Faithful Friend

Early this morning, our family lost a beloved member. Our 14 year old German Shepherd/Golden Lab mix, Nike, passed away. He was a good and faithful dog through to the end...he waited all day until my mom had come home, and wouldn't even lay his head down, waiting for her to get there. Last night we all were at my parents for Christmas dinner, and afterwards, we all laid in the dining room with him, petting him and telling the stories we remember that best describe his life with our family over the years. How Nike wouldn't let the first guest to our house after Dylan was born, Jan the Avon lady, near the basinette where he lay. How he won many races with my mom and was her best running partner. How he would try to break up the silly squabbles between siblings over the years by placing himself between the two of us.

It is so hard to lose a pet. I know my mom will be lost without him. But he'll always be in our hearts, and we'll remember him as the best joggin' dog that he was...and the faithful guard dog who protected us.

http://www.indigo.org/rainbowbridge_ver2.html

A Journey of A Thousand Miles Begins with a Single Step - Lao Tzu

How many times have I failed? Many. More importantly, how many times have I tried and failed? Just as many. How many times have I found success? Once I can think of, but I'm sure there are more I'm just not counting.

I need a new me. A me I can be proud of. A me I don't have to "hide" behind.

I'm talking about my weight. I've never been some twiggy, stringy girl, and I realize I never will be. A dream of wearing a "triangle bikini" will most likely never be reality for me. But being a healthier, better, and a happier person I can work on.

I've joined gyms, I've done Weight Watchers, and watched my dad & aunt go through gastric bypass surgery. I know and HAVE the tools to succeed. My problem is I just don't use them. Why? I'm scared. Scared to try because I may fail. So in essence, scared of failure. I look at others who have worked hard to shed the pouds, and I am so inspired and happy for them. But I never think "That could be me." I hear them get compliments, I see their old figures melting into new sizes, which follows with new wardrobes. The want for a new wardrobe should be drive enough! As it is, I stick with accessories...but you can only have so many pairs of shoes, crazy socks, and purses to make you happy.

I've decided I want that to be me. It'd be nice to get a compliment that I can believe. It'd be wonderful to be able to go into any store in a mall and know that I will find something that fits. It'd feel good to be proud of me, and not take on the "Fat Girl" persona to make people laugh.

We just joined the YMCA, and I want to work hard. I want to be there, put my time in, and feel good. I want to watch myself change. I want to choose the baked chicken and steamed veggies at a restaurant and not con myself into thinking I "deserve" the burger with fries. I want to learn how to reward myself with things other than food. I want a healthy relationship with food. Not one where it bullies me and I bully it back. I guess I want a lot...but most of all I want to be happy. I want to be happy with myself. I want to be happy with my clothes. And I want to make peace with food. I am 25 years old and I don't want to give up on myself yet. I just need to stay motivated, stay positive, and stay on track. "Even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there."

1 Cor. 10:12-13

Hottie Stats Boy & Ethel

Here's a good story for you.

There once was a girl named....well, let's change her name to keep her anonymous. We'll call her Ethel. There once was a girl named Ethel. Ethel really hated math. However, the University of Iow....well, let's change it to keep Ethel anonymous....the University of Hawkeyes required that all psychology majors take STATISTICS (duh duh duh <---scary music). So Ethel enrolled in (duh duh duh) STATISTICS.

Ethel was actively "involved" with someone who was the perfect boy, however, there was this boy that Ethel liked to call "Hottie Stats Boy" in her (duh duh duh) STATISTICS class. It made it all the worth while to go to class, even though she hated it. Why did SHE care what the probability of throwing a 6 was if you tossed a die 100 times?!

Anyway, Ethel really enjoyed "stalking" hottie stats boy, even though she was romantically involved with someone else. In fact, she would be very sneaky & liked to think of herself as a spy or a secret agent when she'd go on her semi-covert ops to find out things like "What is Hottie Stats Boy's real name?" There are numerous ways to go about finding this information....such as timing the delivery of her homework paper onto the pile at the exact moment AFTER he has laid his down (not an easy task considering the number of people in the section). After sorta-kinda seeing what his name was, Ethel was able to use her powers on "Stalker-Net" AKA the online university phone/email info that you can look up. Only problem was, there were 2 boys with the name(s) that Ethel thought might be Hottie Stats Boy's real name. So...then she decides to be a super sleuth and call 411 INFORMATION. Oh yeah, Ethel did. The only problem....? The boys with the similar names....BOTH lived on the SAME STREET. So...Ethel had to inconspicuously follow Hottie Stats Boy home from class one day to see where he lived. Then, she began taking walks by his house....just for exercise....

