Of Insignificant Importance

I bought a Pilates DVD not too long ago with the hopes that I would magically become motivated enough to get my ass into shape (literally) before London in May (which, if you look at my countdown counter, is nearing). As great as toning my powerhouse is, all the stretching in the world isn't going to reduce the ever-growing lovehandles that have mysteriously appeared sometime between my college cheerleading days and the last time I ate McDonalds*.

Realizing that I wasn't going to escape the fact that I need some serious cardio in my life in order to reach the goal of 15 Lost Pounds before May 26th, I set out to my local Wal-Mart to buy yet another $9 DVD. I keep my work-outs high class.

I found a Denise Austin** "Burn Fat Fast--Dance Party!" DVD that tempted me. I like dancing. I like parties. I like that it's $9. Sold.

Right away I thought to myself, "Hmm...Denise Austin. Sounds like a porn name***". I should have let that be my first indicator and chosen the "Salsa Thin" DVD instead.

I'm not sure how many of you will understand this reference, but this woman is a cross between any woman porn star and Molly Shannon. Her voice is similar to Mary Katherine Gallagher, and she says "encouraging" phrases such as:

"Oh yeaaaah...feels SO good....you LIKE burning that fat, don't you?"
"MMMM...you KNOW you want to increase your flexibility."
"OOOOOH YES! We're DANCING that fat away. Do you like that?"

And she's got that gruff, scratch voice that makes you think that either she's a long-time smoker or she's been working those phone lines too long.

She also says things that make me want to punch her in her peppy little face:

"Let me see that smiling face!" (after our "power move" has concluded and I'm nearly passed out)
"Make this move your own! It's YOUR dance party!"
"Do the BEST that YOU can!"

As much as I make fun of her, and myself for actually buying this thing, I can't deny the fact that I'm sweating and my heart's a-pounding when I'm cooling down. Props to you, Denise Austin.

I just hope Huw never does what Chris Cope did.



*The people in the drive-thru by my apartment know me now.
**Apparently, she was the clumsy cousin on Three's Company.
***Not that I would know.

I trudged into the kitchen at my respective place of work this morning to find notes of a rather rude nature Scotch-taped pretty much everywhere I turned. They read:


...and who can forget...


...and, of course, the MEMO (dah dah dahhhhhhhh):

"Due to the unacceptable condition of the Division break room sink filled with dishes, cups and other items for more than a week, the following will go into effect immediately. All items left in the sink at the end of the work day (5 p.m.) will be discarded."

Our small group here thinks it was the Kitchen Fairy putting her Brusque Wand to use. She must mean business. I can't say I disagree completely, however. The smell wafting from the sink drain could have killed a small horse.

I thought this might compliment the entry that my Huw posted a time ago. Discuss.

Believe it or not (but you should believe it), I was not the coolest 10th grader in the history of 10th grade students. Throughout middle school I was known as a "schoolgirl", and the fact that I had won "Best Overall Girl" for three consecutive years (I think, at least two) of middle school didn't exactly help my coolness factor. I wore brown glasses that were way too big for my face, cried if I got a "B" on a test (which didn't happen often, mind you), and earned the moniker "Poodlegirl" for my poofy permed hair (yes, including permed bangs). I didn't find out until my Senior year of high school that I was called this, nor that I was the girl equivalent of the most disgusting girlfriend prospect that the popular boys would torture each other with. Observe:

Popular Boy #1: "Dude, you are so dorky."
Popular Boy #2: "Shut up, Dude, I am not...YOU are!"
PB#1: "Nuh uh...you're so dorky, I bet [Me Over Here] is your girlfriend and you kiss her everyday!"
All PBs: "OOOOOOHHHHH"
***silence***
PB#2: "Dude, that's SO not cool. Take it back."
PB#1: "NO TAKE BACKS!"

So began the torturous journey that was my middle school/early high school experience.

Because I couldn't shake this reputation, I had no chance with the shallow but popular boys I dreamt about being my boyfriends. So, I took what I could get. Consequently, what follows is the story of my first kiss.

Fast forward to me in 10th grade (about 15 years old) whining yet again in one of my classes about how I'd never have a boyfriend. A girl in my class suggested I consider dating one of her twin brothers, older than me, used to go to the same school, but had recently moved to a neighboring town. Because I was desperate to validate my femininity, I told her I'd think about it and get back to her. Well, not 2 days later, I had one of the Twins calling me up at my house and asking me if I'd like to go rollerblading in a park near his town. (Leave me alone, it was the '90s)

After obtaining a signed permission slip from my parents to go on a very unofficial "date", Twin picked me up and we began our 45-minute drive to the park. Along the way, we passed by a building that looked like a large castle from a fairy tale.

