So, today is Valentine's Day. To many, February 14th represents a cliche Hallmark created holiday that causes single ladies to band together, frantic men scurrying off to the nearest Jewel or Dominick's, and the very rare couple that spends the day as an extra reason to show appreciation to each other. I feel lucky to say that I was in the last category and I spent my 1st married Valentine's Day celebrating with my husband and our friends.
Unfortunately, Februray 14th also strikes a large black mark through it's spot on the calendar. It is the 2 year anniversary of the tragic shooting that took six lives at Northern Illinois University. My alma mater. The events that took place that day are horrifying and it strikes a fear in what is familiar. NIU is where I spent the best four years of my life, I met my best friends, and I grew up. Cole Hall was the large lecture auditorium where it was easier to catch a nap or gossip about the weekend rather than pay attention to your professor, and now it will forever be known as a place of terror.
To me, this is heartbreaking. A friend of mine on Facebook said it best when she said, "Our connection to the school and each other really means something to each of us, and it doesn't falter with tragedy or time." The emotion that it conjurs up in each of us as we solmenly change our pictures to the faithful Husky adorned with a black ribbon to remember is an act of unification. Each of us spent our days at NIU differently, but we still all hold a certain affection for our school; particularly on this day when we remember those that were lost.
I was not an undergraduate student at Northern when the shooting occurred. But I was back on campus twice a week for a graduate English class on days that sandwiched that fateful day. When I came to campus when it re-opened it was as though a silence had fallen over our town. There were counselors, and tears, and memorials. In fact, I've still kept the Northern Star, NIU's newspaper, which offered textual support and reassurance that the Huskies could rise above. It solidified my feelings of loyalty and pride in my college and I didn't feel like a stranger in the sea of devestated strangers, everyone was one.
Violence against one another has become an epidemic and it is sickening to me. You feel sad when you hear about it hear about its spread throughout the country, but the feeling of helplessness is overwhelming when it hits so close to home. So today, I reserve a special place in my heart for my school and those who's lives were lost. I also feel appreciative of what life represents and that I am given me another day to kiss my husband goodnight and feel thankful that I have him.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Over Here, Over There, Oh LOOK! There is Ashley in her underwear!
If you are under 18, turn-around and leave.
If you are faint of heart, find another blog.
If you are newly-related to me, proceed with caution.
This post will prove to be a touch risque. I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to take my blog into a vulgar direction, but this story I am about to tell you is actually hysterical and I, myself, will be laughing as I type it.
This is your last chance to turn-around....
SERIOUSLY....
So, as many of you are aware, my husband travels frequently for his job. He is away for days at a time and toward the end of each trip, we are both happy to have him back at home.
Well, at the close of one trip, many many moons ago in January, I decided to plan a special evening for him. I was scheduled to pick him up at the airport around 9:00pm, so I spent the better half of 3 hours primping and preparing myself. I'm not sure exactly what got into me, but I decided to be playful and shock the socks of him when I picked him up.
It was nearing the time in which I had to begin my trek to O'hare, so I slithered on a pair of fishnet stockings that paired perfectly with some carefully chosen lingerie. I shook out my sex-vixen barrel curls, spritzed on some perfume, stepped into my high-heeled tall black boots, and cinched my trench coat. I was ready to go. (This may all sound cliche to you, but that is exactly what I was going for).
I raced down the three flights of stairs and into my car, eager to get to the airport and gauge Patrick's reaction. I sent a text message to my 4 college girlfriends (whom will be referred to as, "THE GIRLS," from here on out), giving them a hint of my quest and telling them to pray that I did not ironically end up stranded on the side of the road. I received electronics giggles and well-wishes in response as I merged onto I-90.
BAH-BUMP-BAH-BUMP-BUMP-BUMP!!!!
Not even 1 minute later, I hit a pot-hole and my tire was down for the count!! Naturally, I am panicked and shouting a slew of curse words that would make my grandma blush. In this moment, I truly did not know how I was going to fix my tire, but, what I did know is that I was NOT getting stuck on the side of Chicago's busiest tollway at 9 o'clock at night in my lacy skivvies. I can only imagine the disbelief of a police officer pulling over to help me as I frantically explain that I was not headed to work my night job....
Nope, not. going. to. happen. So, I put on my flashers and I drive 20 mph with cars whizzing past me. I bump, bump, bump down the interstate with an air of determination. I can feel the pull of my tire as I'm certainly crushing my rim at this point, but I only have to make it 4 miles. And, I did. As I'm sitting at a stoplight at the bottom of the off-ramp, wating to turn into a store parking lot, a lady in the car next to me is waving her arms around and pointing at my tire. I politely acknowledge her and then sever any further eye contact.
Eventually, I make it to a parking lot but amidst many of the obvious problems in this situation, Patrick still needs a ride home. So, I sheepishly call him, give him my location, and tell him that I have a flat. He, as any protective man would do, offers to call his dad to come assist me until he can get there. I practically scream that I don't think its a good idea. His response? "Why, what are you, naked???" Oh, for the love of all things Holy, YES! The jig is up. I had to give myself away because at this point, I'm not calling Triple A, I do not need my future father-in-law to witness this pathetic scene, and I don't think my fishnets offer much by the way of cushioning for me to change my own flat tire in the snow. We settle on that fact that I still sit tight and await his arrival in a cab.
