I Built It?

I can't tell you how many times I've sat in a Bible class and heard the teacher pose some form of the question, "Why do we fail as Christians?" And as expected, many people deliver the correct answer. They take a sip of their freshly brewed coffee and say,

"Because we only rely on ourselves. And we take credit for our successes when they weren't really ours to begin with."

The head nods begin and we go about our business.

Yet I can't flip through news coverage and conventions without hearing the trendy chant, "We built it. We built it."

It's like we forgot our former answer. Suddenly I am the king of the universe again and everything I've obtained is because I'm stinkin' awesome.

Do I feel like I worked my tush off to finally get a position within the bank? Yes. Do I think I kind of deserved a break after sleepless, tearful nights? Yes. Do I think I am a vital part of the workings of the bank, however small my role may be. Yes. But did I build this bank? Did the guy who created the bank build the bank? No.

We are all relying on each other, working together, climbing over each other sometimes, to get to where we are going. And God set things in motion to be this way. That's why he created marriage. That's why he gave Adam a companion. That's why he had numerous apostles.

And by saying this I am not saying that your grandfather did not work from sun up to sun down on his family farm. I'm not saying he didn't provide the integral foundation it needed to survive. But-- as much as you may admire him-- he did not build the tractor. He did not run the store that sold his crop. He needed expansion. And that's OK.

I'm not here to advertise for anyone-- because frankly, I don't really care for any of our choices this year. But I am here to say something that has been on my heart for a long time:

Christianity needs to stop getting into the political hot tub. Because when we do, we start looking like $2.99 flip flops at Old Navy.

Like when the opposing candidate has a marital indiscretion and we pounce him with a red letter "A." But our candidate is the front-runner in numerous divorces and we seek prayers for him and assume he has "changed."

Like when we listen to people spout hatred, however disguised, and we cheer them on and stand up for them. But the person who sits two feet in front of us at work has no defender.

Like when we say that grace is offered no matter how far we've strayed, but we put a big bold price tag on the mercy we show other people.

Like when we say that a certain religious group isn't affiliated with Christianity, but when that believer is in a position of power he suddenly represents our values and beliefs.

Like when we alienate people from our fellowship because they view issues differently.

Like when we think that any of these men truly, emphatically see abortion and social issues as anything but a poll point.

I don't usually get this fired up. I apologize. My regular readers will probably beg me to go back to my funny banter. And I most certainly will.

My purpose is not to offend, but to enlighten. I'm not saying Christians shouldn't vote or become involved at some level, but I am saying that we need to stop intertwining the two so much that we can no longer see the discrepancies we are creating between the Bible and the voting booth.

Follow your dreams. Work hard. Own a company. But praise God that it wasn't just you that built it.

Don't Sweat the Stupid Stuff

I remember vividly the day I received a package in the mail from my grandma during my "tween" years. It wasn't my birthday. It wasn't Christmas. So I was perplexed. When I opened it, I saw a book called, "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff for Teens." I knew at that very moment that my own mother must have told her that I was suffering from a typical case of overreaction. I pretty much majored in it. And minored in it in college. 

As Richard Carlson says, “Stress is nothing more than a socially acceptable form of mental illness.” Can I get an Amen? And don't lie. You all know you're locked up with me in the crazy house.

I was reminded of this book today when I got my usual newsletter from some Greek letter-ridden academic club I joined in college. I remember thinking, "Oh my gosh. I have to come up with this money. I have to ask for help. I have to be in this elite club. Or I'll never get a job." So I did. And I stood in a line, holding a melting candle. With each skin-searing drop of wax, I knew that all this would be worth it someday.

Do you want to know how many times during my job-searching nightmare anyone even mentioned Alpha Chi? Zero. Zero. Does this mean that those clubs are in no way useful? Ehhh...no. I'm sure some guy out there got hired to head up Google because they shared a Chi-nection (don't act like that pun isn't top notch). But most didn't even know what my degree was in, nor did they care that I had 100% cotton paper.

But what I do mean is this: Don't sweat the stupid stuff. 

Here are a few of those things:

