Car Care and Lifetime Movies

The other day I was hanging out with my guy friends watching football and the question arose as to whether or not the Eagles had ever won a Super Bowl. I was pretty sure they hadn't. My friend Rob decided to Google it. He looked it up and it turns out I was right (of course), they'd never won a Super Bowl.

He read on for a few minutes and said, "Well this is a bit of interesting trivia . . . " Before he could finish his sentence I looked at him and said, "Card-Pitt." "What?" he said. "The Steagles," I said. He paused and then questioned with amazement, "How did you know that?" I told him it was because I was smart.

The trivia Rob had been about to share was the fact that, because the rosters of many NFL teams had been decimated by players going off to fight in WWII, they had to combine a few of the teams in the 1940s in order to have enough players to field a team. One year they had to combine the Cardinals and the Steelers, which they named simply "Card-Pitt," also sometimes referred to as "The Carpets". Another season they had to combine the Steelers and the Eagles, which they named, "The Steagles".

I did actually fess up to Rob that I'd read a great book called America's Game by Michael McCambridge, which was pretty much a comprehensive history of the NFL from 1920 to about 2004. I also own another great football book called The Idiot's Guide to Football, but I didn't share that part. Really, I have loved football since I was very small and have been a Dallas Cowboys fan for just about as long. It wasn't until a few years ago that I really started to read about the history of the game and the finer details of the rules, plays, positions, etc.

For some reason I get a certain degree of satisfaction out of impressing guys with my football and other sports related knowledge. It's probably similar to a guy trying to impress a girl with his knowledge of poetry and literature (except that I actually love football and most guys don't so much love poetry and literature). I figure it gives me a leg up on the competition.

I've always strived to be different than other girls. I have memories from my childhood of being indignant that McDonald's would always ask if the happy meal you were ordering was for a boy or a girl. If you said it was for a boy you got a cool car or an action figure. If you said it was for a girl then you got a Barbie or a pony. Now, I loved Barbies just as much as the next girl, but I remember wondering why girls had to have Barbies and boys had to have cars. What if I wanted a car? I remember always wanting to tell them the happy meal was for a boy so I could get a car instead. Sadly, I never had the guts to follow through.

I was thinking about this the other day when I decided that I should become more educated about cars as well. My sister knows a lot about cars and guys dig chicks that know a lot about cars. Case in point, just look at any guy's reaction to Megan Fox fixing cars in the Transformers movies. Of course, I don't think I would look quite as sexy covered in car grease. Luckily, I just happened to have a book that I bought over a year ago, that's all about taking care of your car. I hadn't even cracked the cover yet. Thinking about it further, I realized it had actually been about three years since I bought it. I'm busy, you know?

It was at this point that I started thinking about do it yourself types of women. I reasoned that, when you are single for such a long time, you have to figure out how to do things that a husband or boyfriend would normally do for you (or at least find someone you can pay to do them for you), like fix the car or repair things around the house. Especially if you don't have any brothers or available man friends around. It was at this point that I flashed back to some Lifetime movie that I'd seen about a woman that had learned how to do all of these things for herself and when a man came along that was interested in her, they had problems because she was so self-sufficient that he didn't feel like she needed him for anything.

I also thought about how, while most of my guy friends have always thought that my sister was hot and thought it was awesome that she knew so much about cars, more than a few of them also commented that she was almost more of a guy than a girl. It was like she had made such an effort to know so much about and be interested in the things that guys are interested in, she'd lost a lot of her femininity. As a result, most guys were more intimidated by her than attracted to her. I don't think she necessarily did this on purpose. I think her desire to be knowledgeable or interested in these "manly" areas was also driven by the fact that she didn't want to have to rely on a man. She wanted to be able to do it on her own. I think she inherited this from my mother, who was a single mom.

I think a lot of people have problems admitting that they need someone else. Needing someone else makes you vulnerable and yes, might even induce feelings of helplessness if they aren't around when you need them. The irony is that people so desperately want to be needed. How does that even work? We don't want to have to need other people, but we want to be needed. Pride seems to be the common denominator. We want to be in the position of power, dispensing the help or knowledge and not be the one receiving it. I think a healthy balance of both is more admirable.