Anyway, long story short, Ethel thought Hottie Stats Boy was pretty cute....Ethel's romantically involved other thought that Ethel was crazy for stalking Hottie Stats Boy, but found her charades and escapades quite laughable and endearing. One day Ethel finally got up the courage to talk to Hottie Stats Boy in class...she mentioned that she noticed that he had missed a class. Hottie Stats Boy replied, "Oh....yeah....(in his dumbest voice ever)....I was sunbathing in my backyard & fell asleep."

UGH. Ethel was shocked. Why did he sound so....stupid?! Why had she broken the HOTTIE barrier by trying to communicate with him. Things were better between Ethel & Hottie Stats Boy before she began attempting to engage him in meaningful conversation. After he spoke those words...the affair was over. He just WASN'T as hot anymore to her.

So...live & learn my friends...live & learn....

Here's to 9 years!

Well, it seems crazy to even mention it, but on November 25th, Jake & I unofficially "celebrated" being "together" for 9 years. 9 years....that means, 9 years ago I was a sophomore in high school...naive, skinny (well, much skinnier than I am now...), boy crazy, and I've had lots of different hair-dos since then.

Little did I know that the boy I met at the National Catholic Youth Conference in Kansas City 9 Novembers ago would someday end up to be the love of my life, the one I'd marry, and the man I couldn't be more proud of for his sense of loyalty and duty to those in distress.

We spent our "anniversary" apart of course - he working the streets & me helping a friend address invitations for her wedding. Still, when I came downstairs at 5 AM the next morning to feed the dog, a bouquet of red roses and a card sat on the counter waiting for me.

*SIGH* The butterflies in your tummy feeling never gets old...

Working retail...

So I've been considering getting a second job. Something to work evenings & maybe weekends, while Jake is working to keep me busy, meet some people, and gain some extra cash. Honestly, I haven't been thinking about it THAT seriously, but I have been thinking about how I want a new house, wish I had more money, and could pay a housekeeper.

First of all, I DID have a cleaning lady to my house today. It was a fabulous feeling to know she was slaving away at my house with scrubbing buckets & Lysol while I worked here. I think paying someone to do shit work is an amazing concept. I highly advocate it. Actually, since we have an extra bedroom in our house, I was thinking maybe we should see if there's some trustworthy college student out there that needs free room & board in exchange for being my personal maid. I would LOVE that.

Anyway, back on the topic…I was thinking of all of the places that are currently hiring for holiday help. One of my favorite and least favorite jobs was working at a bookstore in the mall. There are a number of good and bad things about working at such a place. I will try to outline them here:

Working in a mall you see ALL SORTS of people. Gang bangers, old ladies, screaming children, dads who have no clue what they're even doing at a mall, etc. My favorites were Christmas Eve at 4:58 PM the men who would walk through the doors and be like "Give me something…anything…." and we'd hand them a $50 coffee table book on any number of topics that we had strategically placed by the "cash wrap" for just these sorts of "emergencies."

Working for a corporation, you have to follow what they dictate. For instance, if they tell you to say something when you answer the phone "Goodafternoon,XBookstore,whereyoubuy4bargainbooksandgetthe5thonefreethisisemilyhowcanIhelpyou?!," you have to do it. And don't even get me started on those "Secret Shopper" people.

No. We can not give you change for a dollar to get a stroller. And no, we can't give you your money back for that annoying game/ride/junk food machine that ate your quarters. Yes, we'd be glad to sell you one of these overpriced chocolates for $0.49 plus tax so we can open our register and give you change.

I really loved the people who would come into the store and immediately after crossing the threshold from tile to carpet would have this blank look on their faces. When I'd approach and ask if I could help them find something they'd say, "A book."
Me: "Wonderful….well, you're in the right place, we have thousands of titles!"
Customer: "Darn it…I just forgot what the title of the book was. A friend recommended it."
Me: "Well, if you could tell me a little about it, I may be able to help you locate it."
Customer: "It's red."
Me: "What's red?"
Customer: "I think the cover has red on it."
Me: "Anything else? We have a lot of titles with 'red on it'"
Customer: "Um….I think it has the word 'and' in the title?"
Me: "Wow. That would be like, half the books we have in here." *THIS IS THE POINT WHERE I WANT TO PUNCH THEM IN THE OVARIES.*

