Class of '97

In the words of Peter Griffin (Family Guy), "you know what grinds my gears?" A few of my pet peeves are: toilet seats left up, empty ice cube trays left in the freezer, and unnecessary drama. Today, I'll focus on the latter of the 3. Just because people are adults, it doesn't mean they are grown. Let me repeat. Just because people can be tried as adults in a court of law (meaning 18+), or are built like adults, or can drive and operate other heavy machinery DOES NOT make them grown. Grown is a state of mind. If a 13 year old had a voice like Barry White, you may mistake him for a grown man on the phone, but in person you'd see he still acts like a kid. Same thing goes for adults. They may talk a good game, and seem like they have their stuff together, but when you really listen to them, you realize the mental growth stopped somewhere around 15. These are often the same people who have sucka attacks (see "sucka attack" post), live in their parents basement (see "grow up" post), & like to keep up drama. While it gets good ratings on tv, real life drama should stay where it belongs - in high school. Who has time to worry about who said what to whom and why? The adults I know are too busy grinding, trying to make things better for themselves and their families. So, if you know anyone trying to perpetuate drama, tell them proudly you left that behind when you graduated high school. I've been drama free since '97.

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Roy

CBS Sunday Morning did a piece today on Roy Lichtenstein that caught my eye. For those who aren't really into the artsy fartsy, Roy created some of the most instantly recognizable art of the 20th century, stylizing subjects that seem mundane into art. You've probably seem his work and haven't realized it - a mural in the subway under New York's 42nd street; an installation in the Columbus and Miami airports; countless tv and print ads using his images. To me, the intriguing part was his subjects were usually simple, everyday things that interested him. His joy was creating the art, and whether it was a political event or a woman removing toenail polish, it became a canvas, done in his signature style. And now, his pieces sell for millions, bought by people who appreciate his artistic view. It's his story that buoys me, motivating me to continue my blog. My blogs aren't hard hitting commentaries or deep reflective queries into the mysteries of life. They're just things on my mind at the time I decided to jot it down. I doubt if I'll win any prizes or get millions of people clamoring to see what I have to say next, but someone, somewhere appreciates the fact that I blog and enjoy it. And, like Roy, for me that's enough.

If you're not familiar with Roy's work, here's a link to his foundation:
http://www.lichtensteinfoundation.org/

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Work hard, play harder

I spoke with a woman this week who told me, "you're always working!" I thought about that...I guess I am. Between the main job, the side job, cooking, cleaning, doing hair, and being the student taxi, I'm always doing something. But even when I have down time, I don't take it to play. I'm trying to stay one step ahead, get a jump on my ever-growing task list for tomorrow. When did life get un-fun? As I drove the kids out to play laser tag, I started to reminisce on all the fun I had as a child. Why can't I still have fun in my thirties? I can, I just don't choose to. I'm too busy on the grind to enjoy what I'm grinding for. So, I'm slowing down, putting a job or two on hiatus. It's time to go roller skating, try skiing, and take an excursion. The kids shouldn't be the only ones having fun.

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Ingenuity

This week's been a beautiful struggle: I had a hard time coming up with ideas at work, topics for posts, and things to say as I type this right now.  But for every one person struggling, there's two more serving as inspiration.  Check out some of these innovations for some ideas of your own.

Ping Pong Ball Apartment
http://finance.yahoo.com/real-estate/article/111921/tiny-apartment-is-made-with-25000-ping-pong-balls

Sliding Glass House
http://www.geekologie.com/2009/02/coooool_all_glass_house_has_sl.php

Nike Ball Sculpture
http://www.thisblogrules.com/2010/06/giant-sculpture-made-out-of-3000-balls-for-the-world-cup.html

Various Interior Design Projects (slideshow)
http://www.interiordesign.net/slideshow/2057-Best_of_Year_2010_Projects.php

My kind of reality

A few posts ago I wrote about the Real Whoevers of Wherever, those shows that are always high drama and low reality. I don't have time for all of that, but I always make a minute for the Police Women of Cincinnati. Maybe it's because it's my hometown, or my job is right up the street from most of the places they show, or because I know a couple of people on the screen. It could just be because it's funny. It's completely unscripted, these people are insane, and they're all in my area code. One guy got cited for peeing in public, of course you've got the standard busts on the ho stroll, and the random ramblings of a man who got caught via DUI after buying condoms to use with someone other than his wife. And to balance out the philandering, they have a love story in the making...two people brought together by their warrants. That's my kind of reality.

