Sometimes people look at me funny when I say I am from Texas. Maybe it’s my accent? Apparently not many native “Coloradoans” have much respect for native Texans living in their homeland. I have asked a choice few people about their reasoning behind this prejudice and they said (something along the lines of) Texans are loud and they think Texas is its own country, to which I kindly reply, sternly….it once was. Does no one in Colorado know anything about Texas History?! Not to mention I could easily throw in the fact that part of Colorado used to be included in The Republic of Texas. That’s right, what you have now is partly because we gave it to you.
People who are not from Texas do not know what it means to be a Texan. And those who ARE from Texas know that it means damned near everything. The spirit that made that ‘used to be a nation, but is now a state’ is the spirit that burned in every person who founded the great place we call Texas, and they passed it on through blood or sweat to every one of us.
You see, Texan sprit is alive in all of us (TEXANS), even if we can't stand next to a cannon at the Alamo to prove it, and it's our responsibility to keep that fire burning. Every person who ever put a "Native Texan" or an "I wasn't born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could" sticker on his car understands. People in the Lone Star State make it what it is. And I don’t know a better group of people.
And let’s be honest, what other state has a 1 out of 2 ratio for homes with either a map of Texas on their wall or a Lone Star flag flying on their porch? If you handed a kid anywhere in the US an outline of Massachusetts or Idaho or even Colorado, they would probably respond with something like “what the heck is this?” But anyone in Idaho or Istanbul who sees a picture of Texas knows good and well what it is, about the same way as they know a circle from a square. It isn't the shape, it isn't the state, it's the state of mind.
As everyone knows, everything is bigger in Texas. The roads are bigger, the trees are bigger, and the wide open spaces are bigger. Texas has a bigger sky, with more stars and a brighter moon. Texans wear the biggest hats, the biggest boots, and drive the biggest trucks. Only Texans know what the term “hotter than hell” actually means, during July. Texas hosts the best people, the best food, the best music, and the best Universities. And if you havent heard of Texas Pride, first tell me what its like to live in a cave.
So as I am currently living out my adventure filled with mountains and crisp air and organic everything, today I am dreaming of home sweet Texas. Because as you know...God did bless Texas.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Welcome to the World
A few years ago, we’ll say 23, two baby girls were born on March 25 & March 28 consecutively that would forever change mine and a lot of other people’s lives. Thanks to these two, I didn’t eat my lunch alone in the bathroom during elementary and middle school, and I still have people to hang out with (sometimes) when I re-visit my hometown of Texarkana. The first of which is Cara Rochelle, daughter of Cary and Suzanne Rochelle, and an avid Arkansas Razorback who still secretly loves the Longhorns.
My apologies for the bunny ears, I've always been one for the jokes...
Cara CACKA Marie Rochelle (SHOUT OUT), born March 25, 1988, was my first friend that I first met for the first time in the first grade. I wrote her a note that said thanks for the above statement. She kept said note for something like 15 years and then lost it one day out of the blue. Tragic. That treasure is probably gone forever trampled somewhere in the mass chaos of her overly colorful room. Anyways Cara is one of a kind. She has the curliest hair ever that has the possibility of getting even SOUP AT HAND cans stuck in there… is it funny this time? She picked up the name Mama Care sometime throughout our life together mostly because she keeps the rest of us from making horrible life destroying decisions (sometimes). Although she definitely knows what it means to PARTAYY. (Insert her drunk kick as pictured below.)
Cacka is one of the funniest people that I know, and sends the best text messages of all time, equipped with pictures that she finds from God knows where. For example:
And for that, I respect her--even if it causes a laughter outburst in the middle of my bible study. She LOVES KAYAKING especially when the water is so shallow that you have to scoot across the river rocks relentlessly. She throws the biggest Christmas party of the year every winter that I have never missed until last year when my family drug me to stand in line for 4 hours to see massive ice sculptures. Anyways Cara is the best most loyal friend to anyone and everyone, as she doesn’t hold grudges and can juggle keeping in touch with all of her 23908572 BFFs. All of the above makes her LEGIT.
Also, Cara is currently enrolled in PA school because she’s a STUD,and although she may or may not have allegedly killed a simulated patient-(due ONLY that biznatch of a professor), I would absolutely trust her with my future kids’ health. And if that isn’t enough, she can do a CHER impersonation better than anyone on God’s green earth.
Pictured above with Cacka is our other BFF friend Em, whom we dearly love.
3 days later (TODAY) the world was changed yet again. On March 28, 1988 the world became more fashionable, more blunt, more inclined to its dedication to the Texas Longhorns, more willing to honk at people who make mistakes on the road, more willing to use spray tans, and more awesome in general.
Beef’s birthday should always be celebrated with leopard print and pink, and a crown of some sort placed on its rightful owner’s head. There should be many shout outs recognizing her new age, and minimal alcohol. I would give just about anything to do dinner and 6th street in the great city of Austin alongside my always perfectly dressed HBF.
Other ways of celebrating in the past have included (but are not limited to) hiking, a joint b-day party at Northridge Country Club, an Elvis Presley impersonator, a video scavenger hunt, mattress sliding down the staircase, & karaoke to Celine Dion.
Beef’s birthday should NOT be celebrated with each of us in a different state. But as it stands, this is the fate of 21+2.
23 years ago Bill and Terr1For welcomed the Queen of Teen herself into the world. They got a daughter. Dustin got a fiancé. I got a home best friend. Talk about a win-win situation, and for that there should be confetti. And cupcakes. Praise Jesus for that blissful March morning, and I am going to honk my car horn just for the heck of it in honor of this day.
Please see 10 more reasons that I love BEEF in her own SHOUT OUT post > CLICK HERE
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BIAS! You both are dearly loved.
My apologies for the bunny ears, I've always been one for the jokes...
Cacka is one of the funniest people that I know, and sends the best text messages of all time, equipped with pictures that she finds from God knows where. For example:
And for that, I respect her--even if it causes a laughter outburst in the middle of my bible study. She LOVES KAYAKING especially when the water is so shallow that you have to scoot across the river rocks relentlessly. She throws the biggest Christmas party of the year every winter that I have never missed until last year when my family drug me to stand in line for 4 hours to see massive ice sculptures. Anyways Cara is the best most loyal friend to anyone and everyone, as she doesn’t hold grudges and can juggle keeping in touch with all of her 23908572 BFFs. All of the above makes her LEGIT.
Also, Cara is currently enrolled in PA school because she’s a STUD,and although she may or may not have allegedly killed a simulated patient-(due ONLY that biznatch of a professor), I would absolutely trust her with my future kids’ health. And if that isn’t enough, she can do a CHER impersonation better than anyone on God’s green earth.So, on March 25, Cara celebrated 23 years of living, but it was me that was actually the one who should have been celebrating. Celebrating because Cara has been my friend for approx 18 of those 23 years and has never let me down. She deserves a party to be thrown in honor of her birth. And that party should include me in Galveston on the beach with Cara herself singing “Happi Burrday Bia” in her newly acquired Mexi/Black/Galvy lingo and re-living the glory days with a margarita. Hats off to you Cacka. You truly make my life better.
