Accomplishing the Impossible

September 12, 2009. A day I anxiously awaited and yet dreaded with more mixed emotion than I can imagine most will experience at any given point in their life. This was my baby. The baby I was told I’d never have. The baby I had to work for harder than I’ve worked for anything up to this point in life. No one will ever fully understand what this day means to me, but that is fine. I didn’t do it for them. I did it for me.

It all actually starts a few years prior to that beautiful September morning. To be exact it was six years and five months prior, to the day, that I was found curled up on the sidewalk in front of my work in fetal position, right knee deformed beyond all recognition, fading in and out of consciousness due to the extreme pain screaming its way through my body. An ambulance ride with 3 failed en route IV attempts later, I was sitting in the ER of the local hospital with morphine making its way through my veins and a doctor hovering over my leg trying to figure out what had happened. The conclusion: my kneecap had decided to relocate itself to the back end of my knee, taking all attached tendons and ligaments with it and detaching a few of them in the process. In other words, PAIN! The doctor gave me another shot of morphine and then uttered the words that still to this day make me sick to my stomach, “Hold on to somethin’ sweetheart, this is going to hurt a bit.” A nauseating, grinding sound and searing pain followed as he straightened my leg and forced my kneecap back into place. In the short amount of time it took him to wrap my knee with an ace bandage, my knee had swelled to the size of a cantaloupe, and barely fit in an XXL stabilizing brace made for someone weighing 350 pounds or more. Not a promising sight for someone full of big dreams of an active future. Even more discouraging was what I heard from the doctor I saw the next week: No more running. No jumping. No snowboarding, waterskiing, rock climbing, hiking, sports of any kind, etc. Nothing that could put my knee in jeopardy. Ever again. I was given a list of don’ts that seemed endless, including things as simple as kneeling or standing for extended periods of time. I was heart broken.

(before the first surgery)


(after first surgery)

Three extensive knee surgeries (two repairing the right knee, and one preventative on the left), multiple titanium screws, metal plates, millions of stitches, staples, and a growing number of scars later, you reach my final diagnosis: Your knees will never be the same. As weird as it sounds, I had to re-learn pretty much everything from the knees down. My legs post-surgery were severely weakened and in a completely different position than they had been the previous 18-20 years of my life, meaning what once came so naturally; walking, running, jumping, dancing… was now totally foreign. It seemed I would be starting at square two. Not square one by any means, but definitely close to it!!

Fast forward 6 years and 5 months from that fateful day. Shivering from the cold and shaking with anticipation, I stand on the dock of Yuba Lake, looking out at the challenge that lies ahead of me. The giant orange buoys are set, marking the course for the swim; it looks a lot longer than what I had imagined. As I’m psyching myself up to swim it, the surface of the glass like water is broken by a fish jumping up to catch a bite to eat and my stomach drops to my feet. The main subject I’ve been trying to keep my mind away from since my alarm went off at 2:30 AM is fish. Not the little fish I just caught a glimpse of, I’m talking the big fish that grow larger than four feet in length, are quite territorial, and call this lake home. Not only am I terrified of water I can’t see through, but add in a fish lovingly called “the fresh water barracuda” and it’s almost enough to make me turn around and drive home. Three buoys, a triangle course… If I can stick with the other swimmers, the fish will be scared away and I won’t have anything to worry about. I just need to stick with the pack, simple as that.








But things can’t ever be that simple!! My strong start and plan to stay with the pack is thwarted not far into the swim when the zip cord of my wet suit is caught by a stray appendage of another swimmer, tugging the rubbery suit back against my neck, and setting in motion the chain reaction that almost ends up being the death of me. My panic intensifies every second I’m unable to breathe, and I revert to what I was taught at my very first swimming lesson as a little girl: flip over and float until you’re able to swim again. I try to backstroke away from the others while pulling at the front of my wetsuit, pleading for it to loosen its ever tightening grip on my windpipe. Along with the panic of being unable to breathe, an additional panic sets in as my goggles started to fog. Goggles that are guaranteed never to fog, $35 well spent apparently. I aimlessly float mid water, struggling to breathe and unable to see and frustration gets the best of me. Blindly grasping at the cord dangling in the water behind me I unzip my wetsuit, rejoicing as the oxygen finally reaches my lungs. I quickly learn, however, that this was not a smart move on my part when water starts filling up the wetsuit. The more water added, the deeper and deeper my body gets pulled into the unknown. Struggling to even keep my head above water and not being able to see whatsoever sends me into a panic like I’ve never felt. I pull the goggles off my eyes, instantly feeling the gritty water mixing in with what had to be tears of fear, frustration, and defeat. I look back and realize I’m only about a hundred meters from shore. I look ahead and realize I have more to swim than I feel possible, as the panic alone has drained me of all energy. The pack I planned to stay with was already turning the corner of the first buoy, easily another two or three hundred meters ahead of where I am. An overwhelming urge to quit devastates the adrenaline rush I had all morning, and thoughts of “I shouldn’t be able to do this anyways, I’m crazy for even trying” and “No one thought I could, I guess they were right” rush through my head and I get ready to swim back to shore and admit defeat. I take one last deep breath and exhale in an audible sob. I tread water for a moment to clear my eyes and regain my breath and as I prepare myself to turn around I hear, “Hey, are you ok?”

