Krystal with a K

Let's Talk About Weight, Baby

2012-01-27T20:20:00.005-05:00

Let’s face it, if there was one thing that most of us could change about ourselves, it would be our body. Whether it’s to be thinner, more muscular, just healthier in general, there are not very many that would turn down the opportunity to change something about their physical appearance. And why should that be surprising? The media is constantly telling us what is beautiful, and last time I checked, I didn’t see lumpy, toneless fat outlined in their description. And as I sit here and type a bunch of things you already know, let’s add this: losing weight isn’t easy…it’s hella hard and enough to make a person stop trying after they don’t see the results they want. That’s why most people’s New Year’s resolutions fail. But in order to really understand my feelings on this issue, let’s start back at the beginning…

I’ve had body image issues as far back as I can remember. In elementary school I was always very aware that I was different than all the other girls. I was taller, I was thicker, and I was generally less athletic. I always was – and am still to this day – very self-conscious.

That's me in the front, looking generally awkward.

In middle school, my body image issues were escalated even further because I was bullied. Everyone knows that middle school kids are full of angst and as mean as they come, so I think it was particularly cruel for my school to make the sixth and seventh grade girls take gym together. To make the situation even worse, I somehow ended up in gym class with the seventh grade’s own version of “The Plastics” from Mean Girls. So not only did I have all the anxieties of your average sixth grader, but I then had to change clothes in front of what I considered the prettiest girls in school. I was always so scared about what they would say about my weight that I never even considered that it would be my second biggest insecurity they would choose to tease me mercilessly about: my skin.

I have head-to-toe eczema that covers nearly every inch of my skin, but my arms and legs show the most severity. Those mean seventh grade girls had apparently never seen eczema before because that first day in the locker room I was asked a million times if I A) had Leopardsy, B) was contagious, and C) planned on doing anything to fix it because it was nasty and ugly. I was so hurt by what those girls were saying about me that I cried nearly every night, and one time when I got particularly emotional in front of my mom, she finally decided to take me to a dermatologist. What I thought would be the cure to my hideous skin ended up being months of disappointment because my eczema is completely unresponsiveness to every ointment that was prescribed to me. And as if that wasn’t emotionally trying enough, I one day overheard the meanest of my bullies whisper to her friend, “I’d kill myself if I was that fat and had arms that looked like that.” Those words stung so hard, but I refused to cry in front of her…so I told my gym teacher I had to go to the bathroom and cried in the locker room instead.

It was finally out in the open that people other than myself thought that I was fat, but unlike my skin, it was something I could change. I don’t remember exactly dieting or effectively trying to lose weight, but I joined the volleyball team and it just kind of happened on it’s own. Later in eighth grade I joined cheerleading, which produced even more weight loss, but I never got to a point that I considered myself thin.

I was pretty comfortable with my body image when I entered high school, and being on the dance team definitely helped me stay somewhat fit. But I think it was somewhere around the end of freshman year that I began having problems with my biological dad, and I turned to food. The summer before sophomore year was definitely not a high point in my life because when I wasn’t at dance practice, I was home alone and constantly eating…and I had developed a certain love for chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwiches. That summer I gained probably ten or fifteen pounds, and I also decided to dye my hair blonde and get straight-cut bangs. In general, it just wasn’t cute.

And this, my friends, is why I'm terrified to so much as highlight my hair.

Thankfully, my dance coaches were slightly stricter on working out that next school year, and the extra weight slowly began to melt off of me. By the beginning of my junior year, I was the thinnest I had ever been, and I loved it. I gave 110% in dance practices, I started working out in my spare time, I had a part-time job at Dairy Queen that kept me moving, and I decided to start dieting…which I now realize was me actually eating very little. Looking back, I was very obsessed with how my body looked that year that I pretty much gave up eating. I never ate breakfast, I would pack half a sandwich and some fruit for lunch, and I would eat dinner if I didn’t have to work. The nights that I was at work, I would eat a hotdog bun with some melted cheese on it or a child-sized blizzard.

Junior Prom aka "The Thinnest I've Ever Been"

One of my best friends that I worked with at Dairy Queen was actually anorexic, and while I never really wanted to be like her (seeing as she liked to count the number of days she could go without food before fainting), I did think she was gorgeous and I was extremely jealous of how small she was. She would tell me these absolutely awful stories about blacking out in the shower because she hadn’t eaten anything in over a week, but in the back of my mind I wanted to look just like her. One of my deepest, darkest secrets, which I have never told anyone, was that I was actually upset that I didn’t have the willpower to be anorexic. Some very sick part of my mind told me that I wasn’t as strong as that girl, and I would never be able to look like her. That girl was eventually fired and I never talked to her again after that, but I think her leaving was actually good for me because I stopped being secretly jealous of her anorexia and obsessively worrying about my own weight.

Unfortunately, though, my “daddy issues” decided to return, and I gradually starting putting on a small bit of weight. Add to that the stress of my senior year of high school, and I estimate that I put back on about ten pounds. I joined a gym once my final dance season ended, but I just couldn’t get the weight off. Once prom season rolled around, I was so scared about looking fat in a dress that I turned to diet pills. I’m not going to lie and say they didn’t work because they did…but they made me feel sick, they dehydrated me, and all the weight and then some came back once I stopped taking them. I kept telling myself that I would lose weight over the summer, but I quit my job at Dairy Queen for a desk job at a dentist office, and I just wasn’t moving like I used to. So I told myself that I would lose the weight when I went to college.

Senior Prom

Lose the weight in college? Next to my secret idolization of anorexia, that is the second dumbest thing I have ever thought to myself. Who goes to college and loses weight? The term “Freshman 15” exists for a reason…only in my case it was more like the “Freshman 30.” Between cafeteria food, no longer dancing or working out, and spending a majority of my day reading textbooks, the weight piled on like you wouldn’t even believe. I thought that getting out of a dorm and moving into my apartment the following year would help me lose it, but I then experienced the year from Hell and put on even more weight. By the start of 2011, I was the biggest I had ever been and I was just generally unhappy with life.

Taken during my freshman year spring break...I was so unhappy that I barely took any pictures the following year.

February 2011 is when I decided that I needed change. I couldn’t keep doing what I had always been doing and thinking that I would someday look different than how I currently looked. If I wanted to lose weight, I was going to have to make it happen. And with the help of the MyFitnessPal website (which is free if you’re interested), I became a lot more conscious of what I was eating. I religiously kept a food diary and received a lot of support from people in the forums, but as I tend to do with most things in life, I became obsessed.

Suddenly, I cared a lot less about doing well in school and instead spent my time reading about the benefits of this food or how many calories was in that meal. I would be preparing my lunch and already be thinking about what I’d have for dinner. I would mentally beat myself up when I went a few calories over the strict 1,200 limit I set for myself. All I wanted to talk about was food, and I would get angry when other people wouldn’t listen because I felt like they weren’t supporting me. But I refused to give up this new lifestyle because I was losing anywhere from 1 to 3 pounds a week, and that continued weight loss was the only thing in my life that was bringing me any sort of happiness.

…Then I went on vacation to California where I ate my weight in clam chowder, rediscovered my love of food, and the pounds slowly started coming back on. I easily lost them again when I got back to Bloomington and was able to buy my own groceries, but I had experienced three weeks of not counting calories, and I had felt like I was given this brand new freedom. Keeping a food diary suddenly felt like so much work, and I didn’t like the person I was when I was obsessing over food, so I decided to quit. I haven’t regret it one bit.

This past summer, about a month after my vacation.

Since last summer, I had been able to maintain my weight to where I was when I stopped tracking my food. I never really returned to the eating habits I acquired in the beginning of college, and buying low calorie groceries had become a habit. But when I recently went home for the holidays, I gave into every single temptation and put on about seven pounds.

That plate was initially covered in a heaping mound of Mississippi mud and cheesecake.

Seven pounds might not sound like a lot to some folks, but that new amount of weight felt completely unnatural on me. I’ve actually been having digestive problems for a few months now, so all the horrible food I had been putting in my body for two weeks straight did not sit well. I was constantly bloated and felt sick to my stomach, but I could not stop eating sweets. I’d think to myself, “This cookie is sooooo worth it,” but the pain I’d later experience did not agree. Unfortunately, my brain was experiencing selective short term memory loss and decided to forget about that pain the next time I saw a cookie on the kitchen counter.

When I came back to Bloomington, I did not immediately cut the sweets out of my diet. I had tasted the sinful pleasure of desserts, and I was not about to give them up. I was also having sugar cravings like you would not believe. Right around last week, however, I finally had become fed up with the stomach pain I now associate with desserts and decided I needed to do something about it.

I went to the store and I bought mostly fresh produce, which is what I’ve been eating for the last week now. After weighing myself this morning, I’ve discovered that I’ve lost all the weight I put on during the holidays. I’ve also noticed that I have more energy, sleep a heck of a lot better at night, no longer experience grogginess in the morning, and my concentration is slightly improved. That is reason enough for me to continue eating this way. This past week (and definitely within the last three days), I have felt like a different person, and this is actually a person I like being.

If we’re being technical, yes, I am trying to lose weight. My current goal is another 10 to 15 pounds and to decide from there if I want to maintain that weight or lose more. But unlike the previous times I’ve done this whole weight loss thing, I plan on being as healthy as possible and not becoming obsessed. I have made a mental promise to myself that if I feel my life is becoming too focused on what I’m eating and how I look, I need to quit because I don’t like living in a world where my life is controlled by my body image issues.

I’m not really sure how I want to end this because some where along the line this stopped being a blog post and instead became really personal. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t cry as I typed some of this. I’m currently having a bad eczema outbreak, so that section was particularly hard. I also finally admitted that I once admired a girl with anorexia. All of this feels so good to get out into the open, but I’m terrified to press the publish button because of what people might think about me. I might preach that we all need to love ourselves and give you 10 reasons why I’m not perfect, but most of the time I’m still that anxious sixth grader just looking for the popular girls’ approval. Sadly, I don’t think that’ll ever change.

The Real K-Dawg

2012-01-21T23:21:00.000-05:00

It’s no secret that my favorite blog is Young House Love, and this week $herdog and J-Boom did something interesting…no it’s not their awesome kitchen makeover. They revealed interesting facts about themselves that they don’t normally advertise to the world. They got real. And because one of my New Year’s Resolution is to be more true to myself and gain a self acceptance for my imperfections, I thought it would be great to take a leaf out of YHL’s book and own my deep, dark secrets. Be prepared. You’re about to meet the real K-Dawg.

1. I am not at all stylish.

I like to think I know a thing or two about fashion, hair, and make-up. I read fashion blogs and magazines, admire so many style icons, and I don’t even want to admit how much money I have invested in my make-up collection. But despite all this, I am not a snazzy dresser. Nine times out of ten you will probably see me sporting a saggy pair of jeans, my pilling Michigan sweatshirt, old Nikes, and a frizzy ponytail. That’s not to say I don’t own nice clothes, I just don’t have the energy to make myself up everyday. I wish I did. I may rock my “lazy bum” look on a daily basis, but I’m not at all confident about it. Add this to my New Year’s Resolutions list: look sharper in 2012.

2. I am the most contradictory clean freak you will ever meet.

I have a problem. A cleaning problem. I don’t sanitize my grapes before consumption or clean tables with toothbrushes, but I do get a headache and find it hard to breathe when mess and clutter are in my line of vision. Closets and cabinets are my arch nemesis, for in my mind they are never as organized as they could be. My nightly bedtime routine is as follows: put on pajamas, wash face, brush teeth, clean living room, reorganize backpack, quadruple check that all five alarm clocks are set, go to sleep. And even though I’m constantly dusting, Windex-ing, vacuuming, picking up non-existent mess, and all else, there are three things that seemingly don’t play into my cleanliness madness. Kitchens, bathrooms, and beds. I hate cleaning/making them. I will literally let them get as terrible as humanly possible before my brain can’t take it anymore and finally succumbs to the urge to bleach everything in sight. I don’t know where my aversion to washing dishes, scrubbing toilets, and making beds comes from, but I wish this problem would fix itself. It’s hard to call yourself a clean freak when your bathroom sink is currently sporting a few toothpaste splatters.

3. I have pretty severe insomnia.

I used to be a great sleeper. I was always in bed by 11 PM and awake no later than 8:30 AM, and that’s including weekends. Last year I had this drastic shift in sleeping patterns where my new bedtime became 3 AM, and that gradually progressed into full-blown insomnia in which I lie in bed with sleep constantly evading me. Sometimes I finally drift off, but then I end up sleeping through my alarm (which explains why I set five different alarms every night, you know, just in case). I became so frustrated by my inability to sleep that I started drugging myself with Nyquil every night. It works for me, but I know it’s not at all healthy. All I want in life is a good night’s rest and for my black, permanent under eye circles to go away. Is that so much to ask? In the mean time, can any one recommend a good concealer because mine sucks.

4. I am addicted to reality television.

I wish that I was more into intellectually stimulating programs, but let’s face it, I find reality television far too entertaining to be bothered by the History Channel. Keeping Up with the Kardashians (and their ten billion spin-offs), Dance Moms, Project Runway, The Amazing Race, Dancing with the Stars, America’s Next Top Model…I can’t get enough of it.

5. I am too school for cool.

I am one of those sick-in-the-head individuals that actually enjoy going to class and learning something. If I happen to sleep through a morning class, I feel not only guilt, but also an added sadness that I probably missed a great lecture. I’m not so strange that I like writing papers or reading textbooks, but everything else is fun for me. And because I love absorbing all this information, I’m basically a walking encyclopedia. Sometimes I’ll be with my family or friends, and I’ll start randomly spouting off a history lesson. This typically results in getting a look that I assume translates into “you are a nerd-ner-ner-ner-NERD.”

6. I don’t like to party and I have never been drunk.

In my three years at college so far, I have been to one frat party. It wasn’t my cup of tea. And when drinking is concerned, I don’t really do it. I like mixed drinks every now and then, but I don’t go out with the intent to get wasted. My dad is an alcoholic, and I’ve personally seen the horrors of what alcohol can do to a person. I don’t want any part of that. So I refrain, and I’m not sorry if people think that makes me lame.

7. I suspect that I have Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder and/or adult ADD.

So many people will say, “I am very organized, and that makes me OCD,” but I’ve got a minor in psychology, and I know that my professors would slaughter me if I made that same proclamation. Yes, I am organized, but my quirks don’t interfere with my quality of life. I have the behaviors of OCD: my closet is organized down to certain shirts being hung on specific colored hangers, the television volume always has to be an even number, and in lectures I have to sit in a chair number ending in 8 or 3…I don’t know why, but this is just how I am. And because I don’t have an obsessive reasoning behind my actions, I know that I don’t have OCD. I think my actions are more the result of OCPD.

As for the adult ADD, I can’t be so sure because my behavior varies. I spend a lot of time daydreaming, and I find it near impossible to concentrate during drawing class because so many things grab my attention and distract me, but is that really ADD? I don’t know. I do know that I find it really hard to watch a movie in one sitting (I usually get up in the middle to go clean something, grab a snack, make a phone call, etc.), I have the hardest time paying attention during a conversation (this makes me a terrible listener and socially awkward), and I can’t finish one project at a time because I get bored and have to move on to something else. This doesn’t seem normal to me.

