I don’t know who in their right mind put me in a leadership position. But they did.

Let me spell it out for you:

Spaz + Leadership = Crazy/humorous situations. Always.

The powers that be at Vandy decided that I should mentor first years (not freshman. That’s no longer PC. Don’t offend the young adults).

Why? I’m not sure either. But regardless, I have in my hands the fate of 18 first years. At least until Thanksgiving.

For our first session we decided to paint white shirts for a campus scavenger hunt a few days later. It’s a great icebreaker, they are all working for a common good – in this case beautifying what would have been plain white garments – and creating life long friendships in the process.

I’m so good at this.

The night before, I went to Wal-Mart and bought 20 shirts of various sizes. I felt so grown up using my p-card and flashing my tax exempt form (I am too good to pay the government).

The next day, 18 beautiful faces greeted me. They were ready to take college on and play every icebreaker I could throw at them. We settled in and started our activities.

I started to lay out shirts, but realized that the larges looked really small. I hope the large fits me, I narcissistically thought. Then I realized there is more than just me here, and that there are full grown guys that would have to fit into the shirts. Why are they so small?

I turned around and grabbed the box of smalls. Maybe they’re the wrong size? I pulled it out. The body of the shirt was as big as my face. My stomach dropped.

I turned to my partner and sheepishly called her over. She took one look at my display and exploded into laughter. I had bought all children’s sizes. My perfect plan was flawed. Now what? They wouldn’t be able to wear the shirts, which would dissolve their sense of unity, and clearly that would take away any of their ability to adjust to college life.

The spaz has a tendency towards drama when stressed.

Thank the Lord, my group has a fantastic sense of humor.  They took one look at the tiny garments and jumped into action with the all-too-small shirts. They decided that they would sport them during the scavenger hunt. Boys started cutting vests and crop tops. Girls started pulling out Pinterest on their phones. (T-shirt headbands are a wonderful invention)

The session was even more fun and humorous that it would have been originally.  What’s more funny than adorning a group of America’s best and brightest in youth sized t-shirts covered in sharpie and fabric paint?

My group was totally the best looking – and most unique- group of first years on campus.

This was a true example of making lemons out of lemonade. 

Some of my great looking group

What I Like about Birthdays

My favorite four things about birthdays:

1. You are totally the center of attention for an entire day. It’s fabulous (for us Leos, it’s heaven on earth!). You ALSO totally don’t have to be modest about it, you can OWN the birthday card.

2. People write all over your Facebook. Seriously what makes you feel more popular that fifty people you went to high school with (and haven’t talked to since graduation) writing Happy Birthday on your Facebook? Regardless, waking up to 40 notifications makes you feel pretty fantastic.

3. The food. People feed the birthday girl, it’s grand. Or in my case, I’ve already received four boxes of tea and a mug. Regardless, for a starving (let’s use that term loosely) college student, I’m not hard to please.

4. You feel awesome about yourself. I haven’t heard of ANYONE having a fat day on their birthday. You may look the exact same as the day before, when you felt 10 pounds overweight and hair that just wouldn’t lay right, but no matter what, you look GREAT because it’s your day.

 

Moga

A coworker of mine was talking about how she was applying for a second job at various locations around town. This would be added onto her forty hour a week full time position she currently works.

“Yeah, it would be about sixty hours a week,” she said with a shrug, “but if it’s how me and my girlfriend can close on our house -it’s what we have to do.”

The crazy thing is she is a college graduate and an incredibly intelligent woman. The idea is that you go to college, graduate, get a job, and start that thing called life right? And if you go to college, you’re on the easy track forever?

That is a complete lie.

That’s the thing with college, growing up, I was always told that I would go so that I could get a good job and make something of myself. So I worked my butt off in high school to get into a strong academic institution. Now I’m in college and everything is about building the resume, so now I’m working my butt off to ensure a position at a strong company/organization, post graduation. Now I’m getting an eery feeling that it doesn’t just stop there. There is always going to be a next step to work towards, one more thing to pour all of your energy into.

So when exactly do you put down the time sheet and start living that crazy thing we call life? How do the Kashi people have enough time to ski, climb mountains, and bike across America?