After thinking it all over, I've decided not to go to the class I signed up for at Home Depot on how to put up dry wall. Ok, so I didn't really sign up for a dry wall class. Isn't dry wall heavy? I am going to go ahead and read my car care book, but only so I can be less likely to get screwed over by the dealer when I take my car in to get fixed. Maybe if I can throw out enough car words they will think I know what I'm talking about: camber and caster, carburettor, alternator, blah, blah, blah. While I think it's important to know about "man things" I don't want to become too manly. Plus, there's that old saying about how it's not a good idea to pretend to be something your not. Or in this case, try to be interested in something you're not really interested in. Good advice.

Believe

"We didn't hike to the Sun Gate the next morning; we ran. We ran on blistered feet and sore legs. We got there, and it was fogged in, so we sat along the rock, on the ruins, and waited for the fog to burn off. We sat and sang songs. And it was like Carlos said, because you can take a bus to Machu Picchu; you can take a train and then a bus, and you can hike a mile to the Sun Gate. But the people who took the bus didn't experience the city as we experienced the city. The pain made the city more beautiful. The story made us different characters than we would have been if we had skipped the story and showed up at the ending an easier way . . It made me think about the hard lives so many people have had, the sacrifices they've endured, and how those people will see heaven differently from those of us who have had easier lives."

From Donald Miller's book, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years




I think I read the last sentence of this paragraph at least 15 times today. It made me think about how I deal with hardship in my life.

Most often, when tragedy or trouble strike in my life, I immediately feel sorry for myself, and those involved, and I pray for a way out. I ask, "Why me?" or "Why them?" and I shake my fist at the sky. After some time passes, I am able tell myself that the trials we go through in life make us stronger. They make us better people. But do I really believe that? I think that we, as people, often tell ourselves things that we don't really believe. Or maybe we believe them, but they don't really seep into the deep depths of who we are and how we live.

I often like to quote, to myself and to others, Romans 5:1-5, which basically says that we should rejoice in our suffering because it makes us better people, and that our ultimate hope is Jesus (at least that's what I get from it). I think that I believe that concept to varying degrees, depending on the day. When I say "believe", I don't mean, acknowledge that it is true. I know it is true. I mean "believe" as in, I live my life and make decisions based on that truth. I remember one of my pastors saying once that there is a difference between believing in God and believing God.

From Dictionary.com:

"believe" - 1. to have confidence in the truth, the existence, or the reliability of something, although without absolute proof that one is right in doing so. 2. to have confidence or faith in the truth of (a positive assertion, story, etc.); give credence to.

Most of the several definitions I found listed included words like "confidence", "conviction", and "faith". You see, there are many who believe that God exists, but they don't put their confidence, conviction, and faith in God. This applies to many things in life. You might believe something to be true or to exist, but you don't put your confidence, conviction, or faith in it.

Don has reframed this "belief" that I already posses (the belief that trials can enrich our lives and afterlives), in a way that empowers me to "believe" it more.

Imagine a person that lives in a third world country with barely any food, clothing, shelter, or comfort of any kind. Imagine that this person believes in God and that their only hope on this earth is the promise that they will be with God in heaven when they pass. This hope drives their entire life and everything they do. It's the only thing that helps them survive the squallor they face every day. How joyful would you imagine they would be upon actually reaching heaving and meeting God face to face? Would it be the same as that of a middle class American living in suburban Chicago who lived a life full of everything they needed and wanted and more? A middle class American whose life was filled with comfort, family, a good job, and more security than this third world person could ever imagine? Would that joy be equal? Some might argue yes, because they might argue that the joy of being in heaven far surpasses anything anyone, rich or poor, could ever fathom.

Another example. Few of us have been lucky enough to find "the one" right away and live happily ever after. Many of us have been through several heartbreaking, painful relationships and break-ups, and even if you haven't been in many relationships, I know that the lonliness of single life can start to eat you alive. We've often wondered if we should just give up hope and resign ourselves to a life of singleness, divorcedness, or widowered/widowedness. (Yes, I know those aren't real words.) I've felt this way a lot lately. But, reading Don's book today, I realzied something:

"It made me think about the hard lives so many people have had, the sacrifices they've endured, and how those people will see heaven differently from those of us who have had easier lives."