Enter: my knight in shining armor. Well…more like shore patrol man in blue kayak, but hey! Modern times call for modern heroes, right? Another deep breath and I yell back, “Yeah, I’m just deathly terrified of open water and a horrible swimmer.” He laughs his response of, “Yeah, me too. That’s why I’m in a kayak and not in there with you.” I smile in response, and realize I’m not ready to give up just yet. An attempt to put my goggles back on proves pointless as they are hopelessly fogged and a few strokes toward the buoy make apparent that the breast stroke isn’t going to work either since gritty eyes can’t see their target. I flip back onto my back once again and start backstroking toward the first turn. Under water everything becomes eerily silent except for an inexplicable sound every so often that I silently pray aren’t the fish coming to get me. Out of nowhere I hear “LEFT!! LEFT!!” I lift my head out of water and look up; the blue kayak is trailing me about a meter off. “You’re getting a bit off target, swim left.” I glance at the buoy, almost there! But just to the left.

For the remaining two lengths of the course, I was trailed by the man in the blue kayak shouting left or right whenever I was veering off course, as well as words of encouragement that gave me just enough energy to keep going.


(That guy next to me is the man from the blue kayak)


I reach the dock energy depleted and shaking. The man in the blue kayak proceeds to get out of the water with me and head up what the coach at the tri clinic had dubbed ‘the steepest, longest boat ramp you’ll ever attempt to run.” He asks if I’ll be ok and the only response that comes to mind is, “Yeah, now that the swim is over!” A quick “good luck” and he takes off to his next post, leaving me to prepare for the bike.

Transition one: In my head, the warnings I’ve received to practice getting out of a wetsuit as quick as possible seem irrelevant. The fact that I can not wait another second to rip the thing off of me and be free from its grasp makes the issue that I haven’t practiced even once obsolete. A long drink of water, a packet of Gu (the most disgusting thing I’ve ever ingested… BY FAR) and another drink to wash it down, and I feel ready to conquer the bike. Something I know I can handle. Not just handle, dominate!






I pull my bike off the rack and head toward the mount line feeling confident. The biggest foreseeable obstacle is cattle grates spaced out every few miles and before and after the freeway overpass. Since I train on a road with rail road crossings and am fine with them, I know I can handle these as well. After the turn onto the open road from the camp ground, I quickly find my pace and am able to relax a bit, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying the ride on this amazing bike that cost nearly as much as a car. Miles after miles pass and I keep my cadence steady and my pace on target, adjusting the gears when necessary, just like I’ve been told by the few cyclists that were so willing to help me train. The halfway point appears out of nowhere, seemingly miles before where it should be, and fact that I’ve come so far, so fast gives me an extra boost of energy as I make the turn to head back to camp for transition number two.

About 4 miles out from camp, a stress fracture in my shin that I’ve been tending (read: avoiding) for about a month and a half turns from a dull ache to a substantial pain. My doctor that initially let me know about the injury told me that as long as it was only an ache I was fine to continue on, but if it went from an ache to a pain I need to stop what I am doing as it could be about to break. Too bad, leg. I’ve come this far and I’m determined to finish. I resort to a military running tactic, with a twist. My own form of Jody calling. Chanting about what I’m doing to keep my mind off what I’m feeling. Most of it under my breath, but the more pain I feel, the louder it gets.

The false flat road leading up to the camp ground breaks into a true flat and I can see the entrance to the transition area. With a quicker return than I had expected, I’m elated as I weave my way in to get ready to run. I stand up to dismount and almost fall off my bike, and with that remember that I should have switched positions every few miles. Too late now, time to run. Another packet of Gu, and as much water as I could stomach to wash it down and I’m off running. Well, making an attempt at running anyways. My legs are so used to the motion of pedaling and rhythm I’d used for the bike bit that it takes a good hundred meters before I feel normal again and not like I’m about to fall on my face from my legs moving so awkwardly against the pavement.








A small dirt hill at the beginning of the run takes its toll on my shin and I’m forced to slow to a fast paced walk for a bit until the throbbing feeling subsides and I can run on. Run, walk, run, walk, run … I run until my shin physically will not let me anymore, walk off the pain, and push for a run again. This pattern continues until the course takes a turn onto an unevenly cut, deeply rutted, rocky dirt path. Something I usually love. Something I currently hate due to the fact it could easily twist my ankle just right and turn a stress fracture into something much worse. Visions of my shin bone sticking through my skin influence me to take it easy for the mile long dirt trail, a decision I’m quite relieved with when I reach the pavement again as even walking the uneven ground has brought my shin to a burning pain and I’m feeling as though any minute I’m going to collapse with a broken leg. At this point, a mile from the finish line, I feel content with the idea that I could be carried across the finish line if worse comes to worse. The closer the finish line gets, the harder it becomes to push myself and again I start chanting under my breath. Turning the corner into the campground and seeing the big red inflatable banner marking the finish line is exhilarating beyond words. I’m well past my second wind, as well as a third, fourth, fifth, tenth… but seeing the finish line gives me an adrenaline rush and the ability to push just that much further until finally I’m crossing the last timing wire with a wave of excitement, relief, exhaustion, and euphoria. I did it. Against all odds; I accomplished the impossible!!









