Getting Out of My Head: Freeform Edition

Fresh year

2012-01-06T19:40:00.000-05:00

It's weird how one tiny change in your life can make all the difference in the world.

I had the sometimes down feeling that would last for a few days, it would go away and I'd be fine again. It was normal. But as I got older, those feelings intensified. If I was sad I was completely buried in it. If I was mad I was furious. But that was only sometimes too, and it went away. I never felt like myself when I went through that. Where did I go? The weird, socially awkward, laughing girl. It was so pathetic.

Then for awhile, I thought my misery and depression and explosive temper was brought on by my job. The old job with the less than sane boss and her less than charming and intelligent ~~boyfriend~~ fiance who also "ran" the store (aka- stuff his fat face in the office watching us on the Big Brother cameras). I dealt with it best I could. Enjoying time at home, reading, cooking. I commiserated with my co-workers. Went to the gym most days.
But after awhile, it builds up. The stress and sheer irritation I felt at work every hour of every day. I held my tongue when she'd buy rock hard peaches and sour blueberries in January and had the nerve to sell the pies for $30 ("Stupid idiot moron"). If she wanted to spend her "trust fund" on it, so be it, so long as we get our paychecks on time. I was "supportive" but distant when she complained about her daddy and family issues. You just said the right things then kept your mouth shut. You told her what she wanted to hear, because God forbid you expressed anything but she wanted to hear, lest she ignores you for hours; which would have been fine if you weren't the only other one in the shop. Awkward.

Anyway. It just built and built. Wore me down. Made me tired in my bones and frustrated and bitterly sour. I just couldn't anymore. So I quit. I was jobless in a bad economy. Jobless but happy. Fresh.

Then I found a job and was(irritatingly) happy for awhile. I figured the new change would be good. But after awhile I become moody and frustrated again. But I could express my annoyance to my boss and co-workers; stating while I'd follow protocol however arbitrary or asinine. And it was okay. We were allowed to express ourselves to the right people. Telling someone in your job how ridiculous you found some things in your job was refreshing.

But it wasn't them, it wasn't Matt, it wasn't trying to plan a wedding on a miniscule budget or my own self-image issues that were making me moody, irritable and repellent. It was something out of my conscience control.

And I just couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't go into another year with anger, bitterness and being mad all the time over a life that ultimately should be good and happy.
So I went to my doctor that I haven't seen since 2007 and after talking to him got a prescription for paroxetine (Generic from of paxil) and went on half the normal dosage. Just a little something to edge me out.
Being on a prescription was nothing new. I'd spent most if not my entire childhood on some form of Ritalin or some other form of A.D.D medication with varying degrees of success. I stopped taking the stuff in high school briefly, my first act of mild teenage rebellion but went back on it and stayed on it through high school and college when I took real courses rather than the bakeshop classes. So this was just another thing.

The first week on it was like a surge of sugar or caffeine in the bloodstream. The introduction of a new chemical in my system brought an immediate change. I slept better, I laughed and smiled more easily then I had in months and months. The side effects were mild and manageable. It was ridiculous. Ridiculous and laughable that something so simple could make me feel so much better.

It's been like a switch in my brain. The angry Jenn switch was turned off and the "Normal For Jenn but still weird" switch was turned back on. I felt more like myself than I had since the winter I spent jobless. Issues like budgets, bills and self image are still there and mildly stressful, but there's light at the end of the tunnel that used to be gloomy. I feel things will work out if we work at it.

I laugh at the me I was over the last part of the year. Utterly downtrodden with a bitter taste in my mouth. Who was that girl? Not me. Now that it's in my system I still feel pangs of annoyance, but the things that used to set me off and derail the entire day don't irk me like they used to. I might have a flash of irritation boarder-lining on angry, but it goes away. I feel like an emotionally normal person. No more extremes. It's a wonderful way to go into the new year.
The side effects of infrequent mild nausea, mild loss of appetite and occasional feelings of tired (or more recently mild sleeplessness) and whatever else may crop up are worth it for how well I feel.
Life doesn't have to be so difficult. It doesn't. I should have started this years ago. Who knows where I'd be in life and how many months and years I lost on settling for bleakness. Life shouldn't be that hard. While my life isn't perfect; our wedding budget is still tight and managing bills is difficult at times. I know things will be fine. I'm calm and I'm better. I see all the happy in my life.
I know there are different schools of passionate thought about prescription drugs. But if someone is struggling with depression, extreme moodiness or focusing and no other method is helping, I'm a strong advocate for properly supervised and above all legally prescribed medication. Some people, myself included, just need a little help feeling like an emotionally normal person. There isn't anything wrong with asking and accepting a little help sometimes.

26

2011-10-11T03:40:00.000-04:00

Another age post. Sorry! But it's not like I have anything better to write about today.

Now I'm at 26. More than halfway through my 20's and four away from 30. Did I actually make it this far? 26. Still here. Still figuring it all out.

Anything I have to say has been said already. 26 sounds weird. What was I doing ten years ago? At 16 I still seriously considered purple hair. Did I think I'd be where I am now? Engaged? I don't even remember.
Probably one of those "Wouldn't it be nice" thoughts, but probably doubted it would happen for me by now. I feel like I'm letting the young me down. 26, and what do I have? College degrees, a job, a fiance. All nice things, but average. Always average. Never ahead, usually behind. Ah well. That's life. You work hard, do your best, toil away at your existence and you sometimes squeak by. If you're lucky, you'll get a step ahead, but don't get too confident, because before you know it you'll be back where you started.

But what if you just want to start all over? Just begin again and try to get it right? You can always start again. Turn your entire life upside down for that one scrap of hope. That's pretty crazy.
I want to say "Oh well, At least I'm getting married" but that comment alone is going to send the women's equality movement about sixty years.But it's something. It's crazy. Me getting married. Never thought I'd actually find someone so early in life like this.
I can't believe I'm 26. I feel old. 20 feels young. Full of potential and possibility. 21 holds promise and a glass of wine. By 25, you're usually out of college, in a job and up to your eyeballs in student loans. You wonder where the hell your 20's went.
But what about 26? I guess by 26, you've barely made a dent in loans, spending the majority of your life at a job and planning a wedding. At least I am. And thinking about the future. Always thinking about The Future. Those mindless daydreams of what to come.
I guess we're always figuring it out. Making up life as we go along. There's no real timeline we can compare ourselves because we're all on different wavelengths. I can't compare myself to the Med Student, because they're still in college. Can't compare myself to the office dweller because that'd never be my life. I'm just here. 26. 26 at 3:30 in the morning thinking about my future before work. Feels like the age doesn't suit me. Like an ill fitting sweater.
I guess I feel age would have made me more interesting. As if I'd be more ahead or have more going on. Anyway. I'm 26 and have 221 days til my wedding, and ~~365~~ days til I'm 27 if next year isn't a leap year....Which is is. 366 days.
Guess I still have a bit more time to spiffy up my life and create something better. Creating something out of nothing will prove to be an interesting challenge.

Waiting for my real life to begin

2011-08-14T20:31:00.002-04:00

Have you ever felt like you're planning a supporting character to your own life? This sort of reminds me of a line from About a Boy: "The thing is, a person's life is like a TV show. I was the star of The Will Show. And The Will Show wasn't an ensemble drama. Guests came and went, but I was the regular." But what if you've just sort of taken the side plot of your own life? Waiting for it to get good. To get reinvested and rescripted. A bit more comedy, drama, entertainment. Waiting for your life to begin. That Colin Hay. Love 'em or hate 'em, he can be dead on sometimes.

"When I awoke today, suddenly nothing happened.
But in my dreams, I slew the dragon.
And down this beaten path and up this cobbled lane
I'm walking in my old footsteps, once again
And you say, just be here now
Forget about the past, your mask is wearing thin"

I've written about this sort of thing a few times. In different ways. In my old footsteps once again. Here we are again. Waiting for my real life to begin. Does it begin in the tortured years of middle school? In high school, when all I was focused on the future? Or now, when The Future is Now, and suddenly I find myself 25. Sort of wandering. I expected to find my life starting when I graduated, then when I found my first job, then when I got engaged. Then when I quit my job. Now I'm wondering if marriage will be it. If not then, then when? When I have kids? When they head off to college?
I suppose there's lots of Life waiting for you out there. But your achy joints pull at you, your exhausted body slowing you down, telling you to put it off for another day. There's bills to pay and work to be done, right? So we'll have none of this "Real Life" Stuff. After all, isn't that Real Life? Mediocre, toiling. An uphill battle of trying to balance work and home, bills and savings. Life is boring. Admit it. There's such a small percentage that go out there and grab it. And the rest of us hate those people. Look at them! Living their dream, living "The Life"! Ha. Like it's real.
The most adventurous thing I've done in the past year was quit my job. But man, was that sweet. Like Christmas all over again. It was my new lease on life. Fresh feet! My Brilliant Feat. I wouldn't have to wait much longer for my real life to begin now I was out of that crazy/unquaillifed bosses, dead-end job. I was onto a bigger and better life. New Year's Eve. Could there be a better way to kick off 2011?

"Any minute now, my ship is coming in.
I'll keep checking the horizon
And I'll check my machine, there's sure to be that call.
It's going to happen soon, soon, soon
It's just that times are lean."

Any minute now, right?

"Don't you understand?
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin."

Any minute now. Any minute now, life is going to start. What's the line in that John Lennon song? Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. I feel like life can take you down one path, turn sharply and veer down an unpaved side street at 90 miles an hour, laughing maniacally at your terror. Unless you take control of the wheel, you're just the supporting player in your own life. Meh.

But that's the way it goes sometimes. You're a kid, hoping to come out unscathed and grow into an adult. You take the college path or not, and meet yourself in your mid-twenties, bewildered at how you came out with a degree, a job, and a fiance. Despite it all, things sort of worked out. But maybe not in the way you plan. You still carry those secrets, scars, bad memories. But you're okay. Halfway to a functioning adult. But maybe not in the way you plan.

