What?

Do to brain functioning constraints and severe lack of perceptive tolerance adaptive ability the corpus of my currently scanned text remains unfulfilled in the viewing sense. Or, in simplified words, I do not understand my American Heritage reading.

Example: “They reflected a broad diversity of conceptions and purposes—everything from setting up mercantile trading operations to building feudalistic seigniories to providing land for England’s dispossessed. Religious sanctuary lent a certain coherence to some of the colonies, especially those in New England, but Puritanism itself, or more broadly the dissenting tradition, was not the sole guiding influence of colonial development. There were many others.”

I understood, “There were many others.” Now my question is why does the author feel that he has to make the text so thick that it is practically unreadable? If he were to start the book by simply stating, “I am smart, but I’m going to dumb this down for you thick headed students,” I would believe him and out of gratitude add him to my Christmas card list. Instead, I am left wondering what he is getting at, rereading a sentence about ten times over before I get what he is saying. And the problem is the thickness (mine and his) gets worse the further in I get.

By the end of the chapter I am weeding out phrases I understand, like “England is an important key to the puzzle,” and “In America, they argued, the ‘best’ was really the best.” From these two sentences I have veered into my own area of thought which doesn’t include our founding fathers such as John Locke or John Calvin. Rather, these two sentences have led me to conclude that they are talking about Easter candy, Cadbury eggs in particular, and that the vote is unanimous in America that English candy really is best.

The problem lies in the tests. If it was simply for my own reading I would recommend this book to anyone, who doesn’t love a good debate about delicious candy? But ultimately I will be tested on my knowledge of these facts and I can almost guarantee that my sorts of questions won’t be on the test. I will cross my fingers that my teacher (he didn’t write the book) will have come to the same conclusion about Cadbury, but I won’t hold my breath. Not everybody likes chocolate.

Uvama? No you vama!

It seems that everywhere we go online these days we are hounded by word verification boxes. They are always asking us to verify words like "Uvama" or "ujctn" or even "luffbra." Honestly, it makes me uncomfortable. By verifying a word that I know nothing about I feel that I am selling myself in lies. How can I verify a word when I don't know it's character... It's like going on a date with a guy you find slightly creepy but telling your friend that he's great so you can get him off your back.

We are told that verifying these words protects our identity, but what we don't know is that in other cultures such as Middle Eastern, American Indian and German some of these words actually mean something. For all I know I could be saying in some nerd code or foreign language that I brush my teeth with preperation-H or that I smell like a pickle, much to the amusement of some bored M.I.T student.

Why can't I type something that is normal, even if complicated. Something like, "Teresahasissues" or "Joesucksbecausehenevercallsmeback." I would much rather type something like that than something that means nothing. At least there is some history behind it. Anyhow, it's just a thought.

In the Garden

Not a sound was heard in the garden, except the boughs of many different trees gently creaking beneath the weight of the homemade birds. He had been showing her around, pointing out different plants and animals and telling her their names.

“This tree we aren’t suppose to touch,” he said, proud of his abundant knowledge. “And this here is a giraffe.”
“Oh,” she said.
“This is a lion,” he said. “And this is a rose.”
“Oh,” she said.
Adam was growing more confident. “This is called a pear.” Sometimes he even amazed himself.
“Adam,” she said. "You know a lot of things, but how do you feel about me?”

Now he had been prepped on what the names of the animals were and how to build shelter and even which fruit trees were off limits, but no one had explained how the mind of the woman worked.

“How do I feel about you?” He repeated, hoping she would find some other object to occupy her thoughts. No such luck.
“Uh, huh.”
“And this is a hippopotamus, but you can call it a hippo.” He looked at her hoping maybe she would be distracted. She wasn’t.
“This is called a chicken...” Adam said slowly, he had never seen woman’s right eyebrow arch like that before.

Adam could tell he was not winning points with Eve. His mind scrambled, trying to find the right words to say. He knew there was a right answer, she seemed to know it, but he didn’t have one inkling as to what it might be. Until this time the garden had been peaceful, the lamb had lied down with the lion and there had been no contention. He knew if he didn’t get this answer right he could kiss that peace goodbye. He’d never done this before, and this really wasn’t part of the deal anyways.

“Well?”
“Well,” he said, “you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” The eyebrow stayed arched; apparently he had not said the right thing. Adam wondered if maybe he had done something wrong and this was his punishment. But he hadn’t eaten the fruit from the forbidden tree. Did thinking about eating it count?
“Well?” she asked again.
“Um…” he could feel his chest start to tighten. So this is death he thought. Funny how short life is he mused, he could have sworn it would have been longer. A breeze stirred the treetops, and a soft flutter was heard as a bird alighted from a branch and flew off to another part of the garden. Adam wondered if it had ever had to deal with this situation. What would he have given to have wings at that moment so he could fly away too. But he didn’t have wings and the tight sensation in his chest had gone, and he knew he would have to answer Eve eventually. “I think you are the most intelligent women I have ever met.”