In the meantime, I call my mom. She doesn't answer. So, I call again.
Mom: "Hello?"
Me: "Hey mom. Whatcha doin?"
Mom: "In the car with your dad, Aunt Brenda, and Uncle Rod. We just had dinner, now headed for a drink."
Me: "Oh neat. I have a flat tire."
Mom: "Are you ok? Did you call someone?"
Me: "Yea. Pat is on his way. Oh, by the way, I'm in my underwear. The fancy kind."
Mom: "Wait, what?"
Me: "Yes, you heard me."
Mom: SILENCE
Mom: long, loud, laughter and her telling my aunt, uncle, and dad the story!
I know your jaws have all hit the floor in shock that A. I told my mom and B. She told my dad. Well, you'd have to know us, but we're that kind of family; hence, her laughter. My dad made some comment in the background about not getting out otherwise my butt cheeks might get frost bite and atleast I left the house wearing clean underwear. At this point, I had to hang up, there was not much left to chat about.
Finally, Patrick arrives and practically has to shoo the courteous cab driver away as he offers to help. Pat opens the door, puts his suitcase inside and just looks at me. I'm still wearing my coat and he catches a glimpse of the fishnets and starts laughing. I glare at him and he proceeds to change the tire.
After all of that drama, we were on our way home within 15 minutes. Pat was driving and he reaches over to put his hand on my knee and I glare at him again, then yank it away. I had temporarily lost the humor of the situation and I didn't find it again until I was at home, warm, and wearing sweat pants.....
I learned a lot that night. I most certainly don't send text messages to my friends that are certain to doom me into jinxing myself incase I do decide to try it again... ;)
If you are faint of heart, find another blog.
If you are newly-related to me, proceed with caution.
This post will prove to be a touch risque. I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to take my blog into a vulgar direction, but this story I am about to tell you is actually hysterical and I, myself, will be laughing as I type it.
This is your last chance to turn-around....
SERIOUSLY....
So, as many of you are aware, my husband travels frequently for his job. He is away for days at a time and toward the end of each trip, we are both happy to have him back at home.
Well, at the close of one trip, many many moons ago in January, I decided to plan a special evening for him. I was scheduled to pick him up at the airport around 9:00pm, so I spent the better half of 3 hours primping and preparing myself. I'm not sure exactly what got into me, but I decided to be playful and shock the socks of him when I picked him up.
It was nearing the time in which I had to begin my trek to O'hare, so I slithered on a pair of fishnet stockings that paired perfectly with some carefully chosen lingerie. I shook out my sex-vixen barrel curls, spritzed on some perfume, stepped into my high-heeled tall black boots, and cinched my trench coat. I was ready to go. (This may all sound cliche to you, but that is exactly what I was going for).
I raced down the three flights of stairs and into my car, eager to get to the airport and gauge Patrick's reaction. I sent a text message to my 4 college girlfriends (whom will be referred to as, "THE GIRLS," from here on out), giving them a hint of my quest and telling them to pray that I did not ironically end up stranded on the side of the road. I received electronics giggles and well-wishes in response as I merged onto I-90.
BAH-BUMP-BAH-BUMP-BUMP-BUMP!!!!
Not even 1 minute later, I hit a pot-hole and my tire was down for the count!! Naturally, I am panicked and shouting a slew of curse words that would make my grandma blush. In this moment, I truly did not know how I was going to fix my tire, but, what I did know is that I was NOT getting stuck on the side of Chicago's busiest tollway at 9 o'clock at night in my lacy skivvies. I can only imagine the disbelief of a police officer pulling over to help me as I frantically explain that I was not headed to work my night job....
Nope, not. going. to. happen. So, I put on my flashers and I drive 20 mph with cars whizzing past me. I bump, bump, bump down the interstate with an air of determination. I can feel the pull of my tire as I'm certainly crushing my rim at this point, but I only have to make it 4 miles. And, I did. As I'm sitting at a stoplight at the bottom of the off-ramp, wating to turn into a store parking lot, a lady in the car next to me is waving her arms around and pointing at my tire. I politely acknowledge her and then sever any further eye contact.
Eventually, I make it to a parking lot but amidst many of the obvious problems in this situation, Patrick still needs a ride home. So, I sheepishly call him, give him my location, and tell him that I have a flat. He, as any protective man would do, offers to call his dad to come assist me until he can get there. I practically scream that I don't think its a good idea. His response? "Why, what are you, naked???" Oh, for the love of all things Holy, YES! The jig is up. I had to give myself away because at this point, I'm not calling Triple A, I do not need my future father-in-law to witness this pathetic scene, and I don't think my fishnets offer much by the way of cushioning for me to change my own flat tire in the snow. We settle on that fact that I still sit tight and await his arrival in a cab.
In the meantime, I call my mom. She doesn't answer. So, I call again.
Mom: "Hello?"
Me: "Hey mom. Whatcha doin?"
Mom: "In the car with your dad, Aunt Brenda, and Uncle Rod. We just had dinner, now headed for a drink."
Me: "Oh neat. I have a flat tire."
Mom: "Are you ok? Did you call someone?"
Me: "Yea. Pat is on his way. Oh, by the way, I'm in my underwear. The fancy kind."
Mom: "Wait, what?"
Me: "Yes, you heard me."
