In high school I played three sports a year, which means for three seasons a year there was a piece of paper floating around at games with my name and stats on it. What is one thing that everyone looks at in a program? The height of the athlete (they don’t put weight on a program for girls athletics, that would be cruel). So it wasn’t shocking that at one point in my high school career that I tried to talk the athletic director into putting me down as 5’5 on the programs for sporting events. His response was to laugh at me and walk away shaking his head, still laughing. In actuality, I am a very tall 5’3 . . . . with my shoes on. Aside from sports, the only bad thing about being as short as I am is trying to find clothes. I buy pants that are labeled “short” or “ankle” or “petite” and they all still drag on the ground. And as you can imagine, every once in a while a fashion trend comes along that is just not designed for short girls.
Enter, the maxi dress. All the stars are wearing them, my tall friend Lindsay wears them, and I want to wear them too! They just look so comfortable and perfect for those warm sunny days at the beach. Normally I wouldn’t be so obsessed with a fashion trend, except for the fact that I have a lot of beach and/or boating days planned this summer which requires me to be in a swim suit. And since I don’t have the body of Heidi Klum (which lets face it, if you’re going to look like a Heidi, she’s the one you’d want to look like) it would be nice to have a cute, flowing, comfortable dress to toss on over my swim suit.
So I went hunting for the perfect maxi dress. I’ve tried probably a dozen on and have come to a conclusion. If you are short and curvy, there is no such thing as the perfect maxi dress. Every version I have found to try on has left me feeling and looking fat and frumpy, which is so not the look you’re going for while wearing a swim suit. At this point I am assuming that I will never be able to wear a maxi dress, but that doesn’t make it any less irritating.
I’m not super trendy to start with but this was a trend I was ready to hop on board with. I do not have Heidi Klum thighs, so I have jumped on board with summer clothes that cover them up. Capri’s and Bermuda shorts are thick thighed girl’s dreams come true! No, they don’t hit me in the right part of the leg for the most part, but I don’t care. They are comfortable to wear and most importantly, I feel much more comfortable wearing them than the 2” inseam shorts that fashion has tried to force on us in years past. So what could be more perfect than a trendy, comfortable, flowing dress that looks good and covers all those problem areas?
Alas, the maxi dress is not perfect for me. I have vanquished all hopes of finding the perfect maxi dress. Instead, I found a cute, flowing, comfortable skirt to wear over the swimsuit instead. It wasn’t the dream maxi dress, but it still covers what needs to be covered, is comfortable and best of all, it was only $12. So I got two. Take that maxi dress.
April 21, 2009
April 19, 2009
Parents and Marriage and Grandkids, Oh My!
Parents impart a lot of wisdom, knowledge and rules over the years. Don’t play in the street, quit locking your brother outside, go practice the piano, etc. There were a lot of rules. For as long as I can remember the “rule” that stands out in my mind most of all though is our family’s version of the golden rule. Thou shall not get married before the age of 25.
This was so ingrained in my brother and I that we never actually considered getting married before that. I had a boyfriend in college and when people would ask me when we were going to get married, I silently thanked my parents for the perfect response, “I’m not allowed to get married until I’m 25.”
By the time the age of 25 rolled around, I had decided that 25 was still much to young to get married. Despite my brother being 3 years younger than me, we both started thinking that 30 sounded like a much better age to start thinking about marriage. Now, with 30 looming, I’m starting to lean towards 35 myself.
For the most part my parents have been pretty good about not pushing me to date and get married in my old age. Every now and again though, they go one step further and put the cart in front of the horse. Everyone I know likes babies. You don’t have to want your own babies, to enjoy them as a general rule. So it should come as no surprise that a pair who are great parents eventually starts thinking about the next generation. That’s right . . . grandkids. I recently started hearing the phrase “When we have grandkids . . .” As in when they have grandkids they’ll get one of those fancy play structures and take them on vacation and buy them the really cool toys.
I really wanted one of those play structures when I was a kid. We had the swing set that wasn’t even cemented into the ground and just about fell over if you swung too high. But I digress . . .
My standard response when my mother brings up grandkids is “Talk to your son,” who is not remotely close to getting married either, much less thinking about kids. In fact, when my brother and I recently had a conversation about who was going to have kids first, it quickly turned into a game of “NOT IT!”
