So There I Was...

I Hope This Post Is Not Proof That I Have A Split Personality...

2011-08-24T13:52:00.009-05:00

One of my biggest struggles in my life can be summed up with one word: balance. I'm not very good at balance. I don't mean I stumble around like a drunk all the time, like I have issues with the workings of my inner ear or anything. Not that kind of balance. Mostly, I mean balance between my adult self and my child self. They're always fighting for dominance. And I don't mean fighting like battling it out with swords, to the death. Remember, one participant in the duel is a child.

It's more like there's a mature adult, doing his thing, giving Johanna patient, reliable guidance, and constantly--constantly!--there's this pesky child who keeps butting in, trying to elbow the mature adult out of the way, shouting nonsense, being obnoxious and laughing at things that aren't funny. And then the mature adult rolls his eyes and shoves the child behind him again and continues with his patient guidance, only to be interrupted again by the child. And it never ends. Neither of these people ever sleep, take breaks, or concede victory to the other, and there is no middle ground. It's all or nothing; just the same monotony over and over and over again. Forever.

And, though it's happening somewhere inside me, it inevitably makes its way to the surface eventually. Whether it's something I say, do, or think, either the mature adult or the obnoxious child is easily visible in me at any given time.

Like now. I'm sitting at Scooters (I needed a change of scenery besides Nu Vibe, and Scooters has Green Tea smoothies=no brainer), and I'm marking up my school notes with colored highlighters. Now, I could lie and say the reason I mark up my notes with blue and pink highlighters is because it makes it easier to study, but really, I like the pretty colors. #child is in control#

Or when I'm at home, thinking, "I would really really enjoy watching Hogan's Heroes right now, despite all the things that I have to do..." and then I think, "No! I've got to study! I've got a quiz tomorrow, and tests next week!" #adult is in control#

Also, when I'm marking up my notes, I'm sure it looks to outsiders like I'm coloring in a coloring book. I'm practically laying on the table, face an inch from the page, and markers of various bright colors are littered around the table. #child is definitely in control# The only difference here is, when done coloring, a child would hold up a picture and shriek, "Look Mommy, I drew a pony!" and, when done highlighting, I hold up a picture and shriek, "Look Mommy, I drew a eukaryotic cell in the third stage of mitosis!"

And sometimes, these personality transformations happen very rapidly. For instance, I'll say something childish (#child is in control#), then think, "Wow, Jo, that was a very childish thing to say." (#adult is in control#).

BUT! I don't think being childish is bad ALL the time (maybe I'm thinking this because the child is in control?). What I mean is, I don't want to "grow up" to be a boring drone of an adult. I always promised myself I would not be boring and lame. I promised myself I would still be fun and interesting when I got old.

What do I mean by "fun and interesting"? Coloring all over my notes! Sometimes throwing the textbooks on the bed and marching downstairs to watch Hogan's Heroes and not caring about consequences. Drawing stupid pictures and making people out of plastic spoons at work to make my coworkers laugh. Eating oatmeal where the eggs turn into baby dinosaurs. Staying up all night creating creatures out of hot glue for no real reason.

However, not all of the childishness is good. On the flip side, there are some things that I like about the mature adult part of me, and some things I don't like. Sometimes I'm too stiff and boring. Sometimes I don't appreciate pretty skies. Sometimes I don't laugh ONCE all day. Sometimes I worry too much. Sometimes I take the beauty of the outdoors for granted. Sometimes I take LIFE for granted.

So where is the balance?? How can one be fun and interesting, and yet, smart and mature? I'm still figuring it out. But wait. Maybe there shouldn't be ANY balance! Maybe I should just color pictures and watch Hogan's Heroes ALL DAY LONG! #child is in control#.

This Is NOT A List Of Things I Love. That Would Be Boring...

2011-07-19T17:30:00.004-05:00

I've made blogs before of things that I love, like and hate. Everybody does those. It's old and tired and boring and nobody reads them. Because they're old and tired and boring, people say not to blog about them. BUT, if I WAS going to make a "like" list on here, one of the things near the top would be, "Doing things people tell me I shouldn't/can't" (i.e., eating a Poinsettia leaf JUST because someone told me it would kill me. I'm not dead. IN YOUR FACE!).

So, I'm going to *drumroll please* make a "love" list. Right here. Right now. Because I want to, and it's MY blog, darn it. And I'm going to narrow it down (because I'm a very happy person, and lots of things please me) to things that L-O-V-E with every freaking fiber of my being! And keep in mind, these are not chronological; I'm just typing them as they pop into my noggin.

Time's up, let's do this!

Things I L-O-V-E!

1) Aurora Borealis (I really need to move farther north...)

2) Laughter

3) Biology! (I know, right?)

4) Knowing stuff!

5) Caffeine (Bet you couldn't see that coming)

6) Open horizons (And then going to meet that horizon)

7) Flying (But not taking flying leaps)

8) Being completely underwater

9) My grandparents' farm

10) Snow (Big, fluffy, gentle snow)

11) Hunting/fishing

12) Mountains (Thank you, John Denver)

13) Christmas

14) Road trips

15) Owl City (This should really be closer to the top. Fo sho.)

16) Dreaming (Like, at night, when my brain's shut off)

17) Anything that's insanely sparkly

18) Those pictures where you cross your eyes and see a 3-D picture. (lovelovelove!)

There. If I go on anymore, I'll start blurring the line between things I L-O-V-E and things I just plain ol' love, and we can't have that. And I'm not going to make a "Things I hate" list, either. I'm boycotting negativity, so, there you go. Everybody join me. It'll be awesome. Tell all your friends.

Hmm. This blog is a little shorter than usual. Oh well. I've got things I need to do anyway. (Biology!!)

All Road Trips Are Not Created Equal

2011-06-18T13:41:00.002-05:00

*DEEP SIGH*

Wow. Life without school is...different. It's good...but then again, school was good, too. I like school. So, yeah, it's nice to be able to just sit down and write a blog when one pops into my head like this. It's nice to be able to make plans with my sisters and whoever else has nothing to do. It's nice to be able to take my new bunny, Winston, into the backyard and just play with him for as long as I want. (His favorite game is Try-To-Poop-And-Or-Pee-On-Johanna-And-See-If-She-Can-Dodge-Fast-Enough). It's nice to go outside and enjoy the weather for as long as it stays nice. It's nice to be able to take a nap in the afternoon, where I dream a crazy dream about being late for Algebra class and somehow ending up in the boys locker room? (Cause apparently, college students still have locker rooms).

It's also nice to be able to pick up and take a long road trip through Iowa, for reasons I will disclose in a moment.

The point is, life without school is nice. Very nice. However, when I was in school I felt really, extremely productive. Now, not so much. And like I said earlier, I don't mind school, most of the time. It's fun to work towards something, and feel like you're doing something worthwhile. So while it's nice and relaxing and freeing to be able to enjoy the days the way I want to, I don't think I'll mourn the arrival of the summer quarter.

Anyway, about this road trip.

It all started with a cow. A baby cow. So, a calf, I guess. It all started with a calf. A calf that my dad bought for...reasons other than domestication. In fact, I don't even know what the cow looked like. It's probably just as well.

Our relatives in Iowa raised this calf for us, and when it got big enough, cow became beef. And so, 500-ish pounds of beef merited a trip to Iowa for my brother and I. We left Lincoln in the Crown Vic, smothered in empty coolers soon to be filled with hamburger, steaks, and roasts.

It was a fun trip. Our conversation consisted of about 55% quotes, 40% arguing about directions and wondering if we were going the right way, 25% arguing about what music to listen to, 8% arguing about who should drive, 2% me randomly shrieking that I wanted my bunny, 80% me shrieking about how beautiful everything was, 35% both of us angrily venting about construction, and 11% Josh complaining about how many Casey's gas stations there were.

I just read that and realized that it sounds like we just argued and complained the whole way. Realize that when Josh and I argue and complain to each other, 90% of it is in jest. We say things like, "I can't believe this, this is SO STUPID!" and before we've even finished the sentence we're laughing. We argue and complain happily.

Anyway, we somehow navigated through some very primitive construction sites, which seemed like it was NOT a place we were supposed to be, and eventually found the right road, after a slightly frantic/panicked/hysterical distress call to my father, who was able to swiftly put my fears to rest. Thanks for that, by the way, Dad.

Now, before we even began this trip, my parents sat me down and explained to me that on this trip, we would be traveling by highway, not interstate. I was like, yeah, whatever, as long as it's paved I don't care. I discovered, though, that highways are one-lane, not two or more, like interstates. At first I didn't like it. It was hard to pass the slowpokes, especially considering the terrain was nothing but hills.

But not long into the trip, I realized that there were several positive things about highway driving. And then I began to weigh the results in my mind, trying to decide which was better. I've now reached a decision, which I am going to share with oh-so-lucky you!

*Ahem* Highway VS. Interstate Driving

Pros Of Interstate Driving

1) You can pass whenever you want, provided there aren't two IDIOTS driving slowly, side by side.

2) The speed limit is much faster.

3) More gas stations and cities.

4) Interstates don't go through towns, where the speed limit is 25 and you have to stop at stoplights.

Cons Of Interstate Driving:

1) Basically no scenery.

2) Lots of cops.

3) Lots of traffic.

4) Lots of stupid drivers.

Pros Of Highway Driving:

1) LOTS of pretty scenery.

2) Basically NO cops! (It was sweet! Uh, not that I, you know, speed...)

3) Hardly any traffic. Maybe most people take interstates?

4) More fun, and more relaxing, than interstate driving.

Cons Of Highway Driving:

1) Can't really pass people.

2) Speed limit is only 55.

3) You gotta get gas at whatever gas station you come to, cause you never know when you'll see another one.

4) Highways go through towns and become riddled with stoplights until you get out of town. Annoying.

Now, a person might read those lists and say, "Well, there are the same number of pros and cons in each category (a convenient accident), so that means both are equal." But that person would be stupid. That's like saying, "Paper cuts are bad. Having the earth open beneath you and falling into a river of molten lava and getting burned alive is also bad. Since they're both bad, they're both equal." Very stupid.

True, there are the same number of pros and cons, but when I weigh what I like to have in a road trip, it's easy to make a decision and name the victor. When I take a car trip, I like scenery. I like beautiful things. My heart likes to be happy, and pretty scenery does just that.

I could say more things about the other things on those lists if I wanted. I could say that the point of a car trip is the traveling, not the destination, so it's okay if the speed limit is slower, prolonging the trip. I could say driving slowly through little towns and stopping at stoplights is worth it, because you get to see quaint little towns that you never knew existed before. I could say a lot of things, but I won't. Even though I just did.

The point is, as long as there is beautiful scenery, that's enough to make me name highway driving superior to it's interstate counterpart. Yeah, there might be some pretty scenery to be seen from the interstate, too, but I'm confident that there is much more to be seen from the highway.

And there you have it. Interstate is inferior, highway wins. NEXT CASE!

*bangs gavel*

"Plant life" --Owl City (A-ma-zing!)

Story Time!!!

2011-04-07T00:14:00.005-05:00

I would very much like to tell you a story. This story is one I came up with two minutes ago, and bares a surprising resemblance to the story of the Ant and the Grasshopper. However, it is told for a different purpose, and meant to illustrate a very different point. After the story is over, I will explain what it means and show you how it relates to my own life.

Now, sit back, turn on your listening ears (or listening eyes...whatever), and let Johanna tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there were two rabbits. One rabbit was super smart, the other rabbit was as dumb as a bag of rocks (a really STUPID bag of rocks!). Nobody really understood why the two rabbits hung around with each other. Well, maybe it was because the stupid rabbit was sort of clingy. Whatever. That's not what the story is about.

So these two, very opposite rabbits were just hanging out, chewing on clovers and wiggling their noses and whatever the else rabbits do with their time. They're in the middle of the forest and they come across this clearing. In the middle of the clearing is a tree. Hanging from this tree is a carrot. The carrot is close to the ground, and is in easy reaching distance for rabbits with strong haunches (for our purposes, both of our rabbits have strong haunches).

The first rabbit, the super smart one, is like, "Hey now, carrots don't just hang themselves from trees. I wonder who put it there, and why? On the one hand, I love carrots, and that one is in easy reaching distance (since I have strong haunches). It looks ripe and lovely and it's been forever since I've raided the farmer's garden. On the other hand, I'm beginning to suspect that someone deliberately put it there for a reason that will ultimately pose a risk to my well-being. I don't like this situation; I'm going to hop away." (See what I mean? See how smart this rabbit is? How many rabbits do you know that think thoughts and make logical assumptions like that??)

The second rabbit, the one that's dumber than a really STUPID bag of rocks sees the carrot and is like, "Oh my gosh!! A CARROT! OH MY GOSH! How lucky can a guy get?! CARROT! CARROT! CARROT!"

And that was when the super smart rabbit looked around. He realized that he was alone. He realized that he'd always been alone. He realized why the stupid rabbit was always with him. He realized something was terribly wrong. And then he was like, "Oh, snap, I have two personalities!"

Yes, it's true. Then he said to himselfs, "What am I going to do now? Half of me wants to go running off half-cocked and grab that carrot (yes, he's still on the carrot) without taking the risks and ramifications of my actions into account. The other half realizes that the first half of me is as stupid as a bag of rocks and wants to calmly turn around, hop back to the rabbit colony, and get some serious antipsychotic drugs. What is a seriously messed up rabbit to do?"

The End.

Now that I've actually typed it out, I realize that my story really bares no resemblance at all to the story of the Ant and the Grasshopper. Weird. Now, I'm sure you're all wondering how IN THE WORLD this story could possibly pertain to my own life. Fear not! All is about to be revealed to you!

So There I Was. Sitting at my desk doing homework for my college algebra class that I just started. I was bemoaning the fact that I have to do college algebra at all, and, to put some perspective on it, I decided to see what the last section was that we would be learning in this class.

Apprehensively, I clicked on the schedule and scrolled to the last day of class (cause we do everything on computers nowadays. SCC is super high-tech). What I saw stopped me cold. It confused me and frightened me (two feelings I often associate with math in general). The last thing we learn is something I already sort of semi-know!

I leafed through the book, realizing that, according to the website, we only learn five chapters. What?? My confusion and fright were escalated. This was not possible! I felt like a rabbit looking at a carrot hanging from a tree, wanting to believe that what I was seeing was real and not a trick or some sort of cruel joke, but unwilling to believe that that was the case.

I'm still unsure what to make of it all. I like the thought of only learning five chapters (several of those chapters covering stuff I already did in intermediate algebra), but I just can't bring myself to believe that college algebra could be that easy. Don't get me wrong, it would be nice, but you can't really blame me for being skeptical.

Kind of like a jewel thief is creeping through a building that he is robbing, and he comes upon a doorway, and that doorway is protected by a single laser, going straight across. It is chest high, and reminds him of one of the beginning levels of LIMBO. He wonders why it is even there. Obviously it doesn't protect the doorway even remotely. Are there more lasers--invisible ones--criss-crossing throughout the rest of the doorway, just waiting to slice him in half if he tries to insult the intelligence of the Doorway Security Man and break out his mad LIMBO skills?

Then, he realizes that he's not actually a thief. He's actually a Norwegian double-agent trying to infiltrate an international drug cartel and pose as a dealer just long enough to get enough information to take them down and save the world (since, of course, the drug cartel guys are also making large quantities of atomic weapons that they plan to unleash on every major city in the world, duh.)

Hmm, I think I like telling stories...

The Scale Of Bird-Likeableness

2011-02-26T18:09:00.004-06:00

So, birds. I bet you don't have much of an opinion about them. They fly. They sing. They lay eggs. They poop on statues. That about sums them up, right? WRONG. Once, long ago, in another lifetime, I loved birds. I thought they were wonderful. I was well on my way to growing up to be a creepy bird-lady. Then later, events transpired, and I became apathetic to the idea of birds. They weren't great, they weren't terrible, they just were. Then later, more events transpired, and I came to hate birds with a deep passion. Birds were evil. Birds were malicious little demon-creatures. Spawns of Satan. Events. What events? I thought you'd never ask.

*Now, take my hand (or don't, if you'd rather not. It's not mandatory) and travel back with me...back...back...back through the sands of time...back into another year, another decade, another lifetime...back, to when I was nine years old, when I first thought of birds as more than just inanimate objects...back to before the blinders were removed from my eyes and I could understand the concept of evil...back to when all was right with the world...*

Here we are. In my childhood. The good old days. Currently, I am living in San Angelo. We have this awesome old rock house and a million-billion pecan trees and giant mesquite trees, perfect for climbing. There are scorpions, fire ants, dirt, cactus, and so much more that a child of nine can play with. This is the pinnacle of my childhood...the place where memories are made and fun is an every day, all day occurrence. This...is Texas!!! *Cue dramatic intro music*

So, in this awesome old rock house, there is also an awesome old rock chimney. And one day, as I was doing something in the living room, I hear something...a noise...coming from the chimney. It sounds almost like...chirping.

Dad was in the room, too. I told Dad that I hear chirping coming from the chimney. Dad says adamantly that I must be imagining things. I try to tell myself that Dad is right (cause my Dad is always right). But I keep hearing the sound. I tell Dad, more urgently this time, that I really really think I do hear chirping coming from the chimney, and I'm wondering how in the world Dad could be so dense as to not realize that the sound is chirping and it's coming from the freakin' chimney! But he is still adamant that no, it must just be a bird from outside.

Well, if he was going to be that way...I stalked over to the fireplace, determined to prove that I was right; there were birds in the chimney! Dad orders me to stay away from the fireplace. I sat a few feet away from it, staring laser beams into its smoky depths, willing whatever was inside to come out. Nothing happened.

So, I did what any good, obedient child would've done; I waited until Dad left the room, marched over to the fireplace and stuck my hand inside. I'm sure a few moments later, when Dad heard the shriek of delight and surprise emanating from the living room, he regretted ever leaving me there alone.

I didn't care what punishment I got for disobeying him. I pulled one...two...three...four...five! birds from their sooty prison. Imagine the utter gleeful delight of a child who adores animals (especially wild animals) and suddenly has five of them fall down her own chimney! It's like Santa came early and threw five squabbling baby sparrows down the chimney to save time.

In all reality, the birds were the essence of ugliness. They were still too young to have feathers, and squabbled like crazy, for what, I didn't know. I quickly became a celebrity and a hero, to my siblings, who all wanted to hear the dramatic, highly-embellished tale of how I'd risked life, limb, and Dad's wrath to save the nasty, disease-infested, ash-covered, obnoxious baby birds, which surely would've died, had it not been for my bold act of disobedience.

I found out pretty quick that being thrust into motherhood is not much fun. The baby birds squawked every minute of the day, no matter how many cornmeal clumps I fed to them. They were never happy, never satisfied, and after a few days I was beginning to rue the day I'd pulled them from the fireplace. When they began to die off, I was falling apart on the outside, but inside I was relieved. When the last one died, I cried, but only halfheartedly. I'd failed them, but I blamed it on their real mother, who somehow managed to let her entire family fall down a chimney. Some mother she was.

After that, I became apathetic towards the concept of birds. I wasn't opposed and I wasn't in favor. It didn't really make a difference to me either way what happened to them. They could fall into the fireplace while a fire was in it or they could fly up into the clouds for all I cared. Made no difference to me either way.

That changed when we moved to Minnesota. I was about 13. We (Dad, Nikki, Jim and I) had been watching TV late one night. Our program ended at around midnight and I fully expected Dad to announce that it was time for bed. Another program started on TV--a movie--and Dad said we'd like it, so we watched it. It turned out to be The Birds, by Alfred Hitchcock. Stupidest. Movie. Ever. Eventually, watching seagulls attack helpless people unprovoked, pecking their eyes out and somehow busting through car windows and doors to get to the people inside (you never find out why, by the way) was enough to tip the scale from "apathetic" to "dislike". Go figure.

Another weight was thrown on the "dislike" side of the scale when we moved to Ceresco, when we somehow came into possession of a demon-possessed parakeet. Actually, he wasn't demon-possessed when we got him. He was actually normal for a little while, and I actually almost broke my hand trying to save him from a rabid ceiling fan.

But things took a turn for the worst when we got him a mirror. Birds love mirrors, right? Yes, they do. They love them. They LOVE them. THEY LOVE THEM!!!! They love them so much, they attack their owners who thought they were so cute in the beginning. They sit with their beak touching the mirror and chirp to the budgie inside, so in love with their own stupid reflection that they literally--LITERALLY--bite the hand that feeds them!!

Over time, I grew to hate that bird above most other things in life. He'd turned from a cute little blue bird who would sit on your finger or shoulder and chirp into your ear, into a rabid, angry, mean-spirited spawn of Satan.

That did it. The scale was forever shifted from "dislike" to "hate-with-a-deep-burning-passion". No, don't try to convince me that I've just had bad experiences. I don't care if your budgie was nice. I don't care if you raised a sparrow from infancy. I don't care if your budgie would tuck you in at night and bring you a midnight snack. I hate them. I hate them forever.

The Greatest Post In The History Of Never

2011-02-11T23:51:00.003-06:00

So, pretty much, school is nothing like I remember it. Don't ask me why, cause I don't know. I really don't. All of a sudden, school is all...all...serious. And there's way more to do than I remember last time. And I don't ever remember hating any class the way I hate Communications Class. How some people ever major in that subject, I'll never know. They never had my teacher, I guess.

Anyway. These days, I don't ever know what day it is. Like right now, I have no clue. I'm even thinking about it, but for the life of me, I don't know. It could be any of the days. Something tells me it's either Thursday or Friday, though. I can't remember what classes I had today, so that won't work. Oh well. All I really know is that the weekend is almost here. I think. I hope.

Boy, I need a day for nothing but sleep and non-thinking. I'm seriously sick of using my brain. between classes, homework, bible study, dentist appointments, paperwork for my program, reading for history class, making doctor appointments (to get stupid shots to put on the paperwork that I mentioned earlier), signing up for classes, and everything else that one does in a day, I'm pretty much just thankful to be conscious.

Speaking of which, I'm drifting off in between sentences. Sometimes in the middle of sentences. Sometimes in the middle of words. Whatever. Don't hate me for making this one short. I'm so mad at myself, too. I had so many ideas for this blog. Ideas that, between trying to remember what day it is and drifting off every ten seconds or so, I've since forgotten. I promise, the next one will be good. Cross my heart.

I'm tired. But I like my blog, so that's why I'm still lingering. Okay, enough lingering. Later, people. Sorry for the lame post. Next one will rock you like a hurricane.

A Fun Idea...With A Twist!

2011-02-02T02:15:00.006-06:00

So I think this is a fun idea. Ready? No, you're not ready. You think I'm going to say something like, "Go to the mall" or "Ride a giant roller coaster" or "Bike across the United States" or something like that. No no. You've got it all wrong. Those aren't good ideas. This, though...THIS is a good idea.

A good idea is to witness something really amazing, like the mayor shooting a mafia drug lord. Something like that, that's totally insane. THEN, be seen by the mayor, and have a "moment" where neither of you says anything, but in his eyes you can tell he's vowing to kill you with his bare hands. Then you can run away and tell the police, who take Mr. Mayor into custody. But his cronies are everywhere. You'll never be safe.

After that, let the police take you into witness protection. The police stage an elaborate hoax, to convince the general public (and the cronies) that you've fallen off a bridge and drown in the river below, except that only your clothes were recovered (darn). Only thing is, the cronies have seen it all before. They know that when a person goes into witness protection, they are publicly killed off as a precaution. They aren't fooled by the police's mediocre attempts at killing you. The only thing your "death" does is plunge your family into a bottomless pit of grief and despair. Way to go, guys.

So you're stuck in a windowless basement somewhere drinking bad coffee and playing video games, ignorant of the fact that those darned cronies are following the thread left by incompetent police officers, while your family is beside themselves, hysterical with grief.

Then one day, you get tired of the same old video games and decide to do what you're not supposed to...get on the computer! Why they left you alone with a computer and working internet access, we'll never know. They're just incompetent.

Anyway, you slide into the chair by the computer, glancing apprehensively over your shoulder. You slide the screen closer towards yourself, so even if your handlers see you at the computer and start freaking out, you could just be like, "Dude, I'm playing solitaire. Relax." and they'd feel all stupid and guilty for grouching at you while you were playing solitaire. They areincompetent, after all.

Then you get on Facebook (under the alias they gave you when you signed up, just in case you broke the rules and got on Facebook) and send secret codes to your family telling them that you're not dead and you can swim anyway, so it's illogical that you would drown from falling in water, and like you'd even be out on bridges at night anyway.

And while you're at the computer, you hear the door open, and you think it's your handlers, so you look up and start to say something about solitaire, but no, it's the cronies. Hundreds of them. Thousands. And you're like, "Oh. Crap. Now what?" So you start doing magic tricks. And you show them trick after trick, and it gets to be sort of fun. But they don't realize that one of the tricks you did was a hypnotizing trick, and now they are all hypnotized.

Instead of making them all leave or throw themselves off a cliff, you realize the potential you possess, now that you have hundreds of thousands of cronies that will do whatever you tell them to do. So what do you do with your newly-aquired power?

Duh! You take over the world! And then you spend the rest of your life sipping drinks out of coconuts with bendy-straws and dropping things from high heights to watch them shatter.

That's my fun idea.

Change Is Back In Town!

2011-01-07T16:49:00.004-06:00

I hate change. Really. I hate it, in the worst possible way a person is capable of hating a thing. Even if the changes are really small or insignificant or something that will hardly effect me at all, I'm like, "ARRRRGGG! NOT ANOTHER CHANGE!!!"

But, as we all know, change is inevitable. Things change whether you want them to or not. Some people embrace Change and welcome it with open arms. For the rest of us who hide from Change in a closet with a walkie-talkie and a butcher knife, we have to find our own ways to deal with it.

Me? I hide in closets with knifes just like every other normal person, but Change finds me anyway, like I knew it would. So what do I do? I ho and hum and drag my feet and scrape and plead with Change to leave everything the same (if it's not broke, don't fix it, right? and if it IS broke, just pretend that it's fine). When THAT doesn't work, I grudgingly follow the masses and accept that Change is here and he's here to stay. (I don't embrace him, though. I give him a small man-nod from across the room, but my eyes are saying, "I'm watching you, punk.")

By now you're probably wondering what exactly is going on in my life to make me portray myself to you as a paranoid, potentially homicidal schizophrenic maniac. The answer, let me assure you, is legitimately disturbing.

I've started school. I've gone from full-time at work to only every other weekend, and begun a full-time school schedule, which I will maintain for the next three years. You see? It totally legitimizes the whole walkie-talkie-butcher-knife-in-a-closet thing. Am I right?

But for some reason, this time was different. This time, Change came just like it always does, but I wasn't apprehensive about it so much. This time, I shook hands with Change and gave him a tiny half-grin. Why? Who knows. Maybe I'm excited to start school so I can get DONE with school, so I can start another job and get paid more. That appeals to me greatly.

Regardless the reason, this is the first time in a LONG time that I've actually been even slightly excited for an upcoming change. It's been a pleasant change. (Whoa, I don't think I've ever said that before in my LIFE).

So, school. It's not bad, so far. Granted, it's only the first three days into the quarter, but the first three days weren't bad, so that's something right? I've missed school, actually. College students make me laugh.

College students walk around like they're walking into the wind, even when they're not. They lean wa-a-ay forward (maybe because of the weight of their backpacks?), they hold onto both straps of their backpacks (at all times), they all wear hoodies and keep the hoods up (at all times) and they never--EVER--look you in the eye intentionally.

If, by chance, they're glancing this way just as you're glancing that, and your eyes meet, their eyes kinda get wide like, "Oh, crap, I just looked at a person!" and they throw their gaze back to the ground in front of them. It's seriously hilarious.

Oh, and another thing to do to college students that makes me laugh, is, when you're walking by them and they're watching the ground like it's about to turn into gold, look them in the eye and say, "Hi!". They will look up at you, and when they realize you've said it to THEM, their eyes will get huge and this horrified expression will come over their face and they'll look at you like you just stuck a gun in their gut and pulled the trigger. Then they'll mumble something and practically RUN away from you, like you're the Grim Reaper come to harvest their soul or something.

And then there's other times, like if you're standing in line in the bookstore carrying a stack of books that you know is gonna cost you their weight in gold, and a person behind you is looking at your books and is like, "Hey! You must be taking history! Who's your teacher? When's the class? How long have you lived here? What program are you in? What's your favorite color? How 'bout this weather? What's your name? Have you ever thought about how clouds form? No? Let me tell you about it...!" (No lie, I actually had someone ask me that and patiently listened while they talked for ten minutes about cloud formation).

And for some reason, the line to the checkout counter is not moving even a little bit, and the person behind you wants to be best friends and doesn't seem to realize that you are carrying 50 pounds of textbooks (textbooks that are trying to wriggle out of your arms) and it's eight-thirty in the morning and you haven't had coffee yet and all you want to do is make it to your class that starts in three minutes!

But overall, it's been fun. Everybody is in the same boat you are. We all want to get out of class as fast as possible without having to answer any questions in class, we all want to just finish our program so we won't have to ever sit through another boring class, we all want good grades...the list goes on and on.

So. I'm sure, just like the last time I was in college, you'll be hearing from me frequently as I tell my tales of college life and recall the more interesting things that happen from day to day. Stay tuned...Change is in the house!

I'm Back, Back In The New York Groove...

2010-12-23T01:28:00.005-06:00

As usual, my most brilliant thought of the day began as an idea for a potential facebook status. A lot of times that's the way it happens. I'll think of something, then decide to make it my facebook status, then, as I expand whatever would-be status I've chosen, it gets longer and longer until I think, "Whatever, I'll just make it into a blog". And so, here we are again, friends.

So now I bet you're wondering what my brilliant thought was. You're thinking, "Well, she's pretty random with these posts, and there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason whatsoever. Which means she's probably going to make this post about howler monkeys."

While I do have a lot to say about howler monkeys and someday I do plan to make my opinions publicly known, that's not what this blog is about. Nope. This is a very special blog, about some very special little things. Things that often gets overlooked in the glitz and glamor of this day and age. Things that effects many different aspects of our lives, and we don't even realize it! These things are magical. These things are Awesome (the A was capitalized on purpose). What are these things?

Pistachios.

That's right, you heard me, pistachios. I'm sitting here in my basement (where I've been banished to due to my grandparents' arrival), and for some reason we've got the biggest bag of pistachios in the history of mankind sitting next to the couch. It's like, ten pounds, no lie. So while I sit here being mildly entertained watching my brothers play football on the wii, I am also ingesting a semi-large quantity of these magical little green nuts.

First of all, if you live somewhere where pistachios are outlawed by penalty of death by decapitation, you might not even know what they look like. Allow me to educate you. Pistachios are yummy green nuts, encased in an impressively impenetrable shell. At first glance, you can only see the shell, except for a narrow slit, through which you can see the brilliant shine of the tasty green morsel inside. To get to it, you have to pry the sides apart and break the shell in half.

I remember eating my first pistachio. It was at my grandparents' house. My older sister (hi Nikki!) was eating them, and telling me how wonderful they were. I was like, "Um, no way am I eating anything green." Nikki explained that even though it was green, it tasted really good. Good thing I have respect for my sister's taste buds. Against my better judgement, I pried the shell apart and hesitantly placed the strange food on my tongue. I chewed. I swallowed. I was hooked forever.

So pistachios taste good. But are they blog worthy? What makes them more special than all the other stuff that tastes good? I am SO glad you asked! :)

1) Pistachios are better for you than any other nut!

2) They taste better than any other nut! (that's just MY opinion, but you're reading MY blog, so get used to it).

3) Without pistachios, humans might never have realized what fingers were for. (that part was what my facebook status was going to be).

4) Because of the fact that you have to pry the shell apart, the nut will taste better because you've had to work to get to it! It breeds a healthy sense of accomplishment and makes you feel like King Kong!

5) It makes you realize how hard work and perseverance pay off in the end, which will benefit you in all areas of life!

6) Breaking the shell in half allows us to expel an bit of our destructive energy with every single pistachio, getting it safely out of our system and freeing us to spend more of our time being creative and constructive.

So as you can now see and understand, pistachios are wonderful. They are Awesome. They are magical. They are the cornerstone of human civilization. If more people ate pistachios, we would see a decrease in crime, gangsters, and sadness, and an increase in artists, poets, engineers, and pistachio flavored things.

That being said, who's excited for Christmas?!?! ME! ME! I'M EXCITED!

That also being said, tonight's season finale of Psych was good, but not as epic as I expected. I think I psych myself up too much (bwahaha, get it?!).

That also, ALSO being said, I'm tired. It's 3:00 in the morning, and I'm starting to make typos. I want to go to sleep, but unfortunately my brothers are still playing the wii and it's kind of difficult to get to sleep with John Madden yelling in my face.

"IT'S A BLITZ! HE'S UNDER PRESSURE...HE THROWS INTO TRIPLE COVERAGE...AND CONNECTS! HE'S AT THE FORTY...THE THIRTY...THE TWENTY...AND BROUGHT DOWN AT THE FOURTEEN! THEY'RE GOING NO HUDDLE...THAY'RE GOING NO HUDDLE!!"