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Ah, shaddup!

A lot of problems in life are caused when we talk too much. Think about it. From airing all the dirty laundry on national tv to not asking for a lawyer before they spill their guts on the First 48, people get caught up when they tell all the biz. Some folks (like those on daytime tv and First 48) deserve to get caught. Others just make themselves look stupid. Like those "I'm about to..." people. I'm about to get a new car/another job/a role on Days of Our Lives. But whenever you see them, they're riding the BMX/working at the same place/still watching DOL. And none of those things are bad, except they've told everyone they know how they're ABOUT to do this or ABOUT to do that. I was one of those people, always ABOUT to do something. But, when things didn't go as planned, I had to go back and recant all my statements and explain why this, that, and the other didn't happen. So, I shut up. I quit broadcasting my intentions and started doing. Actions speak louder than words, and DONE goes further than ABOUT any day.

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Bad American!

I am a bad American. Of all the presidential addresses in the past 30+ years I've been on Earth, I can honestly say I can count the number I've voluntarily sat through on one hand. The number gets considerably smaller when I count the ones I can recall. I know as an adult, a voter, a taxpayer, a parent, and an American citizen, I should recall every word uttered by the President, no matter who is in charge. Whether they be Democrat, Republican, Independent, Whig, or other, I should hang on every word about what is going on in my country. But, I don't. I see the hour and a half block of time allotment on the guide and instantly scroll to see what else is on. President Obama is funny, engaging, witty, and smart, but something about watching anyone talk for 90 minutes is an instant turn off. Don't get me wrong, I read the transcripts and remain informed. I just don't like the format. Maybe if people were throwing shoes or he had some nice powerpoint slides or something, it could hold my interest. Which is really sad, considering I'll spend an hour each week watching anorexic girls cry while they struggle with smizing, but can't tune into a one-time important announcement from the leader of the free world. So, now that I've acknowledged I'm bad, I can try harder to be good. I'm watching the address as I write this, listening and contemplating, being an informed citizen of the US. I may even remember something about it tomorrow.

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Get Happy

Well it's Monday, which around here means everyone's just read the sucka attack emails from last week and is annoyed anew for this week. And while I used to be the first to wallow and wail about whatever injustice my job had thrown upon us, I don't do that anymore. Instead of instantly being irked by the powers that be, I learned to let go. You see, I've been through the gamut of grieving - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance in the past 7 years. It wasn't until a year or two ago when it finally dawned on me my job wasn't the problem. I was. I kept letting them steal my joy, kept allowing them to take away the power I had to change my circumstances. I was miserable because on some twisted level, I wanted to be. It's an abusive situation; your self esteem is withered away until you think you are the problem, and while you realize what they're doing is wrong, you don't believe you have the ability to change it. Once I acknowledged that I was allowing them to break me down, I began to build myself back up. I stopped beating myself up. I started networking and putting my name out there. I began laughing at things that used to annoy me. And while I can't stop all of the stress working brings, I decided I would take work for what it is. It's a job. A means to an end. I can't change my coworkers, my bosses, or the economy. I can, however, change my actions and reactions, my circumstances, my quality of life. Don't wait for external forces to make you happy...you'll be waiting the rest of your life. Happiness comes from within. And once you move past all of the extraneous bs weighing you down, you will flourish knowing those were just stepping stones on your journey. So, be happy. You deserve it!