This is another favorite story of mine. As many of you may know, "adult magazines" are sold at bookstores. They are usually kept on the top shelf of the racks, so that children and pre-pubescent boys cannot reach them with their grimy little fingers. One day I noticed a group of MAYBE 14 year olds giggling around the magazine rack. It was pretty obvious what they were doing. 3 of them eventually ditched their friend and made that unlucky guy come up to the register to make his purchase. I was going to relish this one.
Customer: *Throws nudie mag up onto counter like he's "cool" and like I have no idea what he's doing.*
Me: *Very nonchalant.* "May I see your ID?
Customer: Oh, I need an ID to buy this? (His voice may have even cracked).
Me: Uh, yeah you need to be 18 to purchase this magazine.
Customer: Oh, sure…(He fumbles with his tiny wallet. It may have even had Velcro on it. I see him flip PAST his LEARNERS PERMIT.) Jeez…it looks like I left my DRIVERS LICENSE in my CAR. (He stresses DRIVERS LICENSE and CAR like someone would if they DIDN'T have a DRIVERS LICENSE or a CAR.)
Me: Well, when your mom comes to pick you up, maybe you could ask her for it. I'll keep this back behind the counter for you. *FLASHES 1,000 watt smile*

And the best story yet. As some of you may know, when I was 14-16 I was a little "boy crazy" shall we say? Well, at one point I was in a theatre production of Sweeney Todd. The guy who played Sweeney was this guy at least 10 years older than me, dark, brooding, etc. He NEVER talked to us, the lowly high school stage fillers. That's why he was so attractive to me, perhaps? It was ridiculous really, but I had this HUGE stalkerish crush on him. Well, one night after one of our performances, we had a fancy reception at a local bistro. I attended with the other high school cast members. "Sweeney" attended with HIS WIFE. He had a WIFE. How could he have a WIFE when there are perfectly beautiful 15 year olds like me?! I was crushed. I talked crap about this woman all night long with my high school friends, shooting her dirty looks, picking apart her every move and her fashion for the evening, and wondering how he could pick someone like HER when there were people like ME in the world?! The worst thing about this whole thing? She totally KNEW I was jonesing on her husband, and she was perfectly happy to antagonize me, or so I thought. Anyway, long story short, when I went to get a job at said bookstore, who do I have the interview with but SWEENEY'S WIFE. Yeah…and she even HIRED me!? She was my boss. And she didn't hate my guts. And I was SO completely embarrassed…too embarrassed to ever hate her. The best part about it was that she was a totally sweet woman.And very gracious about NOT ever mentioning my embarrassing actions (such as writing love notes to her husband along with making lipstick kisses on his door with the rest of the "7th Floor Whores" (as we were affectionately called because of our 7th floor dressing room at the Capital Theatre). Lesson learned: Don't ever flirt with married men. You never know who their wife could be! :)

So….perhaps I'll go see about getting a job at a bookstore again. Or maybe I should just be content with my pool boy, Raul…

Tired of litterbugs?

I don't know how many times I've been mindlessly driving down the road, when all of a sudden a car in front of me will toss any number of items out of their car window. Have you ever had to swerve to avoid someone else's McDonald's bag filled with their garbage as it's hurtling through the air? It's getting ridiculous. And, living on one of the busy streets in town, I really loathe having to pick up old cigarette packs, sticky Wendy's drive through cups, diapers, you name it...It's rude, it's irresponsible, and it's just dirty.

Iowa has now enacted a helpful little system. When you see someone littering from their vehicle, you can call a toll free number and report it. Once it has been reported (you leave as much info as possible - time, location, description of litter, vehicle description, and licenese plate number) they will send the "offender" a letter and a garbage bag! :) No further action is taken & it's mostly just a little "helpful reminder" that someone noticed their naughtiness. I was so excited by this news, that I promptly put the phone number into my cell phone, so that the next time I saw someone doing this distardly deed I could report them. And, I am happy to report that I did just that last week!

I was sitting at a stop light, and all of a sudden a car zooms past me, and out flies some garbage. I dialed the number, listened to their message, and reported what I had seen. I am hoping that it might make a difference and that people will start thinking about how their actions affect others. So many times I've seen adults with young children tossing items out of their car windows. What is that sort of behavior teaching our children?!