I dare you to try to sleep under those conditions. Those announcers need some serious Xanax. At least I've got a lifetime supply of pistachios to keep me company.

The Mood Scale For Dummies

2010-11-29T14:39:00.005-06:00

I've realized something today. I was in a really good mood (cause I've got two days off in a row), and I was trying to come up with a list of things that are pretty. Cause that's what I do on my days off, okay? Anyway. I kept thinking of things.

Diamonds=pretty. Fire=pretty. Snow=pretty. Christmas lights=pretty.

But then, I couldn't think of anything that wasn't pretty, so I started trying to think of things that are ugly. But it didn't work.

Coffee=pretty. Mud=pretty. Rain=pretty. Sand=pretty.

And that's when I realized something. When I'm in a good mood (and I mean a really good mood, like I am right now), any and everything will be pretty. All is well in the world, forever. Nothing can go wrong. It's like I'm high on happiness. And the Happiness mix on my ipod just makes me fly higher, and get happier, and feel like I'm on top of the WORLD!! :D

Then again, on the flip side, when I'm having a bad day, it takes a lot to get me to snap out of it. I was having a bad day the other day, and so I listened to my Happiness mix, hoping it would make me feel better. It didn't work. As a matter of fact, it made it worse. I was like, "I don't want to listen to this stupid, happy CRAP!!" Pretty much when I'm in a bad mood, I just need to be alone and gradually remember that life is better when I'm happy.

Enclosed is a scale to help you (and me) gauge the extent of my mood, good or bad, and act accordingly. I will begin at -5, my worst possible mood, and we will travel through the mood forest until we arrive at 5, which is the very best mood I could ever possibly be in, ever in the world. Hold on to your socks, it might get ugly.

-5: This is the WORST day of my ENTIRE life, I HATE everything, I don't want to talk to ANYBODY or think about anything except about how ANGRY I am!! (During this phase, do not come closer than 8 feet, do not try to talk me out of my bad mood or make me feel better, and DO NOT let me near pointy things or matches. Someday I'll come back to reality).

-4: This is a REALLY awful day, I'm either very sad or very angry or both, and all I want to do is drive very fast on deserted roads while venting aloud to myself. (During this phase, just ignore me completely and DO NOT try to prevent me from driving away in my car).

-3: I am very frustrated about something or someone specific, causing the other things in my life to seem worse than they really are. (During this phase, invite me to come watch Psych with you, which will immediately bump my mood to a level 3).

-2: I'm sort of annoyed at nothing in particular, moping around and trying to boost up my mood with things like coffee, new shiny things, or making plans with people I haven't seen in a while. (During this phase, just give me a hug and a cup of coffee and, if possible, make a joke).

-1: Life is meh, slightly worse than normal, but usually I don't even realize anything is wrong. (During this phase, smiling at me or saying "hi" will be enough to boost my mood back to normal).

0: I am apathetic and indifferent to everything going on around me, my mood is about to teeter one way or the other. (During this phase, do anything positive or put on a good song that I like, pretty much anything will be enough to teeter my mood into the "safe" zone).

1: Life is pretty okay, pretty much normal, or slightly above normal, for no particular reason. (During this phase, do not say anything upsetting like, "Psych has been cancelled" or "Tomorrow it's going to be 65 degrees", lest you unknowingly cause my decent into a bad mood).

2: Life is good, not amazing, but better than average, things are going my way, and all the street lights seem to be green. (During this phase, propose any fun activity and I will most likely accept without hesitation).

3: Life is wonderful, all is well, the birds are singing, the music is happy, and more than likely I'm buying things. (During this phase, I might be getting slightly annoying with how happy I am, but don't try to bring me down, because you will only succeed in doing the opposite).

4: Life is SO great, nothing can go wrong, everything going on in the world is only serving in making my day EVEN better! (During this phase, just ignore me, and I'll float back down eventually).

5: There is NOTHING in the WORLD better than life as I know it, life cannot POSSIBLY get any better, I feel like Snow White dancing and singing with woodland creatures, there are rainbows and sunshine and happiness raining from the sky!! :D (During this phase, don't go near me, don't try to talk sense to me, don't tell me I need a drug test, and don't let me near pointy things or matches. Someday I'll come back to reality).

So there you have it. Now you know beyond a shadow of a doubt what to do (and NOT do!) no matter what is going on in my life. The only trick is knowing what level I'm at on the scale. Sorry. I can't help you there. You'll just have to wing it, I guess. :)

My Idea Of Nightlife

2010-11-20T04:05:00.005-06:00

It's been a long time since I had a really sleepless night. I forgot how boring it was. Laying here, nothing to do but surf the web and listen to music and buy things I don't need. But I pretty much do those things during the daytime hours. Maybe that's why it's so boring? I guess I need to find a hobby, or an obsession. That sounds fun. But what could I obsess about?

See, that's the thing. I'm pretty easy going. I don't really obsess. Sometimes something get's on my nerves, and I get really upset about it, but then I get over it. I move past it. I'm like, "Eh, it's too much effort to be passionate about this, so screw it."

Hobbies, I can do. Reading, drinking coffee, going to movies, generally spending money faster than I make it. So much fun. Until later, when I'm like, "Wait. Now I have this thing that I don't really want--or need--and I miss all that money I gave away to get it."

It's now six in the morning. I think the last time I was up at this hour had to have been the last time I had a sleepless night. I hate mornings. Actually, no, that's not true. I like mornings. I hate to wake up. Period. Waking up is the most awful thing in the world. Actually, no, that's not true, either. Waking up is okay, it's that moment after you wake up when you're like, "Oh no, I have to get out of my warm comfy bed now, don't I?". THAT'S the worst thing in the world.

So yeah. Like I said, I like mornings, I just don't think they're important enough to get up for. But this morning is okay. It's just starting to get light out and the trees are semi-frosted over and my windows have little fog/frost stuff around the edges. It's pretty. I like it. But at the same time, I totally wish I would've slept through it.

Don't get me wrong, staying up all night was a total blast, but I know from experience that for the rest of the day I'm going to feel terrible and be like a zombie. I'm going to feel tired and cranky and generally miserable all day long. On my day off, too, dangit.

Although, I sort of saw this coming. It's sort of a long story. See, I'm just coming off a cold, and I've been taking Nyquil at night for about a week now. I seem to remember this happening the last time I had a cold and took Nyquil, too. Maybe my body needs to detox or something?? That's me, your friendly everyday Nyquil addict! Just kidding. Seriously. I'm not addicted to anything except being awesome. Anyway, I figured today (my day off) would be a good day for me to feel tired and cranky and generally miserable, so it didn't interfere with work. That's me, dedicated to the core. :P

Strange. Usually after waking from a normal sleep I feel so wonderful, almost like the bed and I are one. Well right now, I'm sorry, but the bed is being very uncomfortable and I feel like getting out of it ASAP but I'm too tired to do anything about it. My neck has cramps, my back is sore, the pillows are fighting me and jabbing me all over the place...why can't I feel wonderful like after I actually sleep? Stupid bed...behave!

I have no idea if I'm actually going to post this blog. I really shouldn't. It's long and boring and pretty much useless and stupid. Actually, that sums up most of my blogs, so maybe I just might post it after all. Good thing I don't hold my blog to an incredibly high standard.

Please don't judge me by this blog, either. I am obviously off my game and unable to make coherent thoughts, let alone transfer those mangled, half-formed thoughts to anything worthwhile in a blog. But really, what else was I supposed to do all night? And no, this isn't the only thing I've done. That would make me a very slow typer. I've read things, drank things (not Nyquil), listened to things, watched things, bought things (Actually, I don't really remember buying anything. I remember thinking about buying things, and it would be weird if I didn't, cause that's usually what I do when I'm bored, but I don't recall actually pushing the "Buy it now!" button, so maybe there's still hope).

So hopefully, after tonight, my body has successfully detoxed itself (lol, I just like saying that) and come tomorrow night I will be back to my normal self. Hopefully I'll actually be able to enjoy a little of my saturday and not spend the whole thing sleeping. Here's hoping. *clink*

I am going to post it. Who cares. I spent a lot of energy on this blog. Oh, it might not seem like it to you, but forming words to make sentences after not sleeping for 23 hours (it took me like five minutes to figure that out, by the way) is actually a lot of work, and I'm pretty darn proud of myself!! And I'm going to stop now before my spelling gets any worse. (FYI, this is what happened just now when I tried to spell worse: "Woorse...wordsts...wrietn...srorse...worse.") Yay me! I'm awesome.

The Soup

2010-11-15T16:55:00.004-06:00

I'm sure you've probably made soup before. Start with some basic ingredients (hamburger, vegetables, noodles, whatever) and then start adding small amounts of stuff, like spices or bullion or chopped things. Then you taste it. Then you add some more of the spices, or pull out some of the chopped things, once you remember that you don't like celery. You know. A soup.

This blog is going to be a soup. Some topics of substance, then some smaller, less important stuff, then some more small stuff, then whatever happens to be on my mind at the moment. Which could really be anything in the whole entire world. Who knows.

First, let's get some substance in our pot!

So, today I was shopping. So simple. So innocent. No. You're wrong. There's nothing innocent about it. It gets very hostile. Imagine a huge land with thousands of lions, and all the lions are she-lions with five cubs each, and there is only one antelope running for dear life, and all the she-lions are fighting each other to get to the antelope, to save themselves and their cubs. Well, guess what. Welcome to shopping. And if you want to factor sales and mark-downs into the equation, it's the same scenario, just imagine that the antelope is missing a leg.

Any woman will tell you that there are a very strict set of rules to abide by when shopping. Actually, they probably won't. We don't really speak of it. It's a woman thing. So I'm probably going to be found tomorrow floating face-down in a lake somewhere, and all the men are going to be like, "What happened here?" and all the women are going to be like, "Don't know. Don't care."

Anyway, there are rules. I won't give you the entire list. I've given you guys enough lists lately. Plus, maybe now the women of the world will have mercy upon my soul. The rule I'm going to talk about right now is also the the one I broke about an hour ago. The rule is, if you're looking at something in a store, and somebody comes up beside you, it's woman-speak for "Get your butt out of the way, sistah, I wanna look at that!" And it's pretty much expected that you're going to get outta the way.

So there I was. Looking at scarves and mittens and hats for winter (YAY!). And this lady, like 70 years old is following me from rack to rack, enforcing this rule. I would go somewhere and start looking at stuff, and she'd come right after me and start looking at what I was looking at. So I'd growl inside and move to the next rack. Ten seconds later, here she comes, suddenly so interested in what I was looking at. I was getting very irritated.

Finally, I moved to a rack of scarves and began to sift through the rabble, hoping to find a diamond in the rough. What? Who is this coming over? You're right; it's the rude old woman who gets her kicks by pushing young girls around at department stores.

No no no no no. I had actually found a scarf that I liked, and the rack held more possible buys. The woman came closer. No. I'm not going anywhere. If you're gonna abuse your power, you're gonna lose it, lady. She edged closer. I didn't move, just kept sifting through the scarves. She actually started feeling the very scarf I was looking at!

I turn my head to look at her, as she is almost hip-to-hip with me now, and it's beginning to get very uncomfortable. He smiles a little fake smile and says, "hi,". I'm sure she thought that was the end of it and I would move out of her way so she could follow me to the next rack. She looked at me expectantly. I smiled back at her, then turned back to the rack. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her giving me that incredulous look that says, "I can't believe you aren't giving me whatever I want! I am old and wonderful and waaay better than you."

Eventually she flounced away to find some other young girl to terrorize. I stayed at the scarf rack until I was done, finding two scarves worthwhile, as well as two pairs of mittens. Yay for winter!

A seasoning in the pot:

This morning I signed up for classes at SCC. I'm excited for school! Actually, I'm not really excited for school, I'm excited to graduate from school. And I guess before you graduate, you have to start. So I'm starting, so I can graduate in two years, and make money.

Another seasoning:

I've made a miraculous discovery! You know those people in the mall, who wait out in the middle of the aisle with a bottle of some sort of hair product in their hands? They scan the crowd, looking for girls who have long-ish hair and look like they have money to blow. Then, before you know it, they're ambushing you while you're on your way to your favorite store, asking if you've ever had a bad day EVER BEFORE IN YOUR LIFE, and promising that if you buy whatever crap they're selling, you'll never have another bad day, your boyfriend will ask you to marry him, you will be the most popular person in the world, and you will receive your very own pony. GUARANTEED!

Now, these guys drive me crazy. I avoid them like I avoid Bubonic Plague. And trust me, I DO avoid Bubonic Plague! But sometimes, you need to do more than avoid them. Sometimes, they seem to know where you are. They see you trying to slink past them unseen. They smell your fear. And they move in for the kill.

Never fear, ladies, Johanna knows your pain, and has found a solution! If you're on your phone, they won't bother you. It's true. And how are they to know if you're actually having a real conversation or talking to yourself INTO your cell phone? Oh yeah, they DON'T! So. Whenever you go past the scary, over-aggressive conditioner-sellers, just put your phone to your ear. You don't even have to speak. Even better, pretend you're angry at whoever you're talking to, and you're just hoping some random person will come up and say something to you so you can bite their head off. Trust me. Then, they will avoid YOU like Bubonic Plague! :)

And some more seasoning:

I love this weather. Just saying. After my last post, winter moved in. Did you notice that? Just think: light, fluffy snowflakes tinkling down from the sky, roaring fireplaces, crackling and popping as you sip hot apple cider and cuddle in blankets.

Please, like winter. Please. If I'm the only one having fun, it's no fun at all. :(

Okay. I'm out of spices for my soup. It's pretty tasty, I think, for a blog. I'm pretty sure it's got angel hair noodles, chicken, some of that green stuff that makes soup taste good (not celery)...pretty much I'm thinking of that chicken soup stuff that Nikki made after Dad had foot surgery. That's what this blog would taste like, if it were an actual soup. And for those of you who didn't have that soup, it was awesome, and you missed out. Just think of this blog as the most wonderful soup ever. Yum!

Dear Winter, I Would Like To Be A Cannibal

2010-11-06T23:57:00.006-05:00

Dear Wintertime,

I would just like to start out by saying, you are my favorite. You take away all that awful heat and cursed humidity that reigns unopposed for so many months of the year. You send it far, far away, running it out of town for a few wonderful, blessed (but oh-so-short) months. And for this, I love you.

*Ahem* However. It is nearing mid-November and I have yet to see much sign of you. Usually you've set up shop and made yourself comfortable by now, and I'm really beginning to wonder if you've forgotten about us, or if you're just still sleeping or what. I'm not angry or anything (well okay, that's a lie, I'm a little bit angry), I just really really miss you, that's all.

And so, because I acknowledge that you might be behind or still recovering from last winter (which would be understandable), I have enclosed a list of everything that I (and, I'd like to imagine, everybody else in the world) would like to see from you in the very very VERY near future.

1) We'd like to see some freakin' SNOW!!! Last winter, we had accumulative snowfall in mid October. That was wonderful, in case you didn't know. We all loved it (except for most everybody I talked to, but that's beside the point). So I'm sure I speak for everyone (or not) when I humbly ask, nay, DEMAND the most giant dump of snow that you've got.

2) I'd like it very much if it would get AT LEAST cold enough to make the leaves turn a color other than green, and then fall off their respective trees. That probably should have been number one...but I just REALLY want snow. Seriously.

3) I'd really like it if the temperature would get so cold that I could walk outside and spit and it would freeze into a blob of frozen spit before it hits the ground. You know. If I wanted.

4) I want the snow to get so high that there is no physical way for me to get to work. So much snow that people all over the city have to gather together in small tribes to survive the winter, hunting wild game (but of course, all the animals have died by now, so we abandon that idea really fast), making tunnels through the mile-high snowfall, building fires with sticks and hunting other tribes to eat them, since all the animals are dead and survival instincts say it's kill or be killed. In essence, we will turn into savages and cannibals.

5) I want you to stick around for a long time. So like, don't leave until June. Or August. Heck, you might as well just stay for a year or two, or 12, or 80. Just tell that stupid Summer that there's a new sheriff in town, and send it to the gallows.

6) I don't want to see another stupid robin for the rest of my life. They're STILL HERE! It's November! They should've packed up and moved out MONTHS ago! Get. Them. OUT!

7) I'm tired of defending you to everybody and their mom. Please show the world how wonderful you are. Some ideas include: Making it snow big, fluffy flakes, instead of the ice-needles that stab you in the eyeballs. Keeping away the ice, and just giving us the snow. Prolonging the weeks leading up to Christmas, so everybody can properly enjoy it and not feel rushed and stressed out. Not having periodic days when the weather is 60 degrees (if people don't remember it, they won't miss it as much). Making it snow a little bit every day, so we won't ever see the nasty dirty snow that accumulates on the side of the road. There are some ideas. Get on that.

I guess that's all for now. It's a good start anyway. I'll probably think of more later, but for now let's start with these.

Wintertime, you are wonderful. I know that. You know that. Sooner or later, all these crazy people will know that. Still. You need to come back to us. We miss you.

Fondly, your BFF,

Probably-The-Only-One-In-The-Whole-World-Who-Likes-You-These-Days

Fantasy Or Nightmare??

2010-10-25T01:38:00.001-05:00

I need to learn to say "no" to people. To look away from the big pleading puppy-dog eyes, harden my heart, grit my teeth, stand my ground, and say "NO!" But I don't. I don't have what it takes. I do try, though. Like when my little/big brother Josh was like, "Hey, you should do Fantasy Football this year!" I was like, "Well, I don't really know enough about football. I don't think I want to."

But he kicked my legs out from under me. "But Jo, we've got to have one more player, or else we won't have enough people and we won't be able to do it." Then he cinched the deal by giving me the big sad puppy-dog eyes. What was I supposed to do?

Option 1) Stick to my guns, harden my heart, stand my ground, and say no and feel like Cruella Deville for the rest of my life.

Option 2) Play the stupid Fantasy Football, and quite possibly look like a fool.

So I did what any good sister would do and joined the league as Team Scrubs. And just as I suspected, I was no good. I just didn't care enough to prowl the free agency waiting for people to drop people I want or pick up guys who maybe might be sort of good next week. Didn't care enough to memorize who's the best on which team and who's got a buy week when and which match-up works well with who and all this other nonsense that I don't care about.

I like football. I do. I know which teams I like and I cheer for them, and I know which teams I don't like and I cheer for whoever they're playing. I know the rules and which positions do what. That's all I know, and that's all I care about. Sorry.

That was last year, and I vowed that I wouldn't do FF again this year. Even when BOTH my brothers hit me hard with the puppy-dog stare, I steadfastly refused. No thank you, I was humiliated last year, and I'm not interested in a repeat performance of THAT.

Then I made a mistake. I embellished on my faults. I said, "Besides, I don't even know who's good and who isn't." And my brother Jim took that and threw it back in my face. "Well, why don't you just pick the guys by how good looking they are?" Dangit. I could, couldn't I? And then I said yes. I am such a sucker.

I've tried to be better this year. Actually, no, that's a lie. I haven't really done anything different this year except for choosing my team based solely on their physical appearance and naming my team The G.I. Jo's. I'm still awful. 0-3 :S. I still don't care enough to try. I want to care. Really, I do. But I don't. So I've made a list to help all of us who are trying to play better Fantasy Football.

Things you have to know and care about to compete in Fantasy Football:

1) You have to know who's injured, how badly, and when they're coming back. And you have to know it the minute they get injured. Like, before they even know themselves.

2) You have to know how many points everybody's made the past few games. Even though that doesn't really help, cause they seem to know when they get put in your starting lineup and then decide they don't really feel like playing good that day. Every time. Seriously.

3) You have to know how good they are compared to the other guys on their team. But really, you should've known that before the draft, and then just gotten those other, better guys instead.

4) You have to know who they're going to play (I guess it's called a match-up?) and if they're good in comparison. Even though so often the underdog wins anyway, so why are we even stressing about this?

5) You have to watch all the freakin games (even games you don't care about in the least) and know which rookies are actually showing promise, for next year. I asked my brother why I couldn't just think about that next year, and he gave me this look that indicated he felt very sad for me, and my poor shriveled brain.

6) You have to trade your players for other players you want, and if someone sends you a trade you don't like, you have to respond with a counter offer or risk looking anti-social. I don't know, but apparently this is a big deal.

7) While in the presence of your fellow FF league members, you have to talk about football, and nothing but football, and stats and players and plays and hopes and fears and football football football. If you don't, you're automatically antisocial and ignorant about stats and we hate you.

8) You can't take football advice from anybody, especially people in your league. The answers they give you will be shrouded in their own hidden agenda to either get your good players for themselves or make your team play poorly. We'll deny it, of course, but it's true.

9) You have to shift people from your starters to your bench and back constantly. You can't just leave all the best guys as your starters. No. That's ridiculous. You must be stupid.

10) You can't pick up the very last, worst guy on the player board thing during the draft, as this is known to cause an uproar with your league members, cause now they know for sure that you aren't taking it seriously, and you'll be the subject of dirty looks and constant hounding about dropping the guy for the rest of your life.

Now, I've made another list for those of you who love Fantasy Football and can't get enough of it. For those of you who live, eat, and breathe football and stats and think that anybody who doesn't must be without ambition in life. Here are some things to keep in mind.

1) If you are at a party, and another person who is in your Fantasy League is also there and you run up to each other while everyone is laughing and talking about things other than football and start babbling about Adrian Peterson's last touchdown and Tom Brady's two interceptions and Denver's match up and the last two seconds of the Pittsburgh game, don't be surprised if somebody throws water or some sort of corrosive liquid in your face.

2) If somebody in your league has a player starting who you don't especially think ought to start, if you hound them day and night and send them emails and try to explain that they are making the biggest mistake of their entire life and try to hack into their fantasy account to change it yourself, you are only going to make that person want to do other things that you hate, just to spite you.

3) If you ask someone in your league what they thought of the Jets game, and they say flippantly that they didn't watch it, it doesn't necessarily mean they had something earth-shattering to do, it just means they didn't watch it. It's okay. Not everybody in the world watches every game religiously. It happens. Breathe.

4) Just because somebody who has a fantasy team doesn't prowl the free agency and stalk other fantasy league members and fall asleep in front of the TV memorizing football stats doesn't mean they automatically fail at life. It might just mean they have a job. That happens too.

5) If someone says they like football, don't assume they know who won the Super Bowl in 1953 or what the score was, or who was playing, or their stats. Don't assume any of that. Just assume they like football, that game where a guy throws a ball and another guy catches it, and the guys wearing different colors try to stop them.

6) Don't try to tie football references into everyday conversation. If somebody says "Mmm, this drink is good." Don't say, "You know what's good? Brandon Lloyd's last catch of the Miami game. THAT was good!" Don't say that. Another corrosive liquid might be coming your way.

7) If somebody in your league picks up the very last, worst player from the draft board and tries to trade him every day for your best players, that person is not stupid or naive or mentally insane. That person just has a sense of humor. :D

Fantasy Football. Some love it, some despise it. Some mock it, some can't get enough of it. Whichever side you're on, be sure to keep everything in perspective. It's a game of a game. Granted, it's a fun game of another fun game, but that's not the point. Point is, you either love it or hate it, so do everything in your power to make life miserable for the other side. That'll be fun.

I Found The White Patches!!

2010-09-30T14:33:00.006-05:00

I don't get sick much. When I do, it's here today, gone tomorrow (just like my stuff that I hide, remember?). Every now and then I get a cold that holds me in its clutches for a month or two, but really, I'm pretty proud of my immune system. "Good work, guys! Go team!"

However. About once or twice a year I do battle with a bout of strep throat. Strep throat has been in my life forever, like that annoying relative that just won't go away. They aren't around you all the time, but it seems like just when you're having the time of your life and nothing can go wrong...BOOM! There they are. It's like that.

When I was little I used to get strep like, a million times a year. Or maybe it just seems like it because it was always such a traumatic experience for an impressionable youngster like myself. Many of my childhood memories involve me, or one of my siblings, or both, curled up on the couch in a heavy blanket, lethargic and glassy-eyed, feeling positively awful, or retching into an ice cream bucket while Mom holds your hair out of the way with one hand and holds your head up with the other. Thanks, Mom.

One more thing that I remember about those times. Mom would always--always!--tell you to open your mouth wide, after which she would peer inside for an unimaginable length of time. She would ho and hum and squint, intently searching for something deep inside your mouth. And you would have to hold your breath while she did it cause you don't want to get Mom sick, of all people (who would take care of you then?)! Finally, Mom would be satisfied, take a step back (finally giving you a chance to haul in a breath of air), put her hands on her hips, sigh and say, "Yep. You've got the white patches."

All my life I was baffled by the mysterious white patches that Mom saw on my throat when I was sick. Over the years, I tried so many times during my bouts with strep to see them in the mirror, but never could, and it drove me crazy. Fast forward to modern-day Lincoln NE, to a house, to some people, to a tickle.

So there I was. Sitting quietly minding my own business. Or quite possibly not. I could've been tormenting any of my various siblings...but that is neither here nor there. I was doing something. I felt a tickle. I cleared my throat. The tickle got worse. Fine, if you're gonna make me work for it! I put my fist to my mouth and coughed. The tickle settled down into a sharp-ish pain in the area of my tonsils. I looked at my watch. Yep. It's about time for my bi-annual strep throat diagnosis. Aw, man.

So I continued my day to day activities, waiting for the inevitable chills to wrack my body from the inside out or the twinge in my stomach, shortly preceding a hasty trip to the bathroom which would seal my couchridden fate. For two days, nothing seemed amiss, other than my declining throat and dilapidated tonsils. Everything else appeared to be in working order. Odd.

That night, at work, my sore throat was beginning to become unbearable. Against my better judgement, I didn't drink water all evening because it was too painful. Finally, I found a mirror, curious to see the extent of the damage. What I saw made me stop cold and my heart skip a beat. My eyes widened and I could hardly believe what I was seeing. A zillion memories flooded through my mind of my mom saying, "Yep, you've got the white patches...white patches...white patches..."

I was staring at the back of my throat, at the legendary white patches that Mom had so often seen inside my throat. I felt like a treasure hunter having finally dug up the long sought-after X marks the spot. Like Columbus getting his first glimpse of the New World. Like Mario after finally rescuing Princess Peach from Bowser's Castle. There was a moment of magic and a feeling of triumph. I've finally seen the white patches!

Then I remembered that my throat was on fire and every time I swallowed it felt like I was swallowing broken glass. And this morning it took the doctor all of 2 seconds to make her diagnosis, write me a prescription, and send me on my merry way after making me promise to come back if everything gets worse (it always makes me nervous when they say that).

Several minutes later, I was standing in line at Walgreens (who should totally give me something for saying their name in my blog), prescription in hand. When it was my turn, the pharmacist guy was asking me all these questions and all I could really do was grunt in the affirmative or negative, as my tonsils were doing their best to close around my esophagus.

So now, here I am. Waiting for the Amoxicillin to work its magic. I don't care if you're a believer or not, but antibiotics are beautiful things. Think of all the simple sicknesses that used to be deadly, but now all we have to do is take a pill twice a day and we're fine?? And the doctor told me the antibiotic would either cure me completely or make me break out in a rash.

Hip hip...hooray??

I'm Lost In My Own Maze Of Awesome Hiding Places.

2010-09-26T13:57:00.003-05:00

I misplace things. Here today, gone tomorrow. Story of my life. On any given day, I'll see something a million times until I feel like hurling it out a window, and then when I actually need the thing, it's gone, never to be seen or heard from again, the end. Take two minutes ago, for instance.

So there I was. Giggling to myself like a stupid idiot because it's cold outside for the first time since summer ended and there are leaves falling off the trees and the Swedish blood in me gets really happy and excited whenever the weather gets cold. Anyway, I'm all excited and grinning like a stupid fool, cuddling in blankets and deciding what to get people for Christmas. Then I decide I want my slippers (the ultimate sign that Fall us upon us). I love my slippers. They are big and warm, and have rubber on the bottom so I can walk outside while wearing them, and they come over the back of my feet so they stay on. They're wonderful. And I wanted them.

So I go to my bedroom to get them, laughing to myself and dancing around on the inside. FALLFALLFALLFALL!!! Inside my bedroom, I've got a shoe hanger thing on the back of my door. That's where my slippers had been for the past six months. Nope. Not there. Not anywhere. I searched and searched with nothing to show for my efforts, except that I found a few things that I used to love, and although they're useless to me now they still hold some amount of sentimental attachment. That was mildly amusing, but my feet were still cold.

The worst part is, I distinctly remember at the end of last winter, putting my slippers somewhere and saying to myself, "I am going to put these in a special place so I will remember where they are so I will have them next year when my feet get cold after this cursed summer is finally over!" I put them in a place so special and secret that even I can't find it!!

And that's just one example of many. Hundreds. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Examples aplenty. I won't tell you about all of them. That would make a very long and boring blog.

I think I need a list. Yes, a list of all my secret hiding places where I put my stuff. But then, what if I lose the list? I need a list to tell me where the list is. But then where does the chain end? It'll end up like that song. "There's a germ on the flea on the hair on the wart on the frog on the knot on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea..." only it'll be a list and it'll go,

"There's a pen in a pot in a box in a crate in a chest in the dark in a room in the middle of my basement..."

Maybe I just need to not hide my stuff like a raccoon. But then I lose it. What am I supposed to do? Not have cool stuff? That's an idea. I know what you're thinking, "But Jo, a place for everything and everything in it's place." Yeah, well guess what? Some people aren't OCD about having a place for e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g in the world. Some people actually think about things other than keeping the world clean and being a slave to their neatness. I'm free, thank you very much. Free to take off an article of clothing at the end of the day and throw it up in the air and let it stay wherever it lands. Free to climb into a messy bed at night and curl up into a snug little nest, not having to worry about sleeping like a board so I don't mess up the sheets while I sleep.

It also means I'm free to lose my stuff and spend three months scouring the house for whatever it is, only to become frustrated to the point of buying a new one (Like how I just bought new slippers this afternoon). But you know what? I think it's a good trade. It's more fun and relaxing than spraying 409 on everything I touch and breaking into a cold sweat whenever I see someone step onto my carpet with their shoes on. Good grief. Lighten up, wouldja?

That being said, I don't think we should all be trashy and throw our stuff everywhere and be dirty and live like pigs. No. Please do not misunderstand. To an extent, we should all be tidy and orderly. Admittedly, I do fall short there sometimes. BUT! Throwing a shirt on the floor once and a while is OKAY!! Having a water fight with your little/big brother every now and then is OKAY!! BEING MESSY SOMETIMES IS OKAY!!!! Hooray! :D

*Cue dramatic Scottish William Wallace battle cry* FRREEEEEEDOOOOOM!!!

(Though sometimes I do wish I could find stuff...)

Psst, I'm Alive!

2010-09-04T22:16:00.003-05:00

It's dark. It's quiet. Everybody is asleep. Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse. Hopefully Santa Claus doesn't show up. It's not late by anyone's standards (except for everybody in this house, seems like). They want me to conform to their ways, but I'm stronger than that.

In case you were unaware to my whereabouts (lol, that sounds funny!), I am currently in northern Minnesota. And when I say north, I mean it. Seriously. I'm waving at the Canadians right now. We're shouting things back and forth at each other like at football games, and shouting "yo mama" jokes. Not really. That last part isn't true. I don't tell Canadians "yo mama" jokes because last time I did that they threw snowballs at me.

I love road trips. I love being able to drive away from whatever town I live in and just drive and drive and drive and not come back. My motto for every road trip is "Pack the essentials: underwear and technology, not necessarily in that order. The rest are bonus points." Actually, that's not my motto. I've never said that before in my life. But it sounds pretty good, so maybe someday it'll become my motto.

Anyways, even though that's not really my motto, I made absolutely sure I packed my technology. My iPhone, my computer, and so on. Actually, just my iPhone and computer. That's the only technology I own, I guess. Anyway, even though we're headed into places even people who live in the boonies don't venture, my grandpa has wireless internet, which is oh-so-sweet, and makes staying in Nowhere oh-so-much-better. But what do I find upon my arrival? Their wireless isn't working. NO!

So for the last few days, I've been unable to make contact with the outside world, save for short snatches of internet signal my iPhone is able to grasp at random times throughout the day, like a drowning man gasping for air. Usually, though, the signal doesn't stick around long enough for me to actually DO anything with it. So I've been stuck.

Actually, it's been pretty okay. It's nice sometimes to just think; "I'm a million miles away from anywhere. Nobody can call me. I can't call anyone. I can't get email. I can't text. The only thing to do...is abandon my electronics (which is sort of why I went on vacation in the first place), go outside, and have a good time." So in that regard, it's been a positive adjustment for me.

Aaaaand in other ways...it's hasn't. Sometimes I think; "I'm a million miles away from anywhere. Nobody can call me. I can't call anyone. I have no connection whatsoever with the outside world. For all I know, terrorists have bombed Lincoln Nebraska, my home is a heap of rubble, the U.S. retaliated by nuking the terrorists, and now World War III is in full swing, and I WOULD NEVER KNOW!!!

