I am buying not one, but two pairs of Crocs today.  Truth.  Commence with the hurling of stones in my general direction.

Jon & Kate + Soul Crushing Despair

A few weeks ago, I made a public declaration, stating the fact that I was done with one of my formerly favorite shows, Jon & Kate + 8. Over the last season I had become disillusioned by the show because of the frequent obviously sponsored bits like the kids go see Sesame Street Live and Jon and Kate gush over how amazing it was.  Or, the kids play with some kind of remote control car and Jon and Kate gush about how amazing it is.  What I originally loved about the show was watching the day to day life of a real life family who were in a completely abnormal situation.  The kids were adorable and the parents were relatable.

Then, on top of the obvious product placement, Kate seemed to be getting more and more controlling and shrewish.  Constantly yelling at the kids, berating Jon, and seemingly oblivious to the fact that she saw herself as the only one in the family with valid opinions.  And of course, over the past few months, during the break in seasons, the private drama playing out in Jon and Kate's life became public consumption, and I was turned off by the situation.

So, of course, I made sure to tune in for the season 5 premiere.  You know, because I am SO DONE with the show.  And honestly, it is absolutely heartbreaking to watch, but for some reason I can't look away.  We can't possibly know what is really going on between Jon and Kate, but I actually find myself missing their acerbic interactions when they sit on the sofa alone for the show interviews.  There is obvious sadness and regret in Kate's eyes, and Jon just seems completely checked out.

The reason I keep watching is for the kids.  I have gotten really attached to them over the past couple of years, and in a completely insane way, I feel like turning off the show is abandoning them in some way.  It's a difficult situation.  Obviously the Gosselins have accumulated a fair amount of wealth through doing this show, which has opened doors to opportunities for the kids that they would not have otherwise had.  But by becoming the somewhat slicker, manufactured, wealthier family that they are now, I don't feel as much like I'm hanging out with my neighbors, I feel like I'm watching a television show.

I also wonder how the filming affects the children.  Jon, Kate, and TLC all insist that the kids are never filmed when they don't want to be, and they have a schedule of filming only twice a week and never in their bedrooms so that they have a private retreat where they can escape.  But there are conflicting reports that the kids have frequent meltdowns (the little ones ARE five, though, so meltdowns are to be expected) and that they hate being on camera.  Again, I don't know the truth, but the questions make me feel uncomfortable.

I don't think that Jon and Kate are terrible people.  I think that they are a couple who were in a frightening situation at a very young age, saw an opportunity to provide for their family, and they took it.  As for what people say about Kate accepting "love gifts" or whatever when she speaks, well, you know, if people want to give her their money, it's not really my place to judge.  If someone walked up to me and handed over a hundred bucks for my theoretical kids, I'd have a hard time turning that down.  I just think it's a sad situation, I feel sick when I think about the betrayal that Kate must feel and the obvious unhappiness that Jon feels, and I worry terribly for those poor kids.

So, I keep watching, hoping for some kind of miraculous happy ending.

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

One of my frequent self-deprecating jokes is how I could happily give away all of my worldly goods and go live in a remote cabin, far away from cell phones, social interactions, and civilization as a whole.  This is patently untrue for many reasons, not the least of which being my love for shoes and the distinct lack of places to wear them in the vicinity of said remote cabin.  Please don't misunderstand, I still love me some alone time and will happily spend entire weekends wrapped up in a book or powering my way through a television series that I've become obsessed with.  But over the years, I have come to realize the importance of making and maintaining friendships.

When I read through old blog posts from when I lived in Arkansas, it's easy to see how alone I felt.  I had trouble making real bosom buddies there, because almost all of my free time was spent visiting Colby or spending time with him while he was visiting me.  Towards the last eight or nine months that I lived there (not by coincidence, I think, a time during which Colby and I were broken up) I managed to reach out and connect with a couple of great girls that I still keep in touch with today, but because we were all moving on from our lives there in rapid succession, we never really had the chance to form a deep friendship.

Even so, I missed them when I moved, and knowing how difficult it is for me to come out of my shell and let people in, I wasn't terribly optimistic about my chances of making close friends in Washington. For the first year or so that we lived here, I let my shyness rule and kept mostly to myself, hanging out with Colby and his friends and meeting their wives and girlfriends from time to time, but hesitant to follow through or making any sort of effort to build a relationship.

Because that's the thing I've learned--friendships do take work.  You have to let go of insecurities telling you that you're not funny enough, smart enough, or pretty enough for anyone to really like you.  Much like dating, you have to put yourself out there, realize that you'll connect with some people and not so much with others.  But friends don't just drop from the sky, you have to seek them out and do your part to nurture them until they grow from acquaintance, to buddy, to a really meaningful person in your life.

I have been so lucky here to find an incredible group of women.  When I think of leaving them... ugh, it just breaks my heart.  There's Nicole, who I can always count on to watch a cheesy television show with me or stay up late into the night talking about love and life.  Carolyn, one of the sweetest most genuine people I've ever met, who always has a kind word and shares my love for musical theater and has introduced me to opera.  One Sarah, who always has a witty retort and deep appreciation for blue humor, but has a heart the size of Texas and the ability to cook a dinner or bake a dessert that will have you sneaking thirds and fourths when no one is looking.  And the other Sarah, the one who always has a level head and wise comment, and a deep appreciation for the pleasures and importance of a good meal.  And of course, Lori, who first made me feel welcome here in this furthest corner of the contiguous United States, always making sure that we have a family for the holidays and who can always find the good in every situation.

These are the people who keep me sane while Colby is away, who make me laugh even when I really don't feel like it, and are always up for a wild, Washington adventure.  I'll miss them terribly when they're no longer a short car ride away, but I'll always have a place for them in my heart and my memory.  They are what have made this world, so far from the family and friends I left behind, not only bearable but enjoyable.  I only hope that somehow, someway I manage to find more friends like them down the long and winding road ahead of us.

"For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."
~William Wordsworth