8. I have never been in a relationship, let alone been on a date.

This is the hardest one for me to admit because at 21 years old, I feel like something should have happened already. It’s not because I’m overly picky or a prude…I have just never encountered some one who seems interested in me. I’ve begun to think that there is something wrong with me or maybe I put off a bad vibe…whatever the reason, I’m really quite insecure about the whole situation. I have this huge fear of being alone for the rest of life. I’ve started to think that maybe I’m just not meant to get married and have kids one day. Maybe destiny has different plans for me, and those plans don’t include a family. And now that I’ve probably depressed every one reading this…

9. I have extreme financial anxiety.

I’m not particularly frivolous with my money, and I have never overdrawn my account or had debt collectors calling me, but I still worry about money every single day. “How much money am I making?”, “How much does this cost?”, and “How much do I currently owe in student loans?” are questions that constantly plague me. I worry that I’ll be in debt for the rest of my life or that I will never be in a position to be financially independent from my parents. These worries aren’t calmed by recently switching my major to interior design and then reading headlines like “Architecture and Interior Design Field Experiences Highest Rate of Unemployment for College Majors.” My mom thinks that my anxiety stems from my love of the finer things in life. I don’t think objects make a person happier, I just happen to have expensive taste. So what if I want to have nice stuff and be financially stable? I fear this will never happen.

10. I am not perfect.

If all of the above didn’t convince you, let me just state again that I am not perfect. I’m not always nice, I’m not always happy-go-lucky, and I’m not always particularly optimistic…but I do try very hard to be those things. I hope that one day I won’t have to try so hard, and I’ll just be this joyful, extroverted person because it comes naturally. So, again, I am not perfect, but I hope that by admitting my imperfections and coming to terms with them, it’s one step closer to my being the person I want to be in life. Life’s definitely far too short to spend it full of worry and being cynical.

Not Your Grandma's Way of Sledding

2012-01-07T21:54:00.000-05:00

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again…something strange is happening in Indiana. It is currently forty degrees outside. I’m not sure if you are aware, but look at your calendar. I’m pretty sure it is January. Did I mention that it is forty degrees in Indiana in January?! It is pure craziness, I tell you.

Due to this unseasonably warm winter we are experiencing, there hasn’t been much snow. A random little flurry will happen here and there, but not once this winter has the dastardly white stuff stuck to the ground and taken up a temporary residence. Normally, I wouldn’t be lamenting this lack of precipitation. However, I really had a desire to go sledding during my Christmas break.

I hadn’t been sledding since I was in elementary school, so it is understandable that at the age of twenty-one I felt the sudden urge to slide down a giant hill on a piece of plastic. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that understandable, but my memory told me that sledding was really fun and I had a craving for fun. Unfortunately, the weather wasn’t cooperating with me.

That’s when my brilliant cousin/bestie for life came up with an idea: sand sledding. With the Indiana Dunes a mere twenty-minute drive away, we had plenty of sand at our disposable. So we got ourselves a couple of sleds and were well on our way to the most exciting day of our lives.

We encountered a few non-believers along the way *cough*my step-dad*cough* but we were determined to prove them (him) wrong. Thankfully, Mother Nature was on our side that day and provided a nice steady rainfall that patted the sand dunes down to sledding perfection.

We were off to a slow start at the beginning...

"Houston, it looks like we need a steeper dune..."

...but we eventually trekked our way to the other side of the beach...

Asthmatics take twice as long to climb sand dunes.

...and found the perfect sledding dune! It was steep, provided unexpected thrills (random bumps and logs = wipeout), and was our source for hours of fun.

The only downfall about sledding on a sand dune in the middle of the rain is that every crevice of your body finds itself home to sand and sogginess. It’s not cute. (But that didn’t stop us from going out to eat afterwards...)

Once we got home from our adventure and gorging ourselves on Denny’s (their red velvet pancake puppies are the bomb dot com), we immediately threw our nasty clothes and coats in the washer and showered. Is it just me, or does a shower feel extra special when you are excessively dirty and frozen to the bone? No lie, I think that was the best shower of my life. But I digress…

After flipping through the many pictures and video footage that we captured during our sand sledding adventure, Amanda and myself came up with this quick little video. If it doesn’t make you want to go the beach with a sled, I don’t know what will. Seriously. Check out my impressive double backflip down the sand dune as my sled pathetically rolls away from me.

So what about you guys? Are you having an unusually warm winter as well? Have you had any snow yet? Have you been sledding the proper way yet this year? How badly do you want to go sand sledding now? Tell me all about it!

Welcome to 2012

2012-01-01T12:58:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year everyone! I'm super busy getting settled back into Bloomington, but I will soon be back to the blogging to share my fantastic two week winter vacation. I just wanted to quickly drop in and wish you all a fabulous year. Here's to making 2012 the best that it can be!

A little preview of what's to come...

Home for the Holidays

2011-12-23T23:30:00.000-05:00

Late last Sunday night I arrived at my parents’ house for 13 full days of family togetherness and holiday celebrations. Since then, I’ve been uber busy with starting and completing my Christmas shopping, taking afternoon naps (They. Are. Glorious.), and being my Papa Kevin’s personal chauffeur. Amongst all the stress of last-minute holiday preparations, it is so nice to just sit on the couch and enjoy the big beautiful tree.

I decorated the tree on Monday night while my mom was out running errands. I do believe this is the first year that I have decorated the monstrosity that is our 7.5 foot tall tree all by myself. It was intimidating at first, but I am very pleased with the results (and my parents agree).

In addition to our sparkly blue and silver, snowflake-themed tree, my Papa Kevin decided to decorate the front yard this year! I mentioned in this post of yore that he quit doing it a few years ago, but this year he had a change of heart. Pulling up to this twinkling house of a Christmas wonderland definitely didn’t fail to make me smile.

Papa Kevin only put up about half of our old outdoor decorations, but I’m more than pleased with what is currently sitting out in the front lawn. Like this Mickey Mouse carousel:

And my beloved reindeer barn:

This hilarious outhouse (it’s a new addition in honor of the farmland my parents purchased this year):

The North Pole Express helicopter (sorry that Santa’s head is creepily stuck backwards):

And my camera died before I could get to our 8 foot long Christmas train and the garage decorations. Cue the sad face.

I then tried to take a video panning across the yard, but the camcorder died too just as I was reaching the end. You barely get a glimpse of the garage and the train, but getting the full enjoyment of my Pop’s musical Christmas trees should make up for it. (Side note: I did go in the house to charge my cameras and finish the photo shoot, but it was down pouring rain once I got back outside.)

So now that my shopping is done and the decorations are up to enjoy, I just have to finish wrapping this endless pile of boxes. It probably wouldn’t seem like a never-ending task if my dog didn’t keep undoing my hard work…

So what about you guys? Is your house all decorated and festive? Are you a last-minute shopper as well? Does your dog enjoy tearing up wrapped boxes (and eating them)? Tell me all about it!

Christmas Traditions: Caroling

2011-12-15T16:25:00.000-05:00

Sometime around fifth or sixth grade, my cousins and I found ourselves incredibly bored one weekend in December, and we randomly decided to try our hands at Christmas caroling. A small set list of songs we all knew was complied, featuring classics like “Jingle Bell Rock” and “Silent Night.” My cousins had learned “Silent Night” in sign language when they were in their school’s choir, and after teaching it to the rest of us, we decided that “Jingle Bell Rock” needed choreography as well. Ten minutes later, we had a jam-packed routine that could only be described as “interpretive.” To this day I still remember that dance, so I took it upon myself to demonstrate it for you all. Don’t worry, I use an actual recording of “Jingle Bell Rock” so as not to subject you to my singing.

With our song choices and choreography in place, we started our door-to-door singing adventure. And it only took us a few houses to make a groundbreaking discovery: Christmas caroling is a lucrative business. I am not joking. People gave us cookies, slices of pie, hot chocolate, candy canes, and most importantly, money. Crisp, green, glorious money. And we wanted more of it.

It was decided that the only way to make more money was to be more entertaining. And cuter. So we needed “wow” factor and way to look more adorable. After regrouping, we all settled on little formation changes within the “Jingle Bell Rock” choreography (that song seemed like our biggest money-maker), and we called up our Aunt Debbie to see if our smaller cousins Jen and Emily could join us. Emily is the youngest child in our family, and at the time she was probably in kindergarten or first grade. Which meant she was terribly cute. And when our Aunt Debbie agreed to let the girls come over and join us, we knew that we had nailed our gimmick.

Now, we didn’t have a bookkeeper or anyone tracking how much money our caroling was raking in, but I’m pretty positive that our profits increased 500% when we added Emily to our little singing circle. Being as young as she was she didn’t quite grasp onto the choreography, but we compensated by all lifting her up at the end of the song and having her say “Merry Christmas!” in an exaggerated baby voice. Hook, line, and sinker. It was so sickening sweet that the neighborhood residents melted in the palms of our hands, and they forked over their food and money.

After a whole night of knocking on doors and singing, we each made anywhere between twenty or thirty dollars. Multiply that by the five or six of us in the group, and our little preteen brains were officially blown. And that’s not even counting in the sheer mass of holiday desserts that were given to us. In fact, we eventually had to start bringing a backpack with us to collect all our goodies. Of course, the backpack was usually hidden in a bush or placed out of sight before the door knocking, that way the neighbors didn’t think we were expecting payment…which we were.

Looking back on this Christmas tradition that only lasted two or three years, I’m kind of appalled and impressed with myself. We had initially started doing it just for fun, but I know that the greed personally got to me and all I cared about was the money at one point. I even remember being quite angry when my cousins invited more kids to join us because that meant less money for me once it was distributed amongst everyone (and some people were less willing to give money to a group of ten kids). I wish I had simply enjoyed it more. If only I could go back in time and tell my 11 year old self that Christmas is about giving, and I'm sure that we gave plenty of joy to that neighborhood of gracious folk.

So that’s my Christmas caroling story. How about you guys? Did you ever try caroling (or do you still do it)? Have people ever paid you for singing to them? Do you have any other Christmas family traditions? Tell me all about it!

Movie Review: Arthur Christmas

2011-12-09T22:29:00.001-05:00

My dad came to Bloomington yesterday to visit me, and during our time together we went to the movie theatre and saw Arthur Christmas. I briefly remembered seeing a preview for this film during Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, but I hadn’t heard a word about it since then. Regardless, the plot sounded interesting and the reviews were pretty good considering it was a PG-rated animated movie.

Two seconds into the movie I was already in love. It had wit, humor, excitement, and it was about Christmas. Ten minutes into the movie and you will know how it ends, but the way you arrive to the ending is thoroughly entertaining and unpredictable.

If you haven’t heard about the movie, here’s the basic gist of it: it’s the behind the scenes footage answering the age-old question, “How does Santa deliver all those presents in just one night?” The truth is that Santa did once ride a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer and climb down the chimney to deliver presents, but that was about a century ago when the population was much smaller. Today, Santa and his team of highly trained elves run a top secret, high-tech operation that would put even the U.S. Marines to shame. “Operation Christmas” is planned down to the last detail, but this year one child gets missed and their pink twinkle bike doesn’t get delivered. Cue in Arthur Christmas. Wild adventures ensue.

Overall, I thought this was a great film. It doesn’t have the star power of Toy Story 3, but it shines far brighter than the lackluster Despicable Me. The entire storyline of the movie is completely original, straying away from the A Christmas Carol plot that has literally been beaten to death by Hollywood. It was something I hadn’t seen before, and it made me actually LOL more than once. Not to mention, Arthur’s sidekick Bryony (a self-proclaimed “wrap star”) is one badass little elf that can wrap anything using only three pieces of sticky tape.

In terms of the cast, I was pretty shocked when I read the list. If you’re British, chances are that you will easily recognize the voices in the film. If you’re American, chances are that you will only recognize the voices if you are a Harry Potter fan and have actually heard Dr. House speak on talk shows. Let me clarify: Dr. House (Hugh Laurie) is Steve, Minster Scrimgeour (Bill Nighy) is Grandsanta, Dolores Umbridge (Imelda Staunton) is Mrs. Santa, Hagrid (Robbie Coltrane) is one of the lead elves, and Professor Slughorn (Jim Broadbent) is Santa. Our random non-British voices include Gabby Solis (Eva Longoria) as the United Nations Chief and Joan Cusack as a lead elf.

A beard like that needs the voice of Hugh Laurie to make him appear more rugged.

To conclude, I believe this is a great family film and I highly encourage people of all ages to go see it. This is a movie that has honestly deserved more attention and press than it has received. Arthur Christmas has completely earned its place in my top Christmas movies, falling somewhere after The Polar Express and The Grinch, but before A Christmas Story and Christmas Vacation. I give it two mitten-clad thumbs up and five Stars of Bethlehem.

TAG! It's the Christmas Season!

2011-12-06T01:14:00.002-05:00

1. Are you a Christmas sweater type of person?

Yes and no. I’m of the opinion that Christmas sweaters are so hideous they are almost cute. I’m not exactly a fan, but I’d wear one as a joke. Also, “Ugly Christmas Sweater” parties seem to be like the new holiday thing.

2. Did you used to leave cookies and milk out for Santa?

Of course! My Momma and I would bake all kinds of Christmas goodies together, and then we would prepare a plate for Santa. Sometimes I even made a card for Santa, and I never forgot to leave baby carrots for the reindeer. I loved waking up in the morning to find Santa’s thank you note and a plate scattered in crumbs.

3. What was the best gift Santa ever brought you?

When I was six years old, I woke up to a hot pink, two-story Barbie dream house mansion with working elevator. It was wrapped in a big red bow, and I played with it for quite some time before my parents woke up. I hadn’t even known something of that dream house’s greatness existed, so it felt like the most magical present in the world.

4. What was the most ridiculous thing you ever asked Santa for?

One day while digging around in my old pictures and elementary school projects, I came across this Christmas list from 1998. I’ll let it speak for itself…

5. What is your favorite Christmas movie?

The Grinch. But it has to be the cartoon version. I find the Jim Carrey version incredibly frightening. A Christmas Story and Christmas Vacation are close seconds, though. Actually, I’m sorry, The Polar Express tops them all.

6. What is your favorite Christmas song?

“God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” is my favorite sacred song. “Carol of the Bells” is my favorite secular song (specifically, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra version).

7. What is your least favorite Christmas song?

“Sleigh Ride”…particularly, the instrumental version. I played it every Christmas in band, and it is seriously the most painfully insane song a flutist could ever be asked to perform. That song just stirs up memories of frustration.

8. Red or green?

364 days of the year, the answer is green. Christmas is just a “red” kind of day, though.

9. Do you have any Christmas traditions?

Christmas traditions are a large part as to why I love this holiday. House decorating, Christmas caroling, cookie and gingerbread house decorating, biscuits & gravy on Christmas morning…all these things are what make my Christmas memories so special.