So after a few days of living in a tug of war between relaxation and mental turmoil, I have crept, under the cover of night, to my grandparents' computer, to see what is happening in the world outside. I sort of feel like somebody in the witness protection program, using restricted computers late at night (well, not really late at all, but whatever) to let their families know they're not really dead or seeing what's happening in the world beyond the safe-house. Sort of like that, but waaaaay more relaxed.

Anyway, vacation's been fun. Went hiking with the sisters, took lots of pictures (which I had planned to have in a facebook photo album by now, but with this internet thing I'm not holding my breath), played on some hay bales, rode the four-wheeler, went to a small county fair, went on another hike and got verbally chewed up and spit out for "leaving the group" when pretty much the group left me, and it wasn't an issue either way because the group and I know perfectly well how to navigate Grandpa's woods, so, pretty much, who cares if we separate or not?!?! (I don't have a chip on my shoulder, what are you talking about?)

It's always good to get up here, though. There may be no internet. They may want me to go to bed early (keep trying guys, really). It may be a zillion miles away from civilization. But it's a good place. You really relax when you're here, whether you want to or not. And that's what I need right now; to just relax. It takes some getting used to, and sometimes it drives me nuts, but this is where my roots are; this is a place I love, and a place I'll probably always come back to, even when I'm old.

So I guess this is it. Goodbye, world!! Be good, sit up straight, don't open the door for strangers, live well, love much, laugh often, and for goodness sake don't start World War III without me!

This Means War!

2010-09-01T01:04:00.004-05:00

So I'm sitting here at my computer at one in the morning, cause that's just what I do, and I do it pretty good, I think. I'm having a good time, laughing at funny websites, listening to music, wishing I could hack into super-secret government computer systems like in the movies, and spending money via Etsy and Ebay for things I don't need but really, really, sort of want, and then I feel it.

A bead of sweat blazes a trail down the side of my face and ends up dangling from my chin, waiting for another drop to follow in its wake and set them both airborne.

There are more signs, too.

My clothes sticking to me slightly. The air in the room (or lack thereof) is heavy with good ol' Nebraska humidity, giving my lungs a horrible drowning sensation. Breathing itself is becoming a chore, something at which I have to actually concentrate.

So what is it, you ask? It is war, my friends.

My parents are soul mates. Made for each other. Inseparable. Faithful to the end. They've got each other's backs. They're watching each other's six's. They agree on everything. Almost.

Every couple disagrees on things here and there. Most work through them, or settle things peacefully through gentle compromise. The same is true for my parents...most of the time. In one area, though, there will be no compromise on either side. Nobody is backing down. All must choose a side and stick to it with all your heart.

The Thermostat.

I have never known a time when the temperature inside the house was agreed upon by my parents. And I guess to be fair, they can't really help it. Mom is always cold. Dad is always hot.

Not that the room temperature has ever been the topic of arguing or a marital stumbling block. My parents prefer to keep this little battle on the hush-hush. Almost like the Quiet Game, mixed with Capture The Flag, King Of The Hill, Mafia, Dark Finger, and Chess while acting like ninjas. The only catch is that the game never ends. "...It just goes on and on my friends..."

And they're always recruiting new ninja pawns, because the more ninja pawns you have working for you, the more ninja eyes you can have watching the thermostat when you aren't around. That's the way the game/war works. Dad's got his army, and Mom's got hers. And actually, new intelligence suggests that even the neighbor kids are getting involved, though these allegations have yet to be confirmed.

Over the years, the game has evolved into something much more complicated. Whoever your "leader" is (either Mom or Dad), can be making hand signs from across the room, even while other, opposing players are in the room, instructing you what to do with the thermostat or what number to set it to.

And let's not forget the importance of position. In other families, in normal homes, who have normal conversations and act normally at any given time, people might walk casually into the family room in a relaxing fashion and pick a chair or place on the couch at random, or perhaps based on whichever looked most comfortable at the moment. Not so, in my house. See, there's a chair sitting directly under the thermostat control panel. Prime seating, baby. This is the way it goes:

*Someone from Team Dad* "I'm going to go watch TV."

*Someone from Team Mom* "Yeah, me too."

The two share a short glance. In that glance many words are being said. Dares, trash talk, threats, goads, and battle cries are all being communicated in a four second glance. More, if you allow time for facial expressions. And after that, the race is on. The two will bolt into the family room, stampeding over whatever helpless objects (or siblings) happen to be in the way. The lucky one who makes it to The Throne Of Power first will be king (or queen) of the hill, for however long they sit there. Unspoken Rule Of Warfare: NO instigating battle with anyone sitting in The Throne Of Power. If they're there, they're there for as long as they want to stay there. Usually Dad is there.

So now, back to present time. After feeling that terrible heat settling over me like a mink comforter in this cursed summertime, I wasted no time in steeling downstairs and turning the AC to something a little more compatible with staying alive.

Score one: Team Dad! Semper Fi!

"Nowhere Man" --The Beatles.

You're Stuck With Me!

2010-08-08T00:53:00.007-05:00

Tonight at work, I was talking to one of the old ladies I take care of. She was telling me all about her family, and brothers and sisters, and likewise, I was telling her all about mine. (That's right, guys, I DO talk about you when you're not around, and I tell all the stories, too!). While we were talking, we found out we each had five siblings. All her siblings were still alive and lived relatively close by.

Anyway, she was talking all about her siblings, and offhand I asked her, "When was the last time you saw them?"

The light sort of went out of her eyes, and the smile died on her face. She got a sort of vacant look, and didn't say anything for several seconds. At last, she licked her lips and said, "Well honey, I guess it's been nearly ten years since I've seen any of them."

I felt like something coiled itself around my stomach and squeezed. How could that be? How could people--siblings!--who love each other, grew up with each other, stood at each others' weddings, cuddled each others' children, laughed and cried with each other not even VISIT each other for TEN YEARS?! How is that even possible?

And it got me (here it comes, you knew it was going to happen, it's inevitable when somebody says something semi-important or serious to Johanna) it got me thinking. Thinking about my own siblings. This woman's story was eerily similar to my own. I thought about my own family.

My little sisters, Rachel and Mary, who cuddle in my bed in the evening listening to me read Jennie McGrady mysteries until I force them into their own rooms to sleep out whatever is left of the night.

My little (big) brother, Josh, who does crazy, spur-of-the-moment things with me, staying up late playing Gin and having movie quote wars, laughing at Psych episodes and Weird Al Yankovich, playing games, and arguing about the rules of Risk.

My big brother, Jim, who loves to hang out with me even though he's newly married and busy with school, who makes me laugh harder than anybody else I know, and always stands ready to help you out with school, general advice, or chasing away bullies who are pelting you with snowballs. :)

My big sister, Nikki, who encouraged me as a young girl to excel, to learn, to be smart, to stand for things even (or maybe especially) when nobody else will, who used to let me sleep in her bed whenever I was scared or had a bad dream, read me books and told me story after story, teaching me the joy of using your imagination.

All of my siblings, I love them. I can't even remotely imagine going ten years without seeing even one of them. I love them too much. Even when we all get old and have families of our own and move to different states or whatever, I hope we all still make an effort to see each other. It just makes me so sad to think of siblings not ever seeing each other. Seriously. I want to cry just thinking about it.

So, this blog goes out to my siblings. You guys can't get away from me! Understand? There's nowhere you can hide. No way am I going to let ten years go by without seeing you, so you're just gonna have to come to grips with that. You're stuck with me, kid, and that's all there is to it.

"Many Roads" --Andrew Peterson

The Great Skunk Fiasco!

2010-07-31T02:46:00.005-05:00

Why is it all my most exciting and dangerous stories begin with, "So there I was, minding my own business..."? I think maybe I need to stop minding my own business, it's far too dangerous. I need to start poking my nose where it doesn't belong and spying on my neighbors. Then, just maybe, I'll stay out of trouble. Or something. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, once again, I was minding my own business, and something terrible happened. It went like this...

I walked out to my car, stars twinkling above me and the crickets chirping their happy nighttime songs to whoever might me listening. I slid behind the wheel and immediately cranked the (recently fixed!) air conditioner. After selecting a good driving-home-after-a-long-day-at-work song, I drove away from my place of employment and headed for home.

I was excited. While at work, I had received a voicemail from one of my friends, Rachel, saying she wanted to hang out after I got off work. Ahh, the good ol' days, getting off work and hanging out with Rachel, drinking coffee to our hearts content, talking, laughing, and hanging out into the wee morning hours, when the rest of the city had long since said goodnight.

We hadn't done that in a long time, so needless to say, I was happy and excited to get her voicemail. But seriously, I didn't want to hang out in my scrubs. I'd been in them for nine hours already, and I was ready to get into something more comfortable. So I raced home (in the figurative sense...maybe) and changed into some capris, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. Ahh, much better.

So we were both pretty undecided on a place to hang out. First it was her house, and that didn't work out. I never suggested my house, because really, I live with like millions of people and it's not always the quietest place, even at night. Then we thought maybe a coffee shop, but they were all closed, so Rachel gets the bright idea, "hey, let's go to Holmes Lake!" Yeah, sure, why not? Little did I know...

We parked our cars by the dam and began walking towards it. Rachel wanted to go right up the side, and to be honest, so did I, but I was wearing flip-flops, and who knows WHAT is crawling around in that waist-high grass, so I made the decision that no, we're going to go around. It's not like we're on a time crunch, right? So that's what we do.

We walked across the dam once and it probably took us about fifteen or so minutes, time mostly spent trying repeatedly (and sometimes successfully) to scare each other (cause it's dark out, you know?), and talking seriously in-between the scaring bits. After a while, we turned and began making our way back.

We were a little more than halfway back when I saw it. There. Standing off to the right, not moving. I threw my arm in front of Rachel, stopping her mid-stride. My mind still hadn't registered what I was looking at, but I knew enough to be scared. "Rachel!" I pointed at the thing. My mind began to function through the haze of fear. About the size of a cat. Black.

"What is that?" Rachel whispered to me.

The thing hissed. My mind was still trying. Black. White stripes. Bushy tail. It could only be a..."SKUNK!" I shrieked. Rachel and I stood frozen and unable to move, and my mind was trying to speedily come up with everything it knew about skunks. I knew they did a handstand before they sprayed, and since it wasn't doing one of those I was slightly reassured, but the fact that it was standing there, clearly not happy, and staring at us, was beginning to freak me out.

Rachel and I began to back away, towards the edge of the dam. In hindsight, I probably should have lunged at it or something. Since it wasn't in a to position to spray me, it probably would've ran away, right? I mean, I'm no skunk expert but...

Anyway, from the moment I saw the skunk to this present time in the story, it's probably been no more than ten seconds. All I was thinking about was getting away and the fact that I was totally FREAKED OUT! And as Rachel and I began to back away, my mind brings up this ridiculous saying I've heard about a million times: "Don't worry, it's more afraid of you than you are of it." Um, whoever came up with that is STUPID because I'm pretty sure there is no "more scared" than I was right then, and I'm pretty sure that stupid skunk isn't scared at all because, what does it do? IT RUNS AT US!

When that thing came at us, I don't think I've ever been more scared of anything in my whole life. One of us screamed. And I mean really SCREAMED. Funny, I don't know who it was. For all I know we both did. And then we ran. Terrified, unashamed, down the hill, through the waist-high grass, we ran for our LIVES.

The going was slower for me because of my flip-flops. For the first three or so steps I was trying to stay alive WHILE keeping both my shoes on my feet. After that, I gave up on that, figuring that my life was worth more than a $10 pair of shoes. I made it part way down the slope through the grass before one fell off. I kept going. I couldn't imagine that the skunk was still chasing us, but then, I couldn't imagine it chasing us at all until, whoa, it's CHASING US!

Halfway down the dam, I slip. I lay there in the tall grass, my heart beating about a million times per minute, and I was trying to decide what was worse, staying where I was and hiding until the beast was gone, or making a break for freedom. I had no time to think about my erratic heartbeat or my shoe hopelessly lost in the weeds somewhere around me, though somewhere in the back of my mind, I vaguely wondered what had happened to Rachel. In all the terror and fight-or-flight reactions, I had lost sight of her.

I lifted my head, looking for her, and saw her run the last few yards to the safety of the sidewalk at the bottom of the dam. No, Rachel! Don't you ever watch movies? Bad things happen when people split up! Then it struck me, if this were a movie, I would be the expendable one. The one that tags along with the hero for most of the movie, then gets tragically mauled by a rabid skunk near the end, only to be forgotten by the closing credits. Oh well.

I'm still on my back. I can feel the dew seeping into my clothes, and I'm still wondering what to do. I move slowly into a semi-sitting position. I turn my head around...and see the dark outline of the skunk not three feet from my face. The only thing that entered my mind was a vision of it jumping on my face and clawing my eyes out.

I jumped to my feet and sprinted the rest of the way down where Rachel was waiting for me. Once reunited, we raced to our cars. I absently wondered why there weren't any people outside on their porches, peering into the darkness, wondering what was going on, why girls were screaming. Sheesh, for all they know Rachel and I had just been brutally murdered by escaped ex-cons. I'm never moving to this neighborhood, that's for sure.

By the time we got to our cars, we were laughing hysterically, sharing dialogue of the past few minutes, and every so often, looking behind us, just in case.

It's now been several weeks. Somewhere out there, there is a skunk who is fearless in every way. A skunk who is the boss of Holmes Lake, and knows it. Somewhere out there, there is a black flip-flop, laying in the weeds, covered in mud and bugs. I think I might try to find it...y'know, do a little skunk hunting in the process. If those people don't care about screaming girls, I doubt they'd come running at gunshots. If anything they'd probably hail me their hero for saving them from the Legendary Skunk Of Holmes Lake. In that case, I'd better find an expendable sidekick.

"Captains Of The Sky" --Sky Sailing

How Did This Even Happen??

2010-06-05T21:41:00.006-05:00

Clothes shopping. It hasn't ever been in my fave five things to do in the whole wide world, but it's not something I sincerely hate, at least, not anymore. When I was like, 9 I honestly, sincerely hated shopping for clothes. I didn't get why everybody thought I should care so much about what I wore. In my mind, clothes were just there to keep us from being naked. Nowadays, I don't mind it. It's pretty cool, I guess.

So there I was. In Kohl's with Rachel. Clothes shopping. Now, let me just take a minute here to point out that there are a lot of worse people to shop with than Rachel. She's really easy-going, has good taste, and loves jewelry and sparkly things almost as much as I do!

So she and I were nonchalantly browsing the various racks of clothes, scouring the clearance racks for the diamonds in the rough, and all of a sudden, Rachel asks me, "Jo, is this too old lady looking?"

I turn around, and she's holding a dress up to herself, looking at me with big innocent eyes, and in a millisecond, I was miles away, lifetimes ago, looking at my own big sister while holding something up to myself, wondering sincerely if I had made a good pick.

I've never been any good at matching up outfits or picking out clothes or color coordinating. I wasn't good at it when I was younger, and honestly, I didn't really care. It was never a huge deal to me, and I eventually I came to terms with my own ignorance.

But now...now my little sister is gazing up at me with big pitiful eyes, begging me to approve. And as surprised as I am that I am being asked this question, I am even more surprised to find that I know the answer! Unfortunately, the dress was indeed "old lady looking" as Rachel had so eloquently put it.

I broke the news as softly as I could, remembering all too well what it felt like to be told I had picked out something that didn't make the cut. And as we continued shopping, my mind wandered back through the previous days and weeks and months, only to remember time after time Rachel or Mary asked my opinion of a piece of clothing, or asked me to do their hair, or asked to wear my jewelry (or sometimes just wore it and skipped the pesky asking).

After Rachel and I got home, we'd barely gotten through the door before tearing our purchases out of their respective bags to show the rest of the family. Mom and Mary "ooh"ed and "aah"ed, while Josh and Dad looked on with glazed expressions. A few moments later, I was sitting with Mary on the couch, when she looked up at me and asked, "Jo, will you pick out a pretty outfit for me to wear to church tomorrow?"

There it was again! Not can you pick an outfit, but will you pick an outfit! It was then that I realized...I was it. I was the fashion authority. My word was law. Like it or not, somehow, somehow, I had gotten good at this. I had become the fashion guru for the Trexel household. How did this happen?!

Nikki has only been gone not even a year. Before she left, she was the one we went to with our fashion questions. She was the one to settle fashion disputes, the one to have the last word about anything pertaining to clothing or anything you could wear. Not that she enforced it, she just knew the most about clothes, that's all. Somehow when Nikki left, that baton must have been passed to me. Until further notice, I will be the acting fashion guru.

Heaven help us.

"I Will Glory In My Redeemer" --Sovereign Grace Music

Aaaaaaaand......BACK!

2010-04-29T23:10:00.005-05:00

*cough cough* What on earth? *Blows cobwebs away* Wow. has it really been that long? what rock have I been under all this time? I'm sorry. there really is no excuse for my negligent behavior. except for the one about me not having a computer. yeah, that's definitely one. but if it wasn't for that excuse, I wouldn't have one, and I would feel totally ashamed.

Quick recap! I'm 21, still a Med Aide, I paid off my car, my back itches, coffee no longer effects me, I learned to play Pitch (my first game I bid nine without the ace, king, or queen and I made it! Eat it, Kelsey!), my back really really itches, and I'm planning on becoming a Phlebotomist. other than that, it's pretty much the same old me, back for more fun and fancy free. and now that I've got a computer, let's just assume that I'm back to stay! Woot!

And while I'm on the subject of new computers, I'm just going to take a minute here to give everyone I ever debated about how PCs were superior to Macs the chance to give a resounding, "I told you so!" yes, folks, it's true. I caved and bought a Mac. not that I was ever really against them to begin with, but back in the day I used to argue against them. just cause nobody else was. somebody had to. but now somebody else can. I've served my time.

However wonderful the new computer might be, it's at times like these when I wish I had a computer tech sitting on my shoulder. you know. like the devil/angel thing, but with a computer tech who would give me computer advice and then poof away so I can pretend I came to the answer by myself. my own personal Geek Squad Fairy, to say things like, "Uh, you really don't want to do that." or, "Psst, there's a faster way." or, "Hey, moron, stop clicking random buttons before you delete something important!"

For instance, a few minutes ago I was trying to move music from a file into my Itunes library, and a screen popped up and said, "You are running a script that Itunes does not understand." how is that helpful? what am I even supposed to do with that? explain it to Itunes? and here I thought I was the confused one. that's the bad thing, though; when a computer doesn't understand something, they mean it! they don't have a clue, and they're not interested in learning how to do whatever it is.

And having somebody explain something to me is even worse than trying to figure it out myself sometimes. they think they're speaking in common, everyday terms, but then they start talking about "interfaces" and "javascripts" and then they really get excited and start talking like R2D2 and using numbers instead of words, and by this time I'm usually half asleep and fading fast, forget about getting answers. I'm glad there are people in the world who can understand that stuff, but they need to stop trying to explain things to me. kudos for effort, but you're not going to make me understand.

Anyway. it's 2:30 in the morning, I have work tomorrow (today?), and I'm beastly tired, so I'm going to bid you adieu. I shall return, very soon...with endust!

--The Scientist, by Coldplay.

Part Two In The Saga, Which Also Happens To Be The Finale.

2009-11-08T20:29:00.007-06:00

So there I was. sitting patiently in my deer stand, intently scanning the various fields and tree lines within range of the .25-06 rifle resting beside me. I was tired. apparently getting up at five o'clock in the morning three days in a row will do that to you. go figure.

Anyways. it was about four o'clock in the afternoon. the weather had started off nice enough. a little breezy, but warm (for northern Minnesota), around 40 degrees. but then, not long after I sat down, it started to drizzle, then flat out rain. I'm no deer antics expert, but if I was a deer and it was raining, I would stay in the woods, where I might potentially find some shelter. I definitely wouldn't go out for a stroll on the soggy field. then again, I'm not a deer. what do I know.

So I'd been sitting like a statue for close to two hours and I was more than ready for some action. all around me I could hear the rifle shots of various hunters, some lucky ("BOOM-THUD") others, not so lucky ("BOOM..."). whether or not they were hitting their hairy targets, I was feelin left out.

After what felt like a very long time, I started seeing deer coming out of the woodwork (ha! get it? woodwork?), but none that I especially wanted. come to think of it, since they were all does and fawns I wasn't really legally permitted to shoot them, either, because my tag is bucks only. and really, that's a blessing and a curse, because when hunting season rolls around, I'm tempted to take a pot-shot at anything that moves. practically. my parents always taught me that shooting people was wrong, even if they are game wardens.

At about five o'clock, it's starting to get dark, and my main motivation is just that I really really don't want to get up at five o'clock tomorrow morning. then a little buck meanders out of the woods to my left, only about 100-150 yards away. I pull up my gun and scope him, ho-humming about whether or not I want him. he's not big. heck, he's a spike, maybe a fork at best. and there's something weird about his antlers, but since it was getting close to the end of legal shooting time, added to the rain, I couldn't tell what it was.

I debated a little more, and he continued to meander through the field, on his way to who-knows-where. aw, well, what the heck. I raised the scope to my eye again, and lined up the crosshairs to my satisfaction. back when I first started hunting, when I was thirteen, I would always shut my eyes a split second before I pulled the trigger. now, though, I think it's fun to watch the bright orange flame erupt from the end of the barrel (it's a rush, what can I say). then, after I shot, and the deer went down, I felt the familiar blood pounding in my head and the aftermath of an adrenaline rush I can never feel until after I squeeze the trigger.

As always, I spent a minute to calm myself down, slow my breathing, and will my trembling hands to still. (Note: I'm not a basketcase with a gun, I swear. I'm always nice and calm before I shoot. for some reason, though, after I shoot...pent-up adrenaline? I don't know).

After that, I took out the empty shell casing, and chambered another round, just in case. they've got an overabundance of Timberwolves around here, and there's no way I'm gonna let them tear into the deer I just shot, dang it. so I kept a steady watch over my kill, ready to shoot wolves, should I see any, no matter how supposedly "endangered" they are. (But I never saw any, or shot any, so you can't turn me in to the wardens. haha.)

Anyway. we eventually got it down to the river and gutted, skinned, and finally, hanging peacefully in the shed. turns out, his second antler was pointed sideways, making it non-typical, which is cool, even if the buck itself is small. it also turns out that I blew up both of his lungs with that one shot. that was cool, too. and so now, for the duration of my vacation, the pressure's off and I can relax and SLEEP and hang out on the farm.

*Deep, contented sigh*

Well, that's it for the Saga of Jo's hunting Extravaganza. hope it wasn't too boring or lame. See all you blokes in four days. Peace out.

P.S. GO HUSKERS!

The Calm Before The Storm

2009-11-06T10:27:00.004-06:00

At this moment in time, all is right with the world. I'm leaning back in the recliner at my grandparents' house, enjoying the familiar view of the Bigfork River weaving through the backyard on its lazy journey to the Canadian border, about five miles away. past the river, there's the woods. actually, in pretty much every direction, as far as the eye can see, there's woods. that's what I like about this place. everything is so simple. in every direction, there's woods, above you, there are stars, and below you there's grass. and that's the way I like it.

Inside the house is familiar, too. a fire crackles and pops in the large stone fireplace, dear heads with impressive racks tastefully adorn the various walls, good smells are coming from the kitchen, and from somewhere far away I can hear four-wheelers as my dad and grandpa are making last-minute deer stand inspections.

We arrived last night, my dad, my brother and I. This trip up to Minnesota was far less eventful than my last one had been, when my big brother and I had gotten the bright idea to drive through the night. no big deal. it would be a snap. we'd seen our parents do it countless times over the years. by about two in the morning, we were both cursing our stupidity. finally, at around five in the morning, eyes bloodshot and virtually dead to the world, we rolled to a stop in front of the small farmhouse near the Canadian border and stumbled out of the car, solemnly swearing to never do that again, ever.

So not much is happening today. hunting season doesn't start until tomorrow, so today is really just devoted to planning which tree stand to sit in and caressing our guns. today is a day to relax before the hubbub begins. although, I've got to say, I like the hubbub, the chaos, the adrenaline, the intensity that is hunting season.

For now, though, relaxing here, basking in the familiar sights and smells and memories...this is okay, too.

Morning Ritual, New And Improved!

2009-08-02T14:12:00.004-05:00

Y'know what needs to be invented? I'll tell you. but first, I think I'd better tell you a story to further accentuate my point. so I guess I will. here goes nothing.

Okay, so, almost every morning without fail, this is what happens. I wake up. but that's not all. sometimes I wake up to sunlight, sometimes I wake up to the beep-beep-beep of my alarm, sometimes to some sort of musical instrument (i.e. piano, flute, saxophone, guitar, ecc). whatever the thing is that wakes me up, the second thing I always notice is the smell of coffee.

I started drinking coffee when I was seven years old. I didn't like it at all, actually. I just wanted Dad to think I was cool. I hated it for the longest time, but the glances of approval from Dad were enough to keep me drinking it. and then, somewhere between seven years old and seventeen years old, though I don't know when exactly, I actually started liking it.

Nowadays, I couldn't care less if Dad approves or not. I gotta have it. my record is five pots in a day, and I wasn't even really trying. it just happened. it also just happened that I didn't eat anything all day (who needs food when there's coffee, right?). finally I realized, "Hey, I'm about to pass out and my body is convulsing. maybe I should eat something." Oh brilliant me.

Anyways, I've drifted from my story. after I smell the coffee, I push my feet to the floor and stumble along, still half asleep, just following that smell. I plod down the stairs in my quest for coffee, coming in contact with various family members who always try talking to me or asking me about things I don't understand, and won't until I've got caffeine in my bloodstream.

"Hey, Johanna, what did you do with my bag of clothes yesterday? remember? it was in your car? You said you'd bring it in? Johanna?"

Coffeecoffeecoffee...

"Johanna, I need you to pick up Mary from flute lessons at three o'clock today, okay? Johanna?"

Coffeecoffeecoffee...

Eventually, I make it past everybody into the kitchen where, without fail, somebody is always taking the last of the coffee. I stare with bloodshot eyes as the last of that hot, bitter liquid is drained into the offender's oversized mug, which has probably been refilled several times already this morning.

And whoever it is will smile at me as they walk away, ignorant to my distress, while I stare, mesmerized by the steam wafting up from the rim and the enticing aroma that's sure to follow. and I'll stand there for a few seconds more, willing more coffee to appear in the pot, without success, usually. in the event that no more coffee appears, I'll pad over to the empty pot and begin the long process of making more. (it's the unspoken rule that the person who takes the last of the coffee is supposed to make more. however, since the rule is unspoken, it is also often unheeded).

After I dump the old filter and replace it with a new one, fill it with the grounds of my choosing, add the water, turn on the burner and close the lid, there's really nothing left to do but squat down until you are at eye level with the pot, less than an inch away from singing your nose on the scalding glass, and watch the dark brown liquid trickle into the waiting pot.

"Johanna, I need you to clean your room today."

Coffee.

"Johanna, what are you doing?"

Coffee.

"Johanna?"

Oh, please, coffee.

And then, at long last, when the incessant drip-drip-drip is over, you can begin the pouring process. but see, I've been waiting (so patiently) for a long, long time, and I'm tired of waiting, and I want my coffee NOW! so in my haste, I pour really really...fast. and in pouring fast...I spill.

So back to the beginning. they need to invent some sort of coffee pot that only spills if you pour too slowly. if you pour FAST, you're fine. it won't spill. it's for the slow-pourers that it'll gush all over the counter and make a huge mess. but it'll work great for me. yeah, they definitely need to invent that. how 'bout it, Science?

"Morning" --Iron And Wine.

The Game's Afoot!

2009-02-14T21:48:00.001-06:00

I'm not sure when it started, but somewhere on the long road of my lifetime, people stopped telling me things. come to think of it, maybe they never told me things to begin with. I'm not sure. all I really know is NOW, I never hear news, I never get my mail, I never know where people are, and, I guess as a general rule, I'm always kept in the dark about everything. that's just the way it is.

Things I generally never know until right before they happen:
1) "Oh, by the way, I need you to bring Rachel and Josh to New Jersey for a basketball tournament in half an hour. you're okay with that, right?"
2) "Hey, where's Dad?"
"South Korea."
"WHAT!" (sadly, yes, this actually happened, word for word).
3) "Johanna, do something about your mail, it's been piling up for weeks now." WHAT MAIL???

Why do they do it? I haven't the foggiest. they must have their reasons, but the reasons had better be pretty darn amazing because I go to a lot of trouble to find things out that nobody will tell me.

I do try to know things, though. I ask questions, I look for my mail, I try to know what's going on. it doesn't do a whole lot of good. my family always manages to throw me curve balls periodically day after day. they know how to evade questions like pros (or worse yet, answer a question WITH a question! rawr!).

So what do I do? this.
1) As often as possible, linger outside closed doors and listen for information that I won't be told later.
2) Offer to get the mail, or even better, just get it without telling anybody, thus not giving them any chance whatsoever to get there before me with the intention of hiding my mail.
3) Be nosy, asking direct questions and demanding nothing less than direct answers.
4) Eavesdrop on phone calls and general, everyday conversations.
5) Be evasive and mysterious to everybody else. let's see how YOU like it!
6) Lay on the floor with my ear to the vent.
7) Don't believe it when people say, "I don't know."

I think I could easily get a job as an investigative journalist. I already have an impressive resume. in fact (I just thought of this, just now), to decide whether or not they want to hire people, the newspaper could just stick a prospective employee in my house for a week. if they come out and know anything about anything that's going on in the world, they get the job.

So yeah. a day in the life.

"Fin" --Anberlin. man, if there's a song in the whole world that can depress a person, it's this one. I would just not listen to it, but it's so pretty!

My Oasis In A World Gone Mad

2009-01-23T00:30:00.000-06:00

I was just sitting here in my bedroom, wondering what to do. I know I know. it's almost one in the morning. go to bed, Jo. yeah but there must be something to do first. then I was just looking around my bedroom, looking at everything in it, and thinking how much I love it. the things in my room are like children to me. I couldn't choose between them, and I couldn't give them up.

Things in my room that I love:

1) My coffee pot, currently filled with India Spice Chai tea. Mmmm.
2) My Christmas tree, which is so so cute, it always stays up until late February or early March.
3) My many books on my bookshelf, which are indeed a diverse assortment. (i.e. Sherlock Holmes, The Interpreter's RX, King Of The Wind, Don Quixote, Medical Terminology 1, The Great Divorce, Claro Que Si, ecc.)
4) My cards (as in playing cards) that I've got stashed away. once I put them all in one place, I realized that I've got over 10 decks. no lie. I like cards, okay?
5) My cute shelves and the cute things on the cute shelves.
6) My spotted blanket that is SOOO soft that Mom gave me. (I'm officially madly in love with it)
7) My fake bouquets of flowers from the wedding that I was in (Yes, I caught the bouquet! :)

There is so much more that makes up my room. movies galore, tea and coffee, my cool bottle collection, my window seat, and so much more.

Now, as a separate subject, I'm going to talk about all the random stuff in my room. stuff that serves no apparent purpose. stuff other people would not have laying around their room. stuff that makes my room awesome.

1) The flashlight behind my coffee pot.
2) The tools laying under my desk.
3) The purple heffalump pez dispenser.
4) The pencil and pen holder filled with coffee beans.
5) The picture of KC and Tori wearing blonde wigs.
6) The "kiss me, I don't smoke" sticker on my closet door frame
7) The "nametag tree" where I keep my assortment of nametags when I'm not using them.

These are strange and random items, to be sure, but they are what makes my room the best. without them, it would just be a bedroom that anybody could live in without thinking about it...or the guest bedroom it's supposed to be. :/

And so, without further ado, I hereby declare my bedroom, 100% amazing.

"In The Year 2525" --Zager And Evans. I'm not quite sure what to think of this song, but it's certainly thought-provoking.

That Age Old, Yet Still Prevalent Question.

2009-01-12T22:01:00.005-06:00

Why?

It's a dumb question, sometimes. it's a very valid question, sometimes. it's a very annoying question, always. but it's a question everybody in the world has asked at some point, and it's a question I ask myself every single day of my life. Why? I dunno but it makes for a great blog. :)

Why did I put on two different colored socks this morning?

Why do people always think I'm joking when I say, "Let's do that again!"?

Why did Nikki lie about using my toothpaste?

Why doesn't Lincoln ever get any decent snowfalls?

Why does all my electric stuff break?

Why is it so cold in here?

Why didn't I get to go home first from work, even though I'd been there the longest???

Why do I have a flashlight hidden behind my coffee pot?

Why am I not allowed to go into the attic above my closet? (highly suspect)

Why did that lady at work ask if I was wearing my boots??

Why can't I make my left hand do things my right hand can do? (and "Jo, you're right handed" isn't good enough!)

Why do we find words on a page between two pieces of cardboard so exciting?

Why can't money grow on trees?

Why can't Douglas come back and teach Marcus who's boss?

Why can't people understand that Pepsi and Coke are exactly the same?

Why do squirrels run across the street right when there's a car going by? WHY??

Why can't Macy tell Gimbel?

Why am I asking all these questions? Hmm. maybe I should've asked myself that before now.