Twin: "See that building?"
Me, shyly: "MmmHmm"
Twin: "I belong to the group that meets there."
Me: "Really? What group?"
Twin: "[blah blah] Masonry Knights [something blah blah]"
Me, not knowing what he's saying: "That's so cool!"

So, that was Weird Incidence #1.

Rollerblading was, well, all that rollerblading could be: uneventful and clumsy. After that, we played Laser Tag, and after getting nice and sweaty and stinky, we settled into a theater to watch a movie (this was a full-service date, I'll give him that!). Not gonna lie--there was some hand-holding during the movie, and because things were going seemingly well, I got a little flip-flop butterfly feeling in my tummy.

The movie ended with just enough time to get me home to make my curfew. As Twin spouted off some incoherent blather about the stars and their alignment, one thought consumed my mind: What if, just what if, he tries to kiss me?

I'd never been kissed before. Frankly, it's scared the piss out of me. What if it hurt? What if I was horrible at it? What if I didn't like it and would therefore be scarred for the rest of my life? Looking back, I understand that my first kiss was a pivotal moment in my life, but really, what was I so stressed out about?

I was snapped out of my panic-state when this declaration floated to my ears from Twin's Rubbish Mouth: "You know, [Me Over Here]...I could change your life if you let me."

Weird Incidence #2. I should have spotted it there. But, still consumed with thoughts of lip locks, I giggled nervously and said something to the effect of "cool" or "neat" or "okay". I know I still have insecurity and self-confidence issues now, but good Lord--back then, I would have let anyone convince me to do anything!

Anyway, as we neared my neighborhood, and my heightened state of panic reached chart-topping levels, I decided to be proactive and simply be honest with him. Which made me even more nervous. But it was either this, or put myself in a compromising position, so I opted for Option A. As we pulled in front of my house, I began:

Me: "[Twin], can I talk to you about something?"
Twin: "I am an open door." (or something equally corny)
Me: "Well, it's just that, um...I've never, you know...kissed anyone before. Andnotlikeyouwereplanningonkissingme
butifyouwereI'mnotsureI'mreadyforthat! (because I talk a lot and quickly when I'm nervous).
Twin: "Okay..."
Me: "It's just that, you know, I'm kinda scared to kiss someone, and I don't know if I'm ready to just yet, and I like you, but I think I should wait." (because I'm a prude)
Twin: "I won't do anything you're not comfortable with."
Me (relieved): "Okay, thank you so much for understanding!"

Pretty clear, right? I thought so, too.

Feeling a sense of relief and inner calmness, I sat, heartbeat slowing to a normal speed, and waited for him to walk around and open the car door for me. All in all, Weird Incidences aside, it had been a fun date with a reasonably nice guy, so I had decided that if he felt the same, I would agree to a second date. I was already getting excited at the prospect of THAT being my very first kiss ever!

Twin walked me to the start of my sidewalk, close to his car, and put his arms around me. Super, thinks I, he's going to give me a goodnight hug. What I got was far, far from a hug.

He kissed me. And not just a small peck on the lips. He came at me with his tongue. His tongue which was already out of his mouth as he swooped into my face. Before I had time to react, I felt his nasty, slimy lips on mine, and his tongue plunging around in my mouth like he was trying to tongue-mix a milkshake. And did his nasty mouth appendage stay in MY mouth? Nope. I swear, it had a mind of its own, and felt the need to explore, with saliva as its lubrication, my upper and lower lip, the little bridge thing between my nostrils, my chin, and yes, my left cheek. When he was done, I felt like I'd been slimed.

I didn't react. How could I? I was in a state of shock. Did I, or did I NOT JUST TELL HIM I WASN'T READY TO BE KISSED?!?!? Assface gave me a goofy smile.

Because I was so unsure of myself, I didn't slap him or use the choice words I was not allowed to say in my parent's or teacher's presence. Instead, I said, "Well, it's my curfew time, I should go in."

I turned to walk away, when I heard him say, "Wait". Then, I felt his hand on my arm, and in a lanky maneuver, he spun me around and grabbed me by the waist--a position I was all to familiar with now. And then he said, and I poo you not:

"One more for the road."