*SIGH* I know I sound like an old fogey, but seriously, just be responsible for your actions and place your garbage in the appropriate places. Don't people realize when they don't make it THEIR problem it becomes everyone ELSE'S problem?

Just in case you're all wondering, the phone number to call & report litterbugs is 1-888-NO-LITTR (665-4887). Learn it, live it, love it. For more info, go to KeepIowaBeautiful.com.

To touch a life

I found out the other day that my 6th grade German teacher had passed away. Working at the church, I knew that his family would be holding his funeral here. Today my teacher's family was here to plan his funeral. I had mentioned to Monsignor that this teacher had taught me the Hail Mary in German, the colors of the rainbow, the German National Anthem, and some Christmas carols. During the family's preparations, Monsignor must have mentioned it to them. When he came into my office to make some copies, he said the family would like to hear me say the Hail Mary in German.

Put on the spot, I immediately turned him down, thinking only of myself, and saying I'd be too embarrassed. It was over 12 years ago that I learned these things, and while I pride myself on having a good memory, I'd be making a fool of myself in front of them if they understood German and sat there idly listening to me butcher the words of a beautiful prayer. Monsignor encouraged me, saying they were "looking forward" to hearing me say the prayer for them.

Reluctantly I agreed and followed him into the dining room to meet with the grieving family. There sat my teacher's three sons, and they asked if I'd please say the prayer for them. I told them what their father had taught me many years ago…even that I still remembered how to say "I need a sip of water." Then, they asked if I'd please say the prayer. So I tried…I did my best. It sounded so strange to me, as I haven't said it aloud for, probably, 12 years. As I said the prayer, one brother closed his eyes, another had tears welling up in his. When I had finished they told me thank you, said it was beautiful, etc. I left sheepishly to continue working at my desk.

As Monsignor ushered them out, they were thanking me again, and the one with tears in his eyes said "Emily, thank you. I will never, ever forgot those words you said today…"

How touching. How nice to know that a simple gesture like praying in another language and showing these men what I was taught years ago by their father, would be such a blessing to them in their time of grief. I was humbled today.

Proof of how awesome I am

You are just jealous of me because you didn't spill a full glass of ice water all over the projects on your desk, your keyboard, yourself, and the floor today at work....yeah...I was sitting there with a wet crotch for about an hour. However, prior to this mishap, I was having a very good "I have good hair, I have a good outfit, and I even smell kinda nice today" day.

Also, in case you're looking for a surefire way to totally kill the mood and make sure there's NO chance your significant other/spouse would like to have sex with you some evening, just bust out your junior high instrument & start jazzing around on it, playing such songs as You Are the Sunshine of My Life, Tomorrow (Theme from Annie), Gonna Fly Now (AKA the theme song from Rocky), or What's Love Got to Do With It? Pretty sure I REALLY turned him on tonight with my best flute renditions of 80's pop music...

See, now don't you wish you were as awesome as me?

Just some ramblings...

1) I got a new 'do. The girl worked friggin miracles on my head. I'm hot now. That IS a miracle. Praise me now.

2) GO HAWKS! Enough said.

3) I want to be a mom. There. I said it. I think it'd be hilarious to have kids. They're just funny little creatures. Hopefully, they won't have underdeveloped raptor arms because of all the margarita drinking I do (which isn't much).

4) New season of Nip/Tuck. It's strange...but it always is. I think next week's show is going to be fabulous. Didn't see the Scientology aspect coming. If you don't watch it, you should get on that...

5) I <3 spicy chicken sandwiches. Buffalo Wild Wings, here I come.

September 11, 2001

5 years after this horrible tragedy, we still remember. The QC Times recently asked readers to share their story...I emailed them with my experiences that day, and they asked me to be a part of their coverage.

My "story" is in the paper/website on Monday, September 11, and my video interview is available online through this link.

http://www.qctimes.com/articles/2006/09/11/other/911/doc450328a159eac689659317.txt

Complete 9/11 coverage can be found at www.qctimes.com/other/911

True Story

I didnt believe people ACTUALLY did this outside of horrible teen movies.

We were at a get-together with some friends in Bettendorf hanging out on a back patio around 11:30 PM. We werent being excessively loud, and besides, it was a Saturday night on a holiday weekend. All of a sudden we hear the neighbors start slamming the windows shut. Up & down, up and down. Then we see lights in the room closest to the patio on the 2nd floor flashing on & off (a bit like a strobe light). Then come the animal noises (Im not kidding you). We were being barked, meowed, and roared at. I'm thinking, OK, neighbors whatever sorts of kinky sex you have, please dont involve US. Lights flashing, windows slamming, and animal noises-wild! At this point I'm still thinking were dealing with coherent adults that are just being childish.