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The Make-Do Woman

I was sent this email a few years ago, and liked it so much I printed it out and put it on my fridge as a reminder of what I never wanted to become. However, in the act of living, I devolved into the Queen of making-do. My paychecks go directly to the bills, the house, and the kids in that order. I go years without new boots or new clothes, choosing to hot glue soles on heels instead of spending some of the gas money on a good pair of shoes. I would even feel guilty every time I bought something new if I couldn't justify it. Why do I need another coat? This one has held up since '92! The saddest part (other than my 10 year old coat or glued shoes) is a lot of women live just like me, never splurging on themselves or doing anything other than keep going. The logic isn't we deserve the things we want and should give ourselves tokens of appreciation for all the hard work we do. Instead we have this ridiculous belief that getting a pedi or taking a few hours away from the 24/7 time-consuming business of life is selfish. We should embrace our alone time, treat ourselves, and enjoy living! My print out of that email has long vanished from my refrigerator. I may reprint this link to remind myself that my health and my sanity are more than worth it.

If you haven't heard of the make-do woman, check out the link.
http://www.drirene.com/makedo_women.htm

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Perseverance pays off

A former GM employee was laid off a few years ago. Flat broke with a family to support, decided to join the PBA bowling tour. He joined, he won, and has fun while supporting his family.

A pro athlete suddenly quit playing, traveled the world, became a yoga instructor and decided to go into holistic medicine, then went back to the league to finish out his career. Beyond the money, fame, and adulation, he found an inner peace that had been missing his whole life.

A talented mother of 3 sings, takes odd jobs, goes to culinary school, and decides to be a writer. She goes on book tours, spends her own money traveling to book signings and events, calls everyone she knows and doesn't know, writes 30+ letters to a national magazine and finally gets recognition.

What do these people have in common? They persevered. Their stories, no matter how different, all ended the same. They triumphed where a lot of us would've given up. It's so easy to quit when we're down, throw in the towel, and every other cliché you can think of. But as soon as we quit, we give up any chance we have of being successful. So the next time you want to stop, remember all of the people you know that kept going, no matter what. Perseverance really does pay off.

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Hurry up and...wait

I hate waiting. Like most other Americanized folks, I want what I want when I want it. I don't want to stand in line, or wait for a phone call, or check for an elusive email. Get to me now, answer me now, give it to me N-O-W. Patience is a virtue and I'm just not that virtuous. But, I've found that barring doing a strong arm robbery for my w2s or threatening bodily harm to the chef taking too long with my chicken parmesan, waiting is an inevitable part of life. If I want it done well and/or right, I have to wait. My dad's phrase was "poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part." And he's right. It may not always be poor planning, but just because I want something doesn't mean whatever I want will magically appear. If that was the case, there'd be no waiting list for kidneys, no need for unicef or the red cross, and no homeless broadcasters waiting to be rediscovered. But life doesn't work like that. So as frustrating, annoying, and downright aggravating waiting is, it's an unavoidable fact of life. Get a good book, make some popcorn, pull up a chair, and hurry up and wait.

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A storm's a comin'

You have to love people who truly enjoy what they do. These weather forecasters LIVE for a bad snowstorm or a tornado or a category 5 hurricane. Here in Cincinnati, you'd think they won the lotto every time we get a few inches of snow. They break into the regularly scheduled programing, update stats, run the ticker at the bottom of the screen, and have a great time telling you how jacked up it is outside. And they're always so cheerful about it. In fact, they're only really melancholy when it's 70 degrees, clear, and sunny. But, I love that they love it. Who else would get up at 1 or 2 in the morning to check out cloud formations and doppler screens? And when there's a tornado or snowstorm and they tell us to stay indoors, the weatherman is always out driving around, cameraman in tow, slipping and sliding to demonstrate the dangerous conditions. And on that off chance of a nice day in the ohio valley, they come up with fun facts about weather stats. Because, especially on those days, they gotta have something to talk about. So 3 cheers for the weather people. Keep doing what you do, and I'll keep watching all your breaking updates.