• People aren't paying attention to you. So stop dying inside every time you overflow your drink at the soda fountain.
• I have never applied for a job and had a supervisor say, "You know, should have brought that B in Trigonometry up."
• If you want to be in a billion activities in college, go for it. But please don't think it will make you the golden child.
• I'm just going to leave it at this: Everyone goes to the bathroom. So you can stop pausing in between other flushes in the public restroom.
• Being big-boned is kind of a myth (kind of). Even if your fingers make it all the way around your wrist, be big-boned and don't starve yourself.
• Don't try to meet with potential managers face-to-face. Not worth it. They invented online applications for a reason: they don't want to see you. 
• Spend church as a time of celebration. Don't meditate on everything you do wrong; focus on Jesus making you righteous.
• Friends will come and go. Don't mourn. Realize what stage they were in and why they were there.
• It's OK to wish you liked classic literature, but continue not to like it. Go read Twilight or something. 
• Saying "I love you" isn't rocket science. Don't take forever to say it and overcomplicate things. You can say it again later if you have to. 
• If you don't want to order fine china, brides, just don't do it. It's just something else for you to break.
• Don't shave your legs until you have to wear a dress or shorts. And mostly wear pants. Such a stress reliever.
• If someone was rude to you when you were a teenager, get over it. Do you want people to hold you to your 14-year-old self?
• All of your outfits will seem like a dumb idea in 20 years. So don't have a dressing room tantrum.
• Write. In any way you can. 
• Turn off radio commercials. They are so obnoxious. Years were just added to your life.
• We naturally crave drama for some reason. Fire the dramatic people from your life. They can still be there, but make sure they are just part-time or out on long-term disability.
• Laugh with your real laugh. Even if it's wicked witch meets Woody the Woodpecker. 

Stress is inevitable at times, but at other times, we can escape from the asylum. But we just sit there in our straight jacket anyway. 

So here's to not sweating the small stuff, the stupid stuff, the stuff that won't matter a few years down the road. 

So grab a towel and sit by the fan with me. 

The BAT Club

It seems like yesterday it was wedding season for me. Every 2.5 seconds I was driving to David's Bridal to pick up a bridesmaid dress, with the ever looming, "Always a bridesmaid never a bride" phrase resounding in my ears. I have now reached a new phase of life: Baby shower season.

I felt very confident in my ability to buy you a dinner plate. But walking through the baby section at Target, I felt like I had a visible thought bubble above my head declaring to all those around: "I have no idea what I'm doing here." I looked down at the registry. "Receiving blankets," it says. Suddenly an image of a baby shooting out of a cannon only to be caught by this special, bouncy receiving blanket popped into my head. What's a receiving blanket? What is it used for? What is it receiving? Slight panic.

I thought I was all clever when I placed myself into a self-created group called, "Scared Of Babies," but then quickly realized that the acronym was not so nice. Instead, I am the president of BATs. Babies are Terrifying.

No, but really. Here are some signs you may need to come to our anonymous meetings.

Moms say, "He is just in a bad mood. Don't feel bad."

You hear: "Yep. You looked at my precious, cordial baby and he started screaming. Thanks."

Moms say: "It comes natural."

You hear: "It comes natural...that is, if you are a naturally born mother."

Moms say: "The poop and projectile vomit won't bother you when it's your own baby."

You think: "I love my husband. To death. Doesn't make his bathroom trips smell like roses."

Moms say: "Your body will learn to adapt."

You hear: "You will be a complete zombie. Like try out for "The Walking Dead" and get the part zombie. Hope you enjoy your two hours of sleep.

Moms say: "Your body will never be the same."

You hear: "You think you're a big bowl of Chunky Monkey now? Just wait."

Moms say: "You will forget all the pain when you look at your darling baby."

You hear: "Your kid is adorable. But you will still feel like you got hit by a truck...twice."

Moms say: "You can never get enough diapers."

You hear: "You can kiss buying any new underwear for yourself goodbye."

Moms say: "Breast pump."

You imagine: Cows hooked to machines inside of a barn.

Moms (and dads...eww) say dilated and or/centimeters.

You think: Why the play by play? Just let me know when there's a baby in the arms.

This is of course dusted with Ashton's usual sarcasm, but really-- the whole pregnancy/baby thing scares me. But then again, marriage did too-- and I am currently doing just fine. So I know that when the time comes (I need some more time, Lord) I will adjust and make it through. But lucky for my pregnant friends, their children get to be my guinea pigs. Mwhahaha.

Don't flood my inbox all at once with babysitting offers. :)

"Anything I've ever done that ultimately was worthwhile…initially scared me to death." - Betty Bender

The Face Wash Girls

I have been doing what most people do on rainy, lazy Saturdays-- watching TV. Lots of it. And watching it just for the sake of watching it. I have been rotating between the SciFi channel, E News and some infomercial about extreme weight loss. All are equally scary.

But when you watch large amounts of TV, you also get large quantities of commercials. People get all up in arms about how movies and television shows are corrupting the youth and obliterating our body images. And yes, they kind of are. But what about the commercials, people? They are all filmed in Lollipop Land, where no one has cramps or needs more nourishment than a 100-calorie pack. That's what I'm boycotting these days. Fast-forwarding through most of them is my self-sacrificing way of sticking it to the man. Otherwise, our children will grow up believing:

• When you wash your face in the morning, you are supposed to be smiling while you splash your face like you're trying to compete with Shamu's entrance. Oh and the best part? You only use acne wash for the fun of it; your face is as clear as a freshly Windex-ed window.