I don’t know.

I have always built my life around motivation and working hard. If I outworked everyone else around me, then I could win. It’s an easy equation and makes sense to me. Now I’m realizing that I may have to work at something, that seems a little paradoxical – but work hard at balancing living life and working towards my career. And maybe, depending on the choices I make, it really doesn’t matter if I outwork everyone else at one specific thing. What matters is that I work hard to make the entire package work – life/relationships/myself.

I would like to be a four year old again?

* * *

In light of that recent conversation and thoughts, this morning I was at work when two of my coworkers came in with yoga mats. They had decided that it was time for Monday Yoga, thus: Moga. So, we pushed the conference table aside and placed a laptop on the tabel and stretched out across the wooden floor. We took an hour break to do yoga in the middle of our conference room.

Other than the fact that my hip flexers are not going to be happy with me tomorrow: it was fantastic. It was encouraging that as a staff we were not just working to fulfill whatever organizational objectives were on the table for that day; but we were trying to push each other to live happy and healthy lives.

Pay it Forward

Apparently all I write about in this blog are coffee shops and Kombucha tea. As much as I’m tempted to write a disclaimer saying that my life is more than that, I realized that I can’t. Because my life is essentially driven by coffee shops and Kombucha tea.

Yes, I do have a problem. No, my life is not normal. Yes, I have learned to just accept it.

Anyways, this Kombucha tea is impossible to find. Trust me, I’ve tried. When I went home in May, I had to check almost every grocery store in the Columbus metropolitan area just to find it. Thank the Lordy for Whole Foods. That’s also when I realized my addiction is not cheap (is there an addiction that exists that is?). In Nashville, it’s hopeless, due to my lack of a vehicle.

I was sad this week when I realized that I was on my last box of my favorite Yogi tea. At work yesterday, I made a comment about how I was about I was about to consume my last tea bag. It was a grievous event. She asked to see it and of course I obliged: we need to spread the Kombucha love! I even let her smell it.

* * *

Then this morning, she came in and presented me with a brand new box of Kombucha Tea. She explained that she found it the night before at the grocery store she goes to and bought me a box.

It’s so funny what a random act of kindness can do. It put a smile on my face and made me realize what the phrase “warms my heart” really means. Your heart really does feel warm. My coworker and I are not super close, our conversations are limited to the daily office related banter. However, outside of office hours her thoughts came back to me, and that is truly thoughtful.

Remember that movie Pay it Forward? I watched it in the basement of my aunts house by myself and cried through the entire movie. It was embarassing to walk upstairs with tear-streaked cheeks and have to explain that I was only watching a movie, don’t worry about me. Without the emotional baggage, this experience is an excellent reminder to ‘pay it forward.’

Another perk? My Kombucha addiction may now continue.

The ‘Roaches are Coming!

What follows this sentence is not for the faint of heart.

Last Saturday night, I was making chicken salad and talking to my roommate (A real social life is something that I am working up to). We were deep in an intense discussion of techniques for preparing a sweet potato, when all of a sudden something scurried under our kitchen table.

Let it be known, I’m not jumpy when it comes to bugs. In fact, most of the time I like to save them. An ant wants to crawl across my foot? Sure, think of it like a foot bridge.

Daddy long leg wants to say hello? Come on over! You’re cute and have the long legs I wish I had.

Did you know that Daddy Long Legs are known as Vibrating Spiders? When it feels threatened it vibrates and makes it really hard for the threat to focus on it.

It’s brilliant. I should try that when my boss is trying to give me something else to do. If you can’t find me, you can’t give me more work.

But this? This was not just a bug. This was a cockroach. I’m not sure why, but they just give me the heebie-jeebies. It may have to do with they are one of the most resilient species on this planet, their hard shell and adaptive capabilities have enabled them to live through most of our planet’s life. They have seen everything. They know everything. They know if Atlantis existed or why the dinosaurs died. I bet they have a conspiracy and cockroaches are going to take over the world. The Mayans know it too.That’s why the calendars end this December. I could be the next Paul Revere.

The cockroaches are coming! The cockroaches are coming!