Lucky for us, about 9 months ago my parents acquired a dog. I was shocked when I was at home for Christmas to discover that this was no ordinary dog. This was a child. It got really cold one day so my dad took the dog to work. I’m not entirely sure my dad would have taken my brother and I to work because it was too cold to leave us outside when we were kids. I’m kidding, but I’m trying to give an example of the degree of how child like this dog is for my parents. My mom lets the dog inside, and doesn’t even get super upset when the dog inevitably leaves her mat. The dog can even frequently be seen riding shotgun on the four-wheeler with my dad. To this day, I’ve never even seen the four-wheeler.
You know all those married couples who start thinking they might like to have kids some day so they get a dog as a test run? I feel like this dog just bought my brother and I some serious time on the grandkid front. How long do labs live for? I need to make the most of this get out of jail free card.
This was so ingrained in my brother and I that we never actually considered getting married before that. I had a boyfriend in college and when people would ask me when we were going to get married, I silently thanked my parents for the perfect response, “I’m not allowed to get married until I’m 25.”
By the time the age of 25 rolled around, I had decided that 25 was still much to young to get married. Despite my brother being 3 years younger than me, we both started thinking that 30 sounded like a much better age to start thinking about marriage. Now, with 30 looming, I’m starting to lean towards 35 myself.
For the most part my parents have been pretty good about not pushing me to date and get married in my old age. Every now and again though, they go one step further and put the cart in front of the horse. Everyone I know likes babies. You don’t have to want your own babies, to enjoy them as a general rule. So it should come as no surprise that a pair who are great parents eventually starts thinking about the next generation. That’s right . . . grandkids. I recently started hearing the phrase “When we have grandkids . . .” As in when they have grandkids they’ll get one of those fancy play structures and take them on vacation and buy them the really cool toys.
I really wanted one of those play structures when I was a kid. We had the swing set that wasn’t even cemented into the ground and just about fell over if you swung too high. But I digress . . .
My standard response when my mother brings up grandkids is “Talk to your son,” who is not remotely close to getting married either, much less thinking about kids. In fact, when my brother and I recently had a conversation about who was going to have kids first, it quickly turned into a game of “NOT IT!”
Lucky for us, about 9 months ago my parents acquired a dog. I was shocked when I was at home for Christmas to discover that this was no ordinary dog. This was a child. It got really cold one day so my dad took the dog to work. I’m not entirely sure my dad would have taken my brother and I to work because it was too cold to leave us outside when we were kids. I’m kidding, but I’m trying to give an example of the degree of how child like this dog is for my parents. My mom lets the dog inside, and doesn’t even get super upset when the dog inevitably leaves her mat. The dog can even frequently be seen riding shotgun on the four-wheeler with my dad. To this day, I’ve never even seen the four-wheeler.
You know all those married couples who start thinking they might like to have kids some day so they get a dog as a test run? I feel like this dog just bought my brother and I some serious time on the grandkid front. How long do labs live for? I need to make the most of this get out of jail free card.
April 15, 2009
Bangs, bangs, grow away . . .
I have a picture of me when I was about three years old in a beautiful blue dress with ruffles, holding a Mickey Mouse doll, with the classic little girl hair cut. You probably know the hair cut I’m talking about because almost every little girl out there has had it. Shoulder length hair, cut straight across, with bangs. It was, and still is, the cutest little girl hair cut there is. Over the years my hair cut changed of course, however fifteen years later, I still had the damn bangs.
About the time I was in junior high, I got very sick of my bangs and wanted to grow them out. The problem with growing out bangs is that it is a long and awkward process. A person has to be comfortable going through some funny hair stages to do it. And in junior high, I was the kid who got picked on for everything and anything so I was not about to go and add funny hair to the list.
In high school, I was still sick of the bangs. What do you do with them when you play sports? I lacked the confidence to just pull them back and besides, you’re not allowed to wear anything hard, such as barrettes or bobby pins, in your hair for games anyway. The problem with bangs is that they sit right on your forehead, which lets face it, when you’re working out, tends to get sweaty. So now not only do you have bangs in the way, you have sweaty bangs, which is not hot.