Meanwhile, where the hell is this going? Nowhere. Everywhere. Mindless babble from a Jenni on a Sunday night. Here today, gone tomorrow.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm waiting for my real life to begin because I see, or at least want more from my life.
"On a clear day
I can see, see a very long way."

An average life is more than I expected for myself. It was something I'd wanted: The job, the husband, the house, future children as weird as myself. It's an average life, but really, is that so terrible? Which undermines this entire post. But still. A happy home, a job you can tolerate, the family vacations, friends and lots of family. It may be average, but it sounds pretty good.

After World War II, the desired life was the spouse, kids, house and a job with retirement. That was the life to have. Now American society and media is pushing this ultrahigh end life style (and ultra unattainable)and life of entitlement, cars, clothes, stuff, the unattached life of random lovers, parties and money. The Average Life is just that. Average, and therefore undesirable. For me, I'd like to have the family, and the house. I'd like a job that I love where maybe things just aren't so hard for me. I could do without the struggles while still working hard.

"And you say "Be still my love,
open up your heart, let the light shine in"
Don't you understand? I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin."

Secrets; Neurofibromatosis Awareness Month

2011-05-01T15:24:00.002-04:00

What kind of secrets do you hide? An embarrassing story? A difficult past?

Some secrets are fun; like what you're getting your fiance for his birthday. Some can be like burdens. You actually feel heavier knowing you have them. Thinking about the freedom of giving them all away.

For years and years my secret was my Neurofibromatosis. It was never something people needed to know about me. Classified information. A need-to-know basis.

To doctors, I had a neurological disorder (most of them had no understanding of it anyway). But to everyone else I was just a weird outcast. They didn't know the splotchy spots on my skin were cafe au lait spots, so common in NF it's normal. They didn't get that I had poor fine motor skills, giving me terrible hand writing and even worse knife skills. That my speech impediments and difficulty with speaking is something I hardly can control.

Neurofibromatosis (NF) was my secret. My own. I never felt ready to share it with anyone. The few friends I had didn't know, though I'm sure they knew I was some sort of freak.

But I've gotten to the point in my life where I need to let it stop being a secret. To own it. To be able to explain myself to people. I don't care if people know, but at the same time, I do care. Letting people in can be dangerous. Letting them in on such a big part of you? Should everyone be privy to such information? To trust someone that much with something so personal can only just end up hurting you in the end. So why the hell bother, right? Yet here I am. Sharing it with everyone.

What would they think of me? A disorder no one has heard of. That not even doctors can understand or even explain. A disorder I can barely begin to explain to people who don't have it.

Those who do have it and families understand. It's a common neurological disorder that has so many variances and so many degrees of mildness and extreme. Some people may never experience the symptoms another faces every day. One person's massive tumor is another person's nerve pain or itching. Someone's learning disability is another person's curvy spine. One person's bumps is another person's vision problems.

It's aggravating and frustrating. My NF community ranges from large tumors, to constant pain to debilitating learning disabilities. Every one of us is entirely different yet completely the same.

It's funny. I feel like I belong and don't belong in my NF community. I'm the weird one, even in my own disorder. Ha. I'm the freak in my own community of odd symptoms. Typical.

My case is mild in most ways but normal in others. The pain I feel is fast and infrequent lighting bolts of nerve pain. My blurry vision is triggered by extreme light and more inconvenient than a problem. My curved spine, weird bones and over-active senses. I have small bumps on my head, shoulders and back but aren't something I'm overly worried about. I have dark circles under my eyes; something I've noticed in many of my NF friends. It's funny how such strange things you don't even notice are common with my NF friends. It's a little comforting, knowing you aren't the only weird one.

It's the whole freak part. My issues you can't really see. Not physical. I'm insecure and self-conscience from years of bad motor skills, learning disabilities and A.D.D and failing, failing, failing.Years of bad school experience, both from the class room and from torture from students so bad it kept me up for days of sleepless nights. It's made me untrusting of others; wanting to reject them before they reject me. I want so much to be helpful and friendly, empathetic, but never wanting to invest too much into friendship in case I'm rejected. I'd like to have friends, but am so used to not having them I can't identify what it would be like.

You start to feel like people are being nice to humor you. Being nice to the weird one. The stupid one.

My emotions are extreme and uncontrollable and explosive at times. I get frustrated and discouraged so easily. And you want to express all that, but you talk so fast and have so much trouble verbally articulating. Here, I see my words and can tell you exactly how it is. But talk to me to my face, and my verbal skills go down by 70%, and I find myself over explaining. Being unintentionally defensive.All of it stemming from complications that NF has brought into my life. It's a struggle to not let it own me. To break through the insecurities and difficulties NF brings and enjoy a productive and happy life, instead of always having that level of mistrust in the back of my head. "Don't let them know too much about you. It's only going to screw you over in the end". So, for years it's been a hidden aspect.

But NF is my secret. It's the reason I am the way I am. It's not something I can cure or even manage. If I'm going to get a tumor, I'm going to get a tumor. If it decides to grow into massive disfigurements, and they are about 75% likely to be un-removable, that's just what's going to happen. No amount of wishing, hoping, exercise or healthy eating is going to change that. Nothing. It's a progressive disorder. I'd rather not know when it's going to hit me. There's better things to worry about in life than worrying about something that might not even happen.

That's just what we have to deal with. At this moment in time, I say "If it's going to happen I'm going to deal with it when it happens." but if and when it actually does happen, I'm not sure how I'd feel. I have so many friends who either have NF themselves or have children with it. We all kind of feel the same way. Dealing with doctors, MRIs, symptoms. Wanting answers and solutions but ~~rarely~~ never finding any.

NF is incredible. You can't control it, or treat it, or manage it. You have to mange life with it with pain pills and coping. It can either challenge you to accept it and embrace life, or to deny its existence.

May is NF Awareness Month. I'm kicking it off with this very personal post. Essentially giving away my secret; albeit it's mentioned on both my blogs. It's something so deeply personal. It has made me into this different person. Different. Not less

I hope those of you who don't know anyone with NF take some time this month to research it. But no amount of research can make the impact that talking to those with it can do. We can tell you of our spots. The tumors. The frustration. The feeling of hope and hopelessness. We're the only ones who can control our future, and our children's future where we may have a shot at finding a way to deal with this progressive, spastic, most common neurological disorder.

We have NF. But NF does not have us.

Words of Wisom from Scrubs

2011-04-26T19:32:00.000-04:00

"I know that I'm weird. So the thing is that I always kinda figured that I would end up alone. And then you came along. And you just don't accept my quirks and my crazy stories, you actually appreciate me for them.And I don't think I'll ever stop appreciating you for that. But I know I'll never stop loving you for it."- Janitor, Scrubs, "My Soul on Fire, Part 2"

If you've ever been the weird outcast, and have been lucky enough to find someone who loves you even though you are just a weird outcast, you understand. Finding mutual respect, love and happiness even though you are the weirdest person you know makes you feel a little normal.

#'nuffsaid.

Walkin' on, walkin' on broken glass

2011-04-14T19:52:00.001-04:00

What's making you smile today? Can it be this warm weather? The sunshine? Those thin crispy potato slices for dinner?

For me, at the moment, it's all of the above. Plus, a little Vitamin C and Train. Anyone remember Vitamin C? A sunshiney, poppy girl of the late 1990's. Well known for her song "Smile" and her female empowering anthems.

I'm feeling music nostalgia today. At Bruegger's the music is chilled out and very coffee house. It's mainly covers, and acoustics, remakes and originals. I'm hearing songs I forgot that I loved and when I hear them, for those three and a half minutes, everything is just smooth and chill. So I've spent the better part of the last hour finding music I used to love, from Vitamin C's Me, Myself and I to Weezer's The Sweater Song.

I'm a serious 90's girl. I was born in 1985, so I had complete awareness of the 90's. Pogs, snap bracelets, Roseanne, AOL, Snick. Weren't the 90's totally cool? Mainly how great things seemed to be. Incredible Tv shows, awesome fashion, innovative technology, and all the irreplaceable, incredible awesomely awesome music. Music has never and will never be the same ever again. We will never have another decade of quality music. Boy bands, Girl Power, U2, Nirvana, Train, Green Day (When they were punk and before they went Emo and then Majored in Anarchy), Alanis Morissette (during and after her angry album), Annie Lennox, Billy Joel! And I can't forget Metallica. Remember Jewel's first album? I think it was the first CDI ever owned. So many others that if I put here it would just go on for too long.

You might not agree with me. I'm pretty sure you wont. But can you deny Nirvana? Or Green Day's Basket Case? Wannabe by the Spice Girls? Any song by U2 or REM? These songs had something to offer. Catchiness, depth, a message or just incredible artistry.

What is it about old favorites that make everything seem so much better? Is it the memories associated with it? The yearning for that better time in your life or the memory of getting through a difficult time? Or is it that the song is just good?

What are your favorite songs from past decades?

Best First Date Ever

2011-04-11T21:54:00.007-04:00

It was raining and slightly humid. Matt and I trudged up the hill, away from school and towards the main road. It's springtime 2006. We both lacked a car, and I thought I remembered the diner being only about a mile away. It wasn't raining when we left, and we felt it'd be nice to walk and enjoy each other's company.

When we passed the drive in movie theater, I realized I was wrong.

It was our first real date. I had gift certificates from Christmas for the Eveready diner, a local favorite, and now I had someone to take. We were slowly becoming more and more damp as we made our way up the road.

But I was so dopey with happiness I hardly noticed. By all accounts, this was the worst date ever. It was raining, the diner was farther than I thought, and we were walking. But all I could think about was how happy I was.
I already had the worst date ever over extern. I was dating a guy, and we went into New York City on my day off. He'd never been there. We were going to see a show and spend the day. We'd taken the Circle Line and got lost. Long story short, I still have scars from the blisters on my small toe from walking many miles in cute brown wedgies (I know, you don't need to tell me to not wear wedgies in the city!).

I kept apologizing to Matt, but I couldn't stop smiling. I felt badly for him, because I had no idea what he was feeling.

Five years later, I still remember what we had. My usual burger, and he had a roast beef aus jus sandwich.We talked and laughed and relaxed. Drying and eating. We laughed about the rain, and talked about the food and what we wanted to cook for dinner.

