tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72364141327690600282024-03-19T02:38:25.267-07:00Tor's Circus...Thoughts under the Big TopToriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-56651228934537201902016-06-24T13:28:00.003-07:002016-06-24T13:29:14.557-07:00Diggin' up roots.About a month ago, I was fortunate enough to receive some plants from my neighbor, who has a very green thumb. She brought them over and gave me instructions (knowing I'm not the best with plants). "Don't worry, it's impossible to kill these," she said. Sounded good to me. A week passed and my husband was on my heels every day, "Did you get those plants in the ground yet? They're going to die, babe!" "Don't worry," I told him, "Cathy said I could wait a little while to plant as long as I keep the plants in the shade and don't let the roots dry before I plant them." "Well, have you been wetting the roots?" Me: "Ummm...I'm going to do it right now!"<br />
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I knew I had to prove to my husband that I could get those plants in the ground and keep them alive for a while at least. So the Saturday after I received them, I put on my shortest jorts (you know, jean shorts), swimsuit top, rubber boots, Grandma-looking straw hat, gardening gloves and sunscreen, and declared, "Today is the day." With music in full force to give me the energy I needed, I started <br />
digging with a very small gardening tool. Not smart. Apparently there were some TOUGH existing roots that did not want to give way to my new (half dead) plant life. Having no luck finding our shovel, I was able to borrow one from our other neighbors (I know, our neighbors totally take care of us youngins!). The job was a true feat even with the shovel. It was seriously stressing me. As sweat mixed with sunscreen and dirt, it poured into my eyes. I thought to myself, "Some of these roots are so strong and deep but don't serve any purpose. How in the world am I ever going to make room for these new plant roots?" Chop and dig them up. That's how.<br />
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As I continued to chop and dig like a mad woman, it made me realize how much we refer to our "roots" in life. For as long as I can remember, I have been using phrases like, "My roots run deep..." or "I get that trait from my roots." Or maybe...it's because I'm a country bumpkin, and only country bumpkins make comments like that. Whatever the case, I evaluated the term, the way I use it and how I have heard other people use it. I believe I have only heard the term used positively because people use it to show their pride in where they come from or how they grew into the person they are. I think this is commendable, but let's get serious: Are ALL of our deep-running roots ones we are proud of and should carry on?<br />
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Yep, dirty sunscreen sweat pouring into my eyes and other crevices didn't stop my mind from going to town. How often do we develop bad habits and instead of "getting to the root of the problem," we try to just cover with a new habit? Putting a new healthier habit into place is a grand idea, but only if you identify the existing roots, dig them up and give the new plant plenty of room to spread good roots. Roots of life. Roots you desire to keep.<br />
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Learned habits (or roots) are hard to dig up for sure. My parents, who have instilled many strong roots in me that I wish to keep and pass on to our seed (Haha...see what I did there?), have never been the best at being on time. I'm not saying they can't make it anywhere on time, but most know our family is typically running five minutes behind schedule rather than five minutes ahead. As I've grown older, I realize this is a root I want to dig up in my own life. What does this mean for me? Getting rid of the excuses and making a conscious effort to plan more time in my schedule to ensure I am the person who arrives 10 minutes early (so basically tricking myself by setting the clock ahead).<br />
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The struggle is real, peeps. What stubborn roots do you have that are preventing new healthy roots from growing in your own life? Is it that secret stash of candy that's preventing you from staying on your healthy eating kick (Don't get me wrong, I am FOR sweets and secret stashes to hide them. How else do you make the good stuff last? This is only capable, however, if you have enough self discipline to eat one...okay...two pieces at the time. Also, secret candy stashes are why exercising exists, so get your yoga pants on and actually use them for something besides watching TV on the couch!)? Maybe you're a natural-born gossiper, whose joy thrives on digging up other people's dirty roots? If that's the case, get God involved and start digging up those roots pronto because the plant you're growing might be alive, but it's poisonous. I think you get the point here through all my plant analogies. Above all, keep on keepin' on being proud of who you are and where you come from...just don't forget those roots we don't want to share can be conquered. It's not an easy task, but you'll be a better person for it in the end!<br />
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With Love,<br />
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Torie<br />
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(Who was dirty from digging up roots when she wrote this, but delivered the post 10 minutes ahead of schedule!)<br />
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Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-56294670672409673602016-05-13T11:31:00.000-07:002016-05-13T11:36:22.654-07:00Cinco de Mayo: The new Mother's Day.What does a margarita and homemade guacamole have to do with creation? Other than creating a full belly and perhaps a slight headache the following day, nothing. I got a little confused about this as I sat in choir practice last Wednesday night and listened to the choir director's prayer: "...and Dear Lord, please be with us in the upcoming holiday as we celebrate the beauty of life..." Okay, so maybe it didn't go exactly like that, but close enough...it was more than a week ago. Don't think just because my head was bowed and my eyes were closed that there weren't some thoughts stirring under my "big top." It was May 4, and me, mentally prepared for a tasty margarita, guacamole and steak tacos the next day, automatically assumed he was praying for Cinco de Mayo. This short internal conversation took place in my head: "Seriously?!? We are in God's House and this so-called 'leader' of the church is praying for Cinco de Mayo? Well...I do enjoy Cinco de Mayo and have high hopes for my perfectly crafted margarita, but really? And since when is this holiday associated with celebrating life? I guess it is a celebration of winning a battle, but can we really compare this to life and pray for it? Oh wait...hahahahaha...he's referring to Mother's Day. Yep, better get those Hallmarks in the mail before my margarita tomorrow..."<br />
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It was this particular instance that made me think harder about perceptions. A lot of times we all think we are on the same page, and even though someone could be saying something plain as day, we perceive that message based on many different factors. For instance, I had not enjoyed a good margarita in a while and had just gone shopping that morning for my Fiesta feast, so while I was silently criticizing the choir director in my head for being crazy, it turns out I was the one who needed to keep fiesta thoughts in check.<br />
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On my run the next morning, I contemplated other times I have been quick to react (in my head, at least) solely due to how I perceived a message or situation. Many of these instances were sparked by email. I will say that while email is my preferred source of communication because I love to write, Old Soul Torie truly believes in the power of communicating via phone or face-to-face. Why? Email is a real pot stirrer when it comes to communicating because of three reasons: 1) Tone of the conversation is much harder to detect; 2) The tone is determined by someone whose perception may be altered negatively by the very horrible day, week or year they're having; and 3) Due to many different personality styles, someone who is the queen of exclamation points and smiley faces may be reading an email written by the queen of periods (grammatically speaking...Lord, wouldn't it be a curse to be the queen of menstrual periods?!?) and no nonsense. So while I am ashamed to say I have been a repeat offender of the email battle, I am aware and actively working on just picking up the phone before it gets to that point. I challenge you to do the same. Most of the time the conversation ends in a "Ohhhhhh!!! That's what you meant! Sorry, I totally misunderstood where you were going with that one!" And then of course that is followed with heads tilted back, belly chuckles...maybe some knee slapping.<br />
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You know, I thought about adding some more very deep thoughts to this post, but have decided it's grown long enough. And...I need to run some errands. So a few lessons learned before I yell "Yota!" (because that's what cool Toyota drivers do when they peel and squeal out of their quiet neighborhoods to run errands): 1. Mother's Day has not been replaced by Cinco de Mayo, and my choir director is a much better human than me; 2. Email can be a very effective communication tool but can also cause unnecessary human anger explosions if used incorrectly; and 3. Embrace different personality styles and learn how you can best communicate with each individual, not just what suits your preference. Isn't going a little out of our own communication comfort zone totally worth avoiding walking into a war zone?Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-66929963392413702902016-04-27T12:00:00.000-07:002016-04-27T12:00:00.220-07:00Things to be learned from a sweet toothI can't remember a time when I didn't love dessert. Cookies, candy, cakes, chocolate...let's just say I don't discriminate. Actually, it would be more on point to say I incriminate myself with dessert calorie overload at times. Whatever the case, I thought deeper on my need to indulge in dessert today.<br />
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Proud of myself for making a lot of very healthy lunch decisions at a fresh salad and wrap restaurant called Salata, I finished my salad thinking, "Now, I just need one little sweet something to finish out my meal..." I wasn't looking for a chocolate lava cake (but let's be honest, I would've been all over that cake like a fat kid, given the opportunity). I just wanted one little bite of something sweet.<br />
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Taking a bite of an individually wrapped chocolate caramel candy, I felt complete and let out an "Ahhhh" as the delectable chocolate-caramel mixture took effect. Then I started thinking, "Why did that make things so much better?" It's not like I hadn't given my body a full, healthy meal. I wasn't starving. In fact, I could've gotten along with my day just fine if I'd not had anything sweet at my fingertips, but...I felt so much happier.<br />
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Looking back on my relationship with my husband, I'm starting to see how the sweet tooth game applies to marriage, or really any relationship. The other day, we had a long drive together in the truck, and David surprised me when he silently put his hand on mine. It melted my heart. Why? Not because he's a jerk who never does nice, considerate things for me. I actually consider myself pretty lucky that he is such a considerate husband. Although there was no bad blood brewing between us, that simple sweet gesture made that very moment just the right amount of perfect.<br />
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I think we can all find ways within our marriages and friendships to take advantage of our innate sweet tooth. We don't have to indulge others in showy displays of affection (aka the lava cake effect) for this to start working positively. Simple acts like complimenting someone on a special talent they have, verbally acknowledging something nice they've done for you or someone else, or simply by giving them a great big hug or kiss and expressing your thankfulness that they're in your life, have a lot of power. Just remember, dessert is rich. A little bit goes a long way. Ain't life sweet? Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-64526841442349469652016-02-19T21:29:00.000-08:002016-02-21T13:44:45.159-08:00That deer just eyeballed me too long for comfort.I recently had the awesome opportunity to meet up with some old friends in the cattle industry at the National Cattlemen's Beef Association Conference in San Diego. My blog was the last thing I imagined would pop up in conversation, yet someone brought attention to it saying that while he enjoyed all of my posts, he sure did miss my sense of humor...that my recent posts were too serious. He identified my sense of humor as "neat," but I know he just thinks I'm weird and wanted to see what crazy thing I would dare to say next. What can I say? I aim to please my humble crowd of blog admirers, so here ya go, Mr. Jim (yeah, you know who you are!)...<br />
