First of all, thanks to all of you who remembered my birthday. I was honestly going into the day not expecting many people to remember or respond, so thanks to all of you who took the time to do so!
Here are some random thoughts and ponderings that have crossed my mind so far today, inspired by watching CNN and Channel 9 at the gym while preemptively working off these double chocolate chip birthday cookies I am treating myself to. As you can see, it has been a busy thinking day. I guess birthdays do that to you. The scary thing is that most of mine occurred prior to 7am this morning. It is scientific fact that our circadian rhythms shift so that we wake earlier and earlier in our old age. Crap- it has begun :)
Lessons from a Foot Fetish
This is a story I only caught the tail end of after scanning the multiple TVs in front of me and seeing closed caption that caught my attention and caused me to tune in the audio. Basically, this woman was being interviewed because apparently, while unlocking the doors of her car to get in, she felt something licking her foot. Understandably, she assumed it was a dog or some sort of animal, and she looked down. What she saw was not an animal - at least not the kind she was thinking. What she saw was a man, hiding under her car and licking her foot - a man who apparently has a pretty significant foot fetish.
Now, just to get this out of the way, I do believe this is weird and disturbed and all that stuff. I am not endorsing it. I don’t want to go out and start having weird sexual attachments and addictions, and I don’t want to be the object of said weird addictions for anyone else. However, you gotta at least admit this guy had passion. I mean, he knew what he wanted and he went for it. He was trapped under a car with no escape route – that’s how much he felt he had to pursue this thing in his life. He stepped all over a poor woman’s basic human rights in the process, but he did it with passion. If only he could find more productive outlets for that passion, he could potentially do some great things.
And I think that is true for all of us. We all have addictions or at least something that is redirecting our God-given passions into something not worthy of them. Addictions can really produce passion. They are powerful and self-propelling. Why don’t our healthier desires and pursuits produce this much passion? Maybe for some they do, but I think in general we have a much harder time sustaining our passion in these things, even if it is something we truly desire to do with our lives. Part of it is biological, I’m sure. Addictions involve powerfully reinforcing chemical transmissions in the brain that give us a rush. Drugs, power, sex – they all do it. I wish I could tap into this for those things I know I am called to pursue, so I could pursue them with more passion. So that little things wouldn’t distract me or discourage me. So that less healthy things wouldn’t get in the way and take all my passions.
I’m not giving up. I trust I will get better at it. For now, all I know is this. I need more passion like Christopher Walken needs more cowbell. I’ve got a fever…
And this Just In
It’s apparently two superpowers pitted against one another. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is Walmart versus the little town of Hercules, CA, and only one is going to come out of this the victor. Will it be the king of the discount store movement, or will it be a small town with a big name to reflect its big heart? Will Walmart be allowed to stay, or will Hercules manage to fend them off and protect the town as they know it?
I am going to follow this one. It’s nice to be reminded that big, important things sometimes do come in small, humble packages. The loud, self-promoting things don’t always have to win. I hope in this case they don’t. I need to see the little guy win right now.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Monday, May 15, 2006
Words
Words, words, words
I’m disappointed by words
They are no longer enough
They have betrayed my trust
Words are a weapon
They form a web of deceit
They cost me part of myself
Wounded, I seize my freedom
This new perspective is so different
I can see past the words
And I hear a different tune
Despite the same familiar lyric
No more words crafted from a silver tongue
It is action I long for
I will settle for no less
I was never meant to
I’m disappointed by words
They are no longer enough
They have betrayed my trust
Words are a weapon
They form a web of deceit
They cost me part of myself
Wounded, I seize my freedom
This new perspective is so different
I can see past the words
And I hear a different tune
Despite the same familiar lyric
No more words crafted from a silver tongue
It is action I long for
I will settle for no less
I was never meant to
Friday, May 05, 2006
And The Winner Is...
Me
Why, you ask? Because May is Birthday Month™. And Birthday Month™ is a month where I get to win everything, even when it is clear that I lost. It's consolation for turning a year older, this year as old as Jesus when he died (no, I can't seem to forget that one). Some other rules of Birthday Month™ are included below. It's probably best to memorize them if you will be seeing me at all in May:
- Marsha is always right (you probably already figured this out, but I thought I would remind you)
- Marsha looks great everyday, even when she looks like crap.
- Marsha doesn't have to put up with people picking on her incessantly - she can react however she pleases without consequence or grudge.
- Anyone who says "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha" gets a consequence of Marsha's choosing.
- Marsha gets to make up more rules as needed.
And with that being said, I will plan on seeing you all next month, after Birthday Month™ has safely come and gone. Happy May!!
™ Birthday Month is a registered trademark established by Marsha to denote the special treatment deserved during the month of her birth. Unauthorized use to garner special treatment during your own month of birth is strictly prohibited.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Monday, April 24, 2006
You Are Invited...
If you are in the Cincinnati area this weekend, consider this invitation for you!
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Stranded
In this box of prism walls
Illusions of color and beauty
Strand me in a black and white reality
A space that is too vast yet too small
As this language confines me
Into a shadow of myself
Marooned on this island
In an ocean of assumption
And numbers are the salt
Where are the adventurers?