Mom: SILENCE
Mom: long, loud, laughter and her telling my aunt, uncle, and dad the story!
I know your jaws have all hit the floor in shock that A. I told my mom and B. She told my dad. Well, you'd have to know us, but we're that kind of family; hence, her laughter. My dad made some comment in the background about not getting out otherwise my butt cheeks might get frost bite and atleast I left the house wearing clean underwear. At this point, I had to hang up, there was not much left to chat about.
Finally, Patrick arrives and practically has to shoo the courteous cab driver away as he offers to help. Pat opens the door, puts his suitcase inside and just looks at me. I'm still wearing my coat and he catches a glimpse of the fishnets and starts laughing. I glare at him and he proceeds to change the tire.
After all of that drama, we were on our way home within 15 minutes. Pat was driving and he reaches over to put his hand on my knee and I glare at him again, then yank it away. I had temporarily lost the humor of the situation and I didn't find it again until I was at home, warm, and wearing sweat pants.....
I learned a lot that night. I most certainly don't send text messages to my friends that are certain to doom me into jinxing myself incase I do decide to try it again... ;)
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Texting While Driving
Okay, breathe deeply. Let your feet find their balance, blink twice and look again.
Yes! I'm not trying to cause heart attacks, knock people out of their chairs, or make them think they're seeing double. But, YES. I'm writing again, one day later.
Excited to see me? Thought so.
I was sitting on my couch trying to drown out the Neelys on Food Network (save your sugar for another time, Big Daddy!) and I decided that it was imperative for me to talk about a recent law passed in Illinois.
Now, I'm fairly impassive about politics as a whole. I'm not going to pound the pavement for my favorite candidate in the next campaign, and I skip past the slew of channels featuring Bill Maher or Anne Coulter. (Side note, however: having been a journalism major, I was forced to read a lot of Ms. Coulter and I find her repulsive...just saying). My only passions lie in the ability to choose for yourself. You do what you want with your body and you do it with whomever you so choose. The end.
A recent law that has affected me though, is this new "No Texting While Driving Bullshit." That is the full official name for the law. Anyone that knows me knows that my average of 5,200 text messages a month are only possible with an inherent skill that I possess for fast, focused, eyes-free text messaging. I'm that good. I understand the reasoning behind passing the law, and I agree, safety first. I am not in favor of causing accidents, but I'm still perplexed on how to get my "must-know-NOW," messages across to my friends. I tried mind-control, but only ended up looking constipated. I tried smoke signals, but apparently you have to have a permit for such things in the suburbs; and, as of this moment, my pigeon has yet to reach it's destination. And no, I can't just call. That's silly. :)
I think some greater power named, God, from up above, knew that I was going to struggle with this. He realized that if a ticket is to be had, Ashley will have it. For example, right turns on red. For my readers that are not within a 60-mile proximity, Chicagoland thought it would be funny to install cameras at red lights. If you do not stop completely, you will get a letter sent to you via snail mail with an invitation to view a website; once there, you will be offered a slew of pictures and a video showing your incompetence. Along with that, adding insult to injury, a $100 ticket. BEWARE. Anyway, back to my point....tickets find me. So, it could only be Divine intervention that I have suddenly "upgraded," my cell phone to a Blackberry. Sure, it costs more money monthly but it is saving me from getting a ticket for texting while driving because I can hardly control the thing and have never succumbed to so many typos in my life. I think my friend Gigi (age 3) has a better chance of authoring a coherent message.
In the grand scheme of things, I do favor the law if it will save lives. I will do my best my abide by the new rules of the road; but, perhaps this offer for paying better attention while driving should be extended to women who apply makeup behind the wheel, people eating their breakfast during the commute to work, or the man next to me in traffic reading his newpaper.
Now, the true test. I am about to embark in a 24 hour journey to Mahomet. It is 2.5 hours each way and normally, I am vigorously spouting off my most random-thoughts to whomever will answer me, but today....I will keep my phone in the cup holder. My eyes will dodge quickly from phone to road, desparate to pick it up and type. But, I will try not to give into the temptation.
Can I do it?
Yes! I'm not trying to cause heart attacks, knock people out of their chairs, or make them think they're seeing double. But, YES. I'm writing again, one day later.
Excited to see me? Thought so.
I was sitting on my couch trying to drown out the Neelys on Food Network (save your sugar for another time, Big Daddy!) and I decided that it was imperative for me to talk about a recent law passed in Illinois.
Now, I'm fairly impassive about politics as a whole. I'm not going to pound the pavement for my favorite candidate in the next campaign, and I skip past the slew of channels featuring Bill Maher or Anne Coulter. (Side note, however: having been a journalism major, I was forced to read a lot of Ms. Coulter and I find her repulsive...just saying). My only passions lie in the ability to choose for yourself. You do what you want with your body and you do it with whomever you so choose. The end.