• When you tell people you have Key Lime Pie for the night's festivities and you pull out Key Lime Pie-flavored yogurt instead, no one will be disappointed. Let's just say you don't want me as a guest if you think that's equivalent.


• If your Mom has Bounty, she will think making a mess is fun. I love how the dog will come trailing mud, the kids will spill all of their drinks and the Mom is playfully shaking her head while she soaks up the Sunny D. Um, no. Try this one at home, kids. I dare ya. You'll have to get Brawny to pick you up off the floor.


• Having that time of the month is fun, girls! You will want to run through a field, be given piggy back rides and still eat healthy snacks. Get back to me when you hit puberty and let me know how that is working out for you. Hopefully you won't be in a field because it will probably include a shovel.


• That it is totally acceptable-- when you want money-- which is pretty much always-- to start singing opera in public. I don't know who JG Wentworth is, but he needs to calm down and get his cash later.


• That eating Lunchables will make you a popular kid. 4 small, circular pieces of processed meat does not a future celeb make.


• That a Fiber One bar will fight off the temptation of a donut. Are you kidding me? Unless it's been under a gas station heat lamp since the day before, I'm going to have to pick the Krispy Kreme.


• That make-up will actually look like that on you. If your idea of a 100% skin complexion match means me looking like I have a rare but incurable skin condition, you are right on Revlon.


• People who have candles and air fresheners have time to just walk around and breathe in the sea breeze. Negative. It's usually a desperate attempt to hide the burned lasagna smell before people come over.


• Cleaning supplies are for people to clean already spotless bathrooms and kitchens. Just for the fun of it.

So, you see, I don't get my many complexes from watching "America's Next Top Model" re-runs. I get them from the no-name actors and actresses who try to sell me perfection that is never going to be.

No amount of paper towels, Lysol, or face wash is going to mask real, unedited life. The secret is not trying to hide it yourself. Let people know you're not perfect. Tell your kids you cheated on a test in high school and it was a terrible decision. Tell your husband that you wish for your 17-year-old body back, don't just eat yogurt and writhe in pain. Cling to your Pamprin for dear life, oh poor teenage girl. Only then will the subliminal messages in every ad begin to leave us alone.

“Real life is sometimes boring, rarely conclusive and boy, does the dialogue need work.”
― Sarah Rees Brennan

School of Marriage

I've never really been the teaching type. I'm usually the one who stands there pathetically while I wait for an explanation. I'm like an IT department's worst nightmare.

Last night, however, I was making peanut butter cookies and began the traditional criss-crossing pattern on the top of the dough with a fork. I have no idea why we do that to only peanut butter cookies, but it's traditional so I follow baking protocol. I'd hate for my cookies to refuse to rise because they lack their tribal symbol that signifies they are of the Jif family.

Justin walks in and says, "I always wondered how they did that." He watched me for a few moments, and I oddly felt this sense of pride. I, the usual student, got to enlighten someone on how to delicately craft a tic-tac-toe pattern on a pile of yummy mush.

It got me thinking about all the interesting things you get to learn and teach when you first get married. It's never like mind-blowing stuff, but it is informative nonetheless.

Things I've Learned from Justin:

- How to talk to a car repair guy and explain the problem at hand in car terms.

- How to saw large pieces of wood without screaming as you do it.

- How to change out an electrical outlet.

- How to properly crack, eat and dispose of sunflower seeds.

- How to incorporate a set list of phrases into your vocabulary (i.e. 'No worries,' 'That's a fair assessment')

- How to build a Bridge and what a pipe culvert is.

- How to use an XBOX and a Playstation.

- How to chillax during a worship service and not be so stiff. I have worked my way up to a light thigh-slap during more upbeat songs.

- How to get home...like to our house.

- That you can put tea out on the porch and call it sun tea.

- That I am actually kind of passionate about certain issues now that I'm paying attention to them.

- How to buy Great Value food and save money. I'm a brand snob. So sue me.

Things Justin Has Learned from Me (I think):

- The wonderful feeling of crawling into a made bed.

- The great value of 5 candles, 3 candle warmers, and Lysol spray.

- The beauty of lots and lots of dessert. Before me, the boy wasn't "really into sweets." That's no life to lead.

- Fifteen decorative throw pillows also double as back support and feet propper-uppers.

- The importance of expressing your feelings. Come on. You look sad. Spill it.

- How to shop for clothes and shoes.

- How to sleep in late and finding excuses to do so.

- The best way to scare me to death.

- How to wax my eyebrows and upper lip (got to save money somewhere, folks!)

-How to be daring at Sonic and add some flavas to your life...and drink!

- That high thread count sheets DO make a difference and arch support in your tennis shoes is important for your basketball playing ability.

- A little insight into how women think. "Brad invited us over tonight." "Oh he did? Does his wife know about this? Is she prepared for us to enter her home?" "I don't know. I didn't really think about that." Now ya do, sweetie pie.