Pictured above with Cacka is our other BFF friend Em, whom we dearly love.
3 days later (TODAY) the world was changed yet again. On March 28, 1988 the world became more fashionable, more blunt, more inclined to its dedication to the Texas Longhorns, more willing to honk at people who make mistakes on the road, more willing to use spray tans, and more awesome in general.
Beef’s birthday should always be celebrated with leopard print and pink, and a crown of some sort placed on its rightful owner’s head. There should be many shout outs recognizing her new age, and minimal alcohol. I would give just about anything to do dinner and 6th street in the great city of Austin alongside my always perfectly dressed HBF.
Other ways of celebrating in the past have included (but are not limited to) hiking, a joint b-day party at Northridge Country Club, an Elvis Presley impersonator, a video scavenger hunt, mattress sliding down the staircase, & karaoke to Celine Dion.
Beef’s birthday should NOT be celebrated with each of us in a different state. But as it stands, this is the fate of 21+2.23 years ago Bill and Terr1For welcomed the Queen of Teen herself into the world. They got a daughter. Dustin got a fiancé. I got a home best friend. Talk about a win-win situation, and for that there should be confetti. And cupcakes. Praise Jesus for that blissful March morning, and I am going to honk my car horn just for the heck of it in honor of this day.
Please see 10 more reasons that I love BEEF in her own SHOUT OUT post > CLICK HERE
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BIAS! You both are dearly loved.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Waves
I learned a little something about waves whenever I was in Costa Rica living on the beach: if you try to stand and face the wave, it will smash you to bits, but if you trust the water and let it carry you, there’s nothing sweeter. Sarah from Australia had a hay-day trying to teach me what to do as a large wave approached, as I would often end up upside down, feet kicking above water, face in the sand struggling to find air. I think I have decided that my life follows suit. Waves=change. If you dig in and fight the change you’re facing, it will indeed annihilate you. It will hold you under the water, swirl you around, confuse and scare you, leaving you coughing and gasping for oxygen wondering how you got 50 yards down the beach.
This last season in my life has been characterized, more than anything else, by change. Hard, but good, swirling, one-after another changes. So many that I can’t quite regain my footing before the next one comes, very much like being tumbled by waves. And I am not saying that this change is bad, but I am saying that this change is hard. Within one year I lived with my sister, had comfortable best friends at Texas A&M, skyped with a long distance friend every night, graduated from college, packed my car and moved to Denver, Colorado, attended Youth With A Mission and camped the rockies, made 4 unforgettable friends that I lived and breathed alongside 24 hours a day for five months who only God could have picked, said friends became family. I traveled to Panama, traveled to Costa Rica, slept in a palm tree hut and ate only rice and fish heads, almost died on a canoe trip across the Pacific ocean, fell in love with some kiddos doing jazzercise in the streets, came back to the States culture shocked, drove back across the country, lived at home in a tiny room with my hero of a brother and littlest sister, worked in the Shady T to make enough money to move, drove across the country for a third time to Colorado—this time permanent, got a full time job doing something I thought I would never do and love it, started working at K-LIFE and joined another family. Seems like the adventure of a lifetime right? Well it was. And it was hard.
I have an infinite capacity to over-sensationalize the past. It’s like I cannot appreciate and take in all the beauty while I am IN IT, even while I am trying REALLY hard not to take my time for granted. Relentlessly, time eludes me and I end up looking back on the good and the hard times. But the painful sting of memories always leaves me in awe of how amazing God is through it all.
The bible is drenched in suffering and yet I always expect to be able to click my ruby red slippers and wake up with everything figured out. I’d really like the wisdom without the walking through fire. God doesn’t work this way, I have learned. Anyways I have been reading and listening to a lot of things on suffering and how it is a part of the human experience. (Thanks a heap, Eve, you wench) But there is something beautiful about our suffering when the God who loves us allows it to draw us back to Him. We hit rock bottom and find God wanting to lift us up. We find Him reaching out a hand offering help when we have once again tried to do life on our own and failed miserably. (Is this just me?) I recently told a friend that sometimes God allows us to be lonely, to hurt, to be sad, to be desperate in order to remind us once again that only He possess all-sufficient satisfaction, but I think it applied to me maybe even more than her. And although the fire burns and hurts, we end up back on our knees reaching out to Jesus, with a clear vision of our utter and complete dependency on Him. It’s the most loving thing He could do.
Looking back now at times in my life that I felt most injured, I can see how powerfully God used the trials and tribulations to refine me. I think it says something about being refined through the fire in the bible like 10-30 times, but who’s counting?
The thing is, I never see how beautiful the gold will be after being refined in the fire, WHILE I am in the fire…or to bring it home with the ‘waves’ analogy: when I am underwater swirling and panicking, lungs about to explode, all I can think is ‘OH shiZ how the hell do I get out of here!?! Where’s the TOP?!’ I am screaming that this hurts/sucks/blows or just straight up…FML at the top of my lungs. (“forfeit my life”, thanks Kathar)
More than anything I think this is a failure to believe in the story of who God is and what he is doing in this world amidst my waves. Like Donald Miller says, we are trees in the story of a forest. But instead of living that story — one of sacrifice and purpose and character — I begin to live a much smaller story, and that story is only about me. I want an answer, a timeline, and a map and QUICK please. I don’t want to have to trust God or anything I can’t see. I don’t want to wait or follow. I refuse to unclench my hands and my jaw, and I lock my knees and steel myself in the face of almost every wave. And then like clockwork I end up crying in the shower or alone in my car jamming out to some sappy song. Pathetic? I know.
Every wave presents us with a choice to make, and quite often, unfortunately, I have stood, both resolute and terrified, staring down a wave. I have been smacked straight on with the force of the water, tumbled, disoriented, gasping for breath and for my swimsuit bottoms—(unless I am at YWAM wearing the jungle ONE-sy). About 2 weeks ago I got smacked in the face so hard that I didn’t know which way was up. And there was God at the end of it all waiting to pick me up and call the ‘idiot who can’t swim’ (READ: me) His own. And oh how sweet it is to look up at a loving Father who wipes the sand out of my eyes and holds me until I can stop coughing and crying, setting me back on the shore.
I am praying that I would let the waves carry me more often as change is inevitable. I am praying that God would be gentle as he allows waves to come into my life. But most of all I am praying that I live the story that God called me to amidst the waves. I am praying to find it within myself, in the wildest of seasons, just for a moment, to trust in the goodness of God, who made it all and holds it all together to find myself drawn along to a whole new place, drenched in grace. Maybe today I will begin to let the waves do their work in me. I pray the same for you, friend. I pray you swim.