By the time my senior year of high school rolled around, I decided the time had come. I was fully prepared to grow out my bangs. I had the self-confidence to make it through the awkward stages. What I didn’t realize was that growing out your bangs is one of the most painful things a girl can grow through. There’s the stage where they get to long to curl and are in your eyes. For games, since barrettes were banned, I would have to start a French braid at my forehead. And yes, this does make you look like a dinosaur. Then you hit the stage where they almost, but not quite, go behind your ear. You hit a point where you can stop using them as bangs and actually comb them with the rest of your hair, even though they are usually only half the length of the rest of your hair. Finally, your “bangs” hit chin length and beyond, and all is right with the world again. The whole process took 9-12 months and was not the best experience I’ve ever had. I was just glad to finally be part of the rest of the adult world – a world with no bangs.
Then a few years ago, bangs came back in style. WTF. I had done all this work growing the damn things out and now they were “in?” I vowed that I would not cut bangs again having been through the grow out experience once already. Then about a year ago, I got bored with life. I like to refer to this as my quarter life crisis. I had some work experience under my belt, had finished my graduate degree, and was trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. So I did what any normal girl does – I took out my internal crisis on my hair. My hair got shorter, changed color, and then last August . . . you guessed it, I cut some bangs.
In my defense, these weren’t the bangs of my youth. These were fun and flirty side swept bangs. Now, three hair styles and four hair colors later, I’m very tired of the bangs and they, along with the rest of my hair, are back in the grow out phase. And once again, they almost go behind my ear. Forget water boarding, this is how to torture people. The good thing about growing out bangs at this age is that I am more than willing to stick bobby pins and barrettes in my hair to keep it out of my face, regardless of how ridiculous it looks.
So here I am, 10 year after the original grow out, doing it again. I’d like to think I learned my lesson for the second time, but I’m guessing the next time I have a life “crisis” the hair will once again take the brunt of it. How many times will it take before the lesson really sinks in? I guess only time will tell. In the meantime, where the hell did I put that bobby pin?
About the time I was in junior high, I got very sick of my bangs and wanted to grow them out. The problem with growing out bangs is that it is a long and awkward process. A person has to be comfortable going through some funny hair stages to do it. And in junior high, I was the kid who got picked on for everything and anything so I was not about to go and add funny hair to the list.
In high school, I was still sick of the bangs. What do you do with them when you play sports? I lacked the confidence to just pull them back and besides, you’re not allowed to wear anything hard, such as barrettes or bobby pins, in your hair for games anyway. The problem with bangs is that they sit right on your forehead, which lets face it, when you’re working out, tends to get sweaty. So now not only do you have bangs in the way, you have sweaty bangs, which is not hot.
By the time my senior year of high school rolled around, I decided the time had come. I was fully prepared to grow out my bangs. I had the self-confidence to make it through the awkward stages. What I didn’t realize was that growing out your bangs is one of the most painful things a girl can grow through. There’s the stage where they get to long to curl and are in your eyes. For games, since barrettes were banned, I would have to start a French braid at my forehead. And yes, this does make you look like a dinosaur. Then you hit the stage where they almost, but not quite, go behind your ear. You hit a point where you can stop using them as bangs and actually comb them with the rest of your hair, even though they are usually only half the length of the rest of your hair. Finally, your “bangs” hit chin length and beyond, and all is right with the world again. The whole process took 9-12 months and was not the best experience I’ve ever had. I was just glad to finally be part of the rest of the adult world – a world with no bangs.
Then a few years ago, bangs came back in style. WTF. I had done all this work growing the damn things out and now they were “in?” I vowed that I would not cut bangs again having been through the grow out experience once already. Then about a year ago, I got bored with life. I like to refer to this as my quarter life crisis. I had some work experience under my belt, had finished my graduate degree, and was trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. So I did what any normal girl does – I took out my internal crisis on my hair. My hair got shorter, changed color, and then last August . . . you guessed it, I cut some bangs.
In my defense, these weren’t the bangs of my youth. These were fun and flirty side swept bangs. Now, three hair styles and four hair colors later, I’m very tired of the bangs and they, along with the rest of my hair, are back in the grow out phase. And once again, they almost go behind my ear. Forget water boarding, this is how to torture people. The good thing about growing out bangs at this age is that I am more than willing to stick bobby pins and barrettes in my hair to keep it out of my face, regardless of how ridiculous it looks.
So here I am, 10 year after the original grow out, doing it again. I’d like to think I learned my lesson for the second time, but I’m guessing the next time I have a life “crisis” the hair will once again take the brunt of it. How many times will it take before the lesson really sinks in? I guess only time will tell. In the meantime, where the hell did I put that bobby pin?
