On Father's Day, my husband and I went down to Alabama to visit my parents.  I'd been all keyed up for this holiday, because for the first time, I was able to afford to get my dad something really neat.  In the past, presents for the people I care about have fallen under the constraints of things like my allowance and my minimum wage job, or under the shadow of big things like going to Germany, paying for college, and paying for a wedding.  I wouldn't say I'm free and clear of all things like that yet, but I'm in a nice little period of respite.

I was looking online for nice copies of books my dad would really like, when I discovered that for $10 more than what I was going to pay for two books, I could have a 4th generation Kindle.  Then I thought about the size of the house my parents live in and how it's already full of the things they've acquired throughout their lives, so really, there's no room for me to impose a book collection of my own design on them.  And this tiny little Kindle that can hold something like 1300 books is the size of less than one book.

Kind of an old picture of the best Dad ever

I was all squirmy during dinner.  I couldn't wait to see if this good gift, this costs-more-than-$20 gift, would be something my dad would actually like or be a useless lump of technology that my dad wouldn't bother to figure out.   And speaking of dinner, the Logan's in Cullman SUCKS.  Anyways, we get back to the house, and I give him the little black box.  He opens it up and...

Poker face.  My dad is notorious for his grumpy poker face about everything; my friends were terrified of him when I was growing up.  I never could figure it out, but eventually I realized that to people on the outside of the family, he just looked tall and angry and potentially mean.  So I showed him how to work it for the most part, but even after that, I still couldn't figure out whether he actually wanted the thing or not.

So I went home and was a little sullen, because I could tell he didn't hate it, but I didn't know if he loved it.  It was a complete toss up, and I had to go home before I could even see how things turned out.  That's part of what sucks about living so far away: I don't get to be a part of my family's everyday things anymore.

BUT THEN.  He called me the next morning because he couldn't get the navigation controls to work right so that he could read the Kindle User's Guide that came on the device.  I knew then that he was actually interested in it and maybe even (gasp) liked it.  He also had another issue: I had put so many books on the Kindle, the device didn't have enough memory to actually read a book...  I did not know that this was a thing, but it is.

In order to help him with this little problem, Mike and I grabbed a delicious apple stack cake from Publix and made another southerly trip.  My dad has always been very quick to pick up new things, so once the memory issue was solved by deleting some random books that he'd never read anyway, he was quick to figure everything out.  Watching him learn the ins and outs and look the device over, I now know that he's happy with it.

So what's the verdict on the Gen 4 Kindle?  After having factored in what I thought personally and what my dad had to say about it, I've reached the following conclusions:

4th Generation Kindle

Summary:

 Pros:

• Extremely long battery life
• Very affordable 
• Great for just reading, no bells and whistles
• Very easy to load files onto it

Cons:

• No keyboard
• No wall charger
• Not really old people friendly
• Low memory, slow processing
• Book organization is lacking, no selecting sections by letter

 
What We Love:

I love that it's finally been long enough that a generation of the Kindle that is just an e-reader, no bells and whistles, has dropped in price so that just about anyone could get one.  Granted, Amazon probably doesn't advertise that this product is available and cheap because they want to plug the new stuff, but it is.  It was $69 brand new with free shipping.  That is an amazing price, and I'm glad I found it.

The battery life on the book-reading-only Kindles is EPIC.  The device can last a month on a single charge, so it's perfect for carrying anywhere and everywhere with you to read without having to worry about the battery dying.  This was a big seller for me.  I don't really like to carry my books around with me for fear of ruining them, yet I can never go without reading.  I've tried to make the life last as long as I can on my iPod so that it can do the Kindle's job, but it doesn't hold a charge for more than a day of sporadic reading.  So jelly of my dad right now!

The lack of bells and whistles like a backlit screen, sounds, and color account for the great battery life, and it's perfect for someone who just wants something to read with rather than a fully functional tablet.  Sure a tablet can use the Kindle app, but it can't compete with dat battery life.  This Kindle is a good choice for someone who already has an iPad, because you wouldn't be doubling up on tablets. It is very lightweight, which makes it easy on the wrist when reading, whereas tablets can be pretty heavy.

It's very easy to get your own MOBI eBook files onto it.  Some of the later generations have safeguards against adding non-Amazon MOBI files to your device because of pirating fears, but this one works exactly like a portable hard drive: drag and drop.  Very simple stuff.

Just drag and drop.

What We Hate:

I didn't think it would be an issue when I bought it, but it is.  This thing has no keyboard, and it's horrible.  You have to navigate around a little keyboard with the arrows like it's the dark ages, which made my dad roll his eyes and sigh.  It is incredibly tedious and makes simple tasks exceedingly difficult.  Also, the symbols on the four provided buttons are somewhat non-standard looking and weird, which also doesn't help.  If I had this to do over again, I'd buy the Kindle Keyboard; it costs exactly the same amount and would save everyone a headache.

Look at this lunacy

It seems to run pretty smoothly, but god forbid if you want to run a search.  I wouldn't even bother.  It can only hold 1.35 GB, and searching that much data is just beyond the little thing.  If you're looking for something, it's easier just to surf through the list rather than perform an actual search.

The book organization on it is terrible.  If you place it by author, it seems to be very confused about sorting them by first or last name, so it just does a jumble of both.  We've got Ambrose Bierce next to Isaac Asimov.  How is anyone even supposed to find anything if it can't sort and it can't search?  And you can't select the letter your book title or author name starts with and skip to that section, you must surf through every book from A to Z looking for that one elusive bastard of a book among 1,300.

Also, instead of buying it used, I bought it new and paid the extra $10 because I assumed that the charger in the description meant wall charger.  Not so.  The device only comes with a USB charger, and seeing as how my parents have no computer, it was useless until they went to Wal-Mart and bought a converter.

Even though I got this device for someone who is nearly 70, I do not recommend this as a gift for everyone's grandpa.  My dad has always been rather tech savvy, so he didn't struggle with it.  However, I could never give this to my mom or aunt.  The lack of keyboard, weird button locations and symbols, jacked up sorting system, and odd layout/navigation all combine to make something that your average grandparent would never figure out.  If you're looking for something old-folks-friendly, I'd go for the touch.

What's up this week?

Another lesson learned: I am perceptibly getting older.  My birthday is coming up later this month, and when I look at my sheer lack of resilience in the face of young people things, I know that I am becoming old.  When I stay out late a single night, my schedule is irreversibly fucked up for a week or more.  I become a night creature who can neither force herself to go to sleep earlier nor stay up until the next night to make herself tired, the latter of the two being my usual go-to.  And when I finally crawl out of bed the next day at 1 in the afternoon, I feel like death.  I am not a morning (afternoon) person at all.  I just sit there, feeling ill and foul and grumpy for hours if I don't force myself to make me some coffee, and lord forbid if anyone talks to me before then.