This last season in my life has been characterized, more than anything else, by change. Hard, but good, swirling, one-after another changes. So many that I can’t quite regain my footing before the next one comes, very much like being tumbled by waves. And I am not saying that this change is bad, but I am saying that this change is hard. Within one year I lived with my sister, had comfortable best friends at Texas A&M, skyped with a long distance friend every night, graduated from college, packed my car and moved to Denver, Colorado, attended Youth With A Mission and camped the rockies, made 4 unforgettable friends that I lived and breathed alongside 24 hours a day for five months who only God could have picked, said friends became family. I traveled to Panama, traveled to Costa Rica, slept in a palm tree hut and ate only rice and fish heads, almost died on a canoe trip across the Pacific ocean, fell in love with some kiddos doing jazzercise in the streets, came back to the States culture shocked, drove back across the country, lived at home in a tiny room with my hero of a brother and littlest sister, worked in the Shady T to make enough money to move, drove across the country for a third time to Colorado—this time permanent, got a full time job doing something I thought I would never do and love it, started working at K-LIFE and joined another family. Seems like the adventure of a lifetime right? Well it was. And it was hard.
I have an infinite capacity to over-sensationalize the past. It’s like I cannot appreciate and take in all the beauty while I am IN IT, even while I am trying REALLY hard not to take my time for granted. Relentlessly, time eludes me and I end up looking back on the good and the hard times. But the painful sting of memories always leaves me in awe of how amazing God is through it all.
The bible is drenched in suffering and yet I always expect to be able to click my ruby red slippers and wake up with everything figured out. I’d really like the wisdom without the walking through fire. God doesn’t work this way, I have learned. Anyways I have been reading and listening to a lot of things on suffering and how it is a part of the human experience. (Thanks a heap, Eve, you wench) But there is something beautiful about our suffering when the God who loves us allows it to draw us back to Him. We hit rock bottom and find God wanting to lift us up. We find Him reaching out a hand offering help when we have once again tried to do life on our own and failed miserably. (Is this just me?) I recently told a friend that sometimes God allows us to be lonely, to hurt, to be sad, to be desperate in order to remind us once again that only He possess all-sufficient satisfaction, but I think it applied to me maybe even more than her. And although the fire burns and hurts, we end up back on our knees reaching out to Jesus, with a clear vision of our utter and complete dependency on Him. It’s the most loving thing He could do.
Looking back now at times in my life that I felt most injured, I can see how powerfully God used the trials and tribulations to refine me. I think it says something about being refined through the fire in the bible like 10-30 times, but who’s counting?
The thing is, I never see how beautiful the gold will be after being refined in the fire, WHILE I am in the fire…or to bring it home with the ‘waves’ analogy: when I am underwater swirling and panicking, lungs about to explode, all I can think is ‘OH shiZ how the hell do I get out of here!?! Where’s the TOP?!’ I am screaming that this hurts/sucks/blows or just straight up…FML at the top of my lungs. (“forfeit my life”, thanks Kathar)
More than anything I think this is a failure to believe in the story of who God is and what he is doing in this world amidst my waves. Like Donald Miller says, we are trees in the story of a forest. But instead of living that story — one of sacrifice and purpose and character — I begin to live a much smaller story, and that story is only about me. I want an answer, a timeline, and a map and QUICK please. I don’t want to have to trust God or anything I can’t see. I don’t want to wait or follow. I refuse to unclench my hands and my jaw, and I lock my knees and steel myself in the face of almost every wave. And then like clockwork I end up crying in the shower or alone in my car jamming out to some sappy song. Pathetic? I know.
Every wave presents us with a choice to make, and quite often, unfortunately, I have stood, both resolute and terrified, staring down a wave. I have been smacked straight on with the force of the water, tumbled, disoriented, gasping for breath and for my swimsuit bottoms—(unless I am at YWAM wearing the jungle ONE-sy). About 2 weeks ago I got smacked in the face so hard that I didn’t know which way was up. And there was God at the end of it all waiting to pick me up and call the ‘idiot who can’t swim’ (READ: me) His own. And oh how sweet it is to look up at a loving Father who wipes the sand out of my eyes and holds me until I can stop coughing and crying, setting me back on the shore.
I am praying that I would let the waves carry me more often as change is inevitable. I am praying that God would be gentle as he allows waves to come into my life. But most of all I am praying that I live the story that God called me to amidst the waves. I am praying to find it within myself, in the wildest of seasons, just for a moment, to trust in the goodness of God, who made it all and holds it all together to find myself drawn along to a whole new place, drenched in grace. Maybe today I will begin to let the waves do their work in me. I pray the same for you, friend. I pray you swim.
Monday, March 21, 2011
The big 2-0!
Well my littlest sister has spent the last week living alongside me here in the great state of Colorado. And today happens to be a special day for both of us. For her, because its the day that marks the first day of her life, the exit from our mother's womb, and this is the 20th anniversary of that date. And for me, said date also marks the day I welcomed a littlest sister and best friend into the world. (SHOUT OUT) This calls for a celebration.
Aforementioned celebration started this morning at 6:30AM when we both slept through our alarms. She will claim that she was awake, but I have a hard time believing that. Anyways, both of us prideful decided to wait for the other to say the word and get out of our cozy warm beds while it was still dark. Nobody folded until about 7:40AM. So with a late start, we suited up and headed for the mountains for another day of snowboarding. I made her listen to my music all the way there obviously and it was bliss. I am on a MGMT pandora station kick which includes but is not limited to Phoenix, Passion Pit, Vampire Weekend, Edward Sharpe, and Griffin House.
About 40 minutes into the drive, we realized that we were out of gas. We ran out of gas completely in Loveland, Colorado. Happy birday Britter! Please call Allstate to come help us. Anyways the parking guys at Loveland said that we wouldnt have trouble coasting into Silverthorne, since it was all down hill. Silverthorne was 12-13 miles away on an estimate. But you know what....it was Brit's birthday and I thought, "Well God is clearly bigger than gas tanks." We prayed and started coasting.
Im happy to report that God IS bigger than gas tanks and we made it to Silverthorne's sketchiest gas station just in time to pee our pants. We coasted on 0 miles until empty for about...eh, 15 minutes. But even if we would have gotten stranded on the side of the road, I would have still believed that God is bigger than gas tanks. I would have assumed he was just letting me deal with the consequences of not checking the gas meter until we were on empty. Oops, rookie mistake.
Anyways Breckinridge's icy slopes met with Brit's hind parts real fast a few times right off the bat. But what better way to turn 20 then to fall relentlessly down a mountain packed with ice? She loves me....and she LOVES those S turns.
However, I had already bought her a red velvet whoopie cookie that morning, so I mean, its not like she could be mad at me.
In conclusion I'd like to think that it was a memorable birthday for my littlest sister and it will be a hard one to forget seeing that she probably has permanent damage on her left hip, and a bruise the size of Texas. But heres to the end of your teens and the beginning of a new decade! Welcome to your twenties, B!