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I'd like to preface this post with the following statement: My sense of humor is odd. If it in any way offends you, I kindly ask you to not read any of my future blog posts. Or...heck, feel free to unfriend me altogether. We probably shouldn't be friends if you don't find me amusing. I don't have a lot else to offer unfortunately (Except I have been told I'm fun to watch dancing...and my husband thinks I'm an excellent lover...but sorry, the latter mentioned skill is reserved for him alone).<br />
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My husband once told me I look mean when I run. Now don't think my husband is mean to me (besides that one time he gave me a black eye and told me to blame it on a gorilla), I'm pretty sure there is some truth to this. Why? Because I'm competitive. When he and I would go for jogs together back in Florida, he would totally outpace me (longer legs = longer stride = more ground covered) and would turn around smiling, running backward about a quarter of a mile ahead of me, just checking to see where I was. If he had been running on a regular basis, this probably wouldn't have bothered me so much, but no, he would come out fresh off the dairy and would blow me out of the water. Not cool.<br />
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I've recently picked back up on my running because I've found it is the one exercise that can lean me up like I want. Unfortunately, I have a two-year commitment to a nice gym in town to which I only attend if it's raining and I can't run outside. Whenever I get in gym mode, you might as well call me a beast. Actually, some Canadian girl my brother dated short term (thank goodness for us all that it was short) called me a beast at one point. Perhaps it was because my brother clued her in to the fact that he's teased me for years about having big traps. Whatever the case, it's true. When I work out with weights, I look like a mini, more feminine (I hope) version of the Hulk (less green...I forgot that part). So yeah, running it is for me.<br />
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Today I went for a four-mile run right around sunset. Weather was beautiful, so I took off to a ritzy neighborhood where the most scared I was bound to be was from a rich family's gardener chasing me off because I looked like a sweaty hobbit (but not a jacked hobbit...because I haven't been lifting weights recently). I was just through the entrance of the neighborhood, when I spotted three bucks. These guys had decent racks (that's not normally paired together, huh?). My first thought was, "Oh, I hope I don't look too feminine right now. They might try to mount me thinking I'm a doe. I am kinda hairy like an animal." Then my husband's words, of how mean I look when I run, popped into my head, and I was relieved. "Oh crap. Sure, I don't have anything to worry about looking feminine right now," I said as I wiped some runner's drool from my face, "but what if they see my muscular traps and think I'm a buck competing for the REAL does?!?" Luckily, my country upbringing reminded me that I have a human scent. I wasn't wearing my deer urine during my run, so I should be considered just another human to these city deer. Run on.<br />
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Next event: I found a running partner. Did he know he was running with me? No. In fact, it was probably a bit creepy for him if he'd known how long I'd been pursuing him (in good old-fashioned running sport, of course...C'mon, my husband can read this if he wants. Do you really think I want to have to use that gorilla excuse with my friends and family next time? I'm pretty sure they won't believe it a second time...). It was funny that not knowing this guy from Adam, he boosted my running spirit halfway through because I felt like I was part of a team. And then I passed him. And I lost my running buddy. Lesson to be learned: sometimes if you get too ambitious, you can quickly lose friends...even if they don't realize they're your friends. Friendship takes time and nurturing to grow.<br />
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Hmmm...and, I ate a couple of bugs on accident (maybe...or maybe I needed an immediate source of protein on mile 3. No need to pass judgement, that's Jesus' job.)<br />
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So the moral of this story is...nothing. Absolutely nothing, but hopefully it made you smile, giggle, LOL or even pee your pants a bit (again, I'm not Jesus, so I can't judge, but please change your pants. You smell grossly of urine at this point.). I guess if we HAD to pull a moral out, it would be...sometimes what you think you seem in your head, is not actually how you represent yourself. For example, I feel empowered when I run. I just know I look like one of those strong, confident women in the Nike's commercials "Just Doin' It!" (you know, scaring city deer, stalking neighborhood runners, eating bugs...), but in fact, I look like an angry thirteen-year-old boy with oversized traps. I'm cool with that as long as I look like a SKINNY thirteen-year-old boy...and the deer don't make any moves on me.<br />
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WORD to your mother. And word to mine. Hello, mom!<br />
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<br />Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-92124303484110629132016-01-25T19:00:00.001-08:002016-01-25T19:00:16.329-08:00Scared brave.Last week, my husband surprised me with tickets to the Texas A&M and LSU basketball game. It was a great time, though I'll have to be honest, one of the highlights of the night wasn't the game itself. The crowd witnessed an Aggie college student win $5,000 making a half-court shot during halftime. Everyone went wild, excited for the luck of this potentially broke college student. I couldn't help but think, "What if he hadn't taken the shot because of fear he would humiliate himself in front of a crowd (the school broke a record that night for basketball game attendance, by the way)?"<br />
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This got me thinking about my own life. Within the last year, I've had several people comment on how brave I am for trying new things, talking to complete strangers, going somewhere like a movie or a meal out by myself. What's funny to me is that I know these people must think I have confidence just oozing out of my ears. It's actually the exact opposite. It's fear that drives my bravery.<br />
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When I was a junior in high school, I remember being in my first "real" boyfriend's truck (first kiss makes him a "real" one, right?) when we were discussing my plans for after graduation. He was a senior, a year ahead of me, and I was always a bit intimidated by that at the time. I told him that upon acceptance, I was planning to attend TROY University, a university in Alabama five and a half hours from my small, very rural Florida hometown. I remember him laughing, telling me I would never go to school so far from home. It wasn't that he didn't think I was smart or that I could afford to go to college in another state, it was that he simply didn't think I had it in me to move so far from home. I would be too scared.<br />
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We broke up not long after. And I'm not ashamed to say I was the one who got the boot. Him soon going to the college about 45 minutes away, and me being in high school still for another year was just "too different." I also think that me having the ability to keep my panties on through that relationship probably didn't help my odds of getting broken up with, too (haha!). I don't have any resentment towards the guy. In fact, I should thank him. His inability to see my inner strength and bravery is partly responsible for the person I have become today. And it also helped me realize not to be anyone but myself in a relationship..."Full Torie" as my mom calls it...because why waste time with someone who doesn't appreciate the real you?<br />
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Back on topic...I went on to TROY University for four of the best years of my life. I made life-long friends and received a great education. Sure, I was scared the first couple of weeks not knowing anyone, but I quickly learned the only way to enjoy my time was to get outside of my comfort zone and kick my own fear's butt. To force bravery on myself.<br />
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To this day, I still have moments when I'm afraid (For the record, I will never trump my fear of mice, snakes, roaches and flying squirrels, and I'm okay with that). Scared I won't be accepted in a group (even at this age of life women can be so dang mean sometimes!), scared my strange sense of humor will bring on an awkward silence when I'm meeting folks for the first time, scared I'll hit a wrong note in choir practice and people will wonder, "Who invited her?" During these times, I reflect back on the friendships I've made and the great experiences I've had simply from "taking the shot" when I knew the outcome could be one not so great. I can't say I've won $5,000, but the people I've met and memories made were well worth my stage fright.<br />
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/NEFfwX-nB3I/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NEFfwX-nB3I?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-12144988197787840462015-03-08T20:30:00.000-07:002015-03-08T20:30:56.052-07:00Parenting tricks learned in a college townIt has been awhile! I apologize for disappearing. Strange and wonderful thoughts I would peg as perfect blog topics have continued to cross my mind over the course of the past two years. I guess somewhere in the process of getting married, starting a new job twice...and becoming a resident of two new states within three years, has kept me occupied. But don't worry, I have a feeling those strange blog-worthy thoughts will never leave me, and I have good intentions of documenting them 'Under the Big Top' more frequently.<div>
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The second move (mentioned above) has led my handsome hubby and me to the great state of Texas. While we did leave some top-notch folks behind in Iowa, we drove away from the icy roads as quickly as we could without slipping off the road. Our move, which has resulted in us living in a small condo for the time being, has provided some awesome blog material. Why? We are now living in the middle of college students again, and our son (cat Mick) and daughter (dog Jess) both live inside our tiny condo with us. </div>
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I began a new job last week, so until then, I stayed at home doing contract work for my former employer. Anyone who knows my need for social interaction would probably wonder how I did not go crazy staying inside all day. The answer: our children. </div>
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Mick and Jess met when David and I were dating. Mick, an only child, was not pleased at a young slobbering dog invading his space. Poor Jess, only wishing to play, got hissed at and swatted with razor paws. That has been a few years ago, so we were hoping our condo (with no yard) would work out for the short term. We have been pleasantly surprised at how well our furry kids are getting along. I have been more surprised by the parenting skills I've learned while being home with the two. I'm quite sure when we make our own less furry children (hopefully they will be less furry...I have a lot of hair), I will be an excellent mother from the observations Mick and Jess have provided. </div>
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<b>Parenting skills brought to you by Mickolas Stink-Butt Hardee-Noellsch and Jess Piglet Noellsch:</b></div>
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<b>1. If you burn food while frying it, your kid WILL jump out the window.</b></div>