Every time I think about our first date, I feel the same giddy feeling I had when we first became a couple. That swell of happiness. It was ridiculous.
We've always had this mutual respect for each other. No name calling, no meanness. We don't exchange nasty words.....You know, the same respect real couples give each other. What kind of couple treats each other like crap!? Insecure ones, obviously. I'd never allow anyone to treat me the way I've seen couples treat each other. I really pity people who are in such bad relationships, because they are in such denial and probably have had a history of bad relationships and don't know any different...Which is really sad. (If you justify his "love" based on the size or cost of your engagement ring, you might be in a bad relationship...Or a stupid gold digger) I'm really lucky to have a real man who respects women, is smart and secure with himself and us. I know how rare that kind of love is.

So, I'm watching the latest episode of Ruby, and she's on a date, and it's making me smile, because I remember those early feelings. That bubbly time of flirting, catching each other's eyes and smiling. Hand holding and a constant feeling of happiness. It reminds me of those happy feelings and that you can still get them. I was going to say I hope I'm this happy decades from now, but I hope I'm happier. The kind of happy that's a vintage red wine. Love is never this happy every second, but when it is, it's pretty damn good.

This post is so disgusting. :)

Shaddup, already!! Enough is enough.

2011-04-08T20:08:00.002-04:00

*** I haven't written anything in a while, and I wanted to post something. So for inspiration, I leafed through drafts of older stuff. This is from September of 2010. It reflects where I was in my life and those who surrounded me. They don't anymore. It was during a slightly angsty and stressful time in my life. It makes me laugh now to think that I allowed myself to become stressed out over people who were so undeserving of my time, let alone such emotion. But at the time it was pretty lousy. So I'm posting it now, in lieu of a current creative thought.**

Complaining about complaining.

I'm just so sick of people who are always mad about something. It's always something with them. Too hot or too cold. Too sunny or too wet. Too bright or too gloomy. Too quiet or too loud. Shut up! The unpleasable people are the worst. It's never enough for them.

Why cant you just be grateful and happy? I just want to shake these people. They usually have more than most, but still want more.Greedy and selfish. They can't see anything but the negative. You know? Just shut up! People are so sick of you complaining.
The worst are those who have gone through a particular amount of difficulty in their life. Something a normal person would make them see what they have. I know people who wake up grateful for their ability to get out of bed without pain.Yet I also know someone who beat serious cancer and is still a grumpy old man. Still complaining, still negative. Seriously?

I have a progressive disorder. I don't know when it will get me, or how it will get me, but someday it probably will. But at the moment I'm so grateful for my current and past good health, and how far I've gotten. It doesn't matter that I'm not that athletic, or my motor skills prevent me from doing certain things well, or I look weird, or that I have learning disabilities. I have a lot in life a lot of people would like to have. Good family, good future husband, education, a job, a car. Basic things to attain to have.I have more than enough.

So it makes me frustrated to hear people complain about everything. Especially those who have a lot more than most people. People who have half the stuff the complainers do are three times as happy. What's up with that?

Yay! Fun Fact Thingy!

2011-03-02T19:11:00.003-05:00

This awesomely hilarious blog I follow gave me one of this crazy fun award thingies! Thanks Shanimal's Crackers! Whether you meant to give it to me, or just ran out of the good ones, I truly appreciate it.Now I'm going to overthink every one, and probably wake up at 2 am thinking of about ten better ones, and then wake up at 5 am and forget every one.


I'm stealing hers, cause it's nifty

So here's how this blogger award works:
1. Thank and link back to the blogger who kindly gave you this award
2. Write 7 random facts about yourself
3. Pass this award along to a few other fellow bloggers

7 Random Facts!!

I'm so socially awkward and shy I avoid walking down aisles if someone is already in it; forget about ordering deli meat! Same goes for making phone calls.
I'm a morning person. I'm almost fully awake and energized within 15 minutes of waking up; I'm very hyper and energetic, but my A.D.D has calmed down considerably in the past decade.
I used to laugh like a hyena/sea lion, but now it's more normal, but I snort on occasion. 3.5. I'm putting way too much thought into this.
I consider myself a rustic baker. I prefer the whole baking aspect. I'm a terrible decorator and would rather make rustic cobblers, crisps, pastries, breads and cookies than a wedding cake.
I like cotton candy, marshmallow peeps and those whipped/creamy fillings in chocolates.
Matt thinks I'm difficult because I don't like flowers or diamonds, but I call it "thrifty!"
My sense of smell, hearing and touch is hyper sensitive. It is both awesome and terrible.For exactly the reasons you are thinking: "Yay! Cake's nearly done!" *At the bottom of the stairs...When garbage is upstairs, behind a closed door* "Ew, that garbage needs to go out!"

Silly Love Songs -or- Sappy Cheesy Valentine's Day Post

2011-02-14T07:16:00.001-05:00

Five years ago today I had no idea I had causally met my future husband.

I was in the student lounge of the dorm, supporting a classmate who was throwing an Anti-Valentine's Day party for her R.A activity. A few friends and I went; we made anti-valentine's day cards, ate anti-valentine's day cookies and watched "The Rock”.

I needed to get out of my room and meet people. Being in my dorm room was not doing me any good. I'd been lonely and melancholy since my externship ended. A relationship with a guy I was seeing long distance had been slowly falling apart (which I‘d seen coming for weeks, but it was still a little sad) and I was struggling in school after a truly miserable extern experience. I wanted to shake myself out of this cycle of desolation I found myself in.
My friends and I plopped down on a couch. I felt like I always did: shy, awkward and out of place.

There he was. Lazily watching the movie. He seemed to just happen to be there. We said hi. We barely spoke more than three sentences to each other.

The next day, I let the events from last night percolate in my head. I had a really nice time in the lounge with my friends. I'd met a guy and watched a weird movie with Nicolas Cage. Maybe I'd go back down there tonight. Maybe that guy would be there...Maybe I'd bring an empty water bottle down to fill, so I wouldn't look foolish if he was there and didn't notice me, or if he wasn't there at all.
I walked in tentatively. As the heavy door shut, he glanced back from the couch.
"Heeey!" He said in an enthusiastic welcome. I stood there for a moment, trying to decide how I‘m supposed to act now that he recognized me. I hadn‘t thought that far ahead. I tried my best to be nonchalant. Like it was just a fluke I happened to be there.

He invited me to sit with him. One minute it was 5pm, and "Everybody Loves Raymond" was on in the background. The next thing I knew the 11 o' clock news was ending. Like Bambi's friends, I was twitterpated. We talked about nothing. About classes and where we lived. Backgrounds and favorite foods. Family. Professors.
Later, as our relationship continued, he said he’d been sitting there, hoping I might show up again. And how happy he was that I'd come. We joke about how we found each other out of loneliness.

The rest of the month was a giddy blur. We had breakfast together, spent every spare second together from the time we got out of class till we said goodnight. I grinned all the time. I couldn't focus on lectures, on meals or on sleep. I was on a vivacity high of happiness. I hadn't felt this scatty over anyone. I loathed the giggly boy-crazy girl I had allowed myself become, but I was so happy I couldn't care.

Five years later and here we are. It was fate, luck and good timing that brought us together. I had no idea I'd be talking to my future husband. I was just a really shy and awkward girl. Uncomfortable in my own skin. I was trying to get out of my comfort zone of my room and be social.I had gone looking to get out of my own way and ended up with a boyfriend.

Relationships at the C.I.A are difficult unless you were on similar streams. I met Matt after my extern, and he was only a few blocks in. I would be graduating in four months, then he'd be off on extern, by then I'd be back for my Bachelor's degree while he was still gone. He wouldn‘t return till months later. The odds were already stacked against us. I could hardly think about that at the time. I was in delirium of insane happiness in the first months of a new relationship. Where food never tasted better, the sky is brilliant blue, and everything seems so fantastic. Nothing pops the New Relationship Bubble.

I had no idea what I was doing. It was my first relationship where the guy wasn't leaving to go home across the country. I was in Chocolates class at the time, all I wanted to do was track him down and give him the White Chocolate Raspberry truffle I'd made in class only an hour before. But I didn't want to seem crazy. I had to let out the crazy and weird a little at a time. But it turns out he didn't mind a girl giving him pounds of handmade confections. His roommates and neighbors minded even less.
Through graduations, externships and long distance, it kept going. I'm not even sure how it happened. Life just continued on together. Time just kept going.

Valentine's Day is always special to me, because it's the day my life changed. I found someone who liked me in spite of my weird bizarre Jenni-ness. I felt like I was becoming the out going happy person I used to be. He balanced and still balances my hyperactive, strange personality.

It wasn't a surprise when we got engaged. I mean, when it happened it was a SURPRISE, but we spent the last two-three years saying things to each other: "At our wedding, we're..." and "When we're married it's going to be...." or "It's going to be your job as a husband to kill the spiders and not judge me about it!" or laughing about how spoiled our kids will when it came to meals with a chef for a dad and a baker for a mom. Or how we'd react if our kid suddenly decided he hated to cook and would rather spend his life as a rodeo clown.

What most people might tell you is most engagements aren't a total surprise. A relationship either naturally goes in the direction of a life together or it doesn't. You find yourself discussing the future in "we" and "us", and it‘s natural, not uncomfortable or scary. The moment may be a total, romantic and lovely surprise, but the getting married part rarely is.

I could put a lot of quotes about love, marriage, or Valentine's Day here. But I'm not going to. Love is unique to each person. It has highs and lows, fights and tranquility. Nothing is ever perfect and love is always flawed. It's the little things and of course the big things that matter in a relationship, and the ones worth the pain for.

Matt has loved me for who I am. He's the first person I'm completely open and honest with; I could be myself around him. Despite my "sometimes" temperamental behavior, my speech complications, my bizarre personality, my NF, my tendency to get over emotional over any emotion, my inclination to not let go of my moodiness, and the weird quirks and flaws everyone has. I'm so lucky to have gone to school with the stream I did, to have those classmates. I'm lucky to have picked that terrible extern site and even luckier to have that train wreck of a relationship. All my good and bad decisions led to me meeting the guy who'd become my husband. And for that I feel grateful and lucky.