10. What do you want for Christmas this year?

To be honest, this is the first year in my entire life that I am not wanting for anything. In years past, I would compile 7 to 10 page Christmas lists of things I desperately wanted and begged nearly two months straight for. This year, it is a measly 3 pages, but it’s not even stuff that I feel as though I need. (Side Note: I realize that 3 pages still sounds outrageously long, but my lists include pictures, color options, stores, and prices so there is no possible way my Momma can get it wrong.) If I really had to pick just one thing for Christmas, it would be the Ashbury 4-Pocket Hobo Bag that Banana Republic discontinued (read about that story here). I wouldn’t mind the Michael Kors gold runway watch either…

So what about you guys? Do you have any Christmas favorites or traditions that make you love and anticipate the holiday season? Are there any Christmas memories you are particularly fond of? I'd love to hear all about it!

Justin Bieber Hates Christmas

2011-12-01T21:13:00.002-05:00

Before I was an interior design major, I spent two and a half years studying biology and chemistry (read all about that here). If you combine those years of education with my having seen every episode of MythBusters (twice, three, four times…), you can pretty much say that I’m a fully qualified scientist. And as a fully certified scientist with a Bachelor’s degree in All Things Awesome, I have taken it upon myself to provide an analytical reasoning for why I believe Justin Bieber hates Christmas. So, without further ado, I provide you my in-depth and highly scientific study:

Breaking Down His Music

First off, the only explanation for the Biebs coming out with a Christmas album is that he wanted to torture all the fine folks that love this holiday. There is literally no other excuse for this album.

Second, “Mistletoe” or whatever it is called (I only barely survived the first minute and a half) is not a Christmas song. Many people may disagree with me on that notion, but I defend my opinion. Saying the word “mistletoe” every other line does not make a song a Christmas tune. This song has nothing to do with joy, cheer, happiness, or the beloved Baby Jesus. From what I gather (again, I could not make it through the whole song), “Mistletoe” is about Sir Justin wanting to give some poor, innocent girl named Shawty his Bieber Fever while standing beneath a poisonous plant. Yeah…that really screams Christmas.

Third, and there really is no logical reason as to why this even happened, but the Biebs and Mariah Carey collaborating on “All I Want for Christmas (is You)”. In what world did Justin even think he had the right to sing with her? How much did he have to pay Queen Carey in order for her to agree to this travesty? I heard this song and it made me wish I celebrated Hanukkah…or Kwanza…Winter Solstice…literally any other holiday that Justin Bieber would not want me for. He just…he just has to hate Christmas in order to even consider releasing this to the world. (Sidenote: Many months ago I was super duper excited when I heard Mariah Carey was rerecording this song, but the moment I heard Justin Bieber attempt to duet with her it was like having the song presented to me on a garbage can lid…it’s trash.)

Justin Doesn’t Beliebe in Santa

I was watching some late night talk show, probably Leno or Letterman, and the Biebs was promoting his train wreck of an album. At some point in the interview he was asked about Santa Claus. Justin then explained that his mom never taught him about Santa (she must hate Christmas too), so he always knew that there was no such thing. Let me rephrase that: Justin Bieber announced on late night TV that Santa Claus doesn’t exist. I was dumbfounded. Why would he just say that? This answer is simple: Justin Bieber hates Christmas. It can be no coincidence that he later forgot all the lyrics to “Santa Claus is Coming Town” while performing live on the Today Show.

…to be honest, I don’t care enough about Justin Bieber to want to Google him and come up with additional evidence that supports my theory, so that’s the abrupt ending to my analytical study. It was a short, but effective one. I’m sure scholarly journals will be knocking down my door wanting to publish this.

Glitter, Sparkle, and Peacock

2011-11-27T22:39:00.000-05:00

Well, folks, Thanksgiving weekend is just about over. I hope you enjoyed delicious meals, survived Black Friday if you attempted it, and spent good quality time with your families and friends. As for me, I had a wonderful Thanksgiving with my parents and aunt when they came down to Bloomington for the day. We ate dinner at a restaurant, and though it was decent, it just was not the same as home cooking (don’t worry, my Momma promised me some corn soufflé for Christmas). We all still ate seconds or thirds (I just got one big plate to avoid going up to the buffet again), so it was still a well-accomplished Thanksgiving meal.

After eating our dinner, we all headed back to my apartment for the remainder of the day. And for me, that’s when the Christmas season officially started. As mentioned in this post last week, I wasn’t initially feeling the Christmas excitement, but I’ve had my change of heart and am embracing this holiday season with a childish abandon. And what’s the first step in kicking off the holidays? Christmas tree decorating!

My Christmas tree is a plush, pre-lit 7 footer that once was my parents’ second tree, which they graciously donated to me for the occasion. In terms of decorations, however, I had a blank slate. In my opinion, a tree has two jobs when it comes to the decorating: 1) To blind you with its sparkle, and 2) Make you smile like an idiot every time you see it. I kind of knew that I wanted to go in a jewel tones, glitter, and peacock route after finding this inspiration on Pinterest many, many months ago, so I decided to hit up the craft stores and see what I could find.

Hobby Lobby was running a 50-75% sale on all their Christmas decorations, so I was able to get the vast majority of the things I needed for a little over $50. Here’s a budget breakdown for you:

Ribbon (2 for $9.99), Silver Beads (3 for $2.98), Peacock Feathers (8 for $7.96)

Tree Topper ($7.49)

6 pack Blue Ornaments ($2.99), 4 pack Green Ornaments ($4.49), 10 pack Small Purple Ornaments ($3.49)

6 pack Green Uber Glittery Ornaments ($2.49)

Blue/Gold Design Ornament ($1.99), Purple/Blue Glitter Ornament ($2.99), Feather Ornament ($2.33), Purple Peacock Ornament ($4.99)

I hadn’t meant to buy anymore tree decorations after that shopping trip, but when I ran out of colored cardstock for a design project late Sunday night, I made a necessary run over to Michael’s where I quickly became distracted by the shiny ornaments. While browsing the numerous aisles of Christmas decorations, I picked up a 4 pack box of sparkly teal and gold ornaments ($5.39) and some silver, glitter-covered curly things ($4.99, and yes, “silver, glitter-covered curly things” is a technical term).

In terms of a tree skirt, I had my parents bring me an old purple shag rug that once lived in my bedroom back home. It was purchased at Target for $10 about nine years ago, but I still see them sitting on end cap shelves today.

With my tree on hand and all the decorations ready, I quickly got to putting everything together after Thanksgiving dinner. It took a few hours, but it was my labor of love and I am more than pleased with the outcome.

In order to get the best pictures, I couldn’t use the flash setting on my camera, so some of the details get lost in the mass. I tried taking a few up-close shots of the prettier ornaments on the tree.

And finally, here is the tree in all her lit up glory!

But as I stated before, the tree is just the starting point. I am in full-swing festive-cheer-Christmas-joy mode, and I plan on many more Christmas centered posts in the future. So keep on checking in and join me in spreading the infectious Christmas love.

…and last but not least, did any one else decorate their tree this past weekend? I’d love to see links and pictures if you have them. Nothing floats my boat like a beautiful Christmas tree!

Giving Thanks

2011-11-24T02:20:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving is officially here! I have always loved Thanksgiving, and in my opinion it is right up there with Christmas. Family togetherness, Dallas Cowboys football, and corn soufflé…what else do you need for a more perfect holiday?

This year marks my first Thanksgiving away from home, and I’m really saddened by this situation. I have to work Black Friday at the unholy hour of 5 A.M., so that means not being able to make the eight hour round trip drive home for the holiday. My parents are instead coming to me (they’ll be here in approximately 10.5 hours…I’m counting down the minutes). Unfortunately, my kitchen is far too small to cook in, so we are going to a restaurant for dinner. I don’t have anything against going to restaurants for meals, but doing so on Thanksgiving just doesn’t feel right. I can almost guarantee they won’t be serving corn soufflé or my Momma’s candied yams, which is why I basically live for this day to begin with.

But as unhappy as I am with eating a buffet meal and not being in my childhood home today, I also realize that I’m lucky to even have food to eat and a roof over my head. Thanksgiving is all about being appreciative, so I’m ending the complaining here right now and sharing all that I am thankful for.

1. I’m thankful for my Momma and my step-dad (read all about my Papa Kevin here). I literally couldn’t have asked for better parents. Their love and support is unwavering, even in my worst moments. I’m thankful to have a mother that teaches me about real life and a step-dad that keeps me laughing.

2. I’m thankful for my great big family. They might be crazy and quirky, but I wouldn’t have them any other way. My cousins are more than extended family, they are my friends…my brutally honest friends that know me far too well.

3. I’m thankful that I can still say I have three dogs (read about my golden retriever drama here).

This is my Molly Monster. I don't think her picture has graced the blog yet.

4. I’m thankful that I have the luxury to live in a nice apartment that feels more like home than my dorm room ever did. Having a cozy little place to call my own has definitely helped keep the homesickness at bay. The only thing missing is a puppy.

My freshman year dorm room.

View from the entrance of my apartment.

5. I’m thankful that I have been given the opportunity to have a college education. I had my moments where I took it for granted and wanted to quit (read about my year from Hell here), but I’ve been reacquainted with the love of academics and learning. There are so many experiences to be had, and I plan on having all of them.

High school graduation day. That girl has no idea what college life is about to throw at her.

6. I’m thankful that I have a job. I can complain about the hours and the stress of working on top of school, but there is nothing more gratifying than earning your own money and not having to ask Mom and Dad if you can order a pizza for dinner.

7. I’m thankful for Pinterest. It has helped clean up my “bookmarks” tab and provides hours of procrastination.

8. I’m thankful for my electric blanket. It has recently provided the best sleep of my life.

9. I’m thankful for life. ‘Nuff said.

10. I’m thankful that I finally decided to start this blog. It has not only allowed me to document moments like my 21^st birthday and a random trip to the lake with my cousin/best friend, Amanda, but it has also served as my personal diary where I release the inner thoughts that once plagued me. It’s cathartic. It’s also cheaper than therapy.

Spirit of Christmas Past

2011-11-19T21:17:00.000-05:00

My Momma always went all out for Christmas when I was younger. There were twenty-five nights of Christmas books read to me, visits to the mall to see Santa, and the air was electric with Christmas cheer. Even when we were facing the hardest of financial times, my Momma did every thing in her power to make sure Christmas was special. It was a truly magical season.

My cousin Amanda and I with our Dodo and Santa Claus - Mall of America, MN

As the years went on and I got older, the Christmas magic was fading. There were no more Christmas stories. There were no more visits to Santa. There was no more making cookies for Santa and setting out carrots for the reindeer. Instead, Christmas became a chore. Christmas now meant facing hoards of crazed Christmas shoppers and watching my Momma become excessively stressed as she cooked two five course meals for a party of ten. And when you hear things like, “Money is tight this year, so don’t expect much,” it kind of makes you dread Christmas rather than bask in its eclectic joy. I have never once been disappointed while opening presents, but I have felt the guilt of how much it all cost. Having and understanding a concept of money definitely makes Christmas less magical.

Now I’m not sure what was in the water in 2006, but both my Momma and step-dad suddenly started oozing the Christmas spirit, and I felt the magic once again. We became that house. You know the one. The house that has virtually no front yard, but the owners some how managed to squeeze eighteen inflatable decorations on it. And thirty boxes of lights cover every leafless bush. And twinkling icicle lights drip from the gutters. The house just sparkles with cheer, and cars stop in the middle of the street to enjoy it. And you feel even more special because you live in that house and you know the decorations are making people smile. I can’t say that I fully appreciated it back then seeing as I was a moody 16 year old girl and God, my parents are embarrassing, but it did make me smile every now and then.

The Christmas joy and decorations made a return the following two years, but they gradually became a chore as well. Heaps of snow and treacherous windstorms made maintaining the decorations too exhausting, and my step-dad was no longer up to the job. The inflatables and lights are now nothing more than a distant memory sitting in the garage’s dusty rafters. And unfortunately for me, I didn’t start appreciating that tradition until it was gone.

When I came home for Christmas during my first year of college, the Christmas spirit was still hanging on by a thread. My parents wanted me to enjoy my time at home since I’d been away, so everything was done with a bit of excitement. Last year, however, everything just felt dead. My parents were stressed with work. I was still an emotional nutcase about school (read that story here). Christmas was just a thing that was happening. I had never in my life felt such nothingness during Christmas. The presents were still there to be opened and family was still there to visit, but Christmas just didn’t feel like it once did.

And with the Christmas season quickly approaching us, I just can’t find it inside of me this year to be excited either. Now that I have a job and actual responsibilities like buying food and putting gas in my car, it has hit me harder than ever that money doesn’t grow on trees. How can I feel good about asking for stuff that I know I don’t need, especially when that money can be put to better use? How can I ask my parents to be more cheerful when I know the harsh reality of how much stuff costs, especially when we just had to save our dog’s life and my step-dad has been having medical problems? And at the same time, I know that Christmas cheer and joy is exactly what my family needs right now, but the stress associated with the holidays makes it hard to come by.

To wrap this all up, I’m just not looking forward to Christmas. Actually, I am looking forward to getting away from school to be with my family, but I’m not so anxiously excited that I can’t sleep at night. And when I think about the root of the problem, it all boils down to the fact that I’ve finally realized I’m an adult, which is a role I didn’t exactly step into willingly. In fact, I’ve been fighting against this whole “You’re an adult now” notion since the moment I turned 18. I still want to be a kid, and I still want to enjoy things with a childish abandon. I crave my childhood Christmas, but overhearing comments like “At what age do you get to stop buying your kids a slew of Christmas presents?” reminds me that I’m on the fast track to being a full-fledged adult with a real job and a real home, and I. Just. Want. To. Slow. Down.

It’s a depressing thing to think about, and the revelation came to me last night at work while watching my coworkers prepare for the Black Friday sales (my strong distaste of Black Friday is a completely different story for another day). As soon as the revelation came to me, I immediately decided that I was going to stop being such a Negative Nancy-Debbie Downer-Debbie Asshole. I am making it my personal mission to embrace every aspect of Christmas with such adolescent ardor that I’m going to annoy the pants off every person I come into contact with.

But why stop there? Shouldn’t we always embrace life with joy and passion? It’s so easy when you are a kid, but the stress of daily routine slowly leeches it out of you until life is just passing you by. That’s why I’m making it my daily goal from here on out to start enjoying and appreciating everything life hands me. Besides, I’m far too young to feel jaded…and frowning gives you wrinkles.

My 21st Birthday in Pictures (and Words)

2011-11-17T23:19:00.002-05:00

It is official. I am now 21 years and 2 weeks old. And I’ve felt no different these last fourteen days than I have for the past few years of my life. Except I now drink a glass of wine with my dinner from McDonald’s instead of water. Yeah, I’m fancy like that.