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One night I was trying the best I could to be a good Southern wife, and make David one of his favorite side dishes: fried okra. My mother has always done a beautiful job at frying okra, so I knew deep down it must be in my blood. I cut up over a pound of okra knowing I would probably burn most of it. When this thought crossed my mind, I probably should have also thought about the fact that we were living in a tiny condo and the smoke would have nowhere to go. I will say that we ended up having more than enough perfect fried okra to eat after I left the kitchen. I will also say my mascara was running and David's eyes were red because I'd officially smoked us out with the first burned batch. David had a great idea...opening the two windows in the living and kitchen areas. It did cross our minds that one of the windows was where Mick sat fairly often to people watch (the very fine parking lot view) and sunbathe, but we just thought we'd keep an eye on him. An hour or so later, we awoke on the couch to find...or rather not find Mick anywhere. Sure enough, we run downstairs (oh yeah, did I not mention that we are on the second floor?!?) with flashlights, and using my super detective work, I shined the light directly under both open windows and find cat paw tracks. We found him alive with eight lives to spare (maybe seven...we had a scare in Iowa with him eating a couple feet of gift wrapping ribbon) hunkered down under a parked car.</div>
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<b>2. Kids get major props from siblings for doing stupidly courageous things.</b></div>
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In continuing the story from above, Mick was cold, wet and scared when we retrieved him from the parking lot. We dried him off and observed him in the kitchen to make sure he was okay. Scared Mick disappeared, but "Yeah, I'm the cool cat who just took a two-story leap into the parking lot, show me some respect, dawg" Mick was strutting around like a hero. And Jess showed him major respect.</div>
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<b>3. If you leave something tempting on the counter, your kid will get into it.</b></div>
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David recently celebrated his 29th birthday. He loves chocolate and peanut butter, so I just knew he would love a recipe I saw a friend post on Facebook: a chocolate Reese's Peanut Butter cheesecake with a brownie crust. Everything was going well, but the cheesecake portion was still chilling in the fridge when we were ready to go out for David's birthday dinner. We got back home and saw orange wrappers everywhere. Yes, Jess had managed to get 14 Reese's Cups off the counter (to be used for decorating the cake), and had eaten every last one. She received punishment, but I know she'd do it again. Oh yeah...a few days later, orange wrapper evidence showed up in her poo. BUSTED!</div>
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<b>4. If you feed your kid crap, he/she will poop on your floor.</b></div>
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This one is straight forward. David tried to feed Jess cheaper dog food, and she couldn't control her BMs. </div>
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<b>5. Kids are annoyingly persistent.</b></div>
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Maybe he has short-term memory problems, but if a door is open that Mick knows he's not supposed to enter, he will try to enter. He runs out when he sees me...but 10 seconds later, and he's back.</div>
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<b>6. Something kids can't have is always more desirable (that goes for all ages, actually).</b></div>
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Day two of Texas we went to one of David's favorite places: Sam's Club. We decided we needed to get Jess a baller dog bed if we were going to keep her off the furniture. We found one spacious enough even I could fit in (and have actually tried out). It was so comfy! We both agreed there was no way she could resist. Sure enough, the next couple of times we came in the condo we found Jess on the humans' couch. She's gotten better, but I still see paw prints now and then.</div>
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<b>7. Don't rely on an automatic feeder to feed your kids.</b></div>
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Sometimes the batteries go dead and your kid is whining for a legit reason. If they're chunky and need to go on a diet, this is a good option because you don't look like you're starving them on purpose. That was a joke. I repeat: that was a joke.</div>
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<b>THE END</b></div>
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I strangely felt like that was a good one to end on. If there has to be an end, end strong...or making people wonder.</div>
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Well, I thought I wanted to tie in another college-related topic into this post, but I have rambled on long enough. Yep, I haven't changed. But I've learned when I've said to much, and seven paragraphs ago was probably it.</div>
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Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-1110857175205778152013-02-10T19:51:00.001-08:002013-02-10T19:51:09.591-08:00Save a Debbie Downer. Dance like you're on crack.Just last week, I did a crazy thing (okay, so it's really not so crazy for me, but others would probably think I was crazy if they witnessed it). You see, I get strange thrills out of doing outlandish things to make others' days a tad more interesting (and happier, if possible). You know that Walmart cashier who acts like her world is ending by scanning one more can of corn (you're asking why I picked a can of corn, right...out of all the things in a grocery store? Truth is...I don't really know either. Maybe it's because I'm marrying a Midwest boy from the land of corn?). Anyhow, we all know this person. Tell me, what are you doing to give them a little bit of fun for their day?<br />
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Back to last week. So I'm driving down the road and catch a glimpse of young man in his 20's, twirling some sort of "We Buy Gold!" sign. He looked bored out of his mind. I thought about flashing him and really giving him a story to tell his pawn shop friends. Luckily, one of my other personalities told me I needed to use better judgement...that I would probably wreck my truck if I was only driving with one hand (just kidding...of course I have more self respect than that! C'mon, people!). I followed my second instinct to shamelessly flail around like I was smoking crack (I have never smoked crack, but I believe I have a pretty good imitation of someone who does...just ask sometime, I will show you) and throw up some "raise the roof!" signs to him. My new found pawn shop friend's face instantly turned from one of boredom to one of hysteria. His huge smile and laugh, as he watched my truck disappear down the road, made me giggle and instantly made my day happier. I didn't even know this guy and hadn't said a word to him, but we had shared a personal connection that had a positive effect on us both.<br />
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Not much longer after that incidence, the Torie wheels began churning. I know it's not a rocket science thought, but I began to think about how much people thrive on having personal connections with others. Some people, by nature, are more outspoken and quicker to strike up an actual conversation, but we all rely on some kind of human connection to really keep us in a positive frame of mind. Think about the airplane experience. You board the plane and find your seat before your neighbors. In my experience, those neighbors typically consist of two types: the "I just want to sleep...and I'm going to pretend like we aren't sitting less than a foot from each other" type, and the "I want to know all about you, and you're going to know all about me in one hour" type. Sometimes, I am fortunate enough to find a balance of the two types. These people, are the perfect neighbors...friendly enough, yet observant enough to realize you are yawning and it is a 6 a.m. flight. However, I find that even when I was hoping for sleep...or at least some reading time...God places some stranger next to me, and I leave the plane a better person than when I boarded. Well, saying a "better person" might not be the thought I'm aiming for. I walk away with different perspectives, making me a more understanding person of others and why they act/react as they do.<br />
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To capture the thought of the paragraph above, let me explain a recent flight experience I was fortunate enough to have. I boarded the plane, and a man probably in his mid 40's motioned that he was the window seat. I took him for the "sleeping" neighbor, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Not long after we buckled in, he began talking to me. It didn't take but one sentence before I realized he had a severe stuttering problem. I tried to act as normal as possible, patiently waiting for him to finish his thoughts. Initially, I thought maybe he had a mental illness, but I soon realized I didn't know what his stuttering was a result of, but this cat was a sharp dude. He was a retired child and family psychologist, and had some very deep questions to ask and thoughts to share (perhaps I was being analyzed right where I sat, the joke was on me...either way, it was a free therapy session). After we went our separate ways, I thought about how brave my window seat buddy was. If I had a stutter that bad, would I pretend like I was asleep on every flight to hide my embarrassment? Harold didn't. Maybe, he was never embarrassed of it...or maybe, his need for a personal connection finally told his embarrassment to take a hike. Whatever it was, I felt blessed to have sat beside and learned from such a remarkable human being. His triumphs reminded me of simple blessings I take for granted everyday.<br />
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While my friend Harold opted for the personal experience, there are many people who act withdrawn for one reason or another. They wear a frown all the time, and take the attitude that they don't need anyone for anything. I'm calling BS. I've had positive exchanges with these types of people, and have actually been able to evoke a smile out of them. You can approach these people two ways: A. they're miserable souls and you don't want anything to do with them, or B. maybe they've had something horrible happen in their lives, and they're trying to bounce back from it. Maybe, just maybe, through a simple smile and light conversation, you could be the light they see at the end of some dark tunnel.<br />
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With that, I challenge you to take the "Torie Challenge": do something fun/crazy/uplifting, and make an effort to brighten someone's day if you see them down and out. Dancing in your vehicle like you're on crack may just be one of those things that works for me, but feel free to give it a try! You may not always get the huge grin you're looking for, but I guarantee the personal connection will be rewarding for both you and Debbie Downer.<br />
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Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-21351131520776985292012-08-19T12:45:00.000-07:002012-08-19T12:45:19.656-07:00The man of my dreams.Wow. I looked back at my last post dated at the end of March, and couldn't believe I'd let so much time elapse without writing a post. This was especially shocking since so much has changed in my life, and also because many of you have harassed...some threatened...me to write more. Yeah, the very end of that last sentence was a lie. :-)<br />
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Anyhow, let me catch you up to speed. I'll try to do this quickly, as the main reason I was dying to write a new post today has nothing to do with this paragraph. In February, I resigned from my job working in Ag marketing for Farm Credit and began a new career with Alliance Grazing Group (Alliance Dairies). I'm now working as project manager and marketer ( and future cheesemaker) of Alliance Grazing Group's up and coming artisan cheese business. This move in my life was totally unexpected, but my innate excitement at the opportunity proved to me that this was God's plan for my life. This was further confirmed when I met a handsome, yet smelly (he only smelled at the time because he was hard at work!), young man during one of my tours of the grazing dairies. This young man (still handsome and smells very nice when not hard at work) is now my boyfriend. Was it coincidence that my new job lead me to meeting David...AT A DAIRY? I think not.<br />
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Now that I've concluded that last paragraph, I realize that it has everything to do with this whole post. "What's that?" you ask. It's having complete faith in God and recognizing that as much as you want to go your own way sometimes, He always knows best and will provide if you follow. Luckily for my stubborn lil' booty, my eyes have been opened.<br />
