Saturday, May 31, 2008
Monday, April 07, 2008
You Are Not Cool
Ok, car....
What's wrong? Something got you down? Have I not been paying much attention to you lately? Yeah, I know that I've been more lenient to drive you since gas prices have soared, but I really can't help it. But yesterday you did something that was NOT COOL. Not cool at all.
I've given you loads of patience, tons of maintenance and lots of TLC. As I figure it, you owe me. I've paid for you, pampered you, HECK I even bought some lovely air freshener and new floor mats on the day you came home with me. I've waxed you, given you wonderful car washes, installed a new air conditioner and radiator. When you have a boo-boo I take you to another town 10 miles away so you can get the best possible service.
I've even named you. And I think that Ethel is a lovely name for you. It fits your purplish-grey personality so well!
And then yesterday you flash that horrible light that I so despise seeing.
"Service Engine Soon". You don't even go into specifics. It would be so much more helpful if you could share a little more detail than that. I would hate to run through every possible scenario of hypothetically driving down I-94 and having the carbeurator pop through the hood of my car when instead you could just tell me that it just needs a little tweek. You are freaking me out!
Ethel, I am disappointed. We've been through so much together. I would hate to give you over to a cranky old dumpster owner and have you crushed into a 2-foot by 2-foot cube.
AND DON'T THINK I WON'T DO IT!
I thought you loved me, Ethel. You shall now face my wrath.
But please, could you turn off the engine light?
What's wrong? Something got you down? Have I not been paying much attention to you lately? Yeah, I know that I've been more lenient to drive you since gas prices have soared, but I really can't help it. But yesterday you did something that was NOT COOL. Not cool at all.
I've given you loads of patience, tons of maintenance and lots of TLC. As I figure it, you owe me. I've paid for you, pampered you, HECK I even bought some lovely air freshener and new floor mats on the day you came home with me. I've waxed you, given you wonderful car washes, installed a new air conditioner and radiator. When you have a boo-boo I take you to another town 10 miles away so you can get the best possible service.
I've even named you. And I think that Ethel is a lovely name for you. It fits your purplish-grey personality so well!
And then yesterday you flash that horrible light that I so despise seeing.
"Service Engine Soon". You don't even go into specifics. It would be so much more helpful if you could share a little more detail than that. I would hate to run through every possible scenario of hypothetically driving down I-94 and having the carbeurator pop through the hood of my car when instead you could just tell me that it just needs a little tweek. You are freaking me out!
Ethel, I am disappointed. We've been through so much together. I would hate to give you over to a cranky old dumpster owner and have you crushed into a 2-foot by 2-foot cube.
AND DON'T THINK I WON'T DO IT!
I thought you loved me, Ethel. You shall now face my wrath.
But please, could you turn off the engine light?
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Human Tornado Siren
Stop laughing.
I don't want to come across as a party-pooper. Really, I don't. But your laugh is incredibly annoying. I wouldn't even call it a laugh, but a yell with vibrato. How in the world do you do that? You must have a diaphragm the size of a car tire in order for you to project the kind of sounds you do from your throat.
Yeah, what you saw on tv was pretty darn funny. But I'm sitting right next to you and blood is coming from my ears. And are you trying to hold it out as long as you possibly can? Do you have music in your head and you are just laughing for a full measure straight? Keep it to a 32nd note, please. In a very fast tempo. This is irritating.
Another thing: If you are going to do your trademark laugh, normally people will give a little warning sound. And I emphasize the word "little". Perhaps it could be a slight giggle or some quicker shallow breathing. But for you to hyperventilate for what seems an eternity and then unexpectedly (and terrifyingly) blast sound out of your mouth as though you were imitating a Gilbert Gottfried impersonation of a tornado siren....that's not cool. It scares me.
Just please, stop.
I don't want to come across as a party-pooper. Really, I don't. But your laugh is incredibly annoying. I wouldn't even call it a laugh, but a yell with vibrato. How in the world do you do that? You must have a diaphragm the size of a car tire in order for you to project the kind of sounds you do from your throat.
