Coyotes in Area. Pets are at Risk.
My foot strikes the gravel powered by my matchless spirit and invincible attitude of overachievement. My stride is fast and confident. I feel great. I glance down at my watch. Mile one completed in six minutes, twenty seconds. Woo hoo! I continue my sprint rather pleased with oneself. I pass a sign that reads: Coyotes in area. Pets are risky. Really? Once, I had a staring competition with a coyote on this very trail. That was intense. Ah, just around the bend, the house that President George Bush grew up in. Isn’t that cute! A little further down the path I cross a bridge I like to call, Blueberry Bridge. The scene of an unfortunate and unwelcome re-visitation of my blueberry waffles on a previous morning run. And that’s how you know you are in Odessa… Then it hits me. One point four miles into the middle of the desert. You know, sometimes I just don’t know what goes on in this tiny little pea brain. Do not; I repeat DO NOT drink Triple X Vitamin water before participating in a cardio workout. Triple X Vitamin water is water fortified with antioxidants. No further explanation is needed. Hmm…short run.
In Other News.
Well kids, here’s the diddy. I failed. I failed. I failed. Apparently, I suck at this blogging regularly concept. Several indicators fed this failure into abundance. One, I overcommitted. Two, I have been in hiding. The truth is I spent the first month transitioning into life in Odessa in misery. Self inflicted of course. I now confess and own this failure on my part, but I am also very happy to announce that I have found acceptance and even happiness in this somewhat unpleasant alteration. I have found my groove at the present I am excited for what is to come in the next six months I am to spend here. Highlights/realizations of the past four weeks in consolidation are as follows:
• Chasing boys is a very stupid idea.
• There are lots of things I have to do in this life that I just don’t want to, but I do it anyway, and that will never change.
• Why can’t MY car be a Transformer?
• Training for my race has been challenging, but I have finally hit a sweet spot. Shaved a minute off my time last week! Boom.
• I miss Anna. If you were a lawn, I’d be a gnome. If you were a mortgage, I’d be a home.
• I would eat the cherry sauce at Dairy Queen used for cherry dipped cones by the spoonful if appropriate.
• I experienced my first body building show and liked it, although, it made me feel dirty.
• Compelling realities move us to action.
• Hebrews 5:7-10
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
a new right of passage.
One. I am attending summer school to complete my cosmetology licensure. Two. I am training to qualify for the Boston marathon. Three. I am blogging on a daily basis about these two ventures. Please read my journaling as I expedite this summer
Within the first two days upon my return to the desert, I have managed to land myself in the hospital, appear in Big D magazine, lose a tooth, and get locked out of the house. It’s true. Buckle that safety belt, because its going to be quiet the ride.
I also included an archive of old myspace and facebook blog posts so that you might get kick of what my writing style is like. For those of you that followed me on that string, blogger will be my new home. Spread the word beloveds.
Within the first two days upon my return to the desert, I have managed to land myself in the hospital, appear in Big D magazine, lose a tooth, and get locked out of the house. It’s true. Buckle that safety belt, because its going to be quiet the ride.
I also included an archive of old myspace and facebook blog posts so that you might get kick of what my writing style is like. For those of you that followed me on that string, blogger will be my new home. Spread the word beloveds.
untitled two.
It seems as though this two part chronicle on my Matthew may turn into a bit more. As I sit to write about him and this incident, much more emerges than I expect. So I’m just gonna go with it, and I apologize in advance for what may partially be word vomit.
This somewhat unpleasant story is not written with the intent to make you disconsolate or to make you feel uncomfortable. And indeed, looking for sympathy I am not. But because possibly, if you have ever experienced a deep loss or heaven forbid encounter something comparable forthcoming, hopefully this will help make some sense of it. So… I have this sixth sense. Unfortunately, I do not see dead people. I kind of wish that’s what it was, because I think that would be really cool. But I do however; have an inexplicable ability to tap into premonitions. Renderings, intuitions, gut feelings, omens, whatever you may call them. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I can never escape these hunches that periodically rest upon this soul. In due time I learned to stop trying to depress this ability, and instead I embrace it. I can confidently tell you that I felt as if God was preparing me for this loss for a long time. Matt passed in October of 2005, and it was in the fall of 2004 I began to feel as if I might encounter a great sadness within my family. For whatever reason I sensed that my family was going to experience some tragedy or crisis involving one of my brothers. As strange and morbid as that sounds it was one of my unexplainable premonitions. So, if that was what was to come, I began to pray for peace, guidance, and understanding. I believe I was able to handle Matt’s death with much more constancy seeing that my heart was prepared for such a befalling.
On this particular day I have a lingering sense of impending doom that I just can not shake. Late in the afternoon I receive a phone call from Scott W (my ex) while at my office. A police officer just left the house. He was asking me about your brother Matt. He asked if I had seen him or talked to him lately and then if I knew about him having any involvement with drugs? The first thought to drift thru my mind is, oh Matthew, what have you gotten into this time? You see, my family had already gone thru many years of drug and alcohol addictions, arrests, mental illness, and glaciers of rebellious behavior with Matt. So regrettably, I make the assumption he is up to no good. I hang up with Scott W and call my dad at his office. I explain to him what Scott W had told me about the cop dropping by. I should inform you that we had not been able to get a hold of Matt by phone for several days. We planned a birthday dinner for him and my brother Scott B the week prior, but he did not show. No one thought too much of it at first because this was normal behavior for Matt. He regularly just appeared and disappeared as he felt. Within an hour I receive a phone call back from my dad. He too had been visited by the police at his work. I quickly begin to understand that this might be something greater than I initially suspected. Police officers don’t just spend all day joyriding through the city, visiting family members individually trying to track someone down for delight.
I unsuccessfully shake the feeling of worry, finish up with work, and head to a dance rehearsal. Scott W and I make plans for a late dinner out. I pull up to the house and leave the car running. I figure I would just run in and grab Scott W, but he meets me outside at the door. Immediately I become aware of the police car parked on the street. The look on his face is hesitant. There is a police man inside with Kyle (a pastor from our church) and your parents. “They found a body, and they think it might be your brother’s.” These words haunt me. I knew this. I knew this moment was coming. I immediately go into caretaker mode. Has anyone told Scott B (my oldest brother)? No? I have to tell him. I dial my brother. I tell him. What? He manages to mumble. Just come over, I tell him. We walk inside. The room is surprisingly calm, but very serious. The facts. A body has been found in a Juarez, Mexico. The description matches Matt’s but his identity can not be confirmed at this time. The detective conveys to my parents they are 98% sure it is him. As to not leave much interval for false hope. Sleep was not an option on this night.
The media was quick to snatch a hold of the story. I don’t suppose I will ever be able to forget the image of my brother’s body rested in a body bag on a stretcher flashing on the screen as it is permanently etched into my minds eye. Never imagined it could be painful to watch an episode of CSI, but as of late, I hate shows like that. The next day we get confirmation that the body found was Matthew’s. As we thought things couldn’t possibly be any more unsettling, we are informed that the authorities in Juarez will not release the body to us unless we travel to Mexico to fly him back ourselves. After much negotiation and havoc between borders they agree to release Matt. Once the nightmare of fighting to have him back home for a funeral was over, there was the incessant flow of visitors to the house, funeral arrangements, condolences, etc. I go numb. I go into autopilot. You dress because you have to wear clothes. You eat because there’s food, everywhere from all of the visitors. I think I washed my hair like once that week… I listen to mom cry herself into a restless sleep every evening.
After the initial chaos of that first week slowed, we learned a bit more of the particulars. Matt had packed up everything he owned into his truck and took off. Apparently spent some time in El Paso and then Juarez. His truck along with all of his belongings never surfaced. Autopsy results confirmed the cause of death was from contusions to the thoracic area. Among the bruising he suffered a black eye, and multiple broken bones and cuts. There was also the presence of drugs in his system. We can only assume that he was involved in a fight, or was hit by a car that threw him over into the ravine. Either way, someone left him for dead. This should enrage me. But oddly, it doesn’t. I know my God is just. Revenge is not mine to seek. If foul play was implicated, then I pray for the souls involved with the death of my brother. I desire that they too might one day know the God that I cherish, that forgives, and we should meet in eternity one day.
It’s wonderful the way someone’s life can unfold long after they are gone. For many individuals’ popularity or greatness, pursues them in death more so than in life. This was the case with my brother. One of my favorite movies, Big Fish quotes, “That was my father's final joke, I guess. A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him. And in that way he becomes immortal. “My brother has been made immortal by the stories of his friends and family. And by the fingerprints he left behind on hearts. My spirit is warmed by these stories, which are brought forth from others. I have come to find that he had intense impact on many. His life’s purposes fulfilled, thru the people he influenced, unknown to him I am sure. I now can see how something extraordinary can emerge from tragedy. How God can use transgression for purpose and something ultimately greater. Currently, I am reading, The Shack. This book addresses exactly that. “Who wants to worship a God who can be fully comprehended, eh? Not much mystery in that. There are millions of reasons to allow pain and hurt and suffering rather than to eradicate them, but most of these reasons can only be understood within each person’s story. I am not evil. You are the ones who embrace fear and pain and power and rights so readily in your relationships. But your choices are not stronger than my purposes, and I will use every choice you make for the ultimate good and the most loving outcome. Mack, if anything matters than everything matters. Because you are important, everything you do is important. Every time you forgive, the universe changes; every time you reach out and touch a heart or a life, the world changes; with every kindness and service, seen or unseen, my purposes are accomplished and nothing will ever be the same again”
I recollect Scott B inquiring if I think Matt is still near, or if I think he still implicated within our lives. Absolutely, I replied. He’s not gone. During one of my marathons last December, I heard his voice from behind cheering me on just as I was about ready to slow my pace. I felt a slight sensation as if someone had placed their hand upon my back and was gently helping me on my way with a slight shove forward. I know it was Matt. Its experiences like that that let me know his soul is still lively. When I was going through a tough time coping with the remnants of divorce, I came across Matthew chapter five while reading my bible. Matthew chapter five is one of two passages of scripture which comprise the beatitudes. (Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth, etc…) Matthew 5:8-12 found me wanting. How it reminded me of my brother. And it addressed me exactly were I was standing. "You're blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.” I cling tight to this truth. So much so, that I recently had Matthew five tattooed on my wrist. A constant reminder of this divine scripture and my dear brother, and well, I just happen to like scripted tattoos as well...
“When Matt’s life ended, the world stopped, but my life had finally begun.” Because of Matt’s death, I was able to gain perspective. I see this life in such a different light than how I use to. So temporary it is. When you grasp an inkling of the idea that you could be on this earth ultimately a measly one hundred years, and then eternity begins, your worldview just might change. I realize now, there is nothing to fear. Not even fear! Great freedom comes when you acknowledge this truth and embrace people and life itself. “My life seems like it has been so long and so short at the same time. People speak of a will to live. They rarely speak of a will to die. Because people are afraid of death. Death is dark and unknown and frightening. But not for me. It is not the end." -- Garth Stein
This somewhat unpleasant story is not written with the intent to make you disconsolate or to make you feel uncomfortable. And indeed, looking for sympathy I am not. But because possibly, if you have ever experienced a deep loss or heaven forbid encounter something comparable forthcoming, hopefully this will help make some sense of it. So… I have this sixth sense. Unfortunately, I do not see dead people. I kind of wish that’s what it was, because I think that would be really cool. But I do however; have an inexplicable ability to tap into premonitions. Renderings, intuitions, gut feelings, omens, whatever you may call them. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I can never escape these hunches that periodically rest upon this soul. In due time I learned to stop trying to depress this ability, and instead I embrace it. I can confidently tell you that I felt as if God was preparing me for this loss for a long time. Matt passed in October of 2005, and it was in the fall of 2004 I began to feel as if I might encounter a great sadness within my family. For whatever reason I sensed that my family was going to experience some tragedy or crisis involving one of my brothers. As strange and morbid as that sounds it was one of my unexplainable premonitions. So, if that was what was to come, I began to pray for peace, guidance, and understanding. I believe I was able to handle Matt’s death with much more constancy seeing that my heart was prepared for such a befalling.
On this particular day I have a lingering sense of impending doom that I just can not shake. Late in the afternoon I receive a phone call from Scott W (my ex) while at my office. A police officer just left the house. He was asking me about your brother Matt. He asked if I had seen him or talked to him lately and then if I knew about him having any involvement with drugs? The first thought to drift thru my mind is, oh Matthew, what have you gotten into this time? You see, my family had already gone thru many years of drug and alcohol addictions, arrests, mental illness, and glaciers of rebellious behavior with Matt. So regrettably, I make the assumption he is up to no good. I hang up with Scott W and call my dad at his office. I explain to him what Scott W had told me about the cop dropping by. I should inform you that we had not been able to get a hold of Matt by phone for several days. We planned a birthday dinner for him and my brother Scott B the week prior, but he did not show. No one thought too much of it at first because this was normal behavior for Matt. He regularly just appeared and disappeared as he felt. Within an hour I receive a phone call back from my dad. He too had been visited by the police at his work. I quickly begin to understand that this might be something greater than I initially suspected. Police officers don’t just spend all day joyriding through the city, visiting family members individually trying to track someone down for delight.
I unsuccessfully shake the feeling of worry, finish up with work, and head to a dance rehearsal. Scott W and I make plans for a late dinner out. I pull up to the house and leave the car running. I figure I would just run in and grab Scott W, but he meets me outside at the door. Immediately I become aware of the police car parked on the street. The look on his face is hesitant. There is a police man inside with Kyle (a pastor from our church) and your parents. “They found a body, and they think it might be your brother’s.” These words haunt me. I knew this. I knew this moment was coming. I immediately go into caretaker mode. Has anyone told Scott B (my oldest brother)? No? I have to tell him. I dial my brother. I tell him. What? He manages to mumble. Just come over, I tell him. We walk inside. The room is surprisingly calm, but very serious. The facts. A body has been found in a Juarez, Mexico. The description matches Matt’s but his identity can not be confirmed at this time. The detective conveys to my parents they are 98% sure it is him. As to not leave much interval for false hope. Sleep was not an option on this night.
The media was quick to snatch a hold of the story. I don’t suppose I will ever be able to forget the image of my brother’s body rested in a body bag on a stretcher flashing on the screen as it is permanently etched into my minds eye. Never imagined it could be painful to watch an episode of CSI, but as of late, I hate shows like that. The next day we get confirmation that the body found was Matthew’s. As we thought things couldn’t possibly be any more unsettling, we are informed that the authorities in Juarez will not release the body to us unless we travel to Mexico to fly him back ourselves. After much negotiation and havoc between borders they agree to release Matt. Once the nightmare of fighting to have him back home for a funeral was over, there was the incessant flow of visitors to the house, funeral arrangements, condolences, etc. I go numb. I go into autopilot. You dress because you have to wear clothes. You eat because there’s food, everywhere from all of the visitors. I think I washed my hair like once that week… I listen to mom cry herself into a restless sleep every evening.
After the initial chaos of that first week slowed, we learned a bit more of the particulars. Matt had packed up everything he owned into his truck and took off. Apparently spent some time in El Paso and then Juarez. His truck along with all of his belongings never surfaced. Autopsy results confirmed the cause of death was from contusions to the thoracic area. Among the bruising he suffered a black eye, and multiple broken bones and cuts. There was also the presence of drugs in his system. We can only assume that he was involved in a fight, or was hit by a car that threw him over into the ravine. Either way, someone left him for dead. This should enrage me. But oddly, it doesn’t. I know my God is just. Revenge is not mine to seek. If foul play was implicated, then I pray for the souls involved with the death of my brother. I desire that they too might one day know the God that I cherish, that forgives, and we should meet in eternity one day.
