Jist a Girl Who Cain't Say No

(Yes, that is an Oklahoma! reference. I know you're all shocked-- I certainly am. I hate that show.

But I digress.)

Last night, while I was eating dinner, the music minister from my church at home called me to ask if I'd be willing to sing with an ensemble Sunday morning. It was a last minute thing--which I have a hard time with, since I like to over prepare before I go in front of people-- and the group was going to get together to rehearse Wednesday night.

My mind immediately created a list of all of the things that I'd rather be doing Wednesday night. And it wasn't a short list-- let me tell you.

"Well, I can still do it," I thought. "I probably won't have to go to rehearsal; it's never hard to find the alto part in that sort of stuff."

I agreed to do it.

She told me she'd like for me to sing second soprano.

Here's the thing-- I can sing soprano. I can. But I don't really like it, and I'm much better with alto. I'm more alto than soprano, and almost more tenor than alto.

I was working fast to come up with a reasonable excuse for not joining the ensemble when she told me that she was having a hard time finding someone willing to sing the part.

"Wow," I thought. "Guilt trip, much?"

So I'm singing second soprano in an ensemble this Sunday. It could be worse, I know.

But still, sometimes it would be nice to be able to say no.

Best Stress Relief Ever

My job stresses me out.

Not because it's hard. It isn't. At all.

It does require that I be suspicious of people (there's a post about this somewhere on here, I think), which is not something I'm good at. I like to think that people are generally telling the truth.

Anyway, sitting at my desk for eight hours being suspicious and (at times) rude--you have to get the solicitors off the phone somehow-- stresses me out.

I'd love to be able to go home and collapse on the couch to unwind, but I'm not wired that way. If I lay down on the couch, I'll just think of a million and one things that I have to do.

Or Mom will tell me to get out of her spot. Either way, relaxing that way is out.

Some people who know me well might say that I should draw or write or sing to calm my nerves, but that doesn't work for me either. Those things all carry their own different stresses. (Especially writing, now that I'm working on a story for a competition--yikes!)

So all of that leaves me in a bit of a pickle. What can I do to de-stress?

My parents have a dog--a big, beautiful mutt-- that they don't get out to play with very often. Last week, I grabbed a tennis ball and went into the back yard to spend some time with the dog.

As the title says: best stress relief EVER.

The wonderful thing about dogs is that they realize that humans need to give love as much as get it. Petting and playing with a dog is the most relaxing thing in the world.

Even when you do have to remind the dog that a tennis ball is not the same thing as food (poor thing kept trying to eat the tennis ball--that's probably a good indication that she doesn't get played with anywhere near enough).

Now my problem is solved. Pretty great, isn't it?


see more dog pictures

This looks so much like Hershey! (I love my dog.)

Post

I'd hate to post just for the sake of posting.

But that's what I'm going to do.

Tomorrow's going to be a hectic day at work (shocking, isn't it?), and I'm going to be out of town for the Eddie Izzard tour on Friday, so this may be it until Saturday.

Unfortunately, I don't have any observation to make or information to pass along. Bummer.

So I guess it's time for another meme.

A-ATTACHED OR SINGLE? Single and not worrying about being attached.
B-BEST FRIEND? That's a tough question, really. But I'll say Tori, since I see her the most often
C-CAKE or PIE? Both. But not at the same time
D-DAY of CHOICE? All of them. But not at the same time.
E-ESSENTIAL ITEMS? Chapstick, Dr Pepper
F-FAVORITE COLOR? Green right now. I never stick with one color for long
G-GUMMY BEARS OR WORMS? It doesn't matter.
H-HOMETOWN? Madison. Now guess which state.
I-INDULGENCE? Yankee Candles. I can't keep them at my parents' house because my mom can't take the smell, but I love them.
J-JANUARY OR JULY? July. Unless January is unusually warm.
K-KIDS? God, no. And not anytime soon either. I'm not good with kids.
L-LIFE ISN'T COMPLETE WITHOUT... Friends, Family and Food.
M-MARRIAGE DATE? See letter A.
N-NUMBER OF SIBLINGS? One sister and one brother-in-law. And a lot of kids that I think of as family.
O-ORANGES OR APPLES? Neither--strawberries, pineapple, kiwi and bananas.
P-PHOBIAS OR FEARS? Spiders, heights, anything that messes with my OCD (like Tori not letting me push in the buttons on the soda lids)
Q-QUOTE? "Acting is a masochistic form of exhibitionism. It is not quite the occupation of an adult." Laurence Olivier
R-REASON TO SMILE? Many.
S-SUPERMAN OR WONDER WOMAN? Neither. (Ha, you were all expecting me to say Wonder Woman because of the inner feminist, weren't you?)
T-TAG 5 PEOPLE Josh, Heath, Rachel, Cait, Adrienne
U-UNKNOWN FACT ABOUT ME? Once upon a time, I wanted to be a scientist. Yeah, weird stuff.
V-VEGETABLES? Spinach, artichokes, carrots (if they're cooked properly)
W-WORST HABIT? I can't pay attention for long stretches of time. If you're telling me something important, make sure I'm listening and not thinking about fried chicken or something.
X-RAY OR ULTRASOUND? Neither, if they can be avoided.
Y-YOUR FAVORITE FOOD? I don't really have one.
Z-ZODIAC SIGN? Libra

So there it is. Hopefully, the next time I'm able to post, I'll actually have something to say.