Soon, the window flies open again, the lights are flashing, the drapes are pulled back, and all of a sudden we see in the window, BARE NAKED ASS. WOAH. Lights continue to flash, people at our party are now more interested in whats going on in the 2nd story window than they are with drinking & conversating on the patio. Jake decides to go get his handy dandy police flashlight from his truck, and were ready for them the next time they fling the window open. This time we see something actually coming OUT of the window. Jake shines the flashlight onto the 2nd story window. It's a leg. A teenage girl leg. Then another leg comes out. Then the legs start spreading. Jake quickly turns the flashlight off. We've already seen enough overexposed teenager for the night, thankyouverymuch. The legs go back inside, and the lights go on & off again a number of times. Then, we hear something come out the window. Jake cautiously shines the flashlight this time and we all see, hanging from the window, sets of bedsheets tied together, that hang almost to the ground. Next thing we know, we see these girls attempting to shimmy out of the 2nd story window using the bedsheets! The people at the party have all been witnessing the crazy antics & all start yelling at them to stop, theyre going to fall, kill themselves, you cant REALLY climb out a 2nd story window on bedsheets like you see in the movies, etc. The girl pulls herself back in the window then sticks her face out & SHHHHHH!'s us! This gets us laughing. Really, honey. You have now kicked your house multiple times. You have slammed the window & made numerous animal noises. If your parents ARE home, they have, by now, undoubtedly heard you. If you are TRULY trying to sneak out of your house, might we suggest creeping down the stairs & just using the front door?! Soon after we were shushed they went downstairs & raided the refrigerator for a midnight snack, while the forlorn bedsheets continued to hang out the window.

It was quite amusing. Next time, I'll let them try it, instead of trying to stop them & getting shushed. You never know where there could be a market for stuff like that. I could have won $10,000 on Americas Funniest Home Videos, or perhaps started a website called TeenTumbles.com. It just cracks me up to know that they were actually attempting it. My question is, what were the bedsheets TIED to? Can you imagine some 150 pound girl hanging herself out a 2nd story window on bedsheets as her little single bed they are tied to goes flying across the room?!

Baby Brother goes to Junior High

"MORNING WOOD!"

I wonder if these are the words my baby brother will hear, just like I did, on his first day of Junior High. OK, OK, I know all you Davenporters are saying "It's called Intermediate. We weren't cool enough to get to say we were in Junior High." To you I say, whatever. My baby brother is going to junior high today.

I truly was a little anxious for him. 6th grade! In a brand new, big school. With big 8th grade boys, and even scarier, 6th, 7th, and 8th grade girls who are looking more and more like 16 year olds by the day. UGH...that thought just makes my stomach hurt. Apparently, when he went to unpack your backpack night, he was barraged by "hellos" from everyone who walked by him. He had girls "following" him & giggling to tell him hi, and he got numerous comments on his new haircut (which is a good thing, as it was very overgrown). He's a hottie. I have to face it. My baby brother is total, heartbreaker, hottie. He's like THE popular kid. The totally popular, nice, super sweet, cool, hottie guy. And he plays the drums. UGH....be still my heart.

He told me there's a 6th grade "fling" (AKA dance). He's mortified because my mom signed up to help. She won't be in the dance or anything, she'll be serving refreshments. But still. How unhip is that? And, he has a girlfriend. They email each other back & forth. I gave him some tips on internet dating. For instance, always end with a question...that way the conversation never stops. She always has a reason to email you back. *SIGH* Young love. When he told me about the "fling" I told him about the 8th grade dance. Yeah, you all remember it. When I mortified myself by asking Brian to go with me? What? You don't recall? I'll remind you of the horrors.

Brian...my best friend. I thought I'd ask him. I'd be all sweet & nice. Sure I had a bit of a crush...but whatever. I'd stick a special little note inside his saxophone case when he wasn't looking. I was totally nervous...embarassed about it...but I sucked it up & did it. With all the guts it took to ask him, there was no way he could say no. Big mistake. Not only did he shoot me down, he went as far as asking a 7th grader (A SEVENTH GRADER) to the dance instead. Crushed. Heartbroken. I told my baby brother to nevereverever break a girls' heart by doing something so jerky as to invite a lowly 7th grader to an 8th grade dance.