Eve seemed to be giving him a second chance. She didn’t look as irritated, but she still was not appeased. He was supposed to say something else. Ok, think. He racked his brain for some witty remark. Nope, not a thing. Woman soon became impatient of waiting and that’s when it happened. The first hands-on-the-hips-I’m-waiting pose, a pose women throughout time would use to express their extreme exasperation towards their husbands.

“Would you like to go look around the rest of the garden?” he asked.
“No.”
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Nothing,” she huffed.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she said.

Her green eyes were the brightest he had ever seen them. She looked really mad. As she stood in front of a blossoming gardenia bush, its full white buds sending a sweet fragrance into the garden, he noticed for the first time how really pretty she was. He wanted to say so but it seemed unimportant when she was that angry. She probably wouldn’t even believe him. Instead he just stood there staring at her, wondering what he should do.

“What?” she said.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Positive,” he said.
The sun was starting to set and all around them the sounds of animals were filling the air. “Well, I guess we should find somewhere to sleep,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said.
Underneath one of the blossom trees, they lied in the long new grass. The cool earth soothed Eve’s heated cheeks.
“Eve? Are you still awake?” Adam said.
“Yes,” she replied quietly.
“You’re really pretty.”

Eve stayed silent, listening to Adam. Long shadows formed along her face as she lay opposite him in the setting sun, her hair making golden pools around her shoulders. “And I really appreciate having someone to talk to; it would be really boring without you.” Although he was not very experienced at giving compliments, he knew he was doing pretty well. She wasn’t mad at all anymore; in fact she was actually smiling.

“Thank you Adam.” Eve said softly.
Piece of cake, he thought, that really wasn’t so bad. If he could deal with that, than he could deal with anything.
“Are you hungry?” Eve asked.
“Uh, huh,” he said.
“Have an apple.”

Knott's Scary Farm!

Ok, before I proceed I have to admit that though the title reads Knott's scary farm, originally I wrote Knott's Scary Fart (both would be equally frightening to experience). Thank goodness for proof reading.

Being that I have never had the chance to attend this insanity, Jarom was determined that I would experience it before we lost our chance. We decided that we really wanted to bring Chad and Tyler along with us because more people equals less harrassment per person over the night, plus we just love them! My equation didn't add up how I expected because the boys (except for Chad occassionally) were more or less overlooked while I was a prime target all night. I expect it is because I was attached firmly to Jarom's arm, refused to make eye contact, and since most of the costumes looked like wild dogs they could smell my fear through the laytex masks. Wonderful.

All the small rides were turned into awesome haunted houses or weird crazy asylems. There were a few times when the monsters attached themselves to me like fly paper and followed me through the mazes. Jarom says it's because I'm cute, I think it's because anyone over the age of 8 wasn't buying it, but I was still totally freaked out. At one point a really creepy vampire said, "I want your eyes." to which I replied, "but I'm still using them..." and he had no response. I figure if I reasoned with the monsters they would leave me alone, which more or less worked.

Anyhow, if anyone is near to Knott's Scary Farm I suggest you go. It was so much fun to laugh at each other whenever we got scared and hang out in the nearly empty park.

Subtle differences

Beside the obvious differences between men and women; I mean the interest in all things technological, the chest hair (hopefully only on men), or penchant for watching fighting on movies or tv, there are other differences between the sexes. Men have their own way of problem solving. No really, and though it may not be how we women think is efficient or may look funny, it still works and it still does the job. I realized this tonight after I asked Jarom's help with making dinner. I think I have become more used to the differences of living with a man because I hardly notice when he does things his "own way".

Tonight we were making a Thai basil chicken stirfry and I asked Jarom if he would thaw the chicken.
"Sure." He said and proceeded to grab a bowl and put a few pieces of chicken into it. "How many do you want to thaw?"
"About 9 or 10 pieces." I respond without looking up because I am intensly focused on cutting an onion into slivers and don't pay any attention to what he is doing.
"Here you go." Jarom says smiling broodly.

Inside the sink, underneath the running water, is a clear glass bowl slightly larger than a cereal bowl with 10 chicken tenders half emerged and sticking out in all directions. This visual instantly cues my mind to the similarity of this chicken image and me trying to stuff myself into my last pair of wearable jeans. Please erase that thought.