Unlike your typical college student, I didn’t get wasted on my birthday and black the whole weekend out. It probably sounds insanely boring to most, but I just wanted to go home for the first time in months (this incident doesn't count) and be with my family and best friend (who is also family since she’s my cousin and all). Considering I actually remember my 21^st birthday and the people I spent it with, I don’t regret anything. I’m not really one for big parties anyway, seeing as those gatherings remind me of how socially awkward I am…

Anyway, I had really good intentions of taking a lot of pictures and documenting every second of my birthday weekend extravaganza, but that didn’t exactly happen. I spent my actual birthday (November 3^rd) driving home and having dinner with my parents and some extended family members at my favorite restaurant, Red Lobster, and I was so busy stuffing my face with biscuits and Alotta Colada that I completely forgot about my camera. I was also caught up in being with my loved ones, and while that isn’t a bad thing at all, I’m partially saddened by the fact that I have nothing to remember the day by. Actually, that’s not completely true…I did take one picture at the BMV, but that one looks like a mug shot and will never see the light of day.

Something else to remember the day by: The lovely Pandora bracelet my parents gifted me with :)

Onward with the birthday celebrations, the following day was my bestie’s birthday, and I actually did remember to take some pictures here and there. Our plan for the day was to drive up to the wineries in Michigan, and at some point during the drive we were distracted by ice cream. Specifically, Oink’s Ice Cream.

Fun Fact: Her silly face was on purpose, mine was not.

The inside of the ice cream shop was stuffed to the gills with pigs of every variation. It was quite literally “organized hoarding” at its best. I don’t have a picture of it, but the back wall actually had a hilarious sign that read “Pig Collector,” you know, because we couldn’t see that already.

I estimate this to be precisely 1/25th of the pig collection inside the small parlor.

Despite the unusual choice in ice cream shop décor, the ice cream was quite delicious. Amanda there is having yellow cake batter ice cream in a cookie bowl. I decided to be less adventurous and chose moose tracks in a cookie bowl.

After having our ice cream and eating it too, we made our way over the Round Barn Winery in Baroda, Michigan.

Being the design-crazed individual that I am, I felt compelled to take a million pictures of the architecture. It was like I had never seen a round barn before in my life. Actually, I had never seen a round barn before in my life, thus the awe. Unfortunately, this picture of the staircase was the only one that turned out.

Amanda, her boyfriend Tim, and myself all tasted five different wines, but I particularly liked a semi-dry white wine called Edel Doux. I swear the deliciousness has nothing to do with the 20% sugar content…it has everything to do with it.

After our venture at the Round Barn, we were going to try a few other wineries in the area. However, we had forgotten about the one hour time difference between Indiana and Michigan, so we didn’t make it there before all the wineries closed. Cue the sad face.

With no other business to take care of in Michigan, we made our way back to Indiana and stopped for dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant, Hacienda. There’s nothing quite like good friends, good food, and birthday sombreros.

We ended the evening at the Wisecrackers Comedy Club, which Amanda had been talking about going to for what feels like forever. My being 21-ness finally allowed it. The host was awful (you aren’t exactly funny if you have to explain your jokes), but the opening act and headliner (Warren B. Hall) were hilarious.

With an exhausting last two days behind us, Amanda and I changed our Saturday plans to go to Chicago to instead staying at home watching home movies while eating Dunkin’ Donuts. It’s our idea of a good time. We particularly loved this one video of our two smaller cousins singing “Cinderella” by the girl group PLAY. The choreography displayed is truly genius.

Once finished with watching the many tapes of ridiculous films we put together in our preteen years, Amanda and I parted ways. I went back home to spend a relaxing Sunday with my parents in which we did nothing but watch movies and eat leftover Halloween candy (I swear I gained 5 pounds that weekend…) Being with my family was the perfect ending to my perfect-to-me birthday celebration, and on Monday morning I made my way back to Bloomington just in time for class.

All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed myself and wouldn’t have changed a thing. So with nothing left to commentate on, I’m going to end this post with some memories from birthdays past. Enjoy!

I don't know what's worse: my bangs or Barbie's mass of yellow frosting hair?

There's nothing preschoolers love more than gathering around a birthday donut!

My Momma obviously forgot to mention on the invitations that this was a formal event...there is no other explanation as to why I am terribly over-dressed.

Good Times with My Pop

2011-11-02T17:31:00.001-04:00

Yesterday was my step-dad’s birthday, and while I could not be with him on the actual day, I am going home on Thursday (which is my birthday) to spend time with my family and best friend (her birthday is on Friday). It’s just one crazy birthday-filled week! I’ll be turning the momentous 21, but Papa Kevin celebrated the lesser cared for age of 49. He started off his day bright and early with a colonoscopy, which my Momma had accidentally scheduled on this very special Tuesday. Coincidentally, Momma accidentally scheduled him for an angiogram last year on his 48^th birthday. What’s she going to get him for his 50^th? Open-heart surgery?

Anyway, I thought I would celebrate my Pop’s birthday on my blog by sharing my top six favorite memories we have shared together (“Top Five” is just so ordinary, and he is no ordinary man). We have had some crazy times in these last 13 years, but I wouldn’t have asked for them to be any other way. He is more than just my father figure in life. He is one of my best friends, and I am so thankful to have shared these experiences with him that I will now share with you.

Memory #1: Papa Kevin Babysits

It took me quite a while to warm up to Papa Kevin. I initially had the “he’s trying to replace my dad” mentality, and I did everything in my power not to like him. I think I knew deep down that all he wanted was for me to approve of him, so Papa Kevin was very much a “Krystal-pleaser” in the beginning. This was particularly true the first time Papa Kev babysat me.

The first time Papa Kevin babysat me, I was 7 years old and staying home from school because I had a 24 hour stomach bug of some sort. My Momma was unable to call off work for the day, so Papa Kevin volunteered to take her place. I don’t know why, but I remember that we needed to run to the store. Maybe we needed to pick up chicken noodle soup or something? Whatever the reason, Papa Kevin said that we needed to go to K-Mart. I had no intentions of changing out of my pajamas that day, so I convinced him to take me out in public while wearing my plaid flannel jammies. I also told him that my Momma and I never left the house without the dog, so my sheltie came along with us as well.

While at K-Mart, I got Papa Kevin to buy me a whole lot more than what we initially went there for. I had some how conned him into buying me a volleyball, a bag of balloons, and other miscellaneous toys. The kicker, however, was my Little Mermaid tent. I begged and pleaded for that tent, but Papa Kevin firmly held his ground when he saw that it cost $60 or some other ridiculous price. While he was dragging me out of the aisle, I tried one last attempt at that tent: “But, Kevin, you have to buy it! These tents are going extinct!” I don’t know if it was my adorable face or extremely solid persuasion, but I came home with that pink Little Mermaid tent. I think I slept in it one time before I used it as a storage room for all the balloons I had inflated without purpose.

The rest of that day continued with my batting my eyelashes and manipulating a grown man to do whatever I wished, and we ended with a wonderfully pleasant game of Monopoly. Unbeknownst to Papa Kevin, unfortunately, I am a highly competitive individual (even at the tender age of 7). The first time I landed on his property and was told to fork over money, I promptly picked up the game board and threw it at Papa Kevin’s head. He was surprisingly calm about the matter and picked up the pieces without word…if only that were his response the next time I would throw something at him.

Memory #2: The Baby Ruth Bar

It was an ordinary fall day like any other when a Boy Scout came to our front door selling candy. My Momma can never turn down small children selling stuff, so she bought each of us a candy bar. She handed my a Baby Ruth bar and told me to give it to Papa Kevin because she was in the middle of folding laundry or something. I took the candy bar and walked into my parents’ bedroom where Papa Kevin was lying in bed and watching television. I cocked my right arm back, Baby Ruth bar in hand, and yelled at him “THINK FAST!” The Baby Ruth bar sailed through the air just as Papa Kevin was turning his head. He no sooner asked, “What?” before the candy bar popped the lens out of his glasses and hit him square in the eyeball.

I hadn’t even registered what had happened when Papa Kevin leapt off the bed in a fit of rage while screaming numerous expletives at me. I ran from the room crying and went straight for my mother. She couldn’t really understand what had happened between Papa Kevin’s yelling and my blubbering. Finally managing to calm me down enough to form coherent sentences, I told her, “I think I killed Kevin!” She logically explained to me that he wouldn’t still be yelling if he were dead, so I said, “I think I blinded Kevin!” This of course startled her, so she ran into the bedroom to check on him. I was instructed to go to my room while he cooled down. He later came upstairs to apologize to me for his outburst (I of course apologized a hundred bajillion times in return), and he convinced me that he was no more blind than usual. We also agreed that there would be no more “THINK FAST!” games in our household without predetermined eye contact, but I’ve been scarred from ever playing that game again.

Memory #3: The Bedtime Story

When I was younger (around 8 or 9), Papa Kevin would always tuck me into bed and tell me a bedtime story. He would tuck me in nice and tightly in my own little cocoon before weaving these ridiculously hilarious tales. One story in particular was the tale about his birth. I’m not sure about the exact details of the story, but a few plot points definitely stick in my memory: Papa Kevin was born inside an ice cube in Alaska, his birth mother put his ice cube in the ocean and he floated across the sea until a gang of pirates found him and took him in, the pirates were later attacked by a tribe of Indians, the Indian chief looked at Papa Kevin and said “How!”, Papa Kevin lived with the Indians until he was finally adopted by Big Momma Thelma. It was the craziest bedtime story I had ever heard, and I laughed so hard until I fell asleep. None of his other stories ever lived up to that, so I had him repeat it many times. The details tended to change in every retelling, but it remains my favorite story of all time.

Memory #4: Krystal Learns to Drive

I was fifteen years old when I got my driver’s permit and first car. I took Driver’s Ed classes three times a week during the summer before my sophomore year, but I still had to practice at home. My Momma was a beyotch to drive with because she was thoroughly convinced I was going to kill us all. Papa Kevin was exceptionally easier to learn with. The first time he took me driving was in the elementary school parking lot in my subdivision. I was practicing my angled parking when Papa Kevin asked, “How does this sunroof work?” I then went on to show him the sunroof button and how to open and close the window. What I forgot to realize during this whole exchange, however, was that my car was in reverse and my foot was not on the brake. I was precisely in the middle of closing the sunroof a second time when I heard a crash. I slammed on the brake and discovered that I had driven up onto the sidewalk behind the parking lot and rear-ended a bicycle rack. I was incredibly embarrassed and tried to look anywhere but Papa Kevin’s face. I could feel his eyes penetrating into the side of my head as I awaited my reprimand, but all I got was “And this is your lesson in paying attention.”

Papa Kevin also enjoyed manipulating my gullibility during those driving lessons. He would tell me stories about all different sorts of things. For example, he explained to me that gas stations were all switching over to digital signs because gas prices were on the rise and they were running out of 2’s and 3’s for their boards. I, of course, believed this and told all my friends my incredibly insightful newfound knowledge. They all stared at me like I was an idiot.

Memory #5: The Vise Grips

You know how when children roughhouse with one another, and one of them always gets hurt? Well, it’s usually always me when Papa Kevin and I play around, but in this instance it was him. On this particular occasion, we were enjoying a nice family trip to Lowe’s on Memorial Day. My mom was talking on her cellphone with my aunt while Papa Kevin and I were playing with all the tools and stuff on the shelves. He discovered an end cap full of tiny vise grips and loosely clipped them to his earlobes. He turned to me and said, “Here, Krystal, this is how you get a man. You need to wear tools as jewelry!”

I, being a 17 year old girl and not understanding how most tools work, thought that you squeezed vise grips to release them. I realized my mistake when I told Papa Kevin to “stop being stupid” and attempted to release the vise grips from his ears. His eyes literally bulged out of his face like in those cartoons, his entire head turned purple, and he proceeded to stomp down the aisle (he didn’t scream at me, which was an improvement since the Baby Ruth incident). He forgave me (and my lack of intelligence) when my mom and I later found him a few aisles over from where we were, but his right earlobe (I fortunately only squeezed one) had a nice lumpy bruise for about 2 months afterward. Despite his forgiveness, however, I do remember him repeatedly muttering “And this is the girl that gets straight A’s” the entire way home.

Memory #6: The Proposal

Despite their being together for nearly 13 years, my Momma and Papa Kevin are not officially married. It’s not that they don’t want to be, it just works better for our family that they remain unwed until a later date. I don’t need a piece of paper to officially make Papa Kevin my dad because he’s already more of a father to me than my real one, but I know that my Momma wants nothing more than to be his wife. They had talked for years about getting a ring and making their engagement official, but it never really worked financially or proved a necessity. That all changed last Christmas.

Papa Kevin, who always saves up his vacation time to spend winter break with me, approached me one day about buying a ring for my mom. I was super excited and we both planned a day to go to the mall and pick one out. The morning of ring shopping day, however, I woke up to find the house empty. I panicked and immediately called Papa Kevin to find out what was going on. The following conversation ensued:

Me: Where are you?!

Pop: I was tired of waiting around for you to wake up.

Me: *looks at clock* It’s only 9 A.M.!

Pop: I know.

Me: If you wanted to leave so early, why didn’t you just wake me up?

Pop: I made a bunch of noise. God, you really can sleep through anything.

Me: Well, are you almost done?

Pop: No, just hurry up and get dressed. Meet me at the mall in front of the giant carousel. No, wait, you can’t go shopping with me until you ride the giant carousel.

Me: Excuse me?

Pop: Be sure to ride on the panda, that’s where I’ll know to look for you.

He then hung up on me, and thirty minutes later I found myself sitting on a panda on the mall’s giant carousel. I then met up with Papa Kevin (who was laughing hysterically at me), and I discovered that he had been to every jeweler in the mall (that would be 11 stores if you were wondering). We grabbed lunch at the Food Court while he showed me catalogs from all the jewelers he liked best. He kept staring at the J.B. Robinson catalog, though, and that’s when I knew that he had already picked one out. After we were finished eating, I told Papa Kevin to take me to the store to show me THE ring. Well, it was definitely THE ONE, and the sales lady basically had to rip it off my finger.

Once we got home after ring shopping, I asked Papa Kevin how he planned on proposing, and he told me all about his plans to take my Momma out to dinner on her birthday (January 4^th) and give her the date night that she is always asking for. They were beautiful plans. Unfortunately, Papa Kevin is not a patient man. We picked the ring up on Christmas Eve, and as we were opening up our presents that night (we always open Christmas gifts the night before) he walked into the living room and asked, “Momma, will you marry me?” My Momma looked confused, but the adorable expression on Pop’s face and my huge smile told her that the moment was really happening. She said yes, and she was given the ring, which she deemed as “more than perfect”. It was a beautiful family moment, and I’m so happy that I got to be a part of it.

So that concludes my top six favorite memories spent with my Papa Kevin. Some are happy memories while others portray me as an incredibly idiotic and abusive child. Despite those unflattering moments of my character, though, they are experiences that helped shape the relationship I have with my Papa Kevin today. I couldn't have asked for a better man for my Momma, and I thank God every day for bringing him into our lives. I love you, Papa Kevin, and hope you had a fabulous birthday (you know, minus the colonoscopy part).