Yeah, what you saw on tv was pretty darn funny. But I'm sitting right next to you and blood is coming from my ears. And are you trying to hold it out as long as you possibly can? Do you have music in your head and you are just laughing for a full measure straight? Keep it to a 32nd note, please. In a very fast tempo. This is irritating.
Another thing: If you are going to do your trademark laugh, normally people will give a little warning sound. And I emphasize the word "little". Perhaps it could be a slight giggle or some quicker shallow breathing. But for you to hyperventilate for what seems an eternity and then unexpectedly (and terrifyingly) blast sound out of your mouth as though you were imitating a Gilbert Gottfried impersonation of a tornado siren....that's not cool. It scares me.
Just please, stop.
Is This What It's Like?
When I was a kid, I did not like boys….AT ALL. Boys were gross. Boys had cooties. If you kissed a boy, you got warts. I imagine that most girls believed this. I would rather have been a tomboy and play with the boys in the dirt and mud and worms than kiss one! However, this did not stifle my 2nd grade “marriage” to a boy named Chris Schalz. It happened on the baseball field. All my friends were there and threw mulberry leaves filled with sand in celebration. But Mr. Schalz was a player. The very next day I saw him smooching with the local 1st grade tramp named Nicole. Everyone knew she was an easy catch. Our marriage went down in flames. I became an 8-year old Elizabeth Taylor and spent the next 2 years traversing the playgrounds, finding solace only in a plutonic friendship with a boy nicknamed “Pickle Juice” and the seagulls who would gather in the grassy field right in front of where I swapped my innocent vows with Mr. Loose Lips.
My aversion to all things “boys” went well into my teen years and some of my college years, too.
“No, I do not want to dance with you.”
“No, I am not going to the prom.”
“I am never going to be married.”
“I am woman, hear me roar!”
“Yes, I am engaged…his name is Simon. No, you don’t know him.” (I had worn a ring on my all-important finger in order to convince someone who was interested in me that I was not available, when in fact, I was).
I had so convinced my family that I was never going to marry a man that they naturally assumed that I was a lesbian. One day, out of the blue, my mom came into my room and said, “You know, Ellie, if you are a lesbian, it doesn’t matter to me. I will love you all the same.” I responded by dropping my jaw to the floor in surprise and yelling, “I’M NOT A LESBIAN! YES, I’M SURE!”. Of course, I wasn’t a lesbian, but technically I was not interested in men either. I was attracted not to any gender, but to the idea that I would grow up without a partner and would be thrilled about it! Don’t let anyone convince you that cynicism does not have incredible power over your dreams and goals!
However, over the past few years I have had an urge to find that special someone to spend the rest of my life with. I talked about it with friends (which felt very strange, almost alien), went on dating websites, and even went on an impromptu date with someone I met in a grocery store (On a side note, I wouldn’t recommend that. But that’s another story altogether.). After a recent move, I let up on the searching for a date bit but then decided this past January to give it another go. On the very first day, someone contacted me to express his interest in me. I thought, “What in the world? Have you even seen my picture? Why would you want me?” See, that’s how powerful cynicism is. It can come back to haunt you and corrupt you even after you swear to never think in those negative ways ever again.
But this online guy and I started to e-mail each other. Every night. Then our e-mails turned into MSN chats. For hours. Then our paths crossed in person! And I tell you this as someone who has converted from the religion of cynicism and self-loathing to believing fully in the following anonymous quote:
"Love - a wildly misunderstood although highly desirable malfunction of the heart which weakens the brain, causes eyes to sparkle, cheeks to glow, blood pressure to rise and the lips to pucker"
I’ve come to the following conclusion. My boy is great! My boy does not have cooties (and if he did, it wouldn’t matter ONE BIT)! When I kissed this boy I received no warts, only a kiss back. And I would trade in all my years of being a tomboy and playing in the dirt and mud and worms for one more day with him. And I should clarify that I’m not actually kissing a boy, but a man of my own age (25). Haha. Please do not send the feds after me, this relationship is fully legal!
Is this what love is like? Please tell me, because I have not experienced anything quite like this before. Instead of reciting the quotes I listed out earlier, I can’t wait to say the following to him and only him:
“Yes, I will dance with you.”