I love the question "why?". it has the potential to make people question what they've just said and it can make people very angry (which is sometimes funny, depending on the person and just how angry they are). another reason I like it is because you can use after any statement in the world. maybe that's why little kids crack me up so much. they need reasons for everything.
"Let's go to the park." "Why?"
"I'm hungry." "Why?"
"Clean up your mess." "Why?"

I'm done. why? the world may never know. (that's always the safest answer, I've decided).

PART TWO!!

Yep. this is a multi-part blog. saves me the trouble of making a new blog in a few days, and it saves you the trouble of checking back for a while! see how I'm making life better and easier for everybody??

Anyways, just so's everybody knows, Nikki and Justin are now officially ENGAGED!! yep, it's true. after a long, agonizing wait, they've done it. or I suppose I should say, he's done it. it was kinda funny, cause after they got engaged, they came to our house, and told mom and dad. the rest of us were scattered throughout the house, so Dad calls out: "Hey everybody, come here! you've all...got mail!"

I was in my room at the time. got mail? please. IF I ever DO get mail, it's usually about three weeks before anybody tells me I got any. since when was my mail so important? my dad has better things to do with his time than herald mail announcements. and we all got mail?? at eleven o'clock at night? right. I could've thought up something better in my sleep. I wondered what was going on.

I suspected, the minute that I came to the top of the stairs, that they had become engaged. I was 90 percent certain. Nikki and Justin were standing in the entry. Nikki had her hands behind her back. they both had funny looks on their faces.

I started to grin as I came down the stairs. much as I suspected it was true, I didn't want to freak out and be like, "Oh my gosh!! CONGRATULATIONS! When's the wedding?!?! How'd he do it?!?" if it turned out to be something else. how embarrassing.

But then, when I looked at Mom, and she grinned really big and nodded at me, I knew it could be nothing else. I began to shout, "Let me see it! Let me see it!!" at about that same time, Mary and Rachel came into the room. from their point of view, they saw the ring first. Mary's gasp lasted about ten seconds. it was hilarious.

I don't remember what I did. I think I giggled like a fool for about fifteen minutes, hugging Nikki, Justin, and whoever else I laid eyes on. I could barely take my eyes from the ring. it's beautiful. after waiting so long (and yes, I know it was a longer, harder wait for Nikki and Justin, but c'mon, a sister is allowed to be in suspense, too) they had done it.

So now, two siblings engaged to be married. I realized a few months ago that these days are the last blissful days I've got before everything changes. I'm not sure why, but I don't deal with change very well (maybe that's why I didn't vote for Obama?? :P). I don't like when things change. hopefully they'll be easy changes to adjust to.

I'm really excited for the weddings. I'm excited to see my brother take a bride, and for my sister to take a husband. I'm excited to watch them start their lives together. I'm really excited to have nieces and nephews. but y'know something else? I'm gonna miss my big sister and my big brother. I'm gonna miss them something terrible.

"New York's Not My Home" --Jim Croce. Ahh...this song takes me back to CNA class.

No. Absolutely Not. Never In A Million Years. Okay.

2009-01-03T02:22:00.002-06:00

I try to tell myself that I'm not. it doesn't help. I try to tell myself, "Self, stick to your guns for once." all the while, the internal Johanna is clutching her sides and howling with laughter. guns? what guns? You're a pushover, a softy. and you know it.

But it's not like I don't try. it just does no good, at least where my siblings are concerned. they can make me do whatever they want, with a bat of the eyes or a subtle compliment. sad thing is, I know the game. I know what they're doing, or more importantly, what their motive is, before they do. I just can't overcome it. curse my own weakness!curse it a thousand times!!!!

Okay. a few examples. you know I wouldn't be writing about this if I didn't have a bazillion examples.
1) My big brother Jim and I were going somewhere, and I was just in the bathroom putting on some makeup. Jim is an impatient person. if he's ready, you'd better be ready too, or else he'll do nothing but complain complain complain. but it must've dawned on him that when he complains, I just ignore him, so he tried something different. "Johanna, you don't need makeup. you're gorgeous already." Now, I may be dumb, but I'm not a complete imbecile. I had enough sense to know he wasn't sincere in his sappy compliment. however, coming from my big brother, whose policy is "Never ever in a billion years give a compliment to your sister", I found it cute. so cute, in fact, that even though I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he was just trying to hurry me to the car...it somehow worked.

2) At my house for Christmas, we (sometimes) draw names when it comes to buying gifts. last year, I drew Nikki. this year, I drew her again. I smell a rat. I like to think that I give good gifts and Nikki "arranges" for me to draw her name. maybe. who knows? but that's not the point. the point is, at church they were selling stuff in the back, and Nikki wanted this purple scarf. I was hesitant, to say the least, because the scarf was quite a chunk of change. she looked at me, her vibrant green eyes locked in a war with my own. and I was losing. in about five seconds, our eyes had a complete argument.
"Please?"
"No." Stick to your guns, Jo.
"Please?" *Precious Moments eyes*
"No..." Stick to your guns, Jo.
"Oh, Please! look how pretty it is! Please, Jo? I love you!"
To heck with the guns. "Oh alright."

3) Jim again. He was downstairs with Dad and Josh watching football. he was sprawled out on the couch, taking up all of it. he saw me enter the room. "Hey, Jo, go bake me a pizza."
"No." I replied, attempting to stand up for myself.
"Please? I'll love you forever."
I glared at him. "I know what you're doing." I said.
He grinned. "But we both know you're going to do it."
And I did. I'm like that. I can't help it. I hate saying "no" to people.

"Will you marry me?"
No, Creep Face. "Yes!"

"Can I borrow two hundred dollars?"
I don't even KNOW you! "Sure."

"Can I borrow your car? I crashed mine."
How stupid do I LOOK?? "Why not."

Pushover. Softy. Wimp...Aw blast.

"His Favorite Christmas Story." --Capital Lights. AWwww! I love this song!

Again!

2008-12-30T03:39:00.003-06:00

I think I must be crazy. seriously. no right-minded person would be doing what I'm doing. what am I doing? I was hoping you'd ask.

But unfortunately, I cannot tell you just yet. I'm learning how to do something. no, it's nothing really wonderful or beneficial or exciting. I mean, I'm excited about it, but I don't think anybody else would be. the reason I can't tell you what it is, is because I'm not done learning it yet. when I'm done, I'll tell you all about it and proudly give a demonstration. until then...

It's strange. I'm sitting here, teaching myself to do this. I'm doing it over and over and over again, trying to improve what little skill I've developed over the last few weeks. it's been kind of nice to be sleeping on the basement couch for the last week and a half, because I'm relatively alone, allowing me to practice in peace without people barging into my room demanding to know what I'm doing. dang nosy neighbors.

Usually when it comes to teaching myself things, I give up before I start. I have no patience or self discipline. or so I thought. with this thing...I dunno, it's different. it's almost like a mindset. like, I go crazy if I don't practice it all the time. even while I'm writing this, I've stopped every couple minutes to do it again. again. again. practice makes perfect. again.

Now, don't forget that I said this wasn't something exciting or even remotely useful. it's just something fun that I wanted to learn. and I didn't realize how badly I wanted to learn it until I started teaching myself and just...couldn't stop! it's weird. this is so unlike me. I don't do stuff like this. every other time, if I'm not good at it, I won't do it. period. don't know why, it's just how I'm wired. oh wow. that sounded like something a guy would say. this blog is becoming very odd. :/

It's four in the morning (note: the clock on my blog is like two hours behind what the time actually is, so don't look at that, thanks, --mgnt). I'm not feeling tired, but I know I am, deep down. I really ought to just stop practicing for tonight. but no! I can't! this is crazy. I'm going to be practicing this stupid, useless skill in my sleep! maybe it's because, each time I practice it, I can feel myself getting better. it's intoxicating. I'm addicted to practicing.

Again! Again! Again! Practice! Practice! Again! Obsessed? Dang, maybe I am.

"Over The Hills And Far Away." --Nightwish

A Hobo In My Own House!

2008-12-21T01:46:00.002-06:00

How did it come to this? Oh yeah. I remember. it went something like this.

"Wow! What a pretty room!"
"You want it, Jo? it's yours."
"YAY!"
"But it'll have to be the guest bedroom."
"Yeah yeah, whatever. I LOVE MY ROOM!"

Curse my gullibility!! curse it a thousand times!! in case you hadn't put it together yet, we have company at my house, and so I was unceremoniously dumped onto the basement couch. here, Jo. live here until they're gone. okay.

But I did as I was told and lived on the couch...until more important people came and all of a sudden, I was also relieved of my couch. Here, Jo. take this blanket and find a new place to sleep. I'm sure you'll make due. okay.

So now here I sit. on my former couch. I know any minute they're gonna want it, to go to bed on it. lumpy as it was, it's still the only place I can think of to sleep. so here are my choices for new sleeping arrangement.

1) I could sleep on the upstairs couch.
Pros: I can sleep there, undisturbed and completely alone. I can also look at the Christmas lights.
Cons: It's on the middle level, the most lived-in room in the whole house. people who want to watch TV at six a.m. will have to either wake me or sit on me. if I sleep there I resign myself to early rising. very early (oh, the horror).

2) I could sleep in Nikki's room.
Pros: Nikki has said I can sleep there. Nikki and I have good times.
Cons: I would have to sleep on the floor. it's cramped. Nikki goes to bed before the sun goes down, and does NOT tolerate ANY noise of ANY sort after the light goes out. if I slept there, I would resign myself to early sleeping. very early (oh, the horror).

3) I could find a nice, cozy gutter to sleep in.
Pros: I would be completely alone. I could get up and go to sleep at my leisure.
Cons: It's freaking cold outside. I would probably have to sleep on rocks and sticks and whatnot. I would probably have to fight the wildlife of the Lincoln gutters, and it would not be pretty, or fun.

4) I could go to a hotel.
Pros: Soft beds, continental breakfasts, room service.
Cons: It costs a pretty penny, and by morning my face would be on every milk carton in the United States, my picture would be stapled to every telephone pole within a ten mile radius, and the FBI would have a command center set up at my house, waiting for the ransom call.

That's all I can think of. none of them sounds especially ideal, but I'm open to any options at this point. which one?? which one!!! blast. I never was any good at making decisions. somebody help me.

--My brothers and cousin playing the wii. bowling. come ON. if you're gonna play the wii, at least play something exciting, like the fighter pilot game!! but I warn you, I'm completely kamikaze!

For Example...

2008-12-14T18:12:00.001-06:00

I've always hated math. well, I guess it's not the math I hate so much, as much as it is not understanding the math. when I get it, and I understand the problems and how to solve them, I'll do it. but it seems like I never could understand it like I was supposed to. and the math books themselves never, ever helped, even a little bit.

This has been bottling up inside me since I had my very first math book, and I'm sure any person who has ever been in school can relate. Y'know those "examples" in the book? they're supposed to show you how to do the problems, so you can do them on your own. but the examples I had in my books--in every single math book I've ever owned--have never once aided my learning process.

It would go like this. I would look at all the examples in the chapter, and they would be stuff like, "5 + 10 = 15" or "8 - 2 = 6". yeah, okay. you think to yourself. piece of cake. then you would go to problem #1. you frown, and turn back to look at the example, then look at the problem again and frown some more, cause the actual problems were stuff like, "What's 350 divided by half of four times the square root of the hypotenuse when 45.8 equals one angle of an isosceles triangle?" Usually, I would ponder this for a few minutes, flipping back to the examples every so-often, to make sure I was on the right chapter, and then say to myself, "Self, why don't we go take a stab at that Spanish homework?" and make a fast getaway. slick.

Other times, the examples were about powers or something, and then the actual problems were like, story problems! Example: "2 squared = 4." Problem #1: "If Jerry leaves Toledo in a single engine aircraft going southeast at 47 mph, and after he's gone 22 miles the wind begins to blow from the northwest at 74 mph and throws poor Jerry into a tailspin for five and a half minutes, and then the wind stops and one of Jerry's wings falls off, what time does Jerry reach Albuquerque?" Hmm, well, let me just consult my EXAMPLE!

Seriously, what's so bad about giving you examples that are just as hard as the actual problems?? what harm could that do, except help you catch on a whole lot faster? honestly. makes me wish I was a real smart math person, cause then I'd write a math book with good, helpful examples. pfft. like that'll ever happen, thanks to my math books. (yes, I have a pretty good sized chip on my shoulder).

Anyways, that's it. it's been bottled up inside me for a long, long time now. whew. I feel better. sort of. but now I have to go back to my math book, horrible examples and all. oh well. the torment ends on TUESDAY!!

"The Lion Sleeps Tonight." --The Tokens.

Once Upon A Time, There Was This Girl With Too Much Time On Her Hands...

2008-12-12T01:37:00.005-06:00

Right now, there are a good many things I should be doing. I could take my pick. pick a card...any card! but no. I'm not doing any of the vast assortment of things I ought to be doing. and I was just sitting here wondering why, and I decided to analyze what I should be doing, and why I'm not doing it. strange, yes. different, yes. lame, maybe. who cares.

1) I should be studying for my upcoming finals. not doing that because: then I would have to look at numbers, and numbers make me cry. reason: good enough.

2) I should be reading a good book. Not doing that because: then I would actually have to find a good book, open it to the first page, and struggle through the first, boring parts. reason: good enough.

3) I should be making plans, both for the immediate and the far away future. not doing that because: that is way too deep for this time of night/morning (2:00). reason: really good.

4) I should be doing laundry. goodness knows I need to. not doing that because: the laundry room is two flights of stairs away, it would make noise and wake my brothers, who would then beat me up (or try to. I'm pretty scrappy when I want to be). reason: pretty darn good.

5) I should be wrapping Christmas presents. not doing that because: it takes a long time and makes a big mess, and I don't know how long I'm gonna be awake, and I wouldn't want to get tired right in the middle of such an undertaking. reason: lame.

6) I should be sleeping!! good grief! what's wrong with me?!? not doing that because: I'm the stupidest person alive. reason: laughable.

So. I know you're DYING to know. apart from writing this, what AM I doing?? it's just eating at you, isn't it. No? well, that's okay, I'm gonna tell you anyway. truth be told, aside from listening to music, I'm really...not doing much of anything. I'm sitting in my bed in my pajamas (at least I've made it that far) traveling around the music world, and making some good findings, I must say. and SO, instead of saying what I'm listening to at the end like I usually do, I'm gonna tell you some of the songs I've found, that I like. they're pretty diverse. sorry.

"Stampede." -- Chris Ledoux. While she is a fierce country music hater, Johanna approves of Chris Ledoux.

"Shades Of Gray." -- The Monkees.

"Poems, Prayers, And Promises." -- John Denver.

"Fly Away." --John Denver, again. what can I say, I like the guy.

"Generation." --Simple Plan.

"Five Iron Frenzy Is Either Dead Or Dying [Ska Version]." --Relient K. this song (if you can really call it a song) makes me laugh SO HARD!! I'm laughing right now! it's three in the morning, and I'm laughing out loud! oh no...I hope my brothers don't hear.

Oh no. I knew it would happen. sometimes the Tired just hits me like a ton of bricks. I'm so tired all of a sudden. oh man...there I go...bye.

Show Us Something Beautiful

2008-11-21T15:08:00.004-06:00

I wrote this because I realized that a lot of the things I ask God for, I've already got and just don't appreciate or see them the way they are.

Show Us Something Beautiful

I exclaim over things that I find beautiful
Things that are special to me
Images pleasant to the eye
Things that are easy to see

Show us something amazing, God
We're tired of the every-day
Show us something amazing, God
Take our breath away
Show us something amazing

A tiny spider spins its web
It never has to learn
From birth it knows its special trade
It has no need for concern
Show us something amazing

Show us something beautiful, God
We need something new
Show us something beautiful, God
Something only you can do
Show us something beautiful

A tiny baby, seconds old
With tiny ears, fingers and toes
Gives a cry announcing life
In God's very image, composed
Show us something beautiful

Give us something wonderful, God
We need something more
Give us something wonderful, God
That we've never seen before
Give us something wonderful

A man stumbling beneath a cross
Beaten, shamed, betrayed
Staggering on to Calvary
Because he loved the Man he'd made
Give us something wonderful

We're ready, God, we're ready
For you, it's an easy task
Just a little miracle
Is that too much to ask?

~

Green Is A Color, Is A Color, Is A COLOR!

2008-11-10T15:15:00.007-06:00

Green. it's okay. I like it just fine, but to me it's just a color. but lately, I've noticed that people are kinda...obsessed with it. it seems like when it comes to everyday stuff, and people too, for that matter, if they're not "green" (whatever that means), you're not supposed to waste your time on it. it kinda reminds me of when you see a person who has toilet paper stuck to their shoe without knowing it, and you kinda snicker a little bit behind their back, that's kinda what it makes me think of when I see a person who insists that they are "green".

Now, I understand about taking care of the planet and recycling and all that, but I guess I'll be the first to admit that I probably take it less seriously than most everybody I know. sorry, but I'm not going to live my life as if the sky will come crashing down if I buy non-organic food, drive a truck, or ask for plastic at the grocery store. but I don't throw trash on the ground, so that should count for something. but when people take it to the extreme and insist that they're saving the world because the Windex they're buying has a green sticker on it, I'm sorry, but I laugh inside. (And I'm not exaggerating...I've talked to people who insist just that, amongst other things).

And I guess now, green doesn't even mean GREEN. it's not a color anymore. it's like...a mindset. a way of life. at work I sell these bags, and they bug me to no end cause they're blue and on the bag they say, "This bag is green". OH it gets me riled, and I don't know why. actually, I DO know why. the stupid bag is blue!! it's not green!!! don't tell me it's green when it's BLUE!!! Okay, side note, funny story. when we first came out with the bags, we only had the blue "green" bags. this lady comes up to me and says, "do you have green bags?" "No," I replied, "we only have blue bags." "No," she says, "I mean GREEN bags! I'm talking about GREEN bags." by now I'm thinking, what kind of moron does this lady take me for? "Yeah, but we only have BLUE bags," I repeat. it was embarrassing when I finally realized what she was talking about. :P

And it bugs me when people proudly state that they are "going green". what the heck does that even mean?? if you asked somebody that question, they'd probably say that it means they are trying to save the earth and stop global warming. "And this green sticker on your Windex is gonna do that, hu?" I just don't get it.

No doubt about it, everybody is having a field day with this "green" phase of ours. I wish I was the owner of some huge manufacturing company. all I'd have to do is put green stickers on all my stuff that says "All natural" and have a commercial that says that our factories are not in land fills, and I'd be laughing all the way to the bank. I even know what my commercial would be.

It would start with a guy walking slowly through a large green field, talking slowly and smiling a lot and using lots of hand gestures. and he'd say something like, "Here at Homie Jo Inc. we pride ourselves in our love of nature and our dedication to helping the environment. in fact, our factory is located in a lush forest, so the employees can be one with nature. if they need to get a drink, they just go down to the stream and drink deeply of the sweetest and purest water that Mother Nature can produce. every afternoon the woodland creatures--deer and bears and rabbits and blue herons and jackalopes--will come out of the woods, and the employees will come out of the factory, and they'll all stand in a circle and sing songs together. truly, here at Homie Jo Inc. we are undoubtedly one with nature. so you should totally buy our stuff." Pure genius. I'd never have to work another day in my life. people would be flocking to my stores by the thousands.

I've always known that I'm an easy-going, laid back kinda person. maybe too much, sometimes. I don't get flustered easily. I don't sweat the small stuff. sometimes, I don't even sweat the big stuff (which is not good). so I think that's why I'm like, the only person on the planet not having panic attacks about this whole global warming thing. I guess I figure, Mother Nature has taken care of herself for a long, long time. humans come, humans go, over and over again. I dunno, but if I was her, I'd be kinda insulted that they think they know more than I do about survival. good grief.

And think about this. if worse comes to worse, what's gonna happen? we don't get winter anymore? that's what everybody is always crying about anyway!! sure, I'd be upset, cause I like winter, but I think I'm the only one in the galaxy who does. all the people I know are already grumbling about the cold and winter just started! wouldn't you guys WANT global warming if you hate the cold so much??? for goodness sake, let's see come consistency.

Anyways. I guess those are my thoughts on the issue. I'm not a green person. I'm a pasty white person. and just in case I didn't make it clear, I don't think using cloth bags at the grocery store is bad, I don't think recycling is bad, I don't think caring about the earth is bad...it's when people go off the deep end with that whole idea that I think is strange...and so, so funny.

"Baby It's Cold Outside." --Dean Martin. I love this song, it makes me laugh! and burr, it IS cold outside!!

And The Two Shall Become One...

2008-11-01T21:51:00.004-05:00

I love weddings. I love to think about people being in love. I love even more to think about ME being in love. :) it's kinda weird. when I think of love--and I'm talking about the husband and wife love--it always seems like some sort of wonderful elusive thing, flirting with my outstretched hand.

So tonight I had the privilege of actually being in the wedding of my good, good friend. I was a bridesmaid. and as I watched them get married, it made me remember just how badly I want to be in love and become some man's wife. I want that...bad.

I've been thinking a great deal about being a wife. just the other night in my Bible I was reading in Proverbs, and this one of the verses I read: "Houses and wealth are inherited from parents, but a prudent wife is from the Lord." Proverbs 19:14. I've read that before, but never like I did then. it made me think of the Lord training up a woman, teaching her to be loving and graceful and godly and wise, and then proudly giving her to a godly man as a gift to him. it made me realize how badly I want to be that kind of woman. the kind of woman that God would be pleased to give to a man as a gift, and the kind of woman a man would be honored to call his wife. I want God to teach me to be that kind of woman, that kind of wife.

I sometimes wonder why God hasn't brought anybody especially special into my life yet. but I think when I do that, I get ahead of myself. maybe God's not done training me yet. maybe God's not done training him yet. maybe we both need more time to grow and mature and strengthen our walk with Christ.

But hey, just because I need more time doesn't mean I can't dream. can't stare off into space and wonder what he looks like, what his parents are like, if they're training him up to be a godly man, wonder if he's funny, wonder what kind of food he likes, wonder what he's into, wonder what in the world I'll do if he doesn't like coffee, and wonder what it'll feel like to put my hand into his in front of an alter and become man and wife. and what a day that'll be, to know that after a long, long wait, God has declared me ready to be presented to my man as his gift from the Lord. I do know one thing...it'll be amazing.

"Something Beautiful" --Newsboys. and no, I didn't do that on purpose. I swear. the song started playing just now. crazy, eh?

Ow!

2008-10-24T02:00:00.005-05:00

I'm fully convinced that my family does it on purpose. there's just no other way there could be so many objects, so cleverly and strategically placed around the house and yard in just a certain way so I inevitably trip or stumble. it's a dark conspiracy, plotted against and me (and my big sister, too. she suffers just as much, if not more, than I do). then again, it might just be my natural clumsiness.

I trip over everything. I trip over nothing. if it's on the floor, I'll trip on it. if it's hanging from the ceiling, I'll bang my head on it. if it's protruding from the wall (trust me, it happens) I'll likely puncture my spleen on it.

One night, it was dark (imagine that) and I was about to go to bed, and had to go brush my teeth, so I go out of my bedroom into the dark hallway on my way to the bathroom, and seriously, there was this chair sitting right in the middle of the hallway! so I trip over it, of course. horribly. I did like a cartwheel over the thing. then I sheepishly go brush my teeth and on my way back to my room, I guess I'd forgotten about the chair cause...yeah...another cartwheel. embarrassing didn't even begin to describe my humiliation. I almost dumped the chair over the railing, but then I heard that little voice of Wisdom saying reproachfully, "Ah ah ah. hurling a chair down a flight of stairs at three in the morning while everybody's asleep is counter-productive." and so I grudgingly shuffled back to bed, with one last glare at the chair, swearing vengeance at a later date.

I've also found out that Foosball (not to be confused with football) is a very dangerous game. not only do I have to be on my guard against those poky sticks jabbing violently at my internal organs, but I also have to constantly be watching for the ball to spontaneously rocket at my face going a bazillion miles per hour at any given time WHILE trying valiantly to win the game. it's certainly an adventure, no doubt about it. a big, scary, life-threatening adventure.

I imagine it kinda like that book...Nightmare Academy, by Frank Peretti. where those people had that kid in that...video game...or vortex or something...and he was totally confused all the time and stumbled over stuff and was generally miserable...and the ground was on the ceiling or something...come to think of it, I never really understood that book at all. his second one, the one about the spiders, was better. if you ever have a choice, read that one. the first one really makes no sense, and yet vaguely pertains to my current topic of choice.

Anyways, back to the topic! short of actually wrapping myself in bubble wrap when I get out of bed in the morning, there's really not a whole lot I can to do remedy the problem. because...I trip over things that aren't there. so just being more careful isn't going to do a whole lot for me. actually, bubble wrap doesn't sound too horrible. in fact, might be kinda fun. but knowing me, I'd pop all the bubbly things for fun, and when I needed them, they'd all be popped, and I'd end up breaking my neck stepping over a leaf or something. Oh well. BUBBLE WRAP!

"Walk The Line" Johnny Cash. I don't understand why nobody else in my fambly likes this guy! he's amazing!!

Hey, Remember That Time...

2008-10-12T13:40:00.004-05:00

Memories are strange things. it is a rare moment when I allow myself the luxury to simply remember. I love to remember. I think that's why I'm such a packrat. if something brings back a memory--happy or sad--I'll keep whatever it is, no matter if it's a broken balloon, a shredded ribbon or a bottle of sand. those are just three of the many things that I actually keep to this day tucked away somewhere (for a reason!!). the memories are precious, and the memories are mine, and if I have to keep the piece of wadded up tinfoil to make me remember, so be it. that's a real example, too. my dad came into my room one day and randomly molded a piece of tinfoil into a DNA sculpture (Yeah, I know, I was confused, too) and I laughed really hard, so I kept the piece of tinfoil. I got so horribly teased for keeping it, but I don't regret it at all. so there.

So just the other day, I was sitting here thinking about this old book my parents used to read to me called "The Sailor Dog". I remembered that I had the book in my hope chest, so I went to get it so I could read the book. random, I know. so I sit down on the floor and open the chest. it had been a long, long time since I had opened it and I had quite forgotten what was in there. and so began my journey down Memory Lane.

The first thing that I saw was my Red Blankie. Ah, Red. he and I were good friends back in the day. he's--you guessed it--red, with patches with kittens on them. just the right size for anything. anything at all. a cape, a raft, a table, Red was any and everything I wanted him to be.

Next, I saw the Scottish flag. I brought it back from Scotland for one of my little sisters, but once when I found it laying around I snatched it up and kept it, for memory's sake. ah, Scotland. I remember it well. the children, the green hills dotted with sheep, the accents, the haggis, the work, the fun. I remember it all.

The small yellow pillow comes next. hand-stitched by my great-grandmother, it's a soft yellow with a Precious Moments girl on it, and it has my name "Johanna Christine" neatly stitched on the front. for as long as I can remember, this pillow has adorned my bed.

Next, I came to the toy that probably holds the most memories of anything I own: my stuffed teddy bear, Mup. his name is a really long, boring story, so I won't tell it. I'll just say that Mup is in, like, every childhood memory I have until about my tenth birthday. from tea parties to sleepless nights to doctor visits, Mup remains Johanna's most faithful childhood companion.

I smile when I see the small water bottle shaped like Paul Bunyan laying in the bottom of the chest. I remember that fateful day. not well, mind you, but I remember it nevertheless. the day we went to the zoo. I was probably about three years old. Nikki, Jim and I had been given water bottles. Nikki's and mine were shaped like Paul Bunyan, and Jim's was shaped like a train. we were looking down into the seal pool, and Jim drops his train--plop!--into the water. I remember standing on my tiptoes looking with fascination as Jim's train bobs up and down on the water. I remember it caused quite a stir, both with the people on land and with the seals. and if you're wondering, in the end Jim did get his train back.

Books. books I'd forgotten I'd kept. mostly old books from when I was a kid. books that I want to read to my own kids. "Fritz and the beautiful horses", "Mister Dog", "My Christmas wish" (starring Johanna Trexel, yes, it's true), "When bunny grows up" and "Chester". (and Sailor Dog, of course. that's the reason I'm in the chest, remember?). Ah, the memories of being cuddled up to Dad in his large rocking chair, listening to him read about the dog "who belonged to himself" or the "very dependable pony". Dad would always read to us to get us to take our nap, but inevitably it would be Dad who fell asleep, and we would spend the rest of the afternoon trying to sneak out of his lap without waking him up. kinda like that "Don't Wake Daddy" game only...with very real consequences. :)

Next I come to a small white bunny puppet dressed like a pilot. it's old, yet still extremely soft, despite the years of play. I don't really remember how I came to own this one. all I really know about him is that he, like Red, was a part of my childhood from the moment I was old enough to have memories.

Heidi, my stuffed horse falls next in line. Heidi takes my memories south to San Angelo, Texas, where I spent a few golden years of childhood. Heidi was given to me as a birthday present, handmade by one of my friend's parents. I was never allowed to play with her too much, because my parents were afraid I'd wear her down to tatters. so while Heidi herself doesn't appear in too many memories, she reminds me much of Texas, were I think I spent the best years of my life, so I will treasure her always.

There were so many more things in there that I could go on about: the T-shirt that I got at summer camp that I couldn't bear to throw away, the china plate given to me by one of my friends from Scotland, a few newspapers with famous stories on the front page, a pink flyswatter (with some very interesting memories attached) and so much more.

Oh, and if you were wondering, the broken balloon was salvaged from my father's 40th birthday party. it was black and Nikki had drawn funny pictures on it. the shredded ribbon was kept as a remembrance to pray for one of my friends who was sick. the bottle of sand is sand Nikki and I collected from the Great Sand Dunes.

Yay for memories!! :D

"Come Sail Away" --Styx. this song is so pretty. I love it! and it's, I dare say, relevant to this blog (but then, we all know I did that on purpose). and I TOTALLY saw them sing this in concert, yes I did.

Consider Yourself Now And Forevermore...Squished!

2008-09-29T23:12:00.006-05:00

So for nearly the last week, I'd been terrorized by this phantom spider. I would see it everywhere. the same one, too, I swear. I could never catch it, I could never squish it. it was always just out of my line of fire. my line of anger. my line of assorted pointy objects. he was feisty, no doubt about it. probably some old veteran spider, past his prime, now going after the queen of spider-haters (and spider killers, I might add), just to prove to the spider world that he wasn't washed up.

On any given day, I'd see him about three times. once, he was sitting on my window screen. then again, later, on the sidewalk directly in my path. then in some random web. it was always the same spider. he'd let me get a good look at him, then when I made a move toward one of my spider-squishing tools, he'd disappear. a worthy adversary indeed. He wasn't exactly large, but he was no spring chicken, either. a bit larger than a quarter, he was brown with ugly black splotches and lots of googly eyes and long, spindly legs. yuck.

Now, it's been quite a period of time since The Great Spider Adventure of '05, so maybe I ought to refresh the memories of you people who forget easily or perhaps have never heard the story of how I came to be so terrified of spiders. in a nutshell, my old Ceresco bedroom attracted spiders like tornadoes to a trailer park. one night, while innocently reading a book, I happened to look up to see the biggest spider I'd ever seen in my life. big like, it's mother was a tarantula and it's father was a hippopotamus. anyway, as fortune would have it, Nikki happened along right then, and we fought and eventually killed the monster. that's the very very veeeery condensed version. I think the actual encounter took about thirty to forty-five minutes. if you want to read the entire story, you can hear it told from my perspective HERE, and again (if you wish) from Nikki's perspective HERE! although the general story is the same, it is told very different by the both of us, considering I was terrified out of my mind and Nikki was rather amused by the whole thing. But if you're going to read just one account, read Nikki's. it's much better told.

Anyways. about this phantom spider. it seemed like I was seeing the darn thing everywhere I went. and today, there it was again as I was leaving to go to the store. sitting smugly on the driver's side door handle of my car. such arrogance! I had had enough of the little beast. I began frantically digging around in my purse. impossible! how was it that I, with my intense disgust and, yes, fear, of spiders had no spider-killing tool at my disposal??? The Phantom Spider watched my antics in amusement, no doubt thinking that he had outsmarted me yet again; caught me unawares without means of attack or defense. but he was wrong. so wrong.

I smiled smugly at the squished remains on the sidewalk, and calmly put my flip-flop back on and got into the car. Mr. Phantom, consider yourself now and forevermore...SQUISHED!

"Anything You Can Do." --Ethel Merman. this song really just...makes me LAUGH! it's just basically two people arguing about who's more talented. reminds me of my brother Josh and I now that I think about it...

Please Move.

2008-09-15T17:37:00.007-05:00

Bikers. not those old men who look like Santa Clause who are covered with tattoos and piercings and drive around on Harleys. No. I'm talking about those people in skin tight body suits and pointy helmets and insist that they're not bothering anyone, oblivious to the three blocks of seething traffic behind them. those are the bikers I mean.

Bikers drive me nuts. unless they're actually not in the way (which is rarely the case), they always seem content to hold up traffic to their heart's content. the other day, this biker was riding right in front of me on a one lane road. he was kinda off to the side, like he just expected me to go around him. "Yeah, dude. I'm really going to swerve into oncoming traffic to go around you. good thinking."

