Divine Imperfections

It's Not Delivery, It's a Disturbing Pizza Inn-Counter

A few weeks ago, before ­the big haircut, I had an amazingly awkward encounter with a l­ocal pizza shop employee.

 

I don’t know exactly how old the kid was, only that he was in (or possibly just out of) high school and despite my best attempts to explain to him old I truly am, he just kept… well, not getting it.

 

I wasn’t gonna share the story online ‘cause I was scared no one would believe me. But even though I am sometimes prone to exaggerate, the details of this story are absolutely true. As the saying goes, you just can’t make this kind of stuff up.

 

I’d like to dedicate this post my seventeen year old self who NEVER got hit on, by pizza employees or otherwise.

 

­

At first I thought the guy was just very thorough, but bad, at customer service. I had gotten there a few minutes before my pizzas were ready, and took a seat in the corner of the tiny pick-up place.

 

And this kid – this Abercrombie shirt and khaki shorts wearing, “After” image for an Apple Orthodontix commercial - started bragging about how he was probably gonna join the Air Force. And how he’d just gotten back from Hawaii. For the fifth time.

 

I kept looking for one of the other employees to come to the front and rescue me or talk some sense into him. But no one came, and he just kept talking, bragging about his awesome life, and also asking me increasingly personal questions about mine.

 

He went from asking if I was in school (I’m wayyyy out of school I said) and where I worked (an online college), and if they paid me for that work (Umm, yes) to…

 

 

“So, do you, like, live around here?”

 

“Yea, I said. We get delivery a lot,” a point I had mentioned before. Surely this narrows the radius plenty.

 

 

“So, do you, like, live with your parents?” he finally asked.

 

“Nope.” I’m pretty sure I literally LOLed at this point. He had moved from behind the counter, and was now standing suspiciously close to the bench I was sitting on.

 

“I live with my husband,” I said, after regaining composure. And I pointed to the ring that’d been on my left ring finger since I walked into the store, and since I awkwardly accepted the handful of parmesan and crushed red pepper packets he had handed me long before my pizzas were ready.

 

I kept looking around for someone to explain to me what the heck was going on, or if I was in fact on candid camera. But nothing, except awkward silence and one kinda crushed, mostly embarrassed looking 17(?) year old.

 

 

Maybe it was the fact that my hair looked crimped from sleeping in braids. Maybe it had to do with the glitter nail polish I was wearing.

 

But I swear to goodness I was sure the Mom shorts I was wearing would offset all that. The last thing I thought, when running to pick up pizzas was that the heir to a franchise fortune anyone would consider me a viable option for an attempted senior-year summer fling.  Or a date to prom.

 

Still. Strange things happen everyday. And this, this, definitely met the quota for that day.

 

 

After showing the kid that someone had already put a ring on it, he scurried off to the back pretty quick, either to restock some pasta sauce or to call one of his friends to tell them the absurd story.

 

Soon after a nice woman – probably close to my age, who I’d asked him if she was his mother – brought me my pizzas, and I headed home. To my husband, you know, who lives nearby.

 

 

When I got there I told him about the strange encounter, and that I was sorry for letting it go on as embarrassingly long as it did. But Mikael and I both knew I was only partly serious.

 

Come on. When you’re pushing thirty, you take most any awkwardly flirty attention – totally inappropriate – you get. At least long enough to have a good, good chuckle on the car ride home.

 

 

I suppose the moral of the story, if there must be a moral, is that married women should never, EVER, wear their hair crimped.

 

But also that maybe pizza employees should stick with offering ridiculously small packets of dry cheese.

 

And husbands, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry to inform you there is definitely a double standard when it comes to accepting flirtations from teens. If a Sonic carhop tries to offer you more than cheesticks politely, but quickly decline.  Trust me.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow, or... Why There’s a Braid of Hair on our Counter

I swore to myself I’d do it at some point.

But then I’d get bored. Or split ends. And give up on my goal.


But this year. This was the year. I put it on my bucket list and everything.

My brother did it. My friend’s husband did it.

There were no more excuses.


I started growing my hair out two years ago for our wedding.

I had chopped it off a few months before we got engaged, as a sign of independence and clamoring for control when so much of life seemed up in the air.  (Have you been there?)

Then Mikael and I fell in love, and started planning our wedding in a tight three-month timeline. So I let it grow, and after the I do’s I let it keep growing. 

And growing. And growing.


The goal was to donate it to Locks of Love. That was the plan, the whole intent behind all that growth.

But somewhere along the way I got a little more attached than I’d intended. (Note to Self: Do not puppysit. Or test drive sports cars. Much less… )




I got a few trims to keep my hair healthy-ish, but mostly I just let it be.

I have always dreamed of beautiful, wavy hair, but aside from the young years with ridiculous 80’s perms, mine has been stick straight.

And honestly, most days of the last two years my poor, forgotten hair found itself shoved in a bun. A sloppy, simple bun.


I didn’t blowdry or flat iron it most days.

And only curled it a few times.

Still, I liked my hair, more than I should have maybe. And I think it’s ‘cause it made me feel strangely safe.



Though I knew, realistically, a 29-year old woman can’t hide behind a curtain of bangs, I felt like I could. The option was there. And I liked that feeling.

Knowing I had a way to hide if I had a bad skin day, or a fat day, or a … (isn’t it amazing how many ways a woman can feel bad about herself?). No matter what happened to my weight, or my pores, I could still be the girl with the long pretty hair (nevermind that it was always in a ponytail).