**Here is where we’re going to get cheesy, so stop reading now if you’re known to get nauseous… I focused only on myself in this post; I wanted it to be my memory, my point of view. I know, however, that I wouldn’t have been able to do this without a certain group of people for which I’m extremely grateful! The people who trained with me on a daily or near daily basis, the friends who supported me and cheered me on when I doubted my abilities, and the friends and family that showed up the day of the race to cheer me across that finish line… You all know who you are, and I owe you each a million times over again: THANK YOU!!

And not forgetting, the best doctor in the world who I am convinced could put Humpty Dumpty back together again!! Dr Charles Beck, I owe you the world!

*fix you*

Without words

When you're stuck without words, TV and music to the rescue...






And we could ride all night
To the place of a blinking light
Wishing traffic was faster
Traffic was faster
Keeping safe distance
But courting disaster
We could dance all night
To the sounds of a starting fight
Hoping change would come around
Change would come around
Amazing division
How sweet the sound

Blame Me! Blame Me! Blame Me!
For mistakes you've made
But you can't own
Hate Me! Hate Me! Hate Me!
For every honest word
That you postpone
Leave me out of this
Life's a sinking ship so
Blame Me! Blame Me! Blame Me!
For mistakes you've made
But you can't own

And we could stare all day
At problems that will go away
Silence is pounding
Silence is pounding
You're wearing me down
These corners, they're rounding
We could scream all night
You know there's love still left inside
Stop saying you're sorry
All of these words feel so very empty

Blame Me! Blame Me! Blame Me!
For mistakes you've made
But you can't own
Hate Me! Hate Me! Hate Me!
For every honest word
That you postpone
Leave me out of this
Life's a sinking ship so
Blame Me! Blame Me! Blame Me!
For mistakes you've made
But you can't own

Torturing ourselves
We must be into the abuse
If you're the rope that ties us together
Then please make me a new sad speech
Or leave and beg me just to stay
Used to run to my arms
But now I'm pulling away
Come and go as you please
I'm like a part time lover
With well worn knees
Well come on..

Nutella pop tarts, my new love!

I made pop tarts! Yes, I’m serious. I made pop tarts. Even better… THEY’RE DELICIOUS!! My sister made me some the other morning while I was looking after her little ones, and I was hooked at first bite. After much consideration (a whole 2 days worth) I came to the conclusion that I should try to make these delicious little drops of heaven on my own, even though that is the one area in which I feel my cooking skills lack the most. Wretched pastries. I even took pictures along the way as proof. I’m going to share the recipe and pictures because, hey, if I can do it so can you!

You can use any pie crust as the dough, but I found one that I’m a big fan of. I read the recipe wrong as I was making it, and it just so happened that mistake turned into the flakiest, yummiest pastry dough I’ve ever had!

Pie/Pastry Dough
2 1/2 c. Flour
1 tsp. salt
2 Tbs. sugar
3 cubes (1 1/2 c) butter - cut into smaller bits and pieces
1/4 c. cold water
1/4 c. cold vodka

Wisk together flour, salt, and sugar. Add butter and 'cut in' with pastry blender (a fork or wire wisk will work also if you're without a pastry blender, however they don't get the desired effect as fast.) This mixture will go from looking like flour and butter, to chunky flour, to a coarse corn meal with the occational pea sized clump of butter. DON'T BLEND FURTHER THAN THIS. Pour the cold water and vodka over this mixture and spoon together with rubber spatula until there are no longer dry areas in the dough. (Yes, the vodka is necessary. It is moist and holds the dough together during preparation, but evaporates in the cooking process to give you the sought after flaky pastry.) There will still be "butter spots, " and that is ok. Put dough in air tight container (I use a gallon size plastic bag) and refrigerate for at least 45 minutes, up to two days. The dough should have the consistency of cold butter as you prepare to roll it out, if it is not firm enough, further refrigeration is necessary.

Sprinkle your counter with flour and coat your rolling pin with it as well so the dough will roll out smoothly. Roll dough until it is very thin (1/8 inch thick or less) and cut into rectangles with knife or pizza cutter.



Depending on how 'loaded' you want your pop tarts to be, dab anywhere from one to three tablespoons of your favorite jam, jelly or, my personal favorite, nutella on to the middle of one half of your rectangles.



Spread the filling around the half until its about 1/4 inch away from all edges.