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Grow Up

Yeah...
I butchered this song for all you grown folks out there
Over 35 still livin' on their mama's couch in the basement,
for no other reason than your lazy ass never grew up,
cussin' her out under your breath 'cause she wants some rent...  This one's for you

(sung to the tune of R. Kelly's Feelin On Your Bootie)

(chorus)
This song's all about you
no doubt
'Cause you're 36 still livin in
your mama's house
And you mad you got a curfew,
living with no duties,
got no job to speak of,
but sittin' on your booty

(Verse 1)
Hey freeloader how you doin'
see you got your money ready for the weekend
When I ask you how much you got on the food
you say loan me a $20 and I got you

you ain't gettin paid
can't blame the economy
cause you ain't had a job
since you were 23

repeat chorus 2x

(Verse 2)
now your parents ain't feelin like spending
all that money to fumigate the room you live in
you don't clean up your dishes or your refuse
and now you brought them roaches and some rats, too

you don't wash your ass
too busy watchin TV
and taking every survey
that comes out on FB

repeat chorus 2x

Now if you're movin' out, put your hands up
If you're payin' bills, put your hands up
And if you got some cash, put your hands up
You got a new job, then put your hands up

you ain't gettin paid
can't blame the economy
cause you ain't had a job
Feels so good say it again

you ain't gettin paid
can't blame the economy
cause you ain't had a job
since you were 23

repeat chorus

Get your ass a job
move out your mom's
Get off of Facebook
Get off of your booty, your booty
your booty, booty
get off of your booty, your booty
your booty, booty
booty, booty
booty booty booty booty
booty booty booty

For the original video, click here

Beware the Sucka Attack

Suck-a at-tack.  n.  an event in which a seemingly normal adult becomes irrational and throws a temper tantrum.  Also known as a hissy fit, the sucka attack is brought about by the inability to handle everyday occurrences like grown ups.  While the sucka attacks of the past were reserved for justified causes, i.e. catching a loved one in the act of infidelity; loss/threatened loss of financial income; or the occasional ill-timed word from a rude person, the sucka attacks of today are over trivial events or nothing at all.  Sucka attack symptoms usually occur suddenly and are triggered by perceived stresses, such as: a nasty look, small monetary sums owed (less than $20), an inadvertent step on a new sneaker, or a he said/she said rumor that ends up in chairs flying. 
Symptoms - Sucka attack symptoms used to be physical (chairs flying, loud yelling, encroachment on personal space), but since the explosion of the Internet, have become more passive aggressive.  In fact, emails are often the mode of choice for the sucka having the attack, as they do not require face-to-face contact and can be sent under protection of separation from the recipient.  Emails are often used in workplace sucka attacks, especially when sent during work hours.
Treatment -  Although there's no known cure, there are steps to curb a sucka attack.  If faced with the email version, simple confrontation will usually curb any further outbreaks.  If caught in a face to face sucka attack, hand to hand combat may be necessary, so try to be on guard.  If the sucka attack escalates, a 911 call may be involved, depending on the severity. 
Prevention - Don't be a sucka.
Additional Information - refer to any current or past episodes of the following shows: Maury, Jerry Springer, Cheaters, Real Housewives of Wherever, pretty much any reality show