What bothers me the most about being helpless to correct my sleep schedule is that the rest of the world closes at 4 pm, so by the time I drag my ass off the couch and get dressed, things are winding down for everyone else.  I keep trying to get to the doctor for some walk-in blood work, but I can only fit in so many things before 4 after waking up so late.

I can't handle liquor anymore, and I get hangovers now.  And  EVERYTHING gives me heartburn.  I can't even have the odd bit of raw onion on a sandwich every now and then without suffering like a sinner in Hell.  Sometimes it's so bad that the pain keeps me up all night, or all morning rather, because I can't get to bed before 4 or 5 am.  I have to sleep with Tums and Pepto by the bed.  Pretty sure I have developed acid reflux in my old age, but I don't want to have to endure the esophageal probing to be diagnosed.

And the allergies, omfg, the allergies.  They never used to be this way.  I cannot exit the house without a Claritin, and if I make the mistake of doing so, my ears stop up.  I cannot hear anything, and I just wander around, grumpy af, aiming my ear at things I'm trying to listen to.  It basically cancels out human interaction, because I can't follow a conversation like a human.
First world problems, people.

Bleh, I said I wouldn't rant this week.  Well, I'm not particularly grumpy, just wish I could get on a slightly normal schedule.  Or eat an onion.  And the climb toward 25 doesn't fill me with mortal dread anymore, so woot about that.

Like a give a fuck

So I've begun planning for my birthday party, so excited over here!  It's going to be Harry Potter themed.  I'm going to make treats from the Unofficial Harry Potter Cookbook, decorate in the colors of the four Hogwarts houses, and have an epic Potter movie marathon.  Also, Quidditch Beer Pong is a thing, and it is going to be at my party, both to satisfy my love for Harry Potter-themed party games and to entertain my husband and his buddies who love beer pong like a brother (I don't get it).  The game will be played OUTSIDE, and people better stay off the lawn...

What am I reading?

Lord, I wish it was something else, but I'm reading The Chamber by John Grisham.  It is just seems to go on forever, and I'm just so sick of his shit right now.  The man is not writing lawyery crime books or even touching lawyer-type general fiction stuff; he is writing complaints about the penal system and the poor state of society under the guise of badly written stories.  The protagonists in his books absolutely lack souls; they exist only to facilitate his epicly long lectures on how everything is fucked up and everyone is too much of a selfish fuck to care.  It is like those episodes of Law and Order: SVU that go on and on, but in the end, the bad guy gets away or the good guy gets raped/killed because of the failures of society and the law.  It's like that, but it's so much longer than an hour.

Also, there's none of this

I know he's very popular and all, but there are lots of popular writers that suck.  And he sucks.  Or at least the lawyery novels he became famous for do.  I actually liked Bleachers, but more about that in a second.  His subject has potential, but his stories are bad.  Sure, people should be made aware of the problems he addresses and made to question the morality of turning a blind eye to the plight of the homeless or death row inmates; I'm all for that aspect of his books.  However, the man cannot write a good story or good characters, no matter how much he obviously is trying.  If he spent more time focusing on writing relevant events into the story to teach the lesson rather than unabashedly lecturing about it page after page, he might just change the world.  But as it is, he has only succeeded in making me irritated at his style and frustrated that he didn't do a better job at his attempt to raise awareness.

But I suppose that his lawyer books are an easy read and an easy way to draw people in at the airport unsuspectingly and teach them a lesson.  However, I think that if a denizen of airport paperbacks, looking for some entertainment, were to read one of his books, it could go one of two ways: they might become either enlightened or bored.  Bored like when the teacher is lecturing angrily about something you've never heard of that you will forget the moment you leave the room.  And they would never come back to learn any more lessons.

For me, his veil of fiction is just too thin, and it makes his works unprofound where there is so much room to be profound indeed.  He wants to get his message out there, but at his core, he is a lawyer first and an author of fiction second.  For anything good to come out of a writer, they must be a writer first when writing.  Because he is a writer second and a lawyer first, his lesson is well fleshed out, but his fiction is wrapped poorly and thinly around it and never comes to its potential.
BUT THEN AGAIN, maybe he knows that his audience of bad paperback connoisseurs  aren't exactly profound people themselves and would understand the direct approach better.

Although I've only read a handful of his books, I don't think he ever came into his own as a writer until one of his most recent, Bleachers, which has absolutely zero to do with lawyering and is actually very relatable, especially for someone who grew up in the Southern football culture.


What is my current muse?

I thought that reading some more modern fiction would get me out of it, but it didn't: I'm completely obsessed with everything 1920s.  I love the people and everything they did, touched, lived, wore.  I love their haughty, jaded attitudes, their vampy makeup, their unusual and experimental fashion, their slang, their music, their hair, their drinks, their homes, their writing...  Eee, I have to go roll around with glee just thinking about it.

Appropriate gif is appropriate

I'm eating up pictures, poetry, magazine articles, magazine covers, books, catalogs, biographies of celebrities, art, fashion plates, anything I can find.  It's all beautiful.  I've been obsessed with this era before, and I'm ready to be again.  A very long time ago, I wrote a serial short story that took place during prohibition called "The Black Dog," and I always thought it could be better.  I think that this is a great time to either look at that story again or start something new and special.  One idea that occurred to me involved an apartment or flat haunted by a '20s girl.  I won't reveal any more of that one's plot, because I think it has a lot of potential and I fear plagiarism like I fear death.

While all this '20s stuff is on my mind, I'll try to make it a point to share some of what I've found in a Writspo post, because I know it will be appreciated.  It's all so good, how could it not be?!  If you know of any movies, books, poems, or anything else from the era that I absolutely must see, don't hesitate to share in the comments!

A little forward to this beauty: Are you ever just casually browsing social media and see a picture of someone that just makes you feel huffy and violated all over again, even though you'd forgotten about the whole thing?  That's exactly what inspired today's narrative.  I suppose I needed to revisit those old huffy feelings, blow them off like steam in order to keep pressure from building up in my anxiety/rage cooker.  Sometimes that part of my life that won't die because another person won't just let it die (it's been over three years, come on, dude) makes me want to just go to his face and scream at him until he stops malfunctioning, tell him to vanish from my life and the lives of everyone around me, but then I realize that I'd be too sickened at this point to do that and that it's really not worth it to acknowledge it anymore.  Let this be the dying cry of any helpless or angry feelings he has inspired, and please, please let the feelings on his end die.  Just let him make some semblance of living a life that isn't striving to be parallel to mine at all times, let him develop some interests and personality traits that aren't directly inspired by me, and let the parallels now in place be torn down.  Let my life in him die so that it is mine alone, and let him just have one of his own.  Or let him fade and wink out.

"Ginger-ale" by truth2lies on deviantART

"Ew, what are you even drinking?"

I looked down at my little plastic low ball cup, trying to imagine how it might look weird to someone, "It's just ginger ale, what?"