All of this has happened in a mere 5 months. I'm sure by our golden anniversary we will be Einsteins of Love. But that's how the whole crazy thing is supposed to work. We're different, we're opposites, our brains are wired nothing alike. But that's how knowledge happens. And boy, are the lessons fun.

Whine and Dine

Hi, my name is Ashton, and I am addicted to whining. I googled whining to see if any useful articles would emerge, but much to my shame, they were all parenting publications on "How to Silence a Whiny Child."

One in particular said,"Some experts say that whining tends to peak in a child's development when she's feeling out of control and overwhelmed  -- emotions that pretty much sum up toddlerhood. She lacks the vocabulary to articulate her frustrations, and that whimpering is the natural default noise. Certain triggers, such as hunger and fatigue, can also cause breakdowns (true for kids of all ages), so keep that in mind the next time you take your toddler grocery shopping close to naptime."

Is it sad that this also described me?

I'm just going to go against the grain here and state that I think we all need a forum in which to complain about mundane things. Which is why I have created a whine journal for myself. So that I can file my petty feelings away without having to actually bother others with it. 

Because a healthy amount of whining helps you get over it and move on. And you get to avoid those, "Count your blessings, name them one by one" people. Professional whiners, hear me out: Just because your head hurts, you're tired, you're bored and you could eat numbers 1-5 off the McDonald's menu, it doesn't necessarily equal a lack of recognition for blessings.

I have awesome parents. My husband is a saint. I love my family and friends with all my heart.  

But dang, my back hurts. Does that mean I automatically take back my awesome parents comment? No. It just means my back hurts. 

It gets really out of control when you whine about the wrong thing. I'll be freezing; I'll look over at Justin and say, "Babe, I'm hungry. Wait. No I'm not. I'm cold." 

The semi-responsible adult in me feels like I need a really deep conclusion here about how whining never accomplishes anything and only brings people down. But that would make me one of those chipper optimists. And while we're talking about how much of a glass is full of liquid, can I just say that us half-glass-empty people have been getting a bad rap lately. The truth is, my friends, we're both drinking the same amount of [insert your favorite beverage here]. And just because I wish there was a little more fullness in my cup, doesn't mean I'm not thankful for the little bit I got. I'm just seeing a big 'ol Route 44 sitting there with so much potential. 

Because my Momma reads this, I am going to end on several little things I am thankful for today. And I say little because I have found that little blessings seem to more adequately cleanse the little whines.

-- I have a marble nameplate on my desk at the big bank. Moving up in this world, ya'll.

-- I have my own automatic signature, in the font of my choice, that pops up at the end of every e-mail I send out. I'm official. 

-- I had Chef's Pizza today for the first time ever. Had co-workers not been present, I would have licked the remainder of the cheese out of the box. It was that good.

-- Justin is cooking supper for me right now as I type this. He's such a good guy.

-- I made it through morning traffic without yelling at anyone...I think.

-- Wednesday is when Damages comes on. Love that show.

-- I have the office candy bowl on my desk so I get to see people when they're happy and about to indulge in Laffy Taffy.

 "A lot of toddlers don't even know they're whining," says Sheila Oliveri, a mom of three and a nursery school teacher in St. Louis. So give your little complainer an exaggerated demonstration: "Whyyyyyy are you taaaalkingg like thaaaaaat?" The result will be twofold: "You'll show her exactly how irritating whining is," says Oliveri, "and you may make her laugh, which will make her forget why she was complaining in the first place."

Ok, so at least I know what I sound like, right? That puts me a step ahead of those silly toddlers. Come on guys. 

Coming Back

Some of you may have read my Facebook status from Friday, but I found a 2007 Starbucks card tucked away, probably passed from wallet to wallet for the past several years. I remembered back to when someone gave it to me pre-Greece trip my junior year of college. It got some good use at various airports and Starbucks across Europe. It had one last gift to give and paid for my white chocolate mocha and pumpkin bread on Friday morning. It was a sweet reminder of that wonderful period of my life and the pumpkin bread (though packaged and slightly cold) somehow took on the taste of a past adventure.

As with any reminiscent moment, it made me compare my former spirit to the one today. You could say a few things have changed along the way.

Europe 2008: I could barely sleep because I shared a sleeper train with potential serial killers and kleptomaniacs.

America 2012: I can sleep anytime, anywhere and under any circumstances. A guy could approach me and tell me he's a serial killer and I still couldn't make it through the last 20 minutes of a Redbox movie.

Europe 2008: I slept with my cash on me, under my shirt, in a sealed pouch.

America 2012: I have no cash to steal. Bring it on, muggers.

Europe 2008: I ate foods I had never heard of in cities I had never heard of.