Real Talk

I went to see a good friend of mine yesterday, and happened to show up right when Baby Bearing Bimbos of Boston or whatever reality show she was into came on.  I'd never seen it, so I watched it with her to find out what all of the hype is about.  Honestly, I still don't know.  All they did was yell and argue and throw stuff; there was bad makeup, bad clothes, bad hair, and someone got lipo.  I couldn't figure out the draw.  What attracts people to these shows?  It can't be the fact that it's reality, because I don't know anyone with that much money or that many problems.  So I was pretty intrigued by a theory one of my coworkers had about the whole thing.  His logic is we need reality TV as a barometer to show us the limits of crazy, then we can judge ourselves accordingly.  For example, someone could see Hoarders and think, "I may be a stalker, but at least I don't hoard rats.  That would just be nuts."  And then feel better about themselves. Then he went on to say that not only does reality TV make us view ourselves differently, but it's a form of economic stimulus.  If it weren't for people who hoard rats, psychologists/psychiatrists/organizers, trash collectors, TV camera crew, people that make hazmat suits, and the shelters who are adopting out the rats would all be unemployed.   I suppose, in a way, he's right.  So the next time I see Florida Coast, Bimbos of Boston, or Housewives of Harlem, I'll think twice about changing the show.  Then I'll change it anyway.

I wrote a previous post on this awhile ago.  Check that one out here

Wow

Here it is, blog #15. According to a correction my friend made to a previous post, it takes 28 days to create a new habit. Which means with #15, I'm more than halfway to making blogging an everyday thing. And that excites me, since my original goal was forcing myself to write daily.

It's easy to be an aspiring writer, but hard to reach that goal if I never actually finish writing anything. See, I'm excellent at starting. I've got a couple bins of fabric from when I started making scrapbooking bags; a few coding books from my brief interest in html/css; unfinished drawings from when I was in an artistic mood. And if you've been keeping up with my blogs you know about the bathroom door. So being on blog 15 is a big deal. It means I have hope to actually finish what I started. I notice my mindset shifting - instead of blogging being an occasional thing to do when it crosses my mind, I make time for it daily. I feel remiss if I try to go to bed without writing down something, ANYTHING, for the Stew. So if I can keep up with a blog, I can finish those bags/code my css for this page/complete that drawing and post the pic. And ultimately, you can pick up my completed book at your local retailer. ;)

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Miles to go

JI need someone with OCD to move in. I woke up this morning and decided I'd clean today. I watched an episode of Enough Already on OWN and got all motivated. Until I started and quickly realized why I have stagnant random stacks of crap in my house. I don't like to clean. But it's really not even that; I feel good when I've gotten through a stack of papers or a pile of clothes and everything is in its place. I can't stand devoting a weekend of my life organizing, straightening, polishing, and scrubbing only to have other people come along and, in the act of everyday living, wreck my work. It wouldn't be so bad if everyone did their jobs - the kids are on kitchen and laundry detail; my hubby and I handle the bedroom, bathroom, dining room, and living room. Yet there are still clothes not washed, beds not made, rooms not clean. Yeah, yeah, I should do a little daily to stay up on it. I do, but it never seems like enough. And while I'm not on hoarder status, I'd feel better if I knew I had kindred spirits out there. Other people like me whose homes don't look like tv commercials and take more than a few minutes to get "company ready". This is an official call to all my fellow somewhat unkempt compadres. Comment on this post if its not just me that needs a maid with OCD or a visit from Peter Walsh.

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So...

What to write about today... Work? Nah, it officially became the weekend at 5:02. Kids? Nope. I'm on a brief respite from my kids that'll end as soon as their show goes off PBS. Maybe I'll just grab some dinner, laugh at this silly movie Anchorman, and enjoy my night. I'll chalk this post up as a loss, but at least I wrote. ;)

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To tat or not to tat?

Tattoos mean different things to different people. For some they're rites of passage, for others they symbolize names/dates/times we want to memorialize on our bodies for a lifetime. I've seen all kinds in all places: full-body ink; eyeball tats; various random body parts; and even scrawled big and bold across the forehead. The subjects range from lost loved ones, to nicknames, to chinese symbols for shrimp fried rice. And regardless of what any of us think, the tat only has to make sense to the person wearing it.