The ones to brave these waters
And sail the sea of discovery
Monday, April 17, 2006
The Camera Doesn't Lie
OK...so it is becoming increasingly apparent to me how ridiculous I would look to everyone if I was followed around by a camera 24/7. In addition to the additional 10 pounds that the camera adds, here is a sampling of what you would see.
I have a rubber mat under this really sweet, ergonomic office chair that my work place gives me in order to make up for the ridiculous number of hours they expect me to work. The problem is, whenever I roll off the mat to get something from across the office or to sit at a different table, I have what you might call a little problem getting back on. You would think 50 times or so of doing this would lead to my finally catching on, but it hasn't. Instead, every single time, I try to roll back on at top chair speeds and the following happens (picture in slow motion for greatest effect).
I have a rubber mat under this really sweet, ergonomic office chair that my work place gives me in order to make up for the ridiculous number of hours they expect me to work. The problem is, whenever I roll off the mat to get something from across the office or to sit at a different table, I have what you might call a little problem getting back on. You would think 50 times or so of doing this would lead to my finally catching on, but it hasn't. Instead, every single time, I try to roll back on at top chair speeds and the following happens (picture in slow motion for greatest effect).
I do a lot of dictating at work. After using a handset for a long time and realizing that this was causing a serious dispute between my neck and I, I decided to order a phone headset. I love it. Incidentally, I can't put it on without doing my best pop star imitation. I preferred Janet Jackson until not-so recent events led to a very different image being conjured up whenever I told people that.Marsha's chair hits the edge of the rubber mat.
Chair stops abruptly;Marsha does not.
Marsha pitches forward head-first into large office desk.
Marsha exclaims not-so-lady-like expletive.
Marsha laughs at herself for doing it again and again.
Anyway, so I dictate with this headset. I have even mastered the art of dictating and eating by maneuvering food around the headset at the same time. It's a real job skill. What I apparently have not mastered is taking off the headset, because everytime it gets all tangled in my hair and I have to spend like 5 minutes getting it out. Very impressive indeed. It is closely approximated but not quite matched by the "earring stuck in the sweater while pulling sweater over the head" incident of March 2006. Somehow I got into some sort of straight-jacket position with that one, and it was not an easy feat to get out. Good times.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Just Do It
Go see Tsotsi. You won't regret it. It's quite a story about finding freedom and redemption amidst the harshest of cirumstances.
Then let's discuss...
Then let's discuss...
Monday, April 10, 2006
Here's To Good Friends
...tonight is kinda special...
OK, I couldn't help that. But seriously - only a good friend could get away with the following:
Me: Yeah, so that's what's been going on. And I am going to be 33 next month. Here's to hoping that will be the start of a good year.
Good Friend: Jesus was 33 when he died.
Me: Um, thanks.
OK, I couldn't help that. But seriously - only a good friend could get away with the following:
Me: Yeah, so that's what's been going on. And I am going to be 33 next month. Here's to hoping that will be the start of a good year.
Good Friend: Jesus was 33 when he died.
Me: Um, thanks.
Friday, April 07, 2006
"You Can Call Me Fatty" and other miscellaneous life stories
And here is the latest in a long line of stories from this stressful but eventful job of mine...
You Can Call Me Fatty
(Fade-in to supervision with one of my trainees yesterday)
Me: I see you have been working with Johnny and his parents. We should talk about how therapy is going so far and make sure your plan sounds appropriate to me.
Trainee: OK, great. Yadayadayada...And so, we had our first parent coaching session yesterday. Mom and dad are divorced but both committed to practicing at home with Johnny this week - Dad four times a week, and mom each weekend day when she has visitation. They are really coachable.
Me: Sounds good. Let's talk again next week after you do a bit more next session. Have we talked about this family before?
Trainee: Yes. This is the one where the dad is a pretty obese guy, and, when I introduced myself and asked how he would like to be addressed, he said, "My name is XXXX, but you can call me Fatty." And then when I called his house another time and got his answering machine, he was all "Hi, this is Fatty. Leave a message." And another time, someone else answered the phone and was like, "Just a minute...(in background) Faaaaaattttttyyyyy!!!!"
Me: Oh yeah, I remember now....so, what else do we need to talk about today?
(And Scene)
Next, a little treat from earlier in the week...
I just moved into Clifton. With this move, I am leaving my old gym behind and joining something closer. I work out way early in the morning, and that just isn't going to happen if I have to travel very far to get there. So, long story short, I decided to join the UC Fitness Center in the Campus Rec Center.
I will say that the center is pretty impressive. The only catch is parking. I don't work on campus, so I don't have parking there. Now, I don't live that far, but I have a small window of time to work out in the morning before work, and walking eats up a lot of that time. I am not averse to walking or running, but this will not be fun in the cold and/or rain. So, I have an epiphany. Why not ride my bike? All sorts of visions of me looking all cool riding my bike through campus come into my mind, and I settle on this option.