"Oh, hm,"  He leaned back in his chair a little further, his feet propped on the rickety, clothless table. He was still regarding my drink but striving just a bit with his demeanor to appear informed, as if yes, he had known all along that it is ginger ale, that ginger ale is perfectly natural.  I still stared into my cup, wondering if the color of my drink looked gross.  I sipped.

Motion to my right, Nathan was sitting up a little straighter, his little green uniform coat straining at the shoulders, his head strangely lacking hair, "Oh, you'll never guess who's joined the Army now."

I was only half paying attention, mostly contemplating whether ginger ale is, actually, gross, "Who?"  I thought he might say Levi, I'd heard about Levi.  Or maybe a wild card, someone who I'd never suspect.  I contemplated wild cards.

"Tyler freaking --------."

A hot and angry flutter in my chest.  I felt my eyes narrowing, realized how ugly it must look, wiped that ugly look off before asking, "What?"

 Seeing that sour look on my face and knowing from everyone's stance he'd said something quite interesting, he perked up and continued with bright eyes and a laugh, "Yeah, I saw him around, he said he'd joined the National Guard."

More little questions from the peanut gallery, laughter.  A joke or two.  Wide-eyed husband.

I was unsure what to say for a moment.  My fingertips alighted on the table next to my drink, covering a splatter of dried paint.  The drink shook on the table like it was Jurassic Park.  We were discussing someone I had actually been relieved to forget about, someone who was unimportant enough to forget and to leave no trace except a vague feeling of annoyance, someone who only came to mind when he was being creepy, someone who couldn't let things be, someone who wanted my life.  My life isn't anything overtly special, really, I'm just a girl.  Nevertheless, when this person was looking to find himself, he found me, he tried to be me.

I don't think I would have cared half so much, would have even bothered to respond, if I hadn't had another strange bit of information on him drop at my feet only a couple of weeks before.  I had only just swept it up and thrown it out, and here was this new thing, dirtying the floor at my feet.

I thought that people should know this thing I was experiencing, know about my messy floor.  I crossed my legs and leaned forward, smoothing the green fabric of my dress as I moved, feeling predatory and lithe, "You can't be serious.  No.  No freaking way, he's too much of a pussy.  And when will this guy get a life of his own?  He's always emulating my life, when does it stop?  I mean, I thought we'd all just move on, but he can't just let things be.  He's such a... creep, there's no other word for it.  Did you know he named his god damn baby after me?"

"What?! No, now that's weird."

"It's true!  His baby has my middle name, I just shit when I saw it on the internet, I..."  For a moment I'd been caught up in this conversation like it was the usual round of gossip, but I realized just then that this was me, my life.  This was a surreal and strange event.  It gave me that tickling, green, icky feeling under my heart like I'd just been violated.

I could have told them more, more about how it had been years but he still wouldn't leave my life alone and just let it be mine.  I could have, but instead I became a little quieter and let that green feeling boil my blood until I was light headed.

They discussed it, I listened.  Had he made it through Basic?  No.  I halfheartedly threw in another two cents, and we all agreed he was too much of a wimp to make it through.

Sips of cheap wine, goodbye, good luck, and congratulations.   Liquor store, video games, up all night.  I simmered on the back burner, still feeling transient and strange, like I was caught by the hooks of the past and being dragged backward.  Old friends were telling me old things made up like they were new about someone from a time in my life that was, it seemed, as old as a time could get.  But it apparently wasn't so old for him.

I sat on the couch later, reading, sitting straight and tall and feeling bookish, just the way I love.  Serenity over here.

"So I was looking at Tyler's page to find out more about what Nathan said, and he has my job."

My eyebrows flew toward my hairline then settled back down into the old furrow, into old wrinkles people in the past had sewn in my forehead's field.  My eyes didn't leave the page, "What?  How is that?  What does that even mean?"

"Look," he beckoned me to the computer screen and hunched over, ready to pull up an explanation, "He put down here under his job title that he's a 'Systems Support and Communication Specialist.'  That's the official title of my job, the one on my profile."

"What? I..." Only a moment passed before I realized something downright dark, "Do you know what that means?  Do you know how disturbing that is?"

"It's weird... what?"

I kept on staring at the screen, "It's not a coincidence, not after that baby thing.  It means that he's looking at us, looking at our profiles, reading about us, watching what we do still.  He had to go on Facebook, maybe even look via someone who is friends with us, read your job title, make a life decision based on it, and request that job specifically at the recruiting office," I stood up, threw my hands in the air, backed up a couple of steps, "This is just too, too strange and gross."

Eyes cast down toward the keyboard, back up at me again, "Wow, I knew he was weird, but I never really thought it was like that."

"Well, I told you it was," I went still for a moment, hand on my cheek, ready for the feeling of violation, but instead of feeling predated, for some reason I suddenly felt big.  Big on so many levels where this relic person of the past was so small.  The more I lived and the more he didn't, not truly, the smaller he became.  If he never stopped, it didn't matter one bit; he was incapable of truly touching me.  He'd just grow smaller and smaller until he winked out while I kept right on living.  "But fuck him.  Fuck him, fuck him.  If he can't get a life of his own, even after getting married and having a family, it's really his problem."

So I've noticed (and my husband has pointed out to me) that this blog provides information but is somewhat lacking my personal voice.  My new weekly post is part of my effort to change that and to thereby take this blog into a less boring and bleh direction.  And because I am a refuge from Tumblr, I shall do it with gifs.

I know that it would be most appropriate to write about what I'm reading right now or what I'm up to, but I've honestly been a little too anxious for reading or being up to things.  I had a decidedly hectic weekend, and I don't know how I didn't kill every soul responsible.  You see, I've always been a very calm person and haven't really gotten much joy out of partying or acting wild or being around people who do.  I like going to museums, seeing plays, bird watching, shopping at farmers' and flea markets, and having people over for dinner and wine.  I like things quiet and subdued and generally shun all things rowdy.  And the thing I love most in the world is being a completely antisocial shut in who loves books and Netflix and internet.    

And yet somehow, since my husband's birthday in May, my house has become known as the "party house."  This fills me with no small amount of screeching anxiety.  Each week as I clean up after the people my own age who do indeed enjoy partying and acting wild, I look forward to a quiet weekend, but the next weekend only brings more people.  
I am a person who collects nice things and who takes good care of her things so that they can last forever.  I take pride in my home.  I expect people coming into my home to treat everything in it with even more respect than I do because it doesn't belong to them, and that is the respectful thing to do.  But the people coming into my house are tearing around, making an unholy mess, damaging the furniture and floors, and acting just plain dumb as hell.  I can only clean up after these fgts like Miss Mary Sunshine for so many weeks before I lose my shit.

I don't like confrontation, so it takes everything I have in me to tell them to stop sternly several times.  If that doesn't work, I become a ball of helplessness.  At first, they listened.  However, after several weeks, they grew too comfortable with me and with being in the house, and they have now stopped listening. 