A recent law that has affected me though, is this new "No Texting While Driving Bullshit." That is the full official name for the law. Anyone that knows me knows that my average of 5,200 text messages a month are only possible with an inherent skill that I possess for fast, focused, eyes-free text messaging. I'm that good. I understand the reasoning behind passing the law, and I agree, safety first. I am not in favor of causing accidents, but I'm still perplexed on how to get my "must-know-NOW," messages across to my friends. I tried mind-control, but only ended up looking constipated. I tried smoke signals, but apparently you have to have a permit for such things in the suburbs; and, as of this moment, my pigeon has yet to reach it's destination. And no, I can't just call. That's silly. :)
I think some greater power named, God, from up above, knew that I was going to struggle with this. He realized that if a ticket is to be had, Ashley will have it. For example, right turns on red. For my readers that are not within a 60-mile proximity, Chicagoland thought it would be funny to install cameras at red lights. If you do not stop completely, you will get a letter sent to you via snail mail with an invitation to view a website; once there, you will be offered a slew of pictures and a video showing your incompetence. Along with that, adding insult to injury, a $100 ticket. BEWARE. Anyway, back to my point....tickets find me. So, it could only be Divine intervention that I have suddenly "upgraded," my cell phone to a Blackberry. Sure, it costs more money monthly but it is saving me from getting a ticket for texting while driving because I can hardly control the thing and have never succumbed to so many typos in my life. I think my friend Gigi (age 3) has a better chance of authoring a coherent message.
In the grand scheme of things, I do favor the law if it will save lives. I will do my best my abide by the new rules of the road; but, perhaps this offer for paying better attention while driving should be extended to women who apply makeup behind the wheel, people eating their breakfast during the commute to work, or the man next to me in traffic reading his newpaper.
Now, the true test. I am about to embark in a 24 hour journey to Mahomet. It is 2.5 hours each way and normally, I am vigorously spouting off my most random-thoughts to whomever will answer me, but today....I will keep my phone in the cup holder. My eyes will dodge quickly from phone to road, desparate to pick it up and type. But, I will try not to give into the temptation.
Can I do it?
Friday, January 22, 2010
Spare Tires, Pilgrims, and Politics....
In celebration of the New Year, my college girl friends and I each compiled a list of goals for 2010. Our number of goals was to be set at our age for that year and they could be small or vast goals, depending on what we wanted to individually achieve. We then, electronically submitted our goals to one another as both a support system and an opportunity to be held accountable.
Well, #15 on my list was: "write a new blog post atleast once a week and not let that hobby fall to the wayside." Bwhahahaa!! So far, 22 days into the new year, I am well over a month tardy. My husband felt as though his suggestions were falling on deaf ears (he was right, I was well-intentioned, but not following through), SO he took it upon himself to email me.
*DING* *DING* says my (new and yet undecided on how much I like it) Blackberry. Email. From: Husbandido Barrett. I was puzzled. I just talked to him on the phone, what does he need now? Why email? I opened it and felt a strong urge to laugh out loud. He thought email was the best way to get my attention and to encourage me to get online and write a blog, because he predicted that soon I would have no followers. Almost instanteously, I get another alert via the fruity phone to alert me that my sister-in-law has written on my facebook wall, also in demand of my inner-most thoughts.
I have to say, that I am flattered. I have a quaint literary following and I must supply the demand. So far, I have not kept good on any of my promises for a more productive 2010. I have yet to get into the routine of regularly polishing my wedding ring (#19), I have not gotten a haircut in an effort to begin my year split-end free (#17), and instead of abiding by #20 of following up every criticism of a stranger with a compliment, I still proceed cackle about their muffin top peeking through their too-tight shirt. Not that I should be pointing out other people's spare tires....I have a couple of my own intertubes to deflate. However, that is the only goal that I have maintained so far. In honor of #4 and #5, I have been attending every bootcamp and eating healthy.
GO. ME. I know, I will continue after your applause cease.....
My other goals are lofty or academically related. This will be an incredibly busy year for me with school, I have a lot of progress to make in a short amount of time. But, I am pleased to announce that my third, and final, math class is going beautifully. My new nemesis is history, and indeed the inspiration for this blog. I have 1,000 pages to read, absorb, and recite by next Wednesday and I am rebelling. Actually, I've been reading for the past 4 hours and my brain is exhausted. I have to work my way from the pilgrims to today's politics, none of which interest me. But alas, I must forge ahead. If the colonists hadn't forged ahead, we wouldn't have an America in which to study for a teacher's certification online. Right? So, I must retreat back into my swirling mass of words and pay homage to the folks that gave me the opportunities I have today. Like, blogging.
Goodnight.
Well, #15 on my list was: "write a new blog post atleast once a week and not let that hobby fall to the wayside." Bwhahahaa!! So far, 22 days into the new year, I am well over a month tardy. My husband felt as though his suggestions were falling on deaf ears (he was right, I was well-intentioned, but not following through), SO he took it upon himself to email me.
*DING* *DING* says my (new and yet undecided on how much I like it) Blackberry. Email. From: Husbandido Barrett. I was puzzled. I just talked to him on the phone, what does he need now? Why email? I opened it and felt a strong urge to laugh out loud. He thought email was the best way to get my attention and to encourage me to get online and write a blog, because he predicted that soon I would have no followers. Almost instanteously, I get another alert via the fruity phone to alert me that my sister-in-law has written on my facebook wall, also in demand of my inner-most thoughts.
I have to say, that I am flattered. I have a quaint literary following and I must supply the demand. So far, I have not kept good on any of my promises for a more productive 2010. I have yet to get into the routine of regularly polishing my wedding ring (#19), I have not gotten a haircut in an effort to begin my year split-end free (#17), and instead of abiding by #20 of following up every criticism of a stranger with a compliment, I still proceed cackle about their muffin top peeking through their too-tight shirt. Not that I should be pointing out other people's spare tires....I have a couple of my own intertubes to deflate. However, that is the only goal that I have maintained so far. In honor of #4 and #5, I have been attending every bootcamp and eating healthy.