Reading these words, it made me think of how much differently I will see my husband on our wedding day than if I hadn't had to endure so much pain to find him. I think I might even read this passage from Don's book as part of my vows. I will probably cry so much that I will barely be able read what I've prepared, because as I stand up there I will be remembering many things. Things both wonderful and terrible. Things that made me who I am. I will be so overwhelmed by the grace and mercy of God, which has seen me through everything life has brought me, both good and bad, that I will probably drop to my knees in gratefulness and reverence, because I will see my husband differently than those of us who have had easier lives. I imagine that those in attendence who've had easier lives will probably wonder what I'm getting so emotional about (it's just a wedding), and those in attendence who've had harder lives and endured many sacrifices will probably be crying with me.

I Will Love You Until My Dying Day

It seems like whenever I find myself watching one of those dramatic, mushy, tear-jerker, love stories, one of two things happens: I think to myself that love like that doesn't exist, or I pray that love like that does exist and that some day I will find it. Usually I waffle back and forth between the two.

I think a large part of society leans towards the second. (If this weren't true then I don't imagine that the romance genre would make so much money.) Sadly, I think there is a smaller subset of that group that has given up hope of finding such love and instead immerses themselves in the romance of movies, television shows, and books because they know that is the closest they will ever get to real love. In a country in which the divorce rate seems to rise higher and higher each year, and in which it seems like every relationship around you is broken and dysfunctional, we can resign ourselves to thinking that our only hope for the love of fairy tales is, well . . . in fairy tales.

Why? Why is it so hard for us to love and love well? Why is it so hard to love and be loved in return? I think it might be because these dreamy love stories make love seem so easy, and they gloss over the blood, sweat, and tears that go into "making it work". Thus, we fall in love and try to maintain that moonstruck, honeymoon period, but once it wears off we realize that love isn't that easy, and instead of "making it work," we check-out and move on to something else or someone else. The best love stories are the ones in which great conflicts like distance, war, time, death, and everything in between must be overcome in order to be together or stay together. I think it's hard for people to fall in love and stay in love because they don't want to spend the effort to overcome or live through the "everything in between". We give up too soon.

I haven't been to too many weddings, but I imagine that there are more than a few wedding guests out there who have secretly wanted to laugh when listening to a happy "couple to be" exchange their wedding vows (like anyone who ever attended any of Elizabeth Taylor's weddings). For richer or for poorer? Yeah right. If he was poor you wouldn't be marrying him. In sickness and in health? As long as there is more health than sickness! Until death do us part. More like, until I get sick of you or find someone more attractive!

I can say that I've sat through weddings thinking about the divorce rate and wondering which 50% of my friends will be the statistic that will be divorced in ten years. I look at the happy couple and think, they look so happy now, so in love. What is it that happens to make that go away? I think you can fool yourself into thinking that all the couples at every wedding you go to will certainly stay together, but statistics are against you (and them).

I think that if I were a therapist (be glad that I'm not) I would ask troubled couples to bring in video or pictures of their wedding. I would sit there with them and make them watch the video several times. I would have them look hard at each and every picture. Then I would ask them what it was about that person that made them want to marry them? Maybe some of them would admit that they never wanted to marry in the first place. Some would probably acknowledge that they'd married for the wrong reasons. I imagine that some of them would know why they'd loved that other person and some of them wouldn't.

I've loved people without really knowing why. I'm not sure I understand how that can happen. After a recent failed relationship with a man that I'd loved most of my young-adult life, I could not really name very many reasons why I loved him. I couldn't even name very many redeeming qualities that he possessed. I just loved him. I didn't know why. I couldn't explain it. I think love like that is dangerous. Love is more than just a feeling. And I think loving without really knowing why will cause you all sorts of problems. Now, I don't deny that there is something about love that is deeper than words, but it's just not enough to get you through all those tough times.