What the hell did that....SLIMED AGAIN!! He was "kissing" me for a second time, using extra spit and covering a larger surface area before. When he released, I was more in shock than the first time, so I just turned around and walked toward my front door. I can vividly remember the distinct smell of foreign spit lingering on my upper lip and yes, actually IN my nostrils this time. I can also recall the first though as I fell onto my bed that night: If this was what kissing consisted of, I never, ever, under ANY circumstance, wanted to do it again.

Needless to say (but I'm going to say it anyway), I declined Spitty Twin's invitation for a second date, and never spoke to him again. Luckily for me, the next kiss I experience was actually really pleasant, and although my first kiss makes for a good story, I will always be disappointed that it wasn't the fireworks-popping moment I imagined it would be in my pre-teen years. One positive result of that dreaded first kiss was the fear I implanted in my mind of becoming such a crappy kisser...I resolved that I would never leave a crusty layer of spit around some poor guy's mouth (or any other facial features), and because of that oath, I am (so I've been told) a great kisser.

I wonder where Twin is now. Probably somewhere lubing up a defenseless girl's nostrils with the vile smelling saliva that I'm sure he deems something like his "sure-fire, life changing, sex-getting ace in the hole". Assface.

When I was younger (ahem, a year ago) and I still lived with my parents, I was perfectly content with having the carpet on the floor in my room covered with items ranging anywhere from mateless socks to paper plates with dried soy sauce on them to unopened cans of chicken noodle soup. I actually found things I needed with more precision than if my room was tidy. My mom used to complain.

"How do you LIVE in this mess," she would inquire.
"What mess?" I would innocently ask (really, it looked fine to me).

With a curled upper lip she'd glare at me and direct me to "clean it up...NOW". Because I will never rid the Fear of my Mother which was instilled in me from birth, I would do as I was told. However, it would only be a matter of days before the tornado would come gusting through with stronger force, tossing about old college notes and high school cheerleading megaphones. When we couldn't find my dog for 2 days, at the end of which we discovered her buried beneath a pile of "clean" clothes under which I had been sleeping for about 2 weeks, I acknowledged there was a problem. But still, I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it. I was addicted to the mess.

Now, a year later, I find myself in a completly different situation. I can't STAND to have mismatched shoes leading me from my living room to my bedroom closet. The sight of dried toothpaste in my sink makes me gag a little, and we can all agree that that's not the most pleasant reflex when you're gargling with your Scope. And don't get me started on the dishes in my sink (that's right, I went old school and said "don't get me started". It helps if you say it out loud and with a head swivel and finger wag).

What is even more bizarre than my incessant need to keep my apartment organized (probably because it's the size of my closet back at my parent's house, but I digress) is then hour at which I choose to clean. It's normally at about 11PM, after Family Guy, and right at my prime bedtime. I just can't help myself...I must get that dried soup off of my stove burners, or so help me, I'll lay in bed sleepless just thinking about how dirty it looks and how, the longer I wait, the more stubborn the spot will become. But wait, there's more. Not only do I clean late at night, oh no, it doesn't stop there. It's like Lays Potato Chips with me and cleaning: I can't do just one (okay, so it's a modified saying, but I was trying to make a comparison, just cut me some slack).

Last night had me Liquid Plumbering my bathtub drain (I swear, how I still have hair on my head remains a mystery to me). After that, I scrubbed my toilet. Then I swept. Which lead to vaccuming. Then came the hangers, oh gosh, the hangers. I hung up clothes like no one has ever hung up clothes before. From there, the rest is a blur. All I know is I woke up this morning with a squeaky clean toilet lid and my remaining hangers sorted by color and type in my closet. Frankly, I'm worried.

Tonight, I impulsively filed my bill receipts. In chronological order. Then...then I used my paper shredder.

This is a cry for help, people. I'm ready. I'm ready for some much needed help.

The Internal Revenue Service of the good ol' United States of America is now going to fund my trip abroad.

That's one big, fat "thank you" to Uncle Sam. His wife as well. Hell, I'll thank their whole family.

In honor of this recent bit of good news, here's a picture of me and Huw during his trip down here in January. Ain't we just the cutest couple? Happy weekend!

One of my closest friends, Anna (or "Nanners", as I affectionately call her) is returning home, more than likely as I type this. She's been in Israel for the past 6 months working for The Man. And no, I don't mean some corporate hoity-toity big shot. I mean God.