The Pinterest Challenge: Fall 2011 Edition

2011-11-01T18:36:00.001-04:00

Remember when I participated in the unofficial Pinterest Challenge back in August? No? Well here’s that link for you. Anyway, just like this past summer, Sherry at Young House Love and Katie from Bower Power announced the Pinterest Challege: Fall Edition. The announcement was some time last week, and tomorrow (Wednesday, 11/02/11) is when all the final submissions are going to be posted. Unfortunately, this Pinterest Challenge could not have come at a more inconvenient time in my life. I have a major (like “45% of my final grade” major) project due next Monday and a 12 page paper due this Thursday (I should probably start that…) Anywho, it’s needless to say that I just couldn’t find the time to participate this time around. Wop wop. Sad face. Tears.

However, since I have now acquired roughly 219 pins, I have decided to share with you what I would have attempted to make had I had 28 hours in a day and about 15 days in a week. Here we go…

Awesomesauce melted crayon art:

Simply adorable nail-and-string art (One of Indiana’s very few redeeming qualities: it has a crazy cool shape that is perfect for this project):

This sweet but totally rockstar hair-do:

Achieve sock bun curls without both frizz and the dreaded hair elastic crease around the crown of my head:

Genius paint chip dry-erase calendar:

I could go on forever, but I won’t. If you are interested in checking out the rest of my pins, you can find me on Pinterest right à here ß

As always, thank you for stopping by my blog and be sure to check in some time next week to see what goes down at my 21^st Birthday Extravaganza this upcoming weekend. Woohoo! Wine cork projects, here I come!

Photo credits: Crayon art, string art, sweet braid, sock bun curls, dry-erase board

Miracles Happen

2011-10-23T00:50:00.001-04:00

Life has been one heck of an emotional roller coaster this past week. Life has also shown me hope and given me faith. In the last seven days I have endured more pain and heartbreak than I ever knew possible…I’ve also felt such joy and immense happiness. I’m not a particularly religious kind of girl, but I now believe more than I ever have that there is something greater out there that guides us all and watches over us. I always thought that it would be something really profound and life shattering that would help me come to this certain epiphany one day. I never in a million years thought that these new thoughts and beliefs would be the result of my golden retriever.

It all started last Saturday while I was enjoying a ten-minute break at work. I was skimming through Facebook on my phone when I saw my mom’s most recent status:

Despite her claim that our golden retriever was perking up, I was still worried. Ginger has had many medical issues over the years (epilepsy, a uterine tumor, obesity, hip dysplasia) so it could have been a number of things that sent her into the animal hospital. I frantically called my mom and she played it off like it was no big deal, “It’s just a stomach bug. Pancreatitis. The doctor is taking good care of her and says she is perking up.”

Feeling slightly relieved, I began asking how our other dog, Daisy, was doing. Since the passing of my sheltie, Missy, two years ago, Daisy and Ginger have become the best of friends. They always snuggle together when they are sleeping, and they bask in their mutual annoyance of their littlest sister, Molly (she’s the princess of the family). My Momma said that Daisy had been crying at the baby gate that separates our kitchen and living room because she was lonely, so they let her onto the “forbidden” side of house. Then she texted me the most heart breaking picture I’ve ever seen:

The caption read: “Isn’t she cute? She misses Gingy.” Yes, Mom, the dog is cute…she is always cute, but why would you send me this sad picture?! Dang near made me cry.

I went to bed that night anxious and hardly slept, but I kept telling myself that Ginger was in great hands and she’d be fine. I had to get up early to work an 8 A.M. shift the next day, so I didn’t have time to call my mom and check in to see how the dog was doing. My Sunday went by in a hectic day at work followed by a model-building project for my design class, and I finally got around to calling Momma at about 10:30 P.M. When she answered the phone, I instantly noticed her somber tone. She didn’t get past “Hello, how was your day?” before I asked how Gingy was doing. My question was answered with a few moments silence proceeded with: “It’s not good, honey.” I was shell-shocked. I was told the dog would be okay. What had happened in less than 24 hours that things could go from “okay” to “it’s not looking good”?

I found out that the doctor had come in early in the morning to check on Ginger when he noticed how lethargic she was again. Without being too graphic in details, she had gotten very sick all over herself as well. He ran many tests and x-rays, and the results were terrifying. Ginger’s pancreas had swollen so much that it was causing liver failure and corrupting her small intestines. The x-ray was difficult to read, but he suspected that the swollen pancreas was actually a growth and she had pancreatic cancer. He couldn’t officially diagnose cancer until an ultrasound was done (and the ultrasound technicians only came in on Wednesdays), but he had one more scary discovery to reveal. Ginger’s body had been treating itself like it had a broken back, and she had grown bone bridges between all the gaps in her spine; her entire spine had essentially become one bone and was suffocating the spinal cord. He said that he could easily treat the spine had she not had the pancreatic infection, but she was just in too much pain to worry about it at the moment. The final prognosis: Ginger had to be put to sleep.

Imagine hearing all this in a phone call after you were told your dog was going to be fine. I was hysterical…I was beyond hysterical. I had to go home. I had to say goodbye. I had already lost my childhood dog/best friend a week after leaving for college, and I emotionally could not handle losing another dog without saying goodbye. I needed closure. So I hung up the phone call with my mom and hurriedly threw clothes into a bag. Ten minutes later I was on the highway making the 3.5 hour-long drive home. I hadn’t bothered to put on regular clothes or brush my hair, so I was quite a mess. Picture a hysterically crying girl wearing polar bear pajamas and a nasty ponytail while pumping gas into her car. People pointed, stared, and laughed. Does everyone go to the Speedway at 11 P.M.? Anyway…

I got home at about 2:30 A.M. and instantly crashed on the couch (that drive is beyond exhausting). I woke up at about 7 A.M. when my mom was getting ready for work. I talked to her for a little bit and found out that the doctor was going to call us around 11 or noon to schedule the “final” appointment, and then we would go from there. I quietly nodded and tried to go back to bed. Sleep was frustratingly elusive, however, so I ended up taking a shower and doing anything to keep my mind off the event that was about to happen.

My step-dad came home shortly later, but he was not the Papa Kevin that I knew and loved. I barely got a “Hi” as he went straight for his and my mom’s bedroom. I found him lying in bed watching TV, but I don’t think he even knew what he was watching. He is a History and Discovery Channel kind of guy, but he was unblinkingly watching something called Supernatural (which is friggin creepy as crap, by the way). I tried talking to him, but getting a response was like pulling teeth, so I settled for just being present and taking a nap. I woke up one or two times, and every time I looked over I saw him still staring at the TV (which had changed to Smallville at this point, which is another show that I know he’s never seen before).

I couldn’t blame Papa Kevin for being upset and basically just existing. Ginger was the family dog, but she was his dog. Ginger was his birthday present 11 years ago, and she was the first dog that he ever really owned. She was going to be his hunting dog, but we later learned that she was scared to death of nature. Her phobia of grass and the outdoors didn’t make her much of a hunting dog, but she was the most loyal companion a person could ever ask for. She worshipped the ground that Papa Kev walked on. He just had to walk through the door and her eyes instantly lit up, and she would follow him around the house with this look of utter adoration on her furry little face. Yes, Ginger was most definitely Papa Kevin’s dog, and he was falling apart inside.

After my off-and-on nap taking, we finally got a call from my mom at about 11:30 A.M. She was talking to Papa Kevin, so I didn’t know what was being said, but I knew that something was happening when Papa Kev went from catatonic to stupidly grinning. I was sitting on pins and needles until he got off the phone and shouted “GINGY’S COMING HOME!” I was shell-shocked again. This was the same dog that was suffering from multiple organ failure, but she was fine now? How was this even possible? How could a dog go from fine to death to fine again? My head was spinning.

It turns out that Dr. Jerry (who I owe everything to) had worked tirelessly with vigorous treatments to bring our Ginger back to health. He spent the entire weekend by her side (even sleeping at the hospital) to make sure that he did everything in his power for our dog. And miracle of all miracles, it paid off.

When Momma got home from work a few minutes after our phone call, we all piled in the car and heading to the animal hospital to bring our Gingy home. Once inside the building, Papa Kevin kept staring at the back area with this look of excitement on his face. I kept wondering if he was just going to barge in there and get her, but he thankfully managed to contain himself. We waited about twenty minutes while the nurses bathed Ginger and the doctor finished his previous appointment, and then we were given a quick run down of her condition. We still weren’t in the clear about the pancreatic cancer until the ultrasound on Wednesday, but in that moment she was well enough to come home and stop racking up hospital bills.

In the middle of a lesson about her many medications, the doors opened and Ginger came bounding into the room. I don’t know if it was because I was closest to the door or if she missed me (I hadn’t been home in over two months), but Ginger came straight to me and nuzzled her face in my lap. I almost burst into tears I was so happy. The doctor made one final announcement: “This is not the same dog you brought me.” before he let us continue our little family reunion. In that little examination room we all held back our tears as we hugged, kissed, and doted on Ginger. She basked in the attention and circled around the three of us as we said things like “Do you know how many tears we lost over you?” “Look at you pretty girl!” “We love you so much Gingy.”

As we were leaving the hospital, there was a nurses meeting in the waiting room and they all got in line to pet Ginger and say goodbye to her (it turns out that Ginger had become quite popular over the weekend). Papa Kevin and I left Momma to pay the bill and buy some digestive system-friendly food while we took Ginger outside for some fresh air. We were no sooner out the door when Ginger went bounding for our car…she was ready to go home too.

We spent the rest of our Monday giving Ginger all of our love. Momma and I went to the store to buy her a big, fluffy dog bed in hopes that she’d stay off the couch (Papa Kevin didn’t want her to strain her back), but we came home to find her sprawled out on “her” loveseat anyway. Papa Kevin refused to leave her side all night, and this did not go down well with Princess Molly. Molly barked and whined at the gate, and when finally allowed entrance to Ginger’s quarters, she did everything in her power to get Daddy’s attention. Momma and I laughed hysterically when Papa Kevin later told us “Molly is a brat.” We’d been telling him that for years, but it finally took one of the other babies getting sick for him to see the monster he had created. It’s about time that Molly was taken off her pedestal.

Despite not wanting to leave my family and Gingy, I left home late Monday night because I had to open at work Tuesday morning, but I was much more confident in Ginger’s health status (and Momma promised to keep me up-to-date on any and all developments). And after impatiently waiting all of Wednesday for the results, it has been confirmed that Ginger is cancer free and had only suffered an extreme pancreatitis infection. That dog truly is a miracle.

Ginger continues to go to the vet for regular tests just to make sure that she really is healthy, and we are waiting for her intestines to become strong enough for her normal food. Momma says that Gingy is finally getting her appetite back, which is very welcome after having to force feed her the nasty, bland food the vet recommended. Ginger has also become a favorite amongst the entire staff at the animal hospital. At her last visit, one of the nurses gussied her up with some festive Halloween ribbons and bandana while all the other nurses came and bid her hello. Just to show off how much better she felt, Ginger entertained everyone in the office with her best “trick,” in which she carries the end of the her leash in her mouth and walks herself around. Ginger has always preferred to walk herself, and it has apparently become a crowd favorite.

So as I said, this past week has been an emotional ride, but miracles do happen and I’ve witnessed it. On paper, our Gingy shouldn’t be alive, but she is doing well and I am told that she is more active than ever. This is where I would now normally leave you with a question about how your own life relates to the story, but I want to end by dedicating this post to the other doggie I lost two years ago. My beloved Missy Girl. I think about her everyday, and I still love her with my entire heart. I will never forget how wonderful she was in every way, and while I know she must be lonely up there in Doggie Heaven, I am so glad that Ginger is not ready to visit her yet.

"Krystal's Little Missy"
August 1, 1995 - September 5, 2009

Krystal Light Designs

2011-10-10T20:31:00.002-04:00

Remember when I wrote that post about all the different things I had been making out of paper? Well, that was actually an exercise in learning how paper behaves. My first big project in my interior design studio was to design and build a lighted art sculpture using only paper. And let me tell you, it’s been one heck of a journey.

It all began when my professor told us to make three sketches to bring in and develop further. In true Krystal fashion, I completely misinterpreted this assignment and made actual SKETCHES of my ideas instead of sketch models. And when you add in the fact that my drawing skills could use about an eternity of improvement, these weren’t much to go on.

Thankfully I had tried constructing a lampshade from one of the drawings I made, but this was as far as I got:

It was meant to be folded and look like layers of flaps, such as this:

But the holes were entirely too big and the paper became incredibly flimsy, therefore, it was unusable material. So it was back to the drawing board. That’s where this comes in:

I came into class and everyone immediately started telling me how cute my “crown” was. I has absolutely horrified when my professor put it on his head. Didn’t they know it was supposed to hang upside down on the lamp?

Yeah, now it just looks like an upside down crown. But hope was not lost. After a consultation with my professor, I was feeling quite good about my new direction: a smaller weave, a more spread out pattern of openings, and put another piece of paper behind the weave to create opaqueness. I got straight to work that night, and after 8 hours of work I had developed this drum shade:

Here’s how it looked with the light behind it:

This was my best mock up at that point, but I still wasn’t crazy about it. My classmates all liked it and gave me compliments, but I just wasn’t feeling this design. I would look around the classroom and see all the amazing sculptures, and mine just felt mediocre in comparison. Despite my mixed feelings, my professor thought it was really good and told me to listen to my peers. Feeling slightly more confident, I started on my final project using the necessary heat-resistant paper. 2 hours into studio, I was this far on my new shorter and wider drum shade:

This is about the time when my professor showed up for our one-on-one consultation. I was feeling good because of our short conversation at the beginning of class, but my heart dropped when he said, “It’s great and you could turn this in now, but there’s no volume. It’s all surface manipulation. You've beat this idea to death, and I’d love for you to try something else.”

I was beyond frustrated. I had absolutely zero ideas. I was surrounded by paper, and I hadn’t a clue what to do with it. Thankfully, my professor was able to sense my stress and offered this idea: make something modular and fit pieces together. So I made a bunch of these:

But I couldn’t get them to fit together in an interesting form or make anything usable. I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry so bad, but I couldn’t do it in front of my entire class…so I called my Momma after class and cried to her. After listening to me blubber about my anger and frustration, she encouraged me to take a break from the project for the night and start again in the morning with a fresh mind. I completely planned on following that advice (it’s good advice), but I didn’t have time to wait until the morning. So I continued to play with modular pieces all through the night, and in a fit of rage I crumpled one up. The paper was too thick to easily crumple, though, and it ended up just curling in on itself. That’s when this was born:

It was interesting. It had lines and curves. I could easily create a bunch of them and piece them together. It was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that I was given this completely renewed sense of energy and stayed up until 4:30 A.M. making this wonderful, beautiful structure:

I was so proud of what I had created. I felt accomplished and successful. I had made something beautiful, interesting, and voluminous. And when it came time to go to class and show my professor, I sat on the edge of my seat in nervous anticipation. I literally stared at the door waiting for him to come in, and when he did and finally saw my new mock up...he gave me a High Five and a “You did it.” My heart swelled with pride.

I got straight to work on making my final structure using the heat-resistant paper, and this time I had a great sense of direction and confidence. My professor eventually came around for our one-on-one and he told me the best words I’ve ever heard in my life: “You are my success story of the semester. I’ve never had a student who was so frustrated and ready to give up just come back and make something so awesome.” How amazing is that? Me, the success story of the semester. That’s the best compliment I’ve ever received.