As I stand and watch everything I ever loved being destroyed

Several other factors also contributed.  My husband has tended to blow off the things I scold them for and make them seem like nothing because he has never owned furniture or nice things and therefore has no sense of preservation toward them.  This only empowered them to ignore me too, because if he's ignoring me, those things really mustn't be a big deal.  I am also very kind to people in my house (or anywhere, really), and I cannot seem to break myself of it, no matter how they treat me.  Predators like the ones tearing up my house see this as weakness.

The growing lack of respect for me and my home compounded into the unholy shitstorm that was this weekend.  Two guys got into a fight, and one of them slapped a cup of milk out of the other's hand, getting it all over the ceiling and walls.  I still cannot get the stains off, and it makes me rage to think that they would have the gall to do this in another person's home over something so dumb.  Beer was spilled around 10 times inside the house, and people were haphazardly wiping it up with my nice dishtowels and leaving giant sticky patches on the floor.  Beer was also spilled on the furniture, and the person did not tell anyone but rather tried to hide it and lie.  If I had been told when it happened, I could have cleaned it, now we have to get a $100 steam cleaning.  Someone stepped on one of our PS3 controllers, broke both analog sticks, then didn't tell us.  Someone ran into the shelf that holds my glass chickens so hard, they shoved it in front of a door and made no attempt to move it back.  They are damn lucky that no chickens broke.  I woke up the next morning to loud booms.  It was a drunk guy diving onto the feather comforter and using it to slide across the sticky living room floor into our TV stand.
Even though I banned beer pong from inside the house, I was ignored and it was brought inside.  I banned it for a reason.  Every time it has been in the house, beer has been splashed all over the wood furniture and made water spots and rings.  I have tried so hard to repair it, but it will never be the same.  We even got ants from the beer everywhere.  I am also going to have to do pricey repairs to the hardwood floors because of entire patches of clear coat being scratched off.  Even though I've told people to stay off the lawn because it tracks mud into the house, they just won't.  They've ruined a white bath mat, and I have to scrub the bathroom tiles every week.
And then here's the unholy of unholies: they harassed my canary.  That is my pet, my baby, and they tried purposefully to scare and upset him.  One guy wouldn't leave him alone, even when I yelled and pulled him away.  That is sick.  Anyone who would harass a helpless creature and try to cause it distress is sick.  It was truly terrible, and I have tears in my eyes just writing about it.  And that is why I didn't feel bad when someone slammed his head into the floor and left a mark on his forehead.

I felt more like this

I don't think I could handle it if I were to tally up how much money I've spent and lost from this series of parties that have only escalated to this magical point of craziness.  Some of the offenders have been yelled at by my husband, and the rest will be yelled at by him when he gets done with Air Assault School and goes back to work.

And the moral of the story is one I already knew a lot about: people suck.  People really and truly suck, and while you'd like to think that everyone's parents would have instilled in them some amount of propriety, manners, and respect for others, this is just not the case.  People give not one shit about anyone aside from themselves and therefore give not one shit about anything that belongs to you.  Out of the crowd of people who were at our house this weekend, only three people behaved respectfully and decently.  That is sad, but such is life.
And that is why I am a hermit, because avoiding people, especially large groups of them, and participating only in calm activities/ frivolity just makes life happier.  I've noticed that when I invite the wilder people to do calm things with me, they think it will suck but ultimately enjoy themselves.  Calm things don't equal boring things, and I hope more people come realize that.  Also, I hope more people will realize that if you're drinking, you don't have to act like a belligerent, destructive tornado of party-energy.

I promise next week I won't be nearly so bitter.  I'll probably talk about books and trying a new restaurant and happy funstuff like that.  It isn't very often that something happens to me that makes me rant, but this time, it did.  But here ends my passive-aggressive rage, and here begins a good rest of my week and good weekend.  I wish the same to anyone reading, unless you're one of the fucks that wrecked my house, in which case I hope your computer catches on fire or something.

Why?  Why do I let this wonderful blog lapse?  I suppose I've been very caught up in life-type things.  Mostly I think it is because I like doing this blog so much, yet it requires a bit of work, therefore, I feel guilty for putting that working effort into the blog rather than other things that are "more important."

The good news is that I've finally graduated.  I have my Bachelors.  It is over.  It was horrible, and it is now over.  All that super-stress and guilt that came with my last semester (and many before it) took me away from a great many things I loved, and I'm slowly learning how to come back to them.  I'm happy to have a bit of free time on my hands to do that.

I haven't written in ages, but just the other day, I sat down and wrote two poems.  Just like, BAM, poetry.  It was beautiful, and I thought I might cry.  I missed writing, and I missed reading for pleasure.  It's just no fun when you're forced to read twenty things in one week and analyze them to death on someone else's terms.  I like to have the time to savor the things I read and to discover them on a personal level rather than viciously cram them and all their minute details into my brain in order to ultimately "prove" that I learned something via online discussion or test.  Sure, I often gained valuable insight from that type of reading, but I hate when that's the only type of reading I have time for.  I don't even think I read more than 10 books or stories on my own last year, and that almost frightens me.

I'm also relearning how to people, because school and guilt turned me into a complete shut-in.  I love going places with my husband and my friends and having fun, but when school is looming in the back of my mind, it detracts from the experience, so much so that I begin to stop bothering. 

I have just been so ready for this break between undergrad and graduate school.  Although I don't really consider it a break as much as I consider it a very relaxing rediscovery or awakening of some sort.  I've taken up plenty of new hobbies (as well as old ones that I just never do anymore), I actually interact with other humans now, and I have resolved to take my writing much, much more seriously.  It has always been a side project, and now that I have a little time, I want it to be my main focus. 

I will also be reestablishing and reinvigorating this blog, starting with giving it a nice facelift.  I'm actually pretty sick of the way it looks, and I want something fresh.  HTML, here I come!

I'll admit right here that not having school over my head is extremely surreal, a strange and abyssal feeling, but I'll strive to make the best of it.  After all, a great many things in my life that have felt surreal have also been and felt beautiful.  Why not love that feeling and love the experience for what it is?

Best to anyone still reading.

So I just made myself a tumblr account, if anyone's interested.  I'll be putting my randomness there too now, just like everyone else in the world.  Enjoy Steak and Eggs!

Making a Cold Bath by Angedevil on Deviantart

I found myself alone in his bathroom, feeling vulnerable like the spider that was lingering near the drain.  The mirror above the sink was too high to see anything but my neck and face, but I knew my body must be pink with fever.  I felt odd and frightened, being alone for the first time since I had arrived.  I felt this desperate need for the joined-at-the-hip connection we'd had for days on end, but I just couldn't invite him in to be with me, no matter how blase` he was about his mother's presence in the house.

I smoothed my hands across my abdomen and scented the smell of old perfume on my neck.  There was tension in there, the sickly ivory feeling of an infection somewhere I couldn't see.  It was pushing down, wanting out and using all of my energy in its struggle for escape.