GO. ME. I know, I will continue after your applause cease.....
My other goals are lofty or academically related. This will be an incredibly busy year for me with school, I have a lot of progress to make in a short amount of time. But, I am pleased to announce that my third, and final, math class is going beautifully. My new nemesis is history, and indeed the inspiration for this blog. I have 1,000 pages to read, absorb, and recite by next Wednesday and I am rebelling. Actually, I've been reading for the past 4 hours and my brain is exhausted. I have to work my way from the pilgrims to today's politics, none of which interest me. But alas, I must forge ahead. If the colonists hadn't forged ahead, we wouldn't have an America in which to study for a teacher's certification online. Right? So, I must retreat back into my swirling mass of words and pay homage to the folks that gave me the opportunities I have today. Like, blogging.
Goodnight.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
MATH
I fully intended to be asleep right now. But alas, I am not. In fact, last night I experienced the same problem. I went to bed at 8:30, watched tv briefly, and snuggled into my marshmellow-esque bed.
Normally, this is one of my favorite places to relax. The top is surrounded with a crown of pillows, varying in density; my down comforter can easily be compared to an over-sized poofy cloud, albeit camel colored not snowy white. It usually greets its visitors with a tempting invitation to jump in and be swallowed whole into the depths of it's comfort.
Tonight, not so much. Even with the subtle hum of my humidifier and the heat set at 64 degrees, I can't seem to snuggle in and find my nook. It could partially be because its missing my husband's warmth next to me. Needless to say, whatever it is, even my snowflake pajama pants aren't compensating for whatever is preventing me from cashing-in my first class ticket to dreamland.
C'est la vie. Instead, I will write. I took a math test today, perhaps my sleeplessness can be chalked up to anxiety. Last night's explanation was nerves and tonight's is anticipation. Generally, I am terrible at math. I tend to favor the other side of my brain and excel in subjects such as reading and writing. When it comes to numbers, my brain shuts down. It doesn't even want to try to learn, it doesn't feign the slightest bit of interest.
So, I did what I knew would make me successful in college: I avoided math. I took the one lone class that was required for graduation and then I dodged the math bullet for the remaining three years with matrix-style skills. I happily accepted my diploma for a Bachelor's of ARTS, shook the dean's hand and high-tailed it off to my ready and waiting job, in marketing.
The marketing job wasn't quite the "sunset," that I was hoping to head for, so 3 years later, I find myself back in school. I am in an online program to earn a certification in teaching elementary school (K-8). This time though, my opponent has out-witted me. It turns out that mathless-road had come to an end. Actually, it was even worse than that; my first THREE classes in my certification are math. Not just one, but three. Now, that is some type of Divine joke if you ask me!
So, that brings us to today. My first math class is complete. I passed the test on the first attempt and actually, did rather well. I'm now on the verge of completing my second math class, statistics. I did exceptionally well on the pre-test and thus, strutted my way into today's exam with a new found confidence. I slapped my drivers license on the counter as proof of identification and prepared to rock the socks off Form A of my quantitive literacy exam.
Then, the proctor drops a bomb. I am unable to enroll today as an examanee (sp?) because my name on my i.d. doesn't match the name in which I registered for the test. I silently offered to anonomsly donate a lasik procedure to the decrepid woman who was obviously blind. "See," I said: "Right there, J-E-N-S-E-N." True, it was sandwiched between Ashley & Barrett, leaning on a hyphen, but it was still there. Not to mention, last time I tested at this prometric site, this same woman told me that as long as the name Ashley Jensen was present somewhere, it was fine. Not today.
So, in a combination of rage and fighting-back frustrated tears, I drove back to my house to retrieve my marriage license. It was a 30-minute trip each way, in the snow. I think that is comparable to walking to school uphill, in the snow, barefoot....but, I digress. I arrive back into Chris's presence and present her with my marriage license, my driver's license, and my passport. They are all indications of who I was, who I am, and the piece of paper that bridges them together. Anyway, about 1.5 hours after my journey, began, it was over. My test, all 27 questions of it, was breezed through in twenty minutes. I was allotted one hour, but even with having checked over each answer twice, I was finished. I submitted my exam, signed out, and went on my way.
I should mention that, on my way to the exam, I was quizzing myself in my head. But after I lost interest in that, I decided to play a game with myself. I mentally decided, if my favorite song, of the moment ,came on the radio before I got to my exam, then everything would go smoothly and I would pass. As I grew nearer and nearer (both on trip A and trip B) I begin to panic and switch between the stations feveriously. Owl City refused to flutter any Fireflies through my speakers. Nonetheless, I arrived and I conquered (I hope!).
After the exam, I "treated," myself with a trip to the mall to finish the last of my Christmas shopping. On my way to the mall, what should grace the radio air-waves but my favorite song, of the moment. I contemplated this momentarily, trying to decide what it could mean and desperately trying to read into it and take it was a good sign. Regardless, the mall turned out to be a nightmare and I quickly forgot about clinging to the notion of a newbie crooner band having anything to do with my mathmatical destiny.