I can assure you that in that moment, I was not thinking all of those thoughts. The main thought that crossed my mind was, that’s a really big cockroach.

Human nature has us programmed that when we are in threatening situations to either fight or flight. This is why girls scream and run away when they see spiders, bees, or other small animals that may, you know, kill us.

My theory is that my instinctual nature is defective.

God, I would like a refund.

My response to my sight was, “I think a cockroach just crawled under your chair.” My body froze, I was neither fighting or fleeing.

Her eyes widened and she flew out of her chair. “Where?”

“What do we do?”

“We can’t kill it! It has eggs on its back, and then we will have an infestation!”

The cockroach had run behind the refrigerator. Then up the side of the refrigerator. Then down the side of the refrigerator. Then onto the counter…

“Not the chicken salad!” My instincts were back. At least my maternal instincts to protect what I have worked hard to cultivate are intact. Hopefully I don’t have to fight or flee before I decide to procreate. I moved my salad aside. Colleen had armed herself with two solo cups, and handed me two of my own.  I didn’t even know we owned solo cups.

Fellow canines. We have a red alert.     The humans have finally lost their sanity.

The chase started. The cockroach scurried about and we chased it all we had. Colleen’s dog, Colbie, laid and watched the epic scene with her head in her paws. Sometimes I think those movies that show the dogs taking over the world because they are that much more sophisticated than we are may not be too far from the truth.

The ‘roach was fast, but there were two of us; and our longer legs could cover more ground. Finally he (she? How can you tell?) was cornered. The counter and the wall had him trapped. Colleen and I poised our cups for capture. He moved, we anticipated. He scurried, we trapped. The cockroach now has a new home out of doors, and away from my chicken salad. It was exhilerating, it was terrifying, we had fought evil, and defended our homeland. And the dog watched.

How was your Saturday night?

Kale Sweet Potatos

I have discovered that I really like kale. This started on Thursday when I had my first Nashville farmers market experience (where I discovered that I am capable of spending way too much money on food).

I bought this kale (which was actually heirloom kale, created by the Barefoot Farmer, which is totally a brilliant marketing strategy if I’ve ever heard one) but then realized that I had no idea how to cook this kale. 

Thanks to pinterest I found a variety of awesome recipes, so I modified a couple to make my own easy version of Kale Sweet Potatos!

Ingredients

One sweet potato

1/2 cup crushed kale

1 tbsp of milk

2 tsp of garlic salt

1 cup plain yogurt

Preparation

1. Preheat oven to 350°

2. Wash and poke sweet potato with a fork

2. Microwave for 4-5 minutes, or until it loses it’s firmness

3. Cut sweet potato in half

4. Scoop out sweet potato inside and put in a bowl

5. Mix in crushed kale, milk, and garlic salt

6. Replace sweet potato kale mixture into the skin

7. Bake for 15 minutes

8. If desired top with yogurt

9. Enjoy!

 

 

Just Fishin’

My parents are funny people. Their marriage is something I’m not sure I will never understand. They live, eat, and work together. Half the time they walk downstairs wearing the same colors without realizing it. It’s crazy, but it’s cool. It also makes for an awesome environment for two little girls to grow up in. Over the past two years, I have realized just how lucky I am to have grown up in the family I did. My parents are two awesome people, and I don’t think I could ask for anyone more to have the largest influence over my life.

Growing up, fishing was always me and my dad’s thing. My grandparents used to have a lake house, and we would wake up early in the morning and go down to the docks to fish. I remember being barely able to read, but so excited to show him that I can bait my own hook. When this Trace Adkins song came out (we share an unhealthy obsession with country music), my dad was the first to say that it reminded him of us.

So here’s to you, Dad: thanks for fishing and even more than that how to lead a good life.

I know I couldn’t do it without you.