Love takes effort. It takes work. It take resolve. It takes someone saying, no matter how bad or difficult things get, I will continue to fight for our love. I will sacrifice everything I have for you. I will put your needs before my own. I will love without fear. It takes two people saying that, and meaning it, and living it out, for love to work. For love to live on. Until death do you part. Most of us aren't willing to do all that. That's why most of us fail at love. We are selfish, afraid, and we give up too easily. Rick and Ilsa didn't give up too easily. Noah and Allie weren't afraid. Romeo and Juliet weren't selfish. And if you have no idea who any of those people are then you probably fail at love too.

I guess it just makes me sad that a creation that is capable of living such great love stories (both romantic and otherwise), most often falls so miserably short of the greatness it could achieve. All we have are these glimmers of hope in the stories of others, and maybe a determination that we can be the exception and not the norm. I will probably, despite my occasional pessimism, continue to lean towards the later of my two thoughts: I pray that love like that does exist and that some day I will find it.

Day 2

I’ve been trying to write more lately. The problem is that whenever I have a compelling thought or idea, I’m never near a computer or pad of paper. It would be really convenient if I could implant a chip in my brain that would record my compelling thoughts and ideas and transmit them to my laptop at home, where they would be typed up nice and grammatical in a word document. Unfortunately, I don’t think technology has quite evolved to level where this would be possible.

I mused to myself on the way to work today about whether or not listening to the theme music from Doogie Howser while I blog would help my creativity. In case you were living in Siberia during the early nineties, Doogie Howser was an American sitcom about a 16 year old genius who was a doctor. At the end of every episode, he would sit down in front of his computer and type a rather thoughtful, reflective journal entry about what had happened in that episode. It was kind of the “moral of the story” moment. I think I’m going to put “Doogie Howser: Season 1” in my Netflix queue and test out my theory. I predict that I will just end up watching “Doogie Howser: Season 1” and doing no writing at all.

Coincidentally, I was reading a book about writing the other night. Really, the book is about how to write a story, or live a story, that people will want to read. It said in the book that you should write everyday, even if you don’t feel like it. Even if you don’t feel like you have anything interesting to say. It’s like any other job. On days when you don’t feel like doing it, you have to do it anyway. This is how you succeeded in writing.

I agreed with this philosophy. I figured that if I wrote a few pages of my thoughts every day for a year, I might have enough interesting compositions at the end of said year to gather into a book. (Whether anyone would want to read, or for that matter pay to read, my book was another matter entirely.)

The next chance I got, I wrote a few paragraphs for my blog. I saved it as “day1.doc” and put it in a special folder named “365” (for the 365 days in a year). I was pretty proud of myself. This was two weeks ago. I have yet to get to day two. I’m easing into it.

It just seems like whenever I sit down in front of my computer to write, my mind is suddenly blank. Ten minutes before, I might have been mentally composing the funniest blog anyone has read, whereas a mere ten minutes later I sit staring at that cursed blinking cursor on my mockingly blank screen.

It’s hard to be interesting all the time, you know? I mean, I generally consider myself to be a rather boisterous, funny, interesting person. In case you didn’t know, It takes a lot of energy to be so interesting. Some days, if you are lucky enough to be a boisterous, funny, interesting person, you find that you don’t have the energy to be yourself. On these days, people usually ask you all day long: “What’s wrong with you. Are you feeling okay?” I’m fine, I think to myself. I just don’t have the energy to be me today. People always ask me these questions when I’m quiet. I usually tell them that considering how often people complain or joke about how loud and talkative I am, they should enjoy the silence while it lasts. They generally agree.

This has led me to wonder if there really are a lot more boisterous, funny, interesting people out there who are just too lazy or unmotivated to be boisterous, funny, and interesting. I went through a very long phase over the last year or two during which I was trying to make new friends and expand my non-existent social circle in Kansas City. Now, most people, if they are honest, generally try pretty hard to be interesting and cool when meeting new people or making new friends. This is especially true if you are interested in dating any of these new people or new friends. You want to be funny, cool, interesting, and charismatic. You're on your best behavior because you want these new people to think you're the coolest person they've ever met. You want to be that person everyone wants to be friends with and hang out with. Sadly, most of us never achieve such coolness, but certainly not for lack of trying. Annoyingly enough, most genuinely cool people don't really have to try that hard to be cool. Jerks.