There was the option of having really pretty, long locks. The ability to “copy” any celebrity look, or to attempt it at least. And I liked that.


Stupid as it sounds to admit aloud (or in print) I relied a lot on my hair to feel feminine, some days, many days, I saw it as my only potential at being pretty.

Still, after spending months of checking my mane’s progress with a ruler, and swearing to myself I’d chop it off when it got long enough, I discovered a week ago that I’d reached the requirement.

I couldn’t turn my back on children suffering severe medical treatments. Surely there’s no better motivation to do anything.


And so, I set aside my fears of looking like a boy without my hipster-ish bun. Or worse, a frazzled soccer mom if I got a bad haircut. And I asked my mother-in-law, a semi-retired hairdresser, to give me an angled bob.




I don’t think any woman wants to admit to herself, or others, just how deep her insecurities run. Or how superficial she really can be.

I’m sure there are women that don’t struggle with this by the way. I am just NOT one of them.

Nope. I’m the kind of girl that had to fight tears this weekend, as I listened to two years worth of growth being chopped off my head (wow, dramatic!). The kind that made awkward small talk to distract from the sound of scissors hacking away at the one thing I’d relied most on, for my confidence, weak as it was.



I admitted last week that I struggle with feeling good about myself because of the ways my looks differ from the girls in magazines. And because I don’t wear the same size pants as I did in high school.

I struggle to feel confident in myself, as I am. Just as I am, without “ifs” “ands” or wishing for a smaller “butt.”

And I struggle with accepting any progress towards being happier and healthier as something worth celebrating, when so often I feel drastic measures are the only ones worth taking.

Why lose five pounds healthfully when you could lose fifty by crash dieting? (Ever had those damaging kind of thoughts?)

I shared that because I think I’m not alone in those feelings. And because I think being honest about them is one of the first steps in getting past them.


I don’t want to make excuses for living an unhealthy lifestyle.

What I want is to give myself permission to work towards becoming my best self, not trying to warp myself into someone else.

I want to be happy in the skin I’m in, not wish it was Jennifer Aniston’s. Ya know?



But not wanting to face the insecurities Saturday I tried to convince myself it wasn’t that big of deal.

“It’s just a haircut,” I told myself, while brown locks fell to the floor.

“It’s just hair,” I said, when I looked at the braided ponytail (creepy, I know!) she’d set aside.


But trying to minimize my feelings hasn’t served me all that well in the past.

I might think something sounds silly or stupid, usually ‘cause I feel like no one will understand, but that doesn’t mean I am stupid for feeling that way.

It doesn’t mean it’s wrong to feel that way.

And that’s something I need to learn, accept. Which might explain why I’m here, writing a ridiculously long post about getting a haircut.



Knowing it’s just hair doesn’t mean I can’t also feel overwhelmed at what was/is a pretty drastic change (to my appearance at least).

Knowing that it will grow back doesn’t mean I can’t feel a little sad to let it go.


Knowing… and feeling… are not the same thing.

And I’m learning that’s not a bad thing.

I can feel the way I do, without letting my intellectual side bully me into believing I’m an idiot for getting emotional.

Just like I can be happy with a decision I’ve made, but a little sad too.

I can now report that a few days later I feel even better about my decision, and my new do.

It feels good to have a fresh start with my mane, and better to know that it's an outward sign of some inward progress.

Yes, sometimes growing up feels painfully slow, kinda like trying to grow out one's hair. But ultimately every little bit counts. That's something I'm reminded of as I play with my new pixie-like locks.

 

It's funny, really, how much a haircut I tried to minimize really has helped me feel happier and healthier overall.

Probably because bravery, in any shape or form, including a bob, is something worth celebrating.

 

*For those interested in donating hair, or helping financially, I've linked the above picture to the Locks of Love site. You'll find lots of ways to get involved, including how to nominate a kid in need, or to purchase a sweet teddy bear that benefits the cause.

And thanks to the many friends who inspired me to get involved with their own generous donations. I'm so glad y'all finally spurred me to take part in such a neat program.

 

*And last little plug, I would have never written this, much less "published" it if it weren't for a wonderful community of writers forming, who are encouraging women to embrace their own beauty and to love themselves.

Culture tells us to put a brave face on. To blend in with the crowd. To torture ourselves for perceived flaws. To paint over our insecurities.

So it's nice to hear a growing voice of intelligent women explaining why we shouldn't listen to those critics. Please check out what they have to say.

Here I Go Again

I start, and stop.

I type, then delete.

I open a new document, then close it quickly.

 

I try, then I don't.

I'm stuck.

And I don't know where to go from here.

 

Writing has always been the thing that's come easiest to me.

Not math. Not art. Not talking (ughhh talking).

 

Writing is how I've best expressed myself.

It's how I've gotten things off my chest, preserved my sanity.

 

But lately I find myself stuck in a cycle.

I want to say something, but I don't know how, or if I should.

It all seems so silly. I feel very silly.

 

Who am I to say anything anyways?

 

So I draft posts I never publish.

I sit on ideas, or I bury them down deep. 

 

It feels like months have passed, with me barely scratching the surface of what's going on in my heart and my head.

And now I'm here, with so many thoughts (too many thoughts), thoughts I haven't shared, thoughts I haven't even made sense of for myself.