So, the morning after I join, I plan to ride my bike to the gym before work, work out, and ride home to get ready for work. The whole process starts around 6am - a treat from my former 5am workout time. Anyway, I get up all gung ho. I had prepared the night before by buying a bike lock for the sweet bike I bought last summer, so I was all set. I go in the basement to get my bike, and I head outside.
It's a little cold this time of year still, isn't it? This is especially true at 6am. Thirty degrees that day, in fact. I hadn't really thought about that. Oh well...
Wow, Clifton is pretty hilly, isn't it? I knew that, but there is nothing like getting on a bicycle for the first time in months (and before that, years) to bring that point home. Huffing and puffing and with copious amounts of snot smeared across my face, I arrive at UC. Almost there...
College campuses never make paths with direct access to anywhere, do they? It is always circuitous. I had forgotten that...
Working this bike lock on this fancy bike lock holder seemed a lot simpler last night, didn't it? Oh, got it. Great.
[Intermission for uneventful gym workout]
Carry over previous comments about cold, hills, huffing, puffing, snot, and circuitous bike routes and add the following on the ride home: 1) Many more people around to view said huffing, puffing, and snot. 2) Many more cars on the street to make this yet another in a long line of "I almost died" stories that I am compiling for my David Sedaris-style autobiography. 3) Me without my bike helmet (what was I thinking?!!), and 4) Arriving at my house again to find that my lungs hurt from the cold and that my hand was frozen in position on my brake.
And to top it all off, when I had arrived near campus, I had noticed plenty of street parking available at that time of day. Needless to say, if you go by campus between 6 and 7am from now on, you will see a black Ford Focus parked on the street...at least until it's warmer. Then you might see a helmeted, snot-free, cardiovascularly-fit, female biker riding over to campus. Be sure to say "hi" to her for me.
You Can Call Me Fatty
(Fade-in to supervision with one of my trainees yesterday)
Me: I see you have been working with Johnny and his parents. We should talk about how therapy is going so far and make sure your plan sounds appropriate to me.
Trainee: OK, great. Yadayadayada...And so, we had our first parent coaching session yesterday. Mom and dad are divorced but both committed to practicing at home with Johnny this week - Dad four times a week, and mom each weekend day when she has visitation. They are really coachable.
Me: Sounds good. Let's talk again next week after you do a bit more next session. Have we talked about this family before?
Trainee: Yes. This is the one where the dad is a pretty obese guy, and, when I introduced myself and asked how he would like to be addressed, he said, "My name is XXXX, but you can call me Fatty." And then when I called his house another time and got his answering machine, he was all "Hi, this is Fatty. Leave a message." And another time, someone else answered the phone and was like, "Just a minute...(in background) Faaaaaattttttyyyyy!!!!"
Me: Oh yeah, I remember now....so, what else do we need to talk about today?
(And Scene)
Next, a little treat from earlier in the week...
I just moved into Clifton. With this move, I am leaving my old gym behind and joining something closer. I work out way early in the morning, and that just isn't going to happen if I have to travel very far to get there. So, long story short, I decided to join the UC Fitness Center in the Campus Rec Center.
I will say that the center is pretty impressive. The only catch is parking. I don't work on campus, so I don't have parking there. Now, I don't live that far, but I have a small window of time to work out in the morning before work, and walking eats up a lot of that time. I am not averse to walking or running, but this will not be fun in the cold and/or rain. So, I have an epiphany. Why not ride my bike? All sorts of visions of me looking all cool riding my bike through campus come into my mind, and I settle on this option.
So, the morning after I join, I plan to ride my bike to the gym before work, work out, and ride home to get ready for work. The whole process starts around 6am - a treat from my former 5am workout time. Anyway, I get up all gung ho. I had prepared the night before by buying a bike lock for the sweet bike I bought last summer, so I was all set. I go in the basement to get my bike, and I head outside.
It's a little cold this time of year still, isn't it? This is especially true at 6am. Thirty degrees that day, in fact. I hadn't really thought about that. Oh well...
Wow, Clifton is pretty hilly, isn't it? I knew that, but there is nothing like getting on a bicycle for the first time in months (and before that, years) to bring that point home. Huffing and puffing and with copious amounts of snot smeared across my face, I arrive at UC. Almost there...
College campuses never make paths with direct access to anywhere, do they? It is always circuitous. I had forgotten that...
Working this bike lock on this fancy bike lock holder seemed a lot simpler last night, didn't it? Oh, got it. Great.
[Intermission for uneventful gym workout]
Carry over previous comments about cold, hills, huffing, puffing, snot, and circuitous bike routes and add the following on the ride home: 1) Many more people around to view said huffing, puffing, and snot. 2) Many more cars on the street to make this yet another in a long line of "I almost died" stories that I am compiling for my David Sedaris-style autobiography. 3) Me without my bike helmet (what was I thinking?!!), and 4) Arriving at my house again to find that my lungs hurt from the cold and that my hand was frozen in position on my brake.
