Archive for August, 2006

Things that Annoy Part Eleventy-two

The things that are spoken:

“Nnu-nnu-nnu-nnu-nnu-nnu-nnu-nnu-no” (A coworker who believes the best way to disagree with anyone (on the phone, in person, in her mind) is to repeat the ‘n’ at the beginning of the word ‘no’ a few dozen times.)

The things that are written:

“Please bring your deserts to [location withheld] tomorrow at 10:15 AM, where the desert judging will occur. The winners will be announced during the lunch celebration. Don’t forget to bring your deserts. Prizes for 1st and 2nd place.” (How many times can you use the misspelled word in one email? They’ve been sending out notices and posting fliers all around about this event since the end of July and have yet to correct the typo. I suppose I should just bring a pale of sand or possibly a cactus.)


Summer Fun is Almost Gone

Look how much fun we had…

Jud goes back to normal (read: non-online, in-person, not as much work, much better for the brain and the social life) classes on Monday. We’ll try to keep up the fun quotient.

one more time to kill the pain…

Like many people, my late teens and early twenties have shared a commonality based upon a substance. While that substance can vary between common people groups and demographics, it became clear to me during the month of July that I am a complete caffeine junky. It was at the point where it didn’t matter which soda/pop/whathaveyou tasted like, its value was simply centered around its caffeine content. What became a two dollar a week habit spun into 5-6 and I felt like there would be no end to the madness. However suddenly I decided that I would stop wasting my money on two liters of soda and start receiving my caffeine supplements from another source. Any dentist will tell you that the worst thing for tooth enamel is soda and even thought this is something that Dr. Wetzel told me long ago, I continue on my destructive path, a swig here a swig there. Anyway, after discovering that the only positive thing about living south of the Mason Dixon line is the presence of sweet tea, I decided to see what the good folks at Nestea had to offer. So after years of addiction to soda I have now transitioned to tea, a habit in which probably more caffeine is ingested while less sugar becomes the trade off. I tell you all this to say that last night I relapsed…. We had a get-together for our SF group at the seminary and it called for us to buy soda for the group. So after 5 weeks of staying away from soda and refusing to let it have its reign in my life, I tied one on. Somewhere around 2:30 in the morning in the 86 degree temperatures of a Texas night, I came to a deeper realization of just how lame pop addiction is. While I had been drinking sweet tea instead of soda I had evidently been weaning myself off of caffeine, so when I drank two to three glasses of Waco, Texas’ finest, Dr Pepper I was lit like a roman candle and I couldn’t settle down for anything. So maybe after reading this you might too consider options other than soda? Maybe…but probably not and that’s fine.

Dooms Day aka The Day in which you click on these Links

We’ve been anticipating this day for a few reasons:

1. Iran is crazy.
2. I’ve been working where I work for one whole entire year.
3. Jud is being officially reviewed for his one year anniversary of working from home.
4. My parents will board a plane back to reality later today from here.
5. Hello? Iran is CRAZY!

Preachy Strangers and People I Used to Know

On Sunday, we sort of cheated on our church. We went to Sunday school, because Sunday school is importante and because we love our class and because we do not want them to think we are cheating on them [They don’t know about this little blawg, so it is safe to talk about the cheating here, but don’t tell on us, Internets!]. We loved being there with all of them, especially the part where one of the new babies got all squeaky – he is so tiny! so squeaky! But I don’t know them well enough to hold him and so I just look and smile and hope to one day be friends with his mother.

J & R were trying out a different church, not far from our church and so we made a mad dash over to the other place for the worship service. It was a pretty large and in charge, beautiful people kind of crowd. We’re not the typical super-poor seminary students (although once the lab bills all roll in, we may be joining their ranks. If your results come back positive for deadly things, don’t you think they should cut you some slack? Shouldn’t there be a “we’re sorry we told you that you have cancer clause?” Yeah, I think so too.) Anyway, we aren’t poor, but, baby, we were not rich enough for that crowd. I’m not even sure we were white enough.

After the service was over the guy who I’d been sitting next to struck up a conversation with us. He’s a sem student too, although he’s been taking classes for three years and has the same amount of credits as Jud (Jud=fast track, Stranger Man=may have to retake classes because they only give you seven years to get the job done). He asked what the hardest part of seminary has been so far and without hesitating Jud said, “SF has been the most painful”, which Stranger Man interpreted as “We’ve been so challenged and it’s totally rocking our world. Awesomely pain-filled!” It was not said in that context. It was said in the literal “Oh, please make this stop! I will chew my own arm off if it will make this go away forever!” context.

Once the confusion was cleared up, he kept suggesting we get in touch with people at the sem to tell them about our experience. We told him a few times that we’d explained the negativity to them without much concern on their behalf and much more of a “God will teach something from this terrible thing we are forcing upon your life” response. And we are learning. We are learning how to persevere and how to keep from strangling leaders who have infinitesimal amounts of leadership skills. We told Stranger Man that but He kept.repeating.the.same.parental.advice. I imagined my head exploding and then finally Jud wrapped up the conversation with a “Well, have a good day.” Thank you, Stranger Man, for you bizarro-world advice.

On a completely positive note, our SF people are coming over for dinner tonight. We hope to add one more notch in our perseverance belt, but just in case we do not bear up under the awkwardness, you might want to watch the news tonight.