America 2012: I ate jambalaya at a catered event and thought I was having a heart attack instead of heartburn.

Europe 2008: I trusted everyone and was perfectly content to tell a stranger on the bus where I was headed next.

America 2012: I have watched "Taken" several times and now I don't trust anyone. I am a conspiracy theorist who thinks everyone is out to get me.

Europe 2008: Using the bathroom in a hole and paying money to do so was a unique cultural experience.

America 2012: I will wait 30 minutes, look under the stall and stalk you until you exit the cleanest stall in the bathroom at Chili's. I only wait for the best.

Europe 2008: Being from Arkansas made me an American hottie.

America 2012: You can guess the present day. Most people are just surprised I have shoes on and most of my teeth.

Europe 2008: I thought smoking looked glamorous (I didn't do it, Mom) and a commemorative tattoo was necessary.

America 2012: I'm glad I don't have to add "put concealer on my wrist tattoo before work" to my morning routine and if you blow smoke in my direction, I will cough my lungs up and give you the stink eye.

I read this quote and I think it sums up my feelings perfectly. “Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.”
― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

My life pace may have dwindled a little bit through the years and my adventurous spirit may have transformed the avenues in which it shows itself (Midnight showing of a movie, anyone? Craaazy lady.)

But you only leave so that you will be changed when you come back. And that, my friends, hasn't changed a bit.

 

 

To the Teenage Me

I have reached that point in life where I can now say, "When I was young" or "Back when I was in high school" without sounding like a college freshman with an attitude who needs a couple large doses of perspective-- stat.

Younger people now ask me questions like I might have the faintest idea about stuff-- life stuff. Weird.

This realization, along with a blog I read today, made me ponder what I would in fact say to my teenage self. 

-- If your parents say the guy is a loser, he's usually a loser. He will add you on Facebook years down the road and three profile pictures in, you will call your dad and thank him for grounding you from MSN Messenger at the start of the new millennium. 

-- Don't wear metallic eye shadows. Especially when you are wearing the same color shirt. 

-- Mean girls usually make mean women. Your oversized Nike shirts and glasses won't live to define you, but spite and hatred will invade the crevices of their lives. So hang tight. You will win.

-- Don't bother begging your mother to spend her paycheck on Dr. Marten boots and those spongey, Brillo-pad flip-flops. They are way overpriced and you will look back and laugh at yourself for paying $50 to walk on a shoe that could clean your bathroom in 5 minutes flat. 

-- Do something for me. Reach down and run your hand over your super flat stomach. You are not fat. And if you say it again, I will jump in a time machine and show you what you have to look forward to. 

-- At every family gathering, soak it in. Seriously. There will come a day when you will wish your brothers were closer and that you could eat supper with your parents. Your grandparents will get older, traditions will change and you will eventually go with the flow, even when you thought you couldn't.

-- I want you to know that you will, despite all odds, get married. So stop worrying. And pouring face sweat every time you talk to a guy. It doesn't matter. Because none of them are "the one." 

-- Get out of the locker room and quit crying. You won't even remember missing that shot. No one will. And one day, saying, "I played ball in high school" will sound like a desperate attempt to stay relevant. Let it go #33. 

-- In college, you will be given the choice to study abroad. You won't know anyone, which makes you want to say no, but you will do it anyway. And it will be the time of your life. 

-- You will have several chances to pay attention to people younger than you or people who are in a different group. Grasp these opportunities. You will see them down the road and know you played a small role in the well-being of their lives.

-- When your parents drive to the outskirts of Arkansas on a work night to watch you play, then take your friends for ice cream afterwards, thank them. You will one day understand the exhaustion that comes from working full-time. 

-- After college, your views on certain topics will change ever so slightly. Don't be afraid of it. Study, read and don't just accept what you heard in passing as truth. 

-- Not going to lie-- finding a job stinks. You will be lost without a compass. But keep your mantra, "My passion is writing, but my job is _______." It will keep you sane until you can fill in the blank with your passion. I was this close to saying "pick a different major," but I feel like you will follow your heart. 

-- Write for small publications. Write for the college newspaper. You will meet a lot of cool people and interview some doozies. One takes place in a graveyard. Next time, take someone with you. 

-- But most of all, laugh more than you cry. Which, I have to tell you, is going to be a lot. Hormones are fun. 

Meet you in a few years. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. 

 

The Old Young Couple

Justin and I have been watching this show called, "Til Death" on Netflix. It chronicles the hilarity that ensues after a newlywed couple moves next door to a seasoned veteran couple of 20 years. The naivety, innocence and excitement of the young couple often creates tiffs between the veterans, while the advice and insight of the veterans often enlightens the newlyweds.

Several episodes in, I realized something: Justin and I related more to the older couple. This is not to say that we have it all together or that we have faced the trials that will surely hit down the road. It's not even implying that we go about things the right way.