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Several weeks ago, my dad, mom, grandma and I came before the church we've been going to for several years to become members. My dad and I, having been Methodist most our lives, had to be baptized for this to happen. We decided last week that we would be baptized in church today.<br />
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Knowing the symbolism behind the action of baptism made this a very exciting and emotional day for me, but it was what happened last night in my sleep that really made this an emotional and meaningful day. Somewhat anxious that I would miss my alarm (I had to get to church earlier than usual and still had a 45 minute drive to get there), I woke up several times to check my clock. It was sometime in between those breaks that I had this dream...<br />
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It felt like it was real. Everything was present day. I knew it was Sunday and I needed to get to church. I was dressed in my Sunday best only to get to church and realize I'd forgotten I was supposed to bring clothes to wear under the gown for my baptism. I freaked out and made an emergency trip to...you guessed it...the Super Wal-Mart. I ended up buying something and tried it on at my Granny's house, and of course, it didn't fit. I began searching my grandma's house looking for an old work shirt and some type of shorts. I found nothing. Defeated, I walked into Granny's living room and was about in tears. That's when my grandpa "Papa" entered the room and looked at me. I was frozen in disbelief knowing Papa had passed away more than 10 years ago. He gave me a big grin like he used to do, but didn't speak because, just as I remembered him in my early high school years and his last years of life, he suffered from a major stroke he'd had many years before. He couldn't speak back then, but you could feel in his eyes and through his facial expressions that he understood what was happening. Sometimes he would grunt or make gestures, but as frustrating as it was for him, he was not able to verbalize his thoughts. I smiled back and asked him a question. He answered me plain as day.<br />
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I awoke in tears trying to separate reality from my dreams. It seemed so real, and the only thing that was out of the ordinary from present day was my Papa, who had found his voice again. He was as he'd been born. He was whole. <br />
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Many people claim to have had near-God encounters. While, I've felt the presence of God on a beautiful day in nature or through special moments with my family, I've never felt anything like this. Some may say this was just my brain's imagination making up things in my head, but I cannot discredit the closeness I felt to my grandpa and, through him, the closeness I felt to God.<br />
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I'm known by many of you as an amusing person and blogger, so I hope you got some chuckles from the first couple of paragraphs of this post. I know the remainder was certainly not a laugh fest. And...if you thought it was...shame on you. :-) I'll do my best to work on a comedic topic for the next post. Until then...take care! <br />
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Torie<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGw3afiKWTRtLHRi2S81f_bWC_3USS3kT_1gcmJKsyRbkTU2hYXjEfSHzZ5agBCga1lOAZveg_M3orNDAWa1m2v6bVsZBzmsNmW6TqO9apsmP91zm1Zo4Vi3fQkIOxigOJbm3ecyZVAQ/s1600/Tor's+baptism+rainbow+pic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGw3afiKWTRtLHRi2S81f_bWC_3USS3kT_1gcmJKsyRbkTU2hYXjEfSHzZ5agBCga1lOAZveg_M3orNDAWa1m2v6bVsZBzmsNmW6TqO9apsmP91zm1Zo4Vi3fQkIOxigOJbm3ecyZVAQ/s320/Tor's+baptism+rainbow+pic.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture of a rainbow David sent me this morning with text: "Sign of good things today!" He was right on target!</td></tr>
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P.S.- I posted something on Facebook this morning about my upcoming baptism, and was overwhelmed by the "likes" and responses I received. It's good to know the community of believers is alive and well!Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-26509498871369432402012-03-27T21:03:00.000-07:002012-03-27T21:03:31.855-07:00Eating for a future of two.When I first began toying with the idea of having my own blog, my biggest fear was not having enough material to write about. I mean, what would happen if I got through three posts, and then realized I was a cow who'd dried up...run out of the good stuff? To solve this, I invested in a small notebook that would fit in my purse, and I always kept it with me to jot down funny things I thought, witnessed or experienced firsthand. After about 22 thoughts were recorded, I decided I was safe to invest my time in creating a blog. Tor's Circus was born.<br />
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Now, I look back and I find it funny that I ever had this fear of running out of material. Anyone who knows me, knows I am rarely caught speechless (any men who have caused this to happen have been truly impressed with themselves...as they should've been). My mind is always churning, and the situations in which I find myself usually evoke a decent story. As is life. Isn't that where the best comedians find jokes for their acts? Life? Sure, sometimes someone will crack me up with an absurd scenario I know will never occur, but it's usually the jokes I can relate to..."Yeah, I know exactly the person she's talking about..." that are the most hilarious.<br />
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The reason behind that whole last paragraph: life has dealt me so many funny stories and thoughts since I bought that notebook, that I haven't even used up all the ideas I initially recorded. Who's ready for throwback night? I came across one of my recorded thoughts, and it struck an interest in me again because it's something I've been around a lot lately...pregnant women.<br />
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The recording in my notebook was from a time when I recalled seeing one of my friend's pictures on Facebook. She had an entire album dedicated to her pregnancy growth. There was a shot of her almost every week, revealing how much bigger the bump had become. Now, don't get me wrong...I'm not knocking my friend. I think it's very sweet, and it's crazy amazing how much a woman's body will change for that little person growing inside her. However, having never experienced this before, I'll admit it made me laugh.<br />
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Now that all you pregnant...or once pregnant...women think I am the most horrible person ever, please let me explain myself. Seeing these pictures reminded me of how my figure can change drastically, but it's usually the effects of a very large meal. Wouldn't it be hilarious if I started a photo album dedicated to my meals? Pictures of my belly hanging over my pants with captions kinda like this..."Brazilian Steakhouse: three pounds gained...fried cheesecake with two scoops of frozen heaven: pack on another two pounds." The thought of this made me hysterical. I may do it someday, but right now the thought of my mother killing me from embarrassment outweighs the hilariousness. You're welcome, mom.<br />
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Baby showers. I've been to a lot of them lately. Okay, just two. But...they were within two weeks of each other, so with the Target gift registry, it sure seemed like a lot of baby going 'round. Shopping for baby showers...do you really want to get me started? One would think it would be so simple with the very helpful gift registries available nowadays. Wrong. Both times it took me at least an hour to leave with three or four items. I teased one of my friends at her shower and told her I did what any single, non-parent friend would do: I went straight to the toy aisle. She and I both knew this wasn't a joke. That's exactly where I went first. Who wants to buy diapers or miniature nail clippers? I'm not responsible for a child yet, so until that day comes, I will still be the friend buying the fun stuff the baby could probably forgo.<br />
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Baby shower bonus: food. Where there are pregnant women, there will be good food (although sometimes the combos might be weird because of strange cravings. Luckily, those throwing the shower know not every guest will be pregnant and craving dill pickles, leftover milk from Cheerios, hot wings...). I was waiting in the food line at the last shower I attended and was talking to a soon-to-be mother (not the baby mama of honor). She mentioned something about eating for two, and it made me feel a little left out. And then it made me angry. What if I never get a chance to have kids? Is it fair that these women get to pig out "for two" while I stand by and eat for one? No way! I grabbed three desserts instead of one, and told myself I was eating for future possibilities. The anger subsided and a sugar coma crept in to fill the void.<br />
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That's pretty much all I've got for this post. Plus, I know pregnant women are hormonal, so I'd like to stop this before I get any hate Facebook messages, or one of them makes me watch a Baby Einstein video. I really do think pregnancy is a beautiful thing (unless you get those 4-D pictures taken of the baby...those things are downright creepy, in my opinion) and am very excited for all my recently new mommy friends...or soon-to-be baby mamas. I'm sure at one point, before the times of baby fever set in, you were just like me...trying to understand why you were frowned upon if you took more than one piece of cake, right?<br />
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Happy Lamaze class to you ladies. Thanks for sharing these ideas for my blog post, and thanks for sharing your baby shower food for my ambitious future.<br />
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<br />Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-34993092721853505102012-03-20T21:13:00.000-07:002012-03-20T21:31:34.596-07:00Music: The song of my life.Hello. My name is Torie, and I have an addiction called music. I allow it to take over my body, mind and soul pretty much whenever it wishes. It can take me to a crazy high or a depressing low. With music, I have no self control.<br />
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Yeah, so maybe it's not an addiction (like my apparent addiction to stay up late and type these insane blog posts...by the way, sorry it's been so long...missed y'all!), but it is a huge aspect of my life. I always knew how much I loved music, but didn't realize the control it had over my mind until tonight.<br />
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I attended a TRX class (it involves weight resistance with straps hanging from the ceiling...look it up) at my gym, in attempts to take my personal workout goals to the next level. It worked. I thought I was going to puke and maybe die. Whatever the case, it was intense, but my abs and arms are much tighter for it. And...I already hurt. I hopped on the treadmill to slow my heart rate...aka-stop my panting. I got lost in the music coming from my iPod, and soon found myself playing air drums and guitar, and even mouthing the words to the song. My realization of this soon lead me to grinning ear-to-ear, just because I now know the secret everyone else knows: I am, in fact, a hopeless moron. It's okay, I've accepted it and am prepared to live my life with this social disorder.<br />
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When I was finally able to stop grinning, I looked around and realized that all of the people working out looked like they fit into the beat of my song perfectly (no, I am not on pain killers right now...and wasn't then). It's like those commercials where they show a neighborhood, and all the sudden all these conflicting city sounds come together to harmonize beautifully. Unfortunately, not everyone in my mental gym music video was beautiful...but hey, they're in the gym. They're obviously trying to do something about it. That was a joke. I'm sure they are beautiful in their own ways.<br />
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Then another thought hit me. Luckily, I don't mean literally, because it was quite an impressive thought. Had it literally hit me, I would've gone flying off the treadmill and into the full length gym mirror like that first vampire movie. Don't play. You girls (and some guys) know exactly what I'm talking about..."Bella! Bella!"<br />
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Okay, so about this impressive thought that figuratively hit me. You know how flash mobs are all the craze these days? None of this would ever happen without someone's buy in. Someone has to start with this crazy idea...set the time, place, music, dance moves...and this amazing thing comes to life. I'm sure it took one out-of-the-box person to figure this out and say, "What the heck! It may be crazy, but let's see what happens..." I mean surely that initial person knew if no one bought in, he or she would look like a total idiot. But, he or she was prepared to take that risk, and creativity and imagination came to life.<br />