I know I've posted one blog entry talking about God and faith and whatnot, but aside from that, I try to keep that part of my life close to me. I know some people would argue that that's not spreading God's Word, and that I'm being lazy about my faith. Well, you know what? I'm not going to deny that. God and I have our rocky patches. To me, He is truly like a parent. I accept and understand that He knows what's best for me, and yet, I still get very angry with Him for putting certain obstacles in they way of, well, my life. So truly, God and I have not always seen eye to eye, and yet, I never let Him go and, deep down, I know He never lets go of me. You know how I know this? There is no possible way that I could survive half of what I've gone though without Him backing me up. I'm just physically, mentally, and emotionally not that strong. But that's just me.

Anyway, even as I write this, I feel very uncomfortable. I always told myself I would not be one of those Christians you see on TBN at midnight, screaming scriptures from the Bible, palm-smacking people on the head, "healing" them as they faint into the arms of ginormous Bodyguard Christians. I have always felt that my purpose as a Christian was to work in the situations God lays before me, with the words and thoughts that I ask Him to provide. Otherwise, I'm a bumbling idiot. So, there you have it. A little more insight into a very personal, painful, yet completely necessary part of my life. The uncomfortable feeling remains.

Anyway, my reason for writing this horrifically jumbled blog post was to welcome home a very dear friend and personal mentor of mine. Many people would fall to the ground in the fetal position if faced with some of the things Anna has had to overcome. I believe she does this with an undying dedication to God, and the desire and will to live for Him. She is truly, in my opinion, the epitome of a Christian woman. I look up to and admire her, and I'm not sure I tell her this nearly enough.

I'm not knowledgable on how the time differences work between Israel and the US, and I haven't the brain power to do a simple Google search at this hour, so I will assume that, between the hours I'm at work tomorrow, she will fly home to American soil.

Now, if you will allow me the pleasure of turning things back to myself (as I am prone to do) and to my ramblings of God, I will show you how *I* believe He is working in my life as that certain "Dad that wants to protect you" role.

You will note from my earlier blog entry that I recently had my best friend move to another city, and this caused me a lot of pain for reasons I can't be bothered* to explain. So, when I was whining and complaining to Him about Nic moving away, he was preparing Anna to move back. I was so afraid to lose a friend again that I couldn't open my eyes for a second to see a friend was coming home. God has this really funny way of doing things like that in my life. And that's how I bring it back to me!

So, in a very long, drawn out, spiritually uncomfortable and unsettling blog post: Happy Return Home, Nanners. You've been missed but will be lovingly received and showered with many coffee nights (well, not LITERALLY showered because that would buuuuuuurn, but you know what I'm getting at).


Sidenote: I know many of you won't have much to say in the form of a comment to this post, so no worries if you don't. It was more for me than anything.


*Oooh, look! I used a Brit term!

• My shower drain is clogged, but that's okay, because when I open the shower curtain, there stares Peter Griffin, telling me that "that is freakin' sweet" (courtesy of my Family Guy calendar).
  
  
• It's hot in a third floor apatment in Texas in early March, but that's okay because I'm departing from my stinginess a bit, and letting myself have air conditioning at night.
  
  
• In order to save up for London, I have decided to restrict the luxuries I once could afford, but that's okay because I don't need food and I was looking for a way to lose weight anyway*.
  
  
• Sometimes I feel guilty and spoiled being a 20-something year old Grown Up and allowing my mother to still buy clothes and make-up for me, but that's okay because A.) I thank her profusely and B.) who am I to turn down cute, free clothes?
  
  
• Because my trip to London to see Huw is rapidly approaching, I have started to think about the important things, like what clothes I will wear. Seeing as how Huw's version of "warm" constitutes a Texas Winter, I am undoubtedly confused on my pending International Wardrobe. But that's okay, due to bullet #3 (thanks again, Mom!).
  
  
• With or without contacts, my eyes burn and it feels like someone is ripping out my eyeball attachy thingies** with hot pliers. I want laser eye surgery but can't afford it. But that's okay because, knowing my luck, I'd be the one out of 2 million people who goes blind due to a freak accident during the procedure.
  
  
• I'm disheartened because I have blown through two seasons of The O.C. in a manner of weeks, but that's okay because I've turned to my Friends.
  
  
• And finally, my computer gave me hell when trying to write this post, but that's okay because I fought off the urge to throw it out the window and gave you something to read anyway.
  

See people? Silver lining, that's what it's all about. Happy Monday from your Texas friend.

*I'm kidding. Mostly.
**I'm glad you asked. Why yes, that IS the correct medical terminolgy.