April 14, 2009
Pin the Tail on . . . Me?
Being a runner requires not only endurance for the run, but endurance for the pain. Shin splints have always been part of the cost of running for me and I’m assuming my hip pain will be going forward as well. It’s the little things that you forget about though when you’re dying to run but attempting to heal the major parts of your body.
I bring this up because the past two mornings, I have had to attempt to put a Neosporin laced Band-Aid on my back. Think about it, how successful are you at scratching your back, putting lotion on your back or give yourself a back massage? It’s really difficult to do anything to your own back. Now envision me attempting to bandage my own back. I got the darn band-aid on there, but it took some serious twisting and stretching and at the end was done simply by feel – very similar to playing pin the tail on the donkey. I know where the band aid needed to go; now I just had to get it on the right spot.
I bring all this up because I’ve suffered any number of injuries over my years as an athlete. In high school, I had a hip that was bright purple for about four solid months during volleyball season. I’ve tried just about every variation of taping for shin splints there is. I’ve pulled muscles, had more bruises than I can count, and even acquired a black eye once. Running brings on its own set of minor injuries however.
Last year I lost a toe nail. You know what’s not hot in flip flops? A girl with a missing toe nail. Although by the end of last season my feet were so torn up from running, I probably shouldn’t have been showing my bare feet in public to start with. Feet peel, are callused and blistered. Running has caused me to chafe on parts of my body that are very uncomfortable to chafe, as well as every other body part. As a runner, you send up a silent thank you to the inventors of Body Glide each time you have to use it. And this weekend I managed to chafe the small of my back. I wasn’t even running in a new pair of shorts!
Tonight is a running night for me and as I was attempting to pin the band-aid on my owie this morning, I started to question my sanity. Here I am stretching and twisting and blindly trying to bandage my own back and for what? So I can run a few miles? Is all this pain really worth it? About the time I was questioning my sanity, I happened to glance over to the place where my Hood to Coast bib from last year was hanging. Hell yeah. It’s worth every lost toe nail, every single blister and every single band-aid wasted trying to pin it onto part of your body you can’t reach.
I bring this up because the past two mornings, I have had to attempt to put a Neosporin laced Band-Aid on my back. Think about it, how successful are you at scratching your back, putting lotion on your back or give yourself a back massage? It’s really difficult to do anything to your own back. Now envision me attempting to bandage my own back. I got the darn band-aid on there, but it took some serious twisting and stretching and at the end was done simply by feel – very similar to playing pin the tail on the donkey. I know where the band aid needed to go; now I just had to get it on the right spot.
I bring all this up because I’ve suffered any number of injuries over my years as an athlete. In high school, I had a hip that was bright purple for about four solid months during volleyball season. I’ve tried just about every variation of taping for shin splints there is. I’ve pulled muscles, had more bruises than I can count, and even acquired a black eye once. Running brings on its own set of minor injuries however.
Last year I lost a toe nail. You know what’s not hot in flip flops? A girl with a missing toe nail. Although by the end of last season my feet were so torn up from running, I probably shouldn’t have been showing my bare feet in public to start with. Feet peel, are callused and blistered. Running has caused me to chafe on parts of my body that are very uncomfortable to chafe, as well as every other body part. As a runner, you send up a silent thank you to the inventors of Body Glide each time you have to use it. And this weekend I managed to chafe the small of my back. I wasn’t even running in a new pair of shorts!
Tonight is a running night for me and as I was attempting to pin the band-aid on my owie this morning, I started to question my sanity. Here I am stretching and twisting and blindly trying to bandage my own back and for what? So I can run a few miles? Is all this pain really worth it? About the time I was questioning my sanity, I happened to glance over to the place where my Hood to Coast bib from last year was hanging. Hell yeah. It’s worth every lost toe nail, every single blister and every single band-aid wasted trying to pin it onto part of your body you can’t reach.
April 11, 2009
Tick Tock
Time is an amazing thing. It brings us closer to 5pm during the work week. It fixes bad hair cuts and it heals broken hearts. The reminder that time is short often gives me the push to do things outside of my comfort zone. Best of all, time heals IT bands.