And with all these pesky ideas floating about, unchecked, it's hard to figure out my next move.

In a few days I'll enter the last year of my 20's. And that feels big, in a way I'd like to avoid.

I always get nostalgic around the date of my birthday, but this year it's worse.

This year it's full-blown overwhelming.

 

It's just so confusing how I got here.

It's like I went to bed worried about getting my driver's permit, and woke up here, with adult responsibilities.

 

I feel like I missed a class everyone else took, a class about growing up, learning the ropes of adulthood. 

And it weirds me out knowing I'm "old enough" to have kids, to buy a house, to do a lot of things I'm not doing right now.

It weirds me out seeing people my age look their age, and act their age, when most days I still feel like a foolish fifteen-year-old trapped in an unfamiliar body.

 

Don't get me wrong. I'm thankful for the great things that have happened in recent years, things I couldn't have imagined at 15.

 

I'm thankful for my husband, and new friends, for a job, a place to live and two working vehicles.

I'm thankful for my family, and living close enough to see them often.

I'm thankful to have old friends. I don't take that blessing of time for granted.

 

But I also feel stuck a lot of days, like I'm spinning my wheels.

 

What comes next? What should I do? 

How on earth do I spend this next fleeting year?

 

At 15 my plans were pretty clear. Finish high school. Finish college. Marry Paul Walker.

I had an idea where life was headed, and the steps how to get there.

 

Now, there are more questions than answers.

And there is no clear map. No Cliffs Notes. No easy, right way.

 

There's just life, one step at a time.

One day at a time, one year at a time.

 

Oy. I wasn't ready for this.

But here I am anyways.

 

I've toyed around with the idea of a bucket list to accomplish before I turn 30.

Maybe I will set that as a goal. But maybe life is enough of a goal.

 

I've also done a lot of thinking about this little ol' blog and where I want it to be headed.

But maybe a well-devised plan isn't the key to the kind of success I want.

 

Mostly I've just been scattered, and stuck, and overwhelmed.

(All familiar words if you've been here before.)

 

They're words I'd love to avoid, but words I may have to embrace instead.

'Cause they don't seem to be going away. And I'm tired of trying to outrun them.

 

Maybe it's silly to put this, of all things, out there.

I could've done a "Stuff I Want for My Birthday Post," or "Unique Ideas for Honoring Mom."

 

But here I am, putting my scattered thoughts on "paper."

Sending unfiltered, unorganized ideas out into the world.

 

'Cause maybe I'm hoping someone out there can relate, to the feeling that they missed that crash course in growing up.

Maybe someone else out there is struggling ungracefully through this shift into adulthood.

 

Maybe someone, anyone, needs to know that she's not alone, in not knowing what she's doing, while doing it anyway.

'Cause that's exactly where I am, not knowing how or why, but doing it anyways.

 

Writing and deleting.

Starting and stopping.

 

Taking one wobbly, unsure step at a time.

One day, and one birthday at a time.

 

I'm lookin' up, for now.

(We'll need to talk again when it's the big 3-0 I'm staring down.)

For Better or Worse, and Even Really Awkward Marriage Conferences

Here we are, at the very start. Bright-eyed & with no idea what we were getting into. ;)

A few weeks ago Mikael and I spent about six hours at a marriage conference in Allen.

Though we each had our reservations about saying “yes,” we agreed to go at my parents’ recommendation.

 

I grew up thinking all marriages must be really easy – that’s how my parents made it look (those of you that know them can attest to this). But as a newlywed myself, my parents let me in on a secret - they actually put a lot of work into it.

One way they said they make their relationship work is by taking part in as many “learning opportunities” as they can.

So, my husband of a year and I heeded their advice and said a hesitant “yes” to the conference, a chance to learn as a couple (plus "yes" to the free hotel stay that went with it; that which was much easier to agree to).

 

Unfortunately we had a few weeks for our nerves to build up before actually attending the conference.

Would we be packed in a room with strangers (plus my parents, and a dozen couples from their church)?

Would we have to breakout into sessions without each other?

Would we be the youngest people there by several decades?

Would we leave feeling worse than when we got there?

Would they convince us we were actually wrong for each other? Toxic, like a Brittany Spears song/relationship?

By the time Friday came we were both on edge and frazzled.

It’s no wonder, really, that we had a pretty intense fight before leaving the house that day.

 

In fact, when we checked into the hotel we had once been so excited to stay at, the grandeur of the fine accommodations was lost on us.

We were still pretty sore with one another, and obnoxiously loud Abba playing in the elevator on the way up to our room didn’t help.


As much as I wanted the fancy suite, complete with Neutrogena travel toiletries, flatscreen and a full-sized Hershey bar, to magically end our squabble, or at least diminish our anxiety, alas… it did not.

Instead we continued exchanging cross words, and feeling miserable that we’d ever agreed to attend the conference in the first place.

 

And we felt this way all the way to the conference, which, very much like our predictions, did involve a large room filled with name-tagged couples, most of which looked a lot happier at that juncture than us.

 

There we were. Tear-stained newlyweds, barely talking, in a sanctuary filled with handholding couples straight out of a life insurance commercial.

We weren’t excited to be there.
We did not have high hopes.
We didn’t even like each other at that moment.

 

We wanted to be anywhere else but there. Most importantly we wanted time apart.

 

Still, we showed up. Reluctantly. Together.

