Tuesday, January 19, 2010

I'll Miss This Place...

Here's some pictures I took recently in the Lovely Land of Beaumont (and surrounding areas):


We have a Shetland Pony Farm just down the road...jealous? This one was my favorite.


Adrienne and the Jenkins' Folk Band posing next to their groovy tour bus.




Is that a giant? No, it's a teeny-tiny mini car!


















I don't know Ted, but apparently he's yummy...



-Age

Monday, January 18, 2010

The Eyes are a Window to the Soul...Or Something Like That

I’m a bit awkward. I’m not talking cute, endearing kinda awkward though I also wouldn’t consider myself one of those weirdoes that doesn’t understand the line where eye-contact becomes full on staring. I don’t just blush with adorable, sweet pink cheeks (more like a tomato-red occasionally bordering on magenta). But I don’t nervously clear my throat in the middle of my words either. I do fumble over words more often than I’d like, sometimes allowing full sentences to just drop off cuz I can’t get the syllables to work for me and I stop caring. Though, at the same time, I’ve never told people I barely know personal or inappropriate information about myself as if I were talking about the weather and then actually wait for a response (yes, I know people like that).

What I’m trying to say, rather inarticulately, is that I’m averagely awkward. I get all blushy at strange moments and sometimes feel this “fight or flight” response. Though, for me, it could just be called “flight.” I don’t actually flee, but I want to. This usually occurs when I feel sort of trapped. Like behind my desk at work. Someone will ask me a personal question or wink at me in that way that only “winkers” can and I get all, I don’t know, uncomfortable. I’m not sure why this happens and I can’t begin to explain it but I’ve pretty much always been that way.



The thing is, the thing I can’t stand is, my physical reaction to my uncomfortableness. What’s the deal with blushing, huh? Why’s the whole world have to know that I feel like the A-cup in a wet t-shirt contest? Or shaky hands? That’s not easy to hide. I mean, at least I don’t have a facial-tic or something terrible like that but the shake from my hands does sometimes travel up to my voice. UGH! I hate all of those things and refuse to embrace them as an unavoidable part of being me.

I don’t often have that wide range of reactions. I mostly get that steady creep of heat that starts at the base of my neck and travels up to the top of my head. The shakiness is often reserved for public speaking and good-looking guys that decide to speak or smile in my general direction. That sucks.

I wouldn’t mind feeling that strange sense of panic if I could just keep it a secret, you know?

It would be nice to know some sort of trick to help in these situations. Some kind of secret phrase or word or action that suddenly makes me feel in control of myself. There has to be something, right?

What if it’s as simple as a smile? That seems possible. When you feel uncomfortable, smile.

It’ll have to be something big though. No closed-mouth, toothless grin but a full-on beam. People love it when you beam at them. A smile that’s not just around the mouth but the whole face. An eye-incorporating smile that seems to send arrows of happiness through the air and straight to the other person’s soul. How could I possibly feel uncomfortable while sending happy love arrows through my eyeballs. That doesn’t sound as pretty in writing as it does in my head.

Happy eyeball arrows to you all, in a non-creepy kinda way.



-Age

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Blessings Abound

With the latest crisis in Haiti, I’ve been thinking about my life and how blessed I really am. The Bible says that the Lord will not give us more than we can handle. I live a pretty unproblematic, simple life in Sunny Southern California with amazing friends and family that will always take care of me so I think…God must not think I can handle very much. This line of thinking helps to keep me humble and to be a Counter of Blessings. Literally:

Blessing #1:
I work at a daycare and one of the parents works for the Department of Public Health. She set me up with an appointment to get my booster shots for my Peace Corps physical without having to pay! It would have cost over $100 otherwise!

Blessing #2:
My dentist (James Jesse DDS) offered to give me a check-up, make copies of my x-rays, and fill out the Peace Corps paperwork for free! Free!

Blessing #3:
My best friends are letting me rent a room for $300 less a month than I was paying before so I can save $$$. Plus, they’re awesome and living with them is going to be a lot of fun!

Blessing #4:
I just had some espresso frozen yogurt.

Thank you, Lord, for loving me so much. He loves you too.

Here's a list of ways you can help with the crisis in Haiti (via It's Unbeweavable): HERE!

Tell me about the different ways you've been blessed lately. Leave it in the comment section.



