Showing posts with label Blog = Novel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blog = Novel. Show all posts

Friday, March 12, 2010

Easter Candy, or Why New Year's Resolutions to Lose Weight Frequently Don't Succeed

- Ok, I'm going to go ahead and say upfront that this should probably be two different blogs, but one dovetails so nicely into the next that I'm going to leave it. -

I had an epiphany the other day, and it has made me wonder how anyone in the history of ever has kept a New Year's Resolution to lose weight for more than two or three months.

Everybody knows that in January, right after New Year's with its resolutions, the gyms are all packed and most of America goes on some kind of diet. We're all fat, we all wish we weren't, so with a new year comes fresh convictions and optimistic changes and hopes that we can change ourselves for the better. Well, through both personal experience and observation, I can tell you with relative certainty why people don't/can't/won't stay on a diet for very long after the new year.

Easter.

Shocking, right? Think about this: in January, your diet/exercise plan is both new and novel and you are all excited and maybe even getting some results. Then, BAM! Valentine's Day. Now, if you're single, you might be able to avoid the Valentine candy. But no sooner has that passed than EASTER hits you. And Easter is different; Easter is special. When you really get down to it, there are really four big candy related holidays: Valentine's Day, Easter, Halloween and Christmas. But of all of them, Easter has the most decadent and tempting (irony given the holiday's meaning?) seasonally specific candy. Sure, Valentine's day has conversation hearts and Halloween has candy corn.... but Easter. Who can resist Robin's Eggs? Or.... Cadbury Creme Eggs...... It's a dieting person's nightmare!! Just when you're really getting used to not eating crap (read: tasty, fattening food) all the time is when the absolute most delicious and bad-for-you treat rears its sugary, chocolatey head. And like I said, it's seasonally specific!! You can't even GET Cadbury Creme Eggs any other time of the year, so I, for one, feel like I'm wasting a delicious opportunity by NOT eating one some of them.


I realize that this is getting lengthy (that's what she said), but I have a related topic I must send into the blog-o-whatever. My Caleb friend and I were discussing this very thing last night, but it was within a larger discussion of the differences between men and women. Yeah, yeah, this can go on forever, but it started with me mentioning a girl we both know and how I thought she was absolutely gorgeous. He said that he didn't think she was all that pretty. I, being an avid reader of Smitten blogs, I said that our mutual friend must just be "girl pretty." He, reasonably, had never heard the term, so I explained it with regard to our friend: "She's a girl that girls want to look like, not necessarily a girl that guys find attractive." I supplied a couple more examples of friends we have that I would absolutely kill to look like, but he reiterated that they weren't really what he would consider super attractive. I asked him if there were any dudes that he would want to look like, and he told me that he's never really thought about it. I understand that he's a dude, and dudes don't typically think about their looks in that way, but the interesting thing is that he didn't know how much I, as a girl, thought about it. Let me just let all of the boys in the world in on a secret: Women think about that all the time. Who they'd rather look like. I have an extensive mental list of women- actresses, musicians, friends- that I would love to look like, or at least approach looking like. Most of them are just skinnier than me, but others have good hair or pretty teeth or blue eyes or whatever other trait that I envy to a certain degree. Women are just like that (truly Così fan tutte! Ha ha... opera humor.... ::ahem::).

Anyway, I feel like this could be a contributing factor as to why women are "crazy" or whatever other stereotype you can think of. I mean, it's probably helping with why I'M any bit of crazy. When I say that I compare myself to other women, I mean, every single day, all day, many, many times. When I'm watching TV, or at my crappy retail job at the mall, or at the frickin' grocery store... doesn't matter. I will say this, though- the time it happens the worst, the most consistently? When I eat. Day to day, I can tell you without much thought exactly what I have eaten, what I consider "cheat" food, what I'm planning on eating later and if I have any snacky food at home to facilitate more "cheat" eating later. When I told this to Caleb, he was surprised and just couldn't fathom comparing himself to other dudes like that, or monitoring his food intake with borderline obsession. I'm an emotional eater, too, though, and that doesn't help. THAT'S a whole 'nother blog, though....

This sort of reminds me of a while back, when we were at rehearsal. Our director was telling us that no one knows how beautiful they truly are. "Women, especially. They are always comparing themselves to other women and judging themselves to ridiculous standards. Something else, they're always jealous of each other's hair." At this point, I indicated a friend of mine whose hair is always SO cute and at the same moment she goes, "Yeah, like Courtney." The fact that we proved his point was kind of forgotten as we both just died laughing.

So what does all of this mean? I don't know. Aside from the fact that I need to quit eating so much damn Easter candy, it is just something to think about.

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Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Incredible, edible

Over-medium eggs!