And I’m so glad we did.

 

From the start the speaker spent most of the time talking about the differences between men and women.

 

And I know this sounds like “no duh” territory.

But for me at least, it really was beneficial.

 

Over and over the speaker used the phrase, “not wrong, just different.”

And it was through that lens that he shared humorous stories, sociological research and Scripture, all pointing to the idea that couples are brought together to strengthen and to complement one another.

 

And I liked that message a lot.

(I desperately needed to hear it.)

 

As an adult, as a wife, as a Christian, I’ve come to believe strongly that marriage was not made for people to live hunky-dory happily ever after, the way I thought it was as a kid (one that watched The Little Mermaid a few too many times).

Instead I choose to believe, and trust, that marriage was created to make life richer, fuller, and ultimately better, by allowing people to share it.

 

Their days. Their dreams. Their lives.

Messily. Majestically. Intertwined.

 

 

And what I took from the conference was just that - an expert, well-spoken survey of how our differences make us stronger…

Reinforcement that relationships were never meant to be easy. But also that they’re important.

 

All of life boils down to relationship.

With one another. With Creator God. With the people we share this planet with, especially the one we share a bed with.

 

 

And I don’t want to sound like I’m on a soapbox here.

In fact, Mikael and I agreed months ago that we’d try very hard not to share too much, and especially not to give advice about relationships, seeing as we’re still very much starting out ourselves.

 

We’re far from perfect. We’ve got tons to learn.

Plus it’s dangerous territory sticking your neck out like this.

 

We agreed our 40^th anniversary would be a good time to start explaining how we made things work, assuming we make it to 40 (if the hotdogs don’t do me in before then).

 

But…

 

I felt like this is one good exception to that rule…

Because what I’m sharing is advice carefully curated from other people’s research, careful study, and hard-earned wisdom, not my own…

And also because it’s important, what with relationships being what life is created around and all…

It seems good to share this information, even if it is abridged, and with a little personal history thrown in just for kicks (with approval from my hubby).

 

 

I hope just hearing this tiny bit will give you a bit more appreciation for your S.O. (Significant Other’s) unique traits.

I hope “not wrong, just different” will prove an argument diffuser the way it has around here.

Mostly I hope that you’ll be reminded how the best things in life require a bit more effort, but are way more than worth it in the end.

 

With or without the chocolate incentive… like that Hershey’s bar waiting for us after a long day of learning...

The best things aren't things at all. They are people committed to sharing life with you.

#TeamAguilar for the win.

Ready-or-not, Set, GO!

There were plenty of reasons for panic to shoot through my veins as I waited to hand over my yellow tickets, and to pass through the slouching metal gate.

 

Would my very adult-sized butt fit in a seat made for small children?

Would my legs fold up enough for my feet to reach the green and red pedals?

Would I make it around the curvy, tire-lined track without spewing the queso I’d had for lunch?

 

These were the pesky questions that raced through my mind as a mustached 15-year-old amusement land worker came up to give me a 30 second safety/pep talk.

 

His single question, “You know how to drive, right?” didn’t exactly set my heart at ease, particularly since I was surveying my fellow “drivers,” the median age of which had to be eight.

He also didn’t check my seatbelt, the way the dedicated Six-Flags employees do (by yanking at a flimsy piece of cloth meant to protect you should your bucket seat remain upside down longer than intended).

But I didn’t get long to entertain these worrisome thoughts.

 

 

There was no checkered flag, or a flashing green light to signal the start of what I suspected might be the a dance with death.

Instead there was just the kid with the mustache, making minimum wage, slouching near the front of the line of vehicles manned by third-graders.

 

“Go,” he said.

 

And without fanfare we were off, the elementary students, my husband and I.

 

 

I don’t know when the last time you drove a go-kart was, but I hadn’t been behind the strange, padded wheel of one since high school at least.

That’s been more than ten years. TEN YEARS!

A lot happens in ten years. Muscle atrophy. Most of your favorite musical groups split up or retire.

And a whole heck of a lot of fear can accumulate if given a decade to fester.

 

In my case it felt like all I'd done since high school was grow afraid of a great many things, not the least of which was go-karts.

But, that makes it particularly amazing how fast those fears flew out the “window” when I determined to do something that scared me, then hit the gas. Hard.

 

Sure, I shrieked a little as I headed into my first corner, unsure how my shiny yellow kart would handle.

And I wondered, as I used all my might to slam the gas, trying to get more than 35 miles per hour, which would come first: the finish line or a nasty Charlie Horse in my right leg.

 

But by the second turn I had determined to catch up to my husband several karts ahead.

And with that goal spurring me on, I was able to barrel past any remaining fears as I finished my first lap, and then set out to drive the second as if I were Jeff Gordon/Mario himself.

 

 

For those of you unfamiliar with go-karts they are basically a poor man’s tank. They’re nothing special to look at, but they’re practically indestructible.

They have a much lower center of gravity too, giving their “drivers” the ability to make tight corners without slamming on the brakes.

 

 

This was something I learned while attempting to pass a small, red-haired boy of about seven, who looked back at me through his large glasses with both disgust and terror in his eyes.

I had bumped him ever-so-slightly in my attempt to keep my speed going through the curve, and while I had a tinge of guilt (the way any reasonable adult would) I also determined in that moment, this was no place to let guilt slow me down.