Lets all take a second and congratulate Brit not only on turning the big 2-0, but also for making it out alive from the death trap that I may or may not have set her in today. You are the best sister ever, and I couldnt love you any more.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRITTER BOO.
I wish you would never leave.
Aforementioned celebration started this morning at 6:30AM when we both slept through our alarms. She will claim that she was awake, but I have a hard time believing that. Anyways, both of us prideful decided to wait for the other to say the word and get out of our cozy warm beds while it was still dark. Nobody folded until about 7:40AM. So with a late start, we suited up and headed for the mountains for another day of snowboarding. I made her listen to my music all the way there obviously and it was bliss. I am on a MGMT pandora station kick which includes but is not limited to Phoenix, Passion Pit, Vampire Weekend, Edward Sharpe, and Griffin House.
About 40 minutes into the drive, we realized that we were out of gas. We ran out of gas completely in Loveland, Colorado. Happy birday Britter! Please call Allstate to come help us. Anyways the parking guys at Loveland said that we wouldnt have trouble coasting into Silverthorne, since it was all down hill. Silverthorne was 12-13 miles away on an estimate. But you know what....it was Brit's birthday and I thought, "Well God is clearly bigger than gas tanks." We prayed and started coasting.
Im happy to report that God IS bigger than gas tanks and we made it to Silverthorne's sketchiest gas station just in time to pee our pants. We coasted on 0 miles until empty for about...eh, 15 minutes. But even if we would have gotten stranded on the side of the road, I would have still believed that God is bigger than gas tanks. I would have assumed he was just letting me deal with the consequences of not checking the gas meter until we were on empty. Oops, rookie mistake.
Anyways Breckinridge's icy slopes met with Brit's hind parts real fast a few times right off the bat. But what better way to turn 20 then to fall relentlessly down a mountain packed with ice? She loves me....and she LOVES those S turns.
However, I had already bought her a red velvet whoopie cookie that morning, so I mean, its not like she could be mad at me.
In conclusion I'd like to think that it was a memorable birthday for my littlest sister and it will be a hard one to forget seeing that she probably has permanent damage on her left hip, and a bruise the size of Texas. But heres to the end of your teens and the beginning of a new decade! Welcome to your twenties, B!
Lets all take a second and congratulate Brit not only on turning the big 2-0, but also for making it out alive from the death trap that I may or may not have set her in today. You are the best sister ever, and I couldnt love you any more.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRITTER BOO.
I wish you would never leave.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Valentine's Day in March
I read this GEM of a blog today, and regardless of whether or not it is Valentines Day, I needed to share this with people who haven't read it in the blogosphere. I have no idea who wrote it...as it was an anonymous post, but BRAVO, anonymous. BRAVO.
FEBRUARY 14, 2011
"When I woke up this morning, I made a decision: I am not going to be the sad, bitter single girl today. So I got up and began to get dressed for church.
I started with a red ensemble with a heart necklace. Then I thought, "Nah, looks like you're trying too hard to be into Valentine's Day when everyone knows you can't like it that much when you're single."
So I put on all black. Then I thought, "Nah, looks like you're the bitter, single girl trying not to be into Valentine's Day. Let's not be Her."
So I added a pink necklace. Then I thought, "Perfect. This says, 'I sort of hate Valentine's Day, but not really cause I still get to eat sugar.' "
Dressed, I headed to church. I soon realized I wasn't wearing my contacts, but I wasn't going to be deterred from my happy day, so I put on some pop music and continued, whether or not I couldn't read the road signs.
As it turned out, the Austin Marathon was blocking my exit onto MoPac. For several minutes I remained stuck in detour traffic alongside the Marathoners. They looked miserable, so I thought, "I'll encourage them!" Naturally, I rolled down my window, turned on "Go For It" from the pill-popping episode of Saved By the Bell, and yelled "You can do it!" at the passers-by.
No one looked at me.
Oh well.
So now, kind of hurt and realizing that my detour had ended, leaving me nowhere helpful, I began actively searching for a way onto MoPac by driving through residential streets. After 10 minutes, I found the next MoPac exit also blocked by Marathoners. Incredibly frustrated, I rolled down my window and asked the police officer how to get onto MoPac.
His response? "I don't know." My response? "Ok. Thanks." My non-verbal response? "Die. I hate you."
At this point, after very purposely rolling up my window, I began yelling expletives that normally only come out of my mouth when I don't want to censor myself while singing along to certain songs from Rent and Spring Awakening. And "Forgot About Dre."
I thought about giving up and going home, but then I thought, "NO! If you go home, THEY win. Do NOT let them win!" So I kept driving and searching. After a second police officer at another location told me he didn't know how I could get on MoPac, I started crying. He felt awkward, which made me feel good.
As I continued driving, I wanted to roll down my windows and blast, "I Hate Everything About You" by Ugly Kid Joe at the Marathoners. I didn't. I'd like to say it was because I knew that that would not be glorifying to the Lord. My restraint, however, was more probably due to the fact that I didn't think they'd understand the lyrics, which would just further frustrate me.
I cried and cussed for another 10 minutes or so until I finally found a way onto MoPac. I was going to be at least 30 minutes late to church, but I was still going to be there, so I realized that I needed stop cursing and channel my anger into something less destructive, ya know, in order to prepare my heart for worship.
Solution! Yes, this was it. Celine Dion screams without cussing, so if I scream-sing along with her, I can vent my anger without further blackening my soul.
Ipod> artist> Celine Dion> shuffle songs.
This was working. Yes, this would do.
About a minute in, I realized: I am crying and shouting the words to, "All By Myself." On Valentine's Day.
I wasn't going to be that girl, but I got tricked.
Congratulations, Universe. You win"
Side note: I am about halfway through my own latest blog entry which is taking me much longer than anticipated to get my scrambled thoughts into words and on paper (computer screen). I will update ASAP but I cannot promise a date seeing that my littlest sister is spending the week with me and I plan on devoting every ounce of my attention on her. Happy Monday!
FEBRUARY 14, 2011
"When I woke up this morning, I made a decision: I am not going to be the sad, bitter single girl today. So I got up and began to get dressed for church.
I started with a red ensemble with a heart necklace. Then I thought, "Nah, looks like you're trying too hard to be into Valentine's Day when everyone knows you can't like it that much when you're single."
So I put on all black. Then I thought, "Nah, looks like you're the bitter, single girl trying not to be into Valentine's Day. Let's not be Her."
So I added a pink necklace. Then I thought, "Perfect. This says, 'I sort of hate Valentine's Day, but not really cause I still get to eat sugar.' "
Dressed, I headed to church. I soon realized I wasn't wearing my contacts, but I wasn't going to be deterred from my happy day, so I put on some pop music and continued, whether or not I couldn't read the road signs.
As it turned out, the Austin Marathon was blocking my exit onto MoPac. For several minutes I remained stuck in detour traffic alongside the Marathoners. They looked miserable, so I thought, "I'll encourage them!" Naturally, I rolled down my window, turned on "Go For It" from the pill-popping episode of Saved By the Bell, and yelled "You can do it!" at the passers-by.