I have known for many a year that I love eggs. I just find them tasty beyond measure. I pretty much relegated myself to hard boiled and scrambled, though, because I suck at frying them.


UNTIL NOW.


Maybe this is common knowledge for the rest of you cooking type people, but it was/is not for me. So, my roommate's mother showed her how to do it, and now I know, so I'm passing this magical secret on to you:

butter.


That's pretty much it. We have this little non-stick skillet that's about 6 inches across and all one has to do to make some deeelicious over-medium eggs is start with melting the butter on it. Then crack the eggs and go about your breakfast... or post-bar snack, as this is a GREAT time to eat eggs, apparently. You have to use real butter, though, or else it won't work. My favorite part is when it does the non-stick thing like it's supposed to and the 2 or 3 egg conglomerate slides around in the little skillet. To flip it, you just wait until the whole thing is white and then slide it about halfway out of the skillet onto a spatula and flip it over that way. You can, alternatively, slide it onto a plate and flip it, but I have had much more success with the spatula setup.


Now that I know how to do this, I have seriously been eating 2 or 3 eggs a day. They're so tasty!! And cheap and filling and I so love eggs nomnomnomnom....


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Tuesday, September 8, 2009

They love the chase

In the famous words of Lady Gaga: Boys, boys, boys.


In the trials and tribulations of my existence as a single, a taken and a somewhere in-between person, it has often been said to me, "You have to let them chase you: Guys love the chase."


I hate that.


My knee-jerk reaction is to say, "Yeah, whatever," but I know they do. I've seen them do it! They, for the most part, just don't chase me. This isn't a whiny "poor, poor me; nobody likes me" statement, I'm just not the type of girl that you chase. I'm basically just sitting here waiting for someone to walk up and say, "Hi. I like you," because if I like him, too, that will be all it will take. Insta-relationship. Which, I guess, might not be "fun," and also is partially to blame for my un-datableness.

I came to understand a long time ago that I'm not a girl you date. That's another thing people say to me. "You're not a girl guys date, you're a girl guys marry." That has started to make more sense as of late because I am able to look back on past relationships and see the potential future ones differently.

Let me explain. No, there is too much, let me sum up (YES!): There are people that say they don't like the chase... and then there's me. I am not saying that I think a guy shouldn't have to work a little (because if they don't have to work for the relationship, apparently this is evidence that they didn't really want it or that they don't appreciate it or something...), I'm just saying that the whole call, don't call, wait a suitable amount of time before returning a text, I'm going to pretend I don't really like you so you're going to have to try harder, yes means no, no means yes, bullshit is a waste of mental energy. A sample conversation:


Boy (or girl): I like you, you seem interesting. Let's date.
Girl (or boy): I agree. Let's.


How hard is that?!? Just say it. Or, alternatively:


Boy (or girl): I like you, you seem interesting. Let's date.
Girl (or boy): Well, I'm not really thinking that's a good idea.
Boy (or girl): Hm.. ok. That bites.


Though, the whole problem is that in that second scenario, if the girl shoots him down but the guy is persistent... there is a chase. And if the girl really isn't interested, the chase is still fun for her because she's getting all the attention, even if she doesn't want it from him. Conceptually, I get it. I really do, but if I'm not interested in a guy, I don't want him chasing me. Seriously! I run into that when I go out sometimes (read: it happened once). Not that guys hit on me all the time, but when they do, it's inevitably someone I have NO interest in and I basically just want them to go away, but I don't want to be mean, so it's just reaaaallly awkward. I also tend to lean toward husband shopping when I'm out. Roomie hates that term, and as I define it as simply not giving much of a chance to guys that don't scream long term potential to me, she decided it's more like husband eliminating, which is appropriate, too. Either way, I don't really meet people when we go out. But basically, if I'm already friends with someone, there is almost no chance that we will date because I get myself into the dreaded Friend Zone and can't get out (read: though it did happen once).

However, the one time that it did last longer than six months, there was no chase. He actually told me after we'd been dating for a little bit that he usually will string a girl along for a while and then maybe date her or maybe not, but he could tell that I "wasn't going to put up with that," so he didn't do it that way. I had forgotten about this until pretty recently, but it just goes to show you that the way you catch them is the way you keep them. Our relationship had lots of things, but it one thing it didn't have was stupid games.

This is what my Roomie said, and I like it:

"If you enjoy spending time with him, and he enjoys spending time with you, then just go with it and see what happens. You can't strategize and you can't force it; it will just be what it is. Sometimes, well, most of the time, it isn't unanimous. But when it is, it's amazing."



So anyhow, this whole thing was all rambly and not really directed at anything, it's just something I've been fixated on in the recent times. But I'm really, really, really, really, really excited for this weekend because my best friend evar is getting married!! I haven't ever been in a wedding before, and I'm her Maid of Honor! It's going to be a rocking good time!