I ran the bath with mixed feelings, unsure whether I was pleased with or mortified by the washing down of the odd little spider.  There are always spiders in that bathroom though, so I imagine that their kind is doing alright, despite my one malicious act.

The little buckets with Korean writing along the edge of the tub made me think of Japanese bath houses, and with this vision of steam-filled rooms surmounted by paintings of Mt. Fuji, I stepped in and let the water hold the curves of my body.  It was so deep and hot, deep and hot enough to put a little pressure on my sinuses.  It was the biggest tub I'd ever bathed in.

I didn't feel better though.  I felt weakened and drained and a little slutty, but I held on to the hope that I would feel better soon, that somehow the water would cleanse my organs of whatever had its grip on me.  Fevered steam curled out of my nostrils like dragon's breath, but nothing I could do was going to stop my inevitable boiling over.  I was sick, probably as sick as I'd ever been.  But I knew we only had so much time, and when time is so precious and so secret as what we were sharing, you drink those moments in without letting anything get in your way.

Even though I was decidedly uncomfortable in my illness, I let my head loll and my mind wander to the reality that had opened around me.  I imagine some people would say that reality had closed in around them, but I just knew it had opened.  I had been closed in before, but in that moment, I knew that I had so many options, that my life was wide and vast and unpredictable.  I couldn't see farther than the moment I was in for the sheer knowledge that the world I lived in had literally no boundaries anymore.  It was like living my entire life underground and then learning about the sky.  No one has ever been so free as I was at that moment, free to make right or wrong choices or no choices at all.

But I'd be fooling myself if I said that this feeling was more than fleeting.  While I couldn't quite see what the future held,  the truth of where I was and how I'd revamped my life was dawning on me.  The world I was in was starting to roll off the ground like fog, and I was so aware of its depature while simultaneously trying to block it out.  It was leaving me stranded so quickly after I'd taken that amazing freedom and plucked a choice from it like a star from the sky.  I felt young and privileged, I felt old and deprived, and I had no idea how I would feel the next day.

But while I was so confused, so scared of the events I was evading and what had yet to be, I always felt the twang of connection tugging me forward.  It never left me, and I knew it would be a constant for the rest of my life.  I could feel myself drowning in the empty air without his touch to ground me.  So I heaved myself like an astronaut from zero-g space onto the very earthen surface of his linoleum floor and made myself ready for sallies of kisses and a sweet lingering goodbye-for-now.

So here is my first foray into something I'd love to make a regular part of this blog: a narrative of a tiny snippet of my life a la Sex and the City (the book).  Mike was telling me recently that by not publishing my writing, among other things, I'm not really putting myself into this blog.  But like I said in my Poetry in a Blog post, it's unwise to publish writing you'd like to see published one day in a blog.  Because of this, rather than put out sub par work as a representation of me, I simply haven't been publishing anything.  This is my way of making this blog my own, and I hope you enjoy it!

******

The two of us were alone in her dorm room.  It was dim in there, the only lights a desk lamp and strings of orange and purple party lights hanging from the ceiling.  It always felt magical to me to be there under those lights, like I was experiencing somethings small and beautiful that I would remember for the rest of my life.  We called them brothel lights, and she always had them on when she didn't want to be in the pitch black, because she claimed the fluorescents made the room sick and full of vibrations.

String of Lights 01 by L-nay on Deviantart

I was standing; I'm not sure why.  I was probably exploring.  I always liked to explore that room, no matter how many times I went there, to admire the pictures on the wall or touch the petals of the dried flowers on her night stand.  It felt young and rebellious and sweet, like a part of my life I had skipped when I moved out of my parents' house and straight into an apartment.

I hated having to grow up that way, having to support someone who was born in a cesspool and would never crawl out and feeling that I had no other choice.  I was made an adult too soon and had experienced the consequences of attaching myself to a malign force so many times, someone who was simply not as good as me, however conceited that may sound, someone who could only drag me down instead of rise with me.  I wanted a do-over desperately; I wanted to be in that dorm and live under those lights for years of my life, to pay almost nothing for rent and never feel fears that a girl my age shouldn't feel.  I wanted sleepovers and shrimp ramen and Vault soda and a thousand things that young people deserve.

She was sitting on the bed with her laptop, just like always, nose buried in the screen.  Her typing was always tentative, especially when she was talking to someone or role playing in one of her groups.  She was the kind of person who was so careful with her words.  I always thought it was because she was terrified of saying the wrong thing, but later I knew it was because she had a way of taking her time to say exactly the right thing, the thing that would get her results.

Things were quiet; the conversation had lulled.  Without looking up, she said to me in a way that seemed offhandish and yet revealed how much she wanted to talk about it, "Mike called me.  Our Mike."

For a moment, I was silent.  I honestly didn't remember him in that second.  Time had so separated us, and I had lived a life that made that part of my existence seem a distant dream, "Wow, really?" I wrinkled my nose and laughed at the sheer improbability of that statement, "What on earth could he possibly want to call for?"

"I wasn't sure myself, but he ended up telling me he still loves me."

Shock. "What, really?"

"He asked if I would get back together with him and give it another shot, but I told him I just couldn't do that to Anthony, you know?  I'm engaged.  I mean, I told him I wish I could and that if things were different, if he had come along sooner, I really would have, but it was just too late for that."

"Wow, that's crazy."  It felt crazy, and it felt heavy.  It felt gross.  He felt gross, like the animal that could actually love someone I loved but knew to be so dysfunctional inside on levels she couldn't even address with me when I thought we were so close.

"Yeah... and you know what else?  Right after I rejected him, he told me he's going to join the Army.  I mean, he said he'd move out here and come live with me and we could be together, but you know I have Anthony; I couldn't do that.  I told him not to do it, but he said that if I wouldn't be with him, he didn't really have a choice.  I mean, really, I can't believe he joined the Army because of me."

And that was the moment that my mind dropped the whole thing.  It was fat, icky, and worthless to think about.  What did I care if he felt so strongly for her like that?  He must seriously have been creepy to have pined after her all those years and call out of the blue with all these six-year feelings.  After all, so many of the people she talked to were very, very creepy.  They scared me; I was scared for her.  But I refused to let myself get sucked into that midnights-outside-your-window world.

But I was being naive.  I was being trusting toward the person who had been the most beautiful constant in my life.  Who would ever, ever suspect the person they were closest with in the world to fudge the truth or even to tell a bald-faced lie?  And how was I to know that I was only feeling what I was supposed to feel, that I was a result?

As part of my efforts to get into a good graduate school next year (or the year after, depending on application cycles and deadlines), I've been studying for the GRE, or Graduate Record Examination.  There are parts of it I know I'm going to ace, but there are other parts I'm a little worried about.  That's why I picked up a copy of the New GRE 2011-2012 Premier with CD-ROM, a study aide straight from Kaplan, the people who design and give the test.

