Song I'm Digging This Week

I don't need your sympathy - I'll always be just fine...




"Helena" - Nickel Creek

Christina Aguilera makes me angry.

I can't stand Christina Aguilera.  Cannot.  Stand.  Her.

Yes, this probably makes me mean.  But I can't help it.  I'm sure if she met me, she'd dislike me, too.

I have many reasons for my annoyance with Xtina (as if her re-creation of her name wasn't enough).  Her smug attitude on "The Voice" just cemented all of them.  She's constantly smirking.  She has a fancy fan with her at all times.  I'm convinced that she's rude to anyone she feels can actually sing.  I think she believes she's the most talented person in the entire universe.  I think she'd challenge God Himself to a sing-off, and then refuse to believe she had lost.

But honestly, I've disliked her since she was a 12-year-old(ish) kid on "MMC."  

Did I have a real reason back then?  Nope.  I just didn't like her.  There was something about her that made me cringe.

My theory is that we each have one celebrity we dislike for real or unexplained reasons, and we get weirdly, passionately mad about them when they're on TV or in a movie.  

My sister despises Hilary Swank.  She says it started with "The Next Karate Kid," (which, yes, was really awful), but her irritation with Ms. Swank has lasted for about 15 years. "She's just...ugh," Holly Jo told me the last time I was at her house.

My best friend Ashleigh feels violent about Joseph Gordon Levitt.  Every time he shows up in a show or in a movie, she makes a face and says "I would like to punch that guy."  Why?  No real reason.  She just doesn't like his face.  Or speech pattern.  Or dance moves.  Or speaking voice. (I actually think he's pretty cute.)

Donny Osmond makes my dad angry.  Literally angry.  Why?  Dad says it's partly because he just cries too much for a man.  Whenever Dad and I are watching TV and Donny O. shows up, Dad turns to me and says "Just wait.  He'll start crying in a second."  And he usually does.

Am I right about this?  What celebrity do you dislike?  Do you have a reason?  

The Less-Than Girl

I'm going to be totally honest today:

Sometimes I wish I was better at being a girl.

Now before some of you get all weirded out on me, let me try my best to unpack that statement:
1.  I haven't decided to bat for the other team.  Still like the fellas.
2.  I was not born with lady-bits and man-bits.  Straight up female here.

What I really mean is that sometimes I read magazine articles, books, and different blogs and then end up feeling like I'm just not doing a great job at being a girl.

My eyes aren't large, blue, and "full of womanly tenderness".  They're average-sized (one is actually a tad smaller than the other one), brown, and...brown.  My neck isn't long and graceful.  My hair doesn't tumble down my back in glossy waves.  It's curly and usually a little frizzy.

And that's just in the looks department - really, that's just above the chest.  That doesn't even begin to cover my lack of cooking prowess or the fact that I have never successfully "crafted" anything.  I'm not even going to begin to talk about the barren wasteland that is my love life.

I want to be careful here, because I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea - I really do love reading blogs, novels, and magazines.  If it weren't for some of these mediums, I would never have perfected the art of the adult non-80's side ponytail and I wouldn't have figured out how to make the world's best scrambled eggs (gently nudge the eggs - just nudge).  But I think that sometimes they make me feel a little "less than," a little stupid, and a little clumsy.

So here are some images from blogs that I saw yesterday.  I'm not going to say where they came from, because I really don't want hate mail, and once again - I follow these blogs because I like them.  I really do.  But here's how they occasionally make me feel:

#1:  "We look perfect, even first thing in the morning."*
This particular blogger states that these pictures were just part of her normal morning routine.  Now.  I dig the looks, honestly.  The girl on the right is all kinds of cozy, what with her wintry pom-pom hat, chunky cardigan, and slouchy socks.  The girl on the left did a bang-up job of mixing patterns.
How I felt when I saw this picture yesterday:  I was feeling good about the fact that my bangs dried straight.  Now I feel like I should have a floral crown.  How could I step outside without a floral crown?!
Reality check: Come on.  I have never, in the history of my time on this planet, looked this adorable first thing in the morning.  I have never seen anyone in real life who looks this adorable first thing in the morning.  I  have never worn a floral crown that I made myself (except for that time I was Ophelia in "Hamlet").  Even when I am rockin' my style, I don't ever conveniently have a great photographer on hand to capture it in the most flattering detail.

#2: "What?  You didn't bake cookies from scratch this morning?  You don't have three kinds of sprinkles in your cupboard?"
This blogger claims that at this time of year, homemade sugar cookies "are a must!"  She makes them every year. Several times a year.  Everyone loves them, and everyone wants the recipe.
How I felt when I saw this picture yesterday: I heated up a frozen waffle in the toaster oven for breakfast.  I reheated pizza in the microwave for lunch.  Yep.
Reality check: Ok, so I'm not the greatest cook.  Also, I don't want diabetes, which I would completely get if I made cookies all the time, because I would eat them all.  All.  Of course, I just checked on Facebook and my best friend just made about 14 batches of Christmas cookies in her limited spare time today.  Ugh.