 

So I shrugged my shoulders at him as I passed that poor kid, and then another, and another… ‘til eventually I had not only passed but lapped my husband (who granted; had one of the oldest, slowest karts out there) and made my way successfully towards the front of the pack.

 

When I spotted dozens of parents standing in the distance I knew they probably thought I was a monster, barreling past their small children, mouth agape and shouting “woo hoo” most of the time.

(Heaven only knows what they thought when I shot an “I Love You!” sign to my husband, a sign language standby that probably looked a lot less wholesome, much less romantic, from a distance.)

 

But, quite frankly, I was having too much fun to care a whole lot about what they thought.

And I've got to tell you, what a glorious, foreign feeling that was!!!

 

 

It turns out they don’t pass out trophies at the Go-Kart/Batting Cage/Paintball/Mini Golf/Arcade off the highway.

Not even ribbons. Or stickers. (And man, a sticker would have been nice.)

 

But I didn’t really need one to leave that track feeling like a winner.

The second my brown ballet flat hit the gas I knew I had accomplished the stuff of dreams.

 

I had conquered a fear, then blown past it with the wind at my back.

And it felt good; it felt so good.

 

 

I hope you won’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to advocate merciless driving here.

In fact, I applaud all the parents in the world with more discipline, self-constraint than I displayed behind that tiny, padded wheel.

 

What I am realizing, and trying to say, is that I think a great many of our fears - be they getting stuck in a bucket seat or worrying what other people will think about us - are probably unfounded, or at the very least worth conquering.

 

 When this year began I held off on sharing one resolution I secretly made with myself.

It was a resolution to do more things that scare me, to start saying “Yes!” to some things that are frightening.

 

And frankly, I kept quiet about it 'cause I was scared I wouldn't follow through.

 

Clearly I’m not an expert on conquering fear.

In fact, I’m relatively new to doing anything brave ever.

 

But I hope that doesn’t disqualify me from sharing this story with you, or from preaching the value of getting past or over the things that hold us back.

'Cause I feel like it's important. At least I know it's become very important for me.

 While I haven’t booked a Bungee Jumping excursion, or decided to vacation in some war-torn land yet, I have already conquered some fears I’ve been harboring for years:

 

• I used a food processor unsupervised for the first time a few weeks ago. And I didn’t lose a finger, catch the kitchen on fire, or even ruin dinner, the way I suspected I might.

 

• I also sang in public with my husband’s band, in front of people that aren’t related to me or obligated to tolerate/like my voice. It wasn’t a roaring success, but it wasn’t a disaster either.

(For the record I'm using the following definition: a "disaster" is me literally throwing up anywhere other than a bathroom stall. This instance was a narrow victory, but a victory nonetheless.)

• And then I drove the go-kart, instead of sitting it out the way I was very tempted to do. I could have used my camera as an excuse. “Oh I’ll just take pictures this time.” I could have explained the queso situation, and I’m sure everyone would have understood.

But instead of grasping at some lame excuse, I timidly said “okay.”

And because I choked back the fear, and put on my seatbelt, I ended up having a really great time.

In coming months I hope to conquer fears in even more practical ways.

Like saying “yes” to some freelance opportunities that it’d be easy to turn down.

And saying “yes” to some chances to forge friendships, even though it’d be easier to stay in my comfortable little bubble.

‘Cause while I know some fears serve a purpose…

For instance, it’s good I thought twice about ordering a hotdog from the concession stand at an arcade that smelled of B.O. and bowling shoes. (Particularly since there was not a bowling alley in sight.)

It’s also good that I don’t drive our 1994 Jeep Cherokee the way I drove my go-kart.

… I also know that most of my fears are not based in wisdom.

 

They’re the silly kind that serve no function whatsoever. And I’m sick of letting them control me.

 

I don’t want to live my whole life afraid of go-karts. Or kitchen appliances.

And I don’t want to let the fear of failure or embarrassment keep me from pursuing my passions.

 

So this year I set out to say “Yes!” more.

And I really hope some of you will join me on this journey.

 

I hope you'll start saying “yes” to some things that scare you too.

 

Together we can push outside our comfort zones. We can commit to trying new things, to silencing fears.

We can learn to be braver. We can aspire to overcome our fears.

And, we can have a heck of a good time doing it.

 

Now, let's hit the gas!

Awesome & Awkward: A SPOOKY edition

I really miss Awkward & Awesome-ing it up each week. I miss that dorkily much, really.

But, I hope you'll forgive me. Life is crazy busy.

I'm sure you understand. Afterall, that tends to happen come pumpkin season. (Pumpkin turned Christmas season if you've been in Hobby Lobby or Target.)

Anyways, in honor of the two weeks I've spent pre- and post-celebrating October 31, here's a little costume-inspired edition of one of my favorite blog features.

Happy almost Friday friends. Miss you.

 

Awkward: 

Tripping up the stairs, in plain sight of your future cousin-in-law. (Darn you long purse handle.)

For that matter, meeting most of your fiance’s family dressed as part of an 80’s pop band. Pretty outstandingly awkward, I’d say.

Is that not the dorkiest thing you've ever seen?

Realizing the dude that just walked in dressed – perfectly – as Prince, is actually your fiance's Aunt.  Scratch that.  Aunt Prince was totally awesome!! Impressively awesome. Seriously.