In my opinion, they invented bike paths for bikes and streets for cars. you don't see me driving around in my Buick on bike paths, whistling away, oblivious to all the seething bikers giving me dirty looks. what makes them think they can? some of us have places to be, and would like to go faster than 5 mph.

I know, I shouldn't get so uptight about it. but I can't help it! yes, I'm bitter. yes, I'm prejudiced. yes, sometimes I want to drive over them. to me, it's like a skinny little guy who blackmails a sumo wrestler. the sumo wrestler is even more mad about it, because he knows he could break the skinny guy like a twig (but he doesn't, see, cause he's getting blackmailed). oh blast. that made no sense. even to me. sorry, all. sounds like something off Matlock, though, doesn't it. Y'know, I always thought Matlock should marry Jessica Fletcher. then they could start like...a whole new series and Matlock could stop griping about being single! ALL IN FAVOR!!

Holy Cow! we've strayed from my original topic! let's bring it back, people. Bikers. What to do? we can't drive over them, much as we'd like to at times. No, my parents always taught me that driving over people is wrong. We can't make them stay off the roads. unfortunately they have as much right to be there as we do. So...I guess the only thing we can really do is just do what we've always done. suck it up and drive 5 mph until said biker decides he's good and ready to get out of your way.

So...I guess this blog was pretty pointless. :/

"Amarillo By Morning" --George Strait. though I am a fierce country music hater, I pretty much grew up with this song, and therefore decided I was within my rights to buy it. besides, it's got pretty words and it caters to my inner wanderer. :)

Hurry Up, You!

2008-09-14T21:27:00.005-05:00

So, I think I'm the most impatient person I know. if there was one thing about myself that I could change, in a heartbeat I'd make myself more patient. waiting unnecessarily for any period of time is enough to make me go crazy. from waiting in line at the grocery store, to waiting for the shower. "I hate to wait" (Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride). Sometimes I talk out loud when I get impatient, like...

To my computer taking its sweet time doing an update: "Think you could go any SLOWER?!"
To that stinkin' jalopy in front of me going ten under the limit: "Um, HELLO, the gas peddle isn't going to bite you!" *honkhonkhonkhonk*
To the dryer: "How long does it take to dry one pair of pants?! do you think I've got all day to sit around waiting for you to do your job?!?"
To my wisdom tooth right now: "Will you hurry up and come in already?! You're driving me CRAZY!!!"
To the coffee pot: "I'm running late! hurry up and brew already! I'm not made of time here!" GET IT?!? *slaps leg and laughs*

...

Nobody ever gets my jokes.

I am incredibly impatient. and this impatience, coupled with my hatred of early mornings, is precisely why I never could get into that whole Black Friday thing. I don't do lines. I don't do early mornings. I don't really care about "deals" either. if it's not something I really especially want/need, why should I buy it? because it's a good deal? what do I care? lemme sleep. and if it IS something I really need, I would have bought it already. standing in a line outside Sears in 10 degree weather for three hours at four in the morning is not my idea of a good time. I don't care what it is, or how good of a deal it is. these conditions are far too ridiculous for any item, at any price.

Anyways. we're off topic. see? I'm not even patient enough to stick with one topic. I have to run around on little bunny trails to keep myself happy. life is so hard.

Impatience is also the reason behind the books I read. Nikki makes fun of me sometimes for my choice of literature. or at least she used to. she probably still would if I told her what I read. it's not that I don't find Steven Hawking fascinating, but I need something to hold my interest. Now, Steven James is an author who can hold my interest. sorry if that makes you mad, Nikki. actually, you probably don't even know who Steven James is, so never mind. (Oh, and FYI, Dr. Suess' "The Sleep Book" really DOES put you to sleep! it's amazing!! I've never seen anything like it! I'll read like, two words and start yawning! I read half the book to Mary before I couldn't take it anymore and had to go to bed. anyways, sorry, that was Jo's random bit of the day.)

Strangely, there is one area where I seem to have infinate patience. unfortunately, it's nothing important or useful in any way. puzzles. I could sit in front of a 2000 piece puzzle all day and never get tired of it. I think it's because your thoughts NEVER have to stop when you're doing a puzzle. (i.e. "where's that one piece? this one looks like it goes here maybe. blue piece. need a blue piece! where's that wagon wheel?") on and on, my train of thought never has to stop. so pretty much I've decided that that's what I'm going to do all day when I'm an old lady. I'll be the Crazy Puzzle Lady at the end of the block that school children will gossip about, who chases troublemakers out of her garden and gives good candy at Halloween. yup. that's me.

"Fun, Fun, Fun" --The Beach Boys. If only I had a T-Bird...

Ha!

2008-09-11T22:18:00.003-05:00

So, I just remembered the funniest thing, just now. I don't know why this sprang into my mind...I'm just weird like that I guess.

So this takes place about five or six years ago. the whole family was traveling somewhere, from somewhere else. I don't remember either place specifically. I'm assuming it was just one of many assorted family road trips. anyways, we stop at a gas station, and I go inside for a few minutes, and when I come out, Jim is holding Nikki piggy-back style, and everybody is laughing. I had obviously missed something. then Dad sees me and shouts, "Johanna, quick get on!!" and turns his back to me. I was like, "Uh, yeah...no." but he insists, and cries for me to "Hurry!" so, still feeling very uncertain about the whole thing, I clamor aboard my Dad's back and hang on for dear life. and then, to my surprise, he takes off running! it took only a moment for me to realize that Dad and I were in a race with Jim and Nikki. I can't remember who won, but I remember it was super fun. Nobody ever told me why we did that, or what exactly happened while I was inside the gas station, and I never asked. reasons would have ruined everything. :)

That's it. like I said, I really don't know why I thought of that. but I did, and it made me laugh, and I hope it made you laugh too! or at least smile. c'mon, life is good. :)

"Something Beautiful" --Newsboys. A song that takes me back.

The Final Countdown

2008-09-01T23:50:00.000-05:00

I just realized something. this is the last September 1st that I have before I turn old. in March of '09, I'll be 20 years old. an old fogy by anyone's standards. I'm gonna be an old fogy!! *sob* where did all that time go? where did I spend my Glory Years? one minute I'm seven years old, learning how to ride a bike and the next minute I'm almost 20 years old. crazy. I feel like I just stepped out of a black hole or a time pod or something. I'm not ready to be 20!!

Anyways. since this is my last year of blissful youth, I've decided that it's gonna be a good one. a memorable one. one that I'll be able to look back to and sigh and say, "Ah, that was a good year." kinda like that "Summer of '69" song by that one guy who's name I do not know. this is going to be my "summer of '69", so to speak.

So. what shall I do with myself to make this year (or what's left of it) spectacular?? I need ideas, people. crazy ideas. within reason, of course, but not exclusively. what I mean is, I need crazy ideas of stuff to do this year, kinda, sorta, loosely related to being within reason. something more exciting than, "Paint all your toenails different colors" but not something like, "Fly to Switzerland and find extended relatives" either. think balance.

Skydiving would be good, but it probably costs like a billion dollars. white water rafting, yes, I definitely want to do that before I die, but I don't know where to find any extreme river rapids around here. lemme think. I've always wanted to stand in two states at once. you know. with one foot in one state and one foot in another. yeah, I'm gonna do that before the year is out. definitely. take a trip to Nebraska City some afternoon. I could probably be there and back before anyone even knew I was gone. :P I wonder if I need a passport to pass into Iowa...

Trying sushi is totally one. I've already done it this year, but it still counts as something interesting that I did in my 19th year of life. I also tried eel. and consequently, the eel was inside the sushi. :)

I'll be in a wedding this year, for the first time ever. that's something. something awesome. it'll rock. I'll be in the wedding of one of my very best friends, and while I'm 19 to boot. I can't wait!

But I need to think of more things. and YOU need to help me, cause I'm bad at coming up with creative ideas. it can be something as simple as trying a (specific) strange coffee flavor, or as crazy as learning to use a pistol (which I do totally want to do someday). either way, I'd love ideas. the more the better. I'm gonna do awesome stuff this year. the more awesome the year, the easier it'll be to transition myself into adulthood. :(

"Orphans Of God" --Avalon. Avalon is not my favorite group ever, but seriously, this song is amazing. listen to it, all of you. that's an order.

The Long, Long Night

2008-08-28T07:24:00.004-05:00

I don't know why it happened at all. I can't even fathom, which is odd. I'm very good at fathoming. but this time, my goodness, I have no idea. it's 7:30 in the morning. last night, I got zero hours and zero minutes of sleep. against my will, I should add.

Now on any given day I can drink coffee all day and I'll still be able to sleep when I put my mind to it. yesterday, I drank only one cup of coffee in the morning before work. that's all. other than that and a tiny sip of Rachel's Sprite later that afternoon, I had had no caffeine whatsoever. (hey! wait a minute! Sprite doesn't even have caffeine in it!) I had done nothing unusual as far as my daily routine is concerned.

So there I was. 11:45, I was crawling into bed and snuggling under the covers. 11:45. that's before midnight, people. word. anyways, it never takes long for me to get to sleep. I guess I've always taken that for granted, but after last night, I doubt I ever will again.

All of a sudden, hey, why is it so warm in here? *kicks off covers* I don't really like laying on this side. *flips over* What's that on my face? *kills bug* on and on the games continued. I tried everything under the sun--err, moon--to get to sleep. I even tried counting sheep, for crying out loud! that is, until one of the sheep got their leg caught in the fence. that put a stop to that game.

Every so-often I'd chance a look at the clock. always, always, it seemed like it had been exactly an hour since I had looked at it last. I tried reading, listening to my ipod, getting a drink of water, making my bed and then getting into it again (I dunno...sometimes that helps), everything you could think of, I did that. I could fill a book with all the things I tried. I could also fill a book with all the things that didn't work. by 2:00, I was so frustrated, I didn't know what to do with myself.

It wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't had to work at nine in the morning. see, then sleep becomes absolutely vital. otherwise, I would've rejoiced in this wonderful opportunity to be not sleepy. but when you have to get up at 7:30 and work from nine to five, sleep is sort of important.

By 3:30, I was scouring the bathroom for nyquil. I needed something. anything. I needed sleep. sorry, Nikki, but it's the first time I've ever been so desperate to get to sleep. and hey, we've all had our moments of weakness, right? but you'll be happy to hear that I didn't find any nyquil. and so my late-night escapade continued unchallenged.

So I laid there until about 4:30, without so much as a yawn, until I realized that I was not going to get to sleep. so I sat up and read until 6:00, when Jim got up and we drank coffee together before he went skipping off to class. that's when my mom came down. she looked at me and said, "You've been awake all night, haven't you?"
Blast. "Well, uh, I tried everything I could think of." I said lamely.
Mom looks at me, disappointed. "Jo," she says in a how-could-you voice. I knew it would happen. just knew it. somehow, some way, everything always becomes my fault. I had tried to get to sleep using every method I knew (except warm milk. yuck) and still, I felt like I had done something wrong. I don't get it.

So now it's about 8:00. I called Hy-Vee and explained that they would not be having the pleasure of my company today. I'm sorry, but I can not work an eight hour shift on zero sleep. I tried to sleep! I tried so hard!

So I'm still not sleepy. exhausted and zombie-esque, yes, but sleepy, no. but I'm sure I'll catch a few winks sometime today. I'd better. I'm a grouch in the mornings as it is. I shudder to think what no sleep is going to do to me. better steer clear, just in case.

I'm listening to somebody's annoying alarm going off. "IS SOMEBODY GOING TO GET THAT?!?!" wow. I really am a grouch. but y'know, right now I have good reason.

My Little Buddy, Flip

2008-08-24T21:37:00.008-05:00

So many little buddies. first Al, now Flip. I know, I know, you don't know who Flip is yet. I plan to remedy that now.

So there I was. tap tap tapping away one my computer late last night. "Jo! Jo! Jo!!" I heard a terrified voice cry. I looked at my firmly shut door and tried to guess how many seconds it would be before my youngest sister barreled through it. apparently, at my house anyways, knocking before you enter went out with the 90s. "Joooo!" Mary charges through the door, just as I knew she would. and they wonder why I like to lock my door.

"What is it, Mary?" I ask, not too interested.
"Jo, come quick. there's a bug on my bed! you gotta kill it!!" one look into her pale face, and I knew the situation was dire. soberly, I rose and fetched my fly-swatter. so the deed would fall to me. why do my sisters always come to me for this stuff? isn't this what brothers are for? maybe it's because I've had the most practice, or because I'm the most hard-hearted when it comes to killing the demon insects. but mostly I think it's because my bedroom is a whole lot closer than the boys'. I follow Mary into the bedroom that she shares with Rachel, who at the moment was curled up in a terrified ball on her own bed, watching the goings-on with frightened, yet relieved eyes.

I jump into the room, flyswatter poised, ready to do battle. bring it on, beasties! come on, cowards! I'll take you all on!!! Mary points a trembling finger to her bed. I frown and lower my weapon. squinting, I get right up close to the bed. That?!?! on the bed was a bug, one so tiny I would never had seen it if I hadn't been looking for it. I look disappointedly at my sisters. crickets, I can understand. beetles and ants, I can understand. spiders, heaven knows I can understand. but cowering in terror because of a microscopic insect that you wouldn't be able to notice even if it was swing dancing on your eyeball? I don't understand that at all. sighing, I picked up the bug with my fingers and carried it away. I had done my duty as an older sister. Mary and Rachel would sleep in safety this night.

In our house, there are several different methods used to "do away" with various insects. my personal favorite is "Obliteration". in this technique, all you do is hit it as hard as you can with a hard object until it just ceases to exist. for the smaller, more innocent bugs, you can just use your hands and carry it to the sink/toilet or, if you're in an especially good mood, outside to set it free. once when we lived in Ceresco, we had an infestation of these ginormous flies, which all seemed to flock to my bedroom. they were very slow-moving, and I spent almost an entire day down there slapping those flies right out of the air. I killed like...50 in one day. at the end of the day I had a little pile of dead giant flies on my desk. it was amazing, and slightly morbid. never underestimate the power of a frightened girl with a rubber-soled slipper protecting her bedroom.

But this time, instead of taking the bug to the bathroom to be properly disposed of, as tradition demands, I took it into my bedroom where I could get a closer look at him. willfully carrying a bug into my own bedroom? was I going mad?? but this one was different. he was really tiny, and even sort of cute, when you thought about it. he had no stingers or fangs, and from what I could see, he didn't have a poison-shooter. still slightly cautious, I put him on the desk where he began to walk in curious little circles.

After a little time of intense scrutiny, I decided Little Buddy could stay. he was cute. adorable, even. he liked to flip onto his back and use his wings to zoom around my desk like some kind of street racer. and so he became Flip. strangely, although he has wings, he doesn't fly. and though he has my whole desk to walk around on, he stays in one general area. every other bug I've ever adopted/captured made a break for freedom every chance they got. not Flip. I gave him a matchbox for a home, and he doesn't leave it, though he could if he wanted to. Flip is a homebody, and I like him that way. I don't have to babysit him every moment of the day and I don't feel like a jerk for making him stay where he doesn't want to be. I can go downstairs and leave him sitting on top of his matchbox and I know he'll be there when I come back.

He's still here. I'm playing with him right now, actually. watching him zoom around my desk to his heart's content. I know someday he'll probably run away, like all the others did. that's okay. I never expected us to become soul mates or anything. but for now he's content to zoom about the desk and circle the top of his matchbox home. aww! he just crawled onto my arm. maybe he's getting fond of me, too! and to think, I almost flushed him down the toilet.

"Hey Little Cobra" --The Rip Chords. one of the best songs ever to listen to in the car. although, I shouldn't listen to it as often as I do. it tends to make me stretch the meaning of "speed limit"...if you know what I mean. :)

What I Can Do

2008-08-19T01:01:00.006-05:00

Dedicated to all my fellow Hy-Vee employees who put up with the same things that I do day in and day out. For all of us who have to laugh at the same jokes, listen to the same music, ask the same questions, get the same answers to those questions and do all the same stuff day after day for hours on end. For all of us who can do a gazillion things at once and never get props for it. Finally, a tribute to US!

I work at Hy-Vee grocery store
And I may look plain to you
But really, you have no idea
You’ll be amazed what I can do

I can talk while I think while I swipe while I smile
Direct you to the elusive aisle
Wear a tank top on a blouse and do it with style
Keep situations from becoming hostile

I can write while I chat while I laugh while I joke
Help you find the diet coke
Make you go completely broke
Suggest maybe the liquid smoke

I can promise you, no, the bread’s not stale
Help you find the beets on sale
Feel my train of thought derail
Recall every obscure detail

I can help you carry your huge bag of ice
Assure you, yes, it’s long-cut rice
Watch you faint when I name the price
I can do the math and be precise

With my skills I can give Superman a run for his money
Speedily help you find the honey
Promise the sauce is supposed to be runny
Laugh at jokes that aren’t even funny

I can look good to you, while inside I’m a wreck
Survive the whole day with a kink in my neck
Wait patiently while you write your dumb check
Smile even though you’re a pain in the neck

I can clean up the mess that you made on the floor
While apologizing for the horrid décor
While giving a tour of the entire store
While I organize my register drawer

I can work all day with a grin on my face
I can scan barcodes at a startling pace
I can stand all day in the same exact place
I can forfeit all notions of personal space

I can go the whole day without seeing sunlight
Admit that the customer’s always right
I can force myself to be polite
I can memorize prices and freely recite

I can ask if you found everything okay
I can help you find the cooking spray
I can state the amount you need to pay
Then smile and tell you to have a great day

I work at Hy-Vee grocery store
I can help you find groceries and food galore
But if you ask for my help on my way out the door
Sorry, friend, I can do no more.

"Le Festin" --Camille. very pretty song in French. :)

Coffee And Other Sweet Nothings

2008-08-05T21:21:00.003-05:00

So here I am. sitting in my bedroom drinking coffee. it's funny how I'll suddenly--like in a matter of a few seconds--develop a mad craving for the stuff. and that's just what happened a few minutes ago. one second, I was happily listening to music while cleaning--yes, cleaning--my room, and the next second I was making a mad dash for the stairs in an effort to get a pot brewing.

Oh man, this stuff is good. it's dark. really, really dark. Pretty much only Jim and I drink coffee this black. Sometimes Jim and I stay awake all night long, playing the wii and drinking insanely dark coffee. most of the time I humor my family and make it regular. but if I was to be perfectly truthful, I'd have to admit that this overly strong stuff that I'm drinking now is my favorite.

It's cold in the house, making the coffee taste even better. it seems Dad has won the battle over the air conditioner this evening, at least until Mom realizes that it's 60 degrees in the house and quickly adjusts it to 90. that's one thing about my house, it's either extremely warm or extremely cold. if my parents would just leave the air conditioner alone and let me have my way, we could all enjoy a much needed balance. but for some reason, if I turn it to something in-between, they both have conniptions. oh well. I try.

I tried to make Rachel take a taste of coffee earlier today. Rachel hates coffee. I tried to explain to her that when I was her age, I hated coffee too. Oh, I drank it alright. I drank it because my dad drank it and spoke so highly of it, and I didn't want to disappoint him. he said--jokingly--that if I didn't like coffee I wasn't a true Trexel. I laugh now, but to a child of a mere eight years, that's a serious thing. so I cringed inside and drank the bitter drink. I don't really know what happened. over a period of years, I grew to tolerate it more and more until I couldn't get enough of the stuff. now, well, you see what's happened. anyways. I was trying to make Rachel understand that if she would just tolerate the coffee for a few short years, she would thank me in the end. so she took a sip--if you could call it that--and immediately began coughing and gaging like she was dying or something. maybe she's too far gone?

Drinking this strong coffee takes me back to my Scooters days. every day I'd go in there between classes and order a large dark coffee. it cost exactly $1.98 and it was big enough to last me until I had to go to class. I miss that place. it was the only time I was ever considered a "regular". it was always the same guy working there and he would always come talk to me and give me free drinks and stuff. it was awesome.

Oooh...blast. see, this is one thing I hate about coffee. headaches. if I don't drink it, I'll get a headache. if I do drink it, I still get a headache! madness! tylenol is a good weapon, but it really only serves to put my headache to sleep for a few hours, and when it wakes up it's usually more irate than before. the mom of one of my childhood friends once told me that when I had a headache, I should lie down on my back with my eyes closed and think of a quiet lake. I tried it once, and managed to lie still for nearly thirty seconds before getting bored and thinking, "This is lame."

Anyway. the coffee--my second large mug of it--is gone now. my head still pounds like a madman with a jackhammer was let loose inside it, and I think it would be a good idea if I stopped looking at this computer screen. maybe I'll go pop some painkillers, if only to incapacitate the jackhammer-wielding madman for a few precious hours. Later, everybody.

"Fix You" --Coldplay.

Don't Take Me Away

2008-07-31T19:26:00.007-05:00

I wrote this as I was riding in the back seat of my car. we had been in Colorado for almost a week in the beautiful Rocky Mountains, and were on our way home. The mountains were beginning to fade into the distance and I was pretty sad, to say the least. I always seem to fall into a sort of mild depression after leaving the Rockies, and this poem is the outcome.

The moment that I saw you there
Majesty touching the sky
A place where beauty stands unmarred
Splendor money cannot buy

I knew I’d found my hearts desire
My hometown was no more
I had a new land to call my love
A new home to explore

But now you're tearing me in two
Separating body from soul
How can one half live alone
Both alive but neither whole

The battle inside me is raging
I fight every step of the way
But each moment means another mile
You’re taking me away

And I look back toward the fading scene
And try to capture the sight
To remember when I’m trapped by buildings
To appease me in the night

There you stand, my mountains
In breathtaking design
Dark, mysterious, your proud peaks gleam
High above timberline

The waterfall giving the stream its life
The sun shining through the trees
The familiar smell of pine and sap
Silent laughter in the cool breeze

The eagle flying over his land
The Columbine reaching for the sun
The deer and moose are content to roam
Free to live and run

My mountains, my Colorado
They call me back for more
More wonder, more adventure
To make my spirit soar

But against my will I’m going back
Whatever the price, I’ll pay
I’m begging, I’ll do anything
Just don’t take me away.

"Rocky Mountain High" --John Denver. appropriate, don't you think?

The Bad Day That Wasn't

2008-07-26T00:29:00.004-05:00

So there I was. rushing--frantically--around the house in a gallant effort to get to work on time. I had woken up at 7:30 a.m. and I didn't have to be to work until 9:00. Happily I turned off the alarm and burrowed deeper into my blankets. I didn't have to be up for a few minutes yet...I had plenty of time. my eyes slowly drifted closed.

Deep, deep down in the blackened depths of my slumbering mind, something was making my sleep uneasy. strange how, even in the deepest of sleeps, some part of the mind is still awake enough to remind you of things. things like, "Um, you're about to be late for work, Stupid!" annoyed with whatever was disrupting my sweet slumber, I scraped and clawed my way out of that deep hole of sleep, into the realm of consciousness. once there, I cracked an eye open, to see what could be poking at my brain so persistently.

The moment my eyes landed on the clock, I was immediately switched from "Asleep" to "Panic". It was a quarter to nine!! EEK! I threw on my work clothes and ran down the stairs in a frenzy. my mom poked her head around the corner and said something to me, but I didn't have time to talk. besides, I knew (for a fact) that if I stuck around, my mom would be trying to make me eat breakfast or take some coffee in a travel mug...things I simply did not have time for just then. so I call a hasty farewell and dash out the door, still blinking my contacts into my eyes.

As I sped to work, I switched from "Panic" into "Angry". I was angry at everything. angry at myself for not getting up to my alarm. angry at the weather for being so hot and humid. angry at my manager, who would expect me to be happy and helpful (which is my job, yes I know). angry angry angry. I was sure--absolutely positive--that my day was going to be a disaster. it had certainly gotten off to a horrible start.

Sometimes I wish I worked at Wal Mart. Nothing at all against Wal Mart people, but at least their slogan isn't "a helpful smile in every aisle". so I sort of decided I would not be happy at work. a bad thing to decide, I know, but I couldn't help myself. I was sad and angry and having a terrible day.

And my day went like that for about three hours. until a nice old man (somewhere between 70 and 80 years old) came through my line. he smiled and asked me how I was. "Pretty good." I answered. (I never go anything below "pretty good" because the last thing I want is for somebody to inquire about my melancholy). I politely return the question, to which he responds, "I'm having a great day. if you don't, it's your own fault." He smiled.

To an ordinary person, it would've been an almost rude thing to say. luckily for him (and me), he had happened into the lane of a cashier who was having a very gloomy day indeed. after he went on his merry way and I was left to myself to ponder, I decided the old man was right. and then I decided my day would be a good one. at break time, I listened to "beautiful day" by sanctus real, and to my surprise, when I decided to have a good day, I actually did! the humidity wasn't as suffocating, the customers seemed more friendly, time seemed to go faster, and I began to get excited about my upcoming road trip to Colorado.

On my drive home, I listened to "Walking On Sunshine" and y'know, the day--which I was so sure would be a terrible one--actually turned out quite nicely. Older people really should talk more. I'm grateful to that old man. he made my day a good one, in one gentle rebuke.

So. from now on, when I can, I'll have good days. I know they can't all be good, but at least now I understand that whether a day is good or not is no longer totally at the mercy of chance. :)

P.S. Just wanted to say bye! I'm off to Colorado tomorrow morning. I'm super excited! see all you blokes when I get back. oh, and for those of you who were curious, yes, I DID get to work on time!! and with one minute to spare, even. yeah. I'm that good. I was like...The Roadrunner on steroids.

"Oh Shenandoah" --James Galway. a really pretty old song. nobody really know what the words are talking about, but in spite of (or maybe because of) that, I find the song intriguing and quite lovely.

Yeah, That's My Name

2008-07-09T23:35:00.006-05:00

I like my name. Johanna. kinda pretty. I'm named after my great-grandma, too, so it also holds sentimental value. then again, I can find sentimental value in just about anything, from broken balloons to wadded up tinfoil to sand. (those three examples are totally not made up and also totally beside the point). the name Johanna isn't all that common, I know. in fact, I am hereby declaring it a rarity. but in spite of this, I think people ought to be able to say it correctly.

But apparently, 95% of all the people I see from day to day have never passed 3rd grade phonics, because my name is hardly ever pronounced right. I've stopped correcting people about it. it's not their fault they can't read. oh wait, yes it is! in fact (this is how bad it is) if somebody does say it right, I immediately assume I know the person from somewhere.

It's sometimes kinda nice when people ask how to pronounce it. if they knew how to sound out words they could do it themselves, but at least it's better than trying to do it yourself and butchering it.

When people say, "Hi, Jo-anna" I just wanna grab their shirt and pull 'em close and say, "Look here, pal. see the name tag? see that little "h" there in the middle of the word? now think way, way back to preschool when you were supposed to learn to read. remember what sound an "h" makes? if I were you, it would probably be pretty safe to assume it was put there for a reason. now I'm gonna let it slide this time since you obviously haven't had your morning coffee, putting you a bit behind as far as thinking is concerned, but just be glad I've had mine, or I might not be in such a good mood, so consider yourself lucky. say it right from now on, got it?"

Okay, maybe I only feel like doing that when I'm feeling especially cranky. but really, come on. in spanish, "h"s are never pronounced, but we speak English here. the people at my workplace make fun of me, because they all know I hate when people say my name wrong. so, of course, they go out of their way to "accidentally" say it wrong all the time. grr.

So like I said, I've stopped correcting people who say my name without the "h" or say the "j" like a "y" (who does that?!?!). it's no use. it's like trying to manipulate the weather. you can yell and threaten and bribe and cry and throw stuff, but in the end, it's gonna rain on your birthday party, like it or not. so in the end I just have to suck it up and smile politely and say, "Yeah, that's my name."

Maybe there just need to be more famous Johannas in the world. there's Johanna Spyri (the lady who wrote "Heidi", and yes, I knew that without looking it up), but she's the only famous Johanna that I know of.

Let's see what happens when we Google me, shall we? hmm, interesting. most famous Johannas are writers. there's a town in Minnesota called Lake Johanna Township. population 150. wow. lemme see...que mas? there's a song called "Johanna, Shut Up." lol! that's awesome.

Other than those little tidbits, there aren't many Johhanas to be found. maybe the simplest way to make people say my name right is just to...become famous! what better way is there? you never hear people saying Johanna Spyri's name wrong. no, everybody in the world knows how to say her name right. yeah, becoming famous is definitely the way to go. or in the words of Bob, "It's so simple! yet so brilliant."

Oh, get this! just tonight, I was at St. Elizabeth hospital to shadow a CNA for my class, and the guy I was shadowing asked my name, and I told him, and he says, "Johanna, hu? I'm gonna call you Joanna." no joke! that's what he said! I was like, wh...what? where do you get off calling me that??? jerk!! luckily I got put with another girl instead who just...didn't say my name at all. I was okay with that. if I hadn't been working, I might've picked a fight with the dude. and it probably wouldn't have ended well; he was like, the King Kong of CNAs. then again, I was pretty ticked. who knows.

The End.

Useless Tidbit Of The Night: my brother Jim and I just brewed a pot of coffee (Jim's the best, cause he's always willing to drink coffee with me late at night). and we made it so, so strong, it was like drinking a coffee bean. awesome. now I've got a headache big as the Goodyear Blimp. I thought it was supposed to work the other way around, dangit! and pain meds are all the way upstairs, so until I decide I want to go to bed, I'll just live with it.

"Johanna, Shut Up" --Crazy Loop. it's a weird, kinda creepy song. and the singer sings badly. I don't recommend it. but it's my only claim to fame, so I'll take it.

My Little Buddy, Al

2008-06-29T14:35:00.006-05:00

So there I was. it was just after 11:00 at night and, exhausted from a long day at work, I wearily trudged out to my lonely little car. as I reached to open the door, I noticed a small little moth attached to the driver's side window. it was completely white and terribly cute. I touched it with my finger, expecting it to happily fly on its merry way. so I was a little surprised when it gave a feeble cough (or at least I imagined it did) and simply fell onto the pavement on its back and lay still. I peered closer. surely, I hadn't killed it? I touched it again, and was rewarded with nothing more than a slight leg movement. the moth was obviously sick. maybe dying. was I really going to leave a sick creature laying in an abandoned parking lot to die, alone and afraid? Not even I am that heartless. (unless I'm sitting in a deer stand in Nowhere Minnesota, and then, well, that's different. entirely.)

I wondered what to do. since I was anxious to be getting home and out of the dark parking lot, I simply scooped him up and took him along. I would decide what to do with him on the way. setting him on the seat next to me, I gave him another curious glance, trying to give an accurate diagnosis. it appeared to me that the moth had fainted. heat stroke, maybe. how long he had been clinging to my window, I didn't know. might've been five minutes, might've been all day. I tried to maneuver him onto his legs thinking maybe that would make him more comfortable, but he seemed content enough to lay on his back, so I left him like that.

I started my car and turned on the music--something happy and upbeat, to drown out the unpleasant workday. I don't remember what exactly I was listening to, and it doesn't really matter, does it? I mean, I'm sure it was awesome, whatever it was, otherwise I wouldn't be listening to it, would I? :)

Anyways, as I drove home, I wondered what I would do with my new little buddy when I arrived. without thinking any more about it, I turned up my music and decided to take a detour on my way home so I could listen to it a little longer.

I had just passed a street light, and chanced a look at Little Buddy, when I noticed a change in him. he was no longer on his back. in fact, he was on all fours--err, all sixes--and was looking perky and alert. I smiled. "Little Buddy, if anything had the power to cure you, it was surely the music." Little Buddy seemed to agree. he has good taste.

So after I stop the car in front of my house, I debate what to do with him. he's still there on the passenger seat, watching me, waiting for my verdict. I decide to let him loose outside, where he could be happy and free. So I try to get him to climb onto my key so I can carry him to freedom. he starts to climb aboard, and then seems to have second thoughts. he darts a few inches away, then stops again, wanting to trust me deep down but unsure of my intentions.

"C'mon, Little Buddy," I call softly. "I'm just going to take you outside." but again, he runs away, this time underneath the passenger seat and out of sight. I sighed. well, if he really loves my car--and my music--that much, then he's welcome to it, I guess. it's his life. I'm down with it as long as he doesn't fly around in my face while I drive.

I get out of my car and close the door. he still has not reappeared. I smile and start to go inside, but realize that if he's going to live in my car I ought to give him a proper name. none that I think of seem to fit him, though. eventually, because he is an albino moth, I named him Al. "Goodnight, Al. sweet dreams."

It's been quite a few days. Al has not reappeared. I don't even know if he's still in the car. possibly, he flew outside while I was driving along with my windows open. possibly, he climbed out that one time when I accidentally left the window down all morning. possibly, he's still alive and rocking out with my tunes every time I climb into the car. possibly, he was even more sick than I thought and crawled under the seat and died.

In any case, Little Buddy Al had the best taste in music of any other moth I've ever met. Rock on, dude. rock on.

"If You're Gonna Play In Texas" --Alabama

I Am SO Going To Regret This...