It’s wonderful the way someone’s life can unfold long after they are gone. For many individuals’ popularity or greatness, pursues them in death more so than in life. This was the case with my brother. One of my favorite movies, Big Fish quotes, “That was my father's final joke, I guess. A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him. And in that way he becomes immortal. “My brother has been made immortal by the stories of his friends and family. And by the fingerprints he left behind on hearts. My spirit is warmed by these stories, which are brought forth from others. I have come to find that he had intense impact on many. His life’s purposes fulfilled, thru the people he influenced, unknown to him I am sure. I now can see how something extraordinary can emerge from tragedy. How God can use transgression for purpose and something ultimately greater. Currently, I am reading, The Shack. This book addresses exactly that. “Who wants to worship a God who can be fully comprehended, eh? Not much mystery in that. There are millions of reasons to allow pain and hurt and suffering rather than to eradicate them, but most of these reasons can only be understood within each person’s story. I am not evil. You are the ones who embrace fear and pain and power and rights so readily in your relationships. But your choices are not stronger than my purposes, and I will use every choice you make for the ultimate good and the most loving outcome. Mack, if anything matters than everything matters. Because you are important, everything you do is important. Every time you forgive, the universe changes; every time you reach out and touch a heart or a life, the world changes; with every kindness and service, seen or unseen, my purposes are accomplished and nothing will ever be the same again”
I recollect Scott B inquiring if I think Matt is still near, or if I think he still implicated within our lives. Absolutely, I replied. He’s not gone. During one of my marathons last December, I heard his voice from behind cheering me on just as I was about ready to slow my pace. I felt a slight sensation as if someone had placed their hand upon my back and was gently helping me on my way with a slight shove forward. I know it was Matt. Its experiences like that that let me know his soul is still lively. When I was going through a tough time coping with the remnants of divorce, I came across Matthew chapter five while reading my bible. Matthew chapter five is one of two passages of scripture which comprise the beatitudes. (Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth, etc…) Matthew 5:8-12 found me wanting. How it reminded me of my brother. And it addressed me exactly were I was standing. "You're blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.” I cling tight to this truth. So much so, that I recently had Matthew five tattooed on my wrist. A constant reminder of this divine scripture and my dear brother, and well, I just happen to like scripted tattoos as well...
“When Matt’s life ended, the world stopped, but my life had finally begun.” Because of Matt’s death, I was able to gain perspective. I see this life in such a different light than how I use to. So temporary it is. When you grasp an inkling of the idea that you could be on this earth ultimately a measly one hundred years, and then eternity begins, your worldview just might change. I realize now, there is nothing to fear. Not even fear! Great freedom comes when you acknowledge this truth and embrace people and life itself. “My life seems like it has been so long and so short at the same time. People speak of a will to live. They rarely speak of a will to die. Because people are afraid of death. Death is dark and unknown and frightening. But not for me. It is not the end." -- Garth Stein
untitled.
I have put off writing this account for quiet some time. Until encountering something that brought my procrastination to a halt. I’ve been unsure of how to attack this one. Those things which I put off in writing, tend to be the most difficult to devise but end up as the best renderings. We’re going to go two rounds with this piece seeing that, it was just too overwhelming and exposing to compile into one whole. And I am well aware that I have yet to post parts three and four of “It Takes Time to Extract Joy from Life.” Don’t worry, their in the works!
The setting is anachronistic. My late brother, Matt, is seated at a cast iron patio table of sorts. Two steaming mugs of coffee sit atop the table. I approach without hesitation and sit. We smile at one another. And he begins to speak. It was as if nothing had ever changed. As if no time had lapsed. We express how much we have missed one another. Small talk. Sip coffee. I think we even smoked a couple of cigarettes. Then he says to me, you need to write about me. You need to tell my story. But I don’t what to write about that! That’s greatly involved and much too difficult! Penny, you have to. It has nothing to do with you, or me. People should hear my story. I waver to agree because I fear that my words can only meagerly mirror his life story. Reluctantly I assured him I would do my best to convey what I know, and then I woke up.
Oh there you are brother! I affirm to myself with a bend at the knee as I tilt my head to the side to catch a glimpse of the Matthew I know. There was to be a closed casket at the funeral seeing that he had been so badly beat, he was hardly recognizable. The immediate family was gathered for an intimate one time only viewing. Which might I say, a fan of this I am not. So archaic the practices of death. Side note: Cremation please, for penny. No one needs to view my gradually decaying corpse. My God, how I will miss that corky smile, sly cut of the eye, and those beautiful hands. Gifted hands. Matt was a musician. I loved to watch the way his hands moved as he formed chords with his fingers and strummed the guitars strings. I would even catch myself studying the movement of his hands in the simplest of daily activities, in the dialing of a number, in the creation of a sandwich, or as he signed his name on a receipt. There is something so much more graceful in the movements of an artist than the rest of us whom find ourselves gifted in other areas.
Growing up with Matthew Reginald Baker was quiet the adventure. Never really knew when I might be struggling to separate him from a fist fight, joining him in the out running of a hive of bees, or accompanying him in the basement paper ball war on Barbie terror. Explaining to my friends why he threw their bike into the ditch or explaining to the neighbors why their prize sun flower that they were growing for over a year was taken down by that of a baseball bat was always fun. Somewhere along the way, I think I embraced the logic, if you can’t beat em, join em. And so I did! After all, Matt was the only one who would let me sleep in his room when I had awakened from bad nightmares, or who would join me in festivities such as heating bubble gum and bologna in the microwave, just to see what might happen... Scott is the oldest, and then there was Matt, then me. Two years of age between the each of us. Impeccable planning parental units! My dad would… From baseball card collecting, trips to the local creamery, and ample amounts of Nintendo and neighborhood biking time, my brothers and I had somewhat of a post card picture perfect childhood. Some of my fondest Matthew memories include, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles club, that’s right, we had a club. And uncontrollably laughing while watching cartoons, especially Tom and Jerry and Cow and Chicken…um, while at home on break…from college.
His soul was passionate, yet gentle. He was gifted for seeing past someone’s exterior, and into their heart. The most non-judgmental individual I have ever encountered in my life. I always admired him for that. He knew no stranger and befriended the outcasts or those the world has deemed as “undesirable.” Matt was a collector; of movies, music, rocks, cards, fish, looks, you name it; he probably had a collection of it at some time. He was hypersensitive to the spiritual realm. He loved the Lord. Never knew what day it was or what time it was, but never cared that he didn’t know. Showed extreme talent in the arts. And always somewhat socially retarded…God love him. Addiction was Matt’s greatest adversary. Drugs and alcohol were his opponents. Causing much torment in the latter part of his life, from his teens until his last day here he battled within. Some might assume that these obstacles claimed victory over him. I see it much differently than that. Sometimes our greatest adversaries, failures, tragedies, are only tiny fractals in a much, much larger pattern or scheme than we cannot even begin to identify or comprehend. For right now anyway.
More to follow, very soon…
The setting is anachronistic. My late brother, Matt, is seated at a cast iron patio table of sorts. Two steaming mugs of coffee sit atop the table. I approach without hesitation and sit. We smile at one another. And he begins to speak. It was as if nothing had ever changed. As if no time had lapsed. We express how much we have missed one another. Small talk. Sip coffee. I think we even smoked a couple of cigarettes. Then he says to me, you need to write about me. You need to tell my story. But I don’t what to write about that! That’s greatly involved and much too difficult! Penny, you have to. It has nothing to do with you, or me. People should hear my story. I waver to agree because I fear that my words can only meagerly mirror his life story. Reluctantly I assured him I would do my best to convey what I know, and then I woke up.
Oh there you are brother! I affirm to myself with a bend at the knee as I tilt my head to the side to catch a glimpse of the Matthew I know. There was to be a closed casket at the funeral seeing that he had been so badly beat, he was hardly recognizable. The immediate family was gathered for an intimate one time only viewing. Which might I say, a fan of this I am not. So archaic the practices of death. Side note: Cremation please, for penny. No one needs to view my gradually decaying corpse. My God, how I will miss that corky smile, sly cut of the eye, and those beautiful hands. Gifted hands. Matt was a musician. I loved to watch the way his hands moved as he formed chords with his fingers and strummed the guitars strings. I would even catch myself studying the movement of his hands in the simplest of daily activities, in the dialing of a number, in the creation of a sandwich, or as he signed his name on a receipt. There is something so much more graceful in the movements of an artist than the rest of us whom find ourselves gifted in other areas.
Growing up with Matthew Reginald Baker was quiet the adventure. Never really knew when I might be struggling to separate him from a fist fight, joining him in the out running of a hive of bees, or accompanying him in the basement paper ball war on Barbie terror. Explaining to my friends why he threw their bike into the ditch or explaining to the neighbors why their prize sun flower that they were growing for over a year was taken down by that of a baseball bat was always fun. Somewhere along the way, I think I embraced the logic, if you can’t beat em, join em. And so I did! After all, Matt was the only one who would let me sleep in his room when I had awakened from bad nightmares, or who would join me in festivities such as heating bubble gum and bologna in the microwave, just to see what might happen... Scott is the oldest, and then there was Matt, then me. Two years of age between the each of us. Impeccable planning parental units! My dad would… From baseball card collecting, trips to the local creamery, and ample amounts of Nintendo and neighborhood biking time, my brothers and I had somewhat of a post card picture perfect childhood. Some of my fondest Matthew memories include, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles club, that’s right, we had a club. And uncontrollably laughing while watching cartoons, especially Tom and Jerry and Cow and Chicken…um, while at home on break…from college.
His soul was passionate, yet gentle. He was gifted for seeing past someone’s exterior, and into their heart. The most non-judgmental individual I have ever encountered in my life. I always admired him for that. He knew no stranger and befriended the outcasts or those the world has deemed as “undesirable.” Matt was a collector; of movies, music, rocks, cards, fish, looks, you name it; he probably had a collection of it at some time. He was hypersensitive to the spiritual realm. He loved the Lord. Never knew what day it was or what time it was, but never cared that he didn’t know. Showed extreme talent in the arts. And always somewhat socially retarded…God love him. Addiction was Matt’s greatest adversary. Drugs and alcohol were his opponents. Causing much torment in the latter part of his life, from his teens until his last day here he battled within. Some might assume that these obstacles claimed victory over him. I see it much differently than that. Sometimes our greatest adversaries, failures, tragedies, are only tiny fractals in a much, much larger pattern or scheme than we cannot even begin to identify or comprehend. For right now anyway.
More to follow, very soon…
let me tell you about today.
After snoozing my alarm six times, I managed to amputate myself from the bed and get ready, and have enough time to spare for a Starbucks run. My girl, Amy at Starbucks rings me up for the usual. I hand her my check card to pay, as per usual, but it doesn’t go thru. Amy tries a second time. Declined. Sigh. This is the third place I tried to use my card in the last two days and it did not work. Amy throws me a wink and tells me not to worry about it, she has me covered. A little embarrassed am I, but also happy seeing that my faithfulness to the Mecca of Starbucks has its rewards. Off to work with me. As I pull into the parking garage at the Fletch I roll down my window to swipe my card for entrance. I press the button to roll my window back up. It doesn’t move. It is stuck. All the way rolled down. Its thirty-eight degrees outside and raining. I mean, why wouldn’t it be? So I park. I lock my door as I exit, and then pause for a laugh. You know, locks on the doors really don’t do a damn thing when your window is open. Here’s to hoping no one steals the Pengmobil!
Tonya is out on vacation so I am to cover for her in her absence. I spend the morning running around like a three year old with a bad attitude. Sam and I make plans for lunch and I did not want a repeat of Starbucks, so I decide to give the bank a call to find out what the heck is going on with my card. They tell me that my card has been canceled, due to misuse. What does that even mean? They instruct me to go to my local branch to sort things out. So I cancel lunch plans and drive to bank instead, in my car, in the rain, with the window rolled down. I just decided to start waving at everyone who looked at me as if I was a fool. It was a bit comical. So I get to the bank and the gist of it is that, Penny got screwed. Someone hacked my account. Spent a lovely sum of nine-hundred dollars, and I am left with the mess. The bank will only remove over-draft charges for me. Thank you, Wells Fargo, for that which is very thoughtful of you. I am so glad I don’t have to pay a hundred and seventy-five dollars in fees and only the nine-hundred dollars that was stolen from me. I am especially pleased with the courteous call I received to tell me that my account was being closed. I may or may not be acting a little facetious… I suppose I could keep a closer account of my…account? Needless to say, I ended business with the Farg and I am open to any recommendations as to where to bank in the future. You know, when I actually have some money to put into a bank. Somewhere that will not drag me through bull shit would be ideal. I walk out with one hundred-fifty dollars to my name. Its ramen noodles and one-dollar menus for the duration of the next two weeks. I am soooo excited.
I decide I am hungry. At the present, I don’t care that it is going to make a dent into my measly fund. I resolve to drown my sorrows in Bueno. I order a combination burrito; add sour cream and chips and queso. Down to one hundred forty-four dollars. Awesome. I head back to work. I sit down to enjoy some much needed nourishment. All I have in my Bueno sack is a combination burrito, no sour cream, and no chips and queso. Shocking. I probably should have checked my order in the car before I drove off. Maybe I didn’t because I was being assaulted by Mother Nature thru my window. Other than all of that, it has been a rather glorious Friday! If anyone wants to hang out soon, I will be at home, watching every movie I own, eating mac and cheese. Come over at anytime. I will be there. Unless of course it is between the hours of 2a.m. and 4a.m. I will be selling my body for money on a dark street corner somewhere. Xoxo, Penny
Tonya is out on vacation so I am to cover for her in her absence. I spend the morning running around like a three year old with a bad attitude. Sam and I make plans for lunch and I did not want a repeat of Starbucks, so I decide to give the bank a call to find out what the heck is going on with my card. They tell me that my card has been canceled, due to misuse. What does that even mean? They instruct me to go to my local branch to sort things out. So I cancel lunch plans and drive to bank instead, in my car, in the rain, with the window rolled down. I just decided to start waving at everyone who looked at me as if I was a fool. It was a bit comical. So I get to the bank and the gist of it is that, Penny got screwed. Someone hacked my account. Spent a lovely sum of nine-hundred dollars, and I am left with the mess. The bank will only remove over-draft charges for me. Thank you, Wells Fargo, for that which is very thoughtful of you. I am so glad I don’t have to pay a hundred and seventy-five dollars in fees and only the nine-hundred dollars that was stolen from me. I am especially pleased with the courteous call I received to tell me that my account was being closed. I may or may not be acting a little facetious… I suppose I could keep a closer account of my…account? Needless to say, I ended business with the Farg and I am open to any recommendations as to where to bank in the future. You know, when I actually have some money to put into a bank. Somewhere that will not drag me through bull shit would be ideal. I walk out with one hundred-fifty dollars to my name. Its ramen noodles and one-dollar menus for the duration of the next two weeks. I am soooo excited.