So Happy Valentine's Day to all of you out there!! I hope you are as happy as I am. No matter where you are, who you are with or what you are doing.

"Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly."...

Shooting the Breeze

2011-02-10T15:45:00.003-05:00

I just figured out how to alter your background, so I've been changing my background constantly. But I'm enjoying the Valentine's Day one. Disgusting, isn't it? Another cheerful Valentine's Day ~~lover~~ tolerator.
My plans are quiet and nice. Matt is going to make beef stew, I am going to make mousse and we are going to drink raspberry Lambic.
It's too bad Valentine's Day isn't during a warmer month. I'd love to pack a simple lunch and go eat outside. I'd love a trip outdoors! The only three places I go to is the gym to justify my membership (at $10/month, it's cheap enough to keep as long as I go more than once a week) the library, and the grocery store, where I try to stay on a budget. The remainder of my time is spent job hunting. I'm doing rather well. Still have no regrets about quitting and I doubt I ever will. Hindsight is 20/20 and my vision has never been clearer: quitting was the right choice. Time to find that job where I can be challenged, use my degree and work well with my co-workers. My last co-workers were awesome. Maybe it was a uniting against.......I only hope I can find co-workers I can get along with as well as them!

I'm doing pretty awesome right now. I've applied to several places that all sound fantastic, but it'll be worth not working for another month to find a place that will have a mutual benefit: I want to love where I work and I want them to find me worthwhile too.But I know I work hard, and that I have energy and enthusiasm. I try to have a solid work ethic where being on time means I'm late.

I'm optimistic and happy and working hard to find the right fit. But with Valentine's Day approaching, I'm thinking more about the day and my future with my fiance. I know this is a lackluster post, but I haven't written here in a very long time and I just felt like shooting the breeze. But if you want a laugh or better insight, the blogs I follow are much better than mine :p

Words To Myself From The Past

2011-01-10T07:51:00.009-05:00

Over the years of graduating, moving out of my dorm, back home, unpacking. Things shuffling here and there.Packing and moving into the apartment. Things get shuffled and lost.

I've been doing a lot of cleaning lately. I tackled my room, my closet, going through papers, folders, notebooks from college. All this time, and over the years, I've kept my eye out for a little green composition book. In my old Ethics class, we were given the tiny notebooks to write down the quotes we'd write on the board before class. Not for a grade. Just for us. As my time in the class and at the school dwindled, I realized more and more how important this book would be...What if I found this in a few years...What would it say?...What would I want it to say?

I've been hoping to find the notebook. But knew, I knew I couldn't just find it. It would find me when the time was right.

I had to put together the apartment closet today. Pulling out an old box of school things, I wondered if I would find it. I had my doubts, since just this week I'd made the sad conclusion I'd never find it again. But I still hoped that maybe someday it would find me, as if when it was ready for me to find it.

And there it was. In a binding folder. Peeking out at me, as if it's been there the entire time just waiting for me to find it.

"12/03/2007 To myself: If I find this years from now, I hope you've made choices that make you proud. I don't know where I'll be, but know you've always had a good heart, and you love your family, don't forget that. <3 Jenni."

"Nothing in this world worth having comes easy."

"Love yourself without worrying what others think of you, it's not so bad to be different."

"I don't know where I'll be in the future, or what I'll be, so I'm going to be me. Difficult, complicated, moody, laughing, weird, nice, sharing, worry wort, crazy outside the box me, so I wont wish later. I am Jenni Robinson, and I'm going to be me while I still can."

"Trust me, your G.P.A wont matter 6 months after you graduate...Just work hard in school and at everything."

"It's okay to do nothing sometimes."

"You are more lucky then you will ever know."

"Please have a good heart."

"If a man does not keep pace with his companions perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer Let him step to the music which he hears however measured or far away"

"Looking back, nothing seems so bad, so don't fret so much when it happens."

"Don't be nasty to be nasty. Don't stoop to their level and backlash meanness."

"Don't be fooled. Remember, some people NEVER change. EVER."

"Love your parents."

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice shame on me."

"Some people really never change. Know who they are"

"Be kind, but know when to stand up for yourself."

"Don't give up, yet know when enough is enough and to call it quits."

"Don't be so afraid to be so different. Others just don't get it!"

Thanks, Dr. Johnson, from Ethics at the C.I.A, this was my favorite part of this class, and I am so happy to have found this again.

....What would you tell your past self?

25, Part 2

2010-10-11T11:05:00.001-04:00

When the hell did I become so old? I mean, one minute I'm in high school, worrying about mid-terms, fitting in and my future, and ten years later, I'm right in the middle of my future, but now it's now.

The future never comes because it always becomes the present. Plans and hopes and dreams will never come if you don't put yourself out there. "The Future" is a dreamworld.

Anyway. 25. Damn. I'm farther than I expected myself to be at this age. Or at least better than I had expected. Employed. In an apartment. With a fiance. Fiance!? Whaaaaaat?! Who'd want to marry you, Jenn? Weird fast talking Jenni? Wanting-to-dye-her-hair-purple-at-15 Jenni?

.....Yeah. I'm shocked, too. Despite all my weirdness, insecurities, and awkwardness, a guy actually wants to spend time with me. Crazy, right? The insecure pubescent girl never leaves our sub conscience.

But I'm well past puberty. Which, God willing, means my current NF status will most likely stay the way it is. Maybe it will accellerate a bit, maybe a lot. I don't know. NF is known to accerlate during puberty. As far as I know, I've been fine. A blip or two on MRI scans, but nothing bad. Nerve pain, moodiness, learning disabilities and poor motor skills. That's been about it. And my spots.Very mild and very lucky. Very very.

I'm 25. I find that so weird and bizarre. I'm an adult. I don't feel like an adult. I feel like I'm playing the part of an adult: going to work, paying my bills, cooking dinner, cleaning an apartment, planning a future. It's just a game.

I think a lot of my generation feels this way. We're all just playing. Going to school or jobs. Pretending. But we're in our 20's. Almost 30. When are we going to accept that we are adults and we really should start to play the part? Or are we redefining adulthood?

I feel like another year older with good health is another win. Another clean MRI. Another year without any bumps. New spots may appear, old ones may fade. But I'm good. I'm alive. I'm healthy. I know people without NF don't understand this, especially when my case is this mild, but a year of good health with anyone with any disorder or condition is pretty awesome.

Anyway, this is getting silly. I'm 25. It's not like I'm turning 21, or 30, or anyother milestone age. This is just another day.

No big words of wisdom here...Well, maybe "Life is short." Live it up. You never ever know what's going to happen.
Or "Always be yourself." "Let your freak flag fly." "Never, ever, ever, ever, ever give up.".
Or "It's never going to stay this hard."
Or "You will weigh a few pounds more in the colder months than the warmer months. It's supposed to be like that."
Or "You need to tell people how much you love/appreciate/respect/care about them, because you just never know."
Or maybe "It's okay to have that danish."
Or "Be okay with who you are. Those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."
Or "Slow down!! It's okay you did nothing on your day off!!" (This one is hardest for me. If I spend a whole day doing nothing, I get really angry at myself.)
Or "Life is too short to let people who don't even matter to you stress you out!"
Or maybe "If someone upsets me, I think of what background I know about, and what they've gone through. If you think about it, you might realize they can't help being defensive, insecure and aggressive." This doesn't excuse their actions, but it makes me realize they might really not be able to adequately control their emotions.

Anyway, I think that's it. Happy National Coming Out Day and Sausage Pizza Day!!!!

Ephiphany at the Oyster Fest

2010-09-11T21:12:00.004-04:00

It was bright and too warm for the jeans I was wearing. I'd been up since 3 am for work, and was already tired. I was also agitated by the high volume traffic on the streets and the crowds in the Festival. I was in no mood to walk around. But Matt had never been to it, and I haven't been to it in about fourteen years, so I thought that if he was interested in going, why not?

But Matt and I got a pizza frita from the St. Ann's Stand, and we walked to find a place to sit.

Finally, we got lucky and found two people who were leaving. We sat down to eat, and an elderly man chatted us up. We talked about this and that. He found out we went to the C.I.A, and that we worked in the food industry, and we found out he has had several meals at school and loves the campus.

He was a nice guy, and his message was clear to us: "Live it up." he said "Life's too short. Live it up." I knew. Life's too short for pettiness, and just asinine short minded people.
We both know that. We work too hard and have come across too many people to know different. We told him we totally understood, and we tried to live like that.
He was really nice, and the conversation with him, some random guy whose name I did not get, perked me up some.
We wandered around, and I let the conversation mellow in my head. Matt wanted to check out the next band that was setting up, so we made our way over and sat as they set up and did sound checks.

The band, Ask Your Mom , are a bunch of guys who as far as I understand, started just playing around one time and it grew and on and on and on. And there they were, out there, doing something they seemed to have a ton of fun doing, and were actually pretty good. I was jealous. These men doing their thing on stage at the Oyster Fest. It only made the message of "Live it up" that much bigger. Life's too short to be unhappy. Life is just too. Short.

I was so jealous! I mean, if they can put themselves out there in the public eye and rock out, why can't I do my thing here? Enjoy writing and just putting it out there again?

Surprising how an Oyster Fest can bring on such realizations. Wonder what's next?

Unconventional and Unanswered questions.

2010-09-01T18:35:00.002-04:00

As a kid, I never wanted the whole 9 to 5 thing. I wanted early hours, up before the sun, out before lunch kind of life. Where the whole day stretches out before you as you exit your job. So, that's what I did. I bake.

I'm up before 3:30, at work at 4:30. Up earlier during the holidays. The downside is, you're tired. All the time. And people don't understand that. They pressure you to "find a way to deal with it" or "Well, you're just going to have to be tired, then." No! That's not it. I go to bed at 7:30. I'm tired. I was born with sleeping problems. I need to manage it by staying on a routine.