I hope his first day went well. I hope no one tripped him in the hall or slammed his locker shut or made him drop his books. I hope he got French fries if he wanted French fries and that he didnt forget his locker combo or his lunch pin number or where he was supposed to go next. Perhaps Im being a smother motherbut I still cant help but think Wasnt he just going into Kindergarten?!

Beauty Tips

This is a poem Audrey Hepburn wrote when asked to share her "beauty tips." It was read at her funeral years later.

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.

For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair, let a child run his/her fingers through it once a day.

For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.

People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone. Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you will find one at the end of each of your arms.

As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands; one for helping yourself, and the other for helping others.

My husband has a "man-purse"

Jake has what I call a "man purse" - it's actually called a "Jumbo Fat Boy Versapack" (whatever). Anyway, all the cops he works with have them so they can carry their pieces with them in public without having a holster, etc. Before he got it I said, "It's a man purse. No matter what they call it, it's a man purse. You will either look like a man carrying a purse with a gun in it, or like you are a diabetic that needs to carry your supplies at all times." He said, "Then I'll let people think I'm a diabetic." And I said, "That's too bad, because you look like a man carrying a purse with a gun in it."

Granted, it DOES just look like a smaller version of a messenger bag...but I really do wonder what people thinks when he's walking through the store with it. Like "Hmm, nice man purse, dude!"

The Embarassing Purchases Rule

The embarrassing purchases rule is an inverse proportion. The more embarrassing the purchase, the more likely that someone you DONT want to see you, will. Or, in this case will make comments.

It must be a requirement that if you feel uncomfortable or embarrassed about purchasing something, someone either

a) has to come up to you that you haven't seen in forever or whose relationship with you furthers the embarrassment, like a 2nd grade teacher, a priest, or your grandma,

b) asks a question of you that the response is not just yes/no, but involves a detailed answer,

or c) has to make some comment to you regarding the product that you never cared to know, because it probably involved personal information about them.

For instance, Emily recently purchased a home pregnancy test (further referred to as an HPT). Brian, dont even start any rumors, and everyone, stop freaking out. I'm not with child and by recent, I mean months ago. I decide to not make a special trip out to an ambiguous drug store, where I probably could have saved myself much embarrassment, and decide to just add it to the list of items I need to pick up while on a trip to Wal-Mart. As Im heading to the checkout line, Im really proud of myself because I havent run into anyone I know that might be scanning my cart for embarrassing purchases. The girl at the counter is all of 18 (OK, Ill give her the benefit of the doubt and go with 20). She is a little chubby (nothing wrong with chubby folks, just saying) and is wearing a WWJD bracelet (What WOULD Jesus Do?). I place all of my items onto her conveyor belt and when she comes to the HPT, she must have felt compelled to say something, because she did. Oh, good luck! I hope its a positive. My boyfriend & I are trying tooand this might be the month! WOW. Really? OK, first of all, just because I am purchasing an HPT, doesnt mean I want a positive. You should not go wishing good luck on people purchasing HPTs, especially at Wal-Mart. And thankyouverymuch Miss WWJD I Have No Wedding Ring for sharing your reproductive business with me. OK, that was horribly judgmental, but I just didnt need to know youre knocking the boots. EW.

Fast forward to yesterday. Im at Dollar Tree (perhaps this is my fault for frequenting these deep discount stores) to purchase some items. I grab a few bags of these fabulous fat free pretzel nuggets they sell, and another embarrassing purchase, 7, yes SEVEN, ovulation predictor kits. All of a sudden theres a huge line, only one register open, and the lady ringing people up is from my church. WHY, God, why? Im standing there, holding my purchases, just waiting for someone to come up and see me that hasnt seen me in years. All of a sudden another line opens, and I run over there. Its a guy, so Im positive he wont say anything embarrassing. He probably doesnt even know what an ovulation predictor kit is. And besides, there are pretzels in there to throw him off. Instead, he picks them up and says, I just have to askyou DO realize these are ovulation predictor kits and not pregnancy tests? Ohmygodummmyeah? You did not just "have to ask" and just because most of the people in your store cant read, doesnt mean I cant? OK, again, horribly judgmental and rude to think that. But, HELLO. Doesnt look like Im knocked up yet. And WHY would I need SEVEN pregnancy tests at once? I mumble yes and dig my money out. UGH.