I decide I am hungry. At the present, I don’t care that it is going to make a dent into my measly fund. I resolve to drown my sorrows in Bueno. I order a combination burrito; add sour cream and chips and queso. Down to one hundred forty-four dollars. Awesome. I head back to work. I sit down to enjoy some much needed nourishment. All I have in my Bueno sack is a combination burrito, no sour cream, and no chips and queso. Shocking. I probably should have checked my order in the car before I drove off. Maybe I didn’t because I was being assaulted by Mother Nature thru my window. Other than all of that, it has been a rather glorious Friday! If anyone wants to hang out soon, I will be at home, watching every movie I own, eating mac and cheese. Come over at anytime. I will be there. Unless of course it is between the hours of 2a.m. and 4a.m. I will be selling my body for money on a dark street corner somewhere. Xoxo, Penny
sixsixsix.
My daddy asked me to write a guest blog on his blogspot. Here it is. I am not a very good reporter, but I did my best to take note of the events as they happened. The older and wiser I get, like really, really wise, the more I am beginning to understand that much of the way that I am, is because of the parental units. Bakers do not believe in bad luck. However, we tend to often find ourselves invaded with a series of unfortunate events from time to time, or like, everyday. I have inherited this “curse” if you will. No big. Onward march.
Mom and and dad are coming for a visit. Exciting right? That’s questionable. The last two times they came to visit, someone bit the dust just as they arrived and they immediately had to turn around and go back home. So we all were excited yet somewhat apprehensive about trip attempt number three. Mom and dad would drive in late Thursday night. Doctors appointment for mom and play time on Friday. Pops and I would run the Cowtown Saturday, and we all would head to Odessa together for the remainder of the weekend. This was the plan. Nothing would derail with THE PLAN.
THURSDAY: Pam and Reggie depart roughly an hour behind schedule. Shortly after leaving they encounter near death experience when cut-off on the highway, by “one of those” drivers. Stop One. Popeye’s. Big Spring, Texas. Dinner time. Park next to suspicious couple and chihuahua in an old, junker Sudan. Odd. Moving on… Food is ordered. Call number order is 666. Hmm… They wait. They sit. No food. They wait. They sit. No food. Deondra, the extremely friendly Popeye’s employee (equivalent to Bon Qui Qui at King Burger…youtube it.)continues to call out that a two piece and a five piece meal are ready at the counter. Pam and Reggie ordered two, two-piece meals. As this order of food sits, and gets cold, I am told it was also molested by a rather hairy man in a dirty, cut off t-shirt as he leaned over the counter in reach of some condiment. Mmm… (The basketball scene from along came Polly should be running thru your mind at the present.) After Reggie decided to ask about order #666, she points to the food on the counter and says that is it. No, that is not what we ordered. And that food is a bit contaminated with belly hair. Deondra lovingly refills the order, wrong again, but who cares. Return to car, suspicious couple, chihuahua, crappy Sudan, all still there. Watching a movie? Strange. On the road again. Pam begins to get sick from Popeye’s. (I’m calling food poisoning, compliments of Deondra.) Reggie pulls over for Pam to puke. Stop two. Mc Donald’s. Eastland, Texas. All Reggie wants is a cup of coffee. We are nearing twelve a.m. here… no coffee for Reg at Mickey D’s. How about a shake then? No shake for you. We already cleaned the machine, don’t want to have to get out the ice cream, mix up cookies, and press a bunch of buttons…nope. Next door the drive-thru light of Starbucks glows brightly, with a promise of salvation. Pam and Reggie mosey over to the Starbucks. Oh wait, just kidding. They didn’t mean to leave that light on. Near the hour of one a.m., Pam and Reg pull up to the Cabochon, home of their beautiful, talented, angelic, witty, rich, really, really, really popular daughter.
FRIDAY: The rents decide to kick start their day with a delicious, hot breakfast from Road Trip gas station. Wait, what? Really mom and dad? You are in freaking Dallas and you get breakfast from a gas station? That’s right; a crusty chicken biscuit sandwich serves you right! Ha-ha. Doctors office. Pam gets shots in the knee. OUCH! Drive to Fort Worth for race packet pick up. Mayhem. Golly, I love race expos. Dinnertime. Reservations are pushed back an hour because Maggianos is just “really, really busy.” After a tasty, late, dinner Reggie goes to bed with much indigestion. Not so good on the eve of a race… not much sleep is happening. Then, at the hour of two a.m., the mystery calls start rolling in. Prank calls? Pocket calls? Whatever it was, someone wanted to talk to Reggie in the wee hours of the night. Nice. Pam has nightmares and wakes up screaming, twice. Don’t worry, Reggie is awake. He is talking to mystery caller on the phone. Indigestion continues, well into the morning.
SATURDAY: Race day begins with the toilet. Poor, poor Pops. No more late night carbo loading for you. Ha-ha. We depart for the race on schedule. We sit in traffic for thirty minutes…gun shot, race starts…we sit in traffic for twenty more minutes. Unfortunately we forgot our quilting needles. We totally could have gotten thru a good five or six quilt squares. Penny jumps out and begins run thirty minutes after gunshot. Alone. For miles. Reggie parks and begins race forty minutes after gunshot. Fantastic. Temperature: thirty-five degrees. Wind chill: somewhere around fifteen. It was quiet the physical/mental battle for sure, but the promise of pancakes at the finish line is always encouraging. That and, the fact that if I didn’t finish this race, I would have to give charity money back to people. And that would just be uncomfortable. Wait, what is this? Time to pack up and head for Odessa? The plan resided intact! I proudly let the parental units smell me all the way down I20 as we drove back to Odessa. I didn’t have time to shower… oops. Should have reserved more time for that in THE PLAN. Pam and Reggie are now at completion of Dallas trip number three, and although there were some slightly annoying, and somewhat odd undertakings, they had in fact stayed for the whole duration of the trip. Sweet, sweet success.
Now let’s make note of what was great about this mess we call “vacation.” Dad and I raised a substantial amount of money for charities in our race, and we also ran it in honor of our loved ones now gone. Matt, Elaine, and Jason. It was also Pop and I’s first race together and we both had rock star times. Oh and how could I forget Masen was able to save San Francisco from a terrorist attack! This was a very memorable insert from dinner at Maggianos with my dear friend Masen whom is a nurse in the ER. Apparently that afternoon, some dude strolled in with a knife protruding from his neck, and he was claiming that he had to kill himself, because his brain was programmed to detonate a bomb in San Francisco. Thousands would die if he did not kill himself before the bomb was activated. I am soooo glad Masen was there to intercept. San Francisco is in grave debt. and I’m just gonna put it out there and say, if you ever receive the call #666 for anything, just put the number down, and walk away… Some misfortunate mishaps, yes, but all in all, a great weekend. Baker style.
Mom and and dad are coming for a visit. Exciting right? That’s questionable. The last two times they came to visit, someone bit the dust just as they arrived and they immediately had to turn around and go back home. So we all were excited yet somewhat apprehensive about trip attempt number three. Mom and dad would drive in late Thursday night. Doctors appointment for mom and play time on Friday. Pops and I would run the Cowtown Saturday, and we all would head to Odessa together for the remainder of the weekend. This was the plan. Nothing would derail with THE PLAN.
THURSDAY: Pam and Reggie depart roughly an hour behind schedule. Shortly after leaving they encounter near death experience when cut-off on the highway, by “one of those” drivers. Stop One. Popeye’s. Big Spring, Texas. Dinner time. Park next to suspicious couple and chihuahua in an old, junker Sudan. Odd. Moving on… Food is ordered. Call number order is 666. Hmm… They wait. They sit. No food. They wait. They sit. No food. Deondra, the extremely friendly Popeye’s employee (equivalent to Bon Qui Qui at King Burger…youtube it.)continues to call out that a two piece and a five piece meal are ready at the counter. Pam and Reggie ordered two, two-piece meals. As this order of food sits, and gets cold, I am told it was also molested by a rather hairy man in a dirty, cut off t-shirt as he leaned over the counter in reach of some condiment. Mmm… (The basketball scene from along came Polly should be running thru your mind at the present.) After Reggie decided to ask about order #666, she points to the food on the counter and says that is it. No, that is not what we ordered. And that food is a bit contaminated with belly hair. Deondra lovingly refills the order, wrong again, but who cares. Return to car, suspicious couple, chihuahua, crappy Sudan, all still there. Watching a movie? Strange. On the road again. Pam begins to get sick from Popeye’s. (I’m calling food poisoning, compliments of Deondra.) Reggie pulls over for Pam to puke. Stop two. Mc Donald’s. Eastland, Texas. All Reggie wants is a cup of coffee. We are nearing twelve a.m. here… no coffee for Reg at Mickey D’s. How about a shake then? No shake for you. We already cleaned the machine, don’t want to have to get out the ice cream, mix up cookies, and press a bunch of buttons…nope. Next door the drive-thru light of Starbucks glows brightly, with a promise of salvation. Pam and Reggie mosey over to the Starbucks. Oh wait, just kidding. They didn’t mean to leave that light on. Near the hour of one a.m., Pam and Reg pull up to the Cabochon, home of their beautiful, talented, angelic, witty, rich, really, really, really popular daughter.
FRIDAY: The rents decide to kick start their day with a delicious, hot breakfast from Road Trip gas station. Wait, what? Really mom and dad? You are in freaking Dallas and you get breakfast from a gas station? That’s right; a crusty chicken biscuit sandwich serves you right! Ha-ha. Doctors office. Pam gets shots in the knee. OUCH! Drive to Fort Worth for race packet pick up. Mayhem. Golly, I love race expos. Dinnertime. Reservations are pushed back an hour because Maggianos is just “really, really busy.” After a tasty, late, dinner Reggie goes to bed with much indigestion. Not so good on the eve of a race… not much sleep is happening. Then, at the hour of two a.m., the mystery calls start rolling in. Prank calls? Pocket calls? Whatever it was, someone wanted to talk to Reggie in the wee hours of the night. Nice. Pam has nightmares and wakes up screaming, twice. Don’t worry, Reggie is awake. He is talking to mystery caller on the phone. Indigestion continues, well into the morning.
SATURDAY: Race day begins with the toilet. Poor, poor Pops. No more late night carbo loading for you. Ha-ha. We depart for the race on schedule. We sit in traffic for thirty minutes…gun shot, race starts…we sit in traffic for twenty more minutes. Unfortunately we forgot our quilting needles. We totally could have gotten thru a good five or six quilt squares. Penny jumps out and begins run thirty minutes after gunshot. Alone. For miles. Reggie parks and begins race forty minutes after gunshot. Fantastic. Temperature: thirty-five degrees. Wind chill: somewhere around fifteen. It was quiet the physical/mental battle for sure, but the promise of pancakes at the finish line is always encouraging. That and, the fact that if I didn’t finish this race, I would have to give charity money back to people. And that would just be uncomfortable. Wait, what is this? Time to pack up and head for Odessa? The plan resided intact! I proudly let the parental units smell me all the way down I20 as we drove back to Odessa. I didn’t have time to shower… oops. Should have reserved more time for that in THE PLAN. Pam and Reggie are now at completion of Dallas trip number three, and although there were some slightly annoying, and somewhat odd undertakings, they had in fact stayed for the whole duration of the trip. Sweet, sweet success.
Now let’s make note of what was great about this mess we call “vacation.” Dad and I raised a substantial amount of money for charities in our race, and we also ran it in honor of our loved ones now gone. Matt, Elaine, and Jason. It was also Pop and I’s first race together and we both had rock star times. Oh and how could I forget Masen was able to save San Francisco from a terrorist attack! This was a very memorable insert from dinner at Maggianos with my dear friend Masen whom is a nurse in the ER. Apparently that afternoon, some dude strolled in with a knife protruding from his neck, and he was claiming that he had to kill himself, because his brain was programmed to detonate a bomb in San Francisco. Thousands would die if he did not kill himself before the bomb was activated. I am soooo glad Masen was there to intercept. San Francisco is in grave debt. and I’m just gonna put it out there and say, if you ever receive the call #666 for anything, just put the number down, and walk away… Some misfortunate mishaps, yes, but all in all, a great weekend. Baker style.
running shoes.
Why do companies that supply running shoes insist upon manufacturing female running shoes in the most ridiculous colors possible? I am well aware of the fact that you can create your own shoes on nike.com, but what if you don’t wear Nikes? Why is it that because I am a female I am forced to wear pink, teal, purple or baby blue on my feet every time I go for a run? Boo I say.
it takes time to extract joy from life (2).
Ingredient Two
Every other week my friend Lindsay and I share in “family therapy night” at Taco Bueno. Yeah, we made it up. On occasion others choose to partake in the festivities. Should you decide to join us, you will need to make yourself familiar with the rules:
Rule #1 Dine-in only.
Rule #2 It’s required to spend a minimum of five minutes deciphering what to order.
Rule #3 When placing your order, you have to be very complicated and do your best to confuse the persons taking the order. Two or more modifications must be made to your selected menu items.Rule
Rule #4 You MUST order a party burrito.
Rule #5 Before consuming the party burrito, it is required that you sing in song and shake out a little dance as instructed by Lindsay or myself. this is what we refer to as, “the celebration of the party burrito.”Rule #6 You have to eat off of your tray.Rule
#7 The Bueno plays awesome music. Bring a pen and paper to write down the music you hear. Immediately go home and purchase the music on itunes.
Rule #8 It is essential for each individual to take a moment to appreciate the fine artwork on the walls.
My dearest Julia joined Lindsay and me for our most recent session of “family therapy night” at the Bueno. We discussed much of what I wrote about in my last blog entry, but then of course many a more questions were raised, which means that I had more thinking to do,this means you have more reading to do…
What derails us from extraordinary living? Common causes of disrupt: laziness, resentment, fear, failure, and exhaustion.
LAZINESS.Main Entry: 1la·zy Pronunciation: ..ˈlā-zē.Function: adjective Inflected Form(s): la·zi·er; la·zi·est Etymology: perhaps from Middle Low German lasich feeble; akin to Middle High German erleswen to become weak Date: 1549 1 a: disinclined to activity or exertion : not energetic or vigorous b: encouraging inactivity or indolence 2: moving slowly : sluggish3: droopy , lax
***
RESENTMENT. Main Entry: re·sent·ment Pronunciation: ..ri-ˈzent-mənt.. Function: noun Date: 1619 : a feeling of indignant displeasure or persistent ill will at something regarded as a wrong, insult, or injury, ill feeling, aggrieved feelings caused by a sense of having been badly treated
Resentment is found with one’s self or with a loved one. Most common cause of resentment: Placing ALL of your trust in others or in yourself alone. You cannot make someone else happy. Someone else cannot make you happy. So often we rely on some individual to be our satisfaction. This will always be a blueprint for diasappointment, wich in turn can lead to resentment. You have to find your joy in something more consistent than relationships. Instead of putting all trust, hopes, and dreams, into a person who is likely going to let you down at some point or another , and looking to them for contentment, trust in faith for those things. After all, people are just people. We fail all of the time. We hurt others constantly and repetitiously. And in my experiences I have found that I have hurt others the most when I myself am hurting. This is why I esteem grace. Grace is pertinent. The beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair. A quote from the book I am currently reading captured the meaning of grace for me. “For some reason, beyond understanding, she seems to love him now more than ever, even though I get the sense that he hurt her something fierce in the early years. I suppose that since most of our hurts come through relationships so will our healing, and I know that grace rarely makes sense for those looking in from the outside.”—William P. Young “(The Shack.) When I am consciously taking stock of what I place my faith and trust into and focus on granting and accepting grace, there resides harmony.