Anyway, I was stuck in this "meeting new people" phase for a little too long. After a while, I'd lost my gumption. It takes effort to start up an interesting conversation and keep it going. Especially when the person you're talking to isn't that interesting. It takes effort to be funny and make people laugh. It takes a lot of effort to motivate yourself to go to social gathering after social gathering, even though you'd rather put your head through a wall than go to another get together where forty nine people ask you, "Where do you live here in town?" and "What do you do for a living." I hate these questions. They are the grown-up equivalent of "What's your major?" It especially annoying when it's very clear that they don't really care about or listen to your answer. I've thought about making up a different job whenever someone asks me questions like this.

Random Party Guest: So what do you do for a living?
Me: Uh, I'm a logger.
Random Party Guest: A logger? In Kansas?
Me: No, in Canada. I also have a pilot's licence so I log during the week and fly back to Kansas on the weekends.
Random Party Guest: Aren't you a little petite to be a logger?
Me: I can bench press a 40 year old oak tree.
Random Party Guest: *silence*

The other perk of making up random jobs is that you never see most of these people again anyway. I figure if they make the effort to talk to me again at a different get together, I might tell them what I actually do for a living. Although being a logger is a lot more interesting than being a customer service representative.

Luckily, I got my social mojo back. It randomly came back one day when I forced myself to have an animated conversation with one of the random party guests I'd met previously. We had an actual, interesting conversation for a good five minutes. I was pretty proud of myself. It didn't lead to a lifelong friendship, but it helped me reawaken the social dynamo inside.

I think this kind of social dilemma re-enforces what the writer said in his book about writing. You have to write even when you don't feel like writing. Especially when you don't feel like writing. Making new friends is kind of like writing a good blog. You have to suffer through the boring stuff before you get to the good stuff. Suffering through the boring eventually pays off. Such is life.

Conspiracy theories, Patrick Swayze, and Coffee

Random thoughts from today:

My mother is a conspiracy theorist.

Patrick Swayze was really hot in Dirty Dancing.

I love coffee.

I'm not sure if it's really appropriate to address all three of these interesting topics in the same post, but let's have a go at it.

My mother told me today that the census is just a way for the socialists to take over our lives and try to find out as much as they can about us so they can ruin the world. Why do they need to know what time I go to work and come home? Uh, traffic patterns? Highway and road planning. That's rediculous. It's just a front. Okay.

My mother also told me today that you don't lose weight by excercising. Hmm. Well, I'm pretty sure to lose weight you have to burn more calories than you take in. It's not about burning calories. It's not? You have to eat right. That's how you lose weight. Uh, huh. So the show "Biggest Loser" is just a sham then? What's the point of exercise? It makes you healthy. Oh. It makes you healthy, but you don't lose weight by doing it? Right. Okay, it's all clear now.

I don't like spending time with my mother. Spending time with my mother is comparable to getting a root canal. It's really painful, but it's got to be done. And if you don't do it, the pain will get worse. If only there was nitrous around when I had to spend time with my mom. That might make it much more agreeable.

On that note, Patrick Swayze was really hot in Dirty Dancing. I think the fact that his character's name is Johnny really adds to his hotness. I'm not sure why. I feel like Johnny is the name of any typical bad boy character. Wasn't the guy in Greece named Johnny? Or was it Eddie? No matter. Patrick Swayze was smokin' in this movie. I can't say that I've ever before been a huge fan of the Swayze. I'll tell you what though, the scene when Baby seduces him with a sexy slow dance. Hot.

Patrick Swayze was not hot in Ghost, though. Or anything else I've seen him in. I don't think. I think the fact that I'm not a Demi Moore fan combined with the fact that I'm not a Whoopi Goldberg fan kind of ruin the whole movie for me. Plus, his name in Ghost is Sam. Not Johnny. Maybe if he'd been named Johnny in Ghost he'd have been hot. We'll never know now.