So any of you single groomsmen, guests or innocent bystanders... I'm a single, optimistic Maid of Honor at my best friend in the world's wedding. Fair warning:


Look out.

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Saturday, August 15, 2009

People, please.

Ok, time for something that drives me insane:


When people post every single solitary photo taken for an event/photo session/whatever on Facebook or some other social media.



Guys. No one (except maybe you) wants to see every photo. Cull the herd and pick the best ones, and some of the worst ones (because those are funny), but for pete's sake, the rest need to stay on your hard drive or just be deleted for all eternity.

I'm a little more lenient if we're talking about candid shots at a shower or wedding or something because pictures of random people doing random things have a certain degree of entertainment value. However, I do not need to see the 6 photo progression of you picking up the piece of cake to put in your new husband's mouth. Just pick one, and whether you pick the one of you about to put it in his mouth where you look all innocent and sweet or the one where he has icing and cake bits all over his face and you look like a terror, is completely up to you.

I'm mostly talking about engagement couple photos, bridal photos, baby photos, senior picture type photos, HEADSHOTS (gah. Kill me.) and other such set-up photo session groups of pictures. If you wore 4 different shirts throughout the course of your headshot session, pick, say, 3 or 4 from each different option. I don't need to see 30 pictures of you looking awkwardly at the camera in each shirt. I appreciate the value of getting other people's opinion on which of your brand new headshots to use, but you can narrow the choices simply by looking at them and picking the ones that make you look not retarded.

Also: I fervently hope that when (please, Jesus God, when) I eventually have children, I will be lucid enough to realize that all babies look like weird grapes when they come out, and they look like weird grapes for at least some time afterward. Even though I will think that my baby is the best baby ever, I am mentally prepared to still see the grape-ness. There will need to be pictures, obviously, but for my child's sake, I will only show the inevitable alien baby pictures to friends and loved ones that will laugh with me at my grape child.

Anyrant, I like seeing people's photos of stuff. I really do. I just like seeing less of the ones that don't matter. But it does give me fodder for this blog, I suppose, so not all is lost. And don't even get me STARTED on the people who think that they're a professional photographer just because they have a nice camera. That is truly a rant for another day, as that is a subject that needs a entire entry devoted to it.


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I was going to do a mosaic of photos that exemplify the qualities in this rant, but all the absolute best ones I could think of were people that are my Facebook friends, and more often than not my actual friends... so, you get a girl and a camera instead.



Pic via PaperTissue

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Should have been you first

Holy Crap. My friends Charmaine and Dalton got married 2 years ago today (Congrats, guys!!). In my perusal of the Blogs of MySpace Past, I read this entry from way back then. I feel like I've grown since then, but it's interesting to remember those old times.

- - Even though it's a long one, you might should read this post from a while back so that this makes more sense. - -



    Saturday, July 14, 2007

    "It should have been you first!"

    Current mood: discontent


    This is what Charmaine's mother said to me twice today at the wedding. Twice. She looked around, indicating the wedded bliss around us, and told me that it should have been me first. I guess in her world that's not considered a horrific thing to say to someone who was engaged...... and then wasn't. The wedding was beautiful. It was simply superb to attend and to participate in something so absolutely stunning. It was very good for me to see something as wonderful as the marriage of two completely made-for-eachother people. It restores the faith in good things and helps foster the knowledge that there are good men left in the world. I mean actual good men. Men that will put forth the effort to sweep a woman off her feet and make her feel like a princess. Although, at this point, I would be glad to just see a man that won't lie to my face. I will never understand how a person can be so completely different than who I thought they were. But I digress... There are lots of girls want to get married. After seeing today, the getting married part could be fun. That's not really what I'm interested in anymore. I used to be, many moons ago. The white dress, the cake all of that. Nowadays, I really just want to be married. To wake up next to someone that is on your side 100% of the time. Someone that you can have every bit as much fun sitting around not doing anything as you do when you're out on the town. I see these photos of my friends that have found their person and their happiness is visible. I just want to be able to be a team with someone who will actively participate in the relationship in general. Clearly, this man for me is not here. This is ok. I am leaving this city. And not with a goal of finding someone, but instead with a very strict list of things that I will no longer tolerate in someone that I spend time with. I wasted a ton of time trying to be something other than just myself, and that was a hard habit to break, but it's better to be honest about who you are than to try to keep up a façade. No sooner than I learn this lesson, I allow someone else to absolutely walk all over the real and honest me and I, stupidly, still believed in the good that I thought I saw in them. I have now turned naïve and gullible into an art form.

    Basically, I'm tired of playing all the games. I give. Uncle. Whatever. I don't care that it wasn't me first.