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After this profound thought, I pondered about starting my own gym flash mob. I mean heck, I already have the air drums and guitar in place. My decision: some things are much more fun to leave in my head. I really believe that secret smile gives me the "mysterious girl" look. Or...maybe, just maybe, someone thought the nasty gas the guy on the treadmill beside me passed (if you don't understand this, read the earlier posts) really belonged to me.<br />
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Moral of the story: great ideas are born from people who aren't afraid of stepping forward and looking like a complete idiot sometimes. Get caught red handed for birthing a genius idea, not for passing gas.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpn5Md0a1E_ociGsRAMYFK7Huf2_o2fCV4KwmnhyphenhyphenRd-OGRoHjHGk5WDO-ZuK5ZcNmIhWlJGh32zY0kBNgV9aRP_NPFT6tHYfp4tS7jJ1xzGV3l0nTILFu-xZ3m80JsbP88ABZVMIi5zg/s1600/Halloween+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpn5Md0a1E_ociGsRAMYFK7Huf2_o2fCV4KwmnhyphenhyphenRd-OGRoHjHGk5WDO-ZuK5ZcNmIhWlJGh32zY0kBNgV9aRP_NPFT6tHYfp4tS7jJ1xzGV3l0nTILFu-xZ3m80JsbP88ABZVMIi5zg/s400/Halloween+2011.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I think outside of the box. And dressed to go to work in on Halloween last year.</td></tr>
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<br />Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-39933381951658885232012-01-18T19:22:00.000-08:002012-01-18T19:22:09.391-08:00"What? I'm not giving you the stinkeye. I'm trying to give you the pinkeye."I would like to preface the message in this post by saying that I should really be finalizing the edits to my company's business plan right now. However, even though it's sitting on the couch right beside me, I was inspired to write today. I feel that's what true writers do. They get inspired, a stirring in the soul, and they can't rest until their message gets out. So, here I am...with nothing of much importance to tell you. It won't save your life in a time of crisis, but it might save me from going crazy if I can get it out for you to read.<br />
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Also, I was supposed to call one of my best friends today to chat. Friend, if you are reading this, I apologize. We will chat tomorrow...and that is why you are one of the best: you understand my absurd need to communicate my crazy little inspirations. Thanks!<br />
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In a movie entitled "Juno", one of the scenes shows a display of jealousy between two high school girls pining after the same guy. "Tell your lil' girlfriend to stop giving me the stinkeye," the girl Juno says. "She wasn't giving you the stinkeye...that's just the way she looks," replied the guy. This particular part in the movie is one of my favorites because "stinkeye girl" turns around and she looks just like I remembered looking nearly five years ago when I suffered from a terrible case of pinkeye.<br />
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Ahhh...pinkeye. Have you ever had it? If not, you should never experience it. Pinkeye is one of those illnesses that is miserable (a really bad case of it, anyhow), but in my opinion, a funny story is usually gained. Why? You look funny during it, sometimes you can't see, and even after it's gone you usually don't want to risk contaminating your eye makeup (this applies to women...and others), so you force yourself to go all nat-u-ral. By the way, men are such liars when they say women are more beautiful without makeup. Or...that's what I've always thought, but maybe there is some truth to that statement...<br />
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I woke up with a mild case of pinkeye yesterday morning, went in for half a day of work and managed a whole day of work today (sans eye makeup...day numero dos!). I went to Publix to pick up a sub for a late lunch. I decided 2 p.m. or so would be an attractive time (not for me personally...I was a walking disaster all day). I mean, really, who but retired people and stay-at-home moms are at Publix at 2 p.m.? I got my sub with great service and a smile (Publix does top my list as one of my favorite places to go in town. This may seem weird, but the people are friendly and helpful, the store is well organized and I always make at least two new friends), picked up Fontina cheese (my sister turned this girl into a class act, that's right!) and crackers, and headed to check out. A decent looking bag boy was insistent on carrying my two grocery bags out for me. I was thinking to myself, "Dear goodness, fella! You gotta get a new shift with the good times. I look like Quasimodo (without the hump), and here you are trying to take a stroll with me! Weird." I left the store somewhat amused, somewhat confused and very impressed with myself. "Maybe if I just think pretty..."<br />
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Luckily, this case of pinkeye wasn't nearly as bad as some I've experienced. Those are the REALLY good stories. For instance, the worst I can remember came about the last week prior to my college graduation. Good thing for me, all I really had to do at that point was find a graduation dress (that no one really even saw) and live it up with my buddies. I remember waking up one morning, and BAM! Pinkeye hit before I even knew what was happening. Before I knew it, both eyes were infected, and I looked like a baby cat (the overfed, fluffy kind). To my advantage, I was not at the trailer alone... <br />
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I had two other roommates (we lived in a trailer our last year...yes, I claim being South Alabama Trailer Trash...and will admit it was one of the greatest years of my life). Both roommates (at the time) were finishing up classes, so I was fortunate the friend we had moving into my room immediately after graduation was already in the trailer and in transition mode to getting her stuff squared away. This meant I was parked on one couch the final week of my college career, and she was on the other (because she didn't have the motivation to actually get things arranged...she had the whole summer for that).<br />
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The "new roommate" Marion and I, to this day, joke about our setup in the living room that one week we were roommates. I'm all about being personable, so instead of packing all my photos away, I kept a few frames out and adorned my desk (sitting beside the door, ready to hit the road) with them. Marion did the same. It was really quite homey.<br />
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What I appreciated most about Marion's presence was her ability to be my "guide dog", per say, during my most terrible case of pinkeye. For the record: Marion is a very attractive girl, so please don't take my "guide dog" comment to mean I'm bringing her looks into this comparison. <br />
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Anyhow, back on subject, my pinkeye was just starting to get really bad, and luckily, Marion didn't really feel like doing much that week other than watching "Everyone Loves Raymond" reruns. I remember waking up on the couch one morning, and not being able to open my eyes. Either of them. They were stuck. I began wailing like a dying zoo animal (not sure what kind, but I would guess a more exotic breed). "I can't see! I can't seeee!!!" I thought I was saying to myself. Then there was a burst of laughter and a, "Torie, I'm right here." She brought me wet washcloths to pry my eyes open, and even when I couldn't open them, she was right there on the couch beside me, explaining what Ray Romano was doing during the episode (whichever episode it was). I will never forget the faithful friendship...and now look back and laugh. Thank you, Marion, for laughing and (literally) leading me back to healthy sight.<br />
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Now, I live alone, and I pray to the good Lord that I don't get attacked with another case of pinkeye like college days past. My fish can't do anything to help, and I'm pretty sure my cat Mick would take advantage of my handicap by tripping me. If you are a personal friend and like to watch "Everyone Loves Raymond" reruns, give me a call or hit me up on Facebook. I'd like to be proactive in case this deal goes bad.Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-1550975736352885422012-01-02T19:42:00.000-08:002012-01-02T19:42:55.942-08:00The sweaty brunette's guide to picking up men at the gym.Ahhh...2012...a new year. As New Year's Eve approached a few days ago, a minor amount of depression set in. What had I accomplished in the past year that was great and significant? I found myself focusing on the negatives: I still hadn't forced myself to learn Espanol via the Rosetta Stone; I hadn't run a marathon like I promised myself; I hadn't made astounding progress at work; and I was single another year, reminding me not only that I would spend New Year's Eve without a midnight kiss, but also that I had once again failed at a romantic relationship in 2011.<br />
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Luckily, pensive Torie came to the rescue with some positive thoughts. What had I accomplished in 2011? Well, I had a new blog that seemed to make people laugh (whether is was with me or at me) and make my mom cry; I welcomed a dog-cat into my family of three (me and my two fish Jeeter and Clio), and managed to keep him alive and liking me; and I somehow fit into the same clothes I did last year (although they're a little bit snug after the holiday feasts).<br />
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Health: there's a biggie (no pun intended...haha...but seriously, I'm cracking myself up with that one). Why does health and losing weight always land the nation's top three New Year's resolutions? Maybe it's because America's idea of "more for your money" is making us all obese. Maybe it's because we enjoy feeling good about ourselves and know good health is where that "natural feel good" is at (hippies are completely at liberty to disagree with that statement). Or...maybe it's because the New Year strategically lands right after Thanksgiving and Christmas, and right before bikini and sundress season. I take back the last bit of that last sentence...this year I was wearing shorts on Christmas, and am pretty sure it was warm enough to go swimming a couple days ago. Anyhow, you get what I'm saying.<br />
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Whatever the case for weight loss topping the charts, I've developed some thoughts on health and working out. And...so I can say I did something productive when the end of 2012 comes around, please say my first blog post of the year made a significant impact on your life. Or...at least made you laugh.<br />
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Although I'm very much a runner, I joined a gym when I first began working after college to (attempt to) keep things tight. The gym is also good for other things like scoping out men and laughing (not necessarily together...but sometimes it happens). Why do I say "scoping" instead of "picking up" men? Because...c'mon, let's get serious, the only girls who pick up men at the gym are the blondes who don't sweat. If I didn't sweat at the gym, I would not be truly working out, therefore, I would not have been able to fit in the same clothes this year. For this reason, I am totally cool with the fact that I only "scoped" at the gym again this year.<br />
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Actually, I almost did pick up a man at the gym once...with my truck. I was jamming (as usual) to the radio, pulling into the gym, and almost hit this guy in the parking lot. I saw him at a machine later inside, and gave him the wave and nod. He removed one earbud, and I said, "Sooo...I wasn't trying to run over you in the parking lot. Close call, but glad you're okay." That must've been the trick because he introduced himself and then just happened to be working out where I was 30 minutes later and started a 30 minute conversation. Turns out he was the type of guy who wore long hair and high socks to the gym (guess he was a modest man, and was trying to ensure he was covered). Lesson learned: I can pick up guys at the gym. I just need to start trying to run over the cute ones.<br />