And to top it all off, when I had arrived near campus, I had noticed plenty of street parking available at that time of day. Needless to say, if you go by campus between 6 and 7am from now on, you will see a black Ford Focus parked on the street...at least until it's warmer. Then you might see a helmeted, snot-free, cardiovascularly-fit, female biker riding over to campus. Be sure to say "hi" to her for me.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Fish, Dogs, and Fellowship
I have never owned a fish. Quite honestly, I just don’t get it. If a pet is for companionship, will someone please explain to me what anyone gets out of owning a fish? You can’t cuddle with them. You can’t really play with them. You can’t talk to them and have them look up at you attentively as if they understand when you know deep down that they don’t. You can basically just watch them. And I will acknowledge that some fish are beautiful, but your garden variety fish tank fish isn’t all that attractive if you ask me. So, what is it?
Dogs I do get. I have always wanted a dog, but I have never had the lifestyle to be able to take care of one on my own. I have always vowed I would get one when I get married and have kids. But it won’t be a little, yippie dog. No - it’s a big majestic dog for me, all the way. And for now, while I wait to finally become the dog person that lurks beneath the surface of my soul, I remain a single woman with two cats. But that is another post altogether. (Disclaimer: I love my cats very much, but I will never be seen wearing cat clothing, knowingly having cat hair all over me, or joining any cat clubs – e.g., I am not the “cat lady”). Maybe the reason one of my cats is so incredibly fat is because I subconsciously want to feed it until it becomes the size of one of the dogs I long for. She is pretty fat…
Now to the purpose of this post. So there is this woman who volunteers where I work. Her sole purpose in this setting is to clean out the fish tank. She diligently comes in every week and does this job, free of charge. She also does it for other tanks throughout the hospital as far as I understand.
This woman fascinates me. She is single, and she has about 10 dogs at home. I know this because that is the only topic I have ever heard her talk about – her dogs. She has posted a picture of herself and her 10 dogs on our fish tank. And I wonder, what is going on with this woman?
Part of me feels sorry for her. Does she have friends? Is this the only way she relates to people, much like the Star Trek fanatics that find community and fellowship through their common interest in all things Star Trek. If so, I find this sad. But why do I find this so sad? Here is a person that is relating to people around a common interest. Don’t I do the same thing? Don’t I gravitate toward people who can relate to what I relate to and who can talk intelligently about things that interest me? Why am I judging this woman as if she is so different in that basic desire? I have no idea. My way of expressing all of this may be more culturally and socially acceptable than hers, but it is still the same basic desire driving it.
So fish, dogs, Star Trek…who cares? I say here’s to anyone who is out there doing the things she or he loves and connecting with others through it. We were made to be relational creatures. The individuality in how that is expressed creates a human diversity that is rather beautiful. I am going to try to embrace and cherish that beauty.
Dogs I do get. I have always wanted a dog, but I have never had the lifestyle to be able to take care of one on my own. I have always vowed I would get one when I get married and have kids. But it won’t be a little, yippie dog. No - it’s a big majestic dog for me, all the way. And for now, while I wait to finally become the dog person that lurks beneath the surface of my soul, I remain a single woman with two cats. But that is another post altogether. (Disclaimer: I love my cats very much, but I will never be seen wearing cat clothing, knowingly having cat hair all over me, or joining any cat clubs – e.g., I am not the “cat lady”). Maybe the reason one of my cats is so incredibly fat is because I subconsciously want to feed it until it becomes the size of one of the dogs I long for. She is pretty fat…
Now to the purpose of this post. So there is this woman who volunteers where I work. Her sole purpose in this setting is to clean out the fish tank. She diligently comes in every week and does this job, free of charge. She also does it for other tanks throughout the hospital as far as I understand.
This woman fascinates me. She is single, and she has about 10 dogs at home. I know this because that is the only topic I have ever heard her talk about – her dogs. She has posted a picture of herself and her 10 dogs on our fish tank. And I wonder, what is going on with this woman?
Part of me feels sorry for her. Does she have friends? Is this the only way she relates to people, much like the Star Trek fanatics that find community and fellowship through their common interest in all things Star Trek. If so, I find this sad. But why do I find this so sad? Here is a person that is relating to people around a common interest. Don’t I do the same thing? Don’t I gravitate toward people who can relate to what I relate to and who can talk intelligently about things that interest me? Why am I judging this woman as if she is so different in that basic desire? I have no idea. My way of expressing all of this may be more culturally and socially acceptable than hers, but it is still the same basic desire driving it.
So fish, dogs, Star Trek…who cares? I say here’s to anyone who is out there doing the things she or he loves and connecting with others through it. We were made to be relational creatures. The individuality in how that is expressed creates a human diversity that is rather beautiful. I am going to try to embrace and cherish that beauty.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Happy Birthday Steve
Yes, ladies and gentleman. This is it. The long awaited 29th birthday of Steve Fuller. We're going to celebrate this one for all it's worth, because we all know what comes next (some of us better than others). He, however, will probably just be watching NCAA basketball, but that's OK.
In celebration of our friend, you will find the many faces of Steve in the blogs of a number of his friends. You can check out the others in the links from this page. Does he have some great friends, or what?