    I just want to meet my husband.



Yessss, emo girl. Everybody heave a big ol' *SIGH* now.

---


Though, confession: I have been planning to post this for a while because I thought it would be entertaining, but I've been feeling all emo today, so it's kind of apropos. Maybe I'm hormonal or something retarded like that, but I feel psychotic and crazy and it's probably nothing but every little retarded thing is just making me go all batty and I hate it and I wish it would stop and it's making me stay up all night and toss and turn and the more I think about everything the more I really hate it. Anyway, I have to be at work in 4 hours. True to form, here's a song:




Invisible - Taylor Swift

(This is excessively emo. I realize this. I just feel all affected and sad and stupid shit. I'll look back later and either cry A LOT or laugh at my idiocy. Just the usual. This is almost as bad as the Bonnie Rait episode. This kinda sucks)

Monday, July 13, 2009

Bloggers I admire

Last year, I got into this blogness just because everyone else did (I think everyone has a post like that one. Haha). It has taken several months, but I feel like I am finally starting to have, well, not necessarily something to say, but definitely a voice to say it. I really admire the people that when I read an entry of theirs, I can immediately tell who I'm reading. When I read my older entries, I can sense my imitation of other bloggers in an effort to figure out my place in this blog-o-whatever and decide how to say what I wanted to say. To an extent, I still do, but that's true of me even when I just hang out with people. If I am with them enough, my speech patterns and gestures and whatnot start to emulate whoever I hang out with. Like sometimes, the way I phrase stuff just comes out differently after I've been reading The Bloggess because the way she writes is so distinctive.

In any case, I wanted to write a little tribute to the bloggers that really have helped shape the way I write on this thing and have helped me navigate the blog-o-whatever.


The incomparable Bloggess
This lady is incredible. She is absolutely laugh-out-loud funny and as I've said, her distinctive writing style is a riot to read. She posts to several different sources, and they are all must-reads. I'm thinking there are very few people that can claim to have a mommyblog and a sex column (that people actually read, that is) and be insightful and sublimely entertaining on both fronts and all the social media in between. Also, she's from Texas, y'all. And makes fun of jew cats. She's a damn genius.


The loverly LiLu
You can thank this Masshole for her "ever popular, yet gravely feared" TMI Thursdays. I, personally, adore the Shiz My Boyfriend Says chronicles because nothing beats smart and funny people being in love with each other and saying funny shiz and then blogging about it (see also: Bloggess). LiLu also has the exceptional ability to personally connect with each commenter/follower/blogger that passes through her blog. Or even links to her, really. Her faithful followup with everyone is awesome and she does it in a way that just makes you feel good. Of course, I'm slightly biased, because in an infrequent bout of internet idiocy, she totally came to my aid (hehe, that's gotta be what she said).


The darling Meg Fee
I feel a bit of a connection to this lady because of her background in the arts and her aspirations to perform. Being a gal in New York seems so glamorous, and it is sometimes. She conveys the glamorous times so well, but what I love about Meg is the way she talks about the every day. She writes about her battles with herself with every bit of the eloquence that she employs when extolling the virtues of love and talking about her so cute family. My original note about her blog was: "Lovely writing, excellent book choices, so romantic and heartbreaking and hopeful and gorgeous and inspirational." That's pretty much right.


The amazingly sassy Ginger Mandy
This is a gal with some great stories about butter and buttholes, great advice about peeing standing up (I know I link to that about every other day, but dang. I don't think one can GET a better tutorial on the subject) and how to get your intake of Fiber up, and will probably help you learn how to get great gas mileage if you asked her (because she has wicked sweet knowledge like that). Anyginger, her honest and straightforward writing is an unabashed account of her opinions and experiences, and it's entertaining on top of that! What more can any blogger aspire to achieve? Nothing, friends, I assure you. Success, Gingerlady. Great success.


I just got a little choked up thinking about you guys (ok, maybe not quite), but I do love reading what you have to say to the blog-o-whatever and look forward to it daily. You ladies are bloggers to look up to, and my own blog thanks you from the bottom of its little heart.


Well, I mean, I do, too... ♥

Friday, June 5, 2009

I chose music.

- - This post is forever long; fair warning for you there. But it's one of the most defining parts of my life thus far, so... why wouldn't it be a long post, you know? - -

I have never actually written down an account of what happened to make me decide to go to grad school. I haven't for various reasons, but I feel like it all happened long enough ago that I can talk about it now.

To be quite honest, I had just planned to get married right out of college, move away from my little hometown and pop out some babies. The truth is that I really only went to grad school because I didn't have any other plans, and without any plans, it just seemed like the next logical thing to do.

Let me back up.