And despite all that, the extra large, triple scoop, lightning bolt waffle cone that now adorns half of gucci mane's face makes me question what in the blue hell was that boy thinking?! Everyone's seen a questionable tat or two in their lifetime, but that's just damn dumb. The ignorance of his rainbow sherbet "brrrr" sugar cone ranks right up there with the woman who broadcasts her fellatio skills proudly in the center of her chest. No grown ass man should be rocking ice cream as a tat unless he invented ice cream. Who does that? Better yet, why would you do that? And even better still, why didn't anyone in his entourage stop him?

But really, should I be surprised the man decided to profess his love for rocky road on his face? Probably not. If you've ever heard his music, you know intelligence isn't what he raps about, so why should I expect him to have something intelligent to put permanently on his body. I suppose it's just one more ignorant tattoo by an ignorant dude. And with that, I'm through. If you haven't seen it, check the link below.

http://www.nydailynews.com/gossip/2011/01/13/2011-01-13_gucci_mane_gets_ice_cream_tattoo_on_face_following_release_from_mental_health_fa.html

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Gotta love it

I'm sitting here watching the Five Heartbeats; I'm right at the beginning when they perform Duck's song onstage. I just noticed Robert Townsend's character's pure enthusiasm for his composition. The love for it pulsing through his veins, the sheer excitement overflowing until he can't contain it anymore. That's love...when you enjoy something so much you can't help but show it.
A friend of mine and I were discussing this same topic this morning. What if you don't have that love but the energetic reaction is expected or even required? How do you muster up energy for something without seeming fake? My friend stated a principle I've heard before but had trouble putting into practice: "Fake It Til You Make It." Essentially, you slap on a smile, put on your best act, and start the show until you get where you want to be. The problem I have with faking is it seems so...fake. But apparently there's scientific proof that the more you force yourself to smile, the more natural it becomes. I suppose the same applies to faking it. So, until it comes naturally, I'll practice my faux grin and wait for my curtain call. I'm ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille!

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The Experiment

A coworker was looking at the article below today (see the link) and it brought up a question I've had for awhile. Whether the link is true or not, how much does social media affect your stats? I've written a few articles, have a website, and write a blog. Individually, I've got about the results I'd expect. But with the help of social media, I want to see how much my stats change. So here's the experiment. For the next week or two, I'm going to solicit people to add me on twitter. I'm only on that and facebook; I'm sure they're others but as a rookie, that's what I know. I'm linking all of my sites to each other; we'll see how much that affects my traffic. I'll post results after a week. Feel free to add me on twitter @cerebralstew.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/11/50-cent-makes-87-million-on-twitter-encourages-fans-to-invest-in-scheme_n_807327.html

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Mean Mom

This post was inspired by a poem my daughter found. Maybe it reminds her of me. :)

"The Meanest Mother"
I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids' also. But at least, I wasn't alone in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did. My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we'd be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less--not one hour and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on our seats than it was to hold up Daddy's pants. Can you imagine someone actualy hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she really was. We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends?

The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning. We couldn't sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us. She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us-and it nearly did.

By the time we were teen-agers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really there. I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I'd had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year.

Through the years, things didn't improve a bit. We could not lie in bed, "sick" like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends' report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks. As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.

My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. Each of my brothers served his time in the service of this country. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You're right, our mean mother. Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that our friends did. She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults.

Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my children call me mean. Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me the meanest mother in the whole world.
written by Bobbie Pingaro (1967)

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Motivation...or lack thereof