***
FEAR.
Main Entry: 1fear Pronunciation: ..ˈfir.. Function: verb Etymology: Middle English feren, from Old English fǣran, from fǣDate: before 12th century transitive verb 1archaic : frighten2archaic : to feel fear in (oneself)3: to have a reverential awe of 4: to be afraid of : expect with alarm intransitive verb: to be afraid or apprehensive — fear·er noun
***
FAILURE. Main Entry: fail·ure
Pronunciation: ..ˈfāl-yər.. Function: noun Etymology: alteration of earlier failer, from Anglo-French, from Old French faillir to fail Date: 1643 1 a: omission of occurrence or performance ; specifically : a failing to perform a duty or expected action .. b (1): a state of inability to perform a normal function .. — compare heart failure (2): an abrupt cessation of normal functioning c: a fracturing or giving way under stress .2 a: lack of success b: a failing in business : bankruptcy3 a: a falling short : deficiency b: deterioration , decay4: one that has failed
At first failure sucks. It hurts. Its mirrors defeat. But learning to develop failure into benefit, could be life changing. The movie Elizabethtown perhaps makes the best references to failure I have ever come across. “So you failed. Alright you really failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. I do understand. You want to be really great? Then have the courage to fail big and stick around. Make them wonder why you're still smiling. There's a difference between a failure and a fiasco. A failure is merely the absence of success. Any fool can achieve failure. But a fiasco, a fiasco is a disaster of epic proportions. A fiasco is a folk tale told to other's to make other people feel more alive because it didn't happen to them. No true fiasco ever began as a quest for mere adequacy. A motto of the British Special Air Force is: 'Those who risk, win.' A single green vine shoot is able to grow through cement. The Pacific Northwestern salmon beats itself bloody on it's quest to travel hundreds of miles upstream against the current, with a single purpose, sex of course, but also... life.”
***
EXHAUSTION.
Main Entry: ex·haus·tion
Pronunciation: ..ig-ˈzȯs-chən..Function: noun Date: 1615 : the act or process of exhausting : the state of being exhausted1 a: to consume entirely : use up .. b: to tire extremely or completely .. c: to deprive of a valuable quality or constituent 2 a: to draw off or let out completely b: to empty by drawing off the contents ; specifically : to create a vacuum in3 a: to consider or discuss (a subject) thoroughly or completely b: to try out the whole number of intransitive verb
***
~I write everything as if it is truth or absolute, when most of it is purely my opinion. But I like sounding confident. Just so you know. Oh, and this morning I went to Starbucks and ordered a leprechaun. Not to be confused with Spencer.
End.
ISAIAH 40: 28-31How can you say God ignores your rights?Have you never heard?Have you never understood?The Lord is the everlasting God,the Creator of all the earthHe never grows weak or wearyNo one can measure the depths of his understandingHe gives power to the weakand strength to the powerlessEven youths will become weak and tired,and young men will fall in exhaustionBut those who trust in the Lord will find new strengthThey will soar high on wings like eaglesThey will run and not grow wearyThey will walk and not faint(Music helps bring energy to life too. It’s remedy for the soul.
Every other week my friend Lindsay and I share in “family therapy night” at Taco Bueno. Yeah, we made it up. On occasion others choose to partake in the festivities. Should you decide to join us, you will need to make yourself familiar with the rules:
Rule #1 Dine-in only.
Rule #2 It’s required to spend a minimum of five minutes deciphering what to order.
Rule #3 When placing your order, you have to be very complicated and do your best to confuse the persons taking the order. Two or more modifications must be made to your selected menu items.Rule
Rule #4 You MUST order a party burrito.
Rule #5 Before consuming the party burrito, it is required that you sing in song and shake out a little dance as instructed by Lindsay or myself. this is what we refer to as, “the celebration of the party burrito.”Rule #6 You have to eat off of your tray.Rule
#7 The Bueno plays awesome music. Bring a pen and paper to write down the music you hear. Immediately go home and purchase the music on itunes.
Rule #8 It is essential for each individual to take a moment to appreciate the fine artwork on the walls.
My dearest Julia joined Lindsay and me for our most recent session of “family therapy night” at the Bueno. We discussed much of what I wrote about in my last blog entry, but then of course many a more questions were raised, which means that I had more thinking to do,this means you have more reading to do…
What derails us from extraordinary living? Common causes of disrupt: laziness, resentment, fear, failure, and exhaustion.
LAZINESS.Main Entry: 1la·zy Pronunciation: ..ˈlā-zē.Function: adjective Inflected Form(s): la·zi·er; la·zi·est Etymology: perhaps from Middle Low German lasich feeble; akin to Middle High German erleswen to become weak Date: 1549 1 a: disinclined to activity or exertion : not energetic or vigorous b: encouraging inactivity or indolence 2: moving slowly : sluggish3: droopy , lax
***
RESENTMENT. Main Entry: re·sent·ment Pronunciation: ..ri-ˈzent-mənt.. Function: noun Date: 1619 : a feeling of indignant displeasure or persistent ill will at something regarded as a wrong, insult, or injury, ill feeling, aggrieved feelings caused by a sense of having been badly treated
Resentment is found with one’s self or with a loved one. Most common cause of resentment: Placing ALL of your trust in others or in yourself alone. You cannot make someone else happy. Someone else cannot make you happy. So often we rely on some individual to be our satisfaction. This will always be a blueprint for diasappointment, wich in turn can lead to resentment. You have to find your joy in something more consistent than relationships. Instead of putting all trust, hopes, and dreams, into a person who is likely going to let you down at some point or another , and looking to them for contentment, trust in faith for those things. After all, people are just people. We fail all of the time. We hurt others constantly and repetitiously. And in my experiences I have found that I have hurt others the most when I myself am hurting. This is why I esteem grace. Grace is pertinent. The beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair. A quote from the book I am currently reading captured the meaning of grace for me. “For some reason, beyond understanding, she seems to love him now more than ever, even though I get the sense that he hurt her something fierce in the early years. I suppose that since most of our hurts come through relationships so will our healing, and I know that grace rarely makes sense for those looking in from the outside.”—William P. Young “(The Shack.) When I am consciously taking stock of what I place my faith and trust into and focus on granting and accepting grace, there resides harmony.
***
FEAR.
Main Entry: 1fear Pronunciation: ..ˈfir.. Function: verb Etymology: Middle English feren, from Old English fǣran, from fǣDate: before 12th century transitive verb 1archaic : frighten2archaic : to feel fear in (oneself)3: to have a reverential awe of 4: to be afraid of : expect with alarm intransitive verb: to be afraid or apprehensive — fear·er noun
***
FAILURE. Main Entry: fail·ure
Pronunciation: ..ˈfāl-yər.. Function: noun Etymology: alteration of earlier failer, from Anglo-French, from Old French faillir to fail Date: 1643 1 a: omission of occurrence or performance ; specifically : a failing to perform a duty or expected action .. b (1): a state of inability to perform a normal function .. — compare heart failure (2): an abrupt cessation of normal functioning c: a fracturing or giving way under stress .2 a: lack of success b: a failing in business : bankruptcy3 a: a falling short : deficiency b: deterioration , decay4: one that has failed
At first failure sucks. It hurts. Its mirrors defeat. But learning to develop failure into benefit, could be life changing. The movie Elizabethtown perhaps makes the best references to failure I have ever come across. “So you failed. Alright you really failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. I do understand. You want to be really great? Then have the courage to fail big and stick around. Make them wonder why you're still smiling. There's a difference between a failure and a fiasco. A failure is merely the absence of success. Any fool can achieve failure. But a fiasco, a fiasco is a disaster of epic proportions. A fiasco is a folk tale told to other's to make other people feel more alive because it didn't happen to them. No true fiasco ever began as a quest for mere adequacy. A motto of the British Special Air Force is: 'Those who risk, win.' A single green vine shoot is able to grow through cement. The Pacific Northwestern salmon beats itself bloody on it's quest to travel hundreds of miles upstream against the current, with a single purpose, sex of course, but also... life.”
***
EXHAUSTION.
Main Entry: ex·haus·tion
Pronunciation: ..ig-ˈzȯs-chən..Function: noun Date: 1615 : the act or process of exhausting : the state of being exhausted1 a: to consume entirely : use up .. b: to tire extremely or completely .. c: to deprive of a valuable quality or constituent 2 a: to draw off or let out completely b: to empty by drawing off the contents ; specifically : to create a vacuum in3 a: to consider or discuss (a subject) thoroughly or completely b: to try out the whole number of intransitive verb
***
~I write everything as if it is truth or absolute, when most of it is purely my opinion. But I like sounding confident. Just so you know. Oh, and this morning I went to Starbucks and ordered a leprechaun. Not to be confused with Spencer.
End.
ISAIAH 40: 28-31How can you say God ignores your rights?Have you never heard?Have you never understood?The Lord is the everlasting God,the Creator of all the earthHe never grows weak or wearyNo one can measure the depths of his understandingHe gives power to the weakand strength to the powerlessEven youths will become weak and tired,and young men will fall in exhaustionBut those who trust in the Lord will find new strengthThey will soar high on wings like eaglesThey will run and not grow wearyThey will walk and not faint(Music helps bring energy to life too. It’s remedy for the soul.
it takes time to extract joy from life.
Ingredient One
This was initially a four page entry. But I did not want the lengthiness of my writing to detour you from reading all of its contents, for it is a personal testimony that resulted from some intense soul searching, and hopefully you, or someone you know, can extract some subsistence from my notions. Although I am sure my thoughts are not truly original, it’s all innovative to me. So, you are currently reading part one of four. Hopefully, it is somewhat cohesive.
I sit at the Regal Beagle, with my new sweetheart of a friend Spencer. As we shuffle thru the motions of the “getting acquainted” stage of a new relationship he asks a question that poses a problem. The problem being that, I do not know the answer to his question. “So what drives you?” he asks. I have never been asked this before. I never really thought about it. I did not know that I was driven??? It’s rare that I am at a loss for words, but this question successfully had me puzzled. I did a nice little tap dance for Spencer, but I never truly gave an answer that sufficed. After being annoyed with myself over my own lack of insight, I took some time to think and reflect upon this subject, and I composed this response.
For whatever reason I’m not very good at hiding what I want or desire. If I want it, I go after it…always have. I have gone through a couple of stages of trying to be what I thought others wanted me to be, or of doing what others wanted me to do, and I just recently tapped back into who I certainly am. There is such peace in embracing who you are. I don’t even know why I ever cared about how I was perceived by others in the first place. I hope that those who know me consider me to be genuine. Every individual is created with specific and intrinsic, fashioning and fastens. Every person is bestowed with special and specific abilities, passions, gifts, and desires. When we learn to grasp a hold of what our passions and desires are, we discover authentic living and purpose. This is to say, your life’s purpose lies within your passions. So, all of the things that I am passionate about are that which drive me. I don’t have to question my inadequate existence when I know I am doing what I was created to do. I am content and also almost always rewarded by how others are impacted and affected as well. (I hope that finally answer your question Spencer.) “That which we manifest is before us; we are the creators of our own destiny. Be it through intention or ignorance, our successes and our failures have been brought on by none other than ourselves.”-- Garth Stein.
Those of you that have spent any amount of time with me, are aware of the fact that you have a walking, breathing, clumsy, living, ”rain cloud” for a friend. Whether I have locked my keys in my car in a “tan or get towed” parking spot on a Saturday morning shortly after cutting a chunk of skin out of my ankle while shaving, or I come home to find the apartment has flooded for the third time just after receiving a phone call that same day that someone has died, it doesn’t matter. Just details. I still have joy. I choose to believe everything is going to be okay. Bad things and amazing things happen to good people. Bad things and amazing things happen to bad people too. Life occurs for all people. Maybe there’s not a list to keep of good or bad experiences, or of the way a person behaves toward you, or of curve balls existence throws at your face. Maybe it’s just life, HAPPENING. I have also found that an optimistic faith-filled outlook on this life is the best way of navigation. Sadness is easier because its surrender. But I say make time to dance alone with one hand waving free. Run forward, full speed, arms extended out in flight, with a goofy look on your face, even if you are being assaulted by a downpour of rain or stub your toe on unpredictable rock, just keep running. Just keep trusting. This is what we call, the art of racing in the rain*.
God is my happiness. He is my own personal miracle. Nothing is off the table and there are no limits when you believe in His power. Oh and, coffee helps too. Hope unswervingly and love extravagantly. I hold tight to theses convictions. My biggest fear- WAITING for everything to start, only to find out it's already over. So that fear drives me as well. With your mind power, your determination, your instinct, and the experience as well, you can fly very high. –Ayrton Senna
This was initially a four page entry. But I did not want the lengthiness of my writing to detour you from reading all of its contents, for it is a personal testimony that resulted from some intense soul searching, and hopefully you, or someone you know, can extract some subsistence from my notions. Although I am sure my thoughts are not truly original, it’s all innovative to me. So, you are currently reading part one of four. Hopefully, it is somewhat cohesive.
I sit at the Regal Beagle, with my new sweetheart of a friend Spencer. As we shuffle thru the motions of the “getting acquainted” stage of a new relationship he asks a question that poses a problem. The problem being that, I do not know the answer to his question. “So what drives you?” he asks. I have never been asked this before. I never really thought about it. I did not know that I was driven??? It’s rare that I am at a loss for words, but this question successfully had me puzzled. I did a nice little tap dance for Spencer, but I never truly gave an answer that sufficed. After being annoyed with myself over my own lack of insight, I took some time to think and reflect upon this subject, and I composed this response.
For whatever reason I’m not very good at hiding what I want or desire. If I want it, I go after it…always have. I have gone through a couple of stages of trying to be what I thought others wanted me to be, or of doing what others wanted me to do, and I just recently tapped back into who I certainly am. There is such peace in embracing who you are. I don’t even know why I ever cared about how I was perceived by others in the first place. I hope that those who know me consider me to be genuine. Every individual is created with specific and intrinsic, fashioning and fastens. Every person is bestowed with special and specific abilities, passions, gifts, and desires. When we learn to grasp a hold of what our passions and desires are, we discover authentic living and purpose. This is to say, your life’s purpose lies within your passions. So, all of the things that I am passionate about are that which drive me. I don’t have to question my inadequate existence when I know I am doing what I was created to do. I am content and also almost always rewarded by how others are impacted and affected as well. (I hope that finally answer your question Spencer.) “That which we manifest is before us; we are the creators of our own destiny. Be it through intention or ignorance, our successes and our failures have been brought on by none other than ourselves.”-- Garth Stein.
Those of you that have spent any amount of time with me, are aware of the fact that you have a walking, breathing, clumsy, living, ”rain cloud” for a friend. Whether I have locked my keys in my car in a “tan or get towed” parking spot on a Saturday morning shortly after cutting a chunk of skin out of my ankle while shaving, or I come home to find the apartment has flooded for the third time just after receiving a phone call that same day that someone has died, it doesn’t matter. Just details. I still have joy. I choose to believe everything is going to be okay. Bad things and amazing things happen to good people. Bad things and amazing things happen to bad people too. Life occurs for all people. Maybe there’s not a list to keep of good or bad experiences, or of the way a person behaves toward you, or of curve balls existence throws at your face. Maybe it’s just life, HAPPENING. I have also found that an optimistic faith-filled outlook on this life is the best way of navigation. Sadness is easier because its surrender. But I say make time to dance alone with one hand waving free. Run forward, full speed, arms extended out in flight, with a goofy look on your face, even if you are being assaulted by a downpour of rain or stub your toe on unpredictable rock, just keep running. Just keep trusting. This is what we call, the art of racing in the rain*.