“Yes, I would love to go to your company Christmas party with you.”
“Yes, I will marry you.”
“I am your woman! (No roaring involved)”
I can only hope that this feeling lasts forever with this boy.
"Nunc scio quit sit amor." Latin, "Now I know what love is." by Virgil (Classical Roman Poet)
Sunday, February 17, 2008
And I Was "Like" - No You Weren't!
Several years ago, the actor Edward Norton appeared on the interview show “Inside the Actors Studio” where he was asked by host James Lipton about his least favorite word. Mr. Norton replied, “Like”, to which Mr. Lipton soupy rolled his eyes back in his head and replied “Oh yes, me, too!”. I have now joined the likes (pun intended) of Mr. Norton and Mr. Lipton in declaring that my least favorite word is “Like”.
Not “like” as in “I like ice cream”, but in the sense where people use the word in describing an action or feeling. For instance, today I was standing in line inside a gas station and the woman in front of me was talking on the phone in super-speed motion. Her conversation went a little somethin’ like this (huh!):
“So I called my friends and I was like are you going to pick up and they did and they were like “hello” and I was like “Uh..hi, where have you been” because for the past, like, week or so I was like freaking out because I couldn’t get a hold of them and I was like “Did they get hurt” or like “Are they ignoring me?” and so I like talked to them and they were like “We’re, like, Ok” and I was like relieved and said “Like, what have you guys been doing, like?”
I listened to this and was like, “MAKE IT STOP!”. Since when has cheerleader talk been acceptable? When I was a kid I would say the following cheer with my friends to crack each other up –
“Like totally, for sure
I just got a manicure
The sun, up there,
Is bleaching out my golden hair!
24, 34, I don’t know the stupid score!
Like, gag me with a spoon!”
And we all thought it was funny because it was too ridiculous to think that someone would actually speak like that. Lo and behold, fiction has now become fact!
Another statement I hate: “That was the bomb!”
Yet my 48 year old mother says it with such enthusiasm that you would think she had gone back in time to become Paris Hilton’s twin. When I think of that statement, I wonder how it came about. No one would ever look back in history to reflect on Hiroshima as being TOTALLY cool! So when someone talks about a really tasty avocado dip, why does “That is the BOMB!” apply? I don’t get it. Is the avocado dip packed with so much yummy goodness that the flavors interact with each other and then explode in your mouth and blow all your teeth out? If that’s the case, then I really don’t want to try it.
What about “You Go, Girl!”. Where do you want me to go? Are you saying I should leave? Is that a compliment or do you want me to get away? Why are you pumping your fist in the air when you say it?
“Talk to the hand, cuz the face ain’t listening!”. No, I would rather not talk to your hand. See that lump three feet above your butt is the only extremity that has the holes on each side called “Ears” and those holes enable you to comprehend the words that are coming out of the bigger hole in my lump, my “mouth”. Say it with me now, “Hands do not have listening abilities”. And the word “ain’t” isn’t a word. I don’t care if it is in the dictionary!
I wonder what the suicide rate for high school English teachers, like, is.
Not “like” as in “I like ice cream”, but in the sense where people use the word in describing an action or feeling. For instance, today I was standing in line inside a gas station and the woman in front of me was talking on the phone in super-speed motion. Her conversation went a little somethin’ like this (huh!):
“So I called my friends and I was like are you going to pick up and they did and they were like “hello” and I was like “Uh..hi, where have you been” because for the past, like, week or so I was like freaking out because I couldn’t get a hold of them and I was like “Did they get hurt” or like “Are they ignoring me?” and so I like talked to them and they were like “We’re, like, Ok” and I was like relieved and said “Like, what have you guys been doing, like?”
I listened to this and was like, “MAKE IT STOP!”. Since when has cheerleader talk been acceptable? When I was a kid I would say the following cheer with my friends to crack each other up –
“Like totally, for sure
I just got a manicure
The sun, up there,
Is bleaching out my golden hair!
24, 34, I don’t know the stupid score!
Like, gag me with a spoon!”