No one looked at me.
Oh well.
So now, kind of hurt and realizing that my detour had ended, leaving me nowhere helpful, I began actively searching for a way onto MoPac by driving through residential streets. After 10 minutes, I found the next MoPac exit also blocked by Marathoners. Incredibly frustrated, I rolled down my window and asked the police officer how to get onto MoPac.
His response? "I don't know." My response? "Ok. Thanks." My non-verbal response? "Die. I hate you."
At this point, after very purposely rolling up my window, I began yelling expletives that normally only come out of my mouth when I don't want to censor myself while singing along to certain songs from Rent and Spring Awakening. And "Forgot About Dre."
I thought about giving up and going home, but then I thought, "NO! If you go home, THEY win. Do NOT let them win!" So I kept driving and searching. After a second police officer at another location told me he didn't know how I could get on MoPac, I started crying. He felt awkward, which made me feel good.
As I continued driving, I wanted to roll down my windows and blast, "I Hate Everything About You" by Ugly Kid Joe at the Marathoners. I didn't. I'd like to say it was because I knew that that would not be glorifying to the Lord. My restraint, however, was more probably due to the fact that I didn't think they'd understand the lyrics, which would just further frustrate me.
I cried and cussed for another 10 minutes or so until I finally found a way onto MoPac. I was going to be at least 30 minutes late to church, but I was still going to be there, so I realized that I needed stop cursing and channel my anger into something less destructive, ya know, in order to prepare my heart for worship.
Solution! Yes, this was it. Celine Dion screams without cussing, so if I scream-sing along with her, I can vent my anger without further blackening my soul.
Ipod> artist> Celine Dion> shuffle songs.
This was working. Yes, this would do.
About a minute in, I realized: I am crying and shouting the words to, "All By Myself." On Valentine's Day.
I wasn't going to be that girl, but I got tricked.
Congratulations, Universe. You win"
Side note: I am about halfway through my own latest blog entry which is taking me much longer than anticipated to get my scrambled thoughts into words and on paper (computer screen). I will update ASAP but I cannot promise a date seeing that my littlest sister is spending the week with me and I plan on devoting every ounce of my attention on her. Happy Monday!
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Letters
Dear Pandora, thanks for getting me through my days with your awesome playlists. Thanks for not charging me to listen to your music and for apologizing if you play a song that I do not like. You are polite and you play the best music. I really appreciate you today.
Dear Brittney, I might have never been so excited to see someone in my whole entire life, and I can’t wait for you to get here in 4 days. I can’t wait to laugh until we cry and snowboard and play like you never ever have to go back to Texas. You are my best friend and everyone in Colorado basically has been notified of your arrival. It’s like you are famous. Please be practicing your facial expressions of excitement, and plan on me crying when you leave. Also bring your new affirmative attitude with you. And most importantly, PLEASE HURRY UP AND GET HERE.
Dear OZ Architecture, I respect you. I respect that you gave me an awesome job that I don’t hate and that you are flexible with me about the 9AM starting time. I really appreciate your generosity to me, seeing that all I did to find you was google search “largest architecture firm in Colorado” and showed up at your front door wearing my brown UGGs. And yet you still welcomed me with open arms and you pay me to come. Thanks again.
Dear Blair, please don’t move away.
Dear Megan, give up school for lent. It starts today. And call me. Also remember that time that I sent you a text that said: “I will be on my knees even if it has to be in the bathroom stall.” And was talking about prayer? Pure at heart I tell you.
Dear Starbucks, thanks for making awesome chai tea lattes, but I think you are a real wench for charging so much for the delicious goodness. Also I am really concerned about our unhealthy relationship, and I think we need to take some steps backwards. Chances are that won’t happen though, you are just too seductive.
Dear Eduardo, you have the best accent of all time. I could listen to you talk about nothing all day long.
Dear Caffeine Headaches, damn you.
Dear CW Network, why would you make us wait a WHOLE month for new episodes of Gossip Girl and 90210? You are cruel.
Dear Becca, I cannot believe the sequence of events that happened yesterday while we were on our daily phone call. I can’t say I am proud of you enough. I think you are going to do GREAT in Belize, and I am a little jealous of your upcoming move. I also think you should know that I am going to miss you something awful and will probably have at least one session of crying in the fetal position while sucking my thumb. But whats new, ya know? I really hope you didn’t get on the roof last night.
Dear Brad Womack AKA the Bachelor, pick Emily.
Dear Emily, say no.
Dear Sarah Hyland, your impersonation of Gail is the best thing to hit YouTube since Justin Bieber.
Dear Beef, please watch the videos that I diligently sent you via text. Also, I cannot even wait for your bachelorette party. I mean, I am not sure how things could be get crazy than your ‘21 YEA’ birthday, but it is my goal to top that. (Minus the puking on my bleeding foot in the bathroom). Anyways its obvious that you are going to be the prettiest bride ever.
Dear Girl Scouts nation wide, your Samoas are the best cookies that have ever been invented. I think you girls should win some kind of award for making a cookie that tastes so good. I think you really deserve it.
Dear Mumford and Sons, the Railroad Revival Tour is the best thing you have ever thought of and I would give basically anything to be in attendance, preferably in Austin, Texas. I can’t get over how bummed I am to be missing such an epic concert.
Dear Leasing Offices for Apartments in Westminster and Broomfield, please lower your monthly rent prices.
Dear Panera, I think I am in love with you.
Dear Remixes, you almost always suck compared to the original song. Except for Jason Derulo’s “Whatcha Say”. That is the exception.
Dear Colorado, the snow is beautiful. It really is. But please for the love of God do not give us any more snow. Its time for warm(er) weather and Spring time. I do want to thank you though for giving me over 300 days per year of sunshine. Its one of the main reasons I live here.
Dear Tim who sits next to me at work, your lunch smells delicious. How do you feel about sharing?
Dear Mom, thanks for always telling me you are proud of me and laughing at my jokes even when they aren’t that funny to you. I think you are the best. Thanks for the genetics that make it impossible for me to get anywhere on time. But thanks for the other set of genetics that prevented me from being a complete ass hole. And thanks for teaching me how to be nice…I am still working on it. I really am. Baby steps.
Dear Rene, I think you are great and really funny. I think we would make a some kind of awesome duo in the marketing world. As long as you are okay with not starting until after lunch and with having drinks after.
Dear Kamp friends, reunion?
Dear Lauren, you have the funniest blog of anyone I know. You might be the funniest person that I (don’t really) know. I almost get giddy when you post something new. And I laugh out loud every time.
Dear Emily Middleton, I am still waiting on confirmation about your upcoming trip to Colorado to go skiing in June. Its not your fault that nobody told you that ski season ends in April. I will do my best to still provide a fun itinerary that includes baking or something and minimal activities that require intense athletic ability.