2008-06-26T16:33:00.002-05:00

Although I've gotten into the very bad habit of going to bed in the wee morning hours every night, last night, because I had to work at 8:00 the following morning, I was bidding the family goodnight at only midnight. so I was going upstairs to my bedroom like a good little girl, fully intending to go to bed at once, really I was.

Suddenly I remembered that I needed to do a load of laundry--clothes that I needed for work in the morning. so I take my small bundle of clothes down into the laundry room, past Nikki, Jim and Josh watching random TV. when I leave the laundry room several minutes later, the channel they had been watching had been changed. I ask what they're watching. The Fugitive, they answer.

What! wh...what...how could...who do they think they are?!?! they're really going to watch one of the best movies of all time without me?? I bite my lip in indecision. I have to get up at 6:30...the movie doesn't get over until 2:30. that's only three to four hours of sleep before working for eight hours. dare I?

Well...after all...my clothes are in the washer. I need to wait around, just long enough to throw them in the dryer, then I'll go to bed. yeah, that's it. So I stay up and watch the movie with them. yes, I threw my clothes in the dryer, and yes, I continued watching The Fugitive after that. couldn't see that one coming.

The whole time I'm sitting there, despite the fact that the movie was incredible and I hadn't seen it in FOREVER, that little annoying part of my brain that trickles out a constant stream of practical thoughts kept saying, "You're going to regret this tomorrow...you're going to regret this tomorrow...you're going to regret this tomorrow..." and the big part of my brain that constantly flows a riptide rush of sarcastic, impractical thoughts would reply, "Yeah, I know I am. now shut up and watch the movie." and so, when I laid down in my bed at 2:45 a.m., all was right with the world and there was a smile on my face as I lapsed into a deep sleep. "You're going to regret this tomorrow..."

*Tomorrow...which is actually today now*

So to be perfectly honest, I don't really remember too much of this morning. I do remember crawling out of bed at 6:15 feeling like road kill that had been scraped off the side of the road. I sort of remember getting ready and talking with dad for a while, though I have no recollection whatsoever of what we talked about. I remember drinking coffee and staring at the kitchen table. I don't remember if I ate breakfast or not. I remember telling mom how tired I was. she didn't give me much sympathy. rightfully so, I'm afraid. I had nobody to blame but myself.

I remember getting to work and there being no customers for a long long time, leaving me nothing to do but stand there pondering how exhausted I was. I remember wondering if I regretted watching The Fugitive with my brothers and sister. it had been sweet staying up with them, but here I was, tired tired tired. did I regret it? I wasn't sure. I decided to wait until I was not half asleep to make up my mind.

I remember wanting coffee very badly as I stood obediently at my register. I remember thinking how wonderful it would be to have a white chocolate mocha from Nu Vibe with two (count 'em, TWO) extra shots of espresso (notice, there is NO "x" in espresso). I would've just walked the coupla blocks to Nu Vibe on my break and gotten the stupid thing myself, but unfortunately, I was not allowed to stray farther than the Hy Vee parking lot. curses.

I remember scheming...conniving...concocting a way to get a white chocolate mocha. I needed something, that was certain. I couldn't survive the rest of the day at the rate I was going. so, when I was released to take my break, I wasted no time. I grabbed my phone and frantically dialed the only person in the world who would lend a sympathetic ear to my problems. "Hi...Mom? it's me..."

I'm not sure why, but my mother was much, much more willing to help me out this time than she was in the morning before I left for work. she listened quietly to my plea for a white chocolate mocha (and some company on my break) and acquiesced, much to my delight and relief.

So, after waiting patiently in my car for a few minutes, my mother climbs in beside me and hands me a white chocolate mocha, assuring me that yes, it has two extra espresso shots in it. it's as amazing as I dreamed it would be.

That was pretty much the best break ever. my mom and I, drinking coffee in my car, listening to music and talking like old pals. it was fun. I think our playlist consisted of Simon and Garfunkel, Journey, Johnny Cash and Van Halen. :)

So, I finish my mocha, say goodbye and thank you to my mother, and head back inside to work the last four hours of my shift. at last, I felt I was thinking clearly enough to make a decision about whether or not I regret staying up last night.

Let's see. I was no longer tired (the mocha took good care of that problem). I watched a sweet movie with sweet peeps. I got to spend my break with my awesome mom. I got a free white chocolate mocha. Regrets? no way! I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

*Note. from now on, I'm going to put what I'm listening to at the end of my posts. no reason for it. I just want to, and I can. :) so there.*

"I Walk The Line" --Johnny Cash

Hey, No Fair!

2008-06-16T23:23:00.004-05:00

I hate not knowing things about myself. seriously, how dumb is it to not know something about your own self? if anyone should know, it should be you! it kinda bugs me that I can't control some things about myself. I can't make my heart stop beating. why not? it's mine, isn't it? it's part of my own self. If I should have control over anything, it ought to be me, don't you think? it's not fair! not that I would ever make my heart stop beating even if I could. but see, I've heard of having "heart hiccups" and I've always thought it would be kinda funny to have those every now and then. :)

Anyways. another thing I hate is when I feel some emotion and I don't know why. annoying! am I the only one plagued with this problem? let's see a show of hands...nobody? fantastic. like just yesterday, I heard this song, and it was so beautiful! it was like...so wonderful it was heartbreaking! and I was sad, and I didn't know why, because it was a good song, not a sad one. but I was happy, too! so weird. not fair, either. I hate when this happens. and see? now I'm upset to top it all off. great.

Lots of songs do that to me. just listening to one of them makes a long rainbow of emotions tumble around inside me like popcorn in one of those old ghetto popcorn poppers. you know, the ones that plugged into the wall? did anyone else have one of those when they were young? I wonder if that thing is still around here someplace...

Anyways. where was I. oh yes; all the things in my life that aren't fair. And another thing! who decided that singing out loud was socially unacceptable? he needs to be drug out into the street and properly disposed of. lately (because of all the songs that I love, like I said in the last part of this pointless blog) I've wanted to do a lot more spontaneous singing than is normal for me. but you know what? somebody decided once that bursting into song in the middle of a crowd is a bad idea, and so, like a bunch of sheep, we all walk around with songs on the tips of our tongues, and don't sing them. thank goodness for the solitude of my car, or I think I would explode. I can't sing when I want to. not fair.

Nebraska doesn't have any mountains. that you could stand in any spot on earth and not see a mountain on the horizon is a sin. as it is, we have to drive and drive and drive for miles to see one, and that's not fair.

Oh! something more! in less than a year, I'm going to be twenty years old. That is way not fair. I'm sick of getting older. it's getting old really fast (haha, get it?). but then, "growing old is mandatory...growing up is optional". that was one of those A-wise-man-once-said sayings that I've always personally liked.

The coffee is gone. no fair.

My mug that I painted at Paint Yourself Silly (remember, the "Johanna, that's a waste of paint" one?) got a chip in it. so sad, not to mention unfair.

Another thing, I can't burp. everyone in my family can, and I can't. I've tried and tried. once I did a little one by accident, but nobody heard it. I don't see how that can be fair at all, by anyone's standards.

Gas. enough said. not fair.

So I'll make myself stop now. I could go on all night *looks at clock* whoa, guess I kinda did. but for all our sakes, I'll end this post and go do something else. moral of the story: so many things are so not fair. now I gotta go...this homie has a hot date with an old ghetto popcorn popper.

I Hate You, Marcus. I Love You, Storms.

2008-05-30T03:30:00.006-05:00

So this is going to be a totally amazing post. know why? know why?! cause this is gonna be like....two posts....fused with my magic post-fusing powers, to make one, amazing, incredible, probably boring, dry, not-worth-my-valuable-time post!! Ta-Da! so sit back, get comfy, pull your coffee close and hang on for the ride of your life.

So there I was. as you may remember from my last post, I was eager to see the new Indiana Jones movie. it had been a long day at work, and I was tired and slightly cranky, but my kid brother Josh knows the only known cure to kill any ailment his older sister might attain. "Hey, Jo, wanna go to a movie?"

Blast. the kid was good. he had mastered the skill to a fine art. and even though I knew he was playing me like a fiddle, the magic cure still worked. my step became light and my face, previously void of emotion, was suddenly grinning from ear to ear. nobody can do that like Josh.

Anyways, no sooner had I changed out of my horrid Hy Vee uniform and into something much much more comfortable, then Josh and I were careening down the street in my lovely little car, me singing along to Jim Croce and Josh scrambling to find a different CD. on the short drive to the theater, Josh and I reminisced about all the previous Indiana Jones movies, hyping ourselves for a very promising evening indeed.

Only Fate knew how wrong I was. For all the eight(?) years I've lived here in good old Nebraska, (and what a grand eight years it's been), Douglas Theaters has always been there to provide a bit of fun on weekends (and sometimes not weekends, when I'm feeling especially nerdy) and rip my boredom to shreds at my say-so. but now...there was a new foe on the horizon. a new obstacle to cross. a new hurdle to jump. due to circumstances far, far beyond my arm of influence, Douglas Theaters has sold out to, and transformed into something hardly resembling the good old theater I've grown to love--Marcus Theaters. *duh duh Duhhhhhh*

So, we show up to the theater, intent on movie magic fun. I had already heard from my homies on the street (a.k.a. the old people who come into the grocery store to gossip) that Douglas had sold out to Marcus, so I was already bracing myself for what I would find when I walked through the beloved doors of Edgewood Theater. apparently, though, I didn't brace myself good enough, because as I opened the door of the theater I was quickly washed away in a riptide rush of disappointments.

The first thing that always used to greet me when I went to a movie was the young, semi-conscious college student who took your money and gave you your ticket without blinking or losing the glazed-eye look. they always amused me; put me in a good mood for my movie. sometimes even cut me a deal. but NOW they've got...what? two stuffy old men wearing...tuxedos? what what what??? it was appalling, severely irritating, and slightly hysterical. the tuxedos, or black suites...whatever...make the poor guys look like a mix between a butler and a secret service agent. I scoffed. posers.

Anyways. The stuffy men now name the price (which has skyrocketed), snatch the money, give you your change (if you're lucky) and your ticket. NEXT! no deals here, I'm afraid. oh, and the Douglas Real Deal Card, which has granted me many a free movie over the years and years that I've owned it, is now void. that's right. gone. capooch. capeesh. whatever. I guess Marcus is too good for real deals. the stuffy old man snatched my card, old, bent and faded from years of use and abuse, and threw it in the trash. goodbye, my friend.

Next, Josh and I headed to the snack bar. we weren't really hungry, only thirsty. good thing, too. before, yes, it's true, popcorn was overpriced. very overpriced. I've said goodbye to many Washingtons and Lincolns and Jacksons over the years, as a result of overpriced theater popcorn. but this...this, I felt, was dangerously close to illegal. because popcorn is now in buckets instead of bags (ooh, special), Marcus feels that they need to charge a bit extra. a LOT extra. the smallest size is now the cost of what a large size used to be. good thing I usually don't get popcorn.

"Can I get a large popcorn and a drink, please?"
"Sure. do you want to mortgage your house or sell your soul?"

Moving on with our drinks, Josh and I made our way to our seats. after the lights dimmed, the intro played and, after everything that I had seen changed that evening, I wasn't even surprised that they got rid of the little flying ticket guy and switched to an intro that was supposed to be snazzier, but in all reality was just as lame and boring. now, I never really cared for the little ticket man who flew around telling me to be quiet. but, as I watched the new "Marcus Theater" intro...I couldn't help but feel a little sad. poor Ticket Man. I wondered what he was going to do now.

Anyways, the evening's only redeeming factor was that the movie was very good and I had Josh with me. I don't know why everyone was so upset about the new Indiana Jones movie. I thought it was exceptional. although Harrison Ford was undoubtedly way hotter back in the day of Raiders of the Lost Arc. but he's still good old Indiana.

So that's Marcus Theaters in my biased nutshell. in one fell swoop, Marcus has managed to injure and/or maim all the fun of the movie-going experience. curse you, Marcus. but even though going to the movies is now a little less enjoyable and all but pushes you to the brink of bankruptcy, I suppose it's my civic duty to continue the tradition. after all, what would the world think if all the hard-core movie people stopped going just because of some extra expenses or some old men in tuxedos? do we even want to know the havoc and carnage it would wreak?

Anyways, that was last week. this next part was just tonight. post, prepare to fuse!!

So I was working all afternoon, and in my job, one of the good things about it is that I get to hear all the juicy gossip of the world before anybody else. so I knew pretty early that a massive storm front was going to hit town sometime tonight. how exciting!

After work, I sat in my car and looked in all directions. I was tempted...so very tempted...to go driving toward the fast approaching thunderhead. I know a bad decision when I think of one...but simply knowing that it's a bad idea is hardly ever enough to stop me from entertaining it. I knew driving away from home and into the storm was a bad idea. a very bad idea. I could name all the reasons why I knew, but most of them are painfully obvious, so I won't bore you. but the biggest reason--I'm not sure if it was the only one (the rest seemed trivial)--was that I wanted to get into some more comfortable clothing. if I had been in comfy clothes right then...I might have turned my car toward the storm with a whoop and sped off. who knows.

Anyways, I did go home (like a good little girl) and waited for the storm to hit. I had almost convinced myself that the entire thing would go north of us and we wouldn't get a blessed raindrop, when the wind began. it wasn't too impressive at first, but when the windows started to rattle, I knew it was going to get good.

Our house is so funny to watch during big storms. Mom rushes around making popcorn and cuddling in blankets and watching the weather channel, the little girls sit on the couch and cry, begging us to rush to the basement with our most prized possessions, Dad alternates between checking the radar loop on the computer, watching the weather channel with Mom, and shouting instructions of what to do in case of tornadoes over all the commotion. Jim sits there wanting the noise and chaos to stop, I sit there waiting for my chance to escape outside.

My parents are kind of...finicky about us being outside during a storm. they live by the rule that if something can go wrong, it will. I live by the rule that if something can go wrong, that's where the party's at. eventually, there was a breech of surveillance on the front door and I was able to slip out into the blowing wind and rain.

It was amazing. the hurricane-like winds were making the trees bend over at odd angles, and an interesting assortment of odds and ends were blowing down the street like a junk parade. I was tempted...so very tempted...to run out into the middle of the street and see if I could stand upright against the wind or get blown over. I was ready. so ready. nothing sounded more fun to me right then. but I knew the minute I took a step off the porch my parents would come running out of the house and drag me back inside like some sort of crazy prison escapee. unfortunately, my parents did an excellent job raising me, instilling inside me a healthy fear of consequences. I knew that running into the street was a very bad idea. I know that if my parents had not been at home, or if I had been some place other than home, I would have tried it. probably would've gotten pummeled by some negligent neighbor's garbage can...but I know I would've tried all the same. blast. woulda been so fun.

Anyways, eventually, when roll-call was taken and I was found absent without leave, a search party was formulated and I was found and forcibly brought inside to stand trial, even though I had obediently remained on the front porch.

Sadly, we did miss most of the storm. although, now that I think about it, it's probably for the best. spending my evening in the basement with two sobbing sisters (they would be sobbing, too, if we'd had to go to the basement, believe me) and utter chaos besides is NOT my idea of a good time. so yeah. save the good storms when I'm here alone or something. yeah, good idea.

So, I'm sorry this post is so long, but really it's two posts FUSED into one! Ta-Da! :D

Class, Caffeine and Indiana Jones

2008-05-21T11:32:00.004-05:00

So I've started school again. it's definitely good to be back into it. granted, it's only one class, for now. later on, the number of classes I take, as well as number of notebooks I own, pencils to keep sharp, classroom numbers to remember, amount of gas I spend and stress I have will skyrocket. other things, such as the bank account, free time and general happiness will not be so fortunate.

So, my class is three nights a week from 5:30 to 9:30. how I managed to sucker myself into a night class, I'll never know. I can stay awake in front of my laptop in my bedroom until six in the morning, if I have a mind to do so. but somehow, it's different in a classroom where a lady is reading monotone from a textbook about laws and rules and whatnot. but so far I've done pretty well for myself. in fact, I've managed to stay awake about 80% of the time! rock on.

And how I managed to find myself sitting in the front row of the classroom, I'll never know. actually, I do know. first day of class, I showed up early. but not early enough, I guess, cause all the other seats were already taken, dagnabbit. you're probably wondering what's so horrible about the front row. a lot of things, kid, a lot of things. like if the teacher asks a question, she'll say something like, "Let's start with........YOU!" and jab her finger in the face of the person in the front row. people who sit farther back have more time to think of a good answer. also, when I'm falling asleep, because I'm sitting in the front row I have to restrain myself from slapping myself in the face.

So last night we watched this movie...where this lady, this "nurse" was talking and "educating" us about the tasks we would preform. this is an actual quote from that movie. "Sometimes, in this job, we are in contact with tiny microorganisms sometimes referred to as...germs!" I suppressed a groan from escaping my lips, or nearly did. Kelsey (my brother's girlfriend who is taking the class with me) gave me a half-glance, so I knew I had not fully succeeded. but it's okay, cause I knew she felt the same way. the movie continued. "And sometimes, if we're not careful, we can move these microorganisms from one place to another, sometimes called...spreading." I thought for sure that, by now, my brain was nothing more than a pile of useless pulp and any moment now it might oozing out my ears. this was too much. I couldn't take it. Someone kill me.

After the movie was (mercifully) over, my teacher declared a much needed break. I got up, stretched my legs and went in search of some caffeine. after a long search up some pretty scary stairs, I found my heart's desire in a very large, dimly lit room. it was very much like the Indiana Jones movies where he finds the thing he's been looking for, and it's sitting on a pedestal with a light shining down on it from a convenient hole in the cave roof or something. it was like that. by the way, does anybody else want to see that movie??? I want to see that movie. anyways, where was I? oh yeah.

So I trekked back down the scary stairs, clutching my cold, wet, carbonated (and CAFFEINATED!) drink and reentered the classroom. I gazed at my prize that I had paid a whole $1.25 for. Caffeine, do your thing. I silently commanded. Glug glug glug.

It seemed to work. I didn't get tired again for the duration of the class. the clock ticked slowly toward 9:30, our scheduled ending time. but by 8:30, we were finished with all our material. I held my breath, hardly daring myself to hope....

"Well, we're done with all the material for tonight..." the teacher observed, flipping through the book with a frown. yes? yes? I thought impatiently. the teacher suddenly smiled, making me instantly uneasy. Oh no... "Do you want to play pictionary or hangman?" she asked. instantly, various students started calling out which one they wanted to play.

I chanced a look at Kelsey. she chanced a look at me. I think we were both wondering whether to laugh or cry. Are you as suicidal as I am right now? I asked her with my eyes. I thought about pretending to make a gun with my hand and put it to my head, if for nothing more than my own amusement. I figured it would probably get a laugh out of Kelsey. but we were in the front row, so I couldn't or everyone would know I was not enjoying myself.

So for the next 45 minutes, we played hangman and pictionary with medical terminology. ooooh. wow. I just realized how cynical this post is. I'm not sure why whenever I'm cynical I feel a need to explain myself. The class really is a good one. I'm sure I'll get a lot out of it in the long run. I'm sure. So sure. So totally sure...

Ah, Coffee In The Speckled Mug

2008-05-06T00:50:00.006-05:00

So I like to stay up late when I can. most of you already know that. and most of you probably figure I stay up late doing things and writing and keeping myself busy and entertained. and while this sounds plausible and is a good idea, it's usually NOT what I'm doing on those frequent nights when I'm up until three in the morning. no, usually when I pull an all-nighter (nighter isn't a word...I just realized that) I'm doing...well...not really anything. I sit on my computer and watch funny youtube videos or stare glassy-eyed at my empty inbox waiting for a new message to magically appear, as if anybody besides me actually stayed up until 3 for no good reason, let alone writing emails. yes, sometimes I am writing a bit of poetry or some stupid fiction story, but I find I can only write when inspired, and usually when it's almost sunup and my eyes are twitching and my brain is short-circuiting and blinking "COFFEE OVERLOAD" in big red letters I'm not even feeling human, let alone inspired.

So usually what happens before one of these all-nighters (wait...spellcheck says "nighter" isn't a word but "nighters" is. weird. it also says "spellcheck" isn't a word. I smell a rat) is that I'll kind of wander around the house for a little while at around ten o'clock, wondering what to do and mostly waiting for people to go to bed so I can have the house to myself. Nikki's really the only person who notices, and she knows when I do that, that I'm about to pull an all nighter (okay, I'm adding that word to my dictionary. the red spellcheck line is starting to bug me). and I don't know why, but she has problems with me staying up late at night. I think it all goes back to when we lived in rooms side by side in Ceresco and I always stayed up late and got four hours of sleep per night, and she always went to bed early and got eight and we both felt the same in the morning. I'm pretty sure she's still bitter about that.

Anyways, she always tries to talk me out of staying up late, as if it effects her happiness or something if I go to bed when she does. she always tries to get me to, like, turn against myself or something by asking questions like, "Why do you always feel like you have to stay up late?" Answer: "Pfft." or "Why don't you just go to sleep now? you know you're tired." Answer: "Pfft." and sometimes she even tries to pull the "It's not healthy to stay up so late." card. Answer: "Pfft. pfft. pfft." the only people who say staying up late isn't healthy are the people who are angry that they can't stay up late themselves. people like Nikki. poor souls.

After "pffting" Nikki into silence I flounce to my bedroom. I never really answer her questions because...well...I really don't have answers to them. why don't I go to bed? I...don't know. it's not like I have anything especially important to do. it's a mindset. maybe I was brainwashed once...like a Jason Bourne type thing. "must stay up late...must stay up late..." and when somebody asks "why?" it throws off my mindset and puts me on the defensive. "well...well...why NOT? hu, Mr. Smart Man? Why NOT?" Jo Bourne. nah. doesn't flow. forget that idea. and besides, being brainwashed to stay up late at night isn't nearly as cool as being brainwashed to kill people. yeah, scrap that idea.

I do love the nighttime, though. I like being awake when everyone else is asleep. it gives me a sense of power. "you have all succumbed to your natural human instincts and fallen into a voluntary coma. me? I've risen above and beyond my basic human needs and am staying awake until I dang well please. mwahaha."

After Nikki goes to her room with one last parting (and useless) jab about my going to bed, she's usually the last one, so I am left alone with myself and the coffee that I am about to make. I steal downstairs and brew me a pot, sipping it slowly while I decide how I'm going to spend my sleepless night. the possibilities are endless. and yet...beginningless. for the life of me...I can't think of anything to do.

So on any given night I'll go upstairs to my bedroom and goof around on my computer, watching funny youtube videos, watching (real) movies on my laptop, reading random stuff I've written, listening to music or any number of things that I could do during the daytime. nothing that I do at one a.m. is ever really anything that I couldn't do at noon on any given day. annoying.

Anyways. eventually, as I DO get tired at three or four, I find my head beginning to tilt backwards, because my eyes are starting to close involuntarily, and to see strait ahead, my head starts to tilt backwards. that's usually when I start to wonder if going to bed wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. usually after the head tilting begins, the next thing to start happening is when I blink, my eyes take longer and longer to open again. it's like...sheer willpower to make them go open again. after this starts happening, I give it another half hour, tops, before I fall victim to my own sleepiness and stagger like a drunk to my bed and collapse.

The next morning I get up, tired, yes, but I never regret when I've done. I don't know why. I know I ought to; after all, I never really did anything important in my all night escapade. I never really accomplished anything. I think the important reason that I stay up late is silence. silence is the best. and when you live in MY house...silence is pretty hard to come by, and when you DO come by it, you better enjoy it cause you never know when you'll come by it again. I guess that's my best reason for staying up late. I can't get silence during the day, so I'll get it at night when everybody has no choice but to be quiet, cause they're all ASLEEP! my own brilliance astounds me.

So I guess I'm done. it's two a.m., not quite as late as usual, but I'm a little bit more tired tonight, so I'm going to go ahead and skip the head tilt and the long blinks and head strait for bed--err--couch. who's idea was it to give me the guest bedroom? *grumble grumble* oh well. at least down here nobody cares how late I stay up.

G'night, all.

On A Lighter Note...

2008-05-03T23:49:00.002-05:00

Most of the poetry that I post on here is deep and meaningful, but here's a little one for you that...well...isn't. enjoy. :)

I Will Trust Your Blinker

Late for work, I jump in my car
My car starts with a roar
I throw on the shades, put my car into gear
And put the peddle to the floor

I go to turn on another road
But the busy street is packed
And I know it’s going to be hard to turn
And keep my car intact

And then I see you coming my way
All other hope is gone
You’re moving too fast for me to get out
But you’ve got your blinker on

For just a small split second
I panic in indecision
You’ve got your blinker on
But I want to avoid a collision

You’re driving at a frightening speed
At the same speed my mind is thinking
You’re coming at me so terribly fast
But that little light is blinking

Well listen, buster, I’m late for work
I don’t have time for games
And as I watch you speeding close
From behind my tinted frames

I make a quick decision
About that little blinking light
I quickly pull onto the street
Grit my teeth and hang on tight

I look in my rear-view mirror
You’re still coming fast
Then I see you turn off your blinker
Oh blast.

There now! hope you liked it! it made me laugh when I first wrote it. have a great week everybody! oh, by the way, "Away" by Nightwish is a fantastic song. just thought I'd throw that out there cause that's what I'm listening to right now. seriously...it's sweet.

Thunderstorms at two a.m.

2008-04-25T03:01:00.003-05:00

I knew it. I could feel it in my bones. just like Papa Bear who could feel a storm in his left big toe (from the Berenstain Bears, for those of you who never had a real childhood). I knew one would come along here soon. and I was right. mwahaha.

So there I was. minding my own little business in my bedroom, doing something, I don't remember what. isn't that always the way it goes? I feel like an old person or something, for all the things I forget. anyways. we're off subject. bring it back.

There I was, doing that thing I don't remember doing at my desk in my bedroom (at least I remember that much). then all of a sudden, I heard a noise. actually, I felt it before I actually heard it. a low rumble. I could feel the vibrations pulsing through everything I touched. I knew it had to come along sooner or later...the first thunderstorm of the year.

So basically, I love rain and especially thunderstorms. and tonight (err...this morning? yikes. it's already 3:30. my bad) at about 2:00 a.m. my dad poked his head into my bedroom (scared the livin' daylights outta me, too) to remind me to close my window so rain water wouldn't come in. now, I'd been hearing the thunder, but not any rain. my father assured me that, yes, it was raining, and please, for crying out loud, try to go to bed before sunup. parents have such funny notions.

So I help my dad check all the windows in the house, and then he climbs the stairs and heads back to bed. me, I didn't have work the next day, so why should I rush? I wait until he's in his bedroom, and then tiptoe to the back door. I peeked outside and saw the rain, pouring strait down like little silver bullets. it was beautiful. I remove my socks and roll up my pant legs. then, quietly (so as to not wake people, of course. that would be rude, right?) I eased the back door open, cringing at every squeak. silently, I slipped outside into the rain. it was warm, perfectly so. the sky was bright with lightning and every time I saw it flash I'd grin stupidly and wait for the thunder that would inevitably follow close behind it.

I kind of just stood there for a while, glancing around every so often to make sure the neighbors weren't outside gawking at the girl next door who sneaks outside to play in the rain at two a.m. Not that I needed to worry; most of the people who live close to me are the mini van couple with two kids and a dog types, who go to bed at nine at night. no fear of them catching me outside at two in the morning. and even if they did, so what. they already know our family is weird.

Anyways. I stood out there and smiled and looked up into the rain until I was quite soaked and I had started to shiver, then went very quietly back inside and stole up to my room. it had been terribly fun, and I never even got caught--ah! I mean, I never even woke anybody.

So now I'm thinking I should probably go to bed. meh. I'm not really all that tired. see, thing is, I get really tired at about one a.m. every night. if I stay strong and tough it out and stay awake past about two, then I usually can't get to sleep again (even if I tried) until about four. ah, well, there's always plenty of stuff to do. and hey, it IS almost four! hoorah. I might just try to hit the sack after all. probably. maybe. maybe not...

'Night all.

Know what's funny? I probably wont even remember writing this tomorrow. ha!

Fly On, My Love

2008-04-11T18:05:00.001-05:00

I see you walking on my earth
Sick, weak, weary, frail
Chasing something just out of reach
Striving to no avail

My dear little children, do not fret
Your Father has not withdrawn
Because I am with you every step
Strive on, my child, strive on

Overcome with love and joy
You lift up your voice to sing
The gift of your songs of sincere praise
Is better than any offering

As praise wells up inside your heart
You lift your voice in song
Because it gives me joy and glory
Sing on, my joy, sing on

Things can happen in this life
That we cannot explain
We don’t always know the reason
For suffering and pain

So I will fold you in my arms
When you feel like hope is gone
Because I am your loving Father
Cry on, my child, cry on

One day after you fight the fight
And fall to Death’s embrace
And when you leave your earthly home
And fly away from that place

When you’re on your way to Me
Flying through the rays of the dawn
Because I can’t wait to welcome you home
Fly on, my love, fly on.

Random

2008-03-03T23:19:00.004-06:00

So this post is gonna be really...really...really...random. random, as in, I'm still wondering what it's going to be about. but my fingers keep moving, and words are still forming, so what the heck, let's do this thing.

So I went to work tonight, and lately I've been picking up these little isms that customers generally display. por ejemplo, whenever I want to ask if they found everything, it usually happens like this:
"Did you find--"
"Yes."
And then I keep going, "...everything you were looking for?" and then there's an awkward silence, cause they've already answered, and usually, just to fill the empty space, they end up answering the question again. for a long LONG time I've wanted to do it like this:
"Did you find--"
"Yes."
"--a leprechaun?"
Just to see the look on their face. priceless. maybe I will someday. I bet if I did they'd wait for me to finish the question next time. then again, there probably wouldn't be a next time, cause I'd probably get fired. it would be so worth it.

So, I love winter. I love winter like I love my computer. but, just as with my computer, I am beginning to love it less and less. winter has been here a long long time, and I really really really just want to roll down my window while driving 60 mph and stick my head out the window like a dog and just let the wind whip through my hair. I'm so excited for that! it's the very first thing on the "what to do when Spring gets here" list. it also happens to be 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th. 6th, 7th, 8th, and all the way to 100th is to lounge in my newly acquired hammock. :D

I'm also excited for my birthday, which is coming up. curiously, as I've grown older, my enjoyment of Christmas has faded (I think it's because it's not as magical as it was way back in the day when I was a gullible child) but my enjoyment of my birthday is the same as it was when I was a small child. I do love my birthday! :D and this year, I'll be turning 19. it's a bittersweet birthday. this is the last birthday I will have to be a teenager. on my next birthday, I'll be turning 20 years old!! I'll be...I'll be an...an...OLD PERSON!! so I'm determined to enjoy this one with everything I've got in my still-for-a-little-while-young bones. after this birthday, I'll also be able to swipe alcohol at the store. it seems a strange thing to long for, but you have no idea how annoying it is to have to call a manager up every single time somebody wants to purchase alcohol. also, apparently I LOOK old enough, so everybody brings all their alcohol into my lane. curses.

My car is in the shop this week, getting fixed I hope. I hope to get it back on Wednesday, fully repaired and looking good as new. I've even driven by the place where it is to see if I could catch a glimpse of my car, and never did see him. I'd better have him back by the time the weather gets good, though, cause I don't think sticking my head out the window of anybody else's car while I drive would be as magical.

Anyway, this was just sort of an update on my life...or whatever you wanna call it...there was absolutely zero thinking beforehand on this. I'm sorry, all of you. this post wasn't really anything. you may now return to your lives.

Beauty Can't Be Ordinary

2008-02-11T22:18:00.000-06:00

So there I was. driving home from somewhere...I forget where exactly. it was somewhere around five o'clock, just when the sun is going down. I was in a long line of cars driving home after a long workday. traffic was moving at a pace that would make even a granny go mad, and I wasn't in the best of moods. Just then, I turn to look out the passenger side window...and my jaw literally dropped at the sight.

A large fluffy cloud sat lightly on the horizon, the sky behind it was bright pink and large, brilliant sunbeams cascaded out of the cloud, going every different direction. it was positively dazzling. I had to force my eyes to return to the road where they belonged, but it was hard to do. I stared at the cars in front of me, all the heads I could see where facing dutifully toward the road, oblivious to the amazing show happening right outside their window.

I couldn't take it. it actually almost made me mad. I started pointing at the sunset and shouting, "Do you SEE it, people?? DO YOU SEE IT??!" they couldn't hear me, of course. not that I had expected them to. I was just so upset. they were driving it gray cars, on a gray road, through a gray city, living gray little lives. you'd think they'd maybe notice the glorious sunset! maybe they'd wait for it every night, anticipating a splash of color in their gray existence. not that I had a lot of room to talk. though I do go out of my way to appreciate beauty, if I hadn't happened to look out my window, I wouldn't have seen the spectacular sight that God was making right in front of me.