As part of studying for the Verbal section, it is suggested that you keep a vocabulary journal, a notebook where you write out and define words you've never heard before that you find in books or hear said.  It's supposed to help build vocabulary in preparation for the exam, but like the book says, this is a great practice to keep up for the rest of your life!

The book suggests that the method we were taught in elementary school, trying to derive the meaning of a word from the sentence around it, is flawed and that the only way to truly understand a word and the feelings or connotations that may be behind it is to examine it's true definition and roots.  It also suggests making up your own sentence for the word and writing it out to get a good feel for what you've just learned.  Learning the synonyms and antonyms of the word is good practice too.  Using the tips from the study guide, I created a format for my definitions that incorporates all the good practice habits mentioned: Word - (part of speech), (Greek/Latin roots and definitions of roots), (definition), (sentence using word), (synonyms), (antonyms.).   Remember, learning synonyms and antonyms of a word you know can help you to derive the meanings of the unknown synonyms or antonyms later without actually having to look them up!

I think this is going to prove to be an invaluable tool for my reading and writing ventures, and I just had to share it with all my readers!  The book lists several words that appear often on the exam, and I must admit, I learned a lot of new ones.  I also started taking the time to define new words I encountered while reading, as well as old words I'd never bothered to truly define.

If you'd like to start your very own vocabulary journal, here are three words to start you off, presented in the format I mentioned:

Vituperative - adj. - from vituperate + ive; Latin vituperatus, meaning to spoil or blame; vitu from
viti from vitium, meaning blemish; perare from parare, meaning to furnish or provide - characterized by or of the nature of harsh, abussive, defaming language; abusive verbally
Ex. - There is no need to be vituperative during these negotiations.
Synonyms: calumniating, castigating, censorious, contumelious, defamatory, derisive, disparaging, insolent, insulting, invective, libelous, maligning, obloquious, offensive, opprobrious, reproachful, reviling, rude, sarcastic, scathing, scolding, scurrilous, sharp-tongued, slanderous, traducing, upbraiding, villifying
Antonyms: N/A

Contraindicate - verb - from contra + indicate, Latin contra meaning against - (medical term) to give an indication against the advisability of something, usually a remedy or treatment
Ex. - The doctor contraindicated certain kinds of exercise in the treatment of his patient's arthritis.
Synonyms: N/A
Antonyms: N/A

Diatribe - noun - from Latin diatriba, Greek diatribe, meaning pastime, study, or discourse - a bitter, sharply abusive denunciation, attack, or criticism
Ex. - Pay no attention to the repeated diatribes against the senator.
Synonyms: harangue, criticism, abuse, castigation, denunciation, disputation, invective, jeremiad, objection, onslaught, philippic, reviling, screed, stricture, tirade, vituperation
Antonyms: praise, recommendation, compliment, defense, support

All my life, I've been doing just this: burning bridges.  I'm a certifiable pyromaniac.  I end each chapter of my life with a fire ritual, breaking down every tie I made out of shame or hate or just unexplainable self-sabotage.

Then one day, someone wise said to me that burning bridges is the worst thing one can do to oneself.  It's simply not wise to leave a trail of fire in your wake instead of a trail of fond memories.  Sometimes simply cutting ties or in any other way severing yourself from someone without a single word may seem like the best course of action (and I will be the first to admit that this can sometimes be true), but is it really the best or does just seem to be the easiest when cornered by the prospect of actually facing our problems head on?  If we have a disagreement or mishap or falling out with another human being, does it really benefit either of us to just abandon that relationship on a note of bitterness?  No, not at all.

Every fiber of my being has always rebelled against confrontation, especially if I'm the one that's done something wrong, no matter how minor.  I also have the habit of blaming myself even when I realize later I hadn't actually done anything wrong at all, which has lead to extra problems for me that could have been resolved with some rational thought and confrontation of the matter.  I've ducked into rooms and around corners, practically run from people that I wanted to avoid, just to save myself from having to look them in the eyes or offer up some stumbling words of explanation.  I've gone to extraordinary lengths to cut myself off completely from people and to forget the problems between us, but it is surprisingly hard to forget bitterness, especially when the case for resolving it and healing seems hopeless.  The least I could have done would have been to end those ties on a positive note, to have faced my fears and dispelled that haunting taste on the back of my tongue.

Also, I cannot neglect to mention the bitterness that comes from cutting oneself off from someone for just no good reason.  We blow off our friends, we avoid phone calls and text messages simply because we don't feel like talking, and we make others feel lousy for nothing.  It doesn't take much effort to send someone a text later on when you're in a better mood or to at least tell someone as far in advance as possible that we won't be able to join them for something, but for some reason we don't do it.  Why?  Because it seems easiest, and it's easy to do the easy thing.

My point here is not that we should maintain contact with everyone we've ever met, even those that we'd like to forget, but that we shouldn't leave bitter.  If you're going to part, part friends, part positively.  You have no idea how it can hurt you if you don't.  Leave the bridge standing; you may never cross it again, but it is good to know that it still stands if you ever need it.  And if you've burned a bridge, all it takes to build it back is a little extra effort, some careful consideration, and some positive action toward resolution. 

I've made a little vow to myself that before I go on to graduate school, I'm going do my best to rebuild every bridge that I've burned in the latest chapter of my life like a flock of phoenixes from the ashes.  If you stop to really think about it, all it takes is a little maturity and humility to make things right.  There is no bridge that I've burned within the past 2 years that I cannot think of a way to rebuild.  I guess once the foundation is laid, there will always be something there to build a bridge off of.

When I first stared this blog, branching away from the graveyard of the internet, MySpace, and looking for readership in a more serious locale, I had no idea where I was going with it.  Winging it is a lot harder than you think, guys!  But after a few months of testing the water and my feelings on the matter, I've decided that the future of Notes From Carcosa lies in my writing, English and writing in general, book recommendations/reviews, my life, occasional updates about my Deviantart, and my personal philosophy.  I've stuck in a couple random things that don't quite fit this vision, such as my tips about romantic things to do during a deployment, but for once, I've actually got a clear idea of where I'm headed with this thing.  I hope that now I've given myself a bit of a mission statement, all my readers are looking forward to what's to come!

Another quick side note: I've got a brand new blog in the works!  It's one devoted exclusively to fashion and beauty.  I've got a couple of other blog ideas knocking around in my head right now, but this one will definitely be the next manifestation of my bloggy vision!

I know it's been a while, but I'm sure all of you understand how busy one's schedule can get, especially when you're trying to cram in all your school work plus some into the first three months of the semester.  If I'm going to be able to enjoy my time in Germany at all, I've simply got to get those things out of the way.  With that said...