Wet the outside edges of the dough with warm water (to help it stick shut) and fold the bare half over the filling so the edges line up and stick together. Crimp the edges with a fork to help them stay shut during the cooking process, as well as poke holes in the top of the pastry for ventilation.



Place on foil lined cookie sheet and bake at 400 degrees for 15-18 minutes, or until the edges are golden and dough is no longer shiny.



Mmmm... Nutella...



There you go... this is my first (and most likely last) cooking for dummies blog, enjoy!

January 10, 1995… The day I learned I could fly…

There are a few days from my childhood that stick out in my memory as clear as if they had happened just yesterday. This is one of those days.

As is the case with most memorable days, it started just like any other. I woke up, got ready, and made the walk up the hill to school. It was windy that day. It was a good thing the hill on the way to school was steep, because there were a few times the wind gusts were so strong they pushed me forward and I’d have to balance myself with my hand on the sidewalk in front of me to keep from planting my face in its place. I made it to school wind ruffled and cold, but in one piece. That, however, did not last long.

Morning classes went as usual. Recess was cold and windy, but nothing to make a fuss over. More classes, then lunch. It was at this time my friends and I were getting ancy and wanting to stretch our legs, run, play, and do the things any normal 5th grader would do at lunch break. After emptying our trays and putting them in the wash area, we headed out around the back of the school on our way to the playground… And that is when it happened. In our ingenious little 5th grader minds, we had come up with this game called tornado. You spin as fast as you can, run as fast as you can, and try to keep your balance, all while holding the front parts of your coat out to your sides giving you ‘wind resistance’ and making it so you can’t spin as fast… or something like that. We were all spinning, running, laughing, and trying not to fall. It was great! All of a sudden one of those wind gusts I mentioned earlier showed its face. It had its eye on me, and was set for devastation! Those sides of my coat I was holding out for wind resistance acted like a parasail of sorts as the wind caught in them and lifted my wiry little frame up off the ground, and I was airborne! The wind decided I was too much of a burden to carry and dropped me about 10 to 15 feet from where it picked me up, directly on my right arm successfully breaking both bones and compacting my arm to around two inches shorter than it once was. PAIN! Pain like I had never experienced! I screamed! I cried! And then, as my friends were attempting to help me up it hit me… They were all seeing me cry! Dear God, why did I have to be such a baby about it! Tried as I may, I could not stop the tears. Ten shades of red, and covered in gravel, tears, blood, leaves and who knows what else I turned the corner and ran smack dab into my crush. Ryan. The dreamy 5 foot nothing 80 pounds of pure 5th grade hotness! My mind wailed “Could this get ANY worse?!” It could. It did.

I got in the office, gave the nurse my home phone number, and laid down in the dark room they reserved for the genuinely sick students to await my mother’s arrival. The nurse came in to break the news. They couldn’t get ahold of my mum. Where could she be? She was a stay at home mom. Aren’t they known for staying home to eat all the good food and watch TV and play with the cool toys while we kids slave away at school? What else was so important that she wouldn’t be home to answer the call of the school nurse requesting she come pick up her mangled daughter?!? Then it hit me, it was Tuesday. My mum went to my grandma’s house on Tuesdays. My grandma lived forty five minutes away. My mum was driving, that meant almost an hour. (Sorry momma, it’s true) The nurse called my grandma’s house to deliver the mangled daughter message, and I sat there in shock, literally and figuratively. The nurse then came in to see if there was anything she could do to ease my pain (and shut up my inevitable whining and whimpering.) She made a makeshift splint out of magazines, that day’s newspaper, and tape. I tearfully read the paper wrapped around my arm until my mum got there. Well, that and planned all the mean things I would say to her once she arrived. How DARE she not be there for me!? How DARE she make me wait, hurting, while she drove so slowly?!

Finally outside in the main office I hear her voice, “I’m here to pick up Maren.” Tears once again filled my eyes, she pulled through! She showed up and was going to make everything better like she always did. She came and hugged me, tearfully apologizing for not being faster. She helped me to the car and off we went to make my arm better. We got to the doctors office and as they were taking off the newspaper splint, they explained that it had done nothing to help my arm and were quietly laughing at the nurses attempt to ‘help.’ Laughing, that is, until they tried to pull it off and it wouldn’t come. It was stuck. Some bratty, snot nosed, spoiled little child that was too lazy to walk the ten steps to the garbage had put his chewed gum on the top of the paper, and the school nurse in her haste to wrap my arm up had overlooked it. Not only was my arm somewhat hairy for being a 10 year old girl, making it pretty bad to be gum-stuck, but the gum had fused itself directly where my arm had broken. The nurses pulled, scrubbed, rubbed, and finally got most of the gross gum off, only to say “I guess we could have given you the numbing shot before all of that, huh?” with a little wink. UGH! The wink did not make it hurt any less, I assure you! Then came the shot. Not a shot in the shoulder like you would think, nope! A huge star shaped shot, directly in to my forearm, right at the break. OUCH! They reset my arm with the most high tech contraption I’ve come upon to this day… a clothes hanger with five Chinese finger traps attached to it, and a weight draped over my elbow. GENIUS I tell you! I almost passed out as it popped into place, but after that, I was good to go! I got my temporary cast, and had to go back a week later to get my cool, purple, up to my arm pit cast that rapidly lost its cool status as I learned how itchy it was.