Last year I managed to seriously injure myself training for Hood to Coast. One would think that this would deter me from running in the future, but nope, I’m on a HTC team again this year. After the last race, I was unable to run for six, count them six, months. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, not running.
About a month ago I started to run again. Second to not being able to run, the hardest thing is to have to control the running. The goal this time around is to not injure myself now that I’ve spent all this time letting my body to heal. So instead of busting out six miles just because it feels good, I’m trying to increase my mileage in small doses. Increasing by about a quarter of a mile at a time is torturous. Especially once you start getting that runners high back. Yes, it’s a real thing, I swear. Today I was weak and broke my own rule and increased the length of the run by a whole half a mile. I’m currently up to 4 miles at a time, which is not a lot, but it sure does feel good after six months off.
Now that I am running again, I have turned into a bit of a freak about icing, stretching, etc. I am afraid to do skip stretching or ice due to a deep fear that the pain will return. I even bike for a bit on the days I run and I hate the bike. Does this part ever go away? I don’t know but I appreciate running to darn much right now to risk it.
Time . . . the healer of all things from broken hearts to IT bands and shin splints. Here’s hoping I don’t need it again for the IT band.
Last year I managed to seriously injure myself training for Hood to Coast. One would think that this would deter me from running in the future, but nope, I’m on a HTC team again this year. After the last race, I was unable to run for six, count them six, months. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, not running.
About a month ago I started to run again. Second to not being able to run, the hardest thing is to have to control the running. The goal this time around is to not injure myself now that I’ve spent all this time letting my body to heal. So instead of busting out six miles just because it feels good, I’m trying to increase my mileage in small doses. Increasing by about a quarter of a mile at a time is torturous. Especially once you start getting that runners high back. Yes, it’s a real thing, I swear. Today I was weak and broke my own rule and increased the length of the run by a whole half a mile. I’m currently up to 4 miles at a time, which is not a lot, but it sure does feel good after six months off.
Now that I am running again, I have turned into a bit of a freak about icing, stretching, etc. I am afraid to do skip stretching or ice due to a deep fear that the pain will return. I even bike for a bit on the days I run and I hate the bike. Does this part ever go away? I don’t know but I appreciate running to darn much right now to risk it.
Time . . . the healer of all things from broken hearts to IT bands and shin splints. Here’s hoping I don’t need it again for the IT band.
Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!
When I was six, my family made the trek to Vancouver, BC to go to the world’s fair. Also known as Expo ’86, or so the pink t-shirt I got as a souvenir said. I don’t remember much about the fair itself, but I do remember a trip to the zoo during the same trip. But I didn’t actually go to the zoo. See, I’ve never been a big animal person and even at the age of six, the idea of a home made slip and slide held more appeal that seeing a polar bear in a cage.
Fast forward about 20 years and I’m still not a huge fan of the zoo. Apparently Portland’s zoo has a “northwest” section that has animals from the Pacific Northwest. I’ve never actually been to this northwest section, as I like to see the lions, elephants and penguins if I am coerced into going to a zoo. So imagine my surprise when someone tells me that our Portland zoo has deer and elk in it. In my mind, these things shouldn’t be in a zoo, they were in my back yard growing up! Don’t get me wrong, I love deer and elk – they’re delicious, but in a zoo? Huh.
Fast forward about 20 years and I’m still not a huge fan of the zoo. Apparently Portland’s zoo has a “northwest” section that has animals from the Pacific Northwest. I’ve never actually been to this northwest section, as I like to see the lions, elephants and penguins if I am coerced into going to a zoo. So imagine my surprise when someone tells me that our Portland zoo has deer and elk in it. In my mind, these things shouldn’t be in a zoo, they were in my back yard growing up! Don’t get me wrong, I love deer and elk – they’re delicious, but in a zoo? Huh.
April 9, 2009
Life is Non-Fiction
I am a smart girl. I had a great GPA in high school, I made the dean’s list in undergrad, and I have a graduate degree. I pride myself on being one of those people who isn’t an expert on one or two things, but knows a little bit about most everything. My favorite game show is Jeopardy, because I love trivia about a huge range of topics. I love useless knowledge, especially if it deals with popular culture.