Ok... confession:

This isn't really the story of why I went to grad school. This is the story of why I didn't get married. They just happen to be the same story.

I met the man who was to become my ex-fiancé my freshman year in college. Our relationship appropriately started with him meeting my dad, shaking his hand and introducing himself. We were speaking at the high school where my dad taught, but in that moment, it felt like a first date, and it pretty much went from there. I barely knew him and he barely knew me, but that ended up being really beneficial for the longevity of the relationship. What I knew of him was that he was everything I thought I wanted in a husband: tall, Southern, conservative, Baptist, man's man kind of guy. He was also from a big family that I fell in love with upon first meeting. What he knew of me was that I was attracted to him. What he didn't know was that I was so glad to have found what I thought I wanted, that I would pretty much be whatever he wanted me to be to keep it. Tragically, I think that at the time, that's what I thought was supposed to happen.

Over the course of three years, he molded me into exactly what he wanted me to be: a quiet, submissive, nice, sweet, prim and proper woman. If you know nothing of me, let me let you know that I am loud, mean, cynical and have been known to curse like a sailor on occasion. Those three years of my life were so unlike my actual personality, that Seester once said, "You were not you during that time. I kind of liked you better, but you weren't you." (I have yet to understand the full implications of THAT statement, but I digress) I may tell some of the "wife-grooming" stories later. They're pretty interesting on their own.

Please hear me when I say that the whole stripping of my actual personality from me wasn't malicious on his part. And actually, it turned out to be vital in the figuring myself out process, as giving up everything about what made me me helped me to find out just what that was.

So from the tail end of my freshman year right up until I graduated, he and I were dating. We were dating and visiting his family and talking about getting married and how wonderful our little small town life would be. This wonderful life where he would go to work and I would stay home and clean the house and take care of the kiddies and all that. And it made me happy. It really did.

However, every one of the four years of my undergrad, I was also heavily involved in the opera in the spring. It was crazy. For the entirety of the fall, I was completely content with the housewife/mommy life that was ahead of me. But without fail, spring would roll around and that meant opera season. I would get so immersed in learning the music and staging and everything the production entailed, and a part of me would say, "You want to do this. You can do this." I just told that part of me to shut up and that I would be perfectly content and happy being a mommy and a stay at home housewife.

Let me pause briefly to say that the actual mommy/housewife life was NOT, I repeat, NOT the problem. I would still enjoy that, I'm sure, just as I would have then. The difference is that he thought opera was immoral or... well, actually, there's no telling what he really thought about it because, as he later showed me (and just in time, too), he would say anything to get what he wanted. He wanted me to be a stay at home housewife/mommy and wanted me to do so to the exclusion of anything else, probably because that is what a woman "should" do. Again, don't even get me started on gender roles and what is "appropriate" for a woman, because I'm actually kind of backward. I grew up in a conservative household and I still hold to most of those beliefs, so it's not some sort of feminist empowerment kick that made me resent his assignment of me to the role of housewife, either. It was his presumption that he knew what was best for me, and my erringly allowing him to exercise that control over me. I apologize, I'm rambling... back to the tale at hand.

I'll save the "How I Got Engaged, and Why It Still Sort of Irritates Me" story for another time, but suffice to say that we got engaged over Spring Break my senior year with plans to get married the following August (if you're counting, that's 5 months from engagement to wedding. Yikes). Then a funny thing happened: I learned how to sing. I know, I know... What the crap does that mean? It means that I subconsciously knew that I wouldn't have been able to really succeed the way I wanted to singing the way I had before Saturday, May 6, 2006 (totally crazy that I know the date, huh? Perhaps yet another story for another time). It also meant that until that time, I really had no concrete arguments against my assignment to housewife (arguments for myself, really). In any case, after the performance the next day, my voice teacher that I had been studying with for 7 years by that time came up to me and said, "Well, you finally learned how to sing!" So what did I do? I called the man (since he hadn't come into town to see me sing. Not bitter).


Me: I want to sing opera professionally.


Then-Fiancé: Well, you've never wanted to do that before!


Me (In my head): What the heck? Where have you BEEN the last three years? Remember all those times that I was all "Maybe I want to do opera... no, just kidding. I want to live in a tiny town and have a lot of babies."? Yeah, me neither...

Me (out loud): I just want to try it. And if I fall on my face, at least I will have tried and then I can get it out of my brain.


Then-Fiancé: Well, I hate to tell you this, but you'd never make it anyway.


Me: [...shocked silence...] I must have made some sort of disbelieving noise at this point, but it wasn't words


Then-Fiancé: Oh! No no, not talent-wise. You're just too lazy.