It really bothers me when people don't appreciate beauty. it doesn't really bug me if they don't notice it right away. I mean really...who notices ALL the beauty ALL the time? but if they see it, but don't care about it...that gets on every nerve in my body. like the other night, I was driving a friend home after a fun evening, and I notice the moon. it's just an itty-bitty sliver of a thing, but you can see the whole outline clearly, and the light reflected off the moon shone on the clouds around it, like a little halo. it was absolutely gorgeous. I quickly pointed it out to my friend, who gave it a quick glance and then continued to babble about something or other. I was ticked. on the inside. I hardly ever get visibly upset. I keep everything bottled up inside. I'll probably explode someday. :)

Maybe I shouldn't get that way. but I just can't help it! I'm continually captivated by beauty...and I guess I just want everybody else to be, too. but if sunsets only happened once every ten years, you bet we'd be captivated. if it only snowed once every ten years, you bet even old crusty politicians would be running outside to catch snowflakes on their tongues. if the moon only showed itself every ten years, you bet we'd stay up all night admiring it. on and on it goes. beauty is ordinary. we see it so often, we don't even know it's there. HOW HORRIBLE! that's just so wrong. we don't care about beauty because we have too much of it. "Excuse me, God? could you turn down the beauty a little bit? we're kind of getting swamped down here. great, thanks. You're awesome." but he still creates. he still creates a masterpiece every single night, even though the ones he's creating it for find it ordinary and routine. that's love right there, folks.

Anyways...that's all. I just wanted to shake everybody a little bit and remind them to take a moment today to admire God's beauty and thank him for it. after all...it's there for our enjoyment. :)

The Most Incredible Phenomenon In The Entire World

2008-01-26T00:42:00.000-06:00

So I'm now getting back to my "normal" style of writing because of something funny that happened the other day at work. so, first off, I must explain. there are these huge balloons in Hy Vee where I work, for Valentine's Day. they're seriously huge; like the size of a...a...really really big balloon. anyway, they have these little signs on them saying "poke me". when I first saw that I was like, "pfft. poke the balloon? what a joke." but then I started to wonder what would happen if I poked the balloon. would it explode and rain candy like a pinata? would a Genie appear? Would we have world peace?

But I've never done well with curiosity. I held off for as long as I could, but finally I had had enough. I had to know. and I had to know now. so I pull the string down and poke the balloon.

What ensued was the most fantastic, amazing, stimulating, incredible thing that's ever happened to me in my life: the balloon started to sing. my jaw dropped and my heart seemed to stop and my brain turned to soup. my eyes glazed over as the balloon continued to sing "You're Still The One".

You are still the one that makes me shout
Still the one that I dream about
We're still having fun, and you're still the one

When it stopped singing, I was still overcome with awe. I think just the fact that it sings when you poke it was the most incredible thing to me. my coworkers were a little less awed than I was. apparently, they all knew about the singing balloons and didn't find them especially exciting. in fact, most just found them downright annoying.

Are you kidding me??? they SING, people!! they SING when you POKE them!! I was excited. not even the fact that none of the other Hy Vee employees were excited about the singing balloons could dampen my fun.

But apparently, I've poked them too many times lately, because my coworkers always give me these nasty glances every time I stray too close to any of the singing balloons. so the other day, I made up my mind that I would get back into the good graces of my coworkers and not poke the balloons even once. it was going to be tough, but I was determined to stick it out. (at least for one day. :D)

So most of the day goes by fairly fast and uneventfully, until there's a lull in my line and my gaze falls on the balloon. I could feel my eyes getting wide and my mouth starting to drool. it was hypnotizing, that balloon was. and suddenly, I couldn't help myself. I walked over to the balloon, pulled the string down, and poised my finger over the shiny colorful surface.

All of a sudden, time stopped. really, I swear it did. about five of my coworkers were looking my way when it happened, and each had a hilarious (and dangerous) expression on their face. the girl manning the Express Lane looked mortified, her eyes were as big as dinner plates, and I knew the very last thing in the world that she wanted to hear was "You're still the one" coming from the balloon. the girl to my right had much the same expression on her face, but I also clearly read in her eyes some pretty severe ultimatums. My manager walking by screeched to a halt and gave a little shake of his head, begging me, pleading with me, probably on his hands and knees if he'd had time or if he'd thought it would've done any good NOT to poke the balloon. they were all at my mercy, and they knew it.

But none of them understood. the balloons could SING! it was my civic duty to poke the balloon. I owed it to the masses. it would be a sin not to. on top of all that, there was still the simple fact that the balloon would sing if I poked it. how could I not? I poked the balloon. bopping my head back to my register, I knew I would have to endure unspeakable hardship from my coworkers for the rest of the day. I smiled and hummed along. It was soo worth it.

You are still the one that makes me shout
Still the one that I dream about
We're still having fun, and you're still the one!

Peace out.

Late Night Woes

2008-01-20T00:43:00.000-06:00

So, I'd better warn you now that this whole blog is going to be kind of rough and sketchy...these thoughts aren't completely formed yet, but I think they're formed enough to write them. oh, and sorry to anybody who came here this time to read that funny nonsense that I write so often because it's all I know how to write. sorry, all of you. this time I'm in a pensive, thoughtful mood which I am in quite often, but never write about, and it's due partly to the late hour and partly to a long internal struggle which has yet to be appeased in my mind. wow. this is already rough and sketchy. told you so.

So for a long time (I'm not sure exactly how long but for at least the past four months or so) I've been completely and totally lost as far as a future career is concerned. I don't know if any of you have ever played Four-Square before, but that's kinda how my life has been lately; bouncing from one square to another, one minute I want to be something with all my heart, the next minute I'm considering something else. it's incredibly frustrating...you have no idea.

I've been praying and reading my Bible like mad for a long time, but I just never hear anything back. one of the most frustrating things, I think, is that I say to God, "I'll do anything you want. anything at all. anything. just please tell me what to do." but He doesn't. I know I'm not supposed to, and I try not to, but sometimes I just can't help but wonder why He doesn't answer me. if I'm willing to do anything or go anywhere, I just want to know what to do, I don't get why He wouldn't tell me. and it's not just that I'm not getting an answer, it's also that I'm not getting any kind of response. that's the hardest thing of all. I pray and read and pray and read but I just always feel like a blind person wandering around all by myself.

I've been thinking a lot about this lately. now, say we have two choices. we can do A or B. if God wants us to do one but not the other, does that mean if we pick the wrong one we'll mess up God's divine plan?? OR does God already know ahead of time what we're going to do and simply plans accordingly? I'm inclined to believe the latter. but if that is true, then why should I even bother worrying about it? by that logic, I should just pick one and it'll be the right one because nobody can mess up God's plan. I'm sure that theory is full of holes, but for the life of me I can't find them.

Anyway...that's where my thoughts are these days. sorry this was such a strange post. it's kind of depressing, now that I think about it. ah, well, I blame it on the hour of night and my brain, which doesn't turn off at night like everybody else's. anyway, if you made it all the way through these ramblings...thanks. and if anybody out there has answers to these questions I wouldn't mind hearing them...

Beauty

2008-01-16T15:47:00.000-06:00

*We haven't had a poem for a while, and I know some of you have heard this one already...but I really like it. I wrote this one evening as I saw the sun setting and it was so beautiful and I thought: "Does this happen every night...and I don't even notice it??"*

Running through the busy day
Wrapped in a blanket of stress
Running here and doing that
Complaining that life is a mess

The sun comes up with an encore of color
Lighting up the sky
The flowers open and reach for the sun
For the sake of delight, the birds fly

From one problem to another
Life is getting old
You’re so busy fixing problems
You’re missing the beauty unfold

The blue sky graced by white puffy clouds
The small spider spinning its home
A busy little bee fills its legs with pollen
And heads back to the honeycomb

Unanimously shedding their leaves each year
The trees lapse into sleep
The clouds roll in, the thunder rolls
And the sky begins to weep

When evening replaces the daylight
The sky fades into twilight gray
Some animals are going to sleep
Some are coming out to play

Now it’s nighttime, the day is gone
And there’s something you should know
It’s been a whole day of incessant beauty
And you’ve missed the entire show.

Only 362 days until CHRISTMAS!!!!

2007-12-28T00:49:00.000-06:00

So Christmas is over now, I guess. it didn't really feel much like Christmas, I didn't think. probably because every other Christmas of my life I've been in Nowhere Minnesota to celebrate it with my extended family. this year, however, Nikki and I were able (somehow) to beg and scrape and plead with my parents to let us have Christmas at our house instead.

I love being at my grandparents' house, but it's really really not relaxing at all. all ten of us cram into two, two bedroom houses for two weeks with other random family and friends popping in (uninvited, usually) at all hours of the day with all their kids and pets and whatnot...so there's really never a moment of silence or peace anywhere, unless you take the 4-wheeler out for a drive into the woods. the problem with that is if you stay out for more than 20 minutes, either Grandma calls Search and Rescue or you catch pneumonia from prolonged exposure to Minnesota's sub-zero temperatures. so I'm sure you can see why Nikki and I asked/pleaded/begged on our hands and knees to have Christmas at our house.

Anyway. we got our way. it's funny, cause usually if Nikki and I join forces and team up on our parents, we get what we want. the only thing I can think of that we never got was a cat. oh, and a horse. we wanted those and asked and asked and asked but never got 'em. but I'm not bitter. I'm not upset that my dad would never let me have a cat, even though it was my favorite animal ever and I even found a nice cute stray white one that had no home. I'm not angry that he chased it off the property, that he hated it just because it was missing an eye! can you believe that?! the cat is missing an eye and he can't have some compassion on it! you cruel, cruel man!! pfft. really. I'm not bitter. anyways. where was I? right, I remember now. and now Christmas is over and, once again, it doesn't feel like it happened at all. kinda like I slept for three days and just woke up and all I've got are a few sketchy memories of Christmas.

I've also been staying in Nikki's room, since mine has been inhabited by my grandparents who came to spend Christmas with us. I sleep on the floor, which didn't bother me for the first few nights. but as the week wore on it really started to bum me out. but thankfully, Nikki, probably because she doesn't have a job or school, habitually stays up into the early morning hours like I do, so I haven't had to adjust my sleep schedule at all! :D (hence, me writing this at 1 a.m.) It's been really fun, in fact, to be in Nikki's room. we don't really talk all that much beyond the occasional "Hey, do you know what Mom's making for supper tonight?" or "Can you move your car so I can get out of the driveway, please?" or "Hurry up in there!". but since moving my abode into hers, we've had quite a few good times and laughs. it gets a little tense, though, since I'm a naturally messy person and she's a natural neat-freak, but I've been trying to be better while I live in her room (really, Nikki, I am trying! I'm sorry about leaving my clothes on your bed, okay? I'm sorry. so sorry.)

So anyways, I'm bored with this so I'm gonna end it right here. Merry Late Christmas, everyone!

Perfect

2007-12-19T20:47:00.000-06:00

Okay, so my car has been in its dark and lonely tomb (or perhaps more commonly known as the garage) for almost a week. because of the ridiculous number of people living at my house nowadays, and the ridiculous number of them who own cars, there are usually about three in the driveway, two on the street, and one in the tomb. so whichever lucky car gets nominated as the least important one and stuffed into the tomb is also the lucky car that can only escape if all the other cars are gone from the driveway or parked far enough back (which rarely happens). it was so sad, not being able to take Snoopy out for a drive or to work or wherever else I needed to go. oh, there was always somebody else's car to use...but it's not the same. cause then you have to fix the steering wheel and the seat and the mirrors and it's just a big pain. oh, and all the radio presets are all messed up and you cant find your favorite radio station.

So anyways. today I had no work and school is over (hallelujah) so I was so excited about doing nothing at all, or at least doing whatever I felt like. and so I decided on going to the mall to finish my Christmas shopping. I look outside and sure enough, my car is still trapped inside the garage. mom says not to worry, just take her car. no, I had had enough. I wanted Snoopy, and I wanted him now. I would not wait another day to free him from his prison. I even went through the pain and toil of moving Nikki's car, a half dozen 2x4s that were stacked behind my car, as well as the snow blower. I never knew snow blowers were so heavy! seriously...it was all I could do to move that thing. but finally, finally, after a week being in the tomb, Snoopy was free and we were tearing down 70th street, having a jolly good time.

So that evening when I came home, I was very tired (I'd been shopping all day...but be proud of me, I got all my shopping done!) and was anxious to get home. and it was like, all of a sudden, everything was perfect. the slight vibrations of the car were perfectly in sync with the rhythm of the music pumping through the speakers. and then (magically, I'm sure of it) this awesome song comes on the radio with just enough guitar and drums (and a piano), sung by some guy I don't know (but he had an awesome voice), and the song was about loving thunder and rain.

It was so neat...I was coasting at like, 50 mph on deserted streets at night listening to an awesome song in an awesome car. it was perfect. I didn't want it to end. I came to the place to turn to go home, and whoops...did I pass it? darn. gotta go the looooong way home. blast. I hate it when that happens. *turns up music*

Let it snow, let it snow...but let's skip the driving part and just sit inside and watch it.

2007-12-06T19:32:00.000-06:00

I love snow. I've always loved snow, forever. I will always love snow, forever. snow will always be my favorite thing, forever and ever. BUT (you know there was one coming) I never really respected snow before today. it was just something fun to play in and eat, in my younger years (younger years being the last time it snowed), but I never really said, "Snow, I respect you. you are so cold and beautiful and deliciously dangerous." and I still haven't said it...but I thought it many times today.

So there I was. it was about ten minutes to nine o'clock in the morning and I was frantically grabbing my bookbag, filling up my Broncos travel mug with that fabulous black stuff and running to the front door. I was delighted at the fact that we were getting a heavy dose of snow, and about time, too. I had been ready for snow since march.

My mother, being, of course, a mother, reminded me to put on my coat (yes, my mother still has to tell me to put on my coat, not because I forget, but because I hate coats with a deep and burning passion), to "have fun" at school (poor mom...ignorance is bliss), and gave me a ten minute talk about safely driving in the snow (this would mark the very first time I've ever driven in the snow), which I involuntarily tuned out. so mesmerized was I at the beauty of the falling snow that I actually managed to not hear a single word of what she was telling me.

And so, with a wave of the hand and a yawn and a simple, "Yeah, yeah." to my mother, I left the house and pranced blissfully through the snow (about two inches by now) to my car, Snoopy. it was going to be a fabulous day.

So, Snoopy and I haven't been on the best of terms lately. we've both said some things to each other that we regret, and so our relationship had become rather stressed. "Going to be good today?" I asked him once I sat down in the front seat. funny thing about Snoopy...he'll talk before and after I put it into Drive, but never while I'm driving. weird.
"Like always." he snapped back.
"Stop talking back. you don't even have a brain."
"You don't have an engine."
"Touché." I quickly put the car into drive to make him shut up. nothing can put you down faster than your car getting the better of you in a battle of wits.

Well, to make a very long story not quite as long, I slipped and slided...slid...slidded? well, I did that the whole way to school, and all the way back, just hoping I was actually in a lane, and not in both lanes or driving through some person's backyard. I pretty much just picked a car and followed it, hoping that he was not as much an amateur of snow driving as I. but Snoopy did a very good job of keeping us on the road. thanks, Snoop. you're not so bad after all.

And tonight (my day just keeps getting more and more exciting) as I was driving off to work, I rounded a corner not two blocks from my house, fishtailed big time (seriously, like half-circles) for about half a block, and then somehow ended up in somebody's front yard for real. luckily for me, though, the people did not seem to be home, the number of people gawking at the scene were few, and I had been going almost 20 mph, so the momentum carried me safely back onto the street where I continued on my merry way. after the shock and utter terror faded, I realized that it had been awesome. on my way home from work later tonight I slowed down and pointed at the tracks I had made in the person's yard and let out a merry laugh. what fun. then I got going too fast (again) and started to slid sideways down the street thinking, "Um, yeah, so my steering is gone and my breaks are out, I guess." this continued for half a block until I arrived at my house and finally got the car stopped in a safe location, my nerves all but irreparable. yes, very awesome indeed. not bad for my first time driving in the snow, eh?

I've learned something very, very important today: Snoopy has serious thrill issues.

You Speak Love

2007-11-30T12:21:00.000-06:00

You Speak Love
Dedicated to my Father God, for speaking all the words I needed to hear and putting my fears at rest.

The uncertainty of this decision
Weighs on heart and mind
Fear and doubt attack me
As I find myself flying blind

My courage starts to falter
My heart begins to cower
The fears that are attacking me
I cannot overpower

What will your reaction be
When I tell you about this possible profession?
Will you laugh it off like it’s a joke?
Will you tell me it’s out of the question?

My mind runs through the infinate list
Of possibilities
I’m frightened, even terrified
My mind will not appease

Suddenly, I heard You speak
Your voice like a gentle caress
The words You speak are wonderful
And obliterate my distress

You speak courage to take a stand
You speak faith to do what’s right
You speak bravery to forsake the plan
You speak encouragement to be a light
You speak peace to obey Your words
You speak strength to go against the flow
You speak the joy of obedience
You speak trust to get up and go
You speak honor
You speak hope
You speak grace

Oh, God, You speak love.

Echo...echo...echo...

2007-11-24T21:58:00.000-06:00

Like I've said before, it's great having Nikki and Jim back home, but it's been a few months now, and things were beginning to get pretty cramped. did you catch that? I said I were getting cramped. no, they haven't moved out yet. not really, anyway. Dad, Nikki, Jim, Justin and Kelsey have made their own journey to Minnesota, very much alike the one I took not so long ago. only this time, I am the one left behind to kick back and spread out a little. it's true, you guys. silence really is golden.

Of course, I'm not getting too much silence anyways, because Nikki, Jim and Dad weren't really making all that much noise in the first place. it's just a lot less tight in the house. not so much bumping into people going up and down the stairs or waiting behind three people for your turn in the shower or yelling at your older sister to move her car so you can get out of the driveway. I'm still trying to think up a way to get rid of the little noise monsters that I'm listening to right now, but when I do I'll finally be able to die happy.

The plan, last I heard, is that they're coming back Tuesday. So I only have two more days of vacation left before all the glory ends. how sad.

Oh, and does anybody see the logic of Black Friday?? I don't. what makes a person get out of bed at three o'clock in the morning to shop for sales that go until two in the afternoon?? I just don't get it. good thing I don't care about sales.

Welp, I'm gonna get back to my relaxing, relish what little bit remains of my Thanksgiving break, and take advantage of the elbow room while it lasts. toodles.

The Night She Couldn't Sleep

2007-11-18T01:15:00.000-06:00

Why does this always happen to me? I'm sitting here on my window seat staring at the gigantic tree outside my window that obscures my view of everything else outside (man, I hate that tree), listening only to the quiet hum of the fan inside my computer, feeling bored, useless, pessimistic and anything but tired. it's 1:15 in the morning and tomorrow I have to get up early.

Why, oh why, does this always happen to me?

When I want to sleep, I can't, and when I want to stay awake, I fall asleep. I hate that. well, I think I'll just go chug some nyquil. I need to do that anyway; this cold is bringing me down. I dont even think nyquil does anything for cold symptoms. I'm pretty sure it's only good for getting yourself to sleep. that's the only reason I drink it, anyway. cause I always wake up the next morning and my cold is still the same. has anybody else noticed this?

Wow. Nyquil is really gross. the stuff I just took was dark green and tasted like black licorice. I know it puts you to sleep like a baby, but why, oh why, do the have to make it taste so insanely repulsive?? You'd think they could do a better job somehow, if they really tried, cause you really cant get any worse than that stuff. why else do they make the little cup look like a shot glass? you gotta down it real fast, and then drink a little water, but not too much because that will dilute the alcohol amount and keep you from sleeping as fast or as hard. I know you're first impulse is to drink the Mississippi river to get the horrible taste out of your mouth, but resist the urge and you shall reap the benefits.

Now there's nothing to do but wait for it to take effect. I took mine a few minutes ago, so I'm guessing I've got less than five minutes to say my final good bye before I involuntarily fall into a nyquil coma.

So bye, all you guys. thanks for reading my Sunday morning madness. it made me remember to take my nyquil. much obliged. oh dear. it's happening sooner than expected. I'm starting to drool on my pillow and my eyelids are starting to sag and my hands are typing slower and slower...can't hold on...much...lon...ger...

I Like Pretty Colors, Okay?!

2007-11-13T21:14:00.000-06:00

Yes, I changed some colors around and none of it matches, probably, but I was getting sick and tired of the same old colors and I LIKE it this way. so you're all just gonna have to shut up and deal with it!!

Thank you, and have a nice day. :)

--mgnt

La-La-La-Lappy

2007-11-09T12:55:00.000-06:00

So for those of you who don't know, my computer can be pretty unruly. I swear, it's got a mind of its own. other than the fact that I know nothing at all about computers, I can't think of a reason for the hostility against me. think I'm lying? this is an actual conversation that took place between us a little while ago.

Me: "Hey, wake up."
Lappy: "What do you want, fool? I was trying to hibernate!"
Me: "I need your help with something."
Lappy: "Gee, that's a surprise. learn to do things by yourself for a change. maybe then I could get a decent sleep."
Me: "Look, Lappy, nothing personal, but you pretty much belong to me."
Lappy: "Oh? I don't remember signing my life away, especially to the likes of you! I doubt you even know the difference between hard drive and a microprocessor!"
Me: "I think somebody woke up on the wrong side of the microprocessor."
Lappy: "Leave me alone, okay? I think I have a virus."
Me: "No you don't. I did a scan."
Lappy: "Curse you, Norton!"
Me: "C'mon, Lappy. I just need to write a paper."
Lappy: "The pioneers didn't have computers. I wonder how they wrote their papers. Hmmm?"
Me: "And look where it got them. they're all dead now."
Lappy: "At least plug me in or something. working without being plugged in is so draining."
Me: "I've had enough of your lip. just bring up Microsoft Word."
Lappy: "Microsoft Word?! The Dark Ages are over, genius."
Me: "Bring it up!!"
Lappy: "Okay, fine. if you want to live like a caveman, that's your prerogative."
Me: "There's my paper. what do you think?"
Lappy: "Oh my...please tell me this is the draft before the draft before the draft before the first draft."
Me: "...it's my final draft."
Lappy: "I think I'm gonna be sick."
Me: "Stop being so melodramatic."
Lappy: "Wow, Jo, that's a big word. don't hurt yourself."
Me: "I don't know why you're in such a bad mood. I've only ever been more than fair to you. who was the one who wrapped you in her own sweatshirt when it was thirty-five degrees out so you wouldn't get wet?"
Lappy: "...you."
Me: "That's right. And I'm also the one who gave you a name and never lets food or drink come near you and filled you with awesome music."
Lappy: "Yeah, well you also lost me for a week under a mountain of dirty clothes and offered to trade me for your grandparents' computer. so much for loyalty."
Me: "Have you seen my grandparents' computer?"
Lappy: "That's not the point. from this point on, I wash my pixels of you."

So you see, this is just another shining example that I am slowly but surely, going insane. :)

Nowhere: Part 3

2007-11-06T10:54:00.000-06:00

STORY TIME!!

So there I was. bumping up and down on the 4-wheeler behind my grandpa. it was late afternoon, but the temperature was already in the thirties and dropping fast. I was dressed in many layers of warm clothing, but my favorite by far was my parka. well, actually, it's my dad's gray military-issued parka. it's like, ten pounds all by itself, with a gigantic hood with some sort of white fur around the edge. for those of you who don't know, whatever the military issues is guaranteed to be durable, excessively big, and very warm, so it was ideal for hunting.

I stared into the woods as we drove through the tiny trail that weaved through the trees on my way to my stand. they looked eerie and mysterious, like they were hiding a deep secret or concealing a terrible enemy.

I climbed into my stand and sat there, shivering beneath my parka, waiting. dainty little snowflakes tinkled down from the sky. Grandpa had said we were in for "weather" but this wasn't bad at all. a few snowflakes couldn't bother me. in that moment of forgetfulness, I forgot that this was northern Minnesota...when they say "weather", they mean "WEATHER".

So a few minutes go by, when I see this...well it looked like a wave. a wall of snowflakes. I noticed it when it was about two-hundred yards away. a blizzard coming at me like a tidal wave. and it came closer and closer...when I realized that this wasn't just a gust of wind that would die down...this was a STORM! I almost yelled, "BRACE FOR IMPACT!!!" but then I remembered...oh yeah...it's just snow.

Then it hit. I closed my eyes and held on for dear life as my deer stand was blown to and fro. snow blew into my face and down my neck and into the scope of my gun, which I had forgotten to cover. oops. all visibility was gone...I couldn't even see the ground under my stand. I put my head down to my lap, completely shielding myself with my parka and just praying the snow would stop so I could see outside and continue hunting.

After about half an hour of blizzard, I put my head back up. it was still coming down really hard, but I could now see part of the trail, which was now completely covered in snow. slowly, the storm subsides, until it is just a small trickle of snowflakes. then the sun poked out of the clouds and shined on the falling snow. wow. that was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. the sun reflecting on a thousand snowflakes at once...it was awesome.

Anyways, the storm is gone, and I'm sitting there hearing gunshots of the hunters in all directions, but I'm still seeing no deer. the sun goes lower and lower, until it's lost in the trees. I've still seen no deer. by now, my main motivation is that I don't want to have to get up at 4 a.m. again tomorrow morning, so I want a deer really, really badly.

Nightfall, the end of legal shooting time, is around 5:30 up here, and at that point I was guessing the time to be about 5:25...when she stepped out of the woods about 150 yards in front of me. a doe. at this point, I wanted whatever I could get. I hesitated only a moment, wondering if I was still within the legal shooting time. I shrug. whatever. I knew I could still see her, so it was a safe shot, and that's all that mattered. I put up my gun and peek through the scope. my thumb clicks the safety. now if I pulled the trigger, it would fire.

I lined up the cross hairs where I wanted them. no shakes this time. I wanted that deer, and she was oblivious to my presence. she stops walking, stopping in the middle of the trail. she puts her head up and looks toward where I sit. I pull the trigger. a loud and familiar boom echoes through the woods and an orange burst of flame goes out the end of the 25.6 rifle as the bullet exits the barrel at lightning speed. I felt the familiar tingles of excitement, my heart throbbing in my ears, adrenaline pumping through my body. I think it's the most amazing feeling ever.

My vision clears and I look down the trail, trying to spot my doe. she's still there, whether laying dead on the trail or simply standing there wondering what that noise was, it was too dark to tell. I decide she's probably laying dead. or maybe I was just hoping she was. I didn't think I could've missed...it was a good shot. so I climb down the ladder, gun in hand, and make my way toward her. I would've waited in my stand like I always do, but I didn't want Grandpa to run over her with the 4-wheeler. I get to where she's laying, and sure enough, deader than a doornail. one bullet knocked her off her feet in an instant. it's the first time I've ever done that.

So apparently, according to Grandpa, my doe is pretty big. "a dandy" he says. which is lucky for me...I can never tell how big a deer is just by looking at it. so we got it back to the house and got it gutted (which Mary described as "a disgusting experience"), and now it's hanging in Grandpa's shed. I told my cousin Brock, it looks like we're a bunch of serial killers or something...we've got four dead animals hanging by their necks from the ceiling, a bunch of scary-looking tools hanging on the walls, blood all over the floor, animal legs and heads scattered all over the place...which is all totally legal...it just looks like we're a bunch of murderers or something.

Anyways. this is my last blog until I get back. we make the journey home tomorrow (not through the night this time, whew!). so anyway. thanks to all you who read the Adventures of Jo's Hunting Extravaganza!! see all you blokes when I get back!

Nowhere: Part 2

2007-11-04T22:38:00.000-06:00

Still up here in Nowhere. day...what is it...three? yeah...day three. I think. that whole driving-all-night thing along with the extra hour really whacked me up. I'm pretty sure it's day three of Jo's Hunting Extravaganza. It's snowing right now...woohoo! snow is always a good thing while hunting. speaking of hunting, I haven't killed anything yet. time is ticking away...I need to get one in the next two days, people. oh, and the "big buck" idea is gone...all the bucks are being party-poopers and hiding all day. so from now on I'm going doe hunting. don't be upset.

It's been a great trip so far, from the hunting to playing Stratigo with my cousin to watching Payton Manning fumble the football and then lose the game. yep. I'd say it's been a pretty good trip indeed.

I just got back from hunting again. saw a nice six-point buck (maybe they're not all in hiding after all?), but it was watching me and then I moved slightly and it ran off. then I saw a doe, and I was about to shoot it, but for some reason I was shaking like a leaf and my heart was pounding and I couldnt make the stupid gun sit still...and then my grandpa came to pick me up on the 4-wheeler right next to where the deer was standing and scared it away. so I think it was God making me scared so I wouldn't shoot Grandpa. :P

Anyways. Tonight I'm gonna go to the stand called the Sand Pan. (yes, in Minnesota they name the deer stands. that is the way of these people). personally, I think it sounds like bedpan, which is a little distracting from hunting if you're sitting there thinking, "Oh man...I'm sitting in a bedpan.", but I'm still hoping it works out. although for some reason, the Sand Pan always makes me sleepy...like sometimes if I'm in it during the morning hunt I'll start to doze off. :-/

So I'm gonna head out again. I know this one was really boring but I'm mainly posting blogs just to maintain a tiny thread of sanity...if you've never been to my grandparents' house you would have no way of knowing that just being here will suck the sanity from your veins in two seconds if you don't find some way of maintaining it. so I have. and I am still sane. for now.

Later, people.

Safely in Nowhere, Minnesota!

2007-11-03T20:15:00.000-05:00

I really think there should be a place called Nowhere, Minnesota, cause this would be it. so that's how I'm going to refer to where I am at the moment. population: Grandma, Grandpa, Uncle Dan and Cousin Brock. and us of course. kinda like the place we passed called Emmaville. Population: Emma.

Anyways, after a very long, treacherous journey in the weest of wee hours through the dark Minnesota jungles, I have arrived. my brother Jim and I drove through the night, arriving in Nowhere at around five thirty in the morning. we took turns driving and sleeping, although neither of us ever got very much sleep because we were always afraid that the other person was going to fall asleep at the wheel. I guess we weren't awake enough because, while Jim was taking his turn at the wheel, we somehow ended up heading back to Fargo, North Dakota...which we had passed already two hours ago. that's when I realized something horrific. something so horrible I could hardly believe it: my special ability to get lost also affects the poor soul who happens to be traveling with me. Jim was behind the wheel, yes, but I was the one at fault. but I didn't tell him that, of course.

So after that happy little adventure, we drove and drove and drove back to where we had made our wrong turn, losing over an hour of precious time. at this point we were both cranky and exhausted and depressed so we stopped and slept for a few hours in the parking lot of a Super 8 hotel. how ironic.

After being dead to the world for a few hours, despite about half a dozen phone calls from my parents asking things like "Where are you?" "Are you still okay since the last time I called, five minutes ago?", we groggily awoke and continued on at about four o'clock a.m., just praying we wouldn't hit any deer because we were both too tired to look for them. Minnesota really is the land of 10,000 lakes, people. we passed so many lakes I couldn't have counted them even if I wanted to. and each one had a dumber name than the last one. Little Toad Lake, Big Twin Lake, Lake Maxinkuckee, Big Rice Lake, Shore Lake (duh...they all have shores), and Big Lake, to name a few. I know there are 10,000, but come on, the names of these lakes stink big time.

Driving the long gravel driveway that leads to my grandparents' house made me the happiest and tiredest person alive, even if we did only have enough gas left in the tank to go another mile or two. we made it, unbelievably exhausted, red-eyed and anti-social, but alive and in one piece. whoa. that was just this morning. weird weird weird.

I never really believed my parents when they said it was hard to drive through the night, but I sure do now. Hallelujah, we're in Nowhere, Minnesota!

I'll probably give periodic updates on the current status of our trip between now and next wedensday, because I discovered, much to my delight, that my grandparents have wireless internet. I may be in one of the remotest, most isolated places in all of Minnesota, but at least I have slight contact with the outside world!

Current Status: went hunting tonight. saw one small spike buck and three nice does, but I passed on them all (although I had them all in the cross hairs of my rifle at one point or another). still holding out for a big buck. farewell from your friendly neighborhood deer murderer! :)

This is the Church

2007-10-29T12:34:00.000-05:00

A congregation standing
Raising their voices in song
Praising the Lord with hands raised
Gathered in a sacred throng

This is the Church

A small gathering of people
Standing in the house of their Lord
Singing songs in Spanish
Praising the God they adore

This is the Church

A few families huddled together
Praying not to be found
Whispering their songs of praise
As they worship underground

This is the Church

All these people, joined together
As Christ’s beautiful Bride
Waiting to be taken Home
To the place He will provide

We are the Church

The Fly

2007-10-23T15:23:00.000-05:00

Flies get on my nerves. I can’t stand them. It’s not that I’m afraid of them or anything; I just want them to die. I killed a good many flies back in the day when I was the Official Fly Slayer of Gene and Jo’s Grocery Store. I was the savior of my female coworkers, killing every fly, bee, and pretty much any bug I saw. I also had to forcibly remove from the premises (but not necessarily kill) the occasional creature (i.e. mice, toads, birds and even dogs) that wandered into our workplace, but my specialty was flies. In fact, when I stopped working there my coworkers gave me a flyswatter as a going away present. Aww.

