Soul

I consider myself a pretty guarded person when it comes to emotions.

A lot of people complain... a lot. Complaining drives me nuts. I hate hearing it come out of the same person's mouth every day. Maybe it's not necessarily the complaining that I dislike, but usually the content of the complaint is 99% avoidable, unimportant, or just dumb. I don't like to be around Debbie-downer or Mr. Cynic. I just don't.

Then there is me. I don't like complainers, so I try to never complain. I don't like telling people what is going on inside of my head for fear of what they would think. I'm miss positive-always-smile-and-say-hi.

I was recently talking to a friend I about his problems with women. His parents divorced when he was in high school, he's had his fair share of girlfriends since then--from cheaters to fbuddies to one that he was engaged to in the past year. Here he was all this time, pouring his heart and mind out in front of me, and I wanted so much to just tell him what I've been through and come to his level of sharing...

But I couldn't. I guess maybe I don't know how to do it? I want to have conversations about emotions. What makes me cry, what makes me angry... what makes me come alive inside.

I swear I'm human.

I swear.

Why the Earth is Tilted

I like to think that the past can teach you a lot of things about the people and places that glued it all together--like how you can only remember your family vacation to the lake because you ate slime off the bottom of the lake after your brother pushed you in. (Of course you love him just the same... and maybe even more because you got even with a splash from the canoe paddle on a frosty morning).

People. Places.

Unfortunately people can be ugly on the inside. They can do things and say things that indicate otherwise... but most people are pretty ugly on the inside. This is my opinion, of course. It's my blog, okay?

So what to do... what to do with all that ugly shit that happened... let me dwell on it....doh! wait! You're not supposed to dwell on it, I guess... well damn.. now what?

What if you don't have a choice?
What if something happens and you have to tell someone about it?
Don't you have to dwell on it as they play a game of 20 questions with you?
So many questions.
How do I stop being defensive when I feel like I'm repeating myself over and over again until you finally say "I don't understand."

Well no shit, Sherlock! I knew you wouldn't understand, but I wanted you to know...

I just wanted you to know.
I don't want to hide anymore.
You said I was hiding.
Well my heart is wide open
'cause I took the hinges off the door...

Because you asked me to.
You asked me to.

Chilton's Total Car Care - Troubleshooting

Well, I was going through my car's repair manual to figure out how to take apart the dash, and started reading through the trouble-shooting section since I had the book out. This one made me laugh:

Vehicle vibrates when driven

a) Check the road surface. Roads which have rough or uneven surfaces may cause unusual vibrations.

Well, duh, right? Apparently there is a large enough percentage of people who need to hear this straight from the experts.

That is all.

Constantly Amazed by How Much and How Often I Forget What I Was Just Thinking About Five Minutes Ago

Well, on Friday afternoon I drove to my brother's to babysit the kiddos while he and his lady went to look for a new apartment. The night before, I removed the faceplate from the stereo because, blast it, some punks have been stealing radios from vehicles in the increasingly shady city of Red Wing, MN. Well, as I began my journey (7 minutes into it, to be exact), I noticed that I had no radio to which I could lend my ears and mind! How tragic! Being a strict follower of the no-back-tracking rule, I continued driving, thinking I would find other things to do.

Now, from Red Wing to Brooklyn Park, it is about 1 hr 30 min if one obeys all posted traffic signs. Make that 1 hr 9 min for the notorious lead-foot-driver-who-aces-every-road-side-meeting-with-local-government-officers-regardless-of-the-offense. Speeding or not, it is a long-ass time to sit in silence. So what did I do? I thought.

Oh sweet Jesus. Like a woman needs extra time to let her mind wander.

Well, this post will be my best attempt to regurgitate what I was thinking during that drive. While thinking about what I was thinking about, I find that it is very difficult to recall thoughts from stream of consciousness! Here is my best effort:

Gosh these roads are dumb. Why can't there be straight-away roads that go from town to town? 61, 316, 61, 494, 94, 35E, 694. LAME. At least I get to go to Starbucks today.

Why, for the love of Peter, Paul, and Mary, (Note: not the Bible characters), do people practically drive on the shoulder when they can't see the lines on the road because of snow. So a trail is blazed through the snow and you find your self plodding along on the rumble strips instead of between the two lines.

I want a farmhouse. I really don't want a barn or silo or any crops. I just want a big old house with a huge yard and lots of old trees.