And we all thought it was funny because it was too ridiculous to think that someone would actually speak like that. Lo and behold, fiction has now become fact!
Another statement I hate: “That was the bomb!”
Yet my 48 year old mother says it with such enthusiasm that you would think she had gone back in time to become Paris Hilton’s twin. When I think of that statement, I wonder how it came about. No one would ever look back in history to reflect on Hiroshima as being TOTALLY cool! So when someone talks about a really tasty avocado dip, why does “That is the BOMB!” apply? I don’t get it. Is the avocado dip packed with so much yummy goodness that the flavors interact with each other and then explode in your mouth and blow all your teeth out? If that’s the case, then I really don’t want to try it.
What about “You Go, Girl!”. Where do you want me to go? Are you saying I should leave? Is that a compliment or do you want me to get away? Why are you pumping your fist in the air when you say it?
“Talk to the hand, cuz the face ain’t listening!”. No, I would rather not talk to your hand. See that lump three feet above your butt is the only extremity that has the holes on each side called “Ears” and those holes enable you to comprehend the words that are coming out of the bigger hole in my lump, my “mouth”. Say it with me now, “Hands do not have listening abilities”. And the word “ain’t” isn’t a word. I don’t care if it is in the dictionary!
I wonder what the suicide rate for high school English teachers, like, is.
Yeah, It's Been A While...
So sue me! You won't get anything out of it! Could I be any more busy? I think not. In the midst of going to work full-time, attending 7 credits of college, working on getting my certificate in Biblical Counseling and leading a small group at church...I have this blog (among others!) which should have been updated at least once a month...but that has not been the case! So bring it on!
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Today He Gave Me is Back!
http://www.todayhegaveme.blogspot.com
Please participate! I look forward to everyone's responses!
God Bless
Please participate! I look forward to everyone's responses!
God Bless
Sunday, November 11, 2007
I Want It That Way
I have been hiding a deep secret for the last week or so. Now it’s about time that I spill the beans. I bought the newest Backstreet Boys album. AND I LOVE IT!
Wait. Not only did I buy the album, but I bought it twice. And made a copy for the CD player at work. So, technically, I have three copies of this album, spread out on 4 places: my Ipod, the burned CD for work, my computer, and the actual CD copy. Why did I buy it twice? To support the boys, of course!
I have been watching videos of the Backstreet Boys on youtube. And I found a new treasure – the video for “I Just Want You To Know”. Every time I watch it, I can’t help but crack up. You’d better watch it, too.
I remember the days of talking with my friend Jill about how we loved these guys, which one was our “favorite” and how we had decorated our bedroom walls with posters and magazine cut-outs to the point where no original wall was to be seen anywhere. Placement was important – you wanted to wake up in the morning to see your favorite staring right back at you (and if you must know, it was Kevin *sigh*).
Jill and another friend and I woke up one Sunday morning at 2am to get a ride to the twin cities in order to be able to stand in line at 6am to get tickets for one of their concerts at a large outdoor event that started at noon. The boys weren’t scheduled to perform until 9pm that night. It just so happened that that day in September would be freakishly hot outside. I ended up passing out from heat exhaustion, getting sunburnt through my clothes and not eating anything for 16 hours straight. In the end, the boys cancelled their performance at the last minute – three of the boys had lost family members that DAY. Jill and I were heartbroken and we got back home around 12am. The little girl inside me cried.
I remember driving with my friend Jill to the closest Wal-Mart from our Minnesota small town (a ½-hour away) immediately after school (we had been talking about it all day) to get the newest BSB album, “Millenium” and the RollingStone magazine with their picture on the cover. I swear to the living God that I listened to that album every single day for a year straight.
The following fall, my aunt got me tickets (front row balcony, yeah!) to their concert at the target center in Minneapolis. Jill and that same friend and I woke up early to make a sign to hang from the balcony that said “BSB RULES!” We drove to Minneapolis, decked out in our BSB t-shirts and met up with my sister who also came to the show. I have pictures of the concert to this day. Needless to say, it was freaking awesome. And I say that with a straight face, people. We went back to school two days later and bragged to classmates about the show.