Motivation...Such an intriguing thing. I always wondered what motivates us, but after today, I'm more interested in what immobilizes us. You see, this weekend I got to watch 6th grade girls volleyball.  I've never played the game so I don't know much about it.  As I'm scanning the teams, trying to figure everything out, I noticed the varying levels of athleticism.  There were divers, diggers, hitters, servers, the hyperactive ones, and then one in particular that looked like a deer caught in the headlights.  That one stood out because not only was she mine, she was stiff as a board, immobilized by some unknown force that invisibly glued her feet to the court.  Every once in awhile she'd shake her trance and get in a hit, but for the most part she was frozen.  I was so confused. Is this the same child that bounds around the house bossing her brother around? Who's always so at ease? Where is that girl? Who is this imposter? 
I asked her about it afterward. Her reasoning was if she didn't do anything, she couldn't mess up. Is that common logic? By not doing, we essentially take away any propensity toward making a mistake?  While that logic may be true, what kind of life are you living?  I can't imagine not riding a bike or leaving my home or trying something new because of fear. Instead of letting fear be the deterrent, let it be the motivator. Work through the apprehension; let it fuel your determination to do what you set out to do.  Timid deer don't make much progress in life, except further down the same side of the road.

#7

I'll keep this one short and sweet. I need to own a sports team. In what other profession can your business completely suck and the owners still turn profits? And in the case of the Cincinnati Bungles, the franchise has sucked for 18 out of 20 years, yet the Brown family continues to profit. That's longer than some teams have been in existence (Titans, Jaguars, panthers to name a few). And EVERYONE has a highlight reel against the Bengals.  So apparently, I'm in the wrong field. Mr. Brown, if by the off chance you or someone you know stumbles across my blog, hit me up. I'll be glad to take the team off your hands. I may not know how to make a winning team, but it hasn't stopped you yet.

Blah, blah, blah

I discovered today blogs aren't for everybody.  One of my coworkers happened across my page and was reading some posts aloud. Well, he started to, but after the first sentence his words dissolved into "blah blah blah."  At first, I was a little hurt.  Here I am, trying to craft something people want to read and it's reduced to confused grumbles.  Then I realized he's 60+ and he probably doesn't give a damn about anything other than the tortilla recipe I posted.  Similar to reality shows, there's a select few that will tune in daily to see what madness I'm up to, if any at all.  Others won't, and that's cool.  A large part of this blog is writing daily; getting my thoughts down and exploring them, starting a project and finishing it.  Who reads it doesn't matter as much as having something here to read.  So with that in mind, I'll keep blogging.  If people can keep reality tv going strong, maybe they'll check out my blog once or twice too.

Chicken Tortillas

Today's post actually looks like it belongs on a blog called cerebral stew. It's a recipe especially for my coworker, the great Freddie V. Try it out and enjoy!
Ingredients:
1 pack of 10 flour tortilla shells
2-3 boneless, skinless, chicken breasts, cubed (small)
1/4 c. Diced onion
1/4 c. Diced Green pepper
8 oz chunky salsa, mild
1 can black beans, rinsed and drained
(2) 8 oz packs shredded cheese, mexican blend and mild cheddar (or your favorite)
1 small bottle montgomery inn bbq sauce (or your favorite)
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp of the following:
Seasoned salt
Black pepper
Garlic powder
Italian seasoning
Dried parsley

Heat oil in a skillet on medium.  Add chicken, onions, green peppers, and seasonings. Cook until chicken is cooked through (no pink), stirring frequently.  Add salsa and beans & heat until warm. Set aside.
In another skillet, prepare tortilla shells per package directions.  Once prepared, set aside.
Using a tablespoon, pour a spoonful of BBQ sauce onto one side of tortilla wrap and spread thin.  It should cover the entire side (it reminds me of a pizza, pre-toppings).  Scoop a generous amount of the chicken mixture onto the center of the tortilla.  Sprinkle shredded cheese directly on top of the chicken, being sure to cover the mixture.  Fold one side of the tortilla to cover the chicken and cheese.  Fold the sides of the tortilla inward, and roll the folded end towards the open end of the tortilla.  Place folded-side down in a glass baking dish.  Repeat for remaining tortillas.
Bake on 400 degrees for 10 minutes, or until cheese is melted.

Serve and enjoy.  Makes 10.