Most of my friends are just as, if not more, educated than I am so I’m used to hanging around smart people and enjoy the discussions and arguments that tend to ensue. So it makes sense that I would be attracted to smart guys. In addition to tall, dark and handsome, (and good teeth) brains has always been at the top of my list of turn-ons in the opposite sex. And not only do they have to be smart, they have to be comfortable with the fact that I have a brain as well. One guy was vetoed because he was intimidated by where I did my undergrad, which is not as impressive as he seemed to think. Okay, to be completely honest, that was just the first nail in the coffin for him. I ended the conversation after he told me about his lack of a driver’s license due to a criminal conviction. Seriously.
While I consider myself smart, I don’t do a lot to continue my learning at this point. I do some, but not a lot. Part of this is burnout having survived grad school while working full time and part of it is just plain laziness. I read important finance articles that come across my way, but little else in terms of enlightening myself. And up until a short time ago, I had been okay with this.
I recently had a friend come and visit me in Portland. As many people know, Portland is home to the largest independent book store in the country, Powell’s. Powell’s is huge, you can spend hours or even days in there lost amongst the stacks of books. It’s amazing. It’s common for my out of town guests to want to go to Powell’s and this friend was no exception.
We went to Powell’s on an afternoon where Portland couldn’t quite decide if it was going to be sunny and beautiful or gray and wet. After perusing the finance and cookbooks section, I was ready to move onto another activity. As much as I enjoy Powell’s, I’m a library girl at heart and rarely buy books. I have no place to store them and I’m cheap. So I did what I always did, picked out a seat on a bench near the door and watched the eclectic groups of people coming and going from Powell’s. About an hour later, my friend finally straggled towards the door.
What impressed me was not the fact that he had found six books to purchase, but that they were all on different topics. Everything from brewing beer books to a book on some music guy to books about the economy. That’s when it hit me, I enjoy learning about things, but I don’t actively pursue it like he does. He’s probably naturally smarter than I am to start with, but he is continually trying to increase his knowledge. And not just about topics that relate to his job, about everything he can get his hands on!
It’s been bugging me since my friend left, this fact that he aggressively pursues knowledge and I’ve gotten complacent about it. I read a lot, but I tend to read fiction, not things that will increase my brain. Which led me to start thinking that I need to get back in gear. Reading fiction is okay, but I need to even it out occasionally with something that stretches my brain. If I’m interested in a guy with brains, isn’t it fair to assume that they want or expect the same thing?
So this morning I went on to Amazon and looked up the top 100 books from last year and picked out some non-fiction books for me to read. Of course, I used Amazon to find a list and then went to the library website and put them on hold, but I have a list of non-fiction to read. And while the books I picked out aren’t as impressive as the ones my friend came home with, I did pick out some a book on economics and a book on behavior. And how could I resist books titled “Are you there Vodka, it’s me Chelsea” and “I Was Told There’d be Cake,” which obviously I’m going to read first. But hey, a girl has to start somewhere.
Most of my friends are just as, if not more, educated than I am so I’m used to hanging around smart people and enjoy the discussions and arguments that tend to ensue. So it makes sense that I would be attracted to smart guys. In addition to tall, dark and handsome, (and good teeth) brains has always been at the top of my list of turn-ons in the opposite sex. And not only do they have to be smart, they have to be comfortable with the fact that I have a brain as well. One guy was vetoed because he was intimidated by where I did my undergrad, which is not as impressive as he seemed to think. Okay, to be completely honest, that was just the first nail in the coffin for him. I ended the conversation after he told me about his lack of a driver’s license due to a criminal conviction. Seriously.
While I consider myself smart, I don’t do a lot to continue my learning at this point. I do some, but not a lot. Part of this is burnout having survived grad school while working full time and part of it is just plain laziness. I read important finance articles that come across my way, but little else in terms of enlightening myself. And up until a short time ago, I had been okay with this.
I recently had a friend come and visit me in Portland. As many people know, Portland is home to the largest independent book store in the country, Powell’s. Powell’s is huge, you can spend hours or even days in there lost amongst the stacks of books. It’s amazing. It’s common for my out of town guests to want to go to Powell’s and this friend was no exception.
We went to Powell’s on an afternoon where Portland couldn’t quite decide if it was going to be sunny and beautiful or gray and wet. After perusing the finance and cookbooks section, I was ready to move onto another activity. As much as I enjoy Powell’s, I’m a library girl at heart and rarely buy books. I have no place to store them and I’m cheap. So I did what I always did, picked out a seat on a bench near the door and watched the eclectic groups of people coming and going from Powell’s. About an hour later, my friend finally straggled towards the door.