-Age

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Doctors, Dentists, and Prince Charming

So, the next step in this Peace Corps process is to complete a physical and dental examination. They sent me a medical packet listing all of the things I need to have completed by a doctor/dentist and turn in as soon as possible. It’s all pretty basic. Like a really in-depth physical. But the booster shots…

I have to get like nine different shots! Holy Crap! And I’m thinking of doing this all in one visit. Just, boom, get it done. But now I’m wondering if I even have enough skin on my body to get that many shots. What if I were to get them all on one arm and the next day my arm falls off? I think that can happen.

Or what if I spread them out and than it looks like I’ve been attacked in my sleep by needle-yielding gnomes? I just gave myself the chills. I’m definitely checking under my bed tonight for any sign of gnomes. I’ll look for yarn. I'm pretty sure they like to knit things. I also think they use chewing tobacco so I’ll look for spittoons as well. Man, I really hope there’s not a spittoon under my bed.

Maybe I’m over-exaggerating. It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten a shot. Maybe there’s not even a mark. I don’t know. But I sorta feel like I’m five years old again, just about to get those pre-Kindergarten shots, old enough to know they suck and yet too young to do anything about it. Just sitting and waiting for the inevitable torture that my mom and this strange man in a long white jacket plan to inflict on me. Punks.

My mom’s not coming with me this time. Kinda wish she would.

There are other aspects of the physical exam part that I am REALLY not looking forward to but I’ll spare you all the details. Can I just say, “ew.” Ladies, you know what I’m talking about.

I also have really terrible insurance. Basically, if I get in a really bad car accident, my head falls off and the doctor’s have to re-attach it, I’ll be covered. Beyond that, nada. So I really gotta make this visit go a long way. It’ll be a long, looooonnnnnnggggg day.

And I’ve only been to the dentist once in the past six years (to get my wisdom teeth pulled so my teeth would stop getting all smooshed) and during my check-up they said, “You seem to take excellent care of your teeth, no cavities.” I’ve never had a cavity. Perfect teeth. Who says you have to go to the dentist every six months? Just brush ‘em!

No dental insurance anymore whatsoever. This is the reason I have decided not to take up boxing or hockey. Okay, not the only reason.

Basically, I’m really hoping to pull the, “I’m joining the Peace Corps cuz I’m awesome so I was sorta hoping you would do all of this for free” card (smiling oh, so sweetly).

If that doesn’t work, I’ll just marry some Eastern European prince and he’ll pay for all my medical bills in rubies and diamonds. But only the old, dirty one’s that he was planning to throw out anyway.



-Age

Monday, January 11, 2010

A Combination of Things

So, silly me, I decided to start a second blog because the first, this one, had such a specific focus and I didn't want to deviate from that. Well, now, just forget all that! I plan to combine them and have a wonderfully strange and confusing hybrid. Like those Liger things that may or may not be real. Seriously, are they real?

I'm not entirely sure how to do that. Something about importing and exporting past blog posts. I barely passed economics so I'm pretty sure that I'm gonna do this wrong. Does inflation effect blog posting? I really don't know.

Anyway, as I plan to inform all interested on my doings with the Peace Corps, as well as including quirky anecdotes about my daily life as an exceptional receptionist/friend/daughter/baby-holder/roommate/church-going/single/non-smoker person, I just thought why not put it all in one place. A nice mesh of all things inconsiquential and most likely misspelled...I may have just misspelled misspelled. Don't you see? You get irony here as well! What could be better? Oh. A lot of things. I see. Well, in that case, only read this when you're at work and your boss is out of the office and nothing cool is on youtube. I'll try my best to entertain. And if that doesn't work, GO BACK TO WORK YOU LAZY BUM! Jeez!

No, but really. I love you. Don't forget that. I would kiss you square on the lips if you were here. Well, no. I wouldn't do that cuz I'm a lady...and the swine flu. But I'll blow a kiss in the general direction of all of your lips right now. You don't really care do you? I'm just rambling now. Alright.

Well, I'm still the Age of Reason and I still love you.



-Age

Friday, January 8, 2010

Holy Moly, I'm Going to the Peace Corps!!!

Lately I’ve been feeling a bit lost. I even started a blog based on my “not so sure what the heck I’m doing”-ness but recently I’ve been given a push in the right direction. A shove I think would actually be more accurate. My prayers have been answered and the Lord told me, not so subtly, what He has planned.

Growing up, I always wanted to move somewhere that was far away and extremely different from what I knew and loved. I was excited by the adventure, by the opportunity to grow, and I wanted to fall in love with something, whether it be the new places I would visit, the people I would meet, or my old home that I was given the opportunity to fully appreciate through my travels. New York was at the top of my list in my late teens. Italy is the country I tried desperately to gain access to in my early twenties. And when I recently finished college and received my teaching credential, I considered something far more extreme.