Sleep-working

A few days ago, I read something on Yahoo News that said there has been research to show that people who sleep 6 to 7 hours a night generally live longer than people who sleep 8 hours a night.

As a college student, I have to say that this is good news for me.

Anyway, last night I ended up staying up later than I normally do-- not to prove a point or anything: just because the Tony Awards were on last night, and I had to watch them through to the end (and it was a disappointing experience so far as musicals go, really, but that's what happens in dry years, I guess). Normally, I get 8 hours of sleep. Last night I was probably an hour and a half under that mark.

And today, I can barely keep my eyes open.

It doesn't help that my job in incredibly dull or that the blinds on the windows are closed and no outside light is getting in. But I'm really having a difficult time staying awake, here.

I think maybe the reason people who sleep less live longer is probably because they're too tired to engage in risky behaviors. Maybe the researchers should have thought about that.

Well, I'm going go find some caffeine so that I don't start snoring at my desk.

Preparing

June might be a bit early to start hording furniture and such for an August move, but that's not stopping me from doing it.

I'm setting aside Saturdays to hit local yard sales-- there's been some luck with that already: my folks and I found a nice table and four chairs for $25.

Thriftiness is a real issue with all of this. Tori and I can't swim in our big vault of gold like Scrooge McDuck, so we have to furnish our apartment on a budget.

Which means that our place will be a fine example of Great American Left-Overs.

It's surprising how everything's coming together, though. Nothing we have so far is particularly fancy and I doubt that we'd be able to go to some antiques expert and find out that the dresser we pulled out of my parents' garage is now worth millions of dollars, but the stuff we have is charming in its own odd way.

I guess this experience isn't uncommon-- first apartments are probably supposed to have that vaguely confused here-and-there look. But it's a first for me. I've never had a place of my own to furnish as I please (er... within the budget).

It's kinda nice, even if everything does have to be second-hand (and sometimes third- or fourth-hand).

Odd Jobs

(Not only the name of the post, but also a potential title for the next Odd Thomas book, if there is one.)

Most of my friends are employed now. Save your congratulations for something else--we're still all leeches on society in one way or another. In my conversations with them, I've noticed something.

I've never had a typical teenager job.

By this, I mean that I've never worked as a clerk in a store, in childcare, as part of a lawn-mowing or house cleaning business or in a restaurant.

But I have been employed in some form or fashion since I started high school.

My first job was as a personal assistant to a Mary Kay senior consultant. If you know me, you're probably laughing your face off at the irony of that. This was probably the only time that I dealt with such enormous amounts of make up for something other than a show.

And this was during the time when all of the compacts and lipstick tubes were pink. As were a majority of the boxes. This made for a rather painful experience. It's also quite possible that this job led to the creation of my inner feminist. (So, now you know what to blame for that.)

After that job ended (I never quit and I wasn't "fired"... I think she just ran out of stuff for me to do), I worked as a shipping clerk for a company that makes detectors for coal mines.

Wrap your mind around that one.

I've never been near a coal mine. I don't know what the process is for making a detector, and I think my head would explode if you tried to explain it to me.

But I did well enough with my job. I got the detectors in their boxes; I made sure everything was properly packaged and wrapped.

And I only sent the marker I was using to mark the boxes to Ohio on accident twice.

And now I'm a receptionist, which, I've decided, is a job I couldn't do for the long term. There's way too much suspicion involved; it wears me down. But, if I'm going to be able to afford my apartment in the fall, I'm going to have to put up with it for a while.

I suppose I should consider myself fortunate-- as of yet, I've not had to flip burgers to get a paycheck.

Not too bad, really.

Shoes

I'm not a girly-girl. I don't wear (or particularly care for) pink, I could care less about fashion, even looking at too much make-up makes me ill (unless it's for a show, of course) and I don't like shopping.

There's only one stereotypical girl thing that I'm really in to (there might be more, but I can't think of any of them).

Shoes.

I love shoes.

Being the tee shirt and jeans type, I don't have much opportunity to don fancy footwear, but that doesn't keep me from trying on every pair of shoes in a store. Even when I'm not the one who's making a purchase.

I don't get asked to help friends find shoes anymore--I always end up running off and finding six or seven pairs that I'd buy if I wasn't a poor college student.

Even my mother hesitates to let me tag along when she's looking for shoes.

But last night, she was convinced to let me come.

After about a half hour in the store, Mom--the one who needed to buy shoes-- had tried on one pair of shoes.

I'd tried on about eight. I hadn't even brought any money along with me.

I think that frustrated my mother a bit. She didn't find a pair she wanted and decided that she didn't feel like looking anymore.