Walking into a bachelor pad that reeked of rotten food and sweat, and realizing you added to the stench instead of dissipating it, by… using neon hair coloring to try to pull off a cartoon icon. 

Showing up to a party believing yourself to be “Patty Mayo” only to realize under blacklight you are instead a deadringer for an uncharacteristically tall Ompa Loompa.   (Picture available via Jessie's Facebook.)

(I should also mention that “neon green” doesn’t wash out easily. And it’s not super well-received at a breakfast diner one full day before Halloween. Also, remember, it stinks!!! So, for the love of all that is good, save yourself the stinkiness. And whatever you do, don't "dye" your hair a day before engagement pics. EVER. Even by can.)

One of my brother's bandmates interviewing a  "Never Nude."

Having a friend (one who’s clearly holding a spraypainted shoe box with a cup glued to it) approached, and asked if he’s really getting this. That’s right, his 70’s camera man prop was mistaken for an actual video camera. Sad day. Funny day, but sad day for the idiot that needs glasses.

Putting your brother’s hair up in a bun (or a braid) in an effort to make his ghetto anchorman wig fit. Never thought I’d hear “bobby pins” and “brother” in the same sentence.

  Here's the brother in (blurry) all his Ron Burgundy-esque glory. 

Oh yea... the most awkward thing? November 1 seeing that friends of yours dressed the same as you only better. :/ Wah wahhhh.

Awesome: 

That hat. And boy. :)

Having the Doug theme song stuck in your head all night.  (Less awesome, “Moves Like Jagger” being stuck in your head an entire weekend.)

Telling your family about your genius couple's costume idea to go as Waldo and Walda... and realizing the waiter overheard and actually chuckled. Hello Spanish humor... ba dem chhh. (Anyone get that???)

Babies in costume. Period. Never seen so much cuteness. Ever. Impossible to pick a favorite, but the lobster. And the owl. And...

Sisters who stockpile Halloween candy knowing full well there will only be one Trick-or-Treater! SCORE!

Yes, we were couch potatoes for a bit. But just to be near some actual potatoes, which is less pathetic? Right?

Speaking of sisters, she wanted to slap me for spending 20 minutes talking about them, but someone at the Lubbock party made really AWESOME potatoes for snacks. I mean, they were delicious. So much so I spent a good chunk of time sitting by them.     Long enough...

To hear a guy proclaim, "Dude, did you try the potatoes? At first I just thought they were decorations, but they're really good."

Oh decorative potatoes... the most awesome kind in case you were wondering.

And since the dorky is already longggg out of the trick-or-treat bag, I also gotta say, the decorations at the Lubbock party were pretty awesome too. Gotta love it when a hostess (or four) put in that extra effort and really go all out. Thank you Sonic the Hedgehog, David Bowie, Tinkerbell? and Metal Hairband Guy. You outdid yourselves.

P.S. GUMBY is a crowd-stopper! He totally caused some grown men to geek out.

Something to keep in mind when selecting costumes next year, ladies.

 

Hope you all had a safe, fun, October.

 

Sorry if I switched verb tenses here, and that I couldn't wrangle up better pictures. I'm late for date night so I gotta run.

If you get a chance let me know how your candy-crazed holiday went.

Awesome & Awkward: Like a Kid in a Coffee Shop

Out of place.

That's the best way to describe how I've been feeling the last few days.

If you asked my coworkers for a description of me I'm afraid they might respond "Cranky" or "Off Her Game."

But, let's just stick with "Out Of Place." Shall we? It rolls off the tongue a lot sweeter.

 

I think my sorrow in suddenly feeling as though I'm floating about, ungrounded, unguarded, and unprepared, has been compounded because of how starkly these emotions contrast how I was feeling this time last week.

Last week I was sitting easy, in my own office complete with an Awesome desk, with drawers!

 

This was a serious upgrade from the card table I'd been sitting at, and it felt a bit like a promotion, a bode of confidence. For a moment I let myself feel as though I belonged. Had purpose. That a desk plate was only an order away.

I knew where I was and where I was going.

I had a place and a purpose.

Nevermind that they were ill-planted. It felt good to feel secure... for a second.

 

But this week everything changed.

I've been relocated - demoted if you will - to the expansive "Coffee Bar" down the hall, where I have spent seven hours a day toiling away at a bistro table, wondering how things went so wrong, so quickly... And when, if ever, my work environment will stop making me crazy high.

And floating about (only partially from the paint fumes) I've been forced to take stock of my situation.. to recognize how quick I was to place my security in a place to sit. A title. A social standing. A lot of sources, none of which could last. None of which could be enough.

 

That's all gone now. And the adjustment has been painful. Awkward. And very much unwelcome.

 

But, it has also been necessary I think. Eye-opening. And, a good reminder that what really matters is not where I hang my bag or what I'm called. It's not how I look or where I stand.

It's Whose I am that matters in the end.

At the end of the day all that really matters, the only truth that can bring my heart peace (and joy), is knowing with Whom I belong, and that we'll be together soon. Soon-ish at least.

 

I don't know what your week has been like. If it's been up and down, or all over the place like mine.

I don't know if you feel like a kid in a candy shop - surrounded by all that your heart desires - or a kid in a coffee shop - uncomfortable and ready to be home already.

But, wherever it is you find yourself this Thursday, I hope your heart might be encouraged by remembering Whose you are.

 

He knows what He's doing, even when you don't.

He knows what you need, even when you don't.