I ended up purchasing nothing and chose to retreat home into the comfort and coziness of my house. I came home and made dinner then decided to watch a movie. I paused the movie 6 times within the first 20 minutes to log-in and check the score on my math test. It wasn't, and still isn't, posted.
Eventually, I gave up and went to bed, reveling in the opportunity to get more than my fair share of 8 hours and hit my REM. But when I closed my eyes, all I could see were the words PASSED and NOT PASSED passing rapidly through my brain. Did I or didn't I? I need to know.
I am pathetically insomniatic (I think I made that one up!)..... although, the inspiration to write a blog surfaced and so I am sitting in my dark living room typing away to no one in particular.
Or maybe, its just an excuse to check. just. one. more. time.
Normally, this is one of my favorite places to relax. The top is surrounded with a crown of pillows, varying in density; my down comforter can easily be compared to an over-sized poofy cloud, albeit camel colored not snowy white. It usually greets its visitors with a tempting invitation to jump in and be swallowed whole into the depths of it's comfort.
Tonight, not so much. Even with the subtle hum of my humidifier and the heat set at 64 degrees, I can't seem to snuggle in and find my nook. It could partially be because its missing my husband's warmth next to me. Needless to say, whatever it is, even my snowflake pajama pants aren't compensating for whatever is preventing me from cashing-in my first class ticket to dreamland.
C'est la vie. Instead, I will write. I took a math test today, perhaps my sleeplessness can be chalked up to anxiety. Last night's explanation was nerves and tonight's is anticipation. Generally, I am terrible at math. I tend to favor the other side of my brain and excel in subjects such as reading and writing. When it comes to numbers, my brain shuts down. It doesn't even want to try to learn, it doesn't feign the slightest bit of interest.
So, I did what I knew would make me successful in college: I avoided math. I took the one lone class that was required for graduation and then I dodged the math bullet for the remaining three years with matrix-style skills. I happily accepted my diploma for a Bachelor's of ARTS, shook the dean's hand and high-tailed it off to my ready and waiting job, in marketing.
The marketing job wasn't quite the "sunset," that I was hoping to head for, so 3 years later, I find myself back in school. I am in an online program to earn a certification in teaching elementary school (K-8). This time though, my opponent has out-witted me. It turns out that mathless-road had come to an end. Actually, it was even worse than that; my first THREE classes in my certification are math. Not just one, but three. Now, that is some type of Divine joke if you ask me!
So, that brings us to today. My first math class is complete. I passed the test on the first attempt and actually, did rather well. I'm now on the verge of completing my second math class, statistics. I did exceptionally well on the pre-test and thus, strutted my way into today's exam with a new found confidence. I slapped my drivers license on the counter as proof of identification and prepared to rock the socks off Form A of my quantitive literacy exam.
Then, the proctor drops a bomb. I am unable to enroll today as an examanee (sp?) because my name on my i.d. doesn't match the name in which I registered for the test. I silently offered to anonomsly donate a lasik procedure to the decrepid woman who was obviously blind. "See," I said: "Right there, J-E-N-S-E-N." True, it was sandwiched between Ashley & Barrett, leaning on a hyphen, but it was still there. Not to mention, last time I tested at this prometric site, this same woman told me that as long as the name Ashley Jensen was present somewhere, it was fine. Not today.
So, in a combination of rage and fighting-back frustrated tears, I drove back to my house to retrieve my marriage license. It was a 30-minute trip each way, in the snow. I think that is comparable to walking to school uphill, in the snow, barefoot....but, I digress. I arrive back into Chris's presence and present her with my marriage license, my driver's license, and my passport. They are all indications of who I was, who I am, and the piece of paper that bridges them together. Anyway, about 1.5 hours after my journey, began, it was over. My test, all 27 questions of it, was breezed through in twenty minutes. I was allotted one hour, but even with having checked over each answer twice, I was finished. I submitted my exam, signed out, and went on my way.
I should mention that, on my way to the exam, I was quizzing myself in my head. But after I lost interest in that, I decided to play a game with myself. I mentally decided, if my favorite song, of the moment ,came on the radio before I got to my exam, then everything would go smoothly and I would pass. As I grew nearer and nearer (both on trip A and trip B) I begin to panic and switch between the stations feveriously. Owl City refused to flutter any Fireflies through my speakers. Nonetheless, I arrived and I conquered (I hope!).
After the exam, I "treated," myself with a trip to the mall to finish the last of my Christmas shopping. On my way to the mall, what should grace the radio air-waves but my favorite song, of the moment. I contemplated this momentarily, trying to decide what it could mean and desperately trying to read into it and take it was a good sign. Regardless, the mall turned out to be a nightmare and I quickly forgot about clinging to the notion of a newbie crooner band having anything to do with my mathmatical destiny.
I ended up purchasing nothing and chose to retreat home into the comfort and coziness of my house. I came home and made dinner then decided to watch a movie. I paused the movie 6 times within the first 20 minutes to log-in and check the score on my math test. It wasn't, and still isn't, posted.
Eventually, I gave up and went to bed, reveling in the opportunity to get more than my fair share of 8 hours and hit my REM. But when I closed my eyes, all I could see were the words PASSED and NOT PASSED passing rapidly through my brain. Did I or didn't I? I need to know.