Last week, I decided once and for all to say screw teaching.  I'm changing my major to pure English <3  I've been flirting with this idea for a long time, and I've finally decided that even if it would potentially open up one more job option for me to have the teaching minor, it is simply not worth it in any way.  Tacking a secondary education minor onto my upward climb to professorship was quite possibly one of the largest mistakes I've made in my life, and I'm glad I've finally realized it.

I may have wasted time and money on education courses, but I learned a valuable lesson from it.  It's not that teaching isn't a perfectly honorable pursuit, but like many professions, it is under-appreciated, underpaid, and ultimately fruitless for being discouraged by the very country that needs these teachers the most.  As it stands, the degree just doesn't seem worth the outstanding effort to attain it, the job risks, and various laws and regulations that restrict the everyday freedom of teachers, even in their own private lives.  It's exactly the same as getting a nursing degree: you're going to work a hard, thankless job with the risk of lawsuits or firings coming down on you at the drop of a hat that will effectively destroy your teaching career for the rest of your life.

Courtesy of Toothpaste for Dinner

I understand that many states have different education requirements, laws, and regulations concerning teaching, but whether it be at the national or state level, something must be done to encourage students to become teachers and to save the education of our country.  As for Alabama, there are several teacher examinations that a.) do not test teachers based on their subject of study and b.) test both elementary and secondary teachers the same way.  Is that really the way to determine if people taking these tests are competent?  In every education class I've ever sat down in, the professors announced that the coursework we would do in those classes would never be used by us in the real world of teaching, that no school used the programs or formats encouraged by the education track, and yet Alabama requires potential teachers to fill a portfolio full of these pointless assignments to show that we learned how to do them.  That work isn't just pointless, it is repetitive and extremely time consuming, some of the hardest classwork I've ever done for 10 points or a check +.  No matter what class you are in, you end up doing the same assignments in the same order over and over with slight variations.  The classes are so cookie cutter, one is often able to just turn in an old assignment with some slight alterations.  For every education class you take, you are required to do a certain amount of community service and student teaching hours; the more classes you take, the more hours you must do.  In essence, teaching classes can become like a second job between those outside hours and the plethora of busywork one must do.

So what happens when a student decides to endure all of that, to take a million courses on how not to be racist then write a thesis on revolutionary ideals about what education should be before embarking on a journey into a world where none of those ideals will ever come true?  You enter a struggling job market, perhaps you become a teacher, and that's great, you've got a job, maybe you love young people or your subject, you're totally pumped.  However, think for a moment back to your own high school education, if you will.  Did you ever notice that not very many of your own teachers were truly "pumped" unless they were just starting out?  Did you notice the passion leaving their eyes after teaching the same thing 7 times a day for year after year?  Did you see some sparkle disappear when students learned to hate or mock the subject that the teacher wanted to share with them?  Every day, hundreds of faces passed before them, most of them more occupied with dating and gossip than getting an education.  No one thanked them for the wisdom they imparted, for their passion, or for spending money from their own pockets to try to keep their students captivated.

From the Berkeley Daily Planet

Teaching textbooks call it burnout.  Personally, I hoped I wouldn't burn out before I could escape.  Teaching is a thankless job, and many students consider public school a glorified daycare.  Parents don't come in on parent-teacher conference day to say thank you for educating their child, they come in to scream at you because it couldn't possibly be that their son or daughter was turning in blank worksheets; it must be that you're a horrible teacher who has failed their child and should be fired.  And how is it that the practice of firing teachers whose students make bad grades is incentive for those teachers to get better at teaching students?  It is more likely that that same teacher, fearing for their job, will dumb down the curriculum for the sake of allowing everyone to pass and to save their career.  I won't even get started on standardized tests, let alone mass standardized tests; if you're a teacher for the grades that take the graduation exam or the SATs or what have you, you will teach to that test instead of teach truly valuable things to try and save the school where you work, because if those students fail that test, your school goes on probation and loses funding.  It detracts from the quality of education simply to pass tests that aren't even an accurate measure of student intelligence, talent, or creativity.  School becomes designed to cater to the desperate need of teachers to have all their students, especially the ones with the lowest grades, pass standardized tests for various reasons, catering to the needs of the students who border on failing and leaving especially gifted students bored, burned out, and neglected.  People who have an especially high IQ who often go on the be very successful are consistently let down by public education.

It all sounds so backwards, but it doesn't even end there.  The first classes to get cut when the budget is low are enrichment classes, arts and extracurriculars that inspire passion and creativity in students and offer a welcome break to the monotony of everyday classwork.  Put simply, school does not encourage the pursuit of passion.  If you aren't good at math and want a career in history later in life, you aren't allowed to take extra or more advanced history classes or to drop advanced calculus.  If you play the trumpet well and know you want it to be a major part of your life, you aren't allowed to focus on music and your grades in music courses are meaningless because they aren't "core curriculum."  If anything, your music course is likely to be cut.  The current system not only punishes the teacher, it punishes the student.  Teachers often must pay for many things one would consider necessities out of their pocket, such as tissues, extra tools used for enriching projects, or even books.  You are already severely underpaid (many teachers work second jobs, some of the ones at my high school being farmers on the side), and you're forced to pay for many tools for yourself because of lack of funding.  And yet, just a couple years ago, a 1/2 cent tax increase that would fund schools exclusively was voted down right here in Cullman and continues to get voted down every time it comes up.

It gets better.  Your personal life is no longer your own.  According to one of my teacher education textbooks, courts have upheld the decision of schools to fire teachers for living with a partner without being married.  I'm sure many of you remember a few years back that a teacher (pictured right) was fired for having a second job as a mate on a charter fishing boat service after it was discovered she wore a bikini on the cruises and in the fishing boat's brochure.  After the brochure was exposed, several fishing patrons volunteered photos of her in her bikini.  While sexual harassment may be a serious subject and there should always be regulations in place to prevent it, if a student decides to accuse a teacher of sexual harassment under false pretenses, even if it is discovered the accusation was a lie, that teacher will lose his or her job and probably never be hired as a teacher again, and courts will uphold the decision of schools to fire these teachers and other schools to refuse to hire them.  One must also never forget the threat of student violence, whether it be with guns, knives, or fists.  It happens more than you think.  I know that many of you could say that in your high school career, there was someone, even more than one someone, who brought a serious weapon to school, seemed to have tendencies toward violence and lashing out, or you were sure was just going to snap one day.  Aside from instances like that, my own school saw two bomb threats during the school day, and the year before I moved to my high school, an arsonist burned it down.  All that and I just live in podunk old Cullman, Alabama.

Until new laws and regulations concerning the education of teachers (they should be educated with curriculum that will truly prepare them for the kinds of programs and methods used in normal schools), freedoms within their private lives, proper funding of schools, a dramatic pay increase that reflects the value of the service these teachers are providing, standardized testing, incentive programs, and a million other things, teaching high school is simply not worth the extreme hard work placed both on those pursuing the degree and those already working within the field.  I've got something like over 50 job options with my versatile English degree and never intended to teach for more than 4 years before moving on to professorship, so tell me, nation, what's my motive to teach high school?  Sorry, nation, I've simply got to follow my dreams, whatever the path to them may be.