After graduating high school, my friend Jill and I actually played the trivia board game and I knew the answer to every. Single. Question. I knew their birthdates, names of their brothers and sisters, favorite colors, hometown, how they met…the list goes on and on.
During college my affection waned a bit. I still bought their albums, but it was the kind of purchase that you put at the bottom of the target basket, underneath the underwear, bra and pamprin purchases. And I was heartbroken (again!) when I heard that Kevin, my fave, had quit the band to pursue “other interests”. *sniff, sniff*
But then last February, a friend through church told me of this Christian concert that was coming to town, a bunch of artists who included a member of Third Day, Shane & Shane and wouldn’t you know it, Brian Littrell (a Backstreet Boy!) who had just put out his own Christian album. I went to the show and in the back of my mind (behind my worship for God, of course!) I could not believe that a Backstreet Boy was less than 50 feet away. I bought his Christian album and very much enjoyed it.
Then the boys have to go and tease me with this new purchase. And I’m not just saying this out of bias, but, the album is terrific! It’s their best one since “Millenium”. If my schedule permits, will I go to their concert if they come to MN? You bet! Will I buy their next album? In a heart beat. BSB will probably go into the list of artists for who I will always buy their music, along with Michael W. Smith, Train, Aerosmith, and Chris Tomlin.
So don’t tease me or feel sorry for me. I’m a big girl and can make my own choices. Y’all are just jealous! You wish you had their talent! I HATE YOU!
Ok, calm down there, teenage Ellie. It’s Ok. Life doesn’t have to be this way anymore.
I have nothing more to add.
Except that N*Sync sucks.
Wait. Not only did I buy the album, but I bought it twice. And made a copy for the CD player at work. So, technically, I have three copies of this album, spread out on 4 places: my Ipod, the burned CD for work, my computer, and the actual CD copy. Why did I buy it twice? To support the boys, of course!
I have been watching videos of the Backstreet Boys on youtube. And I found a new treasure – the video for “I Just Want You To Know”. Every time I watch it, I can’t help but crack up. You’d better watch it, too.
I remember the days of talking with my friend Jill about how we loved these guys, which one was our “favorite” and how we had decorated our bedroom walls with posters and magazine cut-outs to the point where no original wall was to be seen anywhere. Placement was important – you wanted to wake up in the morning to see your favorite staring right back at you (and if you must know, it was Kevin *sigh*).
Jill and another friend and I woke up one Sunday morning at 2am to get a ride to the twin cities in order to be able to stand in line at 6am to get tickets for one of their concerts at a large outdoor event that started at noon. The boys weren’t scheduled to perform until 9pm that night. It just so happened that that day in September would be freakishly hot outside. I ended up passing out from heat exhaustion, getting sunburnt through my clothes and not eating anything for 16 hours straight. In the end, the boys cancelled their performance at the last minute – three of the boys had lost family members that DAY. Jill and I were heartbroken and we got back home around 12am. The little girl inside me cried.
I remember driving with my friend Jill to the closest Wal-Mart from our Minnesota small town (a ½-hour away) immediately after school (we had been talking about it all day) to get the newest BSB album, “Millenium” and the RollingStone magazine with their picture on the cover. I swear to the living God that I listened to that album every single day for a year straight.
The following fall, my aunt got me tickets (front row balcony, yeah!) to their concert at the target center in Minneapolis. Jill and that same friend and I woke up early to make a sign to hang from the balcony that said “BSB RULES!” We drove to Minneapolis, decked out in our BSB t-shirts and met up with my sister who also came to the show. I have pictures of the concert to this day. Needless to say, it was freaking awesome. And I say that with a straight face, people. We went back to school two days later and bragged to classmates about the show.
After graduating high school, my friend Jill and I actually played the trivia board game and I knew the answer to every. Single. Question. I knew their birthdates, names of their brothers and sisters, favorite colors, hometown, how they met…the list goes on and on.