God is my happiness. He is my own personal miracle. Nothing is off the table and there are no limits when you believe in His power. Oh and, coffee helps too. Hope unswervingly and love extravagantly. I hold tight to theses convictions. My biggest fear- WAITING for everything to start, only to find out it's already over. So that fear drives me as well. With your mind power, your determination, your instinct, and the experience as well, you can fly very high. –Ayrton Senna
phantom intruder III.
After much unrest and questioning of my sanity, I have found that there is in fact valid reasoning as to what has bean stirring up chaos in the Cabochon. Let me pick back up where I last left off.
Upon finding my door cracked open, when returning from I’Fratelli's, Tonya and I decided to take some extensive precautions to secure our apartment. We vowed to not spend the night alone in the apartment and started using special locks on the doors. Everything was fine. For a while. Then, the bedlam began again.
Exactly two weeks following the first break in, there was another occurrence. I returned to my casa after dinner with friends and as soon as I opened the door I knew something was not right. Tonya was out of town for the weekend, so I knew the state I had left the apartment in before leaving for dinner. A decorative vase full of sticks had been knocked over into the living room floor (yes, we have a vase full of sticks), definitely not how I had left them. I instantly began a sweep over of the apartment. Taking note of anything out of place. My balcony door, open. The storage unit door on my balcony, open. Curious. I don’t call the police. Partially, because it made me feel better to block out reality as apposed to assuming the worst. To call the police, to start to freak out, would be admission to the fact that someone was entering into my home uninvited, and I was just not ready to accept that as truth. But this is how I cope. So calmly, I call Mikey, my friend who is a police officer, and my mother. They were skeptical, because of my lack of urgency I suppose. They told me to leave the apartment, and we would figure it out. Not much sleep happened that night. My mind raced from side to side with thoughts of justifiable possibilities. I HAD to figure this out. I stayed with friends and family until Tonya returned, and then we decided it was time, for a stakeout.
Gene and Mikey were more than happy to assist. I readily handed over my apartment keys to my two dearest manly friends for “Operation Stakeout.” Day one passed of the investigation, nothing. Day two, bagel. I came home from work to find my boys disappointed. They had hopes of a beat down taking place, but nothing ever matriculated. I think the stakeout must have felt like waiting for rain in a drought. Frustrating. I wasn’t there, so I don’t really know, but I am pretty sure in the end, it just gave Mikey and Gene a fantastic opportunity to muck around and drink on my balcony all day long. So in my parallel disappointment, I joined them. We collectively knocked back some beer and puffed on cigars in hopes that, I was just insane, and there was nothing to fear.
Answers. Later that evening I talked to Tonya on the phone. She had received a voicemail from the Cabochon office earlier that day. They had left her a message saying that they were having trouble getting into our apartment to show it to future tenants. Wait… WHAT? (We are not moving.) Tonya called them back, and apparently they thought we had put in a notice to move and had been showing our apartment to people! Really? After dealing with all of the frustration of comprehending the stupidity of our apartment office staff, I finally felt, RELIEF. I was not crazy. I have in fact, NOT seen too many scary movies. Someone was entering my home uninvited, they just didn’t know it. So many weeks of mayhem explained in one simple phone call. Just another day in the life of Penny Baker ; )
Upon finding my door cracked open, when returning from I’Fratelli's, Tonya and I decided to take some extensive precautions to secure our apartment. We vowed to not spend the night alone in the apartment and started using special locks on the doors. Everything was fine. For a while. Then, the bedlam began again.
Exactly two weeks following the first break in, there was another occurrence. I returned to my casa after dinner with friends and as soon as I opened the door I knew something was not right. Tonya was out of town for the weekend, so I knew the state I had left the apartment in before leaving for dinner. A decorative vase full of sticks had been knocked over into the living room floor (yes, we have a vase full of sticks), definitely not how I had left them. I instantly began a sweep over of the apartment. Taking note of anything out of place. My balcony door, open. The storage unit door on my balcony, open. Curious. I don’t call the police. Partially, because it made me feel better to block out reality as apposed to assuming the worst. To call the police, to start to freak out, would be admission to the fact that someone was entering into my home uninvited, and I was just not ready to accept that as truth. But this is how I cope. So calmly, I call Mikey, my friend who is a police officer, and my mother. They were skeptical, because of my lack of urgency I suppose. They told me to leave the apartment, and we would figure it out. Not much sleep happened that night. My mind raced from side to side with thoughts of justifiable possibilities. I HAD to figure this out. I stayed with friends and family until Tonya returned, and then we decided it was time, for a stakeout.
Gene and Mikey were more than happy to assist. I readily handed over my apartment keys to my two dearest manly friends for “Operation Stakeout.” Day one passed of the investigation, nothing. Day two, bagel. I came home from work to find my boys disappointed. They had hopes of a beat down taking place, but nothing ever matriculated. I think the stakeout must have felt like waiting for rain in a drought. Frustrating. I wasn’t there, so I don’t really know, but I am pretty sure in the end, it just gave Mikey and Gene a fantastic opportunity to muck around and drink on my balcony all day long. So in my parallel disappointment, I joined them. We collectively knocked back some beer and puffed on cigars in hopes that, I was just insane, and there was nothing to fear.
Answers. Later that evening I talked to Tonya on the phone. She had received a voicemail from the Cabochon office earlier that day. They had left her a message saying that they were having trouble getting into our apartment to show it to future tenants. Wait… WHAT? (We are not moving.) Tonya called them back, and apparently they thought we had put in a notice to move and had been showing our apartment to people! Really? After dealing with all of the frustration of comprehending the stupidity of our apartment office staff, I finally felt, RELIEF. I was not crazy. I have in fact, NOT seen too many scary movies. Someone was entering my home uninvited, they just didn’t know it. So many weeks of mayhem explained in one simple phone call. Just another day in the life of Penny Baker ; )
i would like a number three, with barbecue sauce on a silver platter please.
During lunch today, I made a fascinating observation. Food trays. Most fast food restaurants use them for orderly food distribution. Have you ever noticed how people react to the tray? I shall conduct this blog in case-study format so that you and I may further explore and understand.
Type A: The NaturalThis individual will carry their food from the counter to their table on the tray, and will continue to use the tray for the entire duration of their meal, consuming their chow from the tray.
Type B: The Conventionalist This individual will accept the tray at the counter but then discard of it upon reaching their table. (Type B will generally have a pattern of placement when relocating food from tray to table.)
Type C: Too Cool for SchoolAnd then of course, there are those individuals that do not acknowledge the tray at all. Type C consumers remove their food from the tray and walk it to the table in hand, leaving the tray to sit on the counter.
Type D: Mixed BagType D individuals use combinations of the types listed above. There is no rhyme or reason to their tray usage.What kind of user are you? Why do we do this? What does it mean about your personality?
Observations:Continuing my with my research during the lunch period I came to several note worthy observations. Majority of business men are type A. Military persons are type A. I am usually type A, likely because it releases my inner child, leading me to feel as if I am even now in the grade school cafeteria, as carefree ten year old. On occasion I will switch to type B, typically because of peer pressure. (Which I guess really makes me type D?) Homeless people are type C. Consumers that are type C tend to be snobby. (With exception of homeless people.) Those that are type B on occasion will take on traits of type C. Persons that are type D are hard to distinguish. Majority of subjects were type B.
Conclusion:I shall assume that there are subconscious, psycho-somatic reasons as to why we decide to use or not use provided food trays to their utmost potential. Just not quiet sure what all of this means. I will let you decide. But I hope that you will take the time to ask yourself one very important question, what kind of user are you?
Type A: The NaturalThis individual will carry their food from the counter to their table on the tray, and will continue to use the tray for the entire duration of their meal, consuming their chow from the tray.
Type B: The Conventionalist This individual will accept the tray at the counter but then discard of it upon reaching their table. (Type B will generally have a pattern of placement when relocating food from tray to table.)
Type C: Too Cool for SchoolAnd then of course, there are those individuals that do not acknowledge the tray at all. Type C consumers remove their food from the tray and walk it to the table in hand, leaving the tray to sit on the counter.
Type D: Mixed BagType D individuals use combinations of the types listed above. There is no rhyme or reason to their tray usage.What kind of user are you? Why do we do this? What does it mean about your personality?
Observations:Continuing my with my research during the lunch period I came to several note worthy observations. Majority of business men are type A. Military persons are type A. I am usually type A, likely because it releases my inner child, leading me to feel as if I am even now in the grade school cafeteria, as carefree ten year old. On occasion I will switch to type B, typically because of peer pressure. (Which I guess really makes me type D?) Homeless people are type C. Consumers that are type C tend to be snobby. (With exception of homeless people.) Those that are type B on occasion will take on traits of type C. Persons that are type D are hard to distinguish. Majority of subjects were type B.
Conclusion:I shall assume that there are subconscious, psycho-somatic reasons as to why we decide to use or not use provided food trays to their utmost potential. Just not quiet sure what all of this means. I will let you decide. But I hope that you will take the time to ask yourself one very important question, what kind of user are you?
tmnt part deux.
i have been asked to briefly share my thoughts on splinter...i believe splinter to be a happy medium of pat morita and yoda. if i remember correctly he was once human and somehow was transformed into a rather large rat. not sure how i feel about all of that. although i was a little frightened by his disturbingly long and bony fingers as a child, splinter captured my heart when he took in the four orphaned baby turtles as they hatched from thier eggs. under all of that wisdom and somewhat questionalable hygiene lies a father figure with a huge heart. here's an ice cream cone for you splinter! i would like to know his age and why he didn't eat more cheese though. i mean, i love cheese and i'm not even a rat. hmm?
for mairs.
i have fully accepted the fact that i have insomnia. so i finally decided to stop fighting it tonight and i ended up where else but on myspace. as i was lying in bed tossing and turning earlier i randomly had the teenage mutant ninja turtles theme song playing over and over in my head. for those of you who are not savy to the tune, the phrase, "teenage mutant ninja turtles" is sung thru about 3 or 4 times followed by, "heroes in a half shell, turtle power!" why this tune was on repeat in my head at 2am i have no idea, but it got me thinking...why turtles in half shell? what other way is there for a turtle to be? a whole shell? no shell? is it a half shell? it covers their back and belly...what would a turtle look like with no shell? hmmm.
as i pondered this i thought back to the TMNT movies. the first one rocked ( i wanted to be april so bad), the second only good because vanilla ice was a part of it, but the third...one big hot mess. i mean, how realistic is it to travel thru time by holding on to some light post...abnormally large, talking, crime fighting, pizza loving turtles, i can believe to be realistic. but come on, time travel? that i just cannot accept. and now the fourth, computer animation? son of a snapper! what were they thinking? glad i got that off my chest, now maybe i can get some sleep. cowabunga dudes.
as i pondered this i thought back to the TMNT movies. the first one rocked ( i wanted to be april so bad), the second only good because vanilla ice was a part of it, but the third...one big hot mess. i mean, how realistic is it to travel thru time by holding on to some light post...abnormally large, talking, crime fighting, pizza loving turtles, i can believe to be realistic. but come on, time travel? that i just cannot accept. and now the fourth, computer animation? son of a snapper! what were they thinking? glad i got that off my chest, now maybe i can get some sleep. cowabunga dudes.
i got my drink and my two step: 2009 thus far.
Attended Aunts funeral in Stanton on New Year's Day. Entire family stood up and started clapping and singing during worship song. Pastor fainted. Buried my Aunt next to my brother, realized his name was misspelled on his tombstone. Oops. Argued with mom and brother about joining the Navy. Took my mom to breakfast for her birthday. Went to Taco Villa because she didn't know they served breakfast and because they have excellent breakfast burritos. I told her to get a breakfast burrito. She got biscuits and gravy. Turned into a red-head. Drug mom and Christy to Twilight. They thought they would hate it so I bought their tickets. They loved it. I called them bitches. During birthday celebration at La Bodega, my nephew informed me that vampires only pee after dark. I laughed. Launched operation; Fall Out. Drove to Lubbock for a wedding. Fixed lots of hair. Ate lots of food. Drank lots of beer. Accidently paid five dollars to do the dollar dance with my cousin. It was two-step. I hate two-step, but I love my cousin. Sped back to Odessa. Got speeding ticket. Flew to Dallas. Ate nachos with Britta while she told me how to pick a lock with a bobby pin. Watched a special about sloth on the History Channel. Ate pizza with Lindsay at Campisi's. Should have watched the special about gluttony on History Channel. Kissed my dear Geno friend goodbye. Back to work. Had a surprise on my desk. It was from Brandon. Cut my finger opening surprise. Bled all over surprise. Surprise was a new twilight book. How ironic. Got pink eye. Appreciated that God's grace is more than enough. Went to hip hop salsa class with Tonya. Invented hip hop pops. Ate dinner with chop sticks. Watched the Buckeyes lose. Cried myself to sleep because I am Buckeye fan. Began training for Cowtown marathon. Decided I had nothing left to lose and everything to gain. Ate Taco Bueno. Conducted therapy session in Taco Bueno. Realized my expensive dermatologist prescriptions were finally working. Discovered hot, new barista working at my Starbucks. He called me Kate. My name is Penny. Currently trying to decipher if he is gay. Talked to dad after his colonoscopy. (Unpleasant.) Laughed at him because he was soaring high from the medications. Baking cookies tonight. I love my life. I got my drink and my two step. What more does one require?
whataburger: improving coffee and changing the lives of millions, one taquito at a time.
I have this terrible addiction. I kind of like to eat. And currently, I am in the habit of visiting Whataburger on almost a daily basis. It's a happy mix of breakfast, lunch, and dinner go sees. Average visits usually total anywhere from four to eight trips a week. It's sick (or impressive), I know. The question at hand is, why? Why do I shamelessly frequent that beautiful, A-frame building with bright orange lettering? One might think it is their crafty offering of limited-time only menu items. Such as, the honey barbecue chicken strip sandwich, cherry pie, or currently, ninety-nine cent taquitos. All good things. But after scraping away the obvious appeal of these limited time only bargains, I found what it is that keeps me coming back like a thirteen year in a movie theater to watch Twilight for the 10th time…
Fancy ketchup. Disclosing Whataburger; A Conspiracy Theory: It is my belief that the ingredients of Whataburger's fancy ketchup are as follows. Fermented tomatoes and crack. This is the very reason I, and so many others frequent Whataburger like we do. Those sneaky bastards. Charming the public with a condiment. Genius! They are using a complimentary item to keep us coming back and spending on a regular basis. It's sneaky, it's underhanded, and I like it.
Just when I thought this Mecca of fast, fried food goodness could not get any more impressive, I was handed a cup of their new and improved coffee this A.M.. It was fabulous. Whataburger, you just moved up a notch on the belt of outstanding places to eat food. Oh and I almost forgot! The lady in the drive-thru called me mama this morning, and I like that too...