I can't believe my brother wants Grandma's house. Eugh.... (European form of "ugh") After Grandma passed, he immediately told mom that he wanted it. Oh good God. That house will have to be torn down, the pole shed will have to be torn down, the two out-buildings will have to be torn down... all that scrap metal sold off... and then you'll have to build a new house!

Now that we're dealing with all of the logistics that go along with the death of a family member, mom and dad have decided to have their will drawn up. They want to name me as guardian over AJ, Olivia, and Gabby in the case that they would both die before the kids grew up. I said "sure." What else am I supposed to say? No? I will also get the house in that case.

Where will I get a job? I still haven't heard back from Wells Fargo... or any of the other bajillion places I've applied.

Scary thought: What if I dropped out of college?

Oh, Liz. Don't do that. Your loans are in deferrment until you graduate OR drop below half-time. You really want to pay back thirty grand in loans while you have no job? Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket. Or go to the Casino. I've never done either. Can't say it's not possible if I don't try, right?

I've never done a lot of things. I've never fired a gun, but it is something I would like to try. Jason has been giving me the runaround on this one. I want him to teach me, but he's got his reasons not to, I guess. Like, what if I go kill somebody. Cops don't trust anybody, not even their friends! He's been on Facebook while he's at work, I've noticed. Oh man, if his Sgt. caught him on the laptop doing that..

I hate that my mom is on Facebook. I can't do anything fun anymore! I keep telling myself that I'm an adult and that if I have a picture of my favorite rum as my profile pic, that's my business
...... but I would get nagged for the next bajillion years. She's already after me about going to see the dentist while I'm home. I'm going to tell her I did, but I won't be going.

Well, I think I'm a little early, so let's go to the Mitsubishi/Mazda dealership and check out the lot. The new Lancer looks kind of neat, but it's a peice of a crap. They don't have the huge ass Mazda CX-9 that I want. Sad. Oh well.

I wonder if Dana and Bethany still have mice in their apartment.

Jesus it is cold outside. I don't want to get out of the car.

I Can't... Believe... What I've.. Just... Done...

After spending roughly three years walking down the path to becoming a high school math teacher, I freaking changed my major.

WTH are you thinking, Liz?

Well, self, I'm thinking I will live in a run-down apartment and eat dust balls and cob webs for the rest of my life if I become a teacher. Besides that, I don't think I want to be a teacher any longer.

So WTF are you gonna do now?

I am changing my Mathematics Teaching major to a Mathematics major with a concentration in statistics and a minor in business management.

Yep.

Maggie's Awesome Column In the Newspaper

Maggie Sotos from Gustavus wrote an awesome column in our school newspaper, and I just have to share it... it made me giggle.

"Captain’s Log, Star Date Tuesday, Nov. 25; 2:00 p.m.:
As my last class concludes, I begin the great migration from St. Peter, Minnesota, to Elmhurst, Illinois, a lonely outpost of the greater Chicago land Star System. The occasion: the Festival of Giving Thanks. The distance: seven hours by automobile (although if a parental unit is driving, local speed limits will be observed and increase the travel time). The route: primarily I-90/94. My journey today will be long and perilous; I pack a Sprite and Nerds on a Rope for sustenance.

Captain’s Log, 2:45 p.m.:
I pass Loon Lake in Waseca and once more am bitterly disappointed by the lack of loons. In all four years of traveling this road, I have never once seen a loon on Loon Lake. I briefly consider filing a complaint with the city, stating grievances of “False Advertising” and “Getting Maggie’s Hopes Up.”

Captain’s Log, 3:30 p.m.:
As I near Rochester, MN, I officially count my twentieth pro-life billboard. I am shocked to learn, from an enlarged photograph of an exuberant, laughing baby, that humans possess fingerprints seventeen days after conception. Thank God my informed decision-making is based on disturbingly magnified pictures of something with no control over its bowel movements.

Captain’s Log, 4:45 p.m.:
This is the fifth deer I have seen strapped to the back of a truck in the last ten minutes. I must be nearing Wisconsin.

Captain’s Log, 5:00 p.m.:
Indeed, my vehicle crosses the state line. I report my location to the Mother Ship. She is thrilled I am doing well, but tells me I must be driving too fast if I am already out of Minnesota, and I need to slow down, Margaret, do I want to be in an accident?

