I have never claimed to be a hardcore feminist. I also don’t look at the world around me and think that the sexes are treated 100% equally. Does it bother me that sometimes management seems like a boys club or that occasionally it’s assumed that my tiny feminine fingers can’t construct a simple chair (true story)? Yes, yes it does. Do I sit back and accept that that’s the world I live in? No. What I do is try my best to prove people wrong by being a strong and independent woman.
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I wanted you all to know that I have now entered the exciting world of competitive skeeball. Although I’m fairly certain the league I joined places less emphasis on actual competition and more emphasis on drinking, t-shirts and coming up with catchy team names. Thanks to Jess, ours is “Skeecret Service,” and somehow I have been made a team captain. When examining how this happened, I can only imagine it’s due to one of two reasons: 1) When the league organizer called and asked how I heard about them, I told him my dad bought my mom a skeeball lane for mothers day (because that’s how my family rolls), which made me wonder if there were leagues out there, and the rest is history. (His response was “Soooo, the internet?”) or 2) I signed up first.
On this, the First Day of Summer, I have a confession. I hate summer. Not in an I could take it or leave it kind of way, but in an I have absolutely no use for the season kind of way. There are several reasons for this, but if I had to choose I think I could narrow it down to the fact that I don’t like being hot. It makes me cranky. What’s that you say? You want more of a reason? Well, settle in.
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I asked a friend the other day if she ever wondered how effective her skill set would be in the event of an Apocalypse. She said no, she has never considered that. To which I respond “Fair enough.” I recognize that normal people don’t dwell on the minutiae of a theoretical Apocalypse (which by the way spell check tells me is capitalized), but I have never claimed to be normal. View full article »
I recently discovered that Comcast now offers “Discovery ID” in my cable package. I’ll be honest, I’ve stalked this channel for a while, but it was never available. Then one day, one glorious day, I was flipping through the channels and Discovery ID was live on my television. I now have access to true crime 24/7! This couldn’t possibly go wrong….or could it?
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I don’t have what one would characterize as a LOT of friends. That’s not to say I’m not liked. I’m pretty sure most rational people who meet me are fairly ok with me. It’s once they get to know me….but that’s for another time. Most people appear to like people in general (or are at least polite enough to not go running in the opposite direction – although based on some of the true crime series I’m watching, there are people you should go running in the opposite direction of when you meet them. Again, that’s for another time). I’d wager that rarely does one meet someone and think “Ugh, you’re the worst!” I imagine it’s more likely that people meet people and and are fairly neutral on them (ok, I’ll admit some people can be annoying right off the bat, but not the worst people ever) until some watershed moment where they realize the other person is either friend or foe. And still, that watershed moment doesn’t always occur, and people remain merely acquaintances or that guy you met once but can’t ever remember his name.
I love to read. To a fault sometimes. I don’t understand how people are able to put down a good book. I have stayed up much too late finishing a book because how can I possibly go to sleep when all I want to do is find out what happens?! When I was in middle school, I read The Outsiders then proceeded to carry that book wherever I went for the entire summer. To the point where my grandmother called my mother to ask if this was normal behavior (my mother said yes, but I think what she meant was yes, for Christy, not necessarily for normal kids). My mom also used to have to make me go outside and I would always agree – only if I could take my book.
I was talking to someone about this blog the other day, telling them that I classify it as one of the more self-centered things I’ve done. I mean, when you get down to it, I’m pretty much just writing about me and hoping you all are entertained. Their response was “Not certain if a blog is self-centered if you have something to say and someone cares to listen. The problem I have with most blogs is the person telling the tale doesn’t have much of a tale to tell. In other words, telling the world about your problems with finding the right pair of jeans can be utterly hilarious, painful, and self-relating or it can simply be the most boring discussion of going to the mall.”