Dear Cara, (cacka) you send the best text messages of any of my friends. Keep them coming.
Dear Wednesday, please turn into a Friday.
Dear Brittney, I might have never been so excited to see someone in my whole entire life, and I can’t wait for you to get here in 4 days. I can’t wait to laugh until we cry and snowboard and play like you never ever have to go back to Texas. You are my best friend and everyone in Colorado basically has been notified of your arrival. It’s like you are famous. Please be practicing your facial expressions of excitement, and plan on me crying when you leave. Also bring your new affirmative attitude with you. And most importantly, PLEASE HURRY UP AND GET HERE.
Dear OZ Architecture, I respect you. I respect that you gave me an awesome job that I don’t hate and that you are flexible with me about the 9AM starting time. I really appreciate your generosity to me, seeing that all I did to find you was google search “largest architecture firm in Colorado” and showed up at your front door wearing my brown UGGs. And yet you still welcomed me with open arms and you pay me to come. Thanks again.
Dear Blair, please don’t move away.
Dear Megan, give up school for lent. It starts today. And call me. Also remember that time that I sent you a text that said: “I will be on my knees even if it has to be in the bathroom stall.” And was talking about prayer? Pure at heart I tell you.
Dear Starbucks, thanks for making awesome chai tea lattes, but I think you are a real wench for charging so much for the delicious goodness. Also I am really concerned about our unhealthy relationship, and I think we need to take some steps backwards. Chances are that won’t happen though, you are just too seductive.
Dear Eduardo, you have the best accent of all time. I could listen to you talk about nothing all day long.
Dear Caffeine Headaches, damn you.
Dear CW Network, why would you make us wait a WHOLE month for new episodes of Gossip Girl and 90210? You are cruel.
Dear Becca, I cannot believe the sequence of events that happened yesterday while we were on our daily phone call. I can’t say I am proud of you enough. I think you are going to do GREAT in Belize, and I am a little jealous of your upcoming move. I also think you should know that I am going to miss you something awful and will probably have at least one session of crying in the fetal position while sucking my thumb. But whats new, ya know? I really hope you didn’t get on the roof last night.
Dear Brad Womack AKA the Bachelor, pick Emily.
Dear Emily, say no.
Dear Sarah Hyland, your impersonation of Gail is the best thing to hit YouTube since Justin Bieber.
Dear Beef, please watch the videos that I diligently sent you via text. Also, I cannot even wait for your bachelorette party. I mean, I am not sure how things could be get crazy than your ‘21 YEA’ birthday, but it is my goal to top that. (Minus the puking on my bleeding foot in the bathroom). Anyways its obvious that you are going to be the prettiest bride ever.
Dear Girl Scouts nation wide, your Samoas are the best cookies that have ever been invented. I think you girls should win some kind of award for making a cookie that tastes so good. I think you really deserve it.
Dear Mumford and Sons, the Railroad Revival Tour is the best thing you have ever thought of and I would give basically anything to be in attendance, preferably in Austin, Texas. I can’t get over how bummed I am to be missing such an epic concert.
Dear Leasing Offices for Apartments in Westminster and Broomfield, please lower your monthly rent prices.
Dear Panera, I think I am in love with you.
Dear Remixes, you almost always suck compared to the original song. Except for Jason Derulo’s “Whatcha Say”. That is the exception.
Dear Colorado, the snow is beautiful. It really is. But please for the love of God do not give us any more snow. Its time for warm(er) weather and Spring time. I do want to thank you though for giving me over 300 days per year of sunshine. Its one of the main reasons I live here.
Dear Tim who sits next to me at work, your lunch smells delicious. How do you feel about sharing?
Dear Mom, thanks for always telling me you are proud of me and laughing at my jokes even when they aren’t that funny to you. I think you are the best. Thanks for the genetics that make it impossible for me to get anywhere on time. But thanks for the other set of genetics that prevented me from being a complete ass hole. And thanks for teaching me how to be nice…I am still working on it. I really am. Baby steps.
Dear Rene, I think you are great and really funny. I think we would make a some kind of awesome duo in the marketing world. As long as you are okay with not starting until after lunch and with having drinks after.
Dear Kamp friends, reunion?
Dear Lauren, you have the funniest blog of anyone I know. You might be the funniest person that I (don’t really) know. I almost get giddy when you post something new. And I laugh out loud every time.
Dear Emily Middleton, I am still waiting on confirmation about your upcoming trip to Colorado to go skiing in June. Its not your fault that nobody told you that ski season ends in April. I will do my best to still provide a fun itinerary that includes baking or something and minimal activities that require intense athletic ability.
Dear Cara, (cacka) you send the best text messages of any of my friends. Keep them coming.
Dear Wednesday, please turn into a Friday.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Sin and Aspartame
Probably one of my biggest flaws is my dependency on Diet Coke, and Chai Tea Lattes from (preferably) Lollicup, but Starbucks has been my go-to lately because of its more convenient location. But forget the Chai addiction, I want to talk about the Diet Coke one. Because no one can be blamed for loving Chai Tea Lattes, they are like sweet nectar to my lips.
It’s not really that I have anything against Diet Coke, except that I should. There have been countless amounts of research done on the effects of aspartame (sweetener of Diet Coke) on the human body. And from what I can tell, it is 100% bad for you. Like no doubt about it. No one seems to be arguing that point. It leads to all kinds of stuff like cancer, depression, diabetes, and other big words and serious diseases. I mean methanol (READ: actual poison) makes up like 10% of aspartame. Not to mention it has like literally negative nutritional value. Conclusion: Diet Coke should not be consumed by humans.
So essentially, every time I consume a diet coke I am putting poison into my body. And what’s crazy is that knowingly, I just finished off a 12oz Diet Coke. That’s right people, I poison myself on a daily basis, sometimes twice a day. I get cravings for Diet Coke that almost take over my whole body and I give in probably taking minutes off of my life with every sip. What’s shocking is that I don’t really care. Because if I really cared, I would stop. Should I be committed to a facility? Perhaps.
Anyways so it has come to my attention that sin is like Diet Coke. Classic metaphor. There are things and parts of my life that if “consumed” or engaged in will 100% destroy me bit by bit. And yet, I find myself running to them over and over again until I actually feel sick. I cling to the sin in my life because its familiar and comfortable, and let it slowly strangle the life out of me. It tastes great, smells great, but it is lethal…and my head KNOWS it is destructive. I need counseling.
First of all, clearly this shows that I am weaker than weak. No will-power whatsoever. I am completely captive to my emotions and cravings. Which is ridiculous.
That moment of craving defines Christianity today.
We want a quick fix. We want to substitute what is best for us with something that is immediately more satisfying. I mean let’s be real. Diet Coke=poison. Diet Coke < Water. Which is scary because there is no limit to what I will turn to when I am sad, angry, or alone, etc. Things even more devastating to my well being than Diet Coke.