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Long before the thought of scoring dates at the gym occurred to me, I had just moved to town and was looking for ways to meet cool people, make new friends. Why not the gym? I quickly decided the gym was just to workout, after this jerk broke my "gym friendship" spirit. He was in front of me at the water fountain, filling up his water bottle. He looked like a friendly guy, so I decided I would make a friend. "Geezzz, you gonna fill up that entire bottle?" I asked him jokingly (or what I thought was jokingly). He got this scared look on his face, and backed away apologizing. I laughed and said I was kidding, but it didn't help the matter. Through trial and error, I've come to accept that my style of joking can be rather abrupt, and people aren't sure if they should laugh or run. I would say 99.9% of the time you should laugh.<br />
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Other things you need to know if you're about to immerse yourself in the land of hot bods: how to react if your treadmill neighbor lets out a really horrid fart; how to properly communicate with others when your iPod is on full blast; and how to gracefully fall off an ab crunch ball.<br />
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Horrid farts. Wow, let me tell you...this one is a doozie. It's bad enough when you accidentally let one slip, but it's almost just as horrible when your neighbor does. Why? Well, when this happened to me, I was confused at what reaction to take. Naturally, I was about to gag because it smelled so bad. Then, I wanted to laugh because...well, c'mon, someone just let one rip on the treadmill. While I was doing my best to hold my giggles in, it occurred to me that no one was certain "who done it", so if I looked like it was my personal joke, they would choose me (the brunette, who was sweating really bad) to blame it on. How did I resolve this? I ended my expression with one that was a mixture of horrified and disgusted. With that said, if you can avoid the earlier stages, I believe the disgusted look is the best one to take.<br />
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iPod communication. This is critical. It took me awhile to realize exactly how loud I was speaking when I said hello to a friend (these were all friends I met outside of the gym...we've already established making friends at the gym is impossible for me), while leaving my earbuds in. One day I witnessed a guy singing a rock song really loud, and decided I best take precaution with my gym communication. People will give you the stink eye really quickly ("stink eye" in this case doesn't...but could...refer to the previous paragraph) for things of this nature. Sometimes, though, you just can't help it. For instance, one day I was doing box jumps and ran out of breath and felt myself making this absurd grunt noise. Luckily, only guys with long hair and tall socks were around, so it didn't embarass me too terribly bad. Just be careful...they can hear what you can't.<br />
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Regarding the "gracefully falling off an ab crunch ball"...there's no way to do it. I've done it at least three times (with an audience two of three times), and it's never looked like I meant to do it..like some cool trick I was practicing for the circus. Laugh it off and take a bow. Falling is okay at the gym. Farting is not.<br />
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Now, go forth into the gym world and achieve those buns of steel! And...if you learn how to make friends and/or pick up a good-looking man (while still maintaining a high enough heart rate to burn calories), while you're there, please give me a call with this insight.Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-54320174708928604172011-12-15T21:48:00.000-08:002011-12-15T21:48:42.176-08:00How to use small children as football targets. And...giving your uterus a chance.Hello! I would first like to say (or secondly, I guess "Hello" was first) I am SO sorry I've been such a blogging slacker (try making someone feel bad by calling them that name!). With the holidays in full swing and staying busy at work, I haven't had much time to sit down for a post worthy of your time. I also promised the next post would be humorous because I got all sentimental in the last couple. Don't worry...I've got plenty of material to entertain you this go 'round...<br />
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Let's start with some funny things that happened back on ol' Turkey Day. Every year, my immediate family and some of our extended family meet up in the woods for a potluck-type Thanksgiving. This is by far one of my favorite holidays because hardly anyone gets cell phone service, so we're able to relax in lawn chairs (after stuffing ourselves sassy) and truly enjoy each other's company. This year, I dressed like a pilgrim to really make the experience authentic. Did you buy that last sentence? Hope not...it was a lie.<br />
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Back to more truths...so, usually someone will bring a football or baseball (something for us to do to make ourselves feel less guilty about the thousands of calories we've put away) to play with between feedings. Football was determined the physical fitness activity for Turkey Day 2011. A handful of us were throwing the football, including my distant cousin's little boy, who is somewhere around four...I think. I love kids (when they're not screaming or whining...or biting...or throwing up...), so I was making sure Toby was included in the fun. He was catching the underhand tosses pretty well, so I decided it was time to graduate him to the overhand throw. BIG mistake. After I pegged him in the head with a fairly decent spiral, he became the crying child. After this, I decided maybe it would be best if I skipped the whole kids thing. I mean, mine would obviously wind up in the hospital all the time from me trying to improve their skills. I call that love, but I'm pretty sure child services might have another name for it.<br />
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Concerning the kids chapter of this novel of a post...all it took was some time in Target's toy aisle for me to realize that maybe parenting would be more fun than I thought, and maybe I should give my uterus a chance to show me what it could do one day. <br />
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Our gym was holding a Toys for Tots drive, so I decided I would get in the giving Christmas spirit and pick up a toy or two. As soon as I stepped foot in the first aisle, it was like I was five all over again. I remembered the days when I wanted every last Barbie and baby doll on the shelf. I really am clueless how Santa always picked exactly what I wanted because I'm pretty sure they all made it to "Tor's Top 50".<br />
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Three toys (I finally parted ways with Mr. Potato Head) and a good $45 later, I was set with true Christmas cheer in my heart. I thought about who would get each gift and the fact that it may be his or her only present this year. This made me feel rather guilty as I thought back on how huge Christmas was when I was younger. It was such a big deal that I would literally go into convulsions on Christmas Eve. Okay...you called me on it...that's a lie, too. Is it bad to lie if you tell the truth immediately after? Don't answer that, it will kill my jokes.<br />
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While guilt flooded part of my mind when I thought about how fortunate I'd been as a kid, the idea that I still get lots of goodies also took root in my brain. I know this sounds bad, and I do understand the true meaning of Christmas is the birth of Jesus Christ, but I like a good surprise as much as the next person. I'm telling you this because I'm in my mid twenties (also have a sister creeping up on 30 and brother, who is 22) and still get just as good a loot as I used to! It might have something to do with the fact that my parents had my youngest brother when I was 15, but I also attribute it to the fact that none of us are married or have kids. My brain started churning on this one: if I can stay single the rest of my life, I can always be the kid on Christmas! <br />
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Now you see I'm back at square 55...which is: do I stay lonely and be the kid at Christmas (looking through stockings with my future nieces and nephews), or do I grow up and enjoy that feeling I get in my heart when I see a kid excitedly opening a present (the same feeling I got while shopping for the perfect three presents)? I guess perspectives of fun all change as we get older. Maybe I'll give my reproductive organs a shot.<br />
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PLEASE NOTE- Do not be under the impression that this post means I'm currently seeking sperm. I'm not. This was all meant for future tense purposes. So...please do not tell my family (specifically my mother) my favorite pastime is gettin' pregnant. It's not...and that is not a lie.<br />
<br />Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-35669352263755465202011-11-06T16:04:00.000-08:002011-11-07T19:06:09.526-08:00Balance:The ongoing battle of sky versus weeds.As I told someone yesterday, "I never know what's going to happen when I leave the house." This statement holds truth for everyone because life is unpredictable. We never know what accidents or gold mines we might come across in one day's adventure. However, when I said it, I meant that I wasn't a planner. My spur-of-the-moment decisions usually lead to some very interesting stories with some very interesting characters.<br />
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The cold I began developing last week has continued to get worse, and I feel like spending all day out of the house yesterday (tailgating, going to the game, shopping, then hanging out with friends again) was probably not the best idea I've contributed to my recovery game plan. Luckily, I had today to sleep until noon (yep, played hooky from church). After treating myself to breakfast/lunch/dinner around 3 p.m., I decided I needed fresh air and some exercise. I began driving with the windows rolled down, looking for open spaces.<br />
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I recalled a state park I'd never explored before, but pass all the time, and decided to give it a go. I set out a little nervous. I do things by myself all the time, but a small woman on a nature trail armed only with keys, a cell phone and a lot of spunk probably would not have stopped a wild horse or human attack. Thoughts of snakes, bison (there are actually bison in this park) and vampires (this is debatable) clouded my brain. The weather was gorgeous, but I couldn't stop my mind from spinning in the direction of scary thoughts. I kept my eyes on the ground checking for things possible of biting me. When I finally looked toward the sky, I saw the tops of the old Oak trees with Spanish moss looking like God might have strategically hung it there himself. This instantly calmed me, and I was able to enjoy the rest of my walk (until nature called, and I pranced around the woods trying to find a discreet place to pop a squat).<br />
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With all this time to breathe, physically and mentally, I began to consider how similar life is to a walk in the woods. We are all brought into this world fresh, unassuming creatures. Why do we dream so big, and why are we fearless when we're kids? Because we've yet to experience the fears and disappointments in the world, so we keep our heads in the clouds without a care. As we experience those fears and disappointments, we focus on the "weeds", so scared to dream big because something or someone might drag us down in the process.<br />
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I began analyzing my own life, and thinking about how much of my time is spent among the clouds. Contrary to what most of you (who know me) may think, I actually spend more of my time in the weeds, worried about different aspects of my life. I came to realize we all have to let go at some point. While it's not practical to have your head in the clouds all the time, we all need more balance in our lives. If we lose that balance, the weeds will overtake us.<br />
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I went on a running date a few months ago (this does not mean I ran from him...we were simply going for a jog) with a guy I'd met a week prior. This guy was extremely nice and a perfect gentleman, but he worried about everything. During our time together that day, he said he constantly worried and second guessed his decisions because he knew there were always ways to improve everything he did. He was a coach, so I could see where this was coming from. However, I reminded him if he lived his life in worry, always second guessing himself, he would never be able to appreciate life and the gifts in it. He would wake up an old man one day, and would regret not living in the moment, enjoying the imperfections.<br />