I continued to work through the weekend on my final structure, and after long hours and a permanent headache from rubber cement fumes, I created this:

With the room darkened and the lamp turned on, I was pleasantly surprised by the shadows that my structure creates.

Seriously, how amazing are all these new shapes created by the light and negative space?

But wait! There’s more! I still had to create a custom cut sheet for my lighted art. And after 3 different designs that weren’t thrilling me, I decided to just piece my favorite parts from each design to create one killer cut sheet. Here’s the front side:

And the back:

My cut sheet is admittedly more intricate than any others I saw from my classmates this afternoon, but I’ve always been known for taking things one step further than instructed. Just call me an overachiever. And while you do, I’ll be impatiently waiting for my grade because even though you and I both know that The Success Story of the Semester deserves an “A+” my professors may feel differently.

On a side note, today in class I discovered another reason why I love being an interior design major: the professors give us Capri Suns and cupcakes after finishing big projects. I definitely don't remember the biology department ever giving me a cupcake after an exam, but if they had I might have stuck around.

So how about you guys? Have you created anything over the weekend that made you squeal with joy and want to share with the world? Tell me all about it!

Psst: I haven't gotten my final grade on the project yet, but I just found out that my professors want to take it with them to a new design studio in Columbus, IN, to be displayed in a student gallery! The gallery's grand opening is October 31st, and I would totally be there if I didn't have school.

A Major Change

2011-09-25T00:01:00.000-04:00

I apologize in advance for the length of this post. This is a story that is very hard for me to share because I still live in denial 6 out of 7 days of the week, and I don’t really want to admit a lot of things to myself let alone other people. However, I think I need to get this all off my chest in order to be able to move forward, and moving forward is of the utmost importance to me. So consider yourselves forewarned: it’s about to get real up in here.

It all started during the summer of my junior year of high school when I was visiting and applying to colleges. I had known for years that I wanted nothing more than to be an architect, and I had prepared myself with a comprehensive background in math and physics. I spent months researching the best of the best schools for architecture, and I began visiting numerous schools with my mom. I was informed that I needed to apply to at least four schools, and I eventually narrowed my list down to Ball State University, Iowa State University, University of Cincinnati (DAAP), and the University of Michigan Ann Arbor. After visiting the schools, U of M and UC were my top choices, but U of M was undeniably my first choice. I had always been a huge (Re: Obsessed) fan of Wolverine sports, and the actual thought of going to Michigan made my heart go pitter-patter.

Around September and October when the acceptance letters started rolling in, I became a nervous wreck. I frantically checked the mailbox everyday for that blue and yellow envelope, but it was heartbreakingly elusive. My parents did their best to be encouraging, but they were just as anxious as I was. By the end of October I had been accepted to Ball State and their Honors college (I hated BSU and didn’t really care), Iowa State University (this was just another application, I wasn’t really serious about it), the University of Cincinnati and DAAP (I was quite pleased), but the letter from Michigan never came. Finally (finally!) the letter from Michigan arrived in November, and my heart was already breaking before I’d opened it because it was small, and that usually meant rejection. My mom ended up opening it for me, and we found the second worst word ever within the first sentence: waitlisted.

I didn’t understand why I was waitlisted because my 4.12 GPA and extensive list of extracurricular activities were more than impressive, but it turns out that my attempt at direct admission into the architecture school prevented me from getting accepted at all (I was later informed that I was a shoo-in had I just applied for regular admission). I was told by the admissions office not to give up hope (“Waitlisted does not mean rejected.”), but my dream had already been shattered in my eyes.

Rewind to what was going on during this whole situation, and I was enjoying a pretty great senior year. I had a nice first trimester of school, and I was extremely excited to start the second because I would be interning with a huge architecture firm in my town. Unfortunately, this was all going on in October of 2008 when the economy suddenly plummeted. I received a call from the architecture firm stating that they sadly wouldn’t be able to take on an intern at that moment (despite being unpaid), and I was suddenly left with no where to go. I had an emergency meeting with my guidance counselor and intern director, and they informed me that the only contact they had that was still accepting interns was a dental office. I had to find a job in order to get credit for my internship class, so I accepted and called the dentist that afternoon. The dentist ended up being a really nice lady, and I looked forward to working for her.

When I walked into my first day of interning, I had expected to spend the afternoon filing charts and doing office work, but I was completely wrong. No sooner had I walked through the door when the doctor grabbed me and said, “Let’s get to work.” Work that afternoon ended up being four extractions, a root canal, and a never-ending supply of cavity fillings. I got to assist through all these procedures, helping with the suction and handing tools to the doctor. When I got home later that evening and my mom asked how my day was, I didn’t hesitate to announce “I’m going to be a dentist!”

After a few weeks of working at the dental office and talking things over with my parents, architecture was a thing of the past and dentistry was my future. I applied to Indiana University Bloomington and IUPUI, and I was immediately accepted into both. However, despite being completely sure in my decision to study biology/pre-dentistry, I was reluctant to declare a college…I was still waiting for that letter from Michigan.

Months passed and eventually it was April. It was time to choose a college. At this point, the letter from Michigan still hadn’t arrived and I was no longer holding out hope. I had already arranged a roommate at IU, and it was time to send in my deposit. And wouldn’t you know that the day after sending in my deposit to IU would finally be the day I received my Michigan acceptance letter. It was like the universe was playing a practical joke on me. My parents sat me down and told me that Michigan didn’t have to be out of the cards, and they would willingly eat the IU deposit money to see me live out my dream. I was extremely touched, but I had so many plans for IU already and I was prepared to walk away from Michigan. Not to mention, $15,000 per year compared to $50,000 per year tuition is quite the difference. Going to an in-state school would save me from an eternity of debt, and IU was more and more looking like the better choice.

Before I knew it, I was officially a freshman at Indiana University. My first semester was jam packed with biology (evolution), sociology, psychology, Spanish, and the history of rock ‘n’ roll (best class ever!!). I took an immediate liking to sociology and psychology, and I decided to minor in both. Biology on the other hand…let’s just say that I cried every day, but I was able to pull an A- after a miracle and a lot of extra credit. My second semester of college went without a hitch, and I found that I had a certain proficiency for chemistry. I finished the year off with quite a bit of confidence and pride, and I looked forward to what the following year had to bring.

After a few short weeks at home with my parents and dogs, I was heading back to Bloomington to move into my first apartment and start summer school. I completed my statistics requirement with an A+ (it was a cake walk after my high school Calc II class), and I did extremely well in my second chemistry class. In fact, I loved chemistry so much that I often thought about changing my major from biology to chemistry. However, I decided to test things out for another semester before I made any big decisions.

To say my first semester of sophomore year was rough would be the ultimate understatement. I was taking a MCAT/DAT-prep biology course, organic chemistry, medical sociology, and a biology lab. I was overwhelmed, stressed, and I lived each day in a state of hysteria. I think I called my mom twice a day in full-on meltdown mode. I spent every waking moment studying, but I couldn’t seem to pass a single test despite my best efforts. I was used to being a straight-A student, and I had reached a point where I was convinced I was going to flunk out of college. I felt completely out of control of my own life, and my constant stream of negative thoughts was making me physically ill. Eventually the semester ended and I went on a short trip to Minnesota with my family, but throughout the entire trip I was on my phone waiting for my grades to post. I was still so focused on school and failure that I couldn’t even enjoy a vacation. I remember my mom and aunt admonishing me for ruining the trip with my grade obsession, but I couldn’t help it…I had to know how I did. Overall, the results weren’t completely awful: I ended up raking in good grades in my lab and sociology class, but I barely pulled C-'s in biology and chemistry. I was disappointed in myself, but I vowed to do better the next semester.

Despite my determination to succeed, however, I fell even further in the sophomore slump. I barely passed molecular biology and organic chem lab, I struggled in my sociology class but managed a decent grade after extra credit, and for the first time in my life I received an F. I could go into minute detail about my experience with organic chemistry II, but I’ll give you the summarized version: go to class, understand nothing, cry, go home and study, still understand nothing, cry, e-mail professor questions, receive answers but still understand nothing, cry, take exams and think I ended up doing well, receive 20% on exam, cry, repeat.

It was a never-ending cycle of failure and confusion, and it took a toll on me both mentally and physically. I hated school, and the very thought of having to go to class filled me with such dread. I tried to remedy these feelings by telling myself that I was homesick. A little homesickness was completely normal. But every time I found myself driving back to school after a weekend at home, I found that it was nothing like that first trip to Bloomington where I was happy and excited to go to school. The minute I was out of my parents’ vision I would start up with the tears, and I didn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed by it so I simply let myself cry. I remember one particular drive that took place when I was returning to school after spring break. I had dawdled the entire day beforehand, finding every excuse for not returning to Bloomington. My mom eventually had to push me out the front door and force me to leave. I hadn’t even pulled out of the subdivision before the tears made their appearance. I was in complete ugly cry by the time I hit the highway. I cried the entire 3.5 hours I was driving, and the entire time I kept asking myself, “Why am I doing this? Is this even worth it?”

I finished my sophomore year feeling completely defeated, but I was too proud to give up entirely. I decided to retake the organic chemistry class I had failed over the summer. I was determined to right my wrongs, and really, how hard could a class be the second time around? As it turns out, it was still pretty darn hard.

I gave the summer class everything I had, and I did do better…instead of scoring 20% on every exam, I was averaging 45%. That was twice as good as the first time around, but it was still not enough. The only reason I didn’t cry as much was because I started working a part-time job that took my mind off school 7 hours a day, and by “not as much” I mean twice a week instead of twice a day.

By the second to last week of summer school, I finally decided to take a step back and look at my situation from a different perspective. As much as it pained me to admit it, I was depressed. I had been told my many others that they believed I was depressed, but I refused to acknowledge it. My doctor at one point even voiced his concerns that he suspected I had depression, but I adamantly denied it. I always pictured depressed people as lying in bed all day and ignoring their responsibilities, and I didn’t want to think of myself like that. However, when it got to point that I was lying in bed more often than not, and I woke up each morning with this sinking feeling of misery, I knew that something was wrong.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when I realized that my life was not taking the direction that I wanted it to. My realization was more like a weeklong venture of lying in bed every morning in a state of dread about having to go to class. I had gotten to a point where I needed to give myself an actual pep talk to get up and leave my apartment. It started off with something like this: “You are going to get out of bed. You are going to get dressed. You are going to brush your hair. You are going to go to class. You are going to listen and try your best to understand. You will do your best. Everything will fall into place.” But by the end of the week, my pep talk sounded more like this: “You are going to get out of bed. You are going to get dressed. You are going to brush your hair. You are going to go to class. You are going to listen and try your best, but you know nothing is going to come of it. Why are you even doing this anymore? What is the goal? Do you even remember? Think about it.” I lied in bed for a few more minutes thinking about it, but no real answers were coming to me. The obvious answer was that I was doing all this to prepare for dental school, so I had to ask myself this: “Why do you want to be a dentist?” I didn’t have an answer for that one, and that’s when I recognized that I had a problem.

The morning I had my last pep talk was the morning I finally admitted to myself how unhappy I was. I decided to stop living in a painful state of denial and realize that maybe everyone was right…I did have depression. I then asked myself one last question: “What are you going to do about it?”

I had thought about changing my major a hundred dozen times, but I was never really serious about it until that morning. When I finally decided to admit how depressed and miserable I was, I also realized that another semester of biology and chemistry was not going to make my psyche any better. I had to make changes in my life if I wanted to see changes.

I spent hours on the school website that night pursuing all the different major options, but nothing stuck out to me. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, and I kept cursing the world for making me choose my entire future when I’m only 20 years old. Honestly, it isn’t fair. I redo my hair maybe five or six times before I decide to just leave it how it was to begin with…how was I supposed to pick a major that would one day choose my career? I was getting a headache thinking about all these different majors, so I decided to take a break and mess around on FaceBook and Pinterest for a while. I was in the midst of a home interior pinning spree when it suddenly hit me: “This is what I’m passionate about. Homes, buildings, décor, architecture…this is what I want to do.” So much like my hair, I ended up exactly where I began: interior design.

I’m now five weeks into being an interior design major, and I feel like a completely different person than who I was ~~a year~~ two months ago. I can honestly say that I am happy with what I am doing, and I genuinely look forward to what is going to come. I am filled with such excitement when I think about all the new opportunities I have: studying abroad, working with Habitat for Humanity, and spending each day doing something I really love. I no longer see my homework as something to dread, because it doesn’t feel like work at all.

I’m not going to say that it’s always easy because I do have difficulty with the sketching and other artistic aspects I’ve never practiced before, but I look forward to learning how to do all these things. Does it suck that I’m a third year college student restarting a four-year program? Yes, but I’m okay with being called a freshman again…it’s even fun sometimes. I feel like I’ve been given this clean slate, and I plan on making the most of it. I’ve learned so much about myself and the college experience in the last two years, and I believe I’m in a much better place to accept that I’m never going to be perfect and I’m not going to get an A in every class. Perfection isn’t a horrible thing to strive for, but I’m no longer going to make myself insane by trying to achieve it. It’s okay to admit you have weaknesses. In fact, it’ll probably make you stronger in the end. So I’ll leave you here with my final thought for the night: change is ~~good~~ totally awesome.

Much to Do About Paper

2011-09-22T20:30:00.003-04:00

I haven’t written a blog post in a while. I used to write when I was suffering from my insomnia at 2 A.M., but now that time has been consumed with schoolwork, just like the rest of my life. And what has my schoolwork consisted of lately? Let’s just say it involves paper…lots and lots of paper. I’m literally drowning in paper. Just look at my dining room table:

We’re working with paper manipulations in my design class right now, which have resulted in my recent accumulation of paper. We first started with just basic folding, and here is my first attempt at the challenge to create a structure using less than 5 folds:

We were then introduced to scoring and rolling for more rounded, free-standing structures, and here was what resulted from that assignment:

In our last class we had to create 10 miniature sketch models and present 3. In the 45 minutes we were given, I was able to create 9. Here is some of what I made. You may notice that at one point we were given a special tool: tape. Magical tape. The things people could create when they were given tape! I don’t include myself in that group, seeing as my taped structures are tiny piles of “What is that?!”

And just for a little bit of fun, here is a piece of origami I made last weekend:

So that’s what I’ve been up to this week, but what about you? I’d love to hear about some one’s exciting life that doesn’t revolve around books, work, and unfathomable amounts of paper.

If I Die Young...

2011-09-14T23:08:00.001-04:00

I am in the midst of a stress management course (which is ironically the most stressful class I have this semester), and we are currently discussing the stress related to trying to live with good morals and values. While completing my assigned reading for the week, I came across a passage that asks what you most want to be remembered for after you die. It poses the question of what you think four different people will say about you at your funeral. These four people come from a variety of backgrounds and they each know you in a different way; they are one of your parents, your best friend, your employer, and some one from your church.