And so I clearly cannot save myself. It really says something when I cannot even conjure up the will-power to abstain from drinking poison, much less save myself from sin and change the heart disease that makes me indulge in what hurts me. So, that brings me once again to my knees and desperate for a Savior who will pick me up and begin the painful process of detoxing. And detoxes suck, if you have ever done one. It’s not comfortable or easy, but in the end it will save my life.
So hopefully next time I get bored, unhappy, frustrated, I will not drink a Diet Coke. But since I am a real wack job, its unlikely. Therefore when it comes to the sin that is worse than aspartame, I will look pleadingly towards my God who is stronger than any urge. Because we don’t serve a God who likes us, we serve a God who longs for us. Who relentlessly pursues us regardless of our wimpy will-powers. And that knowledge is enough to silence my craving for Diet Coke.
It’s not really that I have anything against Diet Coke, except that I should. There have been countless amounts of research done on the effects of aspartame (sweetener of Diet Coke) on the human body. And from what I can tell, it is 100% bad for you. Like no doubt about it. No one seems to be arguing that point. It leads to all kinds of stuff like cancer, depression, diabetes, and other big words and serious diseases. I mean methanol (READ: actual poison) makes up like 10% of aspartame. Not to mention it has like literally negative nutritional value. Conclusion: Diet Coke should not be consumed by humans.
So essentially, every time I consume a diet coke I am putting poison into my body. And what’s crazy is that knowingly, I just finished off a 12oz Diet Coke. That’s right people, I poison myself on a daily basis, sometimes twice a day. I get cravings for Diet Coke that almost take over my whole body and I give in probably taking minutes off of my life with every sip. What’s shocking is that I don’t really care. Because if I really cared, I would stop. Should I be committed to a facility? Perhaps.
Anyways so it has come to my attention that sin is like Diet Coke. Classic metaphor. There are things and parts of my life that if “consumed” or engaged in will 100% destroy me bit by bit. And yet, I find myself running to them over and over again until I actually feel sick. I cling to the sin in my life because its familiar and comfortable, and let it slowly strangle the life out of me. It tastes great, smells great, but it is lethal…and my head KNOWS it is destructive. I need counseling.
First of all, clearly this shows that I am weaker than weak. No will-power whatsoever. I am completely captive to my emotions and cravings. Which is ridiculous.
That moment of craving defines Christianity today.
We want a quick fix. We want to substitute what is best for us with something that is immediately more satisfying. I mean let’s be real. Diet Coke=poison. Diet Coke < Water. Which is scary because there is no limit to what I will turn to when I am sad, angry, or alone, etc. Things even more devastating to my well being than Diet Coke.
And so I clearly cannot save myself. It really says something when I cannot even conjure up the will-power to abstain from drinking poison, much less save myself from sin and change the heart disease that makes me indulge in what hurts me. So, that brings me once again to my knees and desperate for a Savior who will pick me up and begin the painful process of detoxing. And detoxes suck, if you have ever done one. It’s not comfortable or easy, but in the end it will save my life.
So hopefully next time I get bored, unhappy, frustrated, I will not drink a Diet Coke. But since I am a real wack job, its unlikely. Therefore when it comes to the sin that is worse than aspartame, I will look pleadingly towards my God who is stronger than any urge. Because we don’t serve a God who likes us, we serve a God who longs for us. Who relentlessly pursues us regardless of our wimpy will-powers. And that knowledge is enough to silence my craving for Diet Coke.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Adequate Amounts of Sleep
Something really important came to my attention this morning sometime in or around the point in time that my iPhone’s alarm clock buzzed for the 7th time. It actually could have been the 6th, but I just really lose track after pushing snooze so many times. The (previously mentioned) really important thing that I realized is that: waking up early outright ENRAGES me. And you know what? I don’t think I am the only person with this grievance against the hours from 5-9AM.
Every single morning I set multiple alarms--(part of the fall, no way in H-E-double hockey sticks were alarm clocks in the Garden of Eden)--located in various places throughout my room, because it’s far too easy to just press snooze an infinite number of times if it is sitting right by my bed. The final alarm (which just so happens to be the loudest and most annoying and makes me want to punch a baby) goes off in my bathroom, which is located in the next room. I'm banking on the hope that if I have to walk all the way to the bathroom to put an end to the incessant beeping that I will realize (after taking a glance in the mirror) that: Hell, I am already in the bathroom, might as well shower and do something with the tangled mess on my head that scares even me…not to mention I have to be at _________ in 15 minutes. Obviously I like to wait until the last possible minute to set the final bathroom alarm. Which also explains why I am always late. Do you people even know me? Regardless:
Matt Chandler told me the other morning (via podcast) that nobody in your life will lie to you as much and as convincingly as yourself. And by golly, I think he is on to something there. Here are some reasons why I think that I agree with him.
1.) Literally EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT, I can con artist myself into believing that I want to get up early to go work-out the next morning BEFORE I have to be at work at 8:30AM in Boulder which is half an hour from my house. (Which, SIDE NOTE: according to simple math, would mean that I would need to leave my house at or before 6AM.) Anyways its shocking to me that I can convince myself that tomorrow is the DAY THAT I WILL DO IT! Tomorrow I will wake up at 5:30AM and cook myself a breakfast omelet or something gourmet and hit the road before the sun comes up in order to hop on a treadmill and make myself sweat. (See: delusional) Any moron could see that tomorrow will be just like today, except for myself. And EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING I want to kill that wench Allyson that decided that was a good idea the night before. I loathe her and I wish that she would die for setting an alarm to go off at that ungodly hour. I curse at her before turning over and pulling my blankets up to my nose and drifting peacefully (READ: pissed and bitter) back into dream world. Which brings me to my second reason:
2.) Every morning I consistently struggle with multiple personality disorder. I kid you not. Scene:
*Alarm goes off (4th time).
Ally the responsible: Okay you have to get up, you literally are not going to have time to get ready.
Ally the lazy (the real me): Shut up (SNOOZE)
*Alarm 5.
Responsible: Seriously. Get up. Please. You shouldn’t have stayed up so late watching Criminal Minds.
Lazy: Seriously I am about to punch you in the mouth if you don’t shut your freaking mouth.
Responsible: Okay how about this, you can wait until the next alarm and then you absolutely MUST get up. Deal?
Lazy: Deal, shut up.
*Alarm 6
Responsible: Okay, you know the drill, time to rise and shine!
Lazy: F you.
Responsible: Omg, Allyson, this is ridiculous--get up.
Lazy: No. I hate you.
Responsible: You have to be there in 30 minutes!
Lazy: You know what? I don’t feel that great. I need to call in sick. I need to think of some kind of emergency that would mean I don’t need to be at work anytime in the next 3 hours. My car broke down? No. Who could’ve died? Okay, let’s just go with I am puking and have a fever. Or DIARREHA! No one would question diarrhea. I have to email my boss that I have explosive diarrhea and cannot come in because I cannot leave the bathroom. BRILLIANT. (Roll over)
*Alarm 7,8,9,10
Responsible: You have got to be kidding me. This is not even funny anymore. You are a pathetic low life. Get your lazy *** out of bed.