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Wake up tomorrow and look at the sky. The weeds/responsibilities will always be there, but time won't. Appreciate the things that are bigger than us all, and make sure those you care about know it. <br />
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Sorry this hasn't been as light hearted and amusing as my other posts. I'm having a reflective "Sentimental Sunday". I promise to make you laugh in the next one, so stay tuned. If that's not enough to keep you, below is a picture of me from a zip line trip in Costa Rica a few years ago. I'm revealing it at my own expense for your personal enjoyment.</div>
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<br />Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-17582135397119119962011-10-23T20:22:00.000-07:002011-10-23T20:22:37.126-07:00Forever love...and Granny's new man.One of my favorite things to do is go to church with my family. It's all about God, but there's just this certain feeling about going back to your hometown and having those you love sitting right beside you. One of my favorite people is always there waiting on the rest of the family: my grandma.<br />
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Granny is a sweet little Southern lady, and never fails, she is always sitting the second row from the back in our lil' Baptist Church. If she's not there, we quickly leave to find her because we know something is wrong. However, she is usually there expecting the rest of us to be late. Because I live out of town, she's never positive when I'll make an appearance. It always gives me the best feeling when I slide in the pew beside her, and she gets that surprised look on her face and gives me a huge hug. Nothing beats it.<br />
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About a month ago, I was sitting in the second to last pew beside Granny and the rest of the family, when I looked down and noticed something: my grandma was still wearing her wedding ring. My Granny and Papa were happily married for more than 50 years. Unfortunately, he suffered a bad stroke in his seventies and passed away about 11 years ago. My grandma, who is now in her early 80s, is still very much self sufficient. She's slowed down some, but still gets around really well.<br />
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Seeing her wedding ring reminded me of hearing her tell someone (after Papa had passed), "I'll never marry again. He was the only one for me." Thinking about this almost brought tears to my eyes. Not sure if it was the overwhelming emotion of missing my grandpa, the fact that I've yet to find that significant other, or maybe just the deep respect I felt for my grandma for having that one love and standing true to it, even if it meant living out the rest of her years a little lonesome from time to time.<br />
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I understand that bad things happen to good people sometimes. And...I don't look down on anyone who's been married more than once. Sometimes, it just doesn't work. However, I hope (if I ever do get married) to follow in my grandma's footsteps. To know that even if my husband does pass before me, that I was satisfied enough with the "forever love" we had, to live out the rest of my life happy.<br />
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With the above said, I slipped into the pew this morning beside my Granny and got a huge hug again. We were finishing up the last hymn when Granny motioned toward the door, asking if I wanted to slip out early. She usually doesn't do this, so I just thought she was hungry. I caught a ride with her to our usual Sunday lunch place, and it wasn't long before she mentioned the Denver Broncos game starting at 1 p.m. Wait, let me re-phrase that. This is how she put it, "...and Tebow starts playing at 1 p.m." I automatically started giggling as I know my Granny and Mom both became huge Tebow fans when he began playing for the Florida Gators. I'm actually not sure either of them really watched any football before he quarterbacked. They quickly gained respect for his Christian ways (on and off the field), paired with his leadership qualities and athletic ability. Both women in my family are Gator fans turned Bronco fans.<br />
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I joined Granny for the first three (ugly) quarters of the game, and on the drive to my parents' house to watch the last (awesome) quarter of the game, it dawned on me: Granny may not ever get married again, but she's found herself a new man. And...just a word of caution, she's almost as faithful a fan to Tebow as she was a wife to my grandpa, so don't ever say anything bad about him in front of her (if you value your life).Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-47713728657011379392011-10-09T20:29:00.000-07:002011-10-09T20:54:57.841-07:00There's no place like someone else's home. And...first date fun.<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
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Yesterday proved to be a very productive Saturday. Not only was I a wild woman and hit up the Parade of Homes with my mom, but I also got to be a third wheel on a couple's first date. Okay, technically they didn't know I was on the date with them, but I was there in full force...just left before the goodnight kiss (which I highly doubt happened). More on this later. Read on. I promise you will be amused.</div>
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For those of you who've never experienced a Parade of Homes event, you haven't lived. It combines a few of my hobbies: people watching, discovering different likes and dislikes of homes to contribute to my future dream house, and last...but most important...fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. "Chocolate chip cookies?" you ask. Yes, but here's a helpful Parade of Homes tip: you have to visit most of the homes to actually find what I consider the "jackpot house". Some got tacky and offered popcorn in Styrofoam cups. I mean seriously, were they trying to sell a house or take me to a ballgame?</div>
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My parents aren't looking to buy a house, but they are in the process of renovating their bathroom, so mom was trying to get some ideas. For this reason, I felt somewhat guilty listening to the realtors' five-minute infomercials. Actually, I only felt guilty at the "jackpot house" because I knew the realtor was really making an effort. <br />
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Let me give you some more tips on how to make the most out of your Parade of Homes tour:<br />
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<li> Convince the person you are with to try out the tub or shower (fully clothed with no water, of course). Be sure to take a picture to document for future use (As demonstrated below).</li>
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<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Sit down on one of the toilets (with pants on, of course), and freak out other people when they first walk in and haven't yet realized it's staged.</li>
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<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Pick up one of the fake apples in the kitchen and wash it in front of the realtor and pretend like you're about to take a bite.</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Walk up to a fellow Parade of Homian and, with a very disturbed look on your face, ask: "What in the world are you doing in my house?!?"</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Walk up to a fellow Parade of Homian and ask: "Did you hear about the sex offender who lives next door?"</li>
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There's much more you can do...just use your imagination. This was just to help get the ideas flowing. You're welcome.</div>
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Unfortunately, my mom found a tile and style she loved, so I guess I'm going to have to start baking my own cookies. It was a sweet ride while it lasted.</div>
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From there, I took myself to a nice dinner. I usually sit at the bar, so I don't feel as lonely, but decided a table was a better idea last night. I was enjoying my tapas and glass of sangria when a young couple was seated at the table beside me. Within three to four sentences, I picked up it was a first date. Jackpot!</div>
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I found myself considering the dos and don'ts of dating (especially the critical first few dates) as I listened to the loud, overbearing young woman drone on about herself. I think the guy maybe got in five sentences the entire date. I was feeling bad for him, and predicting how there would probably not be a second date, when his phone rang and he answered it. He talked on it for about three to four minutes, and it was enough for me to decide that I would not solicit friendship from either of these individuals. I didn't want a headache from listening to her, and I didn't want his rude habits rubbing off on me. </div>
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I do realize that I, eating alone, was criticizing someone's first date (at least they had a date, right?), but I couldn't help and think the mistakes we all make too often in these situations. For instance, within the past two years, I've been hit in the face by a nervous guy who was spastically trying to give me a goodbye hug in his truck, and I've had a guy squeeze a tail off a shrimp and get shrimp juice and seasoning all over my new blouse. On the other side, I'm sure I've told too much about myself (rather than keeping some mystery as my parents instruct) or have let my goofy side come out too early. We're all human, though. If the other person can't accept that, it's not meant to be.</div>
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Lessons to be learned this post: Parade of Homes is as interesting as you make it...and delicious, too. Also, keep those bad first dates coming. It provides us lonely people entertainment and blogging topics.</div>
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<strong>BONUS STORY</strong></div>
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I went to see a movie today and stopped in the bathroom on the way out. I was in the stall when I heard this woman walk in whistling like nobody's business. Seriously, she had a stronger whistle than Andy Griffith. As I hovered the bowl, in my best effort not to touch the seat, I tried to determine the tune. It sounded very animated, but I never could put my finger on it. It didn't take long before I started giggling uncontrollably in my own stall. </div>
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That's it. That was the story.Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-37545261337641642522011-10-06T15:23:00.000-07:002011-10-06T15:32:24.973-07:00No worries...God and Torie are watching over you.I am a Christian and grew up in a Christian home, so when someone says, "God is always watching you," the thought doesn't bother me. I know the Boss upstairs has my best interest in mind. In general, though, it is a little creepy to know someone is watching you...especially if you just happen to catch them staring. For example, I've watched movies before where one of the scenes showed the husband watching his wife while she was sleeping. Some might think that's sweet. It would freak me out. If you can't sleep, get up and do something...be productive.<br />
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This whole thought of people watching people (I guess I have no room to talk. I've already admitted in an earlier post that I enjoy observing people interact.) came to me in the Best Buy parking lot this afternoon. I was finishing off a delicious Chick-Fil-A snack (knew they wouldn't want my greasy paws touching electronics), when I noticed a sweet-looking elderly lady walking her small dog out of PetsMart and struggling to get him in the back seat. My initial thought was, "Wow, Tor, that's probably going to be you someday. Your day will revolve around getting dog food from PetsMart." I thought some other things that I'm not going to mention in this blog, and then it hit me: I'm watching this woman, and she has no idea. Who is watching me?<br />
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I looked around (with french fry crumbs probably all around my mouth), and felt safe no one was watching me. I then thought about all the times I do crazy things and think no one can see me. These "crazy things" usually involve music. I jam out in my truck. I also enjoy jamming out in the gym parking lot. This has caused some humiliation before because when my ear buds are in and my iPod is on, no one exists but me and Daddy Yankee (he is a Latino rapper for any of you who aren't familiar). Actually, it was Miley Cyrus who I was dancing with one day in the parking lot. She told me to put my hands up in the air because they were playing my song, and I was so lost in the music that I listened. About the time I was swinging my hands around in the air, I noticed a very cute guy smiling at me from inside his truck. Okay, so yeah, he was laughing at me. I took a bow and waved. <br />