Here are a few tips for anyone planning to get cast-ed up to their arm pit… First of all, the pit of your elbow is going to itch like crazy, pens work great for this. Tip two, make sure you take the lid off the pen before sticking it down your cast to assist in scratching. Tip three, needle nose pliers work great to remove pen lids from elbow pits, but word to the wise, don’t make your mum angry while she is doing this, pliers hurt when they pinch your skin. Finally, keep in mind pens have ink in them, so don’t be surprised when you have a makeshift tattoo down the front of your arm for six weeks following the removal of the itchy cast. And for any of you wondering, yes I still occasionally fly. Even better, I’ve worked hard to perfect the landing into something a bit less detrimental.

Venting Session…

There is something that I’ve found a bit troubling lately and am feeling the need to vent. I wasn’t going to because I figured no one would really want to read it, but then I realized it was my blog and I could do whatever I wanted. Today this is my sounding board. (Yet again… sorry, I’m a bit pessimistic in my writing lately. I’ll work on that)

I am overwhelmingly sick and tired of people not thinking before they act and then appearing surprised when the result of their actions comes around to bite them! I am not saying I’m perfect at this by any means, but I think due to the fact that I was raised knowing my actions (good or bad) would have a corresponding consequence I figured thinking about the outcome before making a move was common knowledge. I am SORELY mistaken.

Things I have witnessed (or been on the receiving end of) lately have me questioning the wisdom and abilities of my generation. What happened to being held accountable?! What happened to consequences? What happened to the simple habit of thinking before you speak or act? Are empty promises so commonplace now that “I promise” has been downgraded to meaning “if I feel like it at the time, I’ll try and pull through for you”? I apologize if I’m old fashioned, but I feel one should always be genuine in their words and actions. If you promise to do something, follow through. When you screw up, take responsibility. Above all else, when you say something such as “I’m sorry” or “I love you”… mean it. I’ve never heard phrases that used to have such deep and emphatic meaning thrown around with such frivolity. Is this just me, am I the only one who is devastated by the loss of what I consider to be a foundational element of society? Is it really a generational thing, as it appears to be? I remember talking to my grandma about how giving your word used to be “as good as gold”, meaning without even saying the phrase I promise, if someone said they’d do something you could consider it done. It saddens me that now, even with endless promises and swearings upon the graves of relatives and such, a person’s word is pretty much worthless.

This one big issue breaks down into so many little issues, I’d have a novel if I tried to write them all out. I’m only going to focus on one this time, but I’m hoping the rest won’t be overlooked…

The thing that seems to be at the root of all of this lately… Lying. I’ll admit I wasn’t always a stellar example of this; it took a few hard lessons growing up before I realized what I wanted to be seen as, and what I’d need to do to get there. I’d talk to my mum about it she would remind me of the “crying wolf” story and why its always good to tell the truth, no matter what. As I got older, I realized the accuracy behind that. In high school I became friends with a girl who I later found out was a pathological liar. My friends and I would listen to her over the top stories with wide eyes and eager ears, but a seed of doubt was always there in the back of our minds. The stories just seemed TOO incredible. After about a year and a half of lie after lie, a few close friends and I managed to cut her out of our lives. We decided we did not want or need that influence. A bit later a rumor was going around school that this girl’s father had died without warning and that their whole family was devastated. Every single one of us had the exact same reaction to this news, “Yeah right, its another ploy for attention, its sad she would take it that far.” Turns out, her father really had passed away, but due to the fact she had lied so often and about every little thing, no one believed her until the day of the funeral. As I graduated high school and moved on in life I thought I would no longer run into this type of situation, but boy was I wrong! Not only have I run come across these situations at my work (which had I not previously established the fact that I was an employee they could trust, I could have and most likely would have lost my job), but I continually see it occur in my personal life as well. I’m not talking younger people trying to get away with something and feeling it necessary to lie, I am talking about people my age, older than me, some even older than my parents who appear to have never learned the significance of honesty. Not only honesty, but also reliability, accountability, and something that in my opinion ties them all together… Respect.

I’ve said this a million times, and I’ll say it again; in my mind I see a lie as a slap in the face. It is basically telling me 1) you don’t respect me enough to tell me the truth, 2) you don’t think I’m smart enough to figure out you’re lying to me, or (this is where I lose a lot of people) 3) you don’t respect yourself enough to be trustworthy. The first two are pretty self explanatory, but as for the third… Who wants to be seen as a liar? Wouldn’t you think a person with any minuscule amount of self respect would want to be seen in the best light possible? Even to the people with the lowest of standards, being trustworthy is a key component to any relationship formed, friendship or otherwise.