Lazy: Explosive diarrhea. Remember? Did you not hear me the first time? Shut up.
Responsible: Okay think about this…you can go to work and get paid, and then you can come home after work and take a nap, watch as many episodes of Criminal Minds as you want and sleep for 18 hours. YOU CAN NAP IN A MERE 8 HOURS!!!!
Lazy: Okay, that’s agreeable.
And so the story goes, I am up and late for work (as usual). How my alter ego convinces me every single day that I can nap after work is beyond me. Because do you know how many days per week that I nap? None, that’s how many. I end up twiddling my thumbs and staying up until 2AM watching the Camel laughing video, Justin Bieber interviews, or Sarah Hyland on YouTube. (REPEAT CYCLE T,W,Th,F mornings)
I love myself and I hate myself.
So I have realized that I have a serious heart condition that loves sleep in the mornings when I need to be at work, and disregards sleep at night when I have nothing better to do. God save me. I need redemption. And you know…I have decided that it’s a real problem. I am fairly positive that the bible says something negative about laziness.
So it’s because of this realization of my inadequacy and daily sin that I have decided that I should write a book. Because I believe that if I write a book telling others that 1) nothing is acceptable to plan before 11AM and that you should just expect me to be 15+ minutes late, and that 2) employers everywhere should have only 11-4 work days with Fridays off, and 3) a general synopsis of how to keep from pissing me off--then my multiple personality disorder and general outrage (sin) will surely subside, and the condition of my heart will surely improve.
YAHTZEE.
However, if the book does not prove victorious over my wicked, schizophrenic heart, then I will once again throw my arms up in frustrated surrender and declare that Jesus is the only way…but for now I really want to try the book thing.
Every single morning I set multiple alarms--(part of the fall, no way in H-E-double hockey sticks were alarm clocks in the Garden of Eden)--located in various places throughout my room, because it’s far too easy to just press snooze an infinite number of times if it is sitting right by my bed. The final alarm (which just so happens to be the loudest and most annoying and makes me want to punch a baby) goes off in my bathroom, which is located in the next room. I'm banking on the hope that if I have to walk all the way to the bathroom to put an end to the incessant beeping that I will realize (after taking a glance in the mirror) that: Hell, I am already in the bathroom, might as well shower and do something with the tangled mess on my head that scares even me…not to mention I have to be at _________ in 15 minutes. Obviously I like to wait until the last possible minute to set the final bathroom alarm. Which also explains why I am always late. Do you people even know me? Regardless:
Matt Chandler told me the other morning (via podcast) that nobody in your life will lie to you as much and as convincingly as yourself. And by golly, I think he is on to something there. Here are some reasons why I think that I agree with him.
1.) Literally EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT, I can con artist myself into believing that I want to get up early to go work-out the next morning BEFORE I have to be at work at 8:30AM in Boulder which is half an hour from my house. (Which, SIDE NOTE: according to simple math, would mean that I would need to leave my house at or before 6AM.) Anyways its shocking to me that I can convince myself that tomorrow is the DAY THAT I WILL DO IT! Tomorrow I will wake up at 5:30AM and cook myself a breakfast omelet or something gourmet and hit the road before the sun comes up in order to hop on a treadmill and make myself sweat. (See: delusional) Any moron could see that tomorrow will be just like today, except for myself. And EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING I want to kill that wench Allyson that decided that was a good idea the night before. I loathe her and I wish that she would die for setting an alarm to go off at that ungodly hour. I curse at her before turning over and pulling my blankets up to my nose and drifting peacefully (READ: pissed and bitter) back into dream world. Which brings me to my second reason:
2.) Every morning I consistently struggle with multiple personality disorder. I kid you not. Scene:
*Alarm goes off (4th time).
Ally the responsible: Okay you have to get up, you literally are not going to have time to get ready.
Ally the lazy (the real me): Shut up (SNOOZE)
*Alarm 5.
Responsible: Seriously. Get up. Please. You shouldn’t have stayed up so late watching Criminal Minds.
Lazy: Seriously I am about to punch you in the mouth if you don’t shut your freaking mouth.
Responsible: Okay how about this, you can wait until the next alarm and then you absolutely MUST get up. Deal?
Lazy: Deal, shut up.
*Alarm 6
Responsible: Okay, you know the drill, time to rise and shine!
Lazy: F you.
Responsible: Omg, Allyson, this is ridiculous--get up.
Lazy: No. I hate you.
Responsible: You have to be there in 30 minutes!
Lazy: You know what? I don’t feel that great. I need to call in sick. I need to think of some kind of emergency that would mean I don’t need to be at work anytime in the next 3 hours. My car broke down? No. Who could’ve died? Okay, let’s just go with I am puking and have a fever. Or DIARREHA! No one would question diarrhea. I have to email my boss that I have explosive diarrhea and cannot come in because I cannot leave the bathroom. BRILLIANT. (Roll over)
*Alarm 7,8,9,10
Responsible: You have got to be kidding me. This is not even funny anymore. You are a pathetic low life. Get your lazy *** out of bed.
Lazy: Explosive diarrhea. Remember? Did you not hear me the first time? Shut up.
Responsible: Okay think about this…you can go to work and get paid, and then you can come home after work and take a nap, watch as many episodes of Criminal Minds as you want and sleep for 18 hours. YOU CAN NAP IN A MERE 8 HOURS!!!!
Lazy: Okay, that’s agreeable.
And so the story goes, I am up and late for work (as usual). How my alter ego convinces me every single day that I can nap after work is beyond me. Because do you know how many days per week that I nap? None, that’s how many. I end up twiddling my thumbs and staying up until 2AM watching the Camel laughing video, Justin Bieber interviews, or Sarah Hyland on YouTube. (REPEAT CYCLE T,W,Th,F mornings)
I love myself and I hate myself.
So I have realized that I have a serious heart condition that loves sleep in the mornings when I need to be at work, and disregards sleep at night when I have nothing better to do. God save me. I need redemption. And you know…I have decided that it’s a real problem. I am fairly positive that the bible says something negative about laziness.
So it’s because of this realization of my inadequacy and daily sin that I have decided that I should write a book. Because I believe that if I write a book telling others that 1) nothing is acceptable to plan before 11AM and that you should just expect me to be 15+ minutes late, and that 2) employers everywhere should have only 11-4 work days with Fridays off, and 3) a general synopsis of how to keep from pissing me off--then my multiple personality disorder and general outrage (sin) will surely subside, and the condition of my heart will surely improve.
YAHTZEE.
However, if the book does not prove victorious over my wicked, schizophrenic heart, then I will once again throw my arms up in frustrated surrender and declare that Jesus is the only way…but for now I really want to try the book thing.
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