I pick up dinner in Lacrosse. Although the sandwiches at Panera are my first choice, I will be on the road whilst eating. Therefore, it is McDonald’s easy-to-handle-while-driving burgers that receive my business. I know its workers receive terrible and unequal wages, that its animals are poked in the eyes with sticks and called mean names, or something equally inhumane. I feel slightly guilty for patronizing the industry, so I wash it all down with an ice-cold Coca-Cola. After all, if I am going to be socially unjust, why half-ass it?

Captain’s Log, 7:00 p.m.:
The boredom of highway driving begins to set in. The radio is out (meaning it has picked up nothing but country and Christian rock for the last hour). I have already used up my Ira Glass’ This American Life and Radio Lab reserves. I now turn to the galaxy’s most reliable Road Trip companion: Harry Potter on tape. A few minutes of this anthology will have the most apathetic driver gripped with emotion, yelling into an empty vehicle, “No, Harry, DON’T go into the third floor corridor!” “No, Umbridge, DON’T punish Harry with the Cruciatus Curse!” or “No, J.K. Rowling, DON’T write such a vague and abstract Epilogue!” My spirit is rekindled, and the expedition home continues.

Captain’s Log, 7:30 p.m.:

I enter Illinois and pay my first toll. I will pay three more in the next hour and a half. I report in again to the Mother Ship and brief her on my coordinates. The Matriarch reminds me I must be speeding like a bat out of hell if I’m already in Illinois and to slow down, for Christ’s sake.

Captain’s Log, 8:00 p.m.:
Harry Potter on tape concludes, and with no other forms of entertainment in the car, I am forced to sit and hear myself think. I find myself going mad from the silence, and desperately dig about in the backseat for something to listen to. I find N*SYNC’s first CD from fifth grade. After a few tracks, I turn it off and return to the silence.

Captain’s Log, 9:00 p.m.:
My vehicle arrives at the Mother Ship. It is littered with McDonald’s, Harry Potter tapes, pre-moistened towlettes, and it reeks of my body odor. As I walk in the door, seven hours after I began my tri-state voyage, I am barraged by hugs and chidings of how I got home so soon, how fast I must have been going, I am probably a reckless lead foot on the road and a hazard to my own health, I’m going to give my parents heart attacks, do I want to put my mother in an early grave after all she’s done for this family, get inside, they’ve missed me.""

The Eternal Battle Between Man and Woman

Okay, maybe that title is a little dramatic...


There is a struggle, though.

This is a struggle that is based on two assumptions: One, that men should always be able to fix everything; Two, that women will always yearn for independence from men.

It's true that men want to be the problem-solver, the bread-winner, and the handy-man around the house. There are probably a million psychoanalytic interpretations of this, but I will stick with my own conclusion. I think that a man tends to measure his worth by what he can do for his family and friends. Nothing wrong with that... until the independent woman walks into his life.

The independent woman wants to buy her own power tools, make her own money, and fix her own plumbing. If a man says "Do you want help with that?" she becomes defensive because she perceives that he implies she's weak and can't do it herself, when actually, he probably just wants to fulfill his own perceived role as a problem-solver.

So what do we do with that? I mean, really?

There has to be a balance of understanding within the relationship in order for this to work correctly.

I was at home on Saturday and I made soup for everyone for lunch. Turkey Noodle Soup. I had decided to make biscuits and let my younger siblings make shapes with the cookie cutters. Well, it turns out I probably should have used a little less flour, because they ended up being a little dense. I put a couple in the soup to liven them up a little. I made the mistake of calling them "dumplings" in front of my father. I vocalized the fact that I didn't make them correctly, so they sucked. This is where my dad starts in on it:

"Did you use enough milk?"
"Well, actually, I didn't intend on making dumplings. It's just flour and water. I was making biscuits but I threw a couple in the soup."
"Did the dough have a sticky consistency to it?"
"No. I didn't plan on making dumplings, so it was pretty dense."
"There's probably not enough water in the soup to make dumplings."

Okay, so I got a little tired of trying to argue my point that I really didn't mean to make dumplings. I meant to make biscuits. I put the biscuits in the soup because they were gross by themselves. My father tends to do this a lot. That is, ask a load of questions that would make anyone feel like an idiot if they weren't careful.

I was careful. I know my dad too well to think that he thought I was just dumb. He just wanted to be the one to evaluate the situation and solve the "problem."

So the way I see it, there has to be an understanding of the two assumptions I started with. Women have to realize that men will say and do things that sound demeaning, but in all reality, they really want to help. Men have to know that women can and will believe that men are trying to rule over them, and they will lash out when men try to help them.

That's the best I've got.