I don’t know why this resonated with me considering I usually skip over these sections of the textbook, but I really got to thinking about the different things people would remember me for. If I were to die young, what would be said about me at my funeral? I don’t want to be remembered for my sometimes going a little too long without a shower or my disastrous attempts at cooking…I want to be remembered for my best qualities. Unfortunately, I can’t exactly control what people are going to say about me once I’m dead, so I took it upon myself to write four different eulogies. I think I’ve accurately captured what stands out about my character to each of my four people, and I hope they seriously consider using these prewritten eulogies at my funeral. I mean really, I’m saving them hours of work here.

The first of my eulogies was written as if it were coming from my Momma. Now if I were to die young, I picture her too hysterical to speak in front of a group of my loved ones, so this is what she would say if she could manage to hold back her tears for five minutes.

We gather here today to celebrate the life of my daughter Krystal. I loved her more than anything, and my world revolved around her and her alone. I think she resented me sometimes for not giving her any brothers or sisters, but I knew that she was perfect and any other child would pale in comparison. She was also very pretty. I loved nothing more than to stare at her beauty for hours on end, and I made sure to put several mirrors in her bedroom so she could bask in her captivating presence as well.

When I look back on the life of my daughter, I think of a very active child. She knew that one of my favorite hobbies was driving her everywhere she needed to go, so she made sure to join a lot of school clubs and sports. This is a wonderful example of the thoughtful, considerate person she was. I have a strong suspicion that she only pretended to be very bad at learning to drive because she knew how saddened I would be when my days as her personal chauffeur came to an end. Again, my daughter was a beautiful and selfless individual.

Reflecting on the academic aspects of my daughter’s life, I remember a bright girl full of a generous amount of knowledge. I constantly urged her to abandon her books and have fun once in awhile, but Krystal knew that studying as often as possible would help her realize her dreams. She taught me something new everyday, and I would never tire of listening to her talk about school and all that she was learning. I can’t count the number of times I have thanked God for blessing me with a genius for a daughter. And a pretty one at that.

I could go on for years about every thing that was wonderful about Krystal, but what I want people to remember most about her is that she was hard-working, responsible, pretty, and punctual. As most of you know, I tend to be 10 to 15 minutes late for everything, and this used to annoy Krystal to no end. Whenever we had events we were attending together, Krystal would always urge me to hurry up and not make both of us late. I used to see this as nagging, but my perfect daughter would never nag and I now know that she was only trying to make me a better person and mother. That was the type of woman my daughter was: she only wanted what was best for others, and she was very pretty.

The next eulogy would come from my best friend Amanda, who also happens to be my cousin. Again, I picture Amanda as being too grief-stricken to actually speak at my funeral, but this is what I would want her to say should she manage to remain above the depths of despair.

I first met Krystal when I was two years old. Actually, I was one year and 364 days old. Now that I think about it, though, I’m not even sure if I met her on the day she was born because I was probably too busy celebrating my own birthday, so let’s just say I’ve known her most of my life.

Krystal and I connected instantly, and we never left one another’s side at family functions. I was so excited when her parents got a divorce because that meant my uncle would bring her to my house on the weekends when he had visitation. We were never bored and constantly made up creative games and activities. I remember this one time I got hurt playing on the playground, and Krystal couldn’t stop laughing about it for hours. Oh, how I loved to make her happy. This is why I didn’t let her know that I knew she always let me win at Disney Scene It.

Once we got older, our time together shrunk, but our bond grew stronger. We went through the ups and downs of life together. She stole my best friends and claimed them as her own, but I was willing to share and all was good. Things were more fun with four people anyway. In terms of helping one another grow, I taught her how to make round pancakes and make the 4-leaf clover shape with her tongue. She taught me the lyrics to the Hillshire Farms “Beef Hot Links” jingle and not much else. We were very evenly matched.

For some reason neither of us could explain, being in each other’s presence instantly reverted us back to 8 years old. Krystal more so than myself. She honestly has said some incredibly stupid things, which usually resulted in my looking at her like she was challenged. It was okay, though. She was very pretty so she didn’t need to say smart things all the time.

Krystal and I didn’t agree on a lot of things…I still to this day can’t understand her love for Hannah Montana…but she was my other half, and I will walk through the rest of my life like an emotionally empty zombie without her.

The third eulogy would be presented by the assistant general manager at Menards. I feel like he could best convey my sense of work ethic, but I still wouldn’t trust him to say everything I’d want him to say. Here is what I have written for him:

I may not have known Krystal for a long time, but I knew her long enough to understand her work ethic and know that she was the best employee I ever had the pleasure to manage. She always faced the money in her cash register and sorted her redeemed coupons, which made my job much easier. When I asked her to work at the service desk without any training, she did it with minimal complaining and only one “Say whaaaat?!” When I purposely messed up her obsessively organized gift card display, she responded with only one swear word before setting it back. Man, she loved those gift cards…that’s why I gave her the job to count all the blank gift cards in the store, which she later informed me was a total of 729. Krystal was always prepared to handle whatever I threw at her, and I respected that. All in all, she was a great employee and she will be missed.

The final eulogy would be presented by the pastor at my old church. I didn’t know him all that well and he didn’t really know me, but this is what I would want him to say:

Ladies and gentlemen, we have congregated today to pay respects to the life that Krystal lived. I didn’t have the opportunity to know her in her final years, but I do remember the angelic child she once was. I know that underneath that façade of her being dragged to church kicking and screaming, she was a really good girl. Maybe she just wasn’t a morning person. She always became more pleasant after being given her donuts and orange juice. Although, there was the one time she convincingly pretended to have a fever to get out of the Christmas play…

But that is neither here nor there. Krystal was a great soul with a good heart, and that is what her family and friends will remember. Who cares that she and her cousin Amanda mockingly wrote that disgraceful church hymn that just repeated the same two words over and over? I’m sure that over the course of her life she matured into a wonderful woman with a good sense of who she was and what her beliefs were. And I’m sure she was also very pretty.

So there you have it folks. That’s what I want to be said at my funeral. Those eulogies exactly express the modest person I am, and they are completely without bias. But that’s enough about my ego boosting, what would you want to be remembered for?

Psst: I read the first eulogy to my Momma, and her response was “That was, um, creative?” I think that was code for “You have problems, my love.”

An Unwelcome Wake Up Call

2011-09-09T03:28:00.003-04:00

When I moved into my apartment over a year ago, I was this blissfully unaware 19 year old girl. I was excited to have 750 square feet to decorate however I wanted, and I couldn’t wait to experience all the twists and turns of being on my own. I felt like this super responsible adult that did responsible things like grocery shopping and using an oven to cook food. Despite experiencing a series of stressful events like tornados and summer chemistry, life was pretty fantastic for quite some time. Then, approximately three months later, the most annoying girl in the history of the world moved in upstairs.

To be honest, I can’t tell you much about this girl because I’ve never actually spoken a single word to her. I’ve also only seen her maybe five times. In all actuality, I probably wouldn’t even know she existed if I was deaf. Unfortunately for me, though, I have pretty incredible hearing and The Girl Upstairs likes to make lots of noise. Lots and lots of disturbing noise.

It all started with her surround sound system. Her extremely loud, vibrates-my-walls surround sound system. Not only is it disruptive when I’m trying to read insanely boring biology text, but nothing is more annoying than trying to watch Modern Family with a two second delay of sound crossovers because The Girl Upstairs is watching it too. Also, if I’ve never really met The Girl Upstairs, I probably shouldn’t know that she likes action films with a lot of gunfights and high-speed car chases. I’m just saying.

My next complaint is her mid-week partying. I realize that we are in college. I realize that we are at Indiana University, the number one party school in the country. What I don’t understand is why she is hosting parties at 11 PM on a Wednesday night. These parties go on until roughly 5:30 AM, and I only know this because that’s when the hardcore rap music finally ends. The people in the apartment across from me have actually filed noise ordinances against her numerous times. Considering the fact that they don’t even have to share walls with her, you can just imagine how loud it really is.

Now, I’m not one of those people that tuck into bed at 9 PM and need a lot of sleep. In fact, I’ve been suffering from some pretty serious insomnia since about April or early May. I usually don’t fall asleep until 3 or 4 AM, and when I do sleep it tends to be very light. I wake up anywhere between two to five times before my alarm clocks (yes, that’s plural) go off, but then I sleep like a champ once the alarms start buzzing. However, my alarms have been given a rest for about two weeks now. Why? Well, I think The Girl Upstairs got herself a new boyfriend. It’s either that or she and her old boyfriend have taken the next step in their relationship. Still not seeing where I’m going with this? Allow me to draw you a picture…

Being the light sleeper that I am, I wake up with a start. I’m pretty sure there’s an earthquake, but it’s Indiana so that seems unlikely. I can’t quite remember why I woke up or why I thought there was an earthquake, but then I hear it. The awful, rhythmic squeaking of a bed that could desperately benefit from a can of oil. The bed must be thumping against the wall because the wall behind my own headboard is rattling. A candle sitting on the sconce above my bed falls and lands on my head. Now I’m fully awake and thoroughly pissed off. I turn my head towards my nightstand to see what time it is, and in bright red light the time “6:02 A.M.” is glaring at me. A colorful string of expletives promptly starts pouring from my mouth.

If you still haven’t been able to put the pieces together, I’m waking up at 6 AM every day because The Girl Upstairs and her boyfriend like to have very loud sex every morning like clockwork. Weekends are no exception. Lucky me. Uh, lucky him?

I can’t even put into words how awkward this situation is. It has now become a daily occurrence that not only makes me feel extremely uncomfortable, but also kind of dirty. Add to that my crankiness from being woken up and sleep deprived, and I’ve basically become this miserable moody person. You know, the situation probably wouldn’t be so bad if I could just fall asleep again, but the plethora of sounds are too much for my favorite goose feather pillows to drown out.

Despite their lack of noise canceling technology, I'm now accustomed to falling asleep with my head sandwiched between pillows. (Note: this picture is a reenactment. I do not sleep with the lamp on.)

And just when I thought that 6 AM was going to be the worst part of my day, I discovered that The Girl Upstairs and her boyfriend also have sex at 4 PM on a daily basis. I was working late afternoon shifts most of the summer, so I didn’t discover this until the first or second day of the fall semester. The discovery occurred promptly as I sat down to attack a stack of assigned reading, so feel free to imagine my temper during the whole ordeal. Ordeal. That is precisely the word I would use to describe it.

Now, I don’t really know how to resolve this whole issue so I’m just unhappily living with it right now. I mean, come on, I can’t exactly go knocking on this girl’s door and be all, “Stop having sex twice a day. It’s annoying and puts me in a bad mood.” because this is America and she has rights and all those other liberties that come along with living in a free country. Also, she might think I’m jealous. Which I’m totally not. Not even the promise of a lifetime supply of Little Debbie’s Zebra Cakes could make me willingly wake up at 6 AM.

So how about you guys? Do you have any annoying neighbors you’d like to vent about? Do you suffer from insomnia too, and if so, do you have any remedies you’d like to share? Do you have an unnatural love for Zebra Cakes or other snack? Tell me all about it.

Get Your Freak On: 16 Strange Facts About Me

2011-09-05T02:28:00.002-04:00

1. What’s a nickname only your family calls you?

It’s ironic how many nicknames I actually have considering my mom attempted to give me a name that could not be shortened (her name is Cheryl and she hated being called Cher growing up). Since the day I was born my biological dad has always called me Pooh Bear. My mom doesn’t really have a nickname for me, but she occasionally calls me Pooh as well. My stepdad jokingly calls me Encyclopedia because I’m constantly dishing out random information no one cares about, and I usually know the answer to any given question on any given topic that he asks me. On my biological dad’s side of the family I’m known as Crees. This is because my littlest cousin (who at 15 is not so little anymore) couldn’t say my name correctly when she was a baby, and it often came out sounding like Creesoyl. My aunts and uncles still call me Krystal, but the majority of my cousins call me Crees (thanks Emily).

2. What’s a weird habit of yours?

I can’t remain still when I’m standing up and talking to someone. I am in constant motion, usually doing some crazy dance footwork or practicing pirouettes while people attempt to talk to me. My parents complain about it all the time, but I’m not even aware I’m doing it until they point it out. It doesn’t only happen in conversation either. I often find myself dancing to my internal iPod while I’m grocery shopping, sitting in the library, or cashiering at work. I just get these songs playing in my head and I have to dance to them.

I also have this weird habit of imitating things I see on TV or in movies as soon as they happen on screen. This is especially true for hilarious or dramatic scenes. I’m pretty good about controlling it in public (I don’t want everyone to know I’m crazy), but in the privacy of my own home this strange tendency is completely unfiltered.

3. Do you have any weird phobias?

Yes. I talked about my bird phobia here, but that is not all my friends. I also have an irrational fear of answering machines, which made my nine month stint in high school as a receptionist particularly anxiety-inducing. I can’t leave a voicemail message to save my life. Just hearing the “So and so is not available” greeting makes me break out into a cold sweat…and don’t even get me started on the automated messages that make your own voice sound more robotic than the actual robot. Oh, but wait, there’s more! Shrimp. I am terrified of shrimp. Not the sea creature, but the food. I don’t know where this fear came from and I desperately wish I knew. Nothing is more embarrassing than going to a party and being “deer in the headlights” frozen when your eyes find the shrimp platter. It’s a tragedy I tell you.

4. What’s a song you secretly love to blast and belt out when you’re alone?

There’s too many to count, but here’s a Top 5 (Embarrassing): Best of Both Worlds – Hannah Montana, Spice Up Your Life – Spice Girls, Whip My Hair – Willow Smith, Naturally – Selena Gomez, Turn It Up – Kim Kardashian (it’s an awful, horrid song that’s so dang catchy)

Just so that I can gain back a little dignity and attempt to convince you that I do have some taste in music, here is my Top 5 (Respectable): Bohemian Rhapsody – Queen, You Make My Dreams Come True – Hall & Oates, Watching the Detectives – Elvis Costello, Shadows of the Night – Pat Benatar, More Than a Feeling – Boston

5. What’s one of your biggest pet peeves?

The word “photos.” Every. Single. EFFING. Time. I hear the word “photos,” and I’m grinding my teeth while attempting to refrain from punching the person who said it. The correct term is “pictures” or “photographs.” Please pick which one you prefer.

6. What’s one of your nervous habits?

I laugh whenever I’m nervous or in an uncomfortable situation. I then try to cover my laughter by chewing my nails. It’s strange, and I hate that I do this because the laughter is hardly ever appropriate for the situation. I shall provide a real life example…

Mom: “Krystal, your Nana passed away this afternoon.”

Krystal: *laughs then chews nails to hide that I’m laughing*

See? Laughing was not at all the correct way to respond to that statement, but that was precisely what I did. I felt like a horrible human being.

7. What side of the bed do you sleep on?

I sleep diagonally, spread eagle, upside down, horizontally, and any other position that is not contained to half the mattress. Why pick one side when you have a whole bed to sleep on?

8. What was your first stuffed animal?

I can’t be positive of what my first stuffed animal was, but I definitely know which one is most significant to me. I received a purple stuffed bunny rabbit for Easter when I was 4 years old, and I named her Violet. I still have Violet and she means a great deal to me.

9. What’s the drink you always order at Starbucks?

I never go to Starbucks because the smell of coffee makes me gag. Simply walking past a Starbucks makes me dry heave. No, there will be no Starbucks for me.