I’m not sure how to go about saying the rest of the things on my mind so I’ll leave it at this:

- If you have to think up a lie for something you’re doing or about to do… chances are you probably are better off not doing it.

- If you love/respect/admire someone, love/respect/admire them enough to tell them the truth, even when it seems difficult. I promise you, any truth is easier to take and get over than the lie it would take to cover it up.

- Sorry (for the most part) only works once per offense. After that it is just another word. May as well be saying “chair” or “red” for all the difference it makes at that point.

- Asking for one more chance more than once makes it so its no longer one more chance… and I don’t know anyone that lives giving “a hundredth chance”

- When you say you’re going to do something, do it. When you say you won’t do something, don’t.

You would think this was common knowledge, you’d think these were simple concepts, things easily attained. You would think...

Is it really THAT bad?! Yeah… to me it is.

I saw a commercial on TV last night that made me smile. Not only that, it made me feel somewhat validated. I know its just TV, and it was just a commercial, but let me continue and hopefully you’ll see what I mean. This is a quick overview of what happened in said commercial…

Two girls were working at some sort of retail store, standing behind the checkout counter. One turns to the other in conversation and ends her sentence with “That is SO gay!” the other girl turns to her and said “Yeah, its TOTALLY gay!” A woman walks up to them overhearing this exchange, reads the girls’ nametags and says “That is SO Emma and Julia” (the girls’ names). The girls question why she said this and she goes on to explain, “Yeah, that is the latest thing, when something is stupid you say that it is so Emma and Julia.” It then cuts to a screen saying who sponsored the commercial and a voice says something to the effect of when you’re saying that’s so gay, think about what you’re really saying and who it may be hurting.

Not an earth shattering commercial by any means, but it definitely gets the point across. A point I’ve been trying to make for I don’t even know how long. Some people call me snobbish for this. Snooty. Arrogant. I see it different. I see it as common courtesy. I can not stand when people use phrases like “that is gay” or “that’s retarded” around me. Not only because I have many people that I hold very close to my heart which fall into both the categories those phrases make fun of, but just due to the sheer ignorance of the statements themselves. It literally makes me cringe. I don’t hear it as much now as I used to. Perhaps my cringing at the sound of it has gotten to the people around me, but perhaps (my hope) its that people are growing up and thinking before they speak.

I always wonder what the outcome would be if the people saying these things woke up one morning to find out that their best friend was gay, or that their adorable nephew was handicapped. Would they still throw around these hurtful remarks, or would they take a millisecond more in their thought process to come up with a way to say what they actually mean, rather than opting for the commonly used and more hurtful than they realize fallback phrases…

25 Random Things

Transferring from facebook for those of you not on there...

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

I’ve been tagged by multiple people and figured it was time I just did it, so here we go…

I love proving people wrong. The easiest way to get me to do something is to tell me I can’t do it.

I know key phrases in multiple languages (Spanish, French, Russian, German, Portuguese, Afrikaans, etc.) and will use them whenever I see fit. Most people just look at me like I’m crazy when I do, but sometimes English just doesn’t work for me.

Certain noises/feelings make my teeth hurt. Things like fingernails on a chalk board and scraping anything off metal (especially when it’s under water). I doubt anyone will really get this except my sisters, they are the same way.

I love shopping. (Shocker, I know) However, I HATE window shopping. I have to shop with a purpose. I can’t go to a store and “just look.” Either I have to go with someone and help them pick things out, or I have to go with money to spend for myself. I think window shopping is a waste of time and it aggravates me to no end. (Unless of course its with Ciege… prom dresses and photo shoots… haha oh the memories!)

I love the “clean” smell. Gain laundry detergent, and my B&BW body scrub are two of my favorite smells. I also like pine-sol but only while I’m cleaning, and then the windows get opened to air it out. (That stuff lingers FOREVER if you don’t!)

I love rain and thunderstorms. I especially love warm rain storms. Some of my favorite things are running, playing, dancing, and kissing in the rain… When I was little, my sister and I would run out to the back patio at my parents house and lay on the cement at the beginning of a rain storm and we’d stay there laughing our heads off until we were soaking wet and the cement around us was all the darker water-stained color, all in an effort to get that dry outline of ourselves on the pavement.

For most of my “growing-up” years I was very self conscious about how I looked. How tall I was, my red hair, how I didn’t fit in the cookie cutter like every one else, etc. I’ve since come to embrace the things that make me who I am, and I’m very grateful for what I’ve got.

I make wishes, believe in karma, and can’t help but smile every time I see a penny on the ground due to the “pennies from heaven” concept. And yes, to an extent, I am superstitious.