I can't speak for Justin, but I feel like I was so glad to get out of the dating world, so glad I didn't have to be this "always on top of my game" version of myself, so glad to have someone see my faults and accept them, that falling into a comfortable stasis in a marriage was kind of a good thing-- not something to be ashamed of.

Am I condoning reaching a state of complete boredom with your partner? No. Am I saying you should never try new things or visit new places? No. But I am saying that sometimes a rut can be a good thing. It is God's gift to the girl who wouldn't dare let her high school boyfriend see her without make-up on. It's not in the vows, but it's basically saying, "Do you, Justin, accept her oldest, hole-ridden sweatpants from college? To love and to look at from this day forward?"

When you're dating, you pretend to like stuff and they don't really notice. You break up and suddenly have 10 CDs you would have never purchased on your own. A bonfire soon happens.

When you're married, you pretend to like stuff, but it is mutually acknowledged. And suddenly the quid pro quo phrase you always heard in passing starts to make more sense.

When you're dating, you have to mathematically calculate your meal consumption. Eat-enough-because-he's-paying vs. don't-let-him-think-you're-a-chicken-vacuum-cleaner.

When you're married, you will pride yourself in couple consumption. Justin and I are still glowing from the demolition of the 14-inch from Upper Crust Pizza that happened before the waitress came back for refills.

When you're dating, you always have to smell good.

When you're married, you will partake in "Smell me" "No smell me" competitions after working in the yard, working out or flat out just not taking a shower for a few days.

When you're dating, you can stare lovingly into each other's eyes for an eternity.

When you're married, your husband inches close to your face to help you pluck that stubborn eyebrow stray.

When you're dating, it is equally understood that neither of you go #2. 

When you're married, you will walk in the bathroom, yell, "Sick!" and your husband will smile triumphantly.

When you're dating, you feel obligated to stay on the phone for hours. 

When you're married, it is luckily only used as a walkie-talkie. "Headed home." "Roger that."

When you're dating, you pretty girl cry. You know, the one where you sniffle and say, "I'm just so sad. Hold me." 

When you're married, you ugly cry. Full out blubbers and undecipherable sentences. They don't usually hold you because they just have to stand there in stunned wonder.

When you're dating, sticking to plans is pretty important. I mean, you've been planning to see the new Batman movie for weeks now, right?

When you're married, you will be halfway to a party and your husband will say, "Do you want to just run to the gas station, get some snacks, and watch TV?" And you will wholeheartedly agree. Hello, sweatpants and gummy worms.

Some people take stabs at couples that have "lost their mystery." You know what, though? Dating is full of mysteries and that's why 93% of the time, it doesn't work. Marriage only seems to work when couples truly grow to know each other...like creepily know each other.

And that's something I can get comfortable with.

Bring on the frump love.

Models vs. Rednecks

How many of you have seen Honey Boo Boo? Though I haven't seen the premiere of her own personal show, I have been graced with her presence several times on "Toddlers and Tiaras," a guilty pleasure show I can recite a criticizing dissertation on in the same breath that I cackle at the spectacle.

Long story short, Honey Boo Boo is a little six-year-old redneck pageant queen with a family that, of course, represents the South in such a classy fashion. You just never know what is going to fly out of their mouths. Please, please tune in to the video I am posting at the end of this so you can be properly introduced.

I was flipping through a fashion magazine the other day and I couldn't stop thinking, "These models dress like this, say it's in style and we get made fun of?" I guarantee if I wore any of the looks they were sporting, I would be laughed out of work and most of my friend circles.

So, though I am not always proud of my other Southern brothers and sisters, I have to give them props for being...uh...sort of in style. And I think I'm going to have to go with their take on the subject.

Models in Plaid. The fabric store called. They want their entire plaid section back. 



One of the ONLY times you will hear me say that Larry the Cable guy looks better than a model. 

 If Justin wore this to work, being splashed with red paint by a PETA activist would be the least of his worries. 



If he wore this to work, he would be crowned a hero and would make 30 new friends.



Wow. This makes the people of Wal-Mart look like the Kardashian family. 



I would rather wear a tree than look like the bird that's in it. 10 points to Camo girl. 



In the swimsuit competition, I think the models still have us edged out: 





Being Southern is a bit like being a sibling. You can punch your brother in the arm as much as you want, but as soon as someone in school tries, you're all over them like Arkansas mosquitos. I can make fun of my redneck community all I want-- but one look at your silly, skinny, ridiculously-dressed models and I know whose side I'm really on.

As promised: www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABzMAuI1vj0&feature=youtu.be

Team Prince William

Just read a brief news article (Yes, I tend to click on the "Entertainment" tab more often than the world news tab) about Justin Bieber knocking on Prince William for his balding ways. First of all, Biebs, you weren't the one who had J-14 magazines with his posters in them. If anyone should be grieving, it should be my friends and I, who watched each hair fall out and saw him marry the perfect, stylish Kate while we battled our new bulge and minimum wage.