All I can say is, thank God for coffee. It's such a comforting beverage, and not just because it's hot. Cocoa is hot and it doesn't do it for me like coffee does. It's not even the caffeine because I drink decaff, from time to time, and it still does the job. I'm going to throw out there that it's not even the taste or smell of coffee that makes coffee so great. I think, for me, I psychologically have a lot of positive attachments, or associations if you will, to the word "coffee". I thank Folgers. Their Christmas commercial really hit it home for me. Or was it the one with Randy Travis on a tour bus? The best part of wakin' up, is Folgers in your cup. Not that it has to be Folgers. Coffee is magical and has healing powers. It warms my soul.

We'll leave it at that for today. (Unless the socialists kidnap us in the night. In which case we won't be here tomorrow.)

-9-20-09-

He

She feels so very ordinary, but he makes her feel matchless, unequaled. She can’t fathom why he is captivated by her. Every word. Every gesture. Every laugh. He sees what she doesn’t see in herself. Fragile and vulnerable beauty. He’s been waiting for her for so long. Everything about him feels like home. His touch, his smell, his kiss. The way he looks at her. The way he holds her face in his hands. Every word drips with significance. Every look is heavy with meaning. Every feeling is deep and real and true. He is her guardian and her shelter. In his arms she is protected. He has charged himself with her safety and sacrifices himself and his needs for hers. His eyes are always upon her, in waking and in sleep. He is jealous for her love, even though he knows he has it all.

Their connection is more than can be articulated in words and is better understood in the rhythm of their hearts. The most is made of every second, for the next they may not have. Like water in the canteen of a desert wanderer, their time together too disappears quickly. Leaving thirst for more. A thirst that is never quenched. Apart, the longing is an animal whose only predator is unity.

Rememberances of my Dad . . .

I remember the day my parents told me they were getting divorced.

I remember not understanding what was going on.

I remember sitting in the backseat of my mom's Taurus driving through the night to my grandparents house. I remember that when we came home, Dad was gone.

I remember Dad dropping me off one night at Mom's and I remember wanting to stay with him. I remember him picking me up and huging me. I remember seeing my mom watching us through the front window and I remember trying to wriggle out of Dad's hug because I didn't want mom to see me hugging him. I remember feeling guilty for missing dad.

I remember watching Doogie Howser at Dad's apartment on Wednesday nights.

I remember the smell of his apartment.

I remember how my sister and I had decorated the bunk beds he made us with Christmas lights and toys.

I remember climbing up the doorways in his apartment like a little monkey.

I remember when Dad met Janean and I remember feeling like I shouldn't like her. I remember not understanding why I couldn't like her. I remember not wanting to hurt Mom.

I remember the night I felt like Dad loved Janean more than me.

I remember the last day I spent with Dad before we moved away to Wichita. I remember that we went to Worlds of Fun. I remember having fun but feeling like I wasn't supposed to be having fun.

I remember sitting on the floor of my closet the day we moved in to our new house in Wichita, arranging my stuffed animals. I remember Mom handing me that big, chunky portable phone with the extendable metal antennae and talking to Dad. I remember it like it was yesterday.

I remember Dad and Janean coming to visit us and how we went to eat at Red Lobster. I remember Janean brought us sea stars.

I remember Dad and Janean coming back to visit us but mom told Dad to leave because he'd brought Janean and we just wanted to see Dad. I remember feeling like I didn't really feel like how Mom said I felt.

I remember when the phone calls stopped.

I remember missing Dad at Christmas one year and how Mom got mad at me because she could tell I missed Dad.

I remember wondering over the years how different my life would have been if I'd lived with Dad instead of Mom.

I remember getting cards from Dad on my birthday and Christmas. I remember that for a long time all Dad was to me was two letters and two checks a year.

I remember wanting to invite Dad to my high school graduation and mom saying that I couldn't because he would ruin everything.

I remember the night that I showed up on Dad's front porch after tenish years of not seeing or talking to him. I remember that I always knew I would see him again.

I remember the first Christmas I spent with Dad after all the years we'd missed.

I remember the time I asked him all those hard questions that had been building up all these years. I remember seeing the tears in his eyes as he struggled to answer them.

I remember how happy I was that Dad and Janean were at my college graduation.

I remember how my daddy and I were buddies. We still are.

Remembering is important. It reminds you of where you've been, where you are, and how you got there. It also helps to keep you from re-visiting places you've already been.