During college my affection waned a bit. I still bought their albums, but it was the kind of purchase that you put at the bottom of the target basket, underneath the underwear, bra and pamprin purchases. And I was heartbroken (again!) when I heard that Kevin, my fave, had quit the band to pursue “other interests”. *sniff, sniff*
But then last February, a friend through church told me of this Christian concert that was coming to town, a bunch of artists who included a member of Third Day, Shane & Shane and wouldn’t you know it, Brian Littrell (a Backstreet Boy!) who had just put out his own Christian album. I went to the show and in the back of my mind (behind my worship for God, of course!) I could not believe that a Backstreet Boy was less than 50 feet away. I bought his Christian album and very much enjoyed it.
Then the boys have to go and tease me with this new purchase. And I’m not just saying this out of bias, but, the album is terrific! It’s their best one since “Millenium”. If my schedule permits, will I go to their concert if they come to MN? You bet! Will I buy their next album? In a heart beat. BSB will probably go into the list of artists for who I will always buy their music, along with Michael W. Smith, Train, Aerosmith, and Chris Tomlin.
So don’t tease me or feel sorry for me. I’m a big girl and can make my own choices. Y’all are just jealous! You wish you had their talent! I HATE YOU!
Ok, calm down there, teenage Ellie. It’s Ok. Life doesn’t have to be this way anymore.
I have nothing more to add.
Except that N*Sync sucks.
New Address
Yes, I changed the address of my blog. Why, must you ask? Well, I didn't want my last name to be so visible. You know how privacy is such a big issue on the internet these days. Why the ridiculous name? Well, that was my nickname in high school, duh! And just so you know, my new-found desire for privacy has nothing to do with the next post I am going to write.
SO THERE! Deal with it.
SO THERE! Deal with it.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Did You Play Sports?
One of the first questions I'm asked when someone meets me for the first time isn't about my job, where I live, or where I'm from. 90% of the time, the question revolves around my height.
Yes, I am a tall person. Five feet, eleven inches to be exact. When my height is stated, the next question is pretty much a given.
"Did you play sports in high school?"
I HATE that question so much. When I was walking through Wal-Mart at 16 years old, this old woman walked up to me, cane and all, and in her high-pitched wavery voice she said "Oh my, are you tall! I bet you play basketball, don't you?"
While sitting on a bus in the twin cities, some random guy came up to me and said, "Did you ever play volleyball for the Minnesota Gophers?".
Note to everyone - Not all tall people play sports or have played sports!!! I wouldn't go up to a short person and say, "Oh my! You are practically a midget! When you were a kid, were you able to fit in a bread box? When you were a baby, did your parents use a shoebox for your crib and poke holes in the top so you could get air to breathe?"
I'm so sick of being asked this question. I have to say "No, I didn't play sports". Which always provokes either a look of disgust or disappointment in the person who asked that dumb question in the first place. Sorry to let you down, people. Not everyone fits into a perfect little stereotype. Not all tall people love sports, not all short people use a phonebook to be able to reach the floor, not all italians love pizza, and not all greeks are big and fat.
I want to crawl into a breadbox now.
Yes, I am a tall person. Five feet, eleven inches to be exact. When my height is stated, the next question is pretty much a given.
"Did you play sports in high school?"
I HATE that question so much. When I was walking through Wal-Mart at 16 years old, this old woman walked up to me, cane and all, and in her high-pitched wavery voice she said "Oh my, are you tall! I bet you play basketball, don't you?"
While sitting on a bus in the twin cities, some random guy came up to me and said, "Did you ever play volleyball for the Minnesota Gophers?".
Note to everyone - Not all tall people play sports or have played sports!!! I wouldn't go up to a short person and say, "Oh my! You are practically a midget! When you were a kid, were you able to fit in a bread box? When you were a baby, did your parents use a shoebox for your crib and poke holes in the top so you could get air to breathe?"
I'm so sick of being asked this question. I have to say "No, I didn't play sports". Which always provokes either a look of disgust or disappointment in the person who asked that dumb question in the first place. Sorry to let you down, people. Not everyone fits into a perfect little stereotype. Not all tall people love sports, not all short people use a phonebook to be able to reach the floor, not all italians love pizza, and not all greeks are big and fat.
I want to crawl into a breadbox now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)