I think it was at that moment that I knew that it was never going to work with him. He was, and still is to this day, literally the only person in my entire life that has not endorsed the idea of me pursuing this singing thing. There was no way in hell I was going to marry the person in my life with that particular distinction. So I took a drive and gave him back the ring and ended it. We haven't spoken in several years (I am not really a person who stays friends with my exes, as a rule). He married about a year later and I wish him well. (Seriously. Why not? He didn't do anything but push me to do what I do now.)


The End






Just kidding. There is one other little thing. About a month after I ended it, I wasn't dating anyone (obviously) and was all lonely and sad (even though I did the breaking. It's still not fun, you know?) and so I started wearing the gold band that was originally intended to be his wedding ring. I know, it's a little (read: whoa...) weird. But I had already bought it and pawning it wasn't even close to worth it, so in the creepy and moderately pathetic haze that was that summer, I wore it on my thumb.

Then something snapped a little. It wasn't a big dramatic thing, but one day I just looked at that ring and all it represented with a sense of empowerment (and a healthy amount of cynicism) and reclaimed it. How? I had it engraved. I still wear it pretty much every day as sort of a memorial to that life and a constant reminder of the decisions I made that have brought me to where I am.
Wanna know what it says? Of course you do. It says:


I chose music.



**Edit: You know, after having re-read this just now, I realize that I didn't actually state what the biggest problem was. I have since discovered, through much hashing with best friends and living through other failed relationships, that the reason it wouldn't have worked was NOT because he didn't support my decision to pursue opera (though that certainly didn't help) or anything related to opera at all. It was a much, much bigger issue than that. He couldn't talk about anything. If he had a problem with something, opera for example, he really didn't know how to just say, "You know, for whatever reason, I don't like the idea of you pursuing this. Let's talk about it." After examining much of the rest of our relationship, it was truly this wonky aspect of the whole thing that broke the coffin. Or put the nail in the camel's back. Or something. Just to clarify a bit what was already a very long, slightly rambly and ranty tale.

Big ol' bunch of music

When I checked my Twitter this morning and I see a very (very very very) sweet tweet (hahahaha) from Pop and Ice. In response to said sweetness, I hereby dedicate this big ol' bunch of music to her. I hope you (and anyone else who reads this) will enjoy!

So, I narrowed the selection to ten, and I'm going to group them in twos that are sort of similar. (This is mainly for my own personal benefit, as things tend to get jumbled when they rattle around in my brain without any semblance of order.)

Sidenote: I am totally breaking my own "Don't post ridiculously long blog entries" rule, but I really only write this thing for my own amusement anyhow, so I'll break it today.


Group 1: Random (Pfft. I would start with a "random" group.)

These are songs that actually just didn't go with any of the other groups or with each other, but I like these songs quite a bit; "Seven Nights in Ireland" for its mood and "Amado Mio" because Pink Martini is genius and incredibly versatile.


Seven Nights in Ireland - Reckless Kelly



Amado Mio - Pink Martini




Group 2: Oren Lavie Genius Playlist

iTunes has this amazing "Genius Playlist" feature that will take a song you like and make a playlist of similar sounding songs you already have. These came off of such a playlist based on Oren Lavie's "Her Morning Elegance" (if you watch that, definitely watch it in HQ)


A Dream Within a Dream - Oren Lavie



Under the Weather - KT Tunstall




Group 3: Stuff that sounds vaguely like "Boy With A Coin"

Since I have been obsessed with that song recently, there is logically a whole group that reminds me of it. The Ryan Adams is a cover of Oasis' "Wonderwall" which has sort of a weird video, but if you've never heard the original, the cover is less impressive.


Wonderwall - Ryan Adams



Mykonos - Fleet Foxes




Group 4: Hem and Gabe Dixon

Ahhhh... two of my very favorite and just gorgeous artists. The Hem song is a bonus track, so unless you've acquired everything they've ever done, PopandIce, I don't think you will have heard it. "Further the Sky" has some superb lyrics:

The higher you reach,
The further the sky.
The more miles you walk,
The longer the road.
The steeper you climb,
The harder you stand to fall.
The stronger you get,
The heavier the load.



In a Barrel At Sea - Hem



Further the Sky - The Gabe Dixon Band




Group 5: Not Your Typical Blog Music

Ok, I am an opera singer. I have been in and around choral music and a much more classical vein of song for quite some time. While I don't particularly enjoy all of it (or even a lot of it), sometimes I just love me some classical-er sounding stuff. The King's Singers are a group of 6 men that sing all kinds of stuff from Renaissance madrigals to The Beatles. And then.... *sigh* Ian. I have gone to school with Ian for the last two years and his voice is seriously one of my very favorite voices I have ever heard. That actually is quite a statement, because I am really picky and I have heard a lot of people, but *sigh* again. I could just go on and on about his voice and how frickin' pretty it is. That song is from Civil War by Frank Wildhorn and is a letter from a soldier to his wife (lyrics here). The quality on that one isn't so good because we were giving our little recital in what was basically a cafeteria, but you can still hear the dreaminess...