Having those problems, mixed in with my hours is a cocktail of exhaustion. Why do I still do it? Why do I sacrifice a life, so that people can have good desserts to eat? Do I love it? I'm a morning person. I hate sleeping past 7 even on my days off. I'd prefer being at the gym at 6:30 on a day off than watching the news in my pjs.
So you can either you be a little selfish and manage your health to get enough sleep, or you screw your health and stay up till 11. And for the record? The second choice leaves you cranky and insufferable. I'd rather be tired, but lucid and cheerful and bearable to those around me.

My life feels unconventional. As I was leaving the gym, I saw women dressing for work, putting on make-up, looking business-like and perfect with their hair and dresses. Here I am leaving the gym to go home. To run errands, clean and enjoy a day off.
What is this life? It's strange and bizarre. But I enjoy it.

No one understands the food industry unless they have experienced it directly or grew up with parents doing it. What is this life? Working on the holidays. A whole weeks worth of hours crammed into a two and a half day period. We don't eat. Unless a kind co-worker decides to bring lunch or you remember to stuff a granola bar in your bag. Sometimes we eat, but usually, we don't. It's just the food industry.

Anyway. Since I've been engaged, I've been thinking a lot about the workforce and careers. Even scarier? I'm turning into "one of those girls". The kind of girl who gets engaged and starts to think about "the future". A house, kids, dogs. Good Lord, shoot me now. I am so not this girl. But I think about it sometimes. Such as, if Matt gets promoted or gets a raise, and starts making really good money. After we get married and I get on his insurance. After my car is paid off. After student loans become more manageable. When we could afford to live with one full time job and one part time job.

What would I do? Would I want to do that? Would we ever get to that point in life?

Found a guy who loves the weirdness

2010-07-11T09:54:00.003-04:00

Matt wasn't acting like the stereotype of a nervous wreck who was about to propose. He was just fine and normal. We were cooking crispy bulgogi with sticky rice for dinner, our first in our new apartment (It was a little too crispy).
During that evening, he kept saying "Now what was I supposed to do today! It's July 1st, what is it I was supposed to do!?"
"I don't know, I'm not your secretary!" I joked (even though I am) "It musn't have been very important." I concluded.

After dinner, we sat down on the couch and I began to read a book. But he was pestering me. "Sit up, Jenni, sit up and talk to me!" He pleaded, smiling. I looked at him over my book. "Nooo, I'm sitting here reading quietly!" I laughed. He wouldn't relent, so I gave up and went to go brush my teeth, but he wouldn't stop. "Jenni! Just stand here, stand right here for a second!" He said. I had a feeling what he was up to; joking around about marriage proposals, like we sometimes did.
"No way!" I laughed, "You're just screwing around!" I went in and shut the door, but I looked at myself in the mirror, and my heart began to race "Oh my god, is he serious!?" I thought. I was nervous, and my immediate responce was to run! Run and avoidance!!! I brushed my teeth, trying to tell myself it was a joke, and I was just going to go to bed and be done with it.
I exited the bathroom, heading to my room. But he stopped me, looking at me from the couch.
"Jenni! Jenni!..Will you marry me!?" He exclaimed, opening the box and presenting me with a very pretty ring.

........my mouth dropped open. "You're KIDDING me!!?" I exclaimed.
"No, will you marry me!?" He asked again.
I was speechless. I sputtered and sat down heavily on the couch. My heart pounding and my nerves racing.

Well, of course I said yes. But only after many "Are you sure?"'s and talk about weddings.

Now, the ring is beautiful! I have a strong aversion to diamonds, and I'm crazy about opals (something he's known since we've been dating; almost 4 and a half years), so he knew I wanted an opal engagement ring (the countless links to photos of such things helped too). My ring is a beautiful white gold, with an Australian Opal, and three little diamonds on each side. Beautiful!

We couldn't be happier or more excited. We told our parents on July fourth at the beach and now everyone knows.

And, by the way, the whole July First thing? A few months ago, back in April, we were joking about getting engaged and he said he would wait till he were in the apartment but he "didn't say how long." And then when I persisted and asked for a better time frame, he said "July first." When he pointed that fact out that night we got engaged, I laughed.

No wedding plans yet. We are just happy to be together, engaged and starting out together.

My NF Paper

2010-05-17T08:54:00.004-04:00

Back at school, I was just in the begining stages of my blog writing and Facebooking. With Facebook, I discovered something that has become so important to me: Neurofibromotosis. It opened up so many support groups. People just like me. Talking about NF, embracing it, becoming advocates. Something I never had done.
My lovely Food Writing teacher, Irena Chalmers (something of a Rock star to me when it comes to writing), encouraged me to take up an Independant Study, talking about my NF. After some thinking, I decided to dive in and do it.

It makes me laugh a little now, to think of the Dean of (Dean of what? I can't remember) possibly Bachelor Studies, meeting with me to discuss the project, trying to twist my arm to make it into a Learning Strategies Center Propaganda project. Really? Really? Can you even spell Neurofibromotisis, let alone say it, Dean?

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight

Anyway, here you will find my paper. I hope you read, enjoy, and learn more about me, and NF.

Part 8

2010-05-17T08:54:00.002-04:00

Although my externship was miserable, I can't honestly say I would take it back. Out of my entire externship experience, I can see one positive thing to come out of it. I met CIA Professor Irena Chalmers, and she was opened me up to writing. I had always loved to write, finding it the most effective way to express what I had to say, but I don't think I had considered it as a serious career opportunity. Learning about food writing and other parts of a food magazine gave me something to work towards. Discovering something I felt I could attain with hard work gave me something to look forward to when I returned to school. If it weren't for Professor Chalmers I wouldn't be anywhere near where I am today, or be pursuing food writing as much as I am, or even writing this independent study. I can't honestly say I would take back my externship because so much good has come out of it.

    Upon returning to school I completed my Associate's degree and went onto the Bachelor's degree program. I used the Learning Strategies Center when necessary for extra time on tests, but didn't require anything more than that from the center. Some are surprised by this, but don't seem to understand there is only so much they could do for me that I actually needed. I've always been stubborn about my “disability” and never wanted attention for it. It was good to know there was help when I need it, however, I didn't require sessions to discuss where I am in my education.
    I have NF1, but it doesn't mean I need to be treated like someone incapable of handling her life and being dependent on so many people all the time. The purpose of this paper is to show my perspective on how others tend to treat people with “disabilities”. In my case, people don't understand or can relate, so they don't know how to react and treat me. More often than not, I'm misunderstood or underestimated. It's bad enough to be stereotyped for something few people have ever heard about, let alone be judged for needing extra help. I'm perpetually insulted when people are surprised when they see what people with disabilities can accomplish, and there's such a need to prove ourselves the way we do. I dislike being seen and labeled as someone with disabilities, I've accepted the fact that I need a little help and understanding sometimes, but to be seen only for what I have is infuriating as well as offensive.

    Disclosing information about what I have has always been a challenge for me. I never knew what to disclose, or how much. NF1 is a relatively unknown disorder, even though the birthrate for it is very high. I wasn't comfortable explaining it to other people, because when I did they acted like it was this enormous struggle and that so many things were accomplishments in life. The paperwork for my learning disabilities and the help I required were submitted to the relevant places, so up to college I had an assumption that all teachers had access to it, and therefore I had no need or desire to explain it to them.
    Growing up, I wanted to be treated like everyone else But it's hard to find a balance. A part of me wants to be treated normally, while the other wants my differences and my different qualities to be seen and understood. I like being a little different and going to a different drum, but sometimes I wish it weren't so difficult. When it comes right down to it, I always want to be known as who I am, and not as a disability on paperwork.

Part 7

2010-05-17T08:53:00.002-04:00

If I hadn't been so afraid of losing points on my externship, or even worse starting from square one, I should have called the externship office at school to speak with them. I would urge students who suffer any sort of ill treatment at an externship site to seek help from the school, even though starting over may not be an option, speaking to them would be very helpful. At the time, I didn't know if they could help me, and was so frustrated with myself that I was struggling so badly with the most simple tasks, worried they would say the same things as my boss and not understand either.

    It turned out that the back of the bakery was an improvement, even if it was a small one. My hours were much earlier- midnight or 2 am, depending on the day. But I didn't mind, the back of the bakery were far nicer to me and treated me like a worker, as well as a student. They teased me in a way that made me feel like I was one of them, and were usually patient when teaching me what to do. I made thousands of dozens of bagels and donuts, bread dough, rolled croissants, made doughs and batters. That isn't to say I didn't have my bad days, but they weren't as unbearable as before.

    My hand limitations weren't as noticeable in the back of the bakery, as I worked mostly with doughs and batters, the only piping I had to do was filling cookies with jam or chocolate. I hated to venture any further than the back of the bakery and avoided Eric. I was terrified to run into him. Even though things were better, I was still exhausted. I would spend the majority of my time in my apartment reading, writing my externship manual or hoping to find friends to talk to on-line. My hours made it difficult to sleep more than a few hours. I would wake up in my early morning hours and have to find something to look forward to later on in the day to get myself out of bed, though the idea of not showing up to work was terrifying enough to get me moving in the morning.

    I was frustrated at my inability to tell my extern bosses what was really making me unable to ice cakes or pipe. I desperately tried to prove myself by staying after I clocked out several hours a week practicing my piping, hoping they'd see my attempts to learn. When Norm, Eric's brother, made brutal comments on my piping I tried again to explain my hand muscles, and again, it was dismissed. They didn't want to hear excuses, and I knew that, so I took their insults, anything to get them away from me.