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Think of the habits we all share. The ones we pray to the good Lord no one sees us in action. Maybe those pants are just a little too tight, and you have to pick your wedge; maybe you ran out of Kleenex to blow your nose (you know what I mean); maybe you get caught re-adjusting your bra...the list is endless! Who is sitting in the Best Buy parking lot watching you pick your nose? It's probably just God, but be careful...I might be there watching (and picking up future blog topics), too.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAJNzD4Zi7cl6YowYCGLKNtTzgRL7UITuOczK1JPWGrGunAQei__WIxq9DhDU44RAB8mY7xEMi4g5rQsUriNdnTWXhw00WvxfW6pfAwQQTiK8Cq9vE2mhGd1n2U2_GUZYHHycVdmJsBo/s1600/Costa+Rica+Trip+2008+175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAJNzD4Zi7cl6YowYCGLKNtTzgRL7UITuOczK1JPWGrGunAQei__WIxq9DhDU44RAB8mY7xEMi4g5rQsUriNdnTWXhw00WvxfW6pfAwQQTiK8Cq9vE2mhGd1n2U2_GUZYHHycVdmJsBo/s320/Costa+Rica+Trip+2008+175.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alone at last! Or are you...?</td></tr>
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<br />Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-27092186706923917102011-09-26T20:55:00.000-07:002011-09-26T20:55:06.089-07:00Mama tried. And succeeded.Ever heard the wise words of Merle Haggard: "Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied...that leaves only me to blame 'cause Mama tried"? I love singing along to that song, but really don't relate to it. Yes, I'm probably a little more outspoken and have a little more rebel in me than my mom would've preferred, but the things she taught me stuck. Not to say my dad didn't have a say in schooling me on the ways of life lived right, but mothers just always seem to be more vocal about it. "You just wait 'til you get older. Your turn is coming..." they say.<br />
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Many times this phrase (I could hear it as soon as her mouth opened) applied to her hoping I would have kids one day and would get my payback for all the really cool stuff I taught my youngest brother, who just happens to be 15 years younger than me. Other times, it applied to life in general. For example, I remember her taking me and my other younger brother to a college football game when I was in middle school and my brother was in elementary school. A couple of drunk, middle-aged men were swearing like sailors in the row behind us. My mother, who doesn't drink and has maybe said a total of two-three curse words her entire life, had enough. She snapped, turned around and yelled, "There are children here!" I'm not sure what my brother was thinking, but as an early teenager, I was mortified and I will never forget it.<br />
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There comes a time in most women's lives when someone will say, "You remind me so much of your mother." Let me preface what I'm about to say by saying this: I love my mom. She is a beautiful person, both inside and out. However, no matter how awesome a girl's mother might be, it is always a little painful to hear someone say you are turning into her (no offense, mom...if you're reading this). I guess it's a little awkward for me, with no kids, to feel like I should have maternal instincts already. Reality set in for me this past weekend.<br />
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I drove up to my Alma mater Saturday to meet some friends to tailgate and watch the game. Being an alumna for four years moves you to the general admission seating, rather than the student section. My friends and I could've wrestled our way into a seat, but at this point in time, not having a frat boy (who has been shotgunning beers since the night before) sweat on or step on (pick your poison) you is actually preferred. Anyhow, we found some seats just to the right of the student section and only four rows up. Perfect. We hadn't made it to the second quarter before some intoxicated youngins, who were maybe old enough to legally drink started heckling the visiting team. Heckling I can deal with. Heckling while dropping the F-Bomb and all other types of profanity around families with young children, I cannot. It only took two minutes of listening to this before all 5 feet (maybe 5'3 on Saturday...I was wearing the cute wedges) was down there teaching three or four college-aged boys about a lil' something Aretha Franklin likes to call R-E-S-P-E-C-T. They piped down until after halftime, and still weren't nearly as bad when they showed up from the keg late in the third quarter.<br />
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Driving home yesterday, I couldn't help but think about how it had actually happened: I was starting to turn into my mother. What I was so embarrassed about almost 15 years ago was something I was now standing up for and actually vocalizing my thoughts (good thing my maybe future children couldn't see me!). This thought didn't sadden me, though. It actually made me proud to realize I had been raised right, and I possessed something a lot of people are lacking nowadays: class. I mean c'mon folks, what are y'all breeding out there? I'm still teetering on the decision of whether I should have kids someday, but I think I will for two reasons: 1. Because I will dress them so cute, and 2. Because their classiness will make the world a better place. I can't promise they will be intelligent or even good looking, but they will be stylish, respectful and will know how to act in public. Guess I best start working on that husband before this place falls to shambles. The world needs my kids!<br />
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Now, you may ask me, "Torie, what is classy?" I once defined my classiness to a friend: "Of course I'm classy. I wear pearl earrings when I skinny dip." Of course, this is a complete lie. I'm not an idiot. I know better than to wear expensive earrings when I go for a "dip". I think he bought it, though. Which leads me to my next major point: sometimes white lies are okay...just kidding, just kidding...(Mom, maybe you should stop reading now...).<br />
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Take away for the read: stand up for what you believe in and don't always take "You remind me of your mother (or father)" as a bad thing. Some of us were fortunate to have parents who raised us right. For the rest of you, who were not so fortunate, this is an open invitation to my support group. I can school you just as easily as I taught those young whipper snappers this weekend. Feel free to reach out...I'm here for you. And...until next time, keep it classy!Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-43339288354537767452011-09-21T16:06:00.000-07:002011-09-21T16:06:06.846-07:00Taking a lunch break...Wal-Mart style.I've recently gotten in the habit of taking "Wal-Mart lunch breaks". What does this mean? Well, have you ever witnessed someone say they were taking a lunch break at 8 a.m. (or p.m. for that matter)? I'm setting the trend for these lunch breaks, and I'm pretty sure it's already the new rave (catch on...you could be popular before everyone else, except Wal-Mart employees...they've got us all beat!).<br />
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Let me get back on track. So, I decided to take an 8 a.m.- 9 a.m. lunch break this morning because very few things make me happier in the morning than a tasty breakfast. I've come across a restaurant in town that I'm declaring my favorite breakfast spot. I would love to share this secret dining spot with you. However, realizing this blog is public to any psycho who might want to stalk me, I'm going to look out for number uno and keep it vague. I mean c'mon...someone could surprise me during my lunch break and poison my oatmeal (or grits...I don't eat oatmeal. I try it every year because it's nutritional; hasn't found a place in my stomach's heart, yet.). If you know me personally, contact me, and I'll let you in on this fantastic restaurant!<br />
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Getting back on track...again. I decided last night that this morning would be an atypical lunch break. I set my alarm for 6 a.m. in hopes I could make a 7 a.m. breakfast and have a traditional lunch break, too (yeah, I have a healthy appetite...and I wish it would stop growing on me, literally). It wasn't until 7:05 a.m. I realized that hitting the snooze button until 7 a.m. doesn't actually get me to breakfast at 7 a.m. (I did not earn my college degree on the basis of being smart or a quick learner...wait, that sounded bad. It's also not because I was scandalous. Okay, I'm now going to jump in this hole I just dug myself). <br />
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INTERMISSION: Who's still with me, and who am I confusing beyond all belief?<br />
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I finally made it to breakf...lunch, and it was everything I had hoped: great service, friendly staff and a delicious breakfast that delivered me into the world all fat and sassy-like. It also put me into an unbelievable state of mind for the remainder of the day. I was fueled, in a good mood and ready to be productive (although the pancake with peaches kind of made me want to crawl under my desk and take a nap...and I had to take off my large, decorative belt to stop the stomach pains, which ruined my stylish outfit...not because I had an accident as a result of the pains. Geez O' Petes, here we go again...)<br />
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The point to be taken from this particular post? We all need to switch things up every now and then to keep life exciting. A routine and consistency is good, but life is for us to live and explore (that doesn't mean to cheat on your spouse...). <br />
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Also, try to create your day with some of the fun stuff first. I spend so much of my day thinking about what I get to look forward to at the end (gym, meeting friends or family for dinner, etc.) that it really distracts me from reaching my full potential at work. Not to say I wasn't happy leaving work at 5:30 tonight, but the relaxing morning I'd had really enabled me to be more satisfied for the rest of the day. Sometimes the day starts out crummy: you get a speeding ticket, you spill coffee on your shirt, your dog pees on your leg (you know, typical stuff). Those days are going to happen, but we can all do so many other out-of-the-box things that really creates a good day and mood from the start. Try eating lunch at 8 a.m. You might spill coffee on your shirt, but the pancakes with peaches (sans belt) will totally be worth it!Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7236414132769060028.post-45574755942072201722011-09-19T22:44:00.001-07:002011-09-19T22:44:51.186-07:00A circus cannot exist without a freak show.I grew up in a small, rural town. I grew up on a farm. I grew up the middle child. These are three facts, I believe, will lead you to "follow me" (in the most non-cultish way imaginable, of course...I've never even mixed Kool-Aid!) and my Torie Stories. What influence would any of these three factors have on the likelihood that you will enjoy reading my thoughts? One word answers it all: boredom.<br />
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No, no, no...I'm not saying you will only read Tor's Circus when you're bored (or maybe you will). I'm saying that God crafted my life early on (small town, farm, middle child), so that I would develop a wild imagination, keeping me entertained and, in return, entertaining others.<br />
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I can't recall at what point I took joy in observing other people and how they react in different social environments and situations, but it has become one of my favorite past times. A hobby such as people watching is a deadly combination when paired with an imagination like my own. One thought leads to another, and by the time it's all said and done, I've developed theories that anyone can use practically in his or her own life. Okay, busted...so they're not always practical. However, if you have a sense of humor similar to mine, they will make you giggle (that's right men, you will giggle).<br />
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Why "Tor's Circus"? There are so many acts going on in my head, I can't even keep up with...or focus on one act at a time. There is no ringleader under this Big Top, so expect some crazy catastrophes in written form. So ladies, gents and children of all ages: sit back, grab a popcorn and a beer, and enjoy the freak show going on in my head!Toriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00328406969642025071noreply@blogger.com0