I am a sucker for “feel good” stories/TV shows. One of my favorite shows is the biggest loser. I get so completely wrapped up in it, I find myself cheering at the TV screen, and getting upset when the wrong person gets sent home. This season, there was a contestant that reminded me a lot of my dad, and embarrassingly enough I got teary eyed when he got sent home. This brings me to my next point…

I HATE when people see me cry, and will do whatever it takes to make sure no one does. There are very few people that I will cry around, and even around them I feel ridiculous and get mad at myself when I do.

I hate being told to cheer up, get over it, smile, and things of that nature. If I’m upset, there is a reason. I will work through it. You telling me to get over it isn’t going to help the matter at all, and will usually just piss me off even more.

I have music in my blood. I have a very hard time sitting still when I hear a good beat, and I’m one of those people who will dance in the car and sing at the top of their lungs. Even (well, especially) when I am alone. And when people see me and laugh, I just smile and keep on doing my thing.

I love kids. I am not sure if I’ll ever want any of my own, but I love watching, goofing off with, and taking care of my nieces and nephews and my friend’s kids.

I can easily fit in to all levels of girlie-ness. I love getting dressed to the nines in lace silk and heels, but am not afraid to get dirty. Some of my favorite memories are where I’m covered head to toe in mud and dirt, barely recognizable, and stuck washing grit out of my hair for days.

I have an addiction to anything “artsy.” This can range from gorgeous paintings hanging on my walls, to tattoos and piercings, and everything in between. I love seeing original work, and even more so I love creating original pieces. I love drawing, painting, coloring, sewing, building… anything that takes a bit of creativity. Currently I’m debating on adding another tattoo to the growing collection… It’s just another method of creative output in my mind.

I can not stand when people talk bad about my family. I’m the youngest of seven, there are six girls and one boy. Yes, I know that is a lot of kids. Yes, I realize my dad and brother must’ve had a hard time living with that many women. Yes my parents meant to have a big family. No matter what funny, witty, cute, or out and out rude remark you feel the need to say about them, I can assure you I’ve heard it before. Don’t bother.

I have a weakness for carbs. Bread, pasta, rice (jasmine rice especially)… YUM! I used to work next door to a Great Harvest bread store and I’d go there and get bread, just bread, for lunch all the time.

I cook to help my mind relax. I love cooking, especially when I know it’s something really good. I love going to pot luck dinners or parties where you have to bring food because that means I get to cook things I normally wouldn’t have reason to. The best part is tasting it right out of the oven to see how it turned out. For anyone who has ever cooked with me, this is when you get the happy food dance. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about.

I am usually a very understanding person, but there are some things that I refuse to put up with. I hate when people say things like “that is retarded” and “that is so gay” or use words/phrases like that as insults. To me, it just means the person using those words/phrases is too ignorant or lazy to think of what they are really trying to say, and instead go with something potentially hurtful but common.

I have an ever-growing list of things to do before I die. Places I want to visit (Paris, Milan, Venice, all over Africa, Ireland, Sweden… could go on and on!), things I want to do (skydive, do a triathlon or marathon, own a boutique…), and people I want to meet.

I love being outdoors. Hiking, rock climbing, surfing (haha that was an adventure), snowboarding, camping, even just walking my dog… Anything to do with the outdoors, LOVE IT! I used to work in a greenhouse and loved every minute of it. If it paid more and was a steady job vs. a seasonal job I would still be there.

I hate girls who go to sporting events to pick up on guys or because its “the cool thing to do.” I don’t know about other girls, but I go to actually watch the game and what is going on. It REALLY gets on my nerves when I get the running comment stream coming from the row behind me of, “What just happened? (Touchdown) What does that mean? (Flag - holding) Ooh that guy is cute! (Players in tight pants??) Who is that guy in the black and white stripes? (The ref) Why doesn’t he match the rest of the players? (Uh… really?)” or, my absolute favorite, “Who has the ball?” I went to one utes football game where I heard this question no less than ten times before half time, I got fed up and turned around to face the teen aged princess too enthralled with her phone to look up as she asked said question and said, “See that big screen up there, the scoreboard? That little football that appears next to the team name tells you who has the ball. Make sense?”

I’ve had 3 knee surgeries and am in need of another (minor) surgery soon. I have titanium plates and screws in both my knees, and thus have the super power to know whenever its going to rain or snow. This also means I can’t watch knee injuries occur without getting sick to my stomach. Whether its football, UFC, those “extreme accident” shows on TV, whatever. I severely injured one of my knees back in high school and was taken to the hospital by ambulance and went through months and months of braces, surgeries, and PT. Ever since then, anything to do with a knee injury makes me sick. (And makes my teeth hurt, refer to #3)

I’ve had a love for design for as long as I can remember. For my eighth birthday I asked my mom and grandma to teach me how to sew. I used to sketch different outfits whenever I was bored, and 90% of classes I have taken were in one way or another design related. I designed and sewed every formal dress I wore to high school dances, and have made many more for formal events since then. I also helped make the costumes for a years worth of high school plays, and designed and made my sister’s wedding dress (which I finished the morning of the wedding).