Perhaps Im just sensitive about this stuffor maybe I just need to be like Hey Emily, youre an adult, you can make adult purchases and stop being so wacky about it. But honestly, if youre ringing me up, its none of your business what Im buying. Comment on our weather. Tell me you love that flavor of Pringles. Ask me if I want paper or plastic. But you should never, ever, ever comment on selections such as

v Tampons
v Adult diapers
v Condoms
v HPTs
v Ovulation Predictor Kits
v Bean-o
v Anti-diarrhea medicine
v Nudie mags
v Enemas

This list is not all inclusive. And dont even THINK about starting any rumors. :)

Itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny, yellow polka-dot bikini...

OK, people. The age old question:

Does this mean that:
A) the bikini is yellow and has polka dots?
B) the bikini has yellow polka dots?

I will not influence you with my own hypothesis. Please submit your answers by making "comments." Yes, this is interactive.

Explosives

Around this time of year, little temporary booths begin to pop up around town, peddling small fireworks & sparklers for the upcoming Independence Day holiday. However, if one is clever, you'll notice that many of these little stands are poised in, none other than, GAS STATION PARKING LOTS.

WHO, praytell, was the GENIUS that thought THAT one up!? "Hmmm...let's put gasoline AND explosives together, just in case there's a little spark!"

We all know that bad things can happen...I mean, look at what happened to Derek Zoolander's male model friends...

Somedays I wish I was a pirate

Pirates are cool. They're bullies, they drink a lot, they get to wear an eye patch (even if they don't have a lazy eye), some of them have hooks & wooden legs (which would show they're very worldly people, I guess), they get to wear bandanas and have names like Ninnybuck Slipbones (OK, maybe that wasn't very pirate-ish, but whatever). Sometimes I'd really like to go around to places like Target or the hardware store with a parrot on my shoulder and say "ARRRGGGHHH, Matey!" and "SHIVER ME TIMBERS!" just to see how people would react.

Actually, one day right about the time we closed on our house (5.26.05, just for reference) I was wearing a plastic Batman mask around Wal-Mart as my parents, sister, and brother helped me accessorize the new house with things like welcome mats and tableclothes. Anyway, I was in a wacky mood (Jake was soon to be home from the war) and I was wearing one of these backback purses. This woman STOPS me in the aisle & says, "That's great! That's just great! We need more people in the world like you!" And I say, "Why, thank you!" and she follows up with, "What grade are you in?" I think she thought I was special ed. Still, it made us laugh then, and it makes me laugh now.

So, in conclusion, be a fruitcake once in awhile. Go out in public and do crazy, non-law breaking things sometimes, just to make people wonder what you sprinkled your Cheerios with this morning. It'll be worth it when you're 89 years old and you can't remember anything you just did, but you can remember really great stories from your past!

Big Hucking Racoon

You all know those stupid Burger King Commercials...big bucking chicken, big hucking chicken...yes, yes...well, this is all about a big hucking racoon.

This story begins on Saturday night. Jake & a friend are watching UFC, and I have retired upstairs to go to sleep, since I have had all of 4 hours since the previous night of partying. It is 10:30 PM, and I'm just drifting off when my phone rings & it's my sister, screaming. She wants to talk to Jake....I'm so tired I tell her to hang up & call his phone, but she yells at me to just give the phone to him. I tiredly make my way down stairs and hand him the phone, and he gets an earful as well.

The situation, I find out, is that there is a RACOON in the vent/register/whathaveyou at my parent's house. Jake grabs his gun (yes, he actually grabbed his gun) and we hopped in the car (pajamas & all). When we get to the house the scene is as such: the front door is wide open, mom, sister, brother & friend are all upstairs watching the scene from above, and all the doors are closed to other rooms. Dad is ready to hand Jake his weapon of choice; a fireplace poker, a broom, or a snow shovel. I am already giggling at the absurdity of this whole scene, and Jake is already getting T-O'ed at me for thinking it's hilarious. I think he even said "If you think this is so funny, why don't you come down here yourself!" Apparently these little suckers can be vicious and harbor rabies. Ew. It was so funny watching him weilding a firepoker & shovel at this poor thing. Additionally, someone made the comment that if Jake shot the racoon, we'd have bullet holes in the floor and blood stains on the carpet, which would be really fun to point out at the annual Christmas Luminary party (since the house already looks very National Lampoons Christmas Vacation with all the lights).