And He's faithful beyond compare, even when you aren't.

Take hope in that Truth friends.

I know this disoriented girl is.

Awkward & Awesome: Where'd you go?

What a whirlwind. I hate when I fall off the face of the planet (or at least cyber world) for a while. But, I suppose it happens to the best of us.

 

Since we last “spoke” I have attended a birthday party, listened to extreme screaming, had several fun sister nights (which mostly means eating fast food and watching season 1 of Community), discovered some unfortunate results of the losers using my debit card at an ATM in Italy (namely been unable to purchase from iTunes). And… I’ve had some growing up to do.

 

It turns out being an adult is hard. Even harder than I thought it would be when I left home to head to college. I felt so grown up, owning my first iron.

Turns out I hadn’t a clue what I was in for.

 

When I had to swallow my pride and move back in with my parents after obtaining that stupid lovely degree, again I thought, "Wow this is hard!"

But still… it got harder.

 

It turns out life/adulthood/growing up is even harder than I expected when I moved back out this January. And harder than I was anticipating when my sister moved in a month ago.

 

It turns out being an adult sucks!

 

There are bills. So very many bills.

And there's weight gain.* Boo!

There are people to appease. And dishes to wash. And bills. Did I mention bills. I don't like bills.

 

But, adulthood/life/growing up is not without blessings.

 

No more curfew and getting to eat dessert* first are only the beginning. Thermostat control also makes the list.

But the real blessings are the friendships that are genuine and strong, some of which have been almost fifteen years in the making (that sentence terrifies me as I’m sure it does you if you’re one of those similarly aging pals).

Plus of course, there are the ample opportunities to grow. Opportunities we might like to turn down sometimes.

"Leave me alone, I've had about enough of that!" we might want to say while choking on the sand we've stuck our heads in. "I don't want to grow another inch. I want to stay here, content with my mediocre life." That might be what we're tempted to think.

And a lesser god might give us what we ask for, instead of what we need.

Instead of going through the trouble of disciplining us, he might let us live with the lesser lives that we have a way of settling for.

But I've discovered that the God I pray to has a pesky way of leading me to opportunities to grow, whether I like it or not. He refuses to let me settle for anything less, than being slowly (often painfully and against my tantrums) refined. 

Yes that God keeps giving me chances to discover grace more magnificent and abundant than I could have dreamed. And grace that is so much more than enough to cover all those crappy parts of adulthood I talked about a second ago. So much grace that I've been praying a lot lately it might ooze out of me like an oil leak. That it might soak everything near it.

 

Sure, there are days I wish I could go back to seventeen, when life was a lot easier, simpler. And Daddy (or on one occassion a boy named Joel) filled my gas tank for me.

But then I remember what an idiot I was back then, and I nip that idea right in the bud.

 

Thinking about it - what an idiot I was - makes me smile though. 'Cause it reminds me to pray to God that ten years from now I might be fortunate enough to say the same thing.

When I look back on 27 someday, how I pray I might say again, 

 

“What an idiot. She has no idea.”

 

No idea how much life is ahead of her, how many struggles she will encounter… but also how much learning and abundant loving will take place No idea how wonderful her life will be, if only she’ll keep her eyes on the prize.

 

Not her own perfection, but the One who is perfect. And who oddly, unfathomably, has been pursuing a relationship with her all along.

 

Akward & Awesome: Epic!

Life has been pretty busy lately. Far too busy to do stupid stuff like unpack boxes or take out the trash... or blow dry my hair. But it's also, sadly, been too busy to consistently keep up the blog. (Wahhh wahhh!)

I couldn't bear to miss another Awkward & Awesome Thursday, though. So here I am making very good use of my lunch break (after scarfing down a delicious chicken salad sandwich... why do they always have to look like cat food?).

For the ease of hitting all the highlights I'm gonna be lazy and list things this week. As always, you're welcome for making a fool of myself. I'd like to think it saves you the trouble of having to do it for me.

Plus, maybe, you'll learn from my mistakes. God I hope so anyways.

I call this the,  "Oh no, I'm getting arrested. Better take of my sunglasses"  pose. I'm pretty sure it'll catch on.

AWKWARD:

*Pretending to be a fashion blogger, and realizing (sarcastic thank you Sister for pointing this out) that you look like you're doing a weird body-rolling dance move when you take pictures... Also flipping through your pics to find a very unflattering butt shot (again, sarcastic thank you Sister)... good times.

*Asking the gas station clerk (where you're buying lunch) about the stuffed frog sitting near the checkout, only to have him hear, "So what's up with your Fro?" (I have been warned I'm a mumbler.)

I didn't realize the confusion until he (a man with a larger-than-life 'fro) and his colleague were already giving me dirty looks and saying, "Did you hear 'fro too?"

I frantically started pointing at the frog, and repeating, "Frog! FROG!" But it was too late. Apparently you shouldn't ask a man about his 'fro. Ever. But especially not repeatedly.

 

*Having a munchkin hand you a crumpled up - and very moist - sticker, seconds after returning from the bathroom.

Particularly if this transaction takes place at precisely the same moment someone else attempts to take your "picture" but gets a VIDEO instead.

 

*Realizing you're the ONLY person who does a bottom-jiggling dance to make sure you're not sitting on your phone. I always thought this was a universal thing... apparently, NOT!

 

 Now for some...