So, Steve Fuller - this is your life (well, sort of).
Steve - here you are at what I'm guessing is about age 8. That look of excitement is the one that young boys across America get when they get to play our country's pass-time. Wait...that look is familiar. It's the one you still get for anything sports related...except figure skating (in public, at least). And what's that say on your shirt? "Fireballs?" OK, moving on...
And look...here you are around age 13 or so? Those are some serious bangs. Enough said.
Wow...Oh, Steve...were you the one just talking about you and the guys growing moustaches? Learn from your past, Steve. Learn from your past. :)
In all seriousness, here's to a wonderful birthday and an amazing new year of your life to come. May God continue to amaze you in all that he is revealing in and through you. Happy Birthday, Steve!!
In celebration of our friend, you will find the many faces of Steve in the blogs of a number of his friends. You can check out the others in the links from this page. Does he have some great friends, or what?
So, Steve Fuller - this is your life (well, sort of).
Steve - here you are at what I'm guessing is about age 8. That look of excitement is the one that young boys across America get when they get to play our country's pass-time. Wait...that look is familiar. It's the one you still get for anything sports related...except figure skating (in public, at least). And what's that say on your shirt? "Fireballs?" OK, moving on...
And look...here you are around age 13 or so? Those are some serious bangs. Enough said.
Wow...Oh, Steve...were you the one just talking about you and the guys growing moustaches? Learn from your past, Steve. Learn from your past. :)
In all seriousness, here's to a wonderful birthday and an amazing new year of your life to come. May God continue to amaze you in all that he is revealing in and through you. Happy Birthday, Steve!!
Friday, March 03, 2006
Enter Stage Left
You've gotta love those moments in life when you realize that you could actually star in your own sitcom, especially when they are so good that you know you would be like #1 in the Nielsens. These happen fairly often in my life. My friends back in St. Louis (back in the days of grad school and no money) used to say that I should have the show that comes on after Seinfeld - kinda like the female version. They probably weren't all that far off.
Anyway, last night was a sitcom night. I went out to dinner with some friends, and as usual I was taking very seriously the choice of what to order. So seriously in fact, that I didn't realize until too late that I was holding the menu over the candle flame, leaving a large burn mark on the menu and essentially melting two of the pages together. And then, of course, there was the pleasant smell of burning plastic that has probably led to some sort of toxic brain damage or something, but I will let that go. Helmets can't protect you from everything, I guess.
Anyway, back to the ordering ordeal. So, I absolutely love the Black and Bleu Tuna salad at the restaurant where we were, but here's the clincher. They keep making it smaller and smaller EVERY time I go. It used to be a dinner salad, and it has shrunk to closer to side salad size. No big deal if the price shrunk as well, but it didn't. So I have a problem with this. And when I have a problem with something, I say something about it. I am a matter o' fact kinda gal that way.
So I sat the waiter down to have a little chat. And he is very nice and actually agreed. He gave me some inside info about how it depends on which chef is making the salad that night. He offered to request that the more generous salad chef construct my salad for the evening, and I accepted the offer. In fact, salads went all around at our table, and we all got in on the deal. We were very excited. One of us (who shall remain nameless to protect the innocent) actually ordered two meals because she was so swayed by the whole salad thing - how hilarious is that?
While waiting for our salads, we engaged in your typical, friendly dinner conversation. Now, others may tell you differently, but don't believe them. I will maintain that OUT OF NOWHERE, my whole soda glass sliiiiid across the table, off the edge, and tumbled into my lap. I have no idea how this happened because I am not lying when I tell you I didn't do it. Of course, this happened just as the waiter entered the scene from stage left, and he, like all of us, found this to be - shall we say - amusing. He tried to keep a straight face, but all hope was lost. What is really interesting (not to mention speaks to my incredible coordination and grace) is that I managed to catch the glass right-side-up in my lap - not a drop spilled. I am, as many of you know, a woman of many talents this way. The others at the table didn't appreciate this talent as much as I did, but they were probably just jealous.
Well, we moved past this moment and went on with our conversation. I enjoyed a bit more soda as we talked. So much, in fact, that I was ready for a refill. I thought to myself that I would ask for one when the waiter came back. But, it turned out I didn't need to. He apparently already noticed my drink deficiency and brought another for me - but with a twist. He decided to put it in a sippy cup of sorts. Very clever, Mr. Waiter, very clever. I actually had to give him that one - I wish I would have thought of it myself. I do appreciate a clever retort as much (probably more) than the next guy.
So, those are highlights from my evening last night. What makes the whole thing even funnier is that, after making such a big deal that I needed a bigger salad, I wasn't able to finish the whole thing. And the waiter noticed. And the waiter also noticed that two of us at the table (including the one who burned the menu, required a sippy cup for safe drinking, and advocated for a larger salad that she didn't even eat) are doctors. But as the First Officer said, "at least you're not a real doctor." Thanks, First Officer. Otherwise, they might revoke my license.