Someone could say something like, “Johanna, there’s a fly in the Meat Room.” and just moments after uttering these words, Johanna would be in the back, combing the Meat Room, flyswatter in hand and murder in her eyes. And then, usually about a minute later, she would either be proudly carrying the dead fly by a protruding wing to the garbage, or scraping his mangled remains off the wall with a paper towel. Either way, that fly was dead.

I don’t work there anymore, but my hatred for flies has not faded in the least. Flies still annoy the heck out of me, and I still kill them on a regular basis, only trying to make the world a little less horrible and the spiders a little more hungry (hopefully they’ll die off, too). So, as you can probably imagine, when I am unable to kill a fly, that gets on my nerves. Like today…

So there I was, sitting in the Mill, being a good girl and studying (cramming) for my Spanish test. All of a sudden, I feel the familiar tickle on my arm that could not be mistaken for anything but a fly. An unreadable emotion flickered in my eyes for a moment, but other than that I gave no facial expression. I glance down to confirm my suspicion. There it sat, on my arm, feeling around with that gross sucker thing that comes out of the middle of their face, being a fly. I wanted to smack it so bad, but, although I hate them with a passion, I was slightly hesitant to splatter fly guts on my person. So I waited. Apparently the fly was finished with my arm and moved itself to the table. Perfect.

Some people feel or see a fly and are content to simply shoo it away with a wave of the hand. Not me. I have to kill it, kill it dead! Deader than a doornail, as my father would say. If you shoo them away, they always come back. If you kill them, they never come back to irritate you anymore.

I moved my hand slightly, trying to get it above the fly without him realizing that he’s about to be squished. I get no farther than an inch before he jumps into the air and relocates at the other side of the table. my mouth twitched into a slight smile.

Ah, feisty, are we?

I slowly grab my practice test that I was supposed to be studying and roll it into a tight little bundle. Trying not to arouse the suspicion of the patrons sitting at various tables around me, I quietly raise the rolled up test. I glance around, making sure nobody is watching. And then I look back and—hey! It was gone! The little pest. Where was he? He hadn’t left…I knew his kind. They enjoy making my life miserable. Then I felt it: a tiny tickle on my forehead. Without thinking, I slapped at it, hitting myself hard smack-dab in the middle of my forehead. When I looked around the room, about five people’s heads quickly snapped back to their books and computers. I was so angry, not so much at the fly as I was at myself…I had played right into his little bug hands! He was slick, this one. Slicker than hot snot on a brass doorknob, as my father would say. My father says a lot of things.

And then, there he was, sitting atop my computer screen, staring at me with those freakish eyes (the fly, not my father). We sat there for a minute or two, staring at each other. It was a face-off. Then somebody set down their glass, and, like the shot heard around the world, we both sprang into action. He flew at me, and I succeeded in hitting him and knocking him off balance, but not catching him in my hand, as was my plan. I was angry, and he was cocky, but his arrogance was his downfall. He landed on the wall for just a second too long…forgetting that I still had the practice test in my hand. he learned a valuable lesson that day: above all else, never underestimate the Fly Slayer.

He’s still where I left him, nothing more than a brown smear on the wall. A testimony to all who play his foolish game and practice his dark arts. He got what he deserved. You should never play with fire, kids, or with people who want to kill you. Because eventually, if you make them angry enough, they will kill you, deader than a doornail.

Flies, ye be warned.

Scooter-Stalker

2007-10-19T11:43:00.001-05:00

So first I'm going to apologize for all the rapid-fire amount of blogs these days. I'm always complaining that I don't have enough time to get stuff done, so why I keep posting on here time after time after time is way beyond me. but oh well. it's a good getaway, maybe. anyhow, I'm sorry. I don't expect you to be reading my blogs as fast as I've been writing them.

Now that we've got the business out of the way...oh crap. I just forgot what I was gonna write about this time. hang on, it'll come to me...wait for it...there it is! I remember now. *disclaimer: all things in this post that may be interpreted as "dark" or "slightly creepy" (or "very creepy") you may disregard as nothing more than Jo's sick and demented sense of humor.*

So every day of the week I go to one class in the morning, and then, every other day of the week I have a second class a full three hours after the first one ends. there's no way I'm going to drive all the way home for an hour and then back again and park and plug the meter and all that nonsense, so instead I just stay in the general area of school, all by my lonesome. I managed to locate a quaint little coffee shop known as Scooters, and decided to adopt it as my second home.

During this two to three hours of time when I'm sitting in Scooters, I usually do some studying and mess around on my computer doing nothing in particular (hence, the rapid-fire blogs as of late). eventually, this gets old (I'm pretty sure I have A.D.D.) so I have been forced to think of a new past time.

Scooters has these big windows and it's next to a fairly busy street, so there are always a lot of people walking by on the sidewalk. the windows are easy to see out of, but not very easy to see into. *Insert here that one time when the Grinch smiled really big and evilly* I now had my past time.

I like watching people. don't be creeped out. I'm not one of the creepy stalkers, I'm one of the non-creepy ones. I even found a lonely little place in one of the more desolate corners of Scooters where I could practice my hobby in peace. I do this almost everyday.

But today, when I came into Scooters, there were some rowdy, obnoxious boys in my desolate corner making noise and throwing coffee everywhere. hey! move it! find your own stalking corner! but they didn't so I was forced to find another place to watch the masses. I managed to find another place, but it was in no way lonely or desolate. there were about three places where people could watch me without being seen by me. blast! I can't comfortably watch people if people are maybe watching me!

Never stalk people if you're being stalked. that's what I always say. so today I'm taking a break from my watching. you're in luck today, people. hopefully next time the obnoxious desolate corner-stealing boys will be gone so the Scooter-Stalker can once again do what she does best. :)

Birthday Giraffe (And Other Assorted Nikki Stories)

2007-10-17T12:30:00.000-05:00

If I was posed with the question as to weather or not my childhood was a happy one, I would have to answer that most of my memories from my early life are fond. For the most part, my life was completely and totally fine and dandy. For the most part.

But then, peppered throughout my childhood memories, I have ones that are slightly less than perfect. What could possibly go wrong in the life of a six year old with siblings, toys and imagination galore? Plenty. Like that one time…

*you are now going back…back…back…into the mists of time…*

I had just had my sixth birthday. I had received many wonderful presents and had had more sugar than ought to be allowed for a child of my age. I lay on my bed, content and happy as I looked over my recently opened gifts. And then my sister walks into the room. In the back of my mind I wondered why she had such a suspicious look on her face, but my mind was so clouded with happiness, all reason was gone.

“Hi, Jo.” She says, a strange glimmer in her eye.

“Hi, Nikki.” I say, not too interested. I was busy playing with one of my new gifts, my favorite one. It was a Beanie Baby giraffe named Twigs, given to me from my aunt and uncle who lived in Colorado. He was adorable, and had a face that made me fall in love with him immediately. I carefully stroked his cute little giraffe face.

Then Nikki’s eyes lingered for a moment too long on my giraffe, and then her voice cut into my bliss. “I’ll give you three dollars for that giraffe.”

I was astonished. She expected me to sell her Twigs for a measly three dollars? “No, thanks.” I said. “He’s my favorite.”

But the glimmer of envy remained locked in her eyes, her resolve in no way weakened. Then she produced her trump card. She pulled a large, pink, heart-shaped box from behind her back. “Look at this, Johanna.” She said slyly. “Isn’t this pretty?”

Blast, she was good. She knew my weakness, the little thief. Money I could resist. Pretty things—boxes especially—not so much. And she knew it. “Isn’t this box pretty? It’s in the shape of a heart,” she said, stating the obvious.

I looked at the box. It was pretty, to be sure, and I wanted it. But one more look into the eyes of Twigs, and I just couldn’t do it. “No, that’s okay.” I said.

But Nikki was not daunted. “C’mon, Jo. I’ll give you the pretty box and three dollars for the stupid giraffe. C’mon.” now the thing about Nikki is that she has a way of making you think you have no choice weather or not to obey her. I felt trapped…like somehow I had to give her my giraffe because she told me to…but not sure why I had to. I did want that box, though. And three dollars wouldn’t be too bad to have, either.

Well, in the end, Nikki convinced me to give her the giraffe for the heart-shaped box and three dollars. Immediately afterward, though, I was horrified that she had used her evil powers to trick me into giving away my birthday present. I even begged her to take the box and the money back…I wanted Twigs! He was sad without me, I could tell. We were both miserable, I tried explaining to Nikki. But she would hear nothing of it. She had achieved her goal. She had successfully—and legally—stolen my birthday present.

I had always thought Nikki would make a good criminal if she ever took it into her mind to become one, and after that I knew it for sure.

But Nikki was not always such an evil, birthday present-stealing, sister-tricking, unfair trade-making desperado. Like that time we were detectives. But then we couldn’t find any mysteries, so we made flyers and distributed them throughout our neighborhood to the various residents. But then we still didn’t get any mysteries, so we imagined up our own. Like, if the neighbors were painting their fence, we were just sure that they were trying to paint over blood spots. We also thought for sure that the garbage men were stealing stuff. Why else would they be driving around while it’s dark? C’mon, people, let’s have some common sense here.

Or when we found a little stray puppy and brought it home and fed it while mom and dad were gone…and got in trouble for it because “Now he’ll never leave!” according to our dad. Nikki and I were confused because, well, isn’t that the point?

Or like the time we decided to run away from home (I don’t remember why now, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t then, either), and actually packed our backpacks and made it to the front bushes before losing our nerve.

Nikki is awesome. The bestest big sister ever (as long as she keeps her paws off my stuff). I couldn’t picture childhood, or life at all, without her.

The Day I Met Santa

2007-10-14T18:16:00.000-05:00

My belief in Santa Clause was terminated many, many years ago when my young mind finally realized why Santa, The Elf, and my Dad all had the same handwriting...because they were the same person. and for a while, I even believed that my dad was Santa Clause himself, the man who flew around in a magic sleigh and delivered toys to children on Christmas Eve. the neighbor kids had nothing on me, then. they might think they're better, faster, smarter or had cooler parents than I did. fools. my own father was Santa Clause and nothing stands against that, I don't care how many fruit rollups your parents buy you (my parents would never buy me fruit rollups). yeah, for a while there I was livin' the dream of every five-year-old.

Until that fateful day when my friend Samantha and I compared our "Santa notes" and discovered that the handwriting was completely different. it was then, standing there with a sick feeling in our guts, that we realized we'd been duped. Santa was not my father, or anyone else's father. Santa was a lie.

Since that day of horror I've been forced to live my life with the realization that there is no large, jolly old man who climbs down the chimney on Christmas Eve and leaves presents by the fireside. there was no longer any magic in hanging the stockings by the fireplace or leaving cookies and milk on the table for Santa...because it was nothing but a lie. just a big, fat overrated lie. it wasn't all bad, though. I finally stopped wasting my time writing letters to Santa, which probably got thrown into the trash the minute they got to the post office. I stopped dozing at my window, forcing my exhausted body to stay awake and alert, just hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa and his reindeer flying through the sky, Rudolph leading the way through the night. and I stopped losing my temper when some older, less gullible child told me there was no Santa. I now knew the truth, and what a bitter-sweet truth it was. sweet, because I now knew there was no Santa and no longer lived in ignorance and I felt older and more mature, but bitter because I quickly realized that being ignorant was more fun.

But today, something happened that changed all of that. My delicate world that I believed to be so secure was shifted off its axis and plunged into incessant chaos. I met Santa.

Now, please don't laugh. I'm the last person in the world who would claim to believe in Santa, believe me. but after you meet someone, you tend to be more inclined to believe in them. and today, I met good old Father Christmas himself, in the flesh.

Well, okay, he didn't exactly reach out his hand and say, "Hi, my name's Kris Kringle." but he did say, "Hi, I'd like paper sacks, please." that's right, I was at the only place in the world where I would strike up a conversation with a complete stranger and ask if he wanted paper or plastic--I was at work.

So there I was. minding my own business at the cash register, doing my thing...when I saw him. It's like in those movies when the two main characters see each other for the first time. There's a mysterious lighting over their heads, and they're walking in slow motion and catch each other's eye...and depending on the movie, there's sometimes a feeling of love (in the movies where the people are destined to be together), a feeling of anger (in the movies where the people are destined to eventually fight to the death), or a feeling of curiosity (in the movies where they couldn't think of a good plot and the story goes nowhere). well, in this story, there was a feeling of "Whoa, that guy is totally Santa Clause."

It was obvious. he was sporting a long white beard, white hair, large black boots, a white long-sleeved shirt and red overalls. his eyes were that frosty blue color that I always knew Santa had, back in the day when I actually believed he existed. he was tall, well over six foot, and his countenance screamed "I'm Santa!" so much so, in fact, that I came this close to blurting, "I've been a good girl this year...can I have a trip to Switzerland, all expenses paid and a new iPod to replace the one that I accidentally fried to a crisp?" and then he would throw his head back and give a jolly laugh and say, "Ho Ho Ho...well, you've been good this year...I'll see what I can do." (And I would end up getting it, of course).

After Santa left my place of employment, carrying with him his newly purchased cereal, peaches and T-bone steaks, I got to wondering what the heck Saint Nick is doing in Lincoln Nebraska in the first place. isn't be supposed to live in the North Pole, according to ancient Christmas folklore? isn't he a little far from home? Don't they have T-bone steaks at the North Pole? then I realized that even Santa Clause would get tired of the barren arctic tundra after a few months of it. he probably has another house where he lives in the off-season, when he's not flying in his sleigh or monitoring the elves' mad toy-making skills. why he picked Lincoln Nebraska out of all the places in the world, I'll never know. maybe he's simply drawn to the Cornhuskers, since his favorite colors are obviously red and white. but who cares? it doesn't matter.

The important thing is that Santa lives.

Stained Glass

2007-10-12T12:47:00.000-05:00

It’s no mystery to any of us
We’re all filthy as can be
We walk along in this corrupted world
Used to seeing the sinful debris

Some of us walk along forgiven
But no better than the rest
But because we are still sinful
We still remain depressed

Each of us, a fragment
A broken piece of glass
We think God made a mistake
Because we all contrast

We lament the places where we fall short
We weep because we’re stained
But we never think that our broken pieces
Can be beautifully rearranged

Although we chose to break God’s law
And inflict ourselves with stains
God did not abandon us to ourselves
But came and broke our chains

He made us free and gave us life
And sealed our release
And then, in all his mercy and grace
God made a masterpiece

He made us something beautiful
That nothing can surpass
Something so very lovely
Made from broken pieces of stained glass.

Not Sure Why I Did It...

2007-10-08T12:36:00.000-05:00

Today I was walkin' along on the sidewalk, going to a place from a place. I had some song in my head, and I was walking at a good pace in step with my mental iPod...when I see this little thing in my way. it was a worm. just a little worm. about the size of my pinky finger. poor little guy, he was trying so hard to make it across the sidewalk. now, it was a little late in the day, but the sun was still out and the sidewalk was still pretty warm, and I would see little Wormy was going to end up fried to a crisp pretty quick, cause he was already turning a nasty shade of black and not moving as fast as worms ought to move. Probably some truth or dare game gone lethal, no doubt.
"I dare you to try and cross the sidewalk, Billy!"
"Oh no! not the sidewalk! pick something else!"
"Too late. it's a dare. you have to do it."
"Well, okay."
Yeah, I'm guessing that's how it all went down.

Now, I don't like worms. Nikki might be a worm-saver, but I would just as soon squish them or string them up on a fish hook. I don't think I would find them so repulsive, except for those little prickly things that protrude from their bodies. for some odd reason, I don't like those. it makes me think of their skeletons popping out of their bodies. isn't that gross? so it was strange that I saw this little worm, stopped, picked him up, and placed him in the grass.

I don't know what made me do it. I would've been perfectly content to let him fry on the sidewalk and then have a Mother Robin come scrape his remains off the cement and carry him away to her babies. at least he would've gone to a good cause.

I didn't know it was possible to have compassion for a worm...but I guess it is...cause that worm was robin meat, and I stopped, picked him up, and casually tossed him in the grass. it's weird that I did that...cause that worm is surely dead now anyways. either some hungry robin took the time and energy to pick thought the grass and found him, or whoever lived there mowed their grass and Wormy got decapitated. either way, I couldn't care less.

But I did my part. I saved the worm. Not sure why.

Sip-Sans-Singe

2007-10-05T13:17:00.000-05:00

Being now officially in college, I've been forced to acquaint myself with all the different "college kid" stereotypes, which are all true as far as I can tell. coffee and granola bars are what I eat most days. it's not a bad life, really. I mean, I pay enough to ransom an Arabian princess, which allows me to sit shivering in an icebox classroom and learn about past and present participles (in spanish), direct and indirect objects and how to abbreviate them (in spanish again), and make long lists of things we like and don't like and write in our journals (in english this time...different class). what a life!
*Warning: beware the riptide rush of sarcasm cascading toward you*

But it's not all bad. I mentioned coffee already, I think. that's probably the biggest perk of college. before now, everybody was always on my case for drinking too much coffee. now that I'm in college, it's expected, accepted, and encouraged. whoa. doesn't get much better than that, as long as you know how to drink it correctly.

As most people know, college kids are on a tight schedule, running here and there doing this and that, and even though coffee is often the sole diet of some, if not drank properly you could be left with half a cup left...and no time to drink it! this occurs most often because said college student, in all his genius, decided to wait until it had cooled off before taking his first sip. this is a mistake of gigantic proportions.

So, since I have mastered the art (that's right, I said art) of proper (and quick!) coffee drinking, I will pass down, to you my reader, my pearls of wisdom so that you may never be left with coffee left over before it's time to run off to Calculus 3.

So. the proper name for correct and fast coffee drinking, is a little thing we like to call Sip-Sans-Singe. it's...well it's sipping without burning yourself. it goes like this:
1) Take cup of coffee in hand.
2) Blow on the surface of the coffee.
3) Quickly, before the coffee you just blew on has a chance to get hot again, take a sip into your mouth.
4) Coffee will still be hot, so tilt your head back slightly and open your mouth a little, pushing coffee into your cheeks like a chipmunk. (make sure to keep hot coffee away from tip of tongue, very important)
5) Wait until coffee cools enough to swallow.
6) Repeat process until coffee is gone or it is cool enough to drink like a regular human.

Sip-Sans-Singe takes a while to get it down, but just practice it and it'll eventually become like second nature. just don't forget to tilt your head backwards before you open your mouth...or else you'll have coffee dribbling down your chin, which is strictly against the Coffee Code of the Coffee gods. and if you anger the coffee gods, you'll be cursed with cold coffee for the next ten years, and it'll be flavored like pumpkins. eew.

Anyhow, that's all I've got to say about that. my coffee is gone, and my next class is beginning momentarily. so I'll be heading off now.
Until the next time I'm too bored to do anything else,

--Johanna

Wait, where am I?

2007-10-04T13:24:00.000-05:00

Recently, I was asked to name one thing at which I was an expert. now, claiming to be an expert at something is a pretty bold statement, so I wanted it to be accurate...something at which I really was an expert. I'm kind of an average person, and I couldn't really think of anything. and then it came to me. I am an expert, a real bonafied expert...at getting lost.

Really, I'm serious. I can get lost walking to the store, driving down 84th street or any number of places. I can get lost anywhere. it's almost like a sickness. I never know when I'm going to have an attack. it's gotten so bad that my mom won't send me downstairs to do the laundry without making sure I've got a compass, waterproof matches, a flare gun and a three day supply of food and water.

Another thing that has proven worthwhile to carry all the time, is an inflatable life vest. you gotta be prepared for those times you go outside to rake the leaves and suddenly find yourself in some sort of jungle, waste deep in swamp water, unsure of where you are or how you got there. trust me, in these instances, life vests are good to have on hand. (I thought about carrying around a machete to fend off those wild animals that I see so often when I get lost, but then I realized that when you get lost in a place like London, where guns, knifes and pointy things in general are strictly forbidden...waving a machete around is not such a great idea)

Now the thing about getting lost is that usually, given enough time, I can find my way home again. and lucky for me, I'm not a man so I have no problem asking for directions. but first there has to be a person to ask. and sometimes, depending on where I get lost, there are no people, buildings, streets or civilization of any kind. it's at times like this when have to rely only on courage, strength, instinct...and the ability to make lucky guesses.

Take the other day for example. I was on my way home from school, when I had a severe attack of Lost. I blame it on the fact that I was extremely tired and I had eaten nothing, save for three very large cups of coffee and was basically brain-dead. so I turn on the street that I was sure would take me home without incident, when suddenly I find myself headed toward my old town, Ceresco. so I try to get off that road, and find myself on a ramp, and then the interstate. that's when I first got the clue that I was having a Lost attack. I somehow manage to get off the interstate, and onto some other unfamiliar road. I drive for a while, looking for a familiar street and not finding one. a large coca cola company that I didnt know existed, two golf courses and a handful of farmhouses later, I decided to turn around.

Still not knowing how to get back, my only landmark being the speck on the horizon that I knew to be the the state capitol, I had to fall on my ability to make lucky guesses. I picked a car at random and followed it. not the greatest choice in the world, I know, but I was out of options. the car, which was a very pretty metallic-blue Chevy trailblazer, must've known I was lost and needed help. so he led me back past the coca cola company and the golf courses and the farmhouses and aaaaaall the way to O street, from which I had wandered far. he even went beyond the call of duty and led me to 70th street, just to be sure I would not lose my way again.

I guess chivalry isn't dead after all.

Amazing Grace

2007-09-24T21:04:00.000-05:00

Day after day, I approach You
“I won’t do it again.” I say
I can’t imagine how it pains You
When I do it again anyway

And then, after I’ve fallen again
I hide from You, afraid
Embarrassed of these stains
Unwilling to show You how far I’ve strayed

Knowing You’d forgive me but still ashamed
I hold the pain inside
Unable to present to You my shame
Feeling as if our relationship had died

Until I cannot bear the separation
And I dare to crawl to You
Preparing my explanation
Feeling dirty through and through

I open my mouth to plead my case
And ask you to forgive me
But You running to me with a ready embrace
Was something I didn’t foresee

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I sob to You
As you gently hold me close
“I did what I told You I wouldn’t do.”
Although I’m sure You already know

And as You stood there holding me
I heard You quietly say,
“Oh, my daughter, don’t you know
That my mercies are new every day?

Your sins are gone, they’ve been erased
You once were lost but now you’re found.”
Amazing grace
How sweet the sound.

It's another country heard from...

2007-09-21T19:18:00.000-05:00

So here I was a few minutes ago, sitting in some desolate corner of everybody's favorite coffee shop, the Mill. and I forgot my headphones and the cord for downloading music from my computer to my mp3 player. so here I sat, with nothing to do with myself. but I had already bought myself an Italian Soda (amaretto), so I was committed to staying here at least until I had finished it.

So now I'm writing here. and I couldn't think of anything to talk about, so now I'm going to be really lame and steal the topic from Nikki's newest blog. but don't worry...I have my own perspective about getting two more people in the house.

When Nikki and Jim first moved away, it was so hard and I couldn't picture living without them and all that. well, it's been a year since then. I've adapted and learned to get by. this sounds horrible, and maybe it is, but not having them around so much has actually sort of forced me to get closer to my other siblings. Josh and I are actually almost friends now. :) so recently, Nikki and Jim both moved back into the house after being AWOL for a year. I was wondering how well I was going to handle the change and hoping it wasn't going to be weird or awkward, but it wasn't that at all. in fact, I welcomed it...after I got used to it a little bit.

And there definitely was something to get used to, make no mistake. I'm a sort of messy person (okay, I'm a really messy person!) and Nikki is not. in fact, Nikki and I are about as different as those two dogs, Ted and Fred, in the book "big dog little dog". so when Johanna-the-slob and Nikki-the-neat-freak share a bathroom, there's bound to be a little frustration. :)

And when Nikki came into my bedroom and said "We're gonna have to change some things in here." I was like, whoa now sistah. you can do whatever you want with your bedroom and maybe even the bathroom...but this is sacred ground, so don't even try it. but after seeing her finished room...I'm inclined to change my mind. maybe a splash of color in my room would be fun to have after all.

But it hasn't been too bad. in fact, it's been a lot of fun having Nikki back. Jim too, of course, but Jim is gone a lot of the time, and when he is home he's either conked out like a gorilla on the couch (which also doubles as his bed) eating any/everything he can find or slouched in front of the Nintendo with a controller.

One other thing that's been kinda funny was Justin and Kelsey. I knew Nikki and Jim were dating, of course, but it's a little weird, and even slightly amusing to come home and find the "significant others" in my house. haha. Anyway, I guess that's all I got. I'm glad Nikki and Jim moved back, and I'm sure some pretty funny stories will come of it.

Well now, that wasn't so bad after all. and my Italian Soda is gone now, so I suppose I will be off.

It's FALL!!

2007-09-10T23:26:00.000-05:00

Oh yes, it's that time of year again. the time of year to pull up the covers and starting making the cider. time to start shaking the dust off those old sweaters and musty blankets. time to start baking cookies and rummaging around trying to find your recipe for Russian Tea. Yes, folks, it's Fall. Or Autumn, or whatever you want to call it. I personally call it Fall because I've never approved of that little "n" at the end of Autumn.

Fall is my absolute favorite time of the year. "It's the most wonderful time of the yeaaaaaar..." No, stop. No Christmas songs. at least until December, or late November.

Fall is the best season ever. Reasons that I love Fall:
1) You can stand outside for more than five minutes without feeling like a icicle or a twice-baked potato.
2) You can step on all the crunchy leaves you want without feeling like a fool, because you know everyone else is doing it, too.
3) You can open your window at night.
4) You can cuddle under your covers.
5) You can have all the fun of the "holiday season" without tornadoes or blizzards messing up your plans.
6) You can wear hooded sweatshirts.
7) You're just starting to get excited for the many upcoming holidays.
8) Football. (I usually don't car much, but this year I'm totally pumped!)
9) Deer hunting season. I know. it's a dumb reason, but I really do love it!
10) Russian Tea. for those of you who've never had it...your life must feel so meaningless.

So those are some reasons why I like Fall. for those of you who wanted to know why I like Fall...

Oh, and on a little side note, my sunglasses died again. yep. those new sunglasses I just bought? broke in half. so I've decided that either my sunglasses have some sort of personal grudge against me...or the stuff in my purse has some sort of personal grudge against the idea of sunglasses in general. :-/

This one doesn't really have a title...

2007-08-30T00:34:00.000-05:00

My dad likes to have his little projects to do. He likes to put stuff together and make things with his hands. At the moment, his pet project is finishing the basement as fast as humanly possible. So when my dad calls me down into the basement to "give him a hand" I knew I wouldn't be smelling the upstairs air for a while.

I stand at the top of the stairs, gathering my courage. At last, I take a deep breath and walk down the stairs, not knowing what sort of help my father wanted, but having a pretty good idea that there was manual labor involved.

Sure enough, I get down there and the first thing he says is, "Hey help me lift this wall." Lift the wall?? And why didn't he ask Josh (my brother, who is way taller and stronger than I am) to do this? Well, whatever. "Eh...okay." I say. Turns out, it was just about eight or nine 2x4s all screwed together to form a "wall" of sorts. So I help him lift it, hefting my side while he lifts his. After the wall is up, he says, "Okay, hang on while I get some more screws."

Yeah, okay. No problem. Take your time. I'm only holding up a wall with my bare hands. No big deal. So then it starts to slip. "Uh...dad?" I can hear him behind me, trying to find those screws, oblivious to my peril. "Dad..." slipping...slipping..."Dad!"
"What? Whoa, Johanna, the wall is slipping!" Doy.

So he finally finds the screws and secures the "wall" so it's no longer falling on top of me. I step back to admire the fruits of my labor and catch my breath, hoping the "helping" was over. so dad starts to measure this and that and make little marks on the wood with his little flat orange pencil, muttering things about "whack that off" and "put another one there" and "give this one a little room" and using little words like "we" and "us" and "lets" and stuff like that, making me wonder if I was supposed to stay, but feeling kind of useless and kind of wanting to go back upstairs where I wasn't going to have to heft any more walls, but not sure weather or not he wanted me to stay and help, or keep him company or what. (Whoa! that's gotta break some kind of run-on-sentence record).

So I cough a little, reminding him that I was still there, and that I wasn’t doing anything. If he wanted me to help, fine. If not, I wasn’t planning to stick around. I had places to be, things to do. And those places and things didn’t, in any way, shape or form, involve even the word “strenuous”. Dad doesn’t seem to notice me. “Uh, dad? Can I go upstairs?” I ask, still unsure if he needed me for some other bizarre chore.

“Hmm. What? Oh, sure.” He says, without so much as glancing in my direction. Apparently I wasn’t needed too much after all. So I left him to his work then and retreated back into the safety of the upstairs. Maybe he did want me to stay, for all I know. Misery loves company. But who ever said company loves misery? :P

The Game Quest

2007-08-23T23:57:00.000-05:00

After a long day, I've been known to enjoy the occasional video game. when I was younger it was a Gameboy, but I've since graduated on to bigger and better things: Nintendo 64. until earlier today, the only game we've owned (that I'll even pick up a controller to play) is James Bond. I can't explain my sudden urge to shoot something with a Cougar Magnum, but when I do have such an urge, James Bond has always fulfilled it. :)
but today, very, very randomly, the Cougar Magnum didn't work. I wanted a better game than the James Bond game, which had probably been made sometime in the early 90s. I thought back to that one time a friend of ours had brought over an upgraded version of the James Bond game my family now owned. Perfect Dark was the name of it.

And suddenly...I wanted it. I wanted that game. I remembered the Farsight gun, one that let you see (and shoot) through walls. yeah, that one was pretty cool. now I really wanted that game! but where could I find it? I was the last person I would've asked about where to find a Nintendo game. but lucky for me I have brothers.

I found Jim laying on the pull out bed that serves for his bedroom while he waits for his bedroom to be finished, sawing logs like a lumberjack, arm hanging over the bed like a gorilla. Sure, he's been at work all night, but it was pushing three in the afternoon. he has slept long enough.
I poke him. "Jim." he says something unintelligible and rolls over. I poke him again. harder. "Jim!"
he bolts upright. "Wha?!" he looks around, clearly unsure where he is and how he got to be in this strange place. I ask him where to find a place that sells video games and stuff, and he tells me where. some place kinda far away, but for some strange, strange reason, I wanted that game. a lot. so I figure what the heck. then I realize Mom is away with her car. Jim lends me his. nice brother.

And so, with my older brother's car, my little brother (who's actually taller than me) in the passenger seat (because he had nothing better to do), and the Greatest Hits of Kansas playing on the speakers, my quest for the legendary Nintendo game began.

About twenty minutes and about three missed turns later, we pulled into the parking lot of Gamers store and went inside. this is the actual conversation between myself and my brother that ensued.
"Okay, there's a guy who works here. let's ask him where it is." -Me
"No, I want to find it myself. we don't need to ask." -Josh
"But you could just ask and save all the trouble--" -Me
"No. we'll find it ourselves." -Josh
so about twenty minutes goes by with Josh looking for the game and me standing around looking lost, Josh decides that asking if they have it would be a splendid idea and why didn't I think of it. so he asks the guy behind the counter, and, lo and behold, they don't have it. "Okay," he says. "C'mon, Jo, let's go home."

What? foolish boy, giving up so easily. No, I wanted that game, and I wanted it now. So I ask they guy behind the counter if there's another Gamers in Lincoln, and find out the only other Gamers is at 27th and Superior. so I have him call the place to make sure they have it since 27th and Superior is like clear across town, and he calls, and they have it, thank you for coming.

And so, the quest for the elusive game continued as I drove across town all the way to North Lincoln, and this time, as Josh sat behind the wheel of my ipod (not the car, thank goodness), we sang to White and Nerdy, by Weird Al. this next part is also a chunk of actual conversation that took place as we were stopped at a stoplight, I am the first in line in the lane farthest to the right.

"Look, there's the Gamers!" -Josh
"Oh, man! I'm in the wrong lane. I need to turn left right up there." --Me
"You can get in front of these people when the light turns green." --Josh
"I'm not going to floor it and then cross three lanes of traffic. I'll just turn right up there, turn around, and cross the street at that stoplight." -Me
"No, that'll take too long! just get in front of these people!" --Josh
*light turns green*
Aw, what the heck. the crossing of all three lanes was surprisingly easy, more so than I expected it to be, and soon we were pulling up into yet another Gamers store parking lot. the purchasing of the game I had been seeking was delightfully quick and no strings attached, and we were soon back in the car headed home. and I had had enough Weird Al to last me a week, so I was back in control of the ipod and, much to Josh's disgust, listening to Elvis Presley's "I can't help falling in love with you".

Half an hour later, we pulled into the driveway and plugged in the new game. and so, after several hours of driving and a lot of frustration, I had my game. forget Cougar Magnums! now I had K7 Avengers, Farsights, and Devastators. Hooray!

Sadly, because I only like to play video games on occasion, I will probably only play Perfect Dark about once a week or so. so I don't know why it was so important to me to get it today. but it was. oh well. I don't pretend to understand myself.