AWESOME:

*Frozen yogurt, with everything but Mochi (which tastes like gooey, pre-chewed bubble gum).

*Friends! Ones that make you laugh a lot. And smile a lot. And are silly. And sweet. And fabulous.

*Sunsets. Particularly over suspension bridges. You'll hear more about this at a later date, 'cause I'm pretty much in LOVE with this view. But for now, here's 1,000 words on the greatness!!!

*Two-bedroom apartments, with plenty of space to spread out. And store 19-boxes still filled to the brim with stuff I've been far too busy to unpack.

*Iced lattes. From anywhere and everywhere. (McDonald's, Starbucks, Common Grounds, Quick Trip...) They are my favorite summertime drink. Besides sweet tea. And Code Red, depending on the time of day.

*Seeing HP at the stroke of midnight! Like the Potterhead I am.

This is a nerdy confession, but I don't care. Some things are just too AWESOME not to shout from the rooftops... like a chihuaha riding a chicken, they're total AWESOMENESS I tell you. Awesomeness.

 
See! I told you. This image "borrowed" from a Hallmark birthday card by the way.

 

Hope you have a wonderful AWESOME Thursday eve, and that I see you soon.

Awkward & Awesome: Double Toilin' Trouble

Soooo this is gonna be a weird month. What with trying to keep up with two blogs, trying to find a two-bedroom apartment, and trying to make it back to the gym more than twice a week. Eesh.

But, it'll be fun too, right? All this doublin' up!

Like a Wrigley Spearmint commercial. Or one of the old Olson twin movies.

 

With the extra/pointless work I've added to my carb-filled-plate, though, I might not be able to write such horrendously long posts here. So I hope you (hi Sister) can settle for shorter entries, like 800 words instead of 1,000. Starting...

NOW.

You didn't think I'd go off to college "fashion blogging" and forget about Awesome & Awkward  did you? That's so sweet. You did. (I hope you got that Sister.)

Well I didn't. Quite the contrary. Instead I decided this would be a good chance to let the two worlds collide, and do a bit of a fashion edition. Let's have some fun.

 

* For day one of the 30for30 I decided to wear white, pink & coral. So naturally, I wanted to take pictures in front of the prettiest pink-graffitid wall in town. Only...

That wall is behind a tattoo parlor. Which is next door to a strip club. A popular one from the looks of the parking lot when I drive by on my way to Bible Study every Thursday.

Soooo.... I did what any committed "fashion blogger" would do. I picked a time I thought would be safe - and with decent light - and parked. By the back of the tattoo parlor/front of the adjacent strip club.

And there, I sat in my car for twenty minutes talking to a friend. But that felt weird. Especially since there was a real/realistic human head hanging from a stick out back. So... I got off the phone. And got out of my car.

And set up my tripod. In the parking lot between the tattoo parlor and the strip club.

Not a problem, right? Totally innocent!

Well the first few shots were okay in the sense that NO ONE saw them. But, like Alec Baldwin in a particularly funny episode of "Thirty Rock," I couldn't figure out what to do with my hands? Holding two coffee cups was not an option. So a lot of the early shots looked like this... (see below). I'm thinkin' it might should be my "signature pose."

Needless to say the simple photoshoot ended up taking quite a bit longer than expected. And, as time progressed, and my poses kept getting weirder (I frequently looked like I had to pee) more and more people started pulling in. NOT to get rockin' arm art, mind you. But to see ladies a lot LESS clothed than me.

I wanted to think the guys that started showing up in droves would at least be impressed with my daring selection of white pants. So I even told myself this when a few started congegrating and staring from several feet away.

But, then I reassesd the situation.

And my ensemble.

And their unhappy looking faces.

And that's when I realized...

 

A fully clothed girl with a big camera and tripod... in the parking lot of a strip club.... looks like TROUBLE.

And not a fun kind, obviously. The PI kind. The kind that wins wives mega money in nasty settlements.

The kind I'm sure some of my new friends would have liked to stuff in the trunk with the tripod I packed hastily after my realization.

Yea, that was day one. And yet... I proceeded.

*This morning, excited to sport my new-to-me gingham shirt, I was a little neglectful of my legitimately new pants. I ripped the big tags from the butt, the way my Mom taught me.

But as I struggled to lock my back door, in a rush to get to work, I was stopped by our sweet - and observant - maintenance man.

I smiled big as I prepared to wish him a great day, until he cut me off with...

"Ma'am. Um, there's a tag on your, ummm... hands motion to my bum region.
Cheeks flush. All our cheeks flush actually."

I had remembered to pull the big tags, all right. But I forgot to get the four-inch long neon sticker announcing my hip width to the world. OOPS.

So much for starting the day with confidence.

Still, Que Sera Sera, I say. I'm not gonna let a little sticker on my bum ruin my day. Just like I'm not gonna let tripping over a 1/2 inch heel get me down. Well, figuratively at least.

Just like I'm not gonna let a few (or several hundred) really awful pictures keep me from finishing this silly fashion challenge.

I don't know if continuing to do the same thing expecting different results is insanity or faith. But, onward I go.

Thanks for those of you rooting me on (and laughing behind my Size _ _ back).

 

 

I hope everyone is having a really wonderful week. Filled with lots of AWESOMENESS and Father-pleasing fun.

Miss you guys. Don't be strangers. I know now where we can get coffee, frozen yogurt, and dragon tats. ;)