You Are the New Day - King's Singers



Sarah from Civil War - Ian Gibb



*Whew!*

Monday, May 25, 2009

Science, Love and Kleptomania

Have you ever been in a waiting room or someplace and picked up a magazine that you ended up liking so much that you swiped it? I have. The Time Magazine from January 2008 was in the waiting area at the apartment complex I lived in a while ago and the article The Science of Romance: Why We Love was so interesting, that I totally took the issue with me (there was another one on the table, so I didn't feel too bad).

Anyway, I found it when I was unpacking and cleaning the other day and I reread it yesterday. The "Why We Love" article discussed the usual "Men like women with a low waist to hip ratio and big boobs because they're signs of fertility" and "Women like men with deep voices and broad shoulders because that's indicative of high testosterone" and it talked about pheromones playing an important role in the choosing of a mate. I have heard most of this information in one form or another from watching The Discovery Channel and whatnot, but they said something that I haven't heard before, but makes a lot of sense.

Paraphrased:

There is a set of genes called the major histocompatibility complex (MHC) which influences tissue rejection. If a person tries to conceive a child with someone whose MHC is too similar to their own, and the risk increases that the womb will reject the pregnancy.

Studies show that lab mice can smell too-similar MHC in the urine of other mice and will avoid mating with those individuals. In later work (conducted at the University of Bern in Switzerland), human females were asked to smell t-shirts worn by anonymous males and then pick which ones appealed to them. Time and again, they chose the ones worn by men with a safely different MHC.

And if the smell of MHC can't get the job done, the taste will. Saliva also contains the compound, a fact that may partly explain the custom of kissing. Kissing might be a "taste test."


This is all well and good and interesting and, truly, makes a lot of sense. It's not that far from stuff I have heard before, but it hasn't ever been explained any further than "Smells have an effect on who we find attractive." In a very primitive (and practical) way, this explanation with the MHC explains why the smells work like they do.

This, I had not thought of, and I find to be very intriguing:


Precise as the MHC-detection system is, it can be confounded. One thing that throws us off the scent is the birth-control pill. Women who are on the Pill (which chemically simulates pregnancy) tend to choose wrong in the t-shirt test. When they discontinue the daily hormone dose, the protective smell mechanism kicks back in. "A colleague of mine wonders if the Pill may contribute to divorce," says chemist Charles Wysocki (of the Monell Chemical Sense Center in Philadelphia). "Women pick a husband when they're on birth control, then quit to have a baby and realize they've made a mistake."


Wow! Isn't that crazy? Sure gives you something to think about, huh?


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Apologies. I couldn't find a higher resolution of that image. Like, one you can actually read...

Friday, May 15, 2009

100th Post!!

Wow! I can't believe I've already posted 100 times. Geez.


Well, to celebrate this occasion, I feel I should blog about something that means a lot to me. Something that changed my life forever.


a potato.



Not just any potato, friends. This was a life altering spud of epic proportions. I'm not kidding when I say that for weeks after this potato incident, I couldn't go more than 3 days without mentioning it. People, this tuber consumed my thoughts. It's story time:



Over Thanksgiving, my Li'l Brudder and Seester and I went to southish Texas to see my Dad. Not ON Thanksgiving, but the day before, we went to this small town eatery for lunch. It was some manner of barbecue place and so they obviously had baked potatoes. They had something I had officially never seen before, but I was so intrigued, and it sounded so delicious that I ordered it. (Looking back, I am SO glad I did and yet I also have a healthy {ha, healthy} amount of regret tied to the experience. Mainly because after I ate it, I wanted to die. So much potato... anyway, back to the story.)

The potato I ordered ended up being about the size of a softball and a half. That is not remotely a small potato, or even a medium one. This potato meant business. It had my standard potato trappings of butter, cheese and sour cream, but here's where the magic happened: There was a chicken fried steak on, nay, in this potato. A whole chicken fried steak. On/In this mammoth potato. And white gravy, because you can't eat a chicken fried steak without white gravy.

That's the part that I look upon fondly. The actual potato. Eating the whole thing? I don't exactly look upon that with the same sense of nostalgia and general happiness associated with good food memories. *whew*

Anyway, to you who read this and see my delightful potato as an abomination to food everywhere, I am sad for you. Maybe it's just my general Southern upbringing that makes me particularly susceptible to the wiles of foods of this nature, but either way... that potato affected my life more than some people, and for that, it gets its own commemorative blog post.