Fancy ketchup. Disclosing Whataburger; A Conspiracy Theory: It is my belief that the ingredients of Whataburger's fancy ketchup are as follows. Fermented tomatoes and crack. This is the very reason I, and so many others frequent Whataburger like we do. Those sneaky bastards. Charming the public with a condiment. Genius! They are using a complimentary item to keep us coming back and spending on a regular basis. It's sneaky, it's underhanded, and I like it.
Just when I thought this Mecca of fast, fried food goodness could not get any more impressive, I was handed a cup of their new and improved coffee this A.M.. It was fabulous. Whataburger, you just moved up a notch on the belt of outstanding places to eat food. Oh and I almost forgot! The lady in the drive-thru called me mama this morning, and I like that too...
a petition of my dear little emmy. sexless in the city: the sweetheart diaries.
(Three excerpts on love and single life while living in the Big D.)
Penny: Hopelessly Adoring Mr. Wrong
I had finally reached a definitive height of contentment. A pinnacle of ease. Wanting nothing. Careless. Feeling one hundred percent whole, when he walked into my life(and ruined it of course). I can account for every detail. All persons involved, the activities, time, location, smells, sounds, apparel... I choose to believe I am not alone in this joyous beginning to an inevitably repetitious and tragic relational misfortune. So I asked my beloved friends to join me in reflection… Someday, someone will walk into your life and make you realize why it never worked out with anyone else. Yeah, just keep telling yourself that Penny. Six things I know: 1. Sometimes you have to learn to love what once was, and move on. 2. You can not make someone a priority if they make you an option. 3. If the guy you are seeing does not have even the slightest desire to be intimate with you, he is just keeping you around for comfort. 4. Sometimes the heart can see what the eye cannot. 5. When the dude you are dating tells you he is at the gym, everyday, in three hour shifts, he is probably dating someone else, and not telling you. 6. It doesn't matter if you are a loft dweller in the metropolis, or a trailer occupant in the desert, boys are the same breed everywhere.
"If there is any failing in your generation it is selfishness and the fear of commitment." –Mom
"You have to learn to walk. You have to learn to talk. You have to wear that totally ridiculous hat your grandma bought you. And when you get a little older, even though you get to choose your hats, you don't get to choose what they put in those meatballs in the cafeteria, or when to fall in love. Sometimes stuff happens and you just have to deal." –Halley (How to Deal 2003)
"It is not wise to make rash decisions when it comes to boys or cities." -Myself
Tonya: Kissing a Prince
My dating experience has been very versatile while living in Dallas. I left college ending a serious relationship and was in no hurry to get involved in another relationship so soon. I was a single girl living in the BIG city and I loved every "single" minute of it!
"If you are single there is always one thing you should take out with you on a Saturday night... your friends." CB
And I did…we had the best times! I have been blessed with many amazing friends in my life. I had the most fun meeting new guys and just having a good time. Don't get the wrong impression though…I am a good girl! I am not objected to a few free dinners though ;)
"Are we simply romantically challenged, or are we sluts?" CB – HAHAHAHA…this quote makes me laugh…it's such a cliché for women to settle down so soon! There is such a double standard especially when you are from West Texas and most of your friends are married and having babies!!! I say women should go to college…get an amazing job…spend your OWN money however you want (making sure to save)…buy fabulous shoes and pedi's…and just figure out who you are…it will make the rest of your life more rewarding and your future someone will be able to appreciate your independence and self worth.
I think I will look back at this time in my life as being an accomplished, successful young woman living her dream in Dallas, discovering the type of man who fit with me. Not to say that there were times when I thought I had met the right guy and thought I was ready to but in the end God had a better plan! One of my favorite quotes to this day is…
"Never frown because you do not know who is falling in love with your smile…" Unknown
I had to kiss a lot of frogs to find my Prince Charming!
"Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they are supposed to run wild, until they find someone , just as wild to run with!" CB
So to leave you with a few words of advice that every girl should know…
"….There are those (relationships) that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you, you love, well, that's just fabulous."
*Note: Something we can all learn from T…You might go through many a frogs to find a prince. (Penny)
Emmy: Making Him an Honest Man
Welcome to a day in the life of a single girl in the big city. No, this is not some excerpt of another annoying girl complaining about the single life. The single life is fabulous, exciting and full of free drinks, but dealing with the same BS with your typical 20-something year old men (or should I say boys) gets a tad monotonous day after day. My personal belief is that boys under 30 are not capable of committing. After being hit on by married men, hearing older women complain about marriage, and seeing my girlfriends being cheated on, you start to wonder, "Where did all the good guys go?"
So do we hate the player or hate the game? Seriously, I'm not 18…I do not want to play the game anymore. Granted in the beginning of any relationship, or dating situation it's a given you have to play hard to get for the first few weeks, but playing the game for months on end is a tad ridiculous. Women need to be pursued. So often I feel like we do the pursing. These "boys" need to start growing up and become men. What is wrong with saying… "Listen, I like you!" It's really not that hard, and amazingly no one gets hurt by uttering those simple words. I'm not saying these boys need to be at our feet everyday, and it is not like we NEED a boyfriend. It is just the simple fact that we don't like being played. If you are going to date someone else, that's fine, don't be shady, just say it. We are not crazy… You "boys" make us analyze way too much which makes us think way too much, which in turn makes you think that we are crazy. The good girls just want you "boys" who think you can have your cake and eat it too to know that you can't. We would just like to know that you see it going somewhere and aren't going to be played for months on end. Is that really too much to ask??
* AMEN. Kudos to you, Emmy, for the three bolded points above. You saved me from having to write the same tired story. And just one more final addition to that; Men, stop worrying about hurting my "fragile" feelings, and for God's sake just tell me how you really feel. Translation- Stop requiring me to play the fool, so that you can feel better about yourself.
Love doesn't force itself on others,
It isn't always "me first,"
Doesn't fly off the handle,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.
Understanding will reach its limit,
So hope unswervingly and love extravagantly.
I Corinthians 13
Penny: Hopelessly Adoring Mr. Wrong
I had finally reached a definitive height of contentment. A pinnacle of ease. Wanting nothing. Careless. Feeling one hundred percent whole, when he walked into my life(and ruined it of course). I can account for every detail. All persons involved, the activities, time, location, smells, sounds, apparel... I choose to believe I am not alone in this joyous beginning to an inevitably repetitious and tragic relational misfortune. So I asked my beloved friends to join me in reflection… Someday, someone will walk into your life and make you realize why it never worked out with anyone else. Yeah, just keep telling yourself that Penny. Six things I know: 1. Sometimes you have to learn to love what once was, and move on. 2. You can not make someone a priority if they make you an option. 3. If the guy you are seeing does not have even the slightest desire to be intimate with you, he is just keeping you around for comfort. 4. Sometimes the heart can see what the eye cannot. 5. When the dude you are dating tells you he is at the gym, everyday, in three hour shifts, he is probably dating someone else, and not telling you. 6. It doesn't matter if you are a loft dweller in the metropolis, or a trailer occupant in the desert, boys are the same breed everywhere.
"If there is any failing in your generation it is selfishness and the fear of commitment." –Mom
"You have to learn to walk. You have to learn to talk. You have to wear that totally ridiculous hat your grandma bought you. And when you get a little older, even though you get to choose your hats, you don't get to choose what they put in those meatballs in the cafeteria, or when to fall in love. Sometimes stuff happens and you just have to deal." –Halley (How to Deal 2003)
"It is not wise to make rash decisions when it comes to boys or cities." -Myself
Tonya: Kissing a Prince
My dating experience has been very versatile while living in Dallas. I left college ending a serious relationship and was in no hurry to get involved in another relationship so soon. I was a single girl living in the BIG city and I loved every "single" minute of it!
"If you are single there is always one thing you should take out with you on a Saturday night... your friends." CB
And I did…we had the best times! I have been blessed with many amazing friends in my life. I had the most fun meeting new guys and just having a good time. Don't get the wrong impression though…I am a good girl! I am not objected to a few free dinners though ;)
"Are we simply romantically challenged, or are we sluts?" CB – HAHAHAHA…this quote makes me laugh…it's such a cliché for women to settle down so soon! There is such a double standard especially when you are from West Texas and most of your friends are married and having babies!!! I say women should go to college…get an amazing job…spend your OWN money however you want (making sure to save)…buy fabulous shoes and pedi's…and just figure out who you are…it will make the rest of your life more rewarding and your future someone will be able to appreciate your independence and self worth.
I think I will look back at this time in my life as being an accomplished, successful young woman living her dream in Dallas, discovering the type of man who fit with me. Not to say that there were times when I thought I had met the right guy and thought I was ready to but in the end God had a better plan! One of my favorite quotes to this day is…
"Never frown because you do not know who is falling in love with your smile…" Unknown
I had to kiss a lot of frogs to find my Prince Charming!
"Maybe some women aren't meant to be tamed. Maybe they are supposed to run wild, until they find someone , just as wild to run with!" CB
So to leave you with a few words of advice that every girl should know…
"….There are those (relationships) that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you, you love, well, that's just fabulous."
*Note: Something we can all learn from T…You might go through many a frogs to find a prince. (Penny)
Emmy: Making Him an Honest Man
Welcome to a day in the life of a single girl in the big city. No, this is not some excerpt of another annoying girl complaining about the single life. The single life is fabulous, exciting and full of free drinks, but dealing with the same BS with your typical 20-something year old men (or should I say boys) gets a tad monotonous day after day. My personal belief is that boys under 30 are not capable of committing. After being hit on by married men, hearing older women complain about marriage, and seeing my girlfriends being cheated on, you start to wonder, "Where did all the good guys go?"
So do we hate the player or hate the game? Seriously, I'm not 18…I do not want to play the game anymore. Granted in the beginning of any relationship, or dating situation it's a given you have to play hard to get for the first few weeks, but playing the game for months on end is a tad ridiculous. Women need to be pursued. So often I feel like we do the pursing. These "boys" need to start growing up and become men. What is wrong with saying… "Listen, I like you!" It's really not that hard, and amazingly no one gets hurt by uttering those simple words. I'm not saying these boys need to be at our feet everyday, and it is not like we NEED a boyfriend. It is just the simple fact that we don't like being played. If you are going to date someone else, that's fine, don't be shady, just say it. We are not crazy… You "boys" make us analyze way too much which makes us think way too much, which in turn makes you think that we are crazy. The good girls just want you "boys" who think you can have your cake and eat it too to know that you can't. We would just like to know that you see it going somewhere and aren't going to be played for months on end. Is that really too much to ask??
* AMEN. Kudos to you, Emmy, for the three bolded points above. You saved me from having to write the same tired story. And just one more final addition to that; Men, stop worrying about hurting my "fragile" feelings, and for God's sake just tell me how you really feel. Translation- Stop requiring me to play the fool, so that you can feel better about yourself.
Love doesn't force itself on others,
It isn't always "me first,"
Doesn't fly off the handle,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.
Understanding will reach its limit,
So hope unswervingly and love extravagantly.
I Corinthians 13
why i run marathons.
Maybe it's in the sensation of a slight breeze cooling my sweat glazed skin. Maybe it's an excuse to listen to The Killers repetitiously on Scout. (Scout is my iPod.) Or maybe I just really enjoy excruciating pain, both mentally and physically. Why do I run marathons? Why do I run at all?
I run because it's cheaper than therapy. I run because it's free. I run because it makes my jeans that I wore when I was twenty fit me right now. I run because I can. I run because it reminds me of how unbelievable the human body really is. I run because it is a challenge for me. I run because God gave me the ability to. I run because it raises money for credible charities. I run because I like wearing my Ironman watch and appearing as if I actually know of its capabilities. I run so I can buy Runner's World magazine from Barnes&Noble. I run so I can post pictures of myself running on MySpace. I run because it is yet another excuse to travel. I run because I love meeting new people within the running society. I run because it helps my heart to pump blood through my body. I run because I get t-shirts and medals for it, which I will never wear. I run because it means I get to carry candy in my pockets. I run because I got really tired of being that person driving along in my car, passing by an athlete, and thinking to myself, gosh that person is crazy (but secretly wishing I was that crazy person.) I run because now people pass by me in their car, and call me crazy…I like being called crazy. I run because my parents never thought I could or would. I run because Forest did it. I run because I am divorced. I run because I want to be a part of a historical sporting event; to qualify for The Boston Marathon. I run because it means I can eat just about whatever the hell I want. I run because they serve you beer for free on the course. I run because running is fun. I run because I like buying the flashiest running shoes possible and receiving compliments for being such a chic athlete.
But I really do it, for the post shower and post meal. AKA: Heaven on earth. Papadeaux, Starbucks, Chipotle, and Krispy Kreme all within a period of six hours or less. That is some successful nourishment. And there is only one other shower that tops the post race shower. That would be the post, slapping garlic butter on breadsticks at Fazoli's for eight hours every Saturday when I was in college shower. Yes
I run because it's cheaper than therapy. I run because it's free. I run because it makes my jeans that I wore when I was twenty fit me right now. I run because I can. I run because it reminds me of how unbelievable the human body really is. I run because it is a challenge for me. I run because God gave me the ability to. I run because it raises money for credible charities. I run because I like wearing my Ironman watch and appearing as if I actually know of its capabilities. I run so I can buy Runner's World magazine from Barnes&Noble. I run so I can post pictures of myself running on MySpace. I run because it is yet another excuse to travel. I run because I love meeting new people within the running society. I run because it helps my heart to pump blood through my body. I run because I get t-shirts and medals for it, which I will never wear. I run because it means I get to carry candy in my pockets. I run because I got really tired of being that person driving along in my car, passing by an athlete, and thinking to myself, gosh that person is crazy (but secretly wishing I was that crazy person.) I run because now people pass by me in their car, and call me crazy…I like being called crazy. I run because my parents never thought I could or would. I run because Forest did it. I run because I am divorced. I run because I want to be a part of a historical sporting event; to qualify for The Boston Marathon. I run because it means I can eat just about whatever the hell I want. I run because they serve you beer for free on the course. I run because running is fun. I run because I like buying the flashiest running shoes possible and receiving compliments for being such a chic athlete.
But I really do it, for the post shower and post meal. AKA: Heaven on earth. Papadeaux, Starbucks, Chipotle, and Krispy Kreme all within a period of six hours or less. That is some successful nourishment. And there is only one other shower that tops the post race shower. That would be the post, slapping garlic butter on breadsticks at Fazoli's for eight hours every Saturday when I was in college shower. Yes
i want to date charlie brown.
I hate flying. Not the actual act of flying. In fact, I would love to take some aviation courses. Get a piloting license. Can you image? Would you trust me? Ha! I should say I hate airports…and most airlines. I would much rather jump in my car to get from point A to B. But sometimes, circumstances only permit for air travel. I am that person. One of about four things is going to happen when I go to the airport: 1. My flight will be delayed 2. My flight will be overbooked. 3. My luggage will be lost. 4. Security will do everything short of an anal exam to ensure I am not a terrorist disguised as an average, blonde American. What? If I am really lucky, it is a combination of two or more.