So dad & Jake try to lure the critter out of the floor vent with some food - Jake bowls it across the carpet & gets it set just perfectly with the snow shovel. Then, we wait. We can see it a few times as it almost pokes it's head out - 2 little claws and a snout, but he never comes far enough out to grab the food. Dad decides it's a great idea to turn on the heat, because if he's in the vents, we don't want him moving around in there, laying little racoon babies, or getting close to the furnace. So, the heat is on full blast, we're all upstairs sweating to death, and while I'm still laughing, Jake is getting more and more agitated with me. Sister had tried calling animal control, we had called the police, and there was no luck, as the animal control people were in Dubuque and the police were tied up with important calls. We searched the phone book and found just 2 listings, neither of which answered. Jake got some numbers from the PD dispatchers for people we could call & we made arrangements with a chimney sweep guy to come out. $60 for a trip, $90 an hour. He arrived quickly with large, elbow length gloves, a trap/cage, and one of those long pole/noose things that you see on Animal Planet or Cops. I'm still laughing...perhaps it was lack of sleep, but seriously, how is a racoon in the vent NOT funny?

The boys ended up having to take apart the vent from down below, and the racoon did end up moving from one side of the house to the other. Once the Animal Trapper Man had noosed it's leg & they got it outside, it ran up into the tree & they shined a flashlight on it - that thing was a BIG HUCKING RACOON! Soon after it was outside, Jake & I returned home to our non-racoon infested home to go to sleep.

When he thinks I'm sleeping

Jake works 2nd shift, and now that it's summer, he's ALWAYS working late because there is more stuff going on in the streets, and more reports. I am almost always sleeping when he gets home. Sometimes he "talks" to me, but I am so sleepy that I have no idea what he says, or can't remember it the next day. So when I wake up the next day & ask him, he always laughs and just says he can't tell me. One night I actually heard what he said...he apologized for being grumpy lately, and he told me he loved me so much. I pretended I was asleep, but I smiled to myself, knowing what he actually said. He's super sweet when he thinks I'm sleeping!

"Held" by Natalie Grant

I heard the song Held by Natalie Grant on Sunday night on my way home from a Christian book group that I share with a couple of girlfriends. I sat in my car and listened to the words, and tried to take it all in. At first I didn't understand what all the song was trying to tell me. I got the jist of it, but wasn't really sure why it wasn't more hopeful, more encouraging...so I googled it & came up with this link...http://www.womenbygrace.com/spiritual-articles/when-bad-things-happen.htm

This explanation tied in very well to a conversation the girls & I had had that evening. I had talked about how difficult it was sometimes to let go of the past. For instance, Jake was overseas for a year, and gone for the first 16 months of our marriage. Somedays, it's difficult to put that behind me. Sometimes it's difficult to not resent him for not being there when I needed him most. Somedays I'm angry that my "plan" and our "plan" for our lives didn't go the way we thought it would. And perhaps the deployment was the reality check I needed.

Once in awhile I'll reflect on that experience & think about all that I gained from it - I grew as an individual, our marriage was strengthened because we only had communication to make it work those first 16 months, and I grew closer to my family and his. On the other hand, some days I think about how awful it was, and the pain, desperation, and anxiety all comes flooding back to me and I'm reminded that it was the most difficult time of my life. It was a time when I felt so alone, yet was surrounded by people the whole time. It was a time when I thought I could handle it all myself...that I didn't need to ask for help from friends, or didn't want them to know that I needed to ask for their help. Instead of reaching out, I turned in and pushed everyone away, including God. I was reading a book at the time by Jennifer Weiner called In Her Shoes & came across this line: "She could remember standing there, feeling utterly empty, as if a giant hand had scooped out everything inside of her - her guts, her heart - and left her looking the same, but not being the same at all." and felt so much like that was ME. I could relate completely with that statement. That everything in my life had changed, but on the outside, nothing looked any different.

Now that Jake is back home, and we've returned to some sort of "normalcy" (whatever that means?!) I've gotten back on the right track with my friends, and gotten back into my relationship with God. I'm learning about what the song Held talks about...how when you feel most alone, when you feel abandoned, that God is always there for you to turn to. Sometimes it's a matter of us abandoning him, and not the other way around. Sometimes, all we need to do is ask, surrender, admit that we need help...when it doesn't make sense, when it isn't fair, when we can't find our way in what is happening to us. All we really need is to be held.