#3: "We handcrafted this play kitchenette today.  No biggie."
This blogger loves her kids.  I mean, really loves her kids.  Enough to work with wood.  And hammers.  Enough to build a toy kitchenette on a random Tuesday.
How I felt when I saw this picture yesterday: I was pretty pumped to find someone who would embroider "My Aunt Manda Loves Me" on a bib for my niece for Christmas.  But now I'm feeling like maybe I should have set up a buzz-saw in my living room and made her a homemade Easy Bake Oven.  Will she think I don't love her?  Will she wear that bib and realize that a stranger embroidered it?  Will this cause her to take drugs in 2028?
Reality check: I don't have any kids.  My niece is six months old.  And since I like my limbs, I should never come near a buzz-saw.

Of course, most of these bloggers make a living by being beautiful, cooking, and crafting on a daily basis.  But that's just not real life, is it?  Real life is a lot messier.  Real life is more, well, real.

Maybe you can relate to this feeling of inadequacy, or maybe you're totally unlike me and you woke up this morning confident that you're going to work out, cook a ten course meal for your man, knit sweaters for your two perfect children, and gaze upon your entire family with womanly tenderness before you go to bed. Of course, maybe you'll do all that today, and then wake up tomorrow and do nothing but watch an all-day marathon of DVR'd "Revenge," eat a carton of ice cream, heat up Lean Cuisines for dinner, and run out of toilet paper just before bed.

Either way, let's just accept that most girls struggle with "less-than" feelings at some point.

We can all be these blogtastic girls every once in a while, but most of the time?

Let's just be us.

I will now get back to taking lots of pictures of my adorable cat.  Just keepin' it real.

*I have created titles for all of these pictures.  None of these bloggers are that annoying.

Song I'm Digging This Week

So many things I could have written down in the passing of a restless night...Some of those were worth keeping...There are things which you should never write...

"Everything's Gonna Be Undone" - Band of Horses

October Reading Recap

1.  The Sherlockian by Graham Moore
All three of you who actually read my book reviews have probably noticed that I love a good mystery.  I mean, I love them.  I also love anything (anything) set in the turn of the 20th century in England.  So a novel about a mystery involving Arthur Conan Doyle, author of the Sherlock Holmes stories, set in the early 1900's and in England?  Yeah.  I'm gonna be all over that.  This story bounces back and forth between a mystery concerning Doyle and into the present day and a member of the illustrious Baker Street Irregulars (sort of the literary version of Trekkies) who is trying to solve a mystery about what happened to Doyle's long-lost diary.  Based on actual events, this book hit all the right spots.  Murder, intrigue, deduction -- just great.  I was actually sorry for it to end.

2.  Jane Slayre by Charlotte Bronte & Sherri Browning Erwin
I've always been a little more Team Bronte than Team Austen (I know- gasp!, right?).  As much as I love Elizabeth Bennett, I think I prefer Jane Eyre.  She's just a little darker, a little edgier.  I've always thought that Jane Eyre was a spooky story on its own, and this version, which adds vampires, zombies, and werewolves into the mix, is a fun diversion.  I love that Erwin stuck to the original story and just added some hilarious plot twists -- like Helen Burns coming back as a zombie, Bertha not only being nutzo, but also a werewolf, etc.  My only small gripe is that sometimes the language doesn't quite fit in with the original writing.  Bronte didn't use a bunch of contractions, and when it's the "new" story, Erwin uses too many of them.  But all in all, this made me laugh out loud several times at the witty storyline changes.  Fun reading.

3.  The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel
My dad told me this was an amazing book a few years ago, and it's been sitting in my "to read" pile until this month.  I was fascinated throughout the book by Lee Strobel's exhaustive journey towards literally proving beyond a shadow of a doubt (in my opinion, anyway) Christ's existence and deity.  Strobel came to Christ in 1981, after years of atheism.  He was a celebrated Chicago editor and journalist (Yale educated to boot), who had a hard time just accepting that Christ really was the Messiah, so he set out to prove that He wasn't. In the course of his investigation, he proved the exact opposite.  This book is perfect for "thinkers" -- for both skeptics of Christianity and Christians who are struggling with doubt.

4.  All the Lovely Bad Ones by Mary Downing Hahn
Mary Downing Hahn was my favorite ghost story writer when I was a kid, and since October is the month of all things spooky, Amazon was selling her books for $1.99 apiece.  I racked up.  This book (about a haunted bed and breakfast) is definitely, without a doubt, for kids, but I still loved it.  It transported me back to around 1989, when I would devour her books in the back of our motor home.  And then, of course, I'd be afraid to go to sleep at night.  In the best way.

