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.
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!
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.
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...
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..."
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...
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Monday, January 2, 2012
The 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.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
How 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...
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.
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.
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.
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".
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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".
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.
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!
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.
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.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Balance: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.
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.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Forever 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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).
Sunday, October 9, 2011
There's no place like someone else's home. And...first date fun.
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.
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?
Let me give you some more tips on how to make the most out of your Parade of Homes tour:
- 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).
- 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.
- 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.
- 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?!?"
- Walk up to a fellow Parade of Homian and ask: "Did you hear about the sex offender who lives next door?"
There's much more you can do...just use your imagination. This was just to help get the ideas flowing. You're welcome.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
BONUS STORY
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.
That's it. That was the story.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
No 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.
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?
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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| Alone at last! Or are you...? |
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