"Um.. nice..." I say slowly, "But I don't think those will ever thaw. I think we need a bigger bowl."
"Sure they will." He answers optomistically, but grabs another bowl after I continue to look unconvinced.
This time he grabs an actual cereal bowl and proceeds to jimmy rig the chicken thawing operation.
"How about this?" He asks pointing to his work.
Now not only does he have the small clear bowl utilized, but the cereal bowl is teetering precariously on top of the other one. Through all this the water runs into the bowls like some modern fountain sculpture.
I can't help but laugh as I look at his masterpiece because though it took a bit longer to thaw the chicken, it did exactly what I needed. It just happens to have been by a whole different method. So in one fell swoop he managed to change the old addage that "great minds think alike." I beg to differ, men and women do not think alike which is why the world is such an interesting place. These things make me happy. I hope you like the modern art.

"I just picked her up from practice..." (and other excellent excuses)

This story still remains one of my favorite mom and me stories. I hope she doesn't mind if I use it but I was thinking about it tonight and I wanted to write about it.

Disclaimer: My nose is ALWAYS stuffy, so I can't smell anything, AND our neighbor has cats. (These facts are important, so keep them in mind as the story progresses.)

My freshman year I decided that if I wasn't ackward enough I would join the softball team as the stray 50 mile an hour aim dummy OR pitcher, your choice. I joined with a bunch of girls who couldn't play, but had the advantage of being large and in charge and therefore fit into no other catagory of sports. Though I was not particulary gifted at pitching I found ways of getting around that, but that is a different blog.

One day after practice mom picked me up for my doctors appointment. I had been running (away from the balls batted at me) and pitching and catching and had naturally gotten a bit sweaty. However, up until that day I had never smelled when I sweat and I chalk it up to good jeans and a little device called deoderant.

Well, I notice mom keeps sniffing and making faces but I don't think too much about it. When we get to the doctors office, mom is still sniffing, but has now added the line, "I just picked her up from practice" in an apologetic voice. Strange, I think, though softball is not the coolest sport one shouldn't have to apologize about it.

Enter doctors office. Small room, no window. Doctor so and so comes in and wears a pained expression, mom is wearing the similar expression. It is like a bad matching his and hers pained expression set. Obviously it doesn't come in the kids sizes because I do not smell what they are smelling. Again mom says, "I just picked her up from practice." Doctor-holds-his-beath nods in an understanding and slightly disgusted way. His face is also getting slightly red because of the tiny shallow breaths he is taking through his mouth in order to miss as much of the foul smell as possible.

Am I missing something?

Finally the doctors appointment is over, mom has explained a few more times that "I just picked her up from practice," and the doctor has informed his nurses to ban me from coming back to his office unless I am wearing a biohazard suit. When we reach the car my olfactory senses finally kick in and for the first time I notice a rancid, funky, unearthly smell.

"What is that?" I ask mom.
I can tell she doesn't know how to tell me that I reek like a rotten toilet.
"I smells like cat poop." I say.
It hits both of us like a rocket on turbo drive. She looks at her feet, where the bottom of her shoe is smeared with a dangerous amount of toxic, acidic cat turd that has probably eatten away some of the rubber on the soul of her shoe. Nice. I realize that now my doctor and all the nurses think I am a cursed and disgusting child. Even nicer.
"Call them when we get home and tell them you had poo on your shoe." I say threateningly. But it never happens, and forever after my doctor will tell the story of the grossest teenaged girl he ever met, the one who smelled like a rotten toilet and also tragically played softball. I'm surprised he didn't ask me to come have tests because anyone whose sweat smelled like "mine" must have been fatelly ill.

So thanks mom for that story, I laugh my head off when I think of it.

I'm commiting myself

No, the title does not mean to a state hospital. I'm commiting myself to being healthy once and for all... again.

Today I went to Weight Watchers for the first time in two months. During my break (and a litte before too, lets be honest) I had gained back quite a bit of weight. Not a little, a lot. So, when I stepped on the scale to "weigh in" and the scale went past my recent high, the conversation with the lady went something like this:

Her: If you could just step up here... (pointing to the scale)
Me: How much clothes can I take off to weigh in before I get arrested?
Her: Um...
Me: Wait, the scale is no longer showing any numbers... Is "big as a house" really an option on this scale?
Her: Apparently...

So, I have decided that I'm going to record my weight loss on this blog as well. Don't fear, there will be no bathing suit pictures of before and after, just updates on how I am doing. And maybe I will be honest in my weight loss; however, the cadbury creme eggs are still under the bed, there are creme brulees in the fridge, and half a pumpkin pie. Wish me luck.