5.  What the Dead Know by Laura Lippman
This was my first Laura Lippman book, and it won't be the last.  She writes a great, taut mystery.  This story, about two young girls who went missing in the 70's only for one to resurface almost 30 years later, is completely gripping.  Lippman does a wonderful job fleshing out each character's storyline without boring the reader with unnecessary details.  By the end of the book, I actually cared about what happened to each person.  There was also a great twist that surprised me, and I love when that happens.

6.  The Secret Adversary by Agatha Christie
I read a bunch of Agatha Christie in high school, but a few of them escaped me.  This mystery, which introduces the amateur sleuths Tommy and Tuppence, was just utterly charming.  I found myself thinking I'd figured it all out about ten times, only to doubt myself again and again.  And of course, I turned out to be wrong.  Christie is famous for her red herring writing, and she usually gets me.  I've heard that Agatha Christie herself was a pretty fascinating person, so I'm looking forward to reading more about her, too.

7.  Wait Till Helen Comes by Mary Downing Hahn
This was my first Hahn book, and it scared the junk out of me.  Seriously.  It really is the first book I can remember reading and needing to sleep with the light on afterwards.  Even as an adult, there are some chilling moments (when Helen tries to drag Heather into the pond with her, promising her that "there are mermaids down here" - shudder), and I thoroughly enjoyed re-reading the book.  I did sleep without the lamp this time, though.

8.  The Final Reckoning by Sam Bourne
When I bought this book, I didn't realize it was about the Holocaust.  I tend to shy away from books on that subject, mainly because they're so sad.  This one was no exception, but at least this one was about some Jewish people who kicked major butt and got big, satisfying revenge on some awful Nazis.  The story begins with an old man from London being mistaken for a terrorist at the United Nations, and subsequently being killed.  A former UN lawyer is hired to go and "make nice" with the man's daughter, but then realizes that maybe the old man wasn't as innocent as everyone originally thought.  And of course, the lawyer falls hard for the daughter (which is my only gripe with the story -- the love story seemed a bit forced).  But the ending left me feeling triumphant, and I'll check out some more of Bourne's work.

9.  The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie
This is the first time readers were introduced to the little Belgian detective Hercule Poirot, and I have to say - he gives Sherlock Holmes a run for his money.  In fact, Poirot and Holmes are almost polar opposites in personality - Poirot is boisterous and highly emotional, while Holmes is removed and analytical - but their methods are really pretty much the same, down to the bumbling Watson-esque sidekicks.  And again, I didn't figure out who the murderer was until Christie revealed it in the last chapter.  Thwarted again.

Listen...do you wanna know a secret?

photo found here

Yesterday, Dane, a seven-year-old piano student, got up to leave at the end of his lesson, suddenly turned to me and whispered (even though we were the only ones in the room) "Wanna hear about the grossest thing I've ever seen?"

I didn't, but he didn't wait to hear my answer.  He got even closer to me and, in a hushed voice, said directly into my ear:

"Once, my dad lost his balance and fell right...into...a big pile...of dog poop."

He was very serious.  No smiling.  I looked back at him with as straight a face as I could manage and said "That is gross."

He walked slowly to the door, turned back to me, and said "You cannot tell my mother.  She will freak.  Out."  

I sort of felt like there was an unspoken threat somewhere in that last bit.

And I'm really, really glad that's the grossest thing he's ever seen.

Time Traveling Amanda, Pt. 2: Middle School Years

Middle School Years: 1991-1993

Ok.  Get ready, because I think middle school, for everyone, is possibly the most miserable and confusing time in life.  Seriously.  Your body is changing, your skin turns on you, cliques are forming, and popularity is suddenly the most important thing in the world.

My middle school years were honestly torture.  I don't think I spent one comfortable moment in my own skin from the ages of 11 to 13.  I was homeschooled up until 6th grade, and to say I was unprepared for real life adolescence is a major understatement.

I was the definition of nerd.  I can say that with no embarrassment almost 20 years later, but at the time -agggh.  It was the worst.  I used to go home and fill up diary pages with plans to reinvent myself via new clothes, shoes, better haircuts - you name it.  I would give myself a stern talking to in the mirror every morning, telling myself not to use big words, not to talk about books or music too much, and to get better at volleyball (focus!).

Misery.

So here's what I would change:

1.  Sixth grade, 1991: Friends
I can still remember walking into Ms. Pettyjohn's science class with my heart in my throat, and watching everyone turn as Ms. Pettyjohn introduced me.  Some kids were friendly, but some...were not.  Unfortunately, I was so eager to make friends that I just attached myself to whoever was nice to me in those first few weeks.  This was a bad decision, because I made "friends" with some of the meanest girls in the world.  They put the characters in "Mean Girls" to shame.  Less than a year later, two of those girls wrote me a letter informing me that I wasn't cool enough to be their friend.  Aaaand self esteem goes into the toilet.
Time traveling Amanda would smile politely at these girls on the first day and then go and sit with the people who turned out to be my actual friends all through high school and into adulthood.