In early December of this crazy year, I started my Peace Corps application. I thought, “what a great opportunity to experience all of the things I’ve been craving while at the same time helping others and making a much needed difference in this world.” The more I learned about the program the more I wanted to join. After completing the surprisingly lengthy application process, I was almost immediately contacted by my recruiter to come to LA for an interview and informative seminar. I started to get excited…and a little nervous. OK. A lot nervous.

Before my interview, I told my dad about my plans. I expected him to point out all of the cons but what I was not expecting was for him to ignore all of the pros I tossed into the conversation. Basically, he was adamant about me not going. This was a bit of a let down and I started to quickly doubt myself and my choice. Don’t get me wrong, my dad has my best interests at heart and I know that the thought of my leaving for 27 months wasn’t too thrilling. Luckily, I have amazing friends.

I use words like amazing and spectacular and awesome far too often so when the time comes for those words to actually mean something, they fall flat. I cannot express in words the depth of my friend’s love for me and my love for them. I am literally awed by them, surprisingly touched by their compassion, forever bonded to them and there’s pretty much nothing they can do about it.



They quickly rallied behind me: picking me up, dusting me off, and filling me with so much encouragement I could have burst. They would miss me but that was a small price to pay for the ultimate benefit of such an amazing experience. The Lord has truly blessed me with a balance of friends and family that I sometimes feel I don’t deserve, though I’ll try to.

Anyway, it usually takes 9-12 months from the time you turn in your application to the time you get on a plane and depart for your destination. That’s if you get accepted. I was so sure I would be waiting months to hear anything after my interview if I did get accepted. What I was not expecting was for my recruiter, Lindsay, to whip a piece of paper off her desk and inform me that a spot was available and she wanted me to take it. I would be leaving in 5 months. Uhhhhhhh…….

I may have started hyperventilating after the meeting. She basically told me all that I needed to do, as quickly as possible, in order to receive my golden ticket and fly to…wait for it…EASTERN EUROPE in a few months.



I quickly found my Peace Corps map and looked up the countries we serve in that area of the world. I’d never even heard of some. Did you know there was a country called Moldova? Azerbaijan? Me either. But I could be potentially spending more than two years living there!

The next few months will be a whirlwind but I plan to keep updating this constantly changing blog of mine to keep those interested well informed. Your encouragement and support, opinions and advice through this blog will make my day! Will make my 27 months actually! Love you all, big and small. (I wasn’t calling any of you fat, I just got carried away)

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Blame it on the Office Equipment

Remember that scene in Office Space where they take the copy machine and smash it to pieces with a baseball bat while gangsta music plays in the background? That scene was hilarious because, while most of us don’t relate to beating the crap out of an actual person in the middle of a vacant field and leaving them for dead, most of us can identify with the desire to take, let’s say, a shredder out back and shooting it between it’s crooked little teeth. (If you actually are in the mafia and do relate to baseball bat beatings and fitting people with cement shoes or whatever, know that I was really sad when James Caan got all shot up in that one movie)



Reaching my fingers into the machine (without unplugging it first cuz I like to live on the wild-side) and prying out, piece by stupid piece, all the little zig-zag strips of paper that keep clogging the dang thing - not my favorite job. Especially when I’m stooped over at an awkward angle, my not so insubstantial butt in the air, trying to suppress a stream of expletives when a man comes up behind me who has to clear his throat to get my attention (after standing there for who knows how long!) and I have to pull myself together and act like I’m not embarrassed so I can say, “Oh. Hello. How can I help you?” It’s moments like this when I think, “Huh, I have not come quite as far as I thought I would at age 25. I was so certain I would have an army of minions to do these menial tasks for me by now.” Turns out I am a minion. I don’t even know what that means.

Google Dictionary definition of a minion:

min•ion (mĭn'yən)
n.
1. An obsequious follower or dependent; a sycophant.

Ahem. I’m not proud of this next part but it was necessary as my vocabulary isn’t what it never was.

obsequious [uh b-see-kwee-uh s]
–adjective
1. characterized by or showing servile complaisance or deference.

sycophant [sik-uh-fuh nt, -fant, sahy-kuh-]
–noun
1. a self-seeking, servile flatterer; fawning parasite.

A fawning parasite? That can’t be right.

No, no. I simply have yet to reach my full potential. I blame the shredder.