Rue the Resolution

I read somewhere that it takes 7 times to repeat an activity to create a new habit. Whether that's true I don't know, but it could explain why even the worst songs they play in heavy rotation on the radio still end up stuck in my head. But I digress...
Anyway, we're on day 5 of the new year, about the time those big resolutions made at the dawn of 2011 start to fizzle.  Maybe it's because we haven't quite made it to the magical 7th repetition when all the new things we set out to do become rote. Or more likely, we set the bar way too daggone high at 12:01.  What is it about a new year that makes us believe we can completely reinvent ourselves every time the ball drops?  This year I'm going to lose 1000 pounds/buy a sports team/build my own island.  Why make such big promises we can't keep?
I'm not completely against making resolutions. There's nothing wrong with pursuing a better life for ourselves.  But instead of these enormous, never-ending pledges that loom over our heads for 365 days, why not break them into smaller, more attainable goals?  Simple tasks that have a definite beginning, middle, and end.  For example, in lieu of saying "I'm going to lose 1000 pounds," we shoot for 10 pounds a month. Ten is a lot more reachable than a thousand.  So, my new year's resolution a long time ago was to never again make another resolution.  Instead, I make goals - basic weekly or monthly tasks - that I can complete.  And every time I check something off of my list, I feel like I've done something, which makes me wonder how much more I can accomplish.  Which leads to me setting more goals, and eventually feeling like I didn't waste 365 days of my life I can't get back.  And ultimately, isn't that what it's all about?

Ain't nothin to it but to do it

I'm blogging from my phone today, as my daughter is monopolizing my computer to finish her report. Did I mention the girl had at least 4 weeks to put it together? I suppose I can't blame her; procrastination is in her blood. My husband and I are the king and queen of Procrastination. We remodeled our bathroom (ourselves) three years ago and scrapped our bathroom door, thinking we'd just replace it. Little did we know the old door was a custom size and substantially better quality than the flimsy $30 one I picked up at the Depot.  Fast forward through a frantic search, a makeshift door, a piss poor handyman, and some sheer determination and (3 years later) I now have a perfectly sized puerto.  Its on hinges, has a knob, and a working lock.  Normal things you'd never even consider for a bathroom, until you don't have them. And to think it took $5 bucks for the new door, $8 for the lock, $1 for some shims, and 2 hours to eliminate THREE years of procrastination. Now if I can only teach my daughter how simple it is to be like Nike and just do it.

Come Hell or High Water...

So here it is, day two, and I'm severely struggling in the posting department.  The sad part is it's not from lack of topics, it's from a lapse in memory.  I had a blog all planned out, and instead of typing it out or writing down my ideas, I let it slip from my conscious mind into oblivion.  And trust me, once it hits the abyss, it's nearly impossible to figure out what I wanted to say.  Maybe I'm trying too hard.  I want to have a deep, thought-provoking post - a post that will make you really look forward to coming to my spot on a daily.  My original blog could've accomplished that task but right now, my brain is tapped.  Instead of stew, I'm serving up grilled cheese and tomato soup.  But, come hell or high water, I'm keeping my goal to give you something new daily.  Eat up.

Post numero uno

This is my very first post on my (hopefully) active blog.  I was inspired by my friend, who was - ironically - inspired by me.  You see, I've always been a dispenser of advice, some good, some bad, but I always have an opinion.  She'd just taken a position as full-time stay at home mom (yes, that is a profession) and was lamenting about her lack of mental stimulation.  I completely understood; sometimes anticipating how many bats The Count can see flying over Sesame Street just doesn't do it for you.  I told her she should find a hobby; maybe that would help alleviate any off-chance she may end up asking her husband if he had to make "stinky boo-boo."  Today, she sent me a facebook message about her new project - taking a photograph daily for the next 365 days.  I figured if she can commit to taking a pic everyday, I can commit to spending 10 minutes blogging about whatever randomness pops to mind.  I'm starting small; I'll try a daily post for a week and see how that goes.  I think I can do it.  Matter of fact, I'm doing two today, since I'm already starting out in the hole.  Check out post number two in a minute. :)