And now a picture of a lizard on a chaise lounge (because this is what I found when I was trying to find a graphic of the number 100):




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hahahahahahahaha



Hiliarious. Explanation here.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Disney, why have you forsaken me?

So Meg over at The Wild and Wily Ways of a Brunette Bombshell posted about classic Disney movies and her beef with their decline into pure consumerism. I started to write a comment to her, but then I realized that I basically had just written a post in her comment box, so I came over here and wrote it out instead. This is what I have to say in response:

I could not agree more!!

Not even kidding: I have been slowly amassing all of the best Disney movies, either on VHS or DVD, whatever, for when (when, when {I like to say it three times to reinforce the certainty...ahem...}) I have kids, because I can't be sure if Disney (or anyone) will ever be able to produce films of the same caliber as the animated (and some not animated) films of our childhood and before.

World's longest sentence... anyway, I submit for review some of my favorites that MY children will watch (some Disney, some not):



  • Robin Hood (Animated foxes... yum)

  • The Rescuers, and Rescuers Down Under

  • Prince of Egypt

  • Babe

  • Fern Gully



The above list is, of course, in addition to these mandatory classics:

  • The Little Mermaid

  • Beauty and the Beast

  • Aladdin

  • The Lion King

  • Cinderella

  • Sleeping Beauty

  • Mulan



Yeah, so what if basically the definition of a "Classic" is just that it has a good love story? Sue me. I digress...


Oh, Disney, we're all begging you: return to the days of yore when you had something to say other than "Buy a Hannah Montana doll!" We miss our princes, princesses, love stories, magic carpets, singing foxes, castles, good triumphing over evil, the prince getting his gal, the gal getting her prince, fantastic music with singable soundtracks, fairies...


I could go on...

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Orginal painting found here

Friday, May 8, 2009

Oh, Weepies....

"I only think about you
if it's raining...

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...or it's not.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

My return to the land of the living

I updated my Facebook status to let the world know that I am done with all my school responsibilities this semester (THANK GOD) and my friend John said, "Finally your tweets might be less of a downer all the time... ;)"

So, I formally apologize for my lack of characteristic up-ness in these recent times. At this point, I will not obsess over grades and school and whatnot, as there's not a thing I can do about it (This is my Hakuna Matata reflex. I have talked about it a little before). I'll probably check the online grade postings like it's a cast list waiting to go up, but stress time is officially over.


I absolutely cannot express how glad I am that it's finally summer. I was very, I guess resentful is the best word for it, resentful this semester with regard to my classes. The relief of knowing that all I am truly responsible for is showing up to work is just... so.... nice... *sigh*


I have very high hopes for this summer, too. Last summer was great, don't get me wrong, but my job kept me completely tied to OKC. I literally left the city for 2 days. This will NOT be the case this summer. I have concerts and operas and digging for diamonds (yes, I'm serious. How ama-za-zing does this look??) and who-knows-what else I want to do. Even if I don't get to do all (or heck, any) of it, just having the ability to get up and go feels so good.

And because I'm all about lists, I'm going to make a Summer List. I was going to call it a "To-do" list, but it's not really that. It's more of a "All the things I may have in store for me this summer" list:


  • Go to Tulsa to see A Little Night Music and My Fair Lady. I have several friends involved and I had a BLAST last year when I went.

  • See Ben Folds in Tulsa or Fayetteville (pending financial situation and desire to see 1964: The Tribute in Wichita Falls the same day as the Tulsa concert)

  • Seester and I have been wanting to go to Crater of Diamonds State Park for a LONG time. If we can get that together, it would be flipping sweet.

  • My friend Shelley will be in Tanglewood teaching kids at the camp part, but she said that I could (read: should) come see her because it's like "Disneyworld, but for music." Sounds good to me.

  • My Alyssa friend and I jokingly talked about starting a store on Etsy to maybe profitably get rid of some of the things that are created when we need a crafty outlet for our creativeness. I was only half joking.



I should also include a couple of not quite as fun (but VERY IMPORTANT) things:

  • Learn the Four Last Songs by R. Strauss for my recital

  • Do research and/or begin work on my thesis




And that's just the stuff I know off the top of my head. I haven't even thought about 4th of July or my birthday (turning 25. Whoatown.) at the end of July or ever seeing my dad in southish Texas or just going to Wichita Falls at random to see Seester, Li'l Brudder, and my mom. This is going to be awesome.


Summer, I have waited all semester for you to get here:



Let's do this.





Thought I should introduce Li'l Brudder properly, but aside from pics of him with a jewfro, I can't really find a good picture. So ignore my retarded expression, if you don't mind:

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However, I also think his jewfro is endlessly hilarious, so here's Brudder and Pops a while back ago:

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lawls.