Anyway, last night was a sitcom night. I went out to dinner with some friends, and as usual I was taking very seriously the choice of what to order. So seriously in fact, that I didn't realize until too late that I was holding the menu over the candle flame, leaving a large burn mark on the menu and essentially melting two of the pages together. And then, of course, there was the pleasant smell of burning plastic that has probably led to some sort of toxic brain damage or something, but I will let that go. Helmets can't protect you from everything, I guess.
Anyway, back to the ordering ordeal. So, I absolutely love the Black and Bleu Tuna salad at the restaurant where we were, but here's the clincher. They keep making it smaller and smaller EVERY time I go. It used to be a dinner salad, and it has shrunk to closer to side salad size. No big deal if the price shrunk as well, but it didn't. So I have a problem with this. And when I have a problem with something, I say something about it. I am a matter o' fact kinda gal that way.
So I sat the waiter down to have a little chat. And he is very nice and actually agreed. He gave me some inside info about how it depends on which chef is making the salad that night. He offered to request that the more generous salad chef construct my salad for the evening, and I accepted the offer. In fact, salads went all around at our table, and we all got in on the deal. We were very excited. One of us (who shall remain nameless to protect the innocent) actually ordered two meals because she was so swayed by the whole salad thing - how hilarious is that?
While waiting for our salads, we engaged in your typical, friendly dinner conversation. Now, others may tell you differently, but don't believe them. I will maintain that OUT OF NOWHERE, my whole soda glass sliiiiid across the table, off the edge, and tumbled into my lap. I have no idea how this happened because I am not lying when I tell you I didn't do it. Of course, this happened just as the waiter entered the scene from stage left, and he, like all of us, found this to be - shall we say - amusing. He tried to keep a straight face, but all hope was lost. What is really interesting (not to mention speaks to my incredible coordination and grace) is that I managed to catch the glass right-side-up in my lap - not a drop spilled. I am, as many of you know, a woman of many talents this way. The others at the table didn't appreciate this talent as much as I did, but they were probably just jealous.
Well, we moved past this moment and went on with our conversation. I enjoyed a bit more soda as we talked. So much, in fact, that I was ready for a refill. I thought to myself that I would ask for one when the waiter came back. But, it turned out I didn't need to. He apparently already noticed my drink deficiency and brought another for me - but with a twist. He decided to put it in a sippy cup of sorts. Very clever, Mr. Waiter, very clever. I actually had to give him that one - I wish I would have thought of it myself. I do appreciate a clever retort as much (probably more) than the next guy.
So, those are highlights from my evening last night. What makes the whole thing even funnier is that, after making such a big deal that I needed a bigger salad, I wasn't able to finish the whole thing. And the waiter noticed. And the waiter also noticed that two of us at the table (including the one who burned the menu, required a sippy cup for safe drinking, and advocated for a larger salad that she didn't even eat) are doctors. But as the First Officer said, "at least you're not a real doctor." Thanks, First Officer. Otherwise, they might revoke my license.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Occupational Hazards
I've been increasingly realizing lately that my occupation is creating some real problems for me. Probably the biggest is that it is very draining because of the long hours, but lots of people can say that, so I won't focus on that one.
A more specific occupational hazard that I really don't like is that, because as a psychologist I have to really listen to people throughout most of my day everyday, my desire to listen is dwindling. I know how to listen and reflect. I know how to hear things people are saying but not saying. I know how to hear hidden questions. But you get kinda drained by it after a while. And you get lazy. You kind of half listen, because you are good enough at it that you can still get by on 50% or less.
I have been accepting this as OK and understandable, but really this is not good at all. I mean, one of the ways we can really touch people, get to know people, and bring people to a greater understanding of life and faith is through listening to them. What are they stuggling with? What are they wondering about? How have they been misled or hurt by faith-based or religious experiences in the past?
I can't really touch people where they are if I am tuned out. And I really can't do it if the volume on my own struggles and life pursuits is turned up too loud like it has been. There needs to be more balance, but balance has never been my strong point.
I need to find a way to use the skills God has given me not only at work but in life. I believe it is part of what I was created to do. Ultimately it is about letting God fill me the way He wants to so I can use my gifts more fully without finding myself on empty. Otherwise, I will just stay stuck in my occupational hazard.
So, what are your occupational hazards?
A more specific occupational hazard that I really don't like is that, because as a psychologist I have to really listen to people throughout most of my day everyday, my desire to listen is dwindling. I know how to listen and reflect. I know how to hear things people are saying but not saying. I know how to hear hidden questions. But you get kinda drained by it after a while. And you get lazy. You kind of half listen, because you are good enough at it that you can still get by on 50% or less.
I have been accepting this as OK and understandable, but really this is not good at all. I mean, one of the ways we can really touch people, get to know people, and bring people to a greater understanding of life and faith is through listening to them. What are they stuggling with? What are they wondering about? How have they been misled or hurt by faith-based or religious experiences in the past?
I can't really touch people where they are if I am tuned out. And I really can't do it if the volume on my own struggles and life pursuits is turned up too loud like it has been. There needs to be more balance, but balance has never been my strong point.