I’m lost in her there holdin’ that pink rod and reel

She’s doin’ almost everything but sittin’ still
Talkin’ ‘bout her ballet shoes and training wheels 
And her kittens 
And she thinks we’re just fishin’

I say, “Daddy loves you, baby” one more time
She says, “I know. I think I got a bite.” 
And all this laughin’, cryin, smilin’ dyin’ here inside’s
What I call, livin’

And she thinks we’re just fishin’ on the riverside
Throwin’ back what we couldn’t fry
Drownin’ worms and killin’ time
Nothin’ too ambitious
She ain’t even thinkin’ ‘bout
What’s really goin’ on right now
But I guarantee this memory’s a big’in
And she thinks we’re just fishin’

She’s already pretty, like her mama is
Gonna drive the boys all crazy
Give her daddy fits
And I better do this every chance I get
‘Cause time is tickin’
(Yeah it is)

And she thinks we’re just fishin’ on the riverside
Throwin’ back what we couldn’t fry
Drownin’ worms and killin’ time
Nothin’ too ambitious
She ain’t even thinkin’ ‘bout
What’s really goin’ on right now
But I guarantee this memory’s a big’in
And she thinks we’re just fishin’

She ain’t even thinkin’ ‘bout
What’s really goin’ on right now
But I guarantee this memory’s a big’in
And she thinks we’re just fishin’
Yeah, aww, she thinks we’re just fishin’
We ain’t only fishin’
(This ain’t about fishin’)

Happy Fathers Day to my Padre and all the other dads in my life!

Sweet Honey Walnut Chicken Salad

I love grocery store sales. Especially when things are buy two get three FREE? You only needed one, but since you now can have three for FREE, you end up with five of whatever you were (or were not) shopping for in the first place.

Above is the story of how I ended up with five bags of frozen chicken breasts in my freezer.

Despite the wasted freezer space, it did lead to the creation of the delectable Sweet Honey Walnut Chicken Salad.

Ingredients

• One bag of frozen chicken breasts (about 2.5 lbs)
• 3 cups of mayonaise
• 1 cup of halved grapes
• 1/2 cup walnuts
• 2 tbsp of honey
• 2 tbsp of sugar

Preparation

1. Bake/grill (I prefer to bake) chicken per the instructions on the bag.

2. Cut up chicken in smaller pieces, put in a large bowl.

3. Add other ingredients

4. Mix together

5. Enjoy!

This is a SUPER easy and quick chicken salad, that you can put on anything.

Today I made a salad, tomorrow I may make a sandwich.

So many possibilities.

In light of my previous post (please refer to Fishy Fishy Fishy) I would like to add to my sushi experiences. Raw fish has decided to worm its way into my life, and while I am hating every moment of it, I have decided to embrace its presence in the ways that I can.

On Sunday, I spent the day with family from out of town (one of the best days I have had in a long time) and they decided to get dinner. Sushi.

Here we go again. 

Of course I smile and nod fervently. I LOVE sushi. I would LOVE to go. Inside my heart is beating and sweat is starting to creep from my pores. It’s one thing to play with chopsticks and giggle at slimy food with your girlfriends, it’s a completely different thing to humiliate your family with your ethnic cuisine ignorance. This was the first step to family disgrace. I could feel it coming.

Fortunately the sushi restaurant was closed on Sundays. Eating all of that raw meat takes a spiritual toll apparently. God was working for me on this sabbath.

Or so I thought.

Someone pulled out one of their DARN Iphones and searched for another sushi place. OH YAY, there’s another one the next block over. Let’s go.

We arrive and it looked like a closet. It had maybe four tables inside and there was one man inside. On the door there was a sign that said this is not a fast food place, this is a slow food place. Our eight person party exchanged glances and started filing through the door, excited for dinner. About five people in the door a stocky asian man whirled around the corner, spatula in hand.

“No. No. Too many people. Get out.”

We all looked around. Was this man really going to chase us out?

“I mean it. Too many people. Go. Go.” The spatula and the asian accent was enough to get us out.

Outside we regrouped and started debating where else to go for dinner. The asian man opened the door and stuck his head out.

“How much time do you need?” He asked. Everyone else was engrossed in their phones and figuring out somewhere to go, I was the only one that heard. He didn’t care though. “Sushi is slow. It’s not pizza. How much time do you need? I can make everyone one roll. Some guys… maybe two.”

Well geez, I didn’t even want one roll. Was this really a way to ask for our business back? We never said we were in a rush and already he was putting a limit on us. We were going to do business, but on HIS terms.