Apart from fixating on supper tonight’s pain, I have also been thinking quite a bit about an old friend from the college days who recently moved down here to the Dallas area, significantly north of where we live in the heart of the city, but still in the metroplex. She’s been married about five years now, if my memory is correct. I was telling Jud and Jeremy and Rachel that her wedding was by far the most beautiful wedding I’d ever attended, including my own (you’re not supposed to say things like that, are you? Aren’t you supposed to believe that your child is the most beautiful one in the whole world? Isn’t your wedding kind of your baby until you actually have one? At least for a couple of years? I loved our wedding and it was very pretty, but hers had moments where I was sure we were being photographed for a magazine).

We didn’t talk all that much after her wedding. I don’t think I even invited her to mine (didn’t know her address/didn’t think about it at the time/didn’t want to take the time to track down the people of which I’d already lost track/typical military brat mentality). We had coffee once the year after she got married and it was good, but not familiar like it used to be. She’d graduated into a different world of husbands and responsibilities and I’d stayed in the old country with the question marks about life and love. The distance was too great.

Now we are in the same place and I want to reach out to her and share a coffee again, but I don’t have her address now either. I’ll have to do some investigative work to track her down, and I feel as if I am taking a risk to do those things (Is there a stalker vibe to contacting her? Will she think it is nice or possibly psychotic? Why do I stress myself out over having coffee with an old friend? Why am I such a loon?!).

So, Internets, if you notice me stalking you, do not be alarmed. I am merely attempting to be your friend.


Yesterday, I had a conversation with a single friend about the new happenings in her love life. The conversation left my mind drifting around in the past.

Married friends, do you remember those days when you were newly dating someone? When everything in your life seemed slightly electrified and everywhere you went you juiced people? I remember. Listening to her very rational thoughts that were a bit sharper than I may have ever had on the same topic, I had to force myself to stay in the moment and really listen. My head kept playing back scenes from a past life, the ones that involve a very different cast of characters than the one I lead now. So many days that were filled with that emotional buzz flashed before my eyes and I was overcome by two very separate thoughts.

“I am so glad that is behind me.”


“Where does all of that electricity go?”

There’s a rhythm to married life that feels more like your favorite sweater than your gold stilettos. It’s not that marriage is uglier or not as fun. Your favorite sweater is cashmere! It is luxurious and familiar and always looks good. It’s quality and it’s comfort. There’s nothing better. But you also have those awesome gold stilettos that you used to wear with pants and skirts in all lengths. They make your calves look smoking and show off the pretty polish on your toes. They make your feet hurt sometimes but you can usually work through the pain because you feel great in those shoes, even when they are just paired with jeans.

There was a rhythm to single life too. Just like the heels, it was marked with putting your best foot forward and shining up your outside. It was about walking tall and sucking it in and toughing it out, even when the blisters on your little toes were near bloody. It was exciting, but probably for all the wrong reasons.

So, I’ll keep pulling on my sweater and relaxing in it’s comfort, knowing that it’s not the stilettos that made those nights fun. It was me. It was my attitude. It was the adventure. And there is still plenty of time for that.


Yesterday, in the middle of the human waste debacle, our pretty hardwood floors turned into foot snagging monsters and our lovely landlord told Jud that he would not do anything about it until after we moved out which, by our estimation, is probably still three years down the line (Not that we couldn’t move our butts out of there sooner and all that, but it is just so much work to do it and Sam and Justin and Michael and Dad are all far away. How can we move without any of them to help?).

When speaking about cleaning up the unbelievable amounts of toilet paper and crud off our floor, Jud mentioned that we needed the floors to be sanitary. The landlord replied, “Hardwood floors are never sanitary.” Jud immediately thought something along the lines of “When you live with my wife, they are.”

I came home to furniture that had been hastily shoved about and carpet on top of the furniture instead of it’s normal home below and most of the remnants of our neighbors showers and toilet flushings yesterday morning were gone (thank you so much crazy neighbors for completely ignoring the pounding on your doors/phone messages you received begging you not to use your water. My husband totally loves that shampoo you are using, by the way. It really helped cut the smell of your urine.) The stink was still there and the line of goo on the bathroom wall was still there, although the baby wipes that started the whole mess had been removed from the pipe (Hi! You know those warnings on the packages that say “Do Not Flush”? What do you say we all follow those suggestions? Mmmmkay? Otherwise, next time our home fills with crud, we will bring the buckets and buckets full of “water” over to your living room. Deal?).

Jud was overwhelmed with the drama of the day and needed a nice hot shower (which he was terrified to take for fear of more puddles). He went to clean up and I watched the toilet not overflow. I griped at him about the way the carpet was bent (as if he’d had time to worry about how the carpet was being cared for in the middle of his mad dash to beat the flow of water from reaching our furniture and electronics…as if a wet carpet, neatly rolled up would have been better…as if I had any sympathy for what he went through all day). I may have complained about the towels that were thrown away due to the massive amounts of waste they’d been sopping up and about another non-toilet related task. I wish I could blame my ridiculous demands on the fumes, but I’m not so sure that the answer isn’t just that I am mean – a mean mean woman with gigantic expectations of herself and everyone else.

With Jud clean and me changed into reasonable clothing, we decided to leave the apartment and go eat dinner at Matt’s – because when your house smells like the sewer, it’s pretty much the least appetizing place to be. When we got home I changed into clothing that is far from reasonable so that I could scrub away at the floor. I may have used a bleach solution on hardwood. I may have then used Murphy’s Oil Soap and followed it up with Orange Oil. I may have had some help from Jud after he finished his class work. I do know that our floor has never been cleaner, but of course, they’ve never been that warped before either. Warped like the mean mean woman’s brain.