I get the feeling that, next time she goes to find some sandals, she'll leave me behind. I can't say I blame her.

Noise

From the sound of it, they're doing touch-and-gos at the airport.

The screeching made me want to listen to arias, so now I share two musical-theatre-y (it's a technical term) arias with you.

"Glitter and Be Gay" from Candide sung by Kristin Chenoweth



"Green Finch and Linnet Bird" from Sweeney Todd sung by Celia Keenan-Bloger (An alto singing a soprano role. What can beat that?)



Enjoy.

More on the Menagerie

I was just told how the cow managed to escape the pasture last week.

Apparently, this particular cow has watched The Great Escape a few too many times--it's managed to get free quite a few times by crawling (as much as a cow can crawl) under the fence. Extra fencing was put up to prevent the cow from getting out that way again.

So what did this determined cow do?

It hopped (er... as much as a cow can hop) over the fence.

I think it must've learned it from the peafowl.

My neighbors are selling the cow. I think they just need to keep a closer eye on the peafowl. They're cunning little conspirators, they are.

The Menagerie

(Don't worry, Josh and Heath-- there will be a post about the kiddie toothbrush.)

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I live next to a farm. Sort of. The house actually belongs to a local vet. In his spare time (there's spare time with that job?), he raises cattle and a few other farm animals.

If you live near someone who takes care of larger animals, you know that life near these people and their pets is a little different than life with most suburban neighbors.

When I was in middle school, I used to wait on the front steps for the people who drove me to school to come pick me up. One morning, as I peeked out the window to make sure that my ride hadn't arrived early, I saw something odd in the middle of the cul-de-sac.

"Mom, there's a big bird out in the street."

"What kind of bird?"

"... I'm pretty sure it's a peacock."

And so it was. And a peahen,too, now that I think about it.

Mom sighed and shook her head. "I'll go call the Whitworths."

As we later found out, these peacocks (peafowl?) had escaped from their pens by jumping over a few fences (who knew that there was a fence-hopping variety of peacock?). Though it was the first time I had seen the birds, the birds escaping was apparently not an uncommon occurrance.

In fact, I saw the birds three more times that week. I think the doctor took a cue from this and put a roof over the birds' heads.

Or sold them or something. Either way, I haven't seen them strutting through the cul-de-sac lately.

In addition to the birds, Dr Whitworth also seems to have a fondness for handicapped animals. Most of these I can handle.

But the three-legged cat gives me the creeps. Maybe that comes from the issue I have with odd numbers.... Whatever, the cat freaks me out. And I think it knows it.

Why else would it make a habit of hanging around my car?

Unless it lost its leg in because of a car, and it's looking for revenge.

But I digress.

The most recent animal experience has been with a cow--some of the same cows that keep me awake at night when I'm at home (there's a bit of animosity; can you feel it?).

Anyway, my dad and I were going out to get dinner and, as we're driving along, we see a cow on the side of the road. As the cow pasture is by the road, cows near by isn't strange.

But the cow was chilling out in the grass across the street from the pasture.

We stopped the car.

The cow ate some grass.

My mom slept through an episode of Law & Order.

"So, should we do something?"

We went to the Whitworth House. No one was there.

The cow was still eating the grass on the other side of the fence (was it greener?) when we got back to the car; by now, the other cows had noticed that one of their own had left them. All of the cows were lined up next to the fence watching the one free cow. It looked like a bovine firing squad.

Don't worry, animal lovers, the cow made it safely back to the pasture, I've never run over the three-legged cat and the peafowl are (as far as I know) safe and sound in their peafowl homes.

But who's to say what new creature will be roaming my neighborhood tomorrow?

Another Blog Post. Um...huzzah?

So I've made it to 19 post (about 14 more than I usually make it to on a blog).

Unfortunately, I have no interesting subject for this post. At all.

My summer is going smoothly enough-- I sold it in exchange for money and a place to live (yes, I have a job now; make your joke and move on). Life at my parents' house is excruciatingly boring, but I knew it would be. I've been home for a week today, and I'm already planning my first trip back to my other home.

I've seen Casablanca now. So that makes, what, five movies in my whole life?

Pretty exciting stuff, on the whole.

Or not.

Whatever.

And that's my 19th blog post.

Slow curtain, the end.

The Sounds of Home

Spending a week at home should be relaxing. For the most part, it is: I don't have classes to worry about, other people are willing to buy food for me and I can watch as much West Wing and Law & Order as I want.

But, in my time away, I've forgotten how loud home can be.

Not during the day (aside from when my niece is over here-- but that's beside the point).

At night, though, when I'm trying to sleep, the noise is ridiculous.

My home is next to a cow pasture. It's also in the local airport's flight path. Oh, and let's not forget the railroad track that's just a mile or two down the road.

The worst nighttime noise is my dad's snoring. Sleep apnea is a terrible thing, let me tell you.

Every so often, all of these noises combine. It's like a snoring, mooing, whistling jet is circling around my room.

And my parents wonder why I take naps so often at home.