It’s a little bit like going to an ice cream store and saying that everyone can have ONE spoonful of ice cream. But that’s IT, then they’re cut off.

Except in my case, it’s like going to a chopped liver store and someone saying that I can only have one bite of liver.

Everyone looked around and said thanks, but no thanks. The truth was, this man had chased a lot of business right out of his store. It’s really interesting how people make business decisions. Clearly, this man felt overwhelmed when we all walked in, made a rash decision, but then quickly regretted it.

It also makes you wonder who is the businessman and who is the customer.

Anyways, I left happy because a tragic experience had been thwarted, my family honor was in tact, and my secret of my chopstick handicap had been preserved. I totally got some hot and spicy and COOKED chicken tenders at the next restaurant.

Now would be an excellent time for sushi to leave my life now, so I can stop writing about it.

Fishy Fishy Fishy

I have figured out why my dating life is slow

(or some would argue – doomed.)

Last night some friends suggested that we go get sushi. There is this great place that’s super cheap and that I would love it.

Well if I’ll love it, I guess now I HAVE to go.

We walked over to a little restaurant, even though it was   6:30 on a Friday night there were all of maybe 5 customers. We found a booth by the wall and settled in. One of the seven staff members hanging out behind the counter brought us menus and took drink orders. The other girls I was with knew immediately what they wanted. I looked down, overwhelmed.

Here’s the thing. Raw fish SCARES  me. We can’t eat chicken or eggs because of salmonella, beef is just a terrifying meat, but there is an entire INDUSTRY devoted to raw fish? Something sounds fishy here.

No pun intended.

I scoured the menu for a sufficiently solid thirty seconds trying to find the item with the least amount of uncooked filet  possible. I ordered the Poke Bowl (pronounced po-key, as I was promptly corrected by my waiter).

The food came quickly and I observed my meal. Observed is the appropriate word of choice because it looked like my sophomore year biology project.  My  meal had come topped with not JUST raw fish. It came with a PLETHORA of raw fish, in a single bite I could enjoy the taste three different water beings at the same time.

My stomach was begging for a hot juicy burger or a fried chicken wing. Nice and cooked and not slimy.

After the initial shock of my ordered food, I looked down and realized this was not one of those super American ethnic restaurants that presented you with both chopsticks AND a fork, EVERYONE was required to eat with only chopsticks.

Guess who never learned to eat with chopsticks?

Sounds about right.

I’m never sure how unorthodox that is, that I have not mastered the skill of the chopsticks. To be honest, my life is not hindered in any way because I lack that credential, I still got into school, I have a job, and I can function in most aspects of society. However, EVERY time I end up in a CSS (ChopStick Situation), I almost always seem to be one of the ONLY ones who never acquired this skill. Was there a class that I missed? Dad, is this like when you skimped on teaching me hand-eye coordination with any sort of sports ball? Did you and mom skip the “teaching your daughter how to eat with foreign utensils” chapter in the parenting module?

The setting has been framed, this is a recipe for disaster. My friend tried to teach me how to use chopsticks, but after I flung two balls of rice in her face (chopsticks would make excellent weapons) we had fallen in a fit of laughter.

Our waiter walked by, and ever so stealthily, slid a orange chopstick helper in front of me. He gave me a wink and walked away.

That’s cute right? Hypothetically, that’s a great movie scene moment: girl can’t use chopsticks, flings rice, knight in shining armor flies in, presents her with tool to save the day, she receives sushi man’s number and they live happily ever after.

Unfortunately, life isn’t the movies, and that waiter was a little too dorky to be knight in shining armor.

But the setup was nice.

Except for one of the other key components of that movie scene, my suaveness, or lack thereof.

He presents me with the tool, and I can’t even look at him. I have fallen into a fit of laughter, and not the cute giggles, but full on bellows with tears streaming from my eyes. The rest of the table joined me in this moment of humor, but the moment was so far lost with my lack of poise.

I didn’t eat much of my $10.00 Poke Bowl, but I think of it more as paying for entertainment rather than sustenance.

It also taught me a huge lesson about my dating life:

If he wants to go to a sushi place on the first date,

I better turn and run the other way.