I am pathetically insomniatic (I think I made that one up!)..... although, the inspiration to write a blog surfaced and so I am sitting in my dark living room typing away to no one in particular.
Or maybe, its just an excuse to check. just. one. more. time.
Monday, December 14, 2009
"Tis the Season...
I have been feeling relatively uninspired to blog lately. The times that I do blog, the inspiration hits me like a ton of bricks; the thoughts and words rushing through my brain, faster than I can type. Lately though, no bricks. I've experienced a light wind here and there, but nothing so strong that I felt compelled to rush to the computer.
Today, however, my insights have been requested. My dearest, Courtney Ann C*&$%#n, has inquired about my next posting. I regaled her with my woeful tale of my lack of inspiration, but struck a deal. If she could provide me with the topic, I would muster up enough motivation to spit at few words out. And, so, here we are.
As a result, I hereby dedicate today's blog to Corie. The topic: Christmas Spirit. Specific tangents could stem from frenzied shopping to my generosity to bums on the street (aka her nemesis).
She might sound a wee bit "Scrooge-ish," with declaring bums to be her nemesi (is that the plural??), but she has good reason. She has "regular," stationed outside of the CVS by her Gold-Coast Single-Lady Hot-Spot Studio Apartment. One evening, he begged her for some money because he was hungry while he was sitting within a throne of McDonald's wrappers. Thus, she is still feeling justifyably slighted by the homeless population. She chose to mention me because I, on the other hand, have a hard time saying no. In the past, I have been incapable of passing by those in need and not offering forth good-will. I was required to minimize my time spent on the streets of Chicago, because the president of the North Shore Bums Association had circulated my picture among the members and I was being targeted for my dollar bills. As a result, I have happily adopted a new hobby of making my donations, particularly during the holiday season, to legitimate organizations via the internet. My favorite being, St. Jude Children's Hospital.
Another thing that I do from the safety and coziness of mi casa**, is Christmas shopping.This year, I have chosen to do the majority of my shopping online. Majority, meaning, all of it, so far. I have two gifts left to purchase which will finally require me to forge through the cold weather and menacing crowds. I feel a little less Christmas-y by not braving the throngs of people at the mall, but I have much preferred, this year to peruse webstites and have my gifts delivered to my door.
By nature, I am polite and patient. I hold doors for people, say "please," and "thank-you," and am happy to repeat myself if need be. BUT, in some situations, I throw manners to the wind and subsitute them with elbows. More specifically, at the bar when twigs with sweet-drinks drunkenly ram into me. I fear that this will be extended to the crowds hoarding shopping bags, and I have no intention of having a knock-down drag-out fight your Grandma. So, rather than risk it, I stayed in.
My favorite thing about the holiday season is inherited from my mother. Her love and artistic ability to wrap presents. There is no such thing as reindeer paper and commercial stick-on bows. Ohhhh no, we use bright and shiny foil paper and wire ribbon that sparkles. My mom spends a better part of the first 11 months of the year searching out present-toppers and dones the gifts with them come Christmas. It is truly an art form and she is the Monet. I am channeling my inner-Nancy, this year more than ever, and will be wrapping my packages with glitz, glamor, and personality! If you don't believe me, then pictures are to come....
Happy Holidays!
**P.S. I am equal opportunity. I like Mexicans. I also like: African-Americans, Asians, Italians, Parisians, The Greek, and Native Americans (I do however favor the Cherokee Tribe).
Today, however, my insights have been requested. My dearest, Courtney Ann C*&$%#n, has inquired about my next posting. I regaled her with my woeful tale of my lack of inspiration, but struck a deal. If she could provide me with the topic, I would muster up enough motivation to spit at few words out. And, so, here we are.
As a result, I hereby dedicate today's blog to Corie. The topic: Christmas Spirit. Specific tangents could stem from frenzied shopping to my generosity to bums on the street (aka her nemesis).
She might sound a wee bit "Scrooge-ish," with declaring bums to be her nemesi (is that the plural??), but she has good reason. She has "regular," stationed outside of the CVS by her Gold-Coast Single-Lady Hot-Spot Studio Apartment. One evening, he begged her for some money because he was hungry while he was sitting within a throne of McDonald's wrappers. Thus, she is still feeling justifyably slighted by the homeless population. She chose to mention me because I, on the other hand, have a hard time saying no. In the past, I have been incapable of passing by those in need and not offering forth good-will. I was required to minimize my time spent on the streets of Chicago, because the president of the North Shore Bums Association had circulated my picture among the members and I was being targeted for my dollar bills. As a result, I have happily adopted a new hobby of making my donations, particularly during the holiday season, to legitimate organizations via the internet. My favorite being, St. Jude Children's Hospital.
Another thing that I do from the safety and coziness of mi casa**, is Christmas shopping.This year, I have chosen to do the majority of my shopping online. Majority, meaning, all of it, so far. I have two gifts left to purchase which will finally require me to forge through the cold weather and menacing crowds. I feel a little less Christmas-y by not braving the throngs of people at the mall, but I have much preferred, this year to peruse webstites and have my gifts delivered to my door.
By nature, I am polite and patient. I hold doors for people, say "please," and "thank-you," and am happy to repeat myself if need be. BUT, in some situations, I throw manners to the wind and subsitute them with elbows. More specifically, at the bar when twigs with sweet-drinks drunkenly ram into me. I fear that this will be extended to the crowds hoarding shopping bags, and I have no intention of having a knock-down drag-out fight your Grandma. So, rather than risk it, I stayed in.