When pressed further, he replied, "I don't know why he doesn't just get those things, those products. You just take Propecia and your hair grows back. Have you not got it over here [Britain]?"

Maybe, just maybe, he has tried stuff. Or maybe he has just come to grips with the fact that he is getting older. Miracle products look so appealing to the young people who don't have to use them; then you're older, wrapping the vibrating ab concoction around your waist while sitting in a sweatsuit on your couch-- praying for a miracle that's just not going to happen. You watch infomercials at 2 a.m. and think, "I need that." 

The reason I can pick on Bieber is because I was once like that as well. I could make comments like that with no regard for what not being 16 was like. I figure his girlfriend, Ms. Gomez, would wonder why my gray hairs still manage to make their appearance. I have used several bottles of Nice 'N Easy, but those shining streaks of silver goodness still manage to escape the molasses coating that surrounds my entire scalp. That's why, Selena. 

And you're probably wondering why we can't just "get fit" like you guys. Because one day you will wake up and your abs will be gone. And a permanent pooch will be in its place. You will participate in the initial pinch, convincing yourself it is a harmless tumor. You will try to eat salad. And switch to diet sodas, but this only seems to feed the growth you have now acquired. Look forward to that, Bieber, and "never say never." 

You probably presently flex in the mirror. There will come a day when you will wave at yourself in the mirror and time how long it takes the underarm skin to settle. Your lovely girlfriend will perform a similar test on her thighs. And then she'll buy some shower-to-shower powder and refuse to leave in a skirt when it's above 60 degrees.  

And you think the ladies go crazy for your hair now? Wait until nose hairs start skydiving out of your nostrils and your girlfriend finds her first chin hair. Not a fuzzy. A full-blown chin hair. Then get back to me about William's problems. 

I know you dance and hop around stage all day long (good for you) but there will come a day when you can pull a muscle doing mundane things. Picking up a pencil. Getting in your car. Reaching to get ice from the freezer. It can now cause serious injury. 

So even though it's 2012 and you're kind of a big deal now, I am still and will forever be Team William, Rogaine or no Rogaine. 

 

 

 

What $8 Can't Buy

Today, working at the mall, I got to witness what is being called (by only me as far as I know) "Black Friday's younger, more insecure sister." Also known as Tax-Free Weekend. I don't touch shopping days like this if I can help it. Call me frivolous, but I prefer to pay a little more and keep my sanity. 

But most Americans don't feel the same. I once saw people waiting in line for hours to pump gas that was 10 cents cheaper. I'm sorry, but 2 hours of my time is worth more than that. Yep, I'm that important. We complain about what minimum wage pays us but are complacent with sitting for 10 hours to get a new DVD release for Christmas. 

People flooded the mall today, stores were running to the bank to get change, I left for lunch and it took me 20 minutes to find another parking spot. It was madness. And for what? 8% off. Think about it. You walk into a store on any other day and see a big yellow sign that reads, "8% off! Today only!" 

If you're like me, you would go, "Oh, thanks Target. I appreciate the gesture. How kind of you." But talk about it on the radio, put a sign on the door and it is the best thing since Doc's Popcorn.

I have compiled a list of why I am so happy. There is just a certain satisfaction that a saved $8 can't buy:

1. No one ran me over with a cart.

2. I didn't have to share an aisle with a stroller, 18 kids and a mother who is putting toys back while her two-year-old screams.

3. I didn't have to get one whiff of body odor.

4. I didn't have to wait behind the goofball who can't grasp, "Sir, food is not tax free. No, it does not count as clothes even though most of this ketchup will end up on your shirt."

5. I didn't have to wait while another goofball blocks you from driving through the parking lot while they wait with their blinker on while a mother puts 3 children in car seats, loads her shopping bags, checks her text and then decides to pull out. Oh, and there was another space two down. May you not run out of breath now, good sir.

6. I didn't have to look through a pile of discombobulated clothes and shoes that are thrown on the floor. And yes, I just wanted to use the word discombobulated. 

7. I didn't have to look at school supplies, thus sending me into involuntary school flashbacks. 

8. I didn't have to look for the missing shoe that has walked off from its partner in every Payless box. 

9. I didn't have to be touched or harassed by space invaders who think it's totally OK to crawl under me to get to the bottom shelf. 

10. I didn't have to to do the awkward I'm-passing-you-now walk by when stuck behind the I'm-going-to-walk-slow-but-back-and-forth-as-to-block-your-lane-change lady. 

If you went-- ok, if you went and didn't kill anyone-- I salute you. You're brave. If you're like me, don't feel like you missed out. You can't even buy a meal at McDonald's anymore for less than 8 bucks. Just think of your absence as a lifesaver. I'm feeling skinnier already. 