2.  Sixth grade - Eighth Grade, 1991-1993: Volleyball
I am, without a doubt, the least athletic person I know.  The only "sport" I'm somewhat good at is ping pong.  Which, unless you're Forrest Gump, so does not count.  The first rainy day of sixth grade, the entire P.E. class was corralled into the gym and divided into teams for volleyball.  I was utterly confused.  I grew up in a motor home.  I had never seen a volleyball game, much less played it.  Everyone else seemed to know all the rules, and I was way too embarrassed to ask, so I went ahead and lined up with everyone else behind the net.  Of course, the first volley came right at me.  I had no idea what I was supposed to do, but the logical thing seemed to be to catch it.  So...I did.  I have a very vivid memory of a girl named Cassidy wheeling around, giving me a look of pure hatred, and hissing "Oh, my GOD!  Are you a retard or something?!"  Half of my class laughed, and half (mostly my team) started yelling at me.  From that moment on, I was horrified by the thought of my having to play any organized sport.  In high school, I even made a deal with our P.E. coach: if he would excuse me from playing basketball, volleyball, etc., I would write him a short story based on P.E. every day.  And I did.  That's how much I hated it.
Time traveling Amanda would learn how to play volleyball (duh), but would also dismiss girls like Cassidy.  In fact, time traveling Amanda would just launch the volleyball at her head and say "Is that what I'm supposed to do?"  I literally, to this day, have no idea if I could have been ok at a sport of some kind.  If I could go back, I would at least try to find out.

3.  Seventh grade, 1992: Shaving
My mom wouldn't let me shave my legs until 8th grade, so I partially blame her for this one.  I wasn't a yeti, but by 7th grade, I was a little...furry.  I was starting to notice, and unfortunately, so were some of my classmates.  This did not help improve my popularity.  One day in band, a guy named Scott passed my chair, pointed to my leg, and yelled "Amanda's legs are hairier than my dad's!"  Cue shame.  I went home and asked if I could please shave, but my mom wouldn't budge.  The next week, my parents went out of town, and I decided that if I couldn't shave, I would fake it.  I decided to wear floral overall shorts (remember those?  Eek.)...with pantyhose.  I figured that not only would it make me look tan, but it would hide my hairy legs.  Our babysitter was a family friend, and he was a guy.  He didn't seem to notice that my legs were a full four shades darker than my arms and face, and he let me go to school.  My friend Bett (who I now know was trying to be helpful) asked me "Um...Amanda?  Are you really...tan?  On...just your legs?"  I was all cheerful. "YES! I so am!"  Sigh.  And of course, the pantyhose totally didn't hide my hairy legs.  It just mashed it up into disgusting patches.  My mom came to pick me up from school that day, took one look at me, and laughed.
Time traveling Amanda would sneak a razor from her mom's bathroom and shave.  Yes.  Justifiable rebellion.  And she would burn those floral overall shorts.

4.  Eighth grade, 1993: Shoes
My mom bought our shoes from wherever she thought was a good buy.  I didn't have a brand name pair of tennis shoes until 8th grade, because I honestly just didn't care.  Payless was ok with me.  But then two of the Triplet Mean Girls - Tiffany, Julie, and Elaine - felt it was their duty to point out that I didn't have cool tennis shoes.  Tiffany commented dryly that "your shoes look like they come from KMart.  My shoes cost $75."  And then they made a comment about it every day for weeks.  It was the first time I had even noticed that my shoes didn't have a name running along the side.  And of course, it became my new obsession.  I went home and begged my mom for a pair of Asics or Nikes.  I got some for Christmas that year, but my insecurity had been pretty much cemented by then.
Time traveling Amanda would say "Good for you!" to Tiffany, and completely ignore the rest of them.  When you're 13, it's so hard to realize that it won't matter in ten years, but I would definitely try to figure that out a bit earlier if I could go back.  Maybe I would have given them some shoes from KMart for Christmas, and tell them I bought them for them since they seemed so obsessed with mine...

5.  Eighth grade, 1993: Talent show
I sang "Swinging on a Star," as made famous by Frank Sinatra.  Of course, with lyrics like "...or would you rather be a pig?," this didn't really win me any cool points.  My friend Amos would go on  to bring up this talent show every time I did something embarrassing, all the way into college.  He would say "At least you're not singing about people being pigs!"  Touche, Amos.  Touche.
Time traveling Amanda would sing something else.  Like "Loser" by Beck.  Much more appropriate.