My favorite thing about the holiday season is inherited from my mother. Her love and artistic ability to wrap presents. There is no such thing as reindeer paper and commercial stick-on bows. Ohhhh no, we use bright and shiny foil paper and wire ribbon that sparkles. My mom spends a better part of the first 11 months of the year searching out present-toppers and dones the gifts with them come Christmas. It is truly an art form and she is the Monet. I am channeling my inner-Nancy, this year more than ever, and will be wrapping my packages with glitz, glamor, and personality! If you don't believe me, then pictures are to come....
Happy Holidays!
**P.S. I am equal opportunity. I like Mexicans. I also like: African-Americans, Asians, Italians, Parisians, The Greek, and Native Americans (I do however favor the Cherokee Tribe).
Monday, December 7, 2009
Blogging whore or Blogging bore??
Originally, I thought I was going to be a blogging whore. Now, I'm just a blogging bore.
I haven't written a blog in over a week, you all must miss me. It's not to say that I haven't tried, because I have. I have written 3 other posts, but have yet to publish them. I tend to write while I am laying in bed and usually, about halfway through, I get tired. And, I start driiiiiifting, become unmotivated, and save it with big promises to pick-up where I left off later. Not so much, SO, here I am. Ta-da!
Now, what to talk about...
Oooh! I worked out tonight. I haven't done that in months and you can definitely tell. Prior to the wedding, I participated in wedding bootcamp and it was AWESOME! It really kicked my butt and I found a style of workout that I love. Which, if you know me, is a big deal because I don't do that. Workout, that is.
Anyway, post-wedding, I decided that I could reward myself for all my hardwork. I started with the honeymoon; indulging here and there. Then, we came home and I ate a cheeseburger that I hadn't allowed myself to have pre-nuptials. From there, it all rolled downhill. The snowball effect, if you will. Although, substitute icecream for snowball.....
Needless to say, I have yet to get back on that workout horse and ride off into the svelte sunset. I tried. I signed up for bootcamp again in October. But, the day the class was supposed to start, they cancelled it. I chalked that up to fate, and continued to sit on my butt waiting for divine intervention or a personal invitation from The Biggest Loser. Neither came, so I decided to try a new class that my former trainer, Kate, was doing with a new company.
That. Was. Tonight. I can feel my muscles pulsating through my skin. Not necessarily because they are building up big and buff, but because they are chanting angerly in unison at me: "WHAAAT HAVE YOU DONE TO US?!" Okay, it wasn't that bad, but Kate can be pretty hardcore. She is this fit, cute, fitness-lover that packs a drill-sergeantess punch. She doesn't make me do the work, but she makes me want to do the work. But, please, do not tell anyone that I just admitted that....it will ruin my reputation.
I need to get back into this routine. I feel better about myself, I look better, and for once, the term: "working out," doesn't insinuate that I got my daily cardio with laps around the mall. I'm sure my credit card appreciates that...
I don't know what tomorrow will bring; but hopefully, whatever it is...ibuprofen and a heating pad won't be far away...
I haven't written a blog in over a week, you all must miss me. It's not to say that I haven't tried, because I have. I have written 3 other posts, but have yet to publish them. I tend to write while I am laying in bed and usually, about halfway through, I get tired. And, I start driiiiiifting, become unmotivated, and save it with big promises to pick-up where I left off later. Not so much, SO, here I am. Ta-da!
Now, what to talk about...
Oooh! I worked out tonight. I haven't done that in months and you can definitely tell. Prior to the wedding, I participated in wedding bootcamp and it was AWESOME! It really kicked my butt and I found a style of workout that I love. Which, if you know me, is a big deal because I don't do that. Workout, that is.
Anyway, post-wedding, I decided that I could reward myself for all my hardwork. I started with the honeymoon; indulging here and there. Then, we came home and I ate a cheeseburger that I hadn't allowed myself to have pre-nuptials. From there, it all rolled downhill. The snowball effect, if you will. Although, substitute icecream for snowball.....
Needless to say, I have yet to get back on that workout horse and ride off into the svelte sunset. I tried. I signed up for bootcamp again in October. But, the day the class was supposed to start, they cancelled it. I chalked that up to fate, and continued to sit on my butt waiting for divine intervention or a personal invitation from The Biggest Loser. Neither came, so I decided to try a new class that my former trainer, Kate, was doing with a new company.
That. Was. Tonight. I can feel my muscles pulsating through my skin. Not necessarily because they are building up big and buff, but because they are chanting angerly in unison at me: "WHAAAT HAVE YOU DONE TO US?!" Okay, it wasn't that bad, but Kate can be pretty hardcore. She is this fit, cute, fitness-lover that packs a drill-sergeantess punch. She doesn't make me do the work, but she makes me want to do the work. But, please, do not tell anyone that I just admitted that....it will ruin my reputation.
I need to get back into this routine. I feel better about myself, I look better, and for once, the term: "working out," doesn't insinuate that I got my daily cardio with laps around the mall. I'm sure my credit card appreciates that...
I don't know what tomorrow will bring; but hopefully, whatever it is...ibuprofen and a heating pad won't be far away...
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