Part Eight

Part Six (Oh, Man, this is never gonna end)

2010-05-17T08:52:00.002-04:00

Extern wasn't the best period of time in my life. The first day was short, exhausting but somewhat promising. I received a walk through of the day, glazed some donuts and was shown how to ice an enormous seven layer cake, but after trying it myself I was arrogantly told with a satisfied smirk that I had done it wrong. However, as the weeks passed by and I struggled more and more with cake icing as well as cutting things. I would be teased for not being able to ice over 700 black and white cookies in under an hour, even though it had been my first time doing such a thing. One difficult day I was unable to cut fresh from the deep freezer brownies perfectly, I was yelled at for 10 minutes before I was able to make a meek attempt to explain to him why I had such difficulties doing such things. When he sneered at my explanation for my poor hand muscles (the only way I was able to explain it) I gave up, starting to doubt even my own reasons. I fought tears at work almost everyday, not knowing how to get myself out of the situation, or explain to them why I struggled so much, knowing they would neither believe me, nor care.
Daily two of the brothers seemed to take turns to try and push me further and further, saying they were trying to make me develop a “thicker skin” and not “take crap from them anymore”. Whether it was calling me a “librarian”, cursing me as a baker, or other harassing remarks. If that wasn't bad enough, most of the other male workers were equally unkind and just as sexist, if not more sexist and harassing. I tried to get through work everyday doing the menial tasks assigned to me such as taking inventory in the walk in freezer, organizing sugar decorations or refilling sprinkle containers. The only hands on thing I would be doing was glazing and filling donuts, filling orders or stocking the bakery before they opened. Finally, halfway though my externship, Eric one of the brothers and the one who gave me the hardest time, pulled me aside and informed me he was changing my hours. I would now be working in the the back of the bakery where I would no longer be working under him, but with those who ran it, making and baking off products. He also suggested I rethink my career path before my parents invested anymore money in the school and my education. There was nothing I would muster up to defend myself. I accepted it and felt angry at myself and defeated.

Part Seven

Part Four! Still hanging in there!?

2010-05-17T08:51:00.008-04:00

One particular event in my high school career to illustrates this point was my guidance counselor and her lack of guiding or counseling. Senior students were required to meet with the counselor with their parents to discuss their college choices. I had wanted to go to the Culinary Institute of America since I found out about it in the 5th grade, and was determined to get here ever since. I immediately told her my college choice, the period of time I had wanted to attend the school, as well as my desire to apply only here and perhaps one other school (though I didn't want to ever consider a second choice). She didn't take to this very well. She hadn't even heard of the school or understand what it was, how well known it was and only degraded it further to me by referring to it as “That little cooking school in New York.” She quickly dismissed it as a place I could never hope to attend and suggested the state or community college that would be more “on my level” and a place I would be “more able to handle”. I was shocked and furious. I always knew I had struggles and hurdles with everything in my life, but I had fought bitterly against being treated and labeled as someone with “disabilities”. I didn't know how to react to the situation in a calm and professional manner. Not being intimidated, and not wanting to show she was making me so angry, I more strongly stated that I've been wanting to come here since I was a child, I tried to explain my passion for baking and my interest in the school, all while trying to keep my voice from shaking with anger or telling her how I really felt about what she had said. I also firmly told her that I would apply for this school only, and if I didn't get in, only then would I apply elsewhere. Her attitude and tone became condensing, and hinted I should have other options. I, however knew what I was capable of, and didn't let her talk me out of it.

This particular situation is worth mentioning because my entire life people have treated me like my principal and counselor had. My parents were told by doctors I probably wouldn't progress past the mental and education age of that of a six year old. Some teachers and doctors regarded me as someone who wasn't really capable of much because of my disabilities. Years later my extern bosses would implore me to drop out of school and pursue a different career. I never had a voice up to that point with my counselor, and when she told me I couldn't do something just because I had some difficulties that she would never understand, I wasn't going to let her intimidate me into settling for something less than what I knew I was capable of.

Part Five

Part Five

2010-05-17T08:51:00.007-04:00

My experience attending the Culinary Institute was quite different than high school. Other than having to retake math in B-block, I was doing fairly well in my classes and while I knew I had support with classes if I needed it, I didn't use it very often. Being in bakeshop classes the majority of the time in working towards my Associates degree, I didn't have a strong need for help until I reached the bachelor's program, even then I just needed it for extra time on tests.

I knew I struggled in some of my baking classes with fine hand skills such as piping, cutting and icing, but thought it was just because I didn't have enough practice. It wasn't until I reached my 2nd term practical and realized exactly how much my NF impacted my ability to do certain tasks. I had trouble piping éclairs, icing a cake, slicing apples and cutting apple strips. It wasn't that I lacked the passion or knowledge, but the way my hands were able to work and maneuver. I didn't quite have the ability to finely grasp the tools and manipulate them properly. This cut deeply into my confidence and my belief that I truly had the ability and passion to be here. What kind of baker can't ice their own cake correctly?

These problems severely impacted my confidence to find a good externship. I was nervous about going into the real world and tackle cakes. The situation would no longer be a classroom setting, where it's okay to not be perfect, but real cakes and real customers. What would my boss think? I finally found an externship site near Hyde Park in Kingston, in a bakery where based on reviews from other students, would possibly be a place to grow and learn. I quickly realized, as early as my first day, how wrong that would be for me. The bakery turned out to be owned by a small family with three brothers, all CIA trained, in the bakery business since they were children and were burnt out, bitter and miserable, seeking to make everyone else not like them as miserable as them.

Part Six

Part Three of my NF Paper

2010-05-17T08:50:00.002-04:00

Not being able to communicate as effectively as everyone else has made a huge impact on my life. Having NF1 as well as A.D.D makes you think and act very differently than most people of any age. You don't know how to handle social situations like “normal” children. Making and keeping friends has been difficult my entire life. As a child, there were times when I was bossy, impatient, moody, aggressive at times and very eager to be a part of everything. But at the same time I was friendly, always eager to share with others, well-behaved, nice and did my best to be helpful, perhaps to counteract the times I seemed to misbehave. Looking back. it's not hard to imagine that it was difficult. It made socializing and relating to people very difficult growing up.
I managed to get through high school with very few problems. I attended a small all girl's school, where they had very little knowledge about how to handle someone with disabilities, let alone NF, I managed to get through my education without much (if any) of their “help”. I was exempt from a language until I felt too embarrassed to explain my need for the exemption and took French my last two years of school.
High school surprised me with administration's lack of knowledge of learning disabilities, but the teachers had some degree of knowledge of them. In grade school most children with various disabilities were in mainstream classrooms, there were social workers and most of the school administration and teachers had at least some knowledge of students with special needs. So from my perspective as a child, I never thought having disabilities was a big issue, just an annoyance. In high school, I always felt as though the principal and guidance counselor treated me like I wasn't able to do anything. I knew they didn't understand and probably didn't really want to. It angered me when I would hear their tone and their words, as if they looked down on me.

Part Four

Part Two of my NF Paper

2010-05-17T08:49:00.006-04:00

My NF1 has caused very few physical complications in my life so far. I have the café au lait spots, my spine is slightly curved and I also have Lisch nodules. I have very few of the symptoms I listed above, and when I do have them they are usually mild and infrequent. What has affected me most in my life has been learning disabilities, A.D.D, fine tune motor skills, communicating, socializing and other issues. I have been on several forms of Ritalin and Concerta throughout my life to help with some of these issues. There is no cure or treatment for NF1, only checking up on it every so often, mostly with yearly head and spine MRIs as well as checking up with neurological doctors on a yearly basis or more frequently if necessary. In most cases of NF, how many and how severe the symptoms and complications you have growing up is usually an indicator of how your NF will be in the future.

School hasn't always been easy for me. After spending one year in a special education class, before entering a normal grade school, I frequently felt frustrated by things I couldn't do that others could. I struggled and still struggle with any form of math, my handwriting as well as other hand oriented skills, and grasping simple concepts. I was often outspoken, impatient and very energetic. I had trouble communicating, and despite several years of speech therapy, I still find myself speaking too quickly, though the therapy was also for other impairments. I was and still am very stubborn. In retrospect I believe that as a child I thought it was everyone else's problem they couldn't understand me. I couldn't comprehend why it was so difficult for people to understand me. It is still something that frustrates and flusters me.. Though I try, I still work to be understood and slow down when I speak.

Part Three

Part One of my NF Paper

2010-05-17T08:49:00.005-04:00

Living to a Different Drum
Jenni Robinson
March 2008

    I never wanted to let my “disabilities” be the cause of an excuse to not be able to do something. But as I've become older, I've realized that there are times when it is necessary to speak up and let it be known why I can't do certain things, and that talking about it isn't a crutch, or an excuse, just a way to be better understood.
    I was diagnosed with Neurofibromatosis Type One when I was about two years old. There are two main types of Neurofibromatosis: Type I and Type II, but I'll refer to them as NF1 and NF2.
    NF 1 occurs in 1:3,000 births and is characterized by having two or more of the following symptoms: six or more “café au lait” spots on the body, small pea-sized bumps called neurofibromas on the skin but also larger areas on the skin called 'plexiform neurofibromas'. There may also be some freckling under the arms and/or in the groin area, begin tumors on the brain and spine, Lisch nodules- which are pigmented bumps on the eye's iris, some bone differences such as bowed legs, and small tumors on the optic nerve that may or may not affect vision. Café au lait spots, Lisch nodules and spinal and brain tumors are the most common signs of NF1. 50% of those with Nf1 have various forms and degrees of learning disabilities.

Symptoms of NF1 are wide ranging; not everyone will experience all symptoms in the same way or to the same degree. The most common symptoms of NF1 are: possible vision impairment/ blindness, speech impairments, café au lait spots or tumors occurring anywhere on the body, scoliosis, digestive issues, seizures, headaches, brain tumors, brain blood vessel defects, learning disabilities, mental retardation, itching, over sized head, high blood pressure, muscle problems (such as fine tune motor skills), freckling, early or delayed puberty, false joints, bone deformities, and increased risk for different types of cancers, although this usually isn't due to tumors, as those tumors are very rarely cancerous.

Part Two

Doctor Rant

2010-05-14T07:28:00.002-04:00

So many of my NF friends have been suffering from various problems lately And by"Lately" I mean 'Every day". We all do. Chronic pain, itching, tumors, vision problems, all of it. So what do we do when we go to the doctor, thinking "Hey, he's a doctor, of course he'll help me!" Only to be told that your "pain problem" doesn't exist for them and they refuse to do surgery. HELLO!!! Anyone out there? Anyone listening!?

Apprently, the NFers are the only ones listening, and we are not happy.