10. What is a beauty rule you preach, but never actually follow?

Drink a lot of water everyday because hydrated skin is happy skin. I try to drink my daily requirement of water, but sometimes I just want tea. Also, I do not have time to run to the bathroom every 5 minutes, and drinking water does that to me.

11. Which way do you face in the shower?

Depends what I’m doing. I face the water when I’m washing my face, I face away from the water when I’m washing my hair, and I spin in circles when I’m washing my body.

12. Do you have any weird body skills?

Besides being able to crack my ankles, which isn’t that weird, I do not think so.

13. What is your favorite comfort food that’s “bad,” but you love to eat anyway?

My go-to comfort food is fettuccine alfredo. My go-to dessert is Dairy Queen Brownie Earthquakes. Both are delicious and neither is good for your waistline.

14. What’s a phrase or exclamation you always say?

I say the words “basically” and “apparently” a lot, but my most overused phrases are “like it’s my job” and “in the history of the world.” Used in a sentence: “I hit butterflies with my car like it’s my job.” and “That was the hardest most pointless most aggravating exam in the history of the world.”

15. Time to sleep, what are you actually wearing?

I am always cold (no matter the season) so I bundle up for bed. I always wear socks, long cotton pajama pants, my ancient Joe Trojan t-shirt*, and maybe a hoodie or track jacket.

*My ancient Joe Trojan t-shirt: My godmother gave me this t-shirt when I was two years old. Back then it was a giant mass of fabric that swallowed my entire body, but now it’s a lovely fitted shirt. However, time and countless trips to the washing machine have taken their toll on my beloved shirt. The once-plush cotton is now a see-through shadow of it’s former self that lacks both armpits and sports roughly 18 holes. What more can you ask from a t-shirt that has been in existence longer than I have?

16. What did you used to wear that you thought was so cool, but now realize it wasn’t that hot?

I am a victim of many bad fashion choices. In 3^rd grade I always wore Lee Pipes jeans that made me look like a boy (my favorite pair had a snazzy set of teal and purple stripes down the sides). In 4^th grade I decided to wear every single bracelet I owned on my right arm. I had fake pearls, mood bracelets, fancy rhinestone bracelets, and charm bracelets covering the entirety of my forearm. 4^th grade was also the year I decided to start wearing stretchy plastic hair combs on top of my head like a princess crown. I had all the girls in my grade copying this look. Oh yeah, I was a trendsetter.

Wear these on your head like a crown for
the most stylish of hair accessories.

Lee Pipes. I think I owned this exact pair.

My Manager Has No Future in Cartography

2011-08-21T23:32:00.003-04:00

It seems like every single road in Bloomington has been under construction for a year. No matter where you go, you are bound to hit construction. This has been especially frustrating when I drive to work.

The 45/46 Bypass sports about 2 miles of construction and 11 stoplights. Imagine having to drive that every day during rush hour traffic. It’s enough to give a person high blood pressure. Especially when you sit in park for 10 minutes and end up being 2 minutes late for work, which causes you to get written up. For the past week I have left for work 10 to 15 minutes earlier each day, and despite these efforts I have still been late for work. Annoying.

On the day that I got written up for clocking in at 1:07 P.M. instead of 1:05 P.M., the head cashier took it upon himself to draw me a map of an alternate route that promised to bypass the Bypass construction. I asked that he include landmarks. All I got was a basketball court in the ghetto and Hoosier Liquors. He also attempted to make his map look like a TomTom screen (hence the Go! And Return!)

Isn’t that the best map you have ever seen? Yeah, I feel the same way. In fact, when presented with what Watson claimed to be an “amazing map”, I may or may not have told him to keep his day job because cartography was not in his future. Our conversation went something like this…

Watson: Krystal, come look at this amazing map I drew you.

Krystal: Wow, I uh, I really hope you aren’t majoring in cartography.

Watson: You don’t think it’s good?

Krystal: No.

Watson: It shows all you need to know! And now that I’ve drawn you this, I better never see you waltz into work late again.

Krystal: And when I get lost in the ghetto of Bloomington, which ends up in my still being late for work, I will show Brian your amazing map that I attempted to follow.

Watson: You aren’t going to get lost, I drew you landmarks!

Krystal: I wouldn’t exactly consider Hoosier Liquors a landmark…did you seriously spell “money” with three y’s?

Watson: MONEYYY!

I attempted to use his map driving home after work, and I was actually surprised at the simplicity of the route. I got home in 10 minutes when it usually takes me 20. So despite my ribbing of his drawing skills, Watson’s map was pretty straightforward to follow (though I did go more off his description of the map rather than the actual picture). I also now know where to find a really shady liquor store.

Krystal versus Nature

2011-08-19T00:56:00.006-04:00

I don’t know what it is about me that attracts wildlife, but animals constantly flock to me like I have built an ark and the floods are coming. You think I’m exaggerating, but I assure you that I am not…

My first unfortunate run-in with wildlife happened when I was seven years old. I was staying with my aunt and uncle for the weekend, and they happened to be in the middle of putting an addition onto their house. My uncle had left me upstairs in the addition while he ran down to the garage for some tools, and during this time I was playing on a chalkboard in front of an open window. I was working on what I’d like to remember as a magnificent doodle when a bird flew through the window and clocked me in the head. This alone would have been enough to frighten a child, but the bird ended up breaking a wing and getting tangled in my hair. I still have nightmares about the bird clawing and flapping at my skull as I screamed for help. Eventually after what felt like hours later but was probably 10 seconds, my uncle and dad heard my desperate pleas and carefully removed the bird from the giant knot it had created on my head. It was an extremely traumatic experience, and I developed a debilitating bird phobia I briefly mentioned here.

Over the course of my life I have encountered wild animals numerous other times, but none compare to that first experience. Since living on my own, however, the wildlife encounters have become more memorable. Now that I’m wholly responsible for taking care of myself, I have no one to handle the wildlife situations for me. That doesn’t stop me from calling my Momma every time one occurs, but after talking the situation through with her I can calmly come up with a solution. So while I love being independent and on my own 99.8% of the time, here are the moments when I wished I had some one to handle the unusual circumstances I sometimes find myself in:

1. The Wasp

I was living in my apartment for about two months when I noticed a wasp buzzing around in my living room curtains. Bees and wasps had never really frightened me, but I had never been responsible for catching or killing them before either. In that moment, I was terrified of getting anywhere near the wasp because I kept envisioning its scary wasp family coming after me if I did something to it (kind of like a wasp mafia). I eventually trapped the wasp behind the blinds of my dining room window, which I never opened for roughly three weeks until it died. I’ll have you know that nothing can put you on edge in the morning like trying to eat your Raisin Bran while a giant wasp threatens to escape and kill you.

2. The Birds

I already explained my tragic tale of why I dislike birds, so it should come as no shock that I was inconsolable when a family of robins decided to take up residence on my patio. It seemed like every time I got comfortable on the couch while watching TV, one would fly right past the sliding glass doors in my line of vision. It didn’t matter that I was safe inside my apartment, just the sight of those birds was enough to get my heart racing. They also ruined the fun of having a patio I can grill on because I haven’t been able to spend a good amount of time out there since they built their nest. I’m too scared of the nest to remove it, so I just live with its existence and avoid the patio at all costs.

3. The Mouse

It was a normal day, and I stepped into the shower like I would on any other normal day. I had just turned on the water when I felt something scurry over my foot. I looked down and saw a mouse. A mouse! I screamed bloody murder and jumped out of the bathtub. Actually, it was more like a painfully ungraceful fall out of the bathtub that ended up with me lying on the bathroom floor, tangled in the shower curtain. Once I redressed and tried to make my dirty hair presentable, I immediately called every male I know and begged them to get rid of my mouse. They all refused. I then resorted to knocking on my neighbor’s door (a person who I had never talked to) and tried to get him to handle the situation. He first asked who I was, and then he declined to remove the mouse. Left with no other options, I went to the hardware store and bought every mousetrap and poison they sold. I strategically placed the traps and poison all over the bathtub while trying not to look at and/or touch the gross rodent. Satisfied that I had created a decent minefield, I attempted to go to bed. I spent most of the night envisioning the mouse climbing up the shower curtain to freedom, but I did eventually fall asleep. After waking up the next morning ready for the mouse’s disposal, I discovered that the world’s smartest mouse was living in my bathtub…every single trap had been detonated, all the poison sat untouched, and the nasty little mouse still remained. I put a baseball cap on to cover my greasy hair, bathed myself in smelly lotions and perfume, and I left for class with the disturbing knowledge that the mouse was still in my apartment. Thankfully I have the world’s best Momma because I came home later that afternoon to find that she had called the maintenance men, and the mouse was gone.

4. The Goose

The world couldn’t even give me two days to recover from the mouse incident when I found a goose standing outside my door. Geese are birds that bite, which in my mind makes them even more terrifying. I kept cracking open my door every few minutes to see if the goose had left, but it was always just standing there. Except for the one time when I cracked the door open a little too far and it tried to get in. I may or may not have slammed the door on its beak. I can’t be sure because its loud honk was just as loud as all its previous honks. I also couldn’t be bothered to care about the wellbeing of the goose in that moment because frankly, the goose was holding me hostage in my apartment when I was supposed to be sitting in a chemistry lecture. I eventually decided to roll a piece of bread into a ball, which I presented to the goose before throwing it as far was my weak arms could manage. When the goose went running for the bread ball, I made a mad dash for my car. I worried that feeding the goose might make it think it was a welcome guest, but I gladly have not seen the goose or any of its goose friends since that afternoon.

5. The Toad

All these stories bring me to tonight…the night I encountered the giant toad. I had just returned home from an excruciatingly long shift at work, and as I was pulling out my keys I noticed a giant toad hanging from my front door. This toad was literally latched onto the door. I didn’t even know toads could do that. This made me very nervous to open the door because I kept picturing the toad jumping off in time to hop into my living room. I called my Momma in a panic. Once she informed me that the “giant frog” I was freaking out about was actually called a toad (I knew that, I just wasn’t thinking clearly in the moment), she instructed me to get the snowbrush out of my car and sweep it away. My Momma is a genius. Ironically, once I returned to my front door with the snowbrush in hand, the toad was already gone. Good, I didn’t have to deal with it. Scary, I have no idea where it may be hiding.

I end this tale (er, series of tales?) with the question portion: Am I the only one that has these crazy meetings with wild animals? I’m pretty sure I am, but it would be nice to not feel so alone where this matter is concerned.

Wasp picture found here. Robin picture found here. Mouse picture found here. Goose picture found here. Toad picture found here.

Creative Kids Have Fun on a Budget

2011-08-17T13:56:00.003-04:00

Am I the only one that feels immense pity for present day children? In today’s age of technology, toys basically play with themselves. With their fancy gadgets and flashing lights, I feel as though kids today do not have the imagination that my generation grew up with. That’s not to say that I didn’t grow up with one or two fancy toys myself, but my parents were much more apt to give me an empty cardboard box and let my creativity thrive. If parents today gave their child an empty box, said child would probably think they were supposed to put it in the recycling and not play with it.

Looking back on my childhood, I often wonder how my cousins and I came up with the insanely strange ideas we had. Like the time we dragged the trampoline under the tree house, and we then jumped off the tree house onto the tramp for the world’s ultimate bounce. We were dangerous little daredevils. There was also the one rainy afternoon when we discovered my aunt’s blender, and we spent the day rifling through the refrigerator for “innovative” smoothie ingredients (Note: carrot & French onion dip smoothie = not so good).

Later in our preteen years, we discovered the magic of the video camera. Weekends were now spent writing and filming short movies and infomercial parodies. My personal favorite from our large repertoire of creations was an infomercial titled “Anabolic Steroids for Women”, which featured my cousin Adam and his friend cross-dressing as overly buff women with sagging breasts and facial hair.

Fast forward to the present day, and as a third year college student and a recent college graduate, my cousin Amanda and I are still putting our creative juices to use. Unlike the majority of people our age, we would much rather spend our time creating something from our imagination than attending wild parties/bar hopping. We also know how to have fun on a budget.

Considering where we both find ourselves in life right now, neither Amanda nor myself have much money to our names. However, we do not let the lack of funds detract us from having a good time. For example, just last week while driving down the road we saw a sign that read “Yellowwood State Forest, 12 Miles”. I looked at Amanda and asked, “You up to going to the forest?” It was pretty much a rhetorical question because I had already passed my apartment complex, but Amanda agreed.

About six or seven miles into the drive, we noticed a sign that read “Lemon Lake, Turn Left” or something of the sort. I drove past it and made a snarky comment like, “Yeah right, there’s no lake in Bloomington.” At about the same time, Amanda was looking at her GPS and shouted, “Look at this giant lake! Turn around and go back!”

Roughly ten minutes later we found ourselves not at the Yellowwood State Forest, but Lemon Lake. It was a beautiful place to spend a beautiful day (though I could have done without the excessive amount of gnats).

Because we aren’t normal people, we of course couldn’t sit on the beach with the normal people. We saw slippery, dangerous rocks that lead down to the water, and they were calling our names. Climbing rocks = ten times more fun that sitting on sand.

We also could care less about the beach goers store bought sand toys...sticks and pieces of wood sporting rusty nails are our idea of a good time. I mean, what could be more fun than the possibility of Tetanus?

When we had enough of playing by the water (and our jealousy of the people on boats became too much to bear), we decided to take our adventure over to the woods. On the walk back to the car, however, we discovered this playground.

Amanda and I are like the masters of finding playgrounds wherever we go, and you best believe that we play on each and every one of them. This playground featured a janky, crooked slide and old school swings that squeeze you in all the wrong places.

Seriously, have you ever tried swinging on one of these things? It’s like sitting on a chain that’s determined to cut off the circulation to your lower body.

When we had enough of the untrustworthy playground, we then drove over to the woods. While driving to the hiking trails, we wondered if this was the path we were supposed to take…

…but we shortly realized (as I was about to drive down the path), that this was indeed not a road for cars.

After parking the car on a random patch of gravel, we began exploring our surroundings. We frolicked through a meadow…

We discovered a giant mushroom…

We sat beneath a beautiful tree…

We hiked through the woods on this creepy looking trail…

I found a log to sit on…

We found this cute little bridge…

And then we ended up at the Bloomington Boys Camp where we considered stealing a canoe, but left before we were caught trespassing on private property. We decided it was getting late and we really should get back to my apartment before Amanda had to drive the many hours back home, but we couldn’t leave without enjoying one last moment with nature…

Our little journey to Lemon Lake was a pleasant way to spend a few hours, and it only cost a $4 entrance fee. If we had prepared ourselves for a beach outing or a picnic lunch, we could have spent even more time there…and for only $2 per person! And that, my friends, is how you have fun on a budget. Granted, it might be beneficial if you're the outdoorsy, loves-to-play-on-playgrouds type of person. If not, I don't really know what to tell you other than you're missing out.

But enough about me, what about you? What do you like to do when you don't have a lot of money to spend? Am I the only one that thinks modern day toys are kind of sad? Does your age constitute you as an adult, but you still feel the urge to play on every playground you see? I'm super curious.