Why? Am I always in an airport when I stumble upon self-realization? I suppose airports are good for that. I mean, they have Starbucks, a surplus of people to judge, nothing but time for thinking. Ah, the stage is set. What is this realization I have come to? It is a simple concept really. As I sipped on my Starbucks in an awkward back to back chair, seating me much too close to the stranger behind me than I feel comfortable with, I began to think. I tend to feel lonely in airports. It’s amazing how lonely one can feel even when being surrounded by hundreds of other human beings. I find that is doesn’t matter how many people you are surrounded by, strangers, or those that love you. If it is not a person whom you desire to be around, then you in turn feel lonely. What was causing this invasion of loneliness and lingering penance during this particular airport visit? Rejection. I am currently coping with a big stinky pile of rejection. And my airport encounter is only making it all the more a reality. In my experience there are three calamities most will encounter in this life, which injure the spirit and soul more than any other. If you are fortunate enough to dodge one or two, then lucky you. Although, sometimes I welcome theses effects. They mature you. They initiate growth. They eventually bestow strength and assist in discovery of courage. Rejection. Betrayal. Loss. Not any real fun, it usually hurts like hell and stings like salt in an open wound, but they sharpen the heart.
Accepting rejection. Accepting that someone does not want you. Accepting the facts. It’s simple really, right? Hmm…if a double tall one pump white mocha with whip could put right a broken heart. A nice pack of cloves might come close, but no cigar. (Drums.) I find that the television show FRIENDS is applicable in many a situation… “This is never going to happen. Accept that.” Rachel’s reply to Ross when he has tried everything short of purchasing her a country of her own to reign over in attempt to win her affections. Ross: “Accept that what?” Rachel: “No, ACCEPT THAT.” Ouch. Denied. You know, there is not really anything you CAN do but sit back and accept the other person’s verdict. Do nothing.
So, what does all of this rejection talk have to do with courting Charlie Brown? I have combated with the hurt of rejection for far too long, much like Charlie Brown. That Brownie Charles was constantly encountering denial and loneliness; until there was Peggy Jean…I had the Christmas special on repeat in my DVD player this weekend. Never thought I would have any coming to Jesus moments from watching good ol Chuck on my tele, but I did! 1. Snoopy is hilarious. I want to be like Snoopy. Can’t help but dance to the beat of his own drum, anytime, anywhere! And he has a great laugh. 2. I want to date Charlie Brown. Upon telling Linus about his Christmas shopping and lack of money for gifts, Charlie speaks of Peggy Jean. The girl he cares for. He wants to buy Peggy Jean a pair of gloves, because when they first met at camp, he noticed that she had such pretty hands, and he wants her pretty hands to be warm. Linus asks Charlie why she can’t just stick her pretty little hands in her pocket to keep them warm. Hahahaha, typical. So anyways, Charlie Brown ends up selling his comic book collection (a man that reads comics also a plus) so he can buy Peggy Jean the gloves. Pays attention to details AND sacrificial. Nice. Lessons to be learned from CB, for men and women of all ages! This Peggy Jean is waiting for her Charlie Brown...
For the fellas, if you do not want to buy a girl gloves to keep her pretty hands warm, then don’t even come close to her in an amorous manner.
And now…a little time in education corner for Red, Rye-Rye, and Tea:
Charlie Brown, the principal character for Peanuts, was named after a co-worker at the Art Instruction Schools; Schulz drew much of his inspiration, however, from his own life:
Like Charlie Brown's parents, Schulz's father was a barber and his mother a housewife. Schulz and Charlie Brown were shy and withdrawn. Schulz had a dog when he was a boy, although unlike Snoopy the beagle, it was a pointer. References to Snoopy's brother Spike living outside of Needles, California were likely influenced by the few years (1928 – 1930) that the Schulz family lived there; they had moved to Needles to join other family members who had relocated from Minnesota to tend to an ill cousin. Schulz's "Little Red-Haired Girl" was Donna Johnson, an Art Instruction Schools accountant with whom he fell in love. Schulz was planning to propose to her, but before he got an opportunity to do so, she agreed to marry another man. Linus and Shermy were both named for good friends of his (Linus Maurer and Sherman Plepler, respectively). Peppermint Patty was inspired by Patricia Swanson, one of his cousins on his mother's side. (Explains so much.) Schulz had a long association with ice sports, as both figure skating and ice hockey featured prominently in his cartoons. GOOD GRIEF!
END.
Why? Am I always in an airport when I stumble upon self-realization? I suppose airports are good for that. I mean, they have Starbucks, a surplus of people to judge, nothing but time for thinking. Ah, the stage is set. What is this realization I have come to? It is a simple concept really. As I sipped on my Starbucks in an awkward back to back chair, seating me much too close to the stranger behind me than I feel comfortable with, I began to think. I tend to feel lonely in airports. It’s amazing how lonely one can feel even when being surrounded by hundreds of other human beings. I find that is doesn’t matter how many people you are surrounded by, strangers, or those that love you. If it is not a person whom you desire to be around, then you in turn feel lonely. What was causing this invasion of loneliness and lingering penance during this particular airport visit? Rejection. I am currently coping with a big stinky pile of rejection. And my airport encounter is only making it all the more a reality. In my experience there are three calamities most will encounter in this life, which injure the spirit and soul more than any other. If you are fortunate enough to dodge one or two, then lucky you. Although, sometimes I welcome theses effects. They mature you. They initiate growth. They eventually bestow strength and assist in discovery of courage. Rejection. Betrayal. Loss. Not any real fun, it usually hurts like hell and stings like salt in an open wound, but they sharpen the heart.
Accepting rejection. Accepting that someone does not want you. Accepting the facts. It’s simple really, right? Hmm…if a double tall one pump white mocha with whip could put right a broken heart. A nice pack of cloves might come close, but no cigar. (Drums.) I find that the television show FRIENDS is applicable in many a situation… “This is never going to happen. Accept that.” Rachel’s reply to Ross when he has tried everything short of purchasing her a country of her own to reign over in attempt to win her affections. Ross: “Accept that what?” Rachel: “No, ACCEPT THAT.” Ouch. Denied. You know, there is not really anything you CAN do but sit back and accept the other person’s verdict. Do nothing.
So, what does all of this rejection talk have to do with courting Charlie Brown? I have combated with the hurt of rejection for far too long, much like Charlie Brown. That Brownie Charles was constantly encountering denial and loneliness; until there was Peggy Jean…I had the Christmas special on repeat in my DVD player this weekend. Never thought I would have any coming to Jesus moments from watching good ol Chuck on my tele, but I did! 1. Snoopy is hilarious. I want to be like Snoopy. Can’t help but dance to the beat of his own drum, anytime, anywhere! And he has a great laugh. 2. I want to date Charlie Brown. Upon telling Linus about his Christmas shopping and lack of money for gifts, Charlie speaks of Peggy Jean. The girl he cares for. He wants to buy Peggy Jean a pair of gloves, because when they first met at camp, he noticed that she had such pretty hands, and he wants her pretty hands to be warm. Linus asks Charlie why she can’t just stick her pretty little hands in her pocket to keep them warm. Hahahaha, typical. So anyways, Charlie Brown ends up selling his comic book collection (a man that reads comics also a plus) so he can buy Peggy Jean the gloves. Pays attention to details AND sacrificial. Nice. Lessons to be learned from CB, for men and women of all ages! This Peggy Jean is waiting for her Charlie Brown...
For the fellas, if you do not want to buy a girl gloves to keep her pretty hands warm, then don’t even come close to her in an amorous manner.
And now…a little time in education corner for Red, Rye-Rye, and Tea:
Charlie Brown, the principal character for Peanuts, was named after a co-worker at the Art Instruction Schools; Schulz drew much of his inspiration, however, from his own life:
Like Charlie Brown's parents, Schulz's father was a barber and his mother a housewife. Schulz and Charlie Brown were shy and withdrawn. Schulz had a dog when he was a boy, although unlike Snoopy the beagle, it was a pointer. References to Snoopy's brother Spike living outside of Needles, California were likely influenced by the few years (1928 – 1930) that the Schulz family lived there; they had moved to Needles to join other family members who had relocated from Minnesota to tend to an ill cousin. Schulz's "Little Red-Haired Girl" was Donna Johnson, an Art Instruction Schools accountant with whom he fell in love. Schulz was planning to propose to her, but before he got an opportunity to do so, she agreed to marry another man. Linus and Shermy were both named for good friends of his (Linus Maurer and Sherman Plepler, respectively). Peppermint Patty was inspired by Patricia Swanson, one of his cousins on his mother's side. (Explains so much.) Schulz had a long association with ice sports, as both figure skating and ice hockey featured prominently in his cartoons. GOOD GRIEF!
END.
peng's vampire chronicles.
I am in love with a vampire. His name is NOT Edward Cullen. It was the spring of 1995. I was thirteen. My brother Scott brought home a movie from Blockbuster titled Interview with the Vampire. I remember my mom even today, "Scott, Penny is not gonna like that movie. It will scare her." Even after thirteen years of life with Penny, my mother clearly had no grasp of who her daughter was. I got pissed at her when she told me not to go watch Jurassic Park in the theater with my brothers a year earlier. She said I would hate it and it would scare me, blah, blah, blah. Then when I saw it on vhs, I LOVED it. Mom! You made me miss a phenomenal motion picture experience on the big screen… (I'm not bitter.) Silly mommy, trix are for rabbits. Mom's movie of choice: Steel Magnolias. Penny's movie of choice: Lord of the Rings, or something including a lot of people getting exterminated. Anyways, learning that my mother's choice in movies and mine are completely dissimilar is a whole other blog…
I had no preconceptions or expectations as we started our movie. Who is Brad Pitt? I knew Christian Slater and Tom, of course. The movie immediately took me into a whimsical, sinister, very dark world. A world, where killing innocent for survival is elegant. Where being immortal is endearing and terrible simultaneously. I almost felt sinful for getting pleasure from such a thing. Very well done wardrobe, acting, writing, and special affects. Most impressive in 1995. I desperately wanted to be Claudia. My favorite character in the film, portrayed by a very young Kirsten Dunst. Her film debut I believe. It instantly became my most favorite movie of all time. Nothing has nudged it out of its trophy position to date. IWTV is actually and adaptation from the book by Anne Rice, which surprisingly I have never read. (It's not too late; you can still buy it for me for Christmas.)
This dark and twisted love for vampires has flourished over the years. I found myself watching documentaries on History Channel and Discovery Channel, about Vlad III the Impaler. More recognizably know as the Count or Dracula. Believed to be the roots from which all of this vampire mythology stemmed. I find Vlad (shout out to you Anna!) to be most intriguing. I have not read or watched much on the bloodsucker recently, but I recall the tale going something like this. Romania (Transylvania) - a really, really, really, long time ago, he would impale or crucify his prisoners upside-down and catch there blood in basins below. Then, would enjoy himself a scrumptious, thick, glass of blood with his dinner. Many times, victims were still in a conscience state, body slowly drained of life, as Vlad sipped on their blood, seeing that he liked to indulge while it was till warm. Merlot anyone? There are also gruesome tales of female mutilation and torture he used as punishment for sexual misconduct, or crimes of promiscuity. The count would have their breast cut off or would have them impaled through their vagina. Yeah. You just read that. Reminds me of another evil yet alarmingly intriguing man, Jack the Ripper. Most of the vampire-like horror stories passed thru time all evolved from our dear friend Vlads. Also inspiration for Bram Stoker's classic, Dracula.
Other notable movies/books /comics that nurtured this sick puppy into a healthy love for these blood thirsty immortals are Blade, Van Helsing, A league of Extraordinary Gentlemen, and most recently, Twilight. Elizabeth Bathory is most excellent in League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, by the way. Also a true to life person like Vlad the Impaler. She was a countess, who murdered somewhere around 600 girls, and was said to have bathed in their blood. Virgin blood, so that she may retain her youth. She in turn is a pioneer of the vampire movement. Super sick! I love it.
Look out Louis! (Brad Pitt's character in IWTV) There is a new kid in town, and his name is Edward Cullen. It's a rare occasion that I jump on the pop culture train, but this was a must. I was skeptical. I really actually only just jumped on the caboose. Was barely hanging on with my pinky finger when Tonya I walked into the grapevine mills movie theater 2 weeks ago. With our tummies full of steak and Shake and our pre-purchased tickets to Twilight we waited with a theater full of teeny boppers and gothic , star wars emperor-like dressed kiddos, with no clue, no expectations, much like that fateful day 13 years ago when my brother walked thru the door with what is now my most beloved film. I'm not going to say a lot about Twilight. All you need to know is it is good. If you enjoyed watching Louis bite people in IWTV, then you too will enjoy Edward. I bought book two. New Moon. I am halfway thru it. I find the novels to be equally as enjoyable as the movie.
It would be misleading if I was not to make note of the fact that I am extremely squeamish when it comes to blood. Actually, it is not the blood itself that brings me to a weak state of being, it's anything from lack of circulation to gashes, neck/wrist wounds; totally freaks me out! You are confused, I know. How can I be a passionate lover of vampires, but become faint at the sight of a cut vein or the sound of a pounding heartbeat (used for background in IWTV every time someone was getting bitten, genius!) (Actually feeling a little light headed typing this now.) But I felt it important to mention, because if you ever have the experience of taking on a vampire flick with me, I might pass out here or there. Do not panic. It's normal. I think its part of the intrigue. I love a challenge. I enjoy learning to face what I fear.
Why? Why do I and so many others have this odd and quiet honestly disturbing attraction to something so evil, so taboo? I do not know. It's mysterious. It's intriguing. Its hot men battling with the monster within. I dig it. Join me on the dark side won't you?
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer the television series sucks. The Lost Boys movies suck.
I had no preconceptions or expectations as we started our movie. Who is Brad Pitt? I knew Christian Slater and Tom, of course. The movie immediately took me into a whimsical, sinister, very dark world. A world, where killing innocent for survival is elegant. Where being immortal is endearing and terrible simultaneously. I almost felt sinful for getting pleasure from such a thing. Very well done wardrobe, acting, writing, and special affects. Most impressive in 1995. I desperately wanted to be Claudia. My favorite character in the film, portrayed by a very young Kirsten Dunst. Her film debut I believe. It instantly became my most favorite movie of all time. Nothing has nudged it out of its trophy position to date. IWTV is actually and adaptation from the book by Anne Rice, which surprisingly I have never read. (It's not too late; you can still buy it for me for Christmas.)
This dark and twisted love for vampires has flourished over the years. I found myself watching documentaries on History Channel and Discovery Channel, about Vlad III the Impaler. More recognizably know as the Count or Dracula. Believed to be the roots from which all of this vampire mythology stemmed. I find Vlad (shout out to you Anna!) to be most intriguing. I have not read or watched much on the bloodsucker recently, but I recall the tale going something like this. Romania (Transylvania) - a really, really, really, long time ago, he would impale or crucify his prisoners upside-down and catch there blood in basins below. Then, would enjoy himself a scrumptious, thick, glass of blood with his dinner. Many times, victims were still in a conscience state, body slowly drained of life, as Vlad sipped on their blood, seeing that he liked to indulge while it was till warm. Merlot anyone? There are also gruesome tales of female mutilation and torture he used as punishment for sexual misconduct, or crimes of promiscuity. The count would have their breast cut off or would have them impaled through their vagina. Yeah. You just read that. Reminds me of another evil yet alarmingly intriguing man, Jack the Ripper. Most of the vampire-like horror stories passed thru time all evolved from our dear friend Vlads. Also inspiration for Bram Stoker's classic, Dracula.