I'm so sick of this. I'm sick of my friends suffering, and their kids suffering from stuff doctors can't ''see'' so obviously they can't get their big doctor head around it.
It's a tumor right in front of your face!! It doesn't MATTER if it isn't cancer (yet), it causes pain! It is THERE. Doctors are happy to pump you full of pain pills, but God forbid you ask them to use their doctor skills to help you.
I'm sick of the ignorance of people who don't understand NF. It's a shame when doctors can't even spell or pronounce the disorder.
I was six and I could spell the damn word. N-E-U-R-O-F-I-B-R-O-M-A-T-O-S-I-S! Spelled the way it sounds, people! If a girl like me with a speech impediment can say it, I'm sure you can wrap your lips around it.

I'm sick of insurance companies. I've been having trouble obtaining insurance for awhile now. And god forbid I USE my insurance that I pay for to get the one MRI I need every 5 years. Actually, who knows how often I need an MRI.
My very former Neuro Doc was so ignorant about the disorder that I don't even know what could be wrong with me. This woman told me that the bumps on my head were "Pimples" Um, yeah, it's called NF, Lady, maybe you should look it up sometime. And laughed and told me I need to "cut back on the caffeine and maybe not have such a tight ponytail" when I told her I've noticed more frequent headaches.
You asked me how I was feeling, I tell you and you give me reasons that are not only insulting, but make you look like a moron. Sorry, "Neuro Doc", but judging from your degrees I assumed you were a doctor from a good university. My mistake! By my calculations, it's costing me over $12 a minute to sit in front of you being told it's pimples. A ten minute appointment. Not counting the hour in the waiting room.

And my NF is mild! What about my friends who have NF much worse than me!? My friend's daughter, who needs brain surgery and is having so much agita? If I'm struggling to be heard, what about her? My friends with actual tumors? If I can't be heard, what hope do they have? What hope do any of us have? It's a progressive disorder. Can you understand how that makes us feel? I don't know how I'll be in one year, the rest of my life doesn't exist for me till I get there.

Which is why NF research and promoting understanding is so important! Maybe one day, their kids will grow up in a world with so much better treatment, maybe a cure. This is why I have been such a pain about NF this month. It is NF Awareness Month and this one ranting post is only the tip of the iceburg that is NF. A little sliver of what we go through, the struggle to be heard by doctors and evil insurance companies.

If you read this, maybe you'll start to understand.

End Rant.

"But I am this person."

2010-05-04T18:48:00.007-04:00

"At a certain part in your life. Probably when too much of it has gone by. You will open your eyes and see yourself for who you are. Especially for everything that made you so different from all the awful normals. And you will say to yourself, "But I am this person." And in that statement, that correction, there will be a kind of love"

I'm lucky to have discovered who I am at a relatively young age. When I was being tortured and ridiculed, things thrown at me, hair pulled, and other things probably blocked out during my horrible middle school years, I had one sliver of hope. One little shred. Knowing I was me. Knowing that this is me. I was so stressed out in middle school over the torture, I was on sleeping pills and had high blood pressure so bad my vision would sometimes blur.
But I kept plowing on, while the emotional scars run deep, I still can't help but be myself, and be okay with it.

I have NF. It makes me so weird and awkward and talk fast and have this personality of oddness that wants to express, no matter how weird someone thinks I am.

"But I am this person." But I am. But I am me. I tried to be a little different, but that didn't last more than an afterthought. I can't be different. I can try and slow down when I talk, and control my mood and temper, but I can't fix this. I can't fix the girl who wants to sing her sentences, or dance in place, eat Kettle Backyard Barbecue Chips with a drizzle of honey.

I learned by the end of middle school, if someone can't like the crazy, they can't like me. And I stuck with that. Shunning drugs, alcohol, boys, even staying up late. Because it wasn't me. And I didn't want to do that stuff, nor did I want to just to become popular. Seriously, can you see how stupid that reads?

.......It was a very lonely three years, where the only thing that matters is belonging. Acceptance. Cool. I would try and conform; virtual pets on key chains, Gel roller pens, cans of soda with lunch. Honestly? It didn't help. The damage was done. I was hyperactive and strange.

This post comes from watching "Phoebe in Wonderland." about a girl with OCD and Tourettes. It's such a good movie. The quote at the beginning of this post is from the movie, spoken by Phoebe's teacher for Alice in Wonderland. And I love it.

Because that's how it's been my entire life. I am this person. I was me when I was 6, and head butting people to say "Hello!", I was me in my bucket hat and purple sunglasses phase. I was me when I finally found a friend who was herself also, and we were two wonderfully bunches of laughter and acceptance. I'm still me, at 24. Only now I'm more of a weird, hyperactive adult, who now only occasionally head butts (As a joke. I admit it), with a ~~boyfriend~~ fiance who not only loves me, but loves my strange, and embraces the weird that is Jenni.

I'm not sure if NF has made me so strange, but it has given me the excuse to say "But I am this person." Like it or not.

May is NF Awareness Month!

2010-05-03T10:22:00.001-04:00

Tumors are just a very small part of NF (neurofibromatosis). It varies from person to person, day to day, year to year.

There is so much to write about it, that it is overwhelming to even to think about where to begin.

My spots are a big part of me. I don't need tattoos. I have this spolotchy coffee and cream colored blotches all over my body, in the oddest places; my back, my hip bone, the crease under my arm, my legs. All different sizes and shapes. I have a strong emotional attachment to them. Because it's a reminder: I have NF, and it is a strong part of me. It's a visual of why I am so quirky and weird and odd....Of why I worry about my mortality, about my future, future possible kids (if I make it that far). What will happen to me next year?

My NF is mild, and I am lucky for that. I know too many parents who has a child who has already undergone brain surgery to remove tumors. They have constant headaches, itching, vison problems, nervous system problems, severe learning disabilities, I could go on for pages to document every little thing NF touches.
This disorder is so devastating because there is no treatment, no cure, it changes constantly and from person to person. You cannot control it, or predict it. Only hope. Hope and MRIs is all we really have.

It's so important that word spreads about NF. It affects so many millions of people. It's more common than any neurological disorder and yet no one understands it or has heard about it.

Even doctors are seemingly clueless. I want people reading this to understand how frustrating that is. My former neurological doctor insisted that the bumps on my head were pimples, even though I -knew- they were little bumps that frequently occur on the head with NF. When I mentioned headaches, she sighted that "my pony tail is too tight." joking or not, NF isn't something to be taken lightly and with such ignorance.

It angers me that I was treated by such an ignorant doctor but what makes me more angry are the children and parents who are treated much worse than I am, going beyond ignorance and into total lack of care and stupidity.

I am sorry that I am unable to express NF properly. But maybe this will bring you to other NF blogs, or CTF.org
May is NF Awareness month. I have always respected other developmental disabilities, and things like Autism and rare things such as bilateral perisylvian polymicrogyri.

So I ask that you try and respect my neurological disorder, and spend a few minutes learning about Neurofibromatosis

I'm such a black sheep I'm an armadillo.

2010-03-02T14:12:00.001-05:00

75% of the blogs I follow are by parents with children with all sorts of special needs of different levels. So when I sit down to write, I think about them, and what they do and go through every day for their children, and how difficult their days must be for them sometimes.

So I don't write anything.

Who am I to write about work, or a great restaurant, or my own NF issues? I'm not a parent, so while I feel extreme empathy for both them and their children, I can't exactly relate, even if I have gone though similar social problems, learning disabilities, and other physical issues. Who am I to blog? I'm just some 24 year old with a fairly typical, boring life; college degrees, a job, a car, a boyfriend, trying to save money for an apartment. I just have NF1, which makes things difficult for me sometimes.

I suppose I ought to write more about NF, to enhance understanding. But it's so complicated. I know what you're thinking: "Every disorder is complicated." I get that. No offense, but I feel NF is a little different. It's spontaneous and progressive. It's gonna gitcha. Tumors attacking and screwing with everything from moods, speech, motor skills to eyesight, growth, and health. But it's so much more than that. Everyone I've talked to who has NF has a different story.

I know I'm not normal. I'm weird. I'm such a black sheep I'm an armadillo.
My mother and father swear I'm not weird, but seriously, take off the rose colored glasses and see! I'm weird and strange and odd, but that's okay. I like being so uncanny and odd. A bit off. I'm not like anyone in my family really, and that's okay. Sure, I'm a social wreck, but whatever. It's cool. I'd rather not be in the normal crowd. I like you guys better; the moms and dads who work hard for their equally weird and wonderful kids.
You parents get me. And I get your kids. I can commiserate when they get teased at school, I understand when meetings for their special needs get frustrating, when doctors don't listen. If I'm being presumptuous, I'm sorry. I know I haven't had as much struggle growing up, but I've had A LOT more struggles than the neuro-typical kids. A year in special ed, speech therapy, those God awful assessment tests (with those spiral board books with colored shapes and people and stuff? Can someone tell me the name of those tests? I forget, but I took them all. The. Time.), MRIs, poked and prodded by doctors. Not really a typical part of childhood.

Anyway, I guess that's it. Sending this out to the bloggersphere.

Tired and Flabby

2010-02-23T16:51:00.000-05:00

What is it about Febuarary? Since the first week of February, I have been overwhelmingly exhausted. I haven't wanted to work out at all. The Wii Fit board would chastise me for missing so much time!

I feel tired and bloated. Flabby. I sleep too much and take in so much less caffiene than I used to.

Hoping for a burst of energy and motivation as March rolls in. Hopefully walks and Wii Boxing are in my March Future. In the meantime, I'm trying to ride out the rest of the month with minimal Valentine's Chocolate consumption.

Made of Snow/I don't know/ How I fit in

2010-02-18T18:43:00.000-05:00

I am a freak. I've known it all my life. When I talk to people, or people look at me, I wonder "Do they see how ugly I am? Are they thinking how big a freak I am?"
I am a freak.
I was diagnosed with NF1 when I was about 2. It wasn't ever a big deal; MRIs and stuff.
I've been healthy. I've been lucky. But, I'm a freak. I'm painfully shy and weird. I wonder what 'they' think. NF has affected me most socially and mentally, as well as weird bone deformities. I'm awkward and talk too fast. I have an ugly jaw due to the space between my nose and throat not being formed when I was born, so it had to be broken at 6 weeks old.