P.S. -- To all the education majors, especially elementary, who want to make it a career and want to help children, truly help them and devote your life to the pursuit, I respect you so much.  You are giving so much for some children that really need a helping hand.  I admire your nobility and am sorry that I myself am not nobler.

So I know it's a little late, but I just love sharing these each year <3  Usually I only accomplish half or fewer of the goals I set for myself, so this year, I decided to make them very attainable to the point that I almost can't avoid doing them.  Also, this year I only made eight resolutions instead of ten, mostly because Mike and I were making them together and he got so tired he went to sleep on me, but that's kewl cuz I love him =]

*Psst! If you're not going to bother to read my resolutions, skip to the bottom, read the last para, and tell me what you think!

1.) Read more.
Okay, any of you who actually know me know that I am notorious for reading a crazy amount of books.  However, over the past year or so, I've really let that slide.  I read fewer books than ever in 2010 for various reasons, and I would just like to get back on track.  Life is short, and I have to fit as many books into it as possible while I still have the time to be idle enough to read them.  I feel reading makes me a better, more well-rounded person, and I never want to stop that positive growth.  It's time to get back on track!

2.) Stretch every day.

3.) Learn to speak German very well.
I started the endeavor of learning German through Rosetta Stone during the Fall semester of last year, and while I've completed level 1, there are still 4 levels to go.  I'd really like to be good at speaking the language and understand it very well for a couple reasons.  If I know the language, things will be easier when I'm spending extended time in Germany.  Also, learning another language is an enriching experience, just like reading lots of books.  It helps me to get in touch with the roots of my own language, and the two being somewhat similar, it makes it a little easier for me to learn.  I don't want German to end up like Japanese where I learn a bit but not enough to use.


4.) Beat the video games I've left perpetually unfinished.

Darn those primers!

Alright, I know this was my resolution last year, but I did do quite a bit of work toward achieving this goal.  However, being the gaming enthusiast that I am, of course I haven't finished all those games!  I'm the kind of person who likes to dominate a game; not just beat it, DOMINATE IT.  I have to collect every item and do everything to the fullest extent it can be done, and if I realize I failed to do so, I often simply restart the game and try not to miss it the second time.  I've had this problem with Final Fantasy X, where I seem to always miss one or two of the Al Bhed Primers in the heat of the moment and feel like I have to do the whole thing again so I can have them.  I also always collect all the summons in any Final Fantasy or similar game and unlock all the secrets available in others.  This means I've played Silent Hill 2 through enough times to get all the endings and a couple of the secret endings on the Greatest Hits disc.  Right now, I'm in the middle of getting the UFO ending where it turns out the whole thing was orchestrated by aliens.  BUT... this year, I just want to get through them all perfectly, which means never taking my eyes off the item and secret guides so that I don't miss my golden opportunity.


5.) Work on my scrapbook of memories Mike and I have made together.
When Mike was here with me in March, we ended up buying a Martha Stewart scrapbook from Wal-Mart and a bunch of cute scrapbooking supplies from Hobby Lobby.  I wanted to do this to preserve all the memories we made during the first half of our first year together and preserve one very special memory that only some of you know about <3  However, because of the mixture of the deployment, school, moving, and other obligations that have popped up, I have yet to start it.  All the things I want inside are collected in one place, but I just haven't put anything where it goes.  This year, while I'm in Columbus or Savannah or what have you, I would really like to finish that scrapbook, or at least work on it.  I'd also like to start work on a second one that chronicles all the events and good times we share with friends and each other leading up to the wedding (which will in turn have its own album).


6.) Stop being such a pack rat.
I don't know why, but I have a tendency to keep things when it's probably time to just let them go.  I accumulate stuff and bring more stuff into the house, and sometimes, it all doesn't have a home.  After watching a lot of episodes of Hoarders and What Not To Wear, I know that time in my life is over.  I guess while I wasn't a hoarder, I did have a little too many things that just served no purpose anymore but I couldn't let go of them, and I think I agree with the psychologists on Hoarders about keeping those things and avoiding the change of losing them was my form of security during a very insecure time.  I'm happy now, and I don't really have the inclination to hang on to any useless baggage anymore.  I've gone through just about everything I own and have trashed a whole bunch of things or given them to the Salvation Army.  I know I'm not in the place of hanging on to useless crap anymore, but I'm making this my resolution so that I'll continue to keep things that way.


7.) Take care of my nails.
I really love the way my nails look when I file them and keep them painted on a regular basis, but oftentimes, I just find myself feeling too busy or too lazy to do this.  While some of my favorite colors take a while to dry and on rare occasion, things may get a little mess, it's not too difficult to maintain my manicure.  This year, I'd like to keep my nails well cared-for at all times, because whether I'd like to admit it or not, people notice the state of a person's fingernails, and some take it as a reflection of that person's personality.


8.) Make myself feel better about my (lower) body through the magic of leg exercises and this awesome Butt Lift in a Box that I saw at Victoria's Secret.

Example of a lady with saddlebags

Like I said in number 2, I really don't exercise that much.  I think well-defined muscles are weird on a girl; we're supposed to be soft and feminine.  I'm not a big person, and by simply not giving in to the pressure of eating more than nature dictates simply because it's there when I get a super-mega-value meal, I maintain a healthy weight.  However, I didn't always do that, and for a while there, I had a pretty big badonkadonk, lol.  Everyone knows that things are always a little different after you've lost the weight you put on, and this is true for me.

The shape of my hips has changed, and I'd just really feel better if I did something about it.  I've developed saddlebags (fat on the outer thigh right below the hips) that make it hard for me to pick out flattering skirts.  It makes my hips pretty strange because the saddlebags stick out more than my actual hips.  From what I've read, it's nearly impossible to get rid of them, and when I first read that, I panicked and bought an exercise machine that is supposed to target them called the Leg Magic.  It's not hard and totally works, but I just don't use it like I should.  I'd like to start using it daily.  My butt has also lost a lot of it's perk.  I'm very happy with the size; I don't want it smaller or bigger, but I want it to be lifted just a little and not to sag as much.  That's why I'm going to go ahead and spend a little extra money on my new butt improving cream.  I'm getting Butt Lift in a Box that I first saw at Victoria's Secret, a three-step kit that's supposed to lift and firm your butt back to perfection.

Wow, manicures and a perkier bottom, what a year it's going to be.  I'm sure those of you who speak to me on a regular basis know I'm a crazy promoter of stuff I find that works, so if the Butt Lift in a Box is successful (or not), you know I'll let you guys know about it <3  Oh, and give me a little feedback, you guys: would you love to hear about all the tons and tons of body-improving, age-reversing, cellulite-erasing products I've tried that have brought me great success or total failure?  Let me know!