Other notable movies/books /comics that nurtured this sick puppy into a healthy love for these blood thirsty immortals are Blade, Van Helsing, A league of Extraordinary Gentlemen, and most recently, Twilight. Elizabeth Bathory is most excellent in League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, by the way. Also a true to life person like Vlad the Impaler. She was a countess, who murdered somewhere around 600 girls, and was said to have bathed in their blood. Virgin blood, so that she may retain her youth. She in turn is a pioneer of the vampire movement. Super sick! I love it.
Look out Louis! (Brad Pitt's character in IWTV) There is a new kid in town, and his name is Edward Cullen. It's a rare occasion that I jump on the pop culture train, but this was a must. I was skeptical. I really actually only just jumped on the caboose. Was barely hanging on with my pinky finger when Tonya I walked into the grapevine mills movie theater 2 weeks ago. With our tummies full of steak and Shake and our pre-purchased tickets to Twilight we waited with a theater full of teeny boppers and gothic , star wars emperor-like dressed kiddos, with no clue, no expectations, much like that fateful day 13 years ago when my brother walked thru the door with what is now my most beloved film. I'm not going to say a lot about Twilight. All you need to know is it is good. If you enjoyed watching Louis bite people in IWTV, then you too will enjoy Edward. I bought book two. New Moon. I am halfway thru it. I find the novels to be equally as enjoyable as the movie.
It would be misleading if I was not to make note of the fact that I am extremely squeamish when it comes to blood. Actually, it is not the blood itself that brings me to a weak state of being, it's anything from lack of circulation to gashes, neck/wrist wounds; totally freaks me out! You are confused, I know. How can I be a passionate lover of vampires, but become faint at the sight of a cut vein or the sound of a pounding heartbeat (used for background in IWTV every time someone was getting bitten, genius!) (Actually feeling a little light headed typing this now.) But I felt it important to mention, because if you ever have the experience of taking on a vampire flick with me, I might pass out here or there. Do not panic. It's normal. I think its part of the intrigue. I love a challenge. I enjoy learning to face what I fear.
Why? Why do I and so many others have this odd and quiet honestly disturbing attraction to something so evil, so taboo? I do not know. It's mysterious. It's intriguing. Its hot men battling with the monster within. I dig it. Join me on the dark side won't you?
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer the television series sucks. The Lost Boys movies suck.
more minutes in mayhem: the phantom intruder part deux.
I' Fratelli. A place Tonya and I frequent in the metro-plex. Featuring half priced wines from all over the world anytime before seven! Square pizzas, and my favorite, crème brule. Mmm. Sounds fabulous right? Even better, it's one of those restaurants with really dim lighting. They set the "mood." At seven, they turn the lights down sow low that it's emulates candlelight. Feel like drinking your favorite merlot NOT in a cocktail dress? No problem! Walk in wearing a jogging suit with yesterdays make-up, hair disheveled-like you are still in high school and you were making out with your boyfriend in the movie theater (don't pretend you don't know); Have no fear, in the mellow scenery of I' Fratelli's you will appear as a Goddess, soft light reflecting on your skin, mysterious sparkling eyes…okay so maybe it just makes that fresh new zit on your forehead and greasy hair you washed yesterday that you should have washed today less noticeable. Whatever the case, it makes you feel like you look smokin! Insecurities melted away by the ambient light! ladies, you know what I am saying here. (Note to ALL men: women like restaurants with dark lighting. Not because they are "romantic" but simply because they are dark. End note.)
However, this oh so glorious restaurant darkness is not something I so much welcome in my own home. I do enjoy a good scary movie in the dark, maybe a nice porch sitting in the candlelight with jazzy jams in the background. But I do not like leaving I' Fratelli's to walk into my home only to find my door left slightly cracked open in similar type of lighting. No, no, no, not good.
Well, that happened. Upon my room bud and I's return from ladies night at I' Fratellis, I decided I would like to engage in a few minutes of balcony sitting/star gazing. Something I do almost every night. I tug the string to my god awful, hideous, cheapest, most ridiculous, crap quality blind that the Cabochon has to offer, only to find my sliding glass door in the open position. I pause. I stare. I think. This is not how I left you. I KNOW I locked you last night. I tugged on you three times to make sure your latch caught. Now I did this obsessive compulsive tugging because this is not the first time I have found my door in this curious position. The two previous nights on my way out, I found that my door was unlocked. Didn't think anything of it because I thought, well maybe I just keep forgetting to lock it when I come back in. But no, this time I was certain. I locked it, tugged, and checked the lock again. It was an absolute.
"Tonya!" (I am yelling from my bedroom to T in the living room.) It's so annoying, I know. I do it, you do it, we all do it… "Tonya, did you go out onto the balcony from bedroom at any point last night or today?" "Nope" replies Tonya. I quickly concluded that this is probably not good. Possibilities: Either Tonya or I is sleep walking. Building vibrations? Spiritual warfare anyone? Pranksters? Or do Tonya and I in fact have us a phantom intruder? More to follow…
However, this oh so glorious restaurant darkness is not something I so much welcome in my own home. I do enjoy a good scary movie in the dark, maybe a nice porch sitting in the candlelight with jazzy jams in the background. But I do not like leaving I' Fratelli's to walk into my home only to find my door left slightly cracked open in similar type of lighting. No, no, no, not good.
Well, that happened. Upon my room bud and I's return from ladies night at I' Fratellis, I decided I would like to engage in a few minutes of balcony sitting/star gazing. Something I do almost every night. I tug the string to my god awful, hideous, cheapest, most ridiculous, crap quality blind that the Cabochon has to offer, only to find my sliding glass door in the open position. I pause. I stare. I think. This is not how I left you. I KNOW I locked you last night. I tugged on you three times to make sure your latch caught. Now I did this obsessive compulsive tugging because this is not the first time I have found my door in this curious position. The two previous nights on my way out, I found that my door was unlocked. Didn't think anything of it because I thought, well maybe I just keep forgetting to lock it when I come back in. But no, this time I was certain. I locked it, tugged, and checked the lock again. It was an absolute.
"Tonya!" (I am yelling from my bedroom to T in the living room.) It's so annoying, I know. I do it, you do it, we all do it… "Tonya, did you go out onto the balcony from bedroom at any point last night or today?" "Nope" replies Tonya. I quickly concluded that this is probably not good. Possibilities: Either Tonya or I is sleep walking. Building vibrations? Spiritual warfare anyone? Pranksters? Or do Tonya and I in fact have us a phantom intruder? More to follow…
four minutes in mayhem.
5:19 am: Sleeping, probably well into REM cycle 4.
5:20 am: My phone jingles waking me up. My phone is usually set to vibrate, but on rare occasions I will leave the volume turned up. I have a text message, from Tonya, whom is "sleeping" in her room which is on the opposite side of the apartment. "Are you up?" reads her message. "I is now" I messaged back. (Secretly, I was hoping this ridiculously early morning text message was to ask me if I wanted Starbucks.)
5:21 am: I am stunned when she comes back with a message that says, "Someone's in the living room." WHAT? Wait…what?! Not, "Hey Penny, I can't sleep, going to run to Starbucks, want a double, tall, one pump, toffee nut latte?" Nope, instead I get, "Someone's in the living room." Have you ever actually felt adrenaline overrun your body? Unwanted? From head to toe? It's a peculiar feeling to have power and energy flush thru your veins, but be unable to act, unable to move. I was frozen. Yet my mind took off running, yes it did. Should I get up? Find a make-shift weapon to defend myself? Is Tonya in danger? I need to dial 911. Just when I thought I could not be anymore frightened, I realized that my phone was not on silent, (yes, it took me that long) and the intruder in our living room has surely heard my phone sounding off. I was screwed. He or she knew I was awake. I needed to dial the police and then Tonya, but I couldn't because I would be heard. The edge of my bed is somewhere around 4 feet from my bathroom door. Plan of action: I would jump, from my bed into my bathroom. Close and lock the door. Dial 911. Then check on Tonya. I figured if our phantom intruder tried to come thru my bathroom door, I at least had my hair cutting scissors for attack, and the police would be on their way. All of these thoughts were assaulting me at once, and yet I was still lying there, motionless, afraid to breath. I was fixated on the doorway from my room to the hallway, eyes straining to see if there was a shadow watching from the door. Hoping that even though my phone was sounding off, if I lay there lifeless that this fiend would think I was sleeping thru commotion of it all.
5:22 am: "Scared." Shit! Tonya stop texting me! I had no way of letting her know that my phone volume was turned up, and every time she texted me, it was making the situation escalate from bad to extremely bad for me…our intruder was surely headed for my room now! I finally mustered up the courage to make my body react in a proactive manner. Just as I was about to throw off my covers and leap for the bathroom, I heard Tonya's voice. As she stepped into my bedroom I was startled and relieved in unison. "I swear I heard someone in our living room," says Tonya. "You scared the shit out of me," I replied.
So…seeing that Tonya and I were not slaughtered in our beds by a psycho, blood thirsty serial killer last night, the following is an email from work this morning:
From: Tonya Murry Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 8:27 AMTo: Penny BakerSubject: RE:
I SWEAR I heard someone in the living room this morning
From: Penny Baker Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 8:31 AMTo: Tonya MurrySubject: RE:
I was about to lock myself in the bathroom and dial 911. My body flushed with adrenaline when you sent that message. Next time, insert the word, "think."
EXAMPLE:
Someone is in the living room. –PENNY PANICS.
I think someone is in the living room. –PENNY JUST ASSUMES TONYA IS CRAZY.
From: Tonya Murry Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 8:33 AMTo: Penny BakerSubject: RE:
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I am rolling laughing
From: Penny Baker Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 8:34 AMTo: Tonya MurrySubject: RE:
It's true. this story goes in the hall o' shame.
From: Tonya Murry Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 8:35 AMTo: Penny BakerSubject: RE:
I am still laughing…I promise…I am not making it up…I swear there was something in there!
Friends, go to sleep with your phone set on silent, and a gun under your pillow. The End.
5:20 am: My phone jingles waking me up. My phone is usually set to vibrate, but on rare occasions I will leave the volume turned up. I have a text message, from Tonya, whom is "sleeping" in her room which is on the opposite side of the apartment. "Are you up?" reads her message. "I is now" I messaged back. (Secretly, I was hoping this ridiculously early morning text message was to ask me if I wanted Starbucks.)
5:21 am: I am stunned when she comes back with a message that says, "Someone's in the living room." WHAT? Wait…what?! Not, "Hey Penny, I can't sleep, going to run to Starbucks, want a double, tall, one pump, toffee nut latte?" Nope, instead I get, "Someone's in the living room." Have you ever actually felt adrenaline overrun your body? Unwanted? From head to toe? It's a peculiar feeling to have power and energy flush thru your veins, but be unable to act, unable to move. I was frozen. Yet my mind took off running, yes it did. Should I get up? Find a make-shift weapon to defend myself? Is Tonya in danger? I need to dial 911. Just when I thought I could not be anymore frightened, I realized that my phone was not on silent, (yes, it took me that long) and the intruder in our living room has surely heard my phone sounding off. I was screwed. He or she knew I was awake. I needed to dial the police and then Tonya, but I couldn't because I would be heard. The edge of my bed is somewhere around 4 feet from my bathroom door. Plan of action: I would jump, from my bed into my bathroom. Close and lock the door. Dial 911. Then check on Tonya. I figured if our phantom intruder tried to come thru my bathroom door, I at least had my hair cutting scissors for attack, and the police would be on their way. All of these thoughts were assaulting me at once, and yet I was still lying there, motionless, afraid to breath. I was fixated on the doorway from my room to the hallway, eyes straining to see if there was a shadow watching from the door. Hoping that even though my phone was sounding off, if I lay there lifeless that this fiend would think I was sleeping thru commotion of it all.
5:22 am: "Scared." Shit! Tonya stop texting me! I had no way of letting her know that my phone volume was turned up, and every time she texted me, it was making the situation escalate from bad to extremely bad for me…our intruder was surely headed for my room now! I finally mustered up the courage to make my body react in a proactive manner. Just as I was about to throw off my covers and leap for the bathroom, I heard Tonya's voice. As she stepped into my bedroom I was startled and relieved in unison. "I swear I heard someone in our living room," says Tonya. "You scared the shit out of me," I replied.
So…seeing that Tonya and I were not slaughtered in our beds by a psycho, blood thirsty serial killer last night, the following is an email from work this morning:
From: Tonya Murry Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 8:27 AMTo: Penny BakerSubject: RE:
I SWEAR I heard someone in the living room this morning
From: Penny Baker Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 8:31 AMTo: Tonya MurrySubject: RE:
I was about to lock myself in the bathroom and dial 911. My body flushed with adrenaline when you sent that message. Next time, insert the word, "think."
EXAMPLE:
Someone is in the living room. –PENNY PANICS.
I think someone is in the living room. –PENNY JUST ASSUMES TONYA IS CRAZY.
From: Tonya Murry Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 8:33 AMTo: Penny BakerSubject: RE:
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I am rolling laughing
From: Penny Baker Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 8:34 AMTo: Tonya MurrySubject: RE:
It's true. this story goes in the hall o' shame.
From: Tonya Murry Sent: Wednesday, December 03, 2008 8:35 AMTo: Penny BakerSubject: RE:
I am still laughing…I promise…I am not making it up…I swear there was something in there!
Friends, go to sleep with your phone set on silent, and a gun under your pillow. The End.
this has nothing to do with tony romo.
So. I've actually been putting my writing off for almost the better part of a year. Not really sure why, but I am back. Some things I considered writing about the past few months and just never actually did include, but are not limited to the following… Experiencing the best and worst year of my life all at once. (That would be 2007, oh the bittersweet.) Trying to comprehend how gasoline makes my car go. How does Tonya cry so much in movies? (Does she have abnormally large tear ducts? (I love you T, and I am in fact jealous of your ability to show emotion…)) How can I love politics so, but would rather gargle glass than listen to anymore election horse shit. I can't believe they made Star Wars into a computer animated movie, first TMNT and now this? I love the Buckeyes and don't know why. The "Boom" movement. Cutting and pasting: the real thing vs. the computer version. (Is a basic kinesthetic activity of kindergarteners really the premise/inspiration for this pc feature we so often use?) If you feel that I need to expand on any of these things and would actually care to hear my opinions, thoughts, concerns, ranting and ravings etc. Then please, let me know, and I would love to enlighten. Otherwise, I am moving on full speed ahead , and will resume my blogging in a more consistent fashion. May joy and joyness be yours.
impervious.
you don’t look up or at me the same
i’ve failed in a lot of ways
see my weakness and treat me different
tired of other peoples eyes, i go about things wrong
sweet lyric help me run
for a course that’s frayed
i’ll cover you until you put some clothes on
old things won’t work
the postiton of the sun was peculiar when you stopped believing
sanity gone, come crawling back
sweet lyric help me run for
a course that’s frayed
sweet lyric help me run
to a safe place where i might find you
where i might find peace
where i might find solitude
*for matthew*
i’ve failed in a lot of ways
see my weakness and treat me different
tired of other peoples eyes, i go about things wrong
sweet lyric help me run
for a course that’s frayed
i’ll cover you until you put some clothes on
old things won’t work
the postiton of the sun was peculiar when you stopped believing
sanity gone, come crawling back
sweet lyric help me run for
a course that’s frayed
sweet lyric help me run
to a safe place where i might find you
where i might find peace
where i might find solitude
*for matthew*
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