I am a freak. I think it a hundred times a day.
~~~~

"Made of snow,
I don't know How I fit in
To and fro, people go
I stand and grin"

2010-01-31T11:17:00.001-05:00

I am a wet puzzle piece. Warped and mishapen.

The Drive

2010-01-05T13:08:00.003-05:00

"You don't really have the drive to win, do you?" Matt asked, his voice boarder lining on amusement and slight annoyance.
The day after Christmas, I drug my eyes up to look at him from the Risk board, staring at my pathetic pink pieces paltry scattered across the board. Before I answered, I took a swig from my Holiday Magic Hat.
My heart just wasn't in it. I was only playing because 1) He loved the game, 2) I had given this to him last year and we hadn't even played once yet. and 3) My cousins expressed an interest in getting together to play a round, and it sounded fun (He'd convinced me it'd be more fun with more people) (Never happened, we played Wii and saw The Princess and the Frog, which I think was more fun, anyway.) (But at posting, willing to try the game with a group)

"Not so much." I said. I really don't like board games. What's the point of them? You don't get anything for winning, it's mostly chance of a card draw or dice roll. I just don't have motivation to win.

Furthermore, what the crap was the point of continuing a game like Risk when your boyfriend has 14 armies on Russia and he's coming for your three armies on Ural? Just take the damn territory already! Take the whole damn continent!

Maybe I don't have drive or motivation in general. I've never exactly felt that drive to be excellent. When I was growing up, I was stuck in this NF bubble of learning disabilities, social inadequacy, MRIs, Ritalin and ADD, it wasn't so much about being 'excellent' as it was 'getting by'. I failed most math classes fantastically, so when I scrapped by with a C or better, I was shocked and pleased. I was horribly average. Except for the fact I was weird and black sheep'd in every part of my life. I was the kindergartner who head butted people to say hello, I was the one who got so tremendously angry when no one understood what I was trying to express. I was the one who flunked state issued tests so badly I'm a little surprised I wasn't left back.

So no, I don't have a drive to win. I just have a drive to get by in my life the best I can. I'm not my sister, who seems to excel in everything she does and does not mind talking about it. It's just how it's always been for me. Do your best, and that's just fine. An idea that's kinda screwed me up, retrospectively.

That's how it's always been. Just get by. Get the work done, work harder at the things you actually enjoy, and get by. I suppose it's a "Why bother?" Defense.

The CIA was different. I wanted so badly to be good. To be talented, to kick ass. But of course, it didn't work out that way. My hands don't work the way I want them to work. My mind is uncreative and blahzay. I loved being there and I loved learning everything, and thinking and making mistakes and learning from them, and the chefs and the food and everything. But the drive to be excellent just wasn't there. I just knew I'd never be excellent. My hands psychically cannot do the things they need to do to be excellent. But I was never fond of making roses and silly gumpaste flowers anyway. But I wanted so much to be as good as my classmates. I wanted so much to tell my chefs and my classmates why I had such bad hands......

But maybe the drive just ~~wasn't~~ isn't there. I just don't have it in me anymore. Maybe I've just been so cut down, and pushed around and made to feel like a retard by so many people in so many different aspects of my life from birth to now that I'm Od'd on criticism and negativity.

The only thing I'm really looking for in my life is to be happy. Happy, independent, employed (double points if I love my job; triple if they like me) and be able to take care of myself financially, while having enough left over to spend on something fun.

Funny, because it doesn't apply to people outside of myself; I want to make bosses (Past/present/future/etc) succeed/happy and be as good to Matt as he is to me, and my family tolerant of me. But as for myself, I'm kind of okay with just being myself.

I'm not motivated to write for the NY Times, or teach at a culinary school, or work at a 5-star restaurant, make elaborate wedding cakes, or own a BMW, or Gucci for God's sake.

I'm okay with weird and kind of average. This is what you get with my toddler diagnoses. Being average is the best anyone could have ever expected. Average was above my expectations. Isn't that just so messed up?

Short and tired

2009-12-14T14:10:00.000-05:00

I'm exhausted today. I wanted to go for a walk, or even do some Wii, but I can't seem to bring myself out of my room.

I'm signing up for that class today. A cake baking and decorating class. Friday nights. 6 pm. January to June. I'm looking forward to it. Really! I can't wait. I've been wanting to decorate cakes properly since I was ten. Now that I'm going back to school, maybe I can do better! I don't know why I didn't improve (at all) at school. Maybe a different enviornment, in a less intimidating and pressurized setting, I can do well.

But that doesn't change the fact that I am tired. I haven't worked out for days. Days! We have this holiday dinner thing for work, and I just would rather go to bed early so I can be more alert and awake at work tomorrow.

But maybe I'll just go use my Wii to maybe get some energy back.

Scratch that.

2009-12-07T13:32:00.000-05:00

I feel horribly irritable today. I don't want to do anything. I want everyone to leave me alone. I feel a little OD on Christmas already. We play holiday music all. The. Time at work, which I don't mind too much, because I don't feel like listening to other music around this time, but by the time I'm home, I'm just sick of it.

I feel like Asian food tonight. Potstickers and crunchy sweet chunks of chicken, rice, sake. Maybe I just want to eat. Maybe I'm just cranky. I've been having such odd dreams and I wake up tired and feel tired all day, especially when I get more than 7 hours sleep. Which kinda sucks. When I have Sundays off I just want to wake up at 7 and lay in bed till 8 or so. But it makes me tired and unmotivated to do anything. Only yesterday I did actually want to go into the city. So this cranky unmotivated feeling has been pushed back to today. This is the second Monday in a row where I've felt like this. What the hell is wrong with me, anyway.

I'd say it's the weather, but it's only just now gotten cold.

I think I need warm beaches on some far away island. Just for a little while. To escape everything. Just for a little while. Normal people do that, right? People go away sometime in January for a few days and they do something fun with their lives. Not me. I'd go on vacation alone, since Matt's vacations and mine wont sync up properly till next summer, but what's the fun in that? I'd want to have someone with me to share the good food and warm sunshine.

It sucks. Deary little New England. I'm not even in the fun part of New England. Stuck up Fairfield County all around me. Old money, new money, trust fund babies. Most of the people I am around, at least. Not my family, or any of my family's friends, of course, because we were all here before Rowayton became that way. But other people, nameless and faceless people who shall remain that way here (even though they might be otherwise) are around with more frequency than I'd like to admit. They are in the Wal-Mart, trying to act like they are too good to be there, they are in the restaurants, ordering in a fussy way, they are the customers yelling at me on the phone from the Thanksgiving line outside. I'd love to visit a nice New England that they feature in Yankee Magazine.

Don't get me wrong, I like to live in little towns. I can't imagine living in a city setting. But I think these people with their Trust Funds and Old/New Money are ridiculous. I'd pay really good money to anyone who'd be willing to tell them off for me. Good money. Anyone? Anyone? I think I owe someone some money for doing that already. You get an extra hundred dollars for making them cry. Just saying....

Scratch that. I'm a strong believer in Karma and sooner or later it'll come back to them. Full fold. Or at least I hope so. I think sooner or later we all get what we deserve.

I Wont Back Down

2009-11-19T14:40:00.001-05:00

Stand my ground. And I. Wont. Back. Down.

2009-09-20T18:54:00.002-04:00

I'm kind of a weird person.

For one thing, I hate Sundays. For now, at least. Sunday mornings, everyone is home and about, and I feel invaded. 5 out of 7 of my mornings I have completely to myself. I wake up an hour before I go to work, just for the solitude of the house. Sure, nothings on TV and house noises make me a bit paranoid, but I'm alone. I prefer the space. I can do what I want to do.

I'm a bit of a loner. Having trouble making friends have made me that way. It's pathetic. I loved books when I was younger, and felt more friendly with the characters in my own mind growing up than most kids in my school.
Characters in a book seem less frustrating to me than people, even when I was frustrated by a character's actions. Characters weren't mean to me or disclude me. They were just there, doing their thing in the book.
I guess human nature just frustrates me in general. I've always been frustrated by my family. I've never felt like I was able to just EXPRESS how I feel. So surprise!! I'm a mess!
Whatever. I'm weird. I'm weird. I speak my mind and sometimes say things they can be perceived as wrong. Or ''not nice''.

So, I'm outspoken, when I'm able to actually verbally express myself in a way that is understood. I have such a hard time speaking sometimes, if I could actually speak at a speed people could understand, I'd never shut up.

I'm a loner with a boyfriend. Who likes me, which shocks me. Who the hell would ever want me around?

My Guest Blogging Stint

2009-09-05T15:41:00.004-04:00

A very good NF friend of mine has an excellent blog, Thriving with Neurofibromatosis, I jumped at the chance to guest blog. I asked her permission, and I am putting the post on here to share with all of you. I hope you read her blog, too! It was excellent.

"I don't need tattoos. I have spots.

I love my spots. It's so different and weird. As much as NF worries me about my health, I'm not sure I'd trade it in to be “normal”. It's depressing sometimes and makes me feel like a freak when I get socially awkward, which is all the time. I'm not sure how NF will affect my future. I just know it's going to kill me someday.

I was diagnosed with NF1 when I was about two. Before Kindergarten, I was in Special Ed for a year (I think) before going into mainstream school with extra help, speech therapy classes (which I was stubborn in). I had many, many MRIs in my life, probably a few a year, which has now waned down to one every other year or so. I'm lucky to be this healthy. I'm lucky to have the problems I have with coping. My problems are more psychological and how I look, how I talk, and how social I am. And yet still I struggle. I still feel like a freak.

It's something I never talk about to normal people. A co-worker asked me about it after seeing it on my Facebook page, and I brushed it off, somewhat embarrassed, like a kid with its hand caught in a cookie jar. I don't talk about it to people I don't trust, which is nearly everyone. No one knows about it anyway. To them, I'm just a bit “off.” I'm okay with that. I tell people