Commentate That.

I really enjoy watching the Olympics. I very much do. But the commentators have this tendency to get under my skin. I know it's their job, but they do it with this arrogance and superiority. One of them just said, "Why don't you explain this for the uneducated audience?"

Ok, dude. I may not be the world's expert on swimming techniques, but why not just say, "For those who aren't well versed in swimming." Less pretentious, less insulting.

And the way they read into every move the athlete makes. It's like they can't even chalk their hands without assumptions: "Well, Bob, this has been part of his routine since his days in the bushes of Africa when he used to cover his hands in dirt."

I can't help but wonder what it would be like if they followed me around all day. 

"Joe, here it is, here it is. She's about to hit her snooze button with extreme force. Can she beat her record from yesterday?" 

"She signed up for boot camp thinking this would be her year, but it just doesn't look like she is going to surpass the slim, lean fighting machine in front of her, Bob. She is doing one jumping jack to that chick's 10. Maybe she can show us something more impressive in 4 years." 

"Oh, I see that she is choosing the black pants from the floor today. This is usually the point at which she checks for possible stains and spots." "I'm telling you. She is letting herself down. She is letting her co-workers down. I thought she would rise above this, but I just don't think she can."

"Lunch time, Joe and she is heading down to the food court. Will she choose a juicy burger from Fat Wally's or will she get a 6-inch veggie from Subway?" 

"Well, Bob, you'd think just the name 'Fat Wally's' would steer her away, but with this one, you just never know what she's going to do. Her love for fries was a ritual that began a number of years ago when a boyfriend dumped her."

"Sitting at this stoplight, I can't help but wonder who is going to take off the quickest. I can't help but remember the time when she was learning to drive and she entered the 'wrong way' exit on the interstate. And the time that she ran over a full semi tire and popped a wheelie in the family van. But today is a new day. Let's see if she can show us her driving improvement." 

The list could go on. 

Luckily, I don't have all eyes on me. I don't have to be exciting. I don't have people predicting my next move. I can just get through the day.

Now doesn't that deserve a gold medal? 

 

 

 

Filter Change

Breathe. Count to ten. Take a walk. These are all common tips on how to handle a stressful or overwhelming situation. I have recently added a new one: for the sake of witty banter, let's call it "Instagram with the I Am." Sepia tone, black and white, put whatever filter on it that you want, but picture our actions in 2012 as spelled out in a New York Times font within a Bible.

And suddenly the disciples don't look so clueless. At the time, they probably thought they were doing the right thing too and asking the right questions.

When you look through a new lens, it's amazing how you are humbled, how you are changed, and how big deals suddenly shrink to microscopic status.

Jesus and his disciples were sitting beneath a tree. Suddenly, one of them brought a merchant before Jesus and said, "Lord, Lord, no one will buy silver or gold from this man because he is talking about his beliefs. What shall we do?" Then Jesus replied, "Take up your cloaks, your social media, your children, your chickens [hint] and everything you own and overwhelm this merchant's table. Only then will people truly know you are my followers." 

Don't look for that in the good book anywhere. Because it's not there. And it's not there because it's insignificant. That verse doesn't say people will know us by our picket signs, it doesn't say they will know us by our Facebook statuses, it doesn't even say they will know us by what organizations we support or oppose. They will know us by our love. Our love. That goes for both sides of any debate.

And Jesus rebuked the disciples saying, "You tear through the stores, you trample your neighbors, you steal from the carts of babes, and you do this in my name?" "Master," they replied, "But we do it to glorify you. And the flat screen television was marked down twenty whole dollars." 

When Jesus returned from the city, he saw people passing a piece of paper. "What does this paper say?" Jesus asked. Peter replied, "It said if we did not pass this to the person next to us, we didn't truly love you, Lord." And then He replied, "You are correct. For man-made words displayed in really bad font with a strange picture of me is what best shows that you are following me." 

Once again, I use poetic license. But seriously, if the disciples did that, we'd be like, "Those stupid guys. I would be on top of my game if Jesus was in my midst." But he is in your midst. He very much is.

I often read the Bible with this elitist attitude, like I am somehow sharper than those few-fries-short-of-a-Happy-Meal disciples of his. But guess what-- I have been able to read their stories, their silly questions, their short-sighted remarks since I was a kid in a felt-board Bible story classroom. They didn't get the 20/20 hindsight vision and neither do we.

But we, unlike them, have Jesus's personality, his character, his spirit wrapped up and leather-bound for us.

But we go around acting like these silly things are what Jesus would be doing. But he wouldn't. He would be at the reject lunch table. He would be with the guy who is fighting a drug addiction. He wouldn't be gossiping about the divorced lady at church, he would be healing her.

So I think it's time to change our filter. And a very beautiful picture will soon develop.