I love debating. Especially when it is something I know a lot about. My mum always said I’d make the best lawyer because I argue so well. I tend go about it in a kind way though, I hate making people upset or feel bad about themselves. But on the other hand, when necessary I can make someone feel “knee high to a grasshopper” as my grandma would say, not by conventional means (cursing, slander, yelling) , but just by saying how it is and being blunt.

have you ever wanted somthing so bad your heart ached for it?

I am a very spoiled girl. I will be the first to admit that. I have been all of my life.

While I was growing up, my dad was the breadwinner. Working steadily whether he liked his job or not. This allowed my mum to stay home with us kids. My parents worked very hard to give us a great life, not an easy feat by any means! We ALWAYS had what we needed, and usually on top of whatever we needed, we got whatever we wanted. True, there were those times I thought I would just DIE because I didn’t get 5 new pair of the newest/coolest jeans like my friends did, but I never went without. I always had presents to open on my birthday, and every year I woke up to Christmas gifts falling out from under the tree like a waterfall. But even more than material things, I was spoiled with the things money can’t buy. I was encouraged to get educated, I was held responsible for decisions I made and was taught that actions (whether good or bad) will always have a corresponding consequence. Any time I was betrayed by a friend or hurt by someone I held close, my mum would be there to wipe away the tears and to tell me two things, 1) that even though it was aching, to keep my heart kind and caring because that is what made me who I am, and 2) to remember how what they did made me feel, and to never make anyone else feel the same way I was feeling right then. I was taught many valuable life lessons that I still use to this very day, but above all else… I always, ALWAYS knew I was loved. I’m not saying I had the perfect life growing up. I didn’t get along with my parents for a good portion of time there, but even when I was convinced they hated me and were out to ruin my life, deep down I knew that what they were doing, they did out of love and concern for my wellbeing. Being loved so unconditionally can do amazing things for a person. Still to this day they don’t always agree with decisions I make, but they still love and support me without question. In many aspects of life, having this upbringing has made life easy. Always knowing I have my family to fall back on, knowing they’ll be there for me no matter what…

That being said, there will always come a point in one’s life that no matter how surrounded by people they are, and how drowning in love they might be, they still feel inexplicably alone. I fear I’ve reached that point. One thought streams through my head on a near constant basis as I sit here and contemplate the crossroads I’ve reached, “That kind heart my mum told me never to lose sure is being put to the test!”

Christmas Tag

I was tagged my Mimi, so here we go...

Wrapping paper or gift bags? Most of the time paper. Depends on what I'm wrapping.
Real Tree or Artificial? Varies. Usually artificial, but there have been years I managed to sneak in a real one ;)
When do you put up the tree? The day after Thanksgiving
When do you take the tree down? sometime between Christmas and New Years day
Do you like eggnog? Yep!!
Favorite gift received as a child? I have so many! Probably the most memorable are my "I been lookin for you" doll, or the doll I used to play with when my grandma and grandpa Lords babysat me that Grandpa gave to me after Grandma died, the Chrismas before he died.
Hardest person to buy for? My in-laws, they have everything and anything they don't have they just go out and get it.
Easiest person to buy for? My mum. She's the most grateful person I know.
Do you have a nativity scene? Yes.
Mail or e mail Christmas cards? Mail. Its more fun that way.
Worst Christmas gift you ever received? Porto-Jon (Basically a plastic bag that you pee in. On the box it says "Perfect for men, women, and children! Leak proof! Re-use it until its full!" It was a while elephant gift)
Christmas movie? Either National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation or A Christmas Story. Every year we watch Christmas Vacation as a family on Thanksgiving night, and every Christmas Eve I watch A Christmas Story at least twice, usually more than that, as I wrap presents.
When do you start shopping for Christmas? Black Friday usually kicks off my shopping for the season
Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? I don't think I have
Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Cashew brittle that my neighbor at mum and dad's house makes. Its delicious! And my mum's hot bread out of the oven. Mmmm!
Lights on the tree? White
Favorite Christmas song? Anything by the Trans Siberian Orchestra or Josh Groban
Travel at Christmas or stay home? All my traveling is within the SL valley.
Can you name all of Santa's reindeer? Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and Rudolph
Angel on the tree top, or star? Star
Open presents Christmas eve or morning? PJs Christmas Eve that the elf brings, everything else Christmas morning.
Most annoying thing about this time of year? Waiting. Waiting in line, waiting to park, waiting to give people their presents (that one is the hardest for me)
Most favorite thing about the season? Giving. I love seeing people's faces as they open their presents, and I LOVE knowing that the faces I don't see are the ones that will mean the most. (Few people are going to get that, sorry)
Favorite ornament, theme, or color? My red blown glass spirals are my favorite on my tree that I have, but growing up it was the candy ornaments that we hung on the tree that were I don't even know how old, but every kid that has ever seen them has licked them at one point or another. Gross, I know. But I love them!
Favorite food for Christmas dinner? I don't know. Its all amazing!
What do you want for Christmas this year? :)