What impressed me was not the fact that he had found six books to purchase, but that they were all on different topics. Everything from brewing beer books to a book on some music guy to books about the economy. That’s when it hit me, I enjoy learning about things, but I don’t actively pursue it like he does. He’s probably naturally smarter than I am to start with, but he is continually trying to increase his knowledge. And not just about topics that relate to his job, about everything he can get his hands on!
It’s been bugging me since my friend left, this fact that he aggressively pursues knowledge and I’ve gotten complacent about it. I read a lot, but I tend to read fiction, not things that will increase my brain. Which led me to start thinking that I need to get back in gear. Reading fiction is okay, but I need to even it out occasionally with something that stretches my brain. If I’m interested in a guy with brains, isn’t it fair to assume that they want or expect the same thing?
So this morning I went on to Amazon and looked up the top 100 books from last year and picked out some non-fiction books for me to read. Of course, I used Amazon to find a list and then went to the library website and put them on hold, but I have a list of non-fiction to read. And while the books I picked out aren’t as impressive as the ones my friend came home with, I did pick out some a book on economics and a book on behavior. And how could I resist books titled “Are you there Vodka, it’s me Chelsea” and “I Was Told There’d be Cake,” which obviously I’m going to read first. But hey, a girl has to start somewhere.
April 8, 2009
What's in a name?
My entire life I’ve had nicknames, anything from Hide-a-thickle to Hide-a-lee to Mongrel. Even Gerty, which I hated, but the guys who called me that were hot so I let it go. My dad still calls me Punkin even though I’m 28 instead of 8 and even to most of my extended family I’m just Heid. Now days I mostly go by Heids or by my last name. What can I say; my nicknames are growing up with me.
I’m a huge fan of nicknames, both for myself and for other people. I give them to pretty much everyone I like, and even once my girl friends are married and change their names, the nicknames stick. Nicknames are cool, they make you feel special and loved. They can be name based or utterly ridiculous. Who doesn’t love a nickname?
At least, that’s what I thought until I had a sudden realization during a conversation with another single girl friend of mine. I have a ton of guy friends so it was just second nature to me to never be called by my actual name, until I realized that the guys who give you nicknames are very much entrenched in the friend zone. A guy who is interested in you romantically probably isn’t going to call you by your last name like you’re on a sports team together.
Once I was hanging out with a guy who was, let’s say not in the friend zone. Before my recent realization we were talking about the fact that most everyone calls me Heids and his response was “I can’t call you that.” At the time I thought it was odd, but now I am appreciative of the lack of a nickname from him. And it works both ways, because I’m not going to date the guys that I have crazy nick names for either. (FYI: for girls, there are some exceptions to the nick name rule.)
So while I love nick names, now I have yet another clue to help determine what kind of interest a guy has. Because lets face it, that species is ridiculously difficult to read and interpret. And any bit of insight into the way their minds work is a good thing. I love my guy friends, but here’s hoping that someday I meet someone who doesn’t automatically start calling me by my last name.
I’m a huge fan of nicknames, both for myself and for other people. I give them to pretty much everyone I like, and even once my girl friends are married and change their names, the nicknames stick. Nicknames are cool, they make you feel special and loved. They can be name based or utterly ridiculous. Who doesn’t love a nickname?
At least, that’s what I thought until I had a sudden realization during a conversation with another single girl friend of mine. I have a ton of guy friends so it was just second nature to me to never be called by my actual name, until I realized that the guys who give you nicknames are very much entrenched in the friend zone. A guy who is interested in you romantically probably isn’t going to call you by your last name like you’re on a sports team together.
Once I was hanging out with a guy who was, let’s say not in the friend zone. Before my recent realization we were talking about the fact that most everyone calls me Heids and his response was “I can’t call you that.” At the time I thought it was odd, but now I am appreciative of the lack of a nickname from him. And it works both ways, because I’m not going to date the guys that I have crazy nick names for either. (FYI: for girls, there are some exceptions to the nick name rule.)
So while I love nick names, now I have yet another clue to help determine what kind of interest a guy has. Because lets face it, that species is ridiculously difficult to read and interpret. And any bit of insight into the way their minds work is a good thing. I love my guy friends, but here’s hoping that someday I meet someone who doesn’t automatically start calling me by my last name.
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