I need to find a way to use the skills God has given me not only at work but in life. I believe it is part of what I was created to do. Ultimately it is about letting God fill me the way He wants to so I can use my gifts more fully without finding myself on empty. Otherwise, I will just stay stuck in my occupational hazard.
So, what are your occupational hazards?
Friday, February 24, 2006
Too Busy To Write
I'm too busy these days to put two thoughts together in writing, so I am pathetically updating my blog with serial survey posts. This one was interesting to me:
| Your Hidden Talent |
 You are a great communicator. You have a real way with words. You're never at a loss to explain what you mean or how you feel. People find it easy to empathize with you, no matter what your situation. When you're up, you make everyone happy. But when you're down, everyone suffers. |
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
My LOOOOVE Style
| Your Candy Heart Says "Hug Me" |
 Your ideal Valentine's Day date: a surprise romantic evening that you've planned out Your flirting style: lots of listening and talking What turns you off: fighting and conflict Why you're hot: you're fearless about falling in love |
What Does Your Candy Heart Say?
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
What?!
OK, so today was destined to suck. I don’t usually start days thinking this, but this one just was. And it still is. Too many mistakes to correct, too many technology snafoos to sidestep, and just plain too much to do. So I am taking this, my coveted 15 minute lunch break, to share something hilarious that helped keep me going today.
I was interviewing a mother this morning who is what we in the business call "hypomanic" – in laymen’s terms, very high energy and hard to contain. There I am, innocently and professionally trying to work around this and get the information I need, but she continues to interrupt me to share additional information of variable relevance. Anyway, at one point, she interrupts me and says, “What the f*** should I call you anyway? Marsha? Doctor? Queen?” I said Queen would be fine.
So I manage to get through that without laughing, but then she comes at me with another one. I was trying to schedule her next appointment but mentioned to her that I couldn’t get on [my gestures and the context of the situation clearly implied that I meant I couldn’t get onto our computer scheduling system]. So she says, “Well, I sure hope you can get off.” I will just clarify that she was absolutely not referring to the computer.
What?! Talk about poor filter activation. You would think some of my more recent friendships would have prepared me against saying something that sets me up for a perverted retort like this one, but I guess my guard was down.
Hilarious day…
I was interviewing a mother this morning who is what we in the business call "hypomanic" – in laymen’s terms, very high energy and hard to contain. There I am, innocently and professionally trying to work around this and get the information I need, but she continues to interrupt me to share additional information of variable relevance. Anyway, at one point, she interrupts me and says, “What the f*** should I call you anyway? Marsha? Doctor? Queen?” I said Queen would be fine.
So I manage to get through that without laughing, but then she comes at me with another one. I was trying to schedule her next appointment but mentioned to her that I couldn’t get on [my gestures and the context of the situation clearly implied that I meant I couldn’t get onto our computer scheduling system]. So she says, “Well, I sure hope you can get off.” I will just clarify that she was absolutely not referring to the computer.
What?! Talk about poor filter activation. You would think some of my more recent friendships would have prepared me against saying something that sets me up for a perverted retort like this one, but I guess my guard was down.
Hilarious day…
Monday, February 06, 2006
Lost and Found
Lost: One fairly independent, purpose-driven, and self-assured woman who never had it all figured out but was willing to let God take her step by step down this path called Life. Taken captive by natural feelings that have become distorted by fear, impatience, and self-focus. Hoping with all hope to be found again. Please forward any leads to her whereabouts forthwith.
Found: A vast desert without apparent end. Oases not yet discovered. Mirages plentiful. Long stays are not recommended for the faint of heart.
Lost: One trusting and hopeful heart. Last seen drowning in an ocean of confusion after becoming disoriented in its search for truth. Handle with care if found.
Found: Directions to difficult self-discovery. For your copy, visit www.nopainnogain.com.
Found: A vast desert without apparent end. Oases not yet discovered. Mirages plentiful. Long stays are not recommended for the faint of heart.
Lost: One trusting and hopeful heart. Last seen drowning in an ocean of confusion after becoming disoriented in its search for truth. Handle with care if found.
Found: Directions to difficult self-discovery. For your copy, visit www.nopainnogain.com.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
So, So Tired
I am really fading here. I went to bed around 11pm last night (pretty usual for me). I quickly settle into a nice little sleep all snuggled in my down comforter. I would have liked to have stayed like that until wake up/workout time at 5:10am. I mean, isn’t that early enough already? But no…my body had other plans. It decided to wake up at 2:56am. It’s times like this that I want to throw that clock against the wall because it just seems to taunt me…2:57…2:58…2:59…Oh crap, now it’s 3am. I WANT TO SLEEP!!!! Then it’s 4am. Then it’s 5am and time to get up to workout anyway, so why not just give up? No problem. It was actually a great workout because I was more awake than usual.
But now…now, life is totally sucking. It is just after 4pm, and I am a feeling totally done for the day despite more than enough work on my desk to keep me busy for quite some time.
So what does everyone else do when you can’t sleep? Any tried and true remedies? I tried prayer, counting sheep, relaxation methods, reading, even doing some paperwork. It is so rare for me that I haven’t come up with anything that really works for me. I know from training with sleep psychologists that you are supposed to get out of bed until you feel tired again (which I did), but any other bright ideas from all you people with more chronic sleep problems?
But now…now, life is totally sucking. It is just after 4pm, and I am a feeling totally done for the day despite more than enough work on my desk to keep me busy for quite some time.
So what does everyone else do when you can’t sleep? Any tried and true remedies? I tried prayer, counting sheep, relaxation methods, reading, even doing some paperwork. It is so rare for me that I haven’t come up with anything that really works for me. I know from training with sleep psychologists that you are supposed to get out of bed until you feel tired again (which I did), but any other bright ideas from all you people with more chronic sleep problems?
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Saying Goodbye
I hate to say goodbye.
I guess I have always known this about myself, but it hit me big-time last night when I drove up to my house around 9:30 and saw the For Sale sign in my yard that hadn’t been there when I left in the morning.
Now, this sign did not just randomly appear in my yard. It was placed there by the real estate agent I contracted with to do it. It wasn’t like I didn’t know it was coming. And I am ready for this. I really am. In fact, the reason I was getting home so late in the evening was because I had been out house hunting for the next home God has in store for me (not to mention getting crazy looks from three of my friends as I displayed some serious slaphappiness). It was fun. And I am excited about it and the adventures that lie ahead for me. But I still dread saying goodbye to this house. I can’t even think about someone else living there. It’s just too strange.
This was my first house, and it really became a home for me. I think it is always hard to say goodbye to our first anything – first love, first car, first pet, etc.
I actually named my first car. This, I will tell you, is a big no-no. In college, one of my lab courses in Neurobiology required that I train a rat on a maze before and after lesioning critical brain structures, only to later kill him and prepare slides of brain slices to analyze under a microscope. The first thing they told us was not to get too attached to the rat. Yeah – I didn’t listen. And that ended up being a difficult process for me.
I didn’t listen when it came to my car, either. I named him George (as in, “I will love him, and kiss him, and call him George,” for all of you Looney Tunes fans). George was a yellow, Ford Festiva with orange and black racing stripes on the side to help him sell off my father’s car dealership lot. You are now beginning to see how I ended up with him.
George and I had some great times. George had taken me back and forth on the 3.5 hour drive between my University and my hometown – my longest distance living away from home at that time. George had driven me and my friends around Rochester, NY so we could get off campus and have some fun. I got my first speeding ticket with George. And George somehow always had his windows completely steamed up when I went to get him in the remote parking lot where he stayed when I didn’t need him – to this day, I swear people were breaking in and making out in there, but George never said a word. He was just that trustworthy. I actually had to have a parting conversation with George before I sold him.
So you are probably getting the picture…if it was that hard saying goodbye to George, it is understandable that saying goodbye to my first house is going to be hard.
At least I never named my house.
I guess I have always known this about myself, but it hit me big-time last night when I drove up to my house around 9:30 and saw the For Sale sign in my yard that hadn’t been there when I left in the morning.
Now, this sign did not just randomly appear in my yard. It was placed there by the real estate agent I contracted with to do it. It wasn’t like I didn’t know it was coming. And I am ready for this. I really am. In fact, the reason I was getting home so late in the evening was because I had been out house hunting for the next home God has in store for me (not to mention getting crazy looks from three of my friends as I displayed some serious slaphappiness). It was fun. And I am excited about it and the adventures that lie ahead for me. But I still dread saying goodbye to this house. I can’t even think about someone else living there. It’s just too strange.
This was my first house, and it really became a home for me. I think it is always hard to say goodbye to our first anything – first love, first car, first pet, etc.
I actually named my first car. This, I will tell you, is a big no-no. In college, one of my lab courses in Neurobiology required that I train a rat on a maze before and after lesioning critical brain structures, only to later kill him and prepare slides of brain slices to analyze under a microscope. The first thing they told us was not to get too attached to the rat. Yeah – I didn’t listen. And that ended up being a difficult process for me.
I didn’t listen when it came to my car, either. I named him George (as in, “I will love him, and kiss him, and call him George,” for all of you Looney Tunes fans). George was a yellow, Ford Festiva with orange and black racing stripes on the side to help him sell off my father’s car dealership lot. You are now beginning to see how I ended up with him.
George and I had some great times. George had taken me back and forth on the 3.5 hour drive between my University and my hometown – my longest distance living away from home at that time. George had driven me and my friends around Rochester, NY so we could get off campus and have some fun. I got my first speeding ticket with George. And George somehow always had his windows completely steamed up when I went to get him in the remote parking lot where he stayed when I didn’t need him – to this day, I swear people were breaking in and making out in there, but George never said a word. He was just that trustworthy. I actually had to have a parting conversation with George before I sold him.
So you are probably getting the picture…if it was that hard saying goodbye to George, it is understandable that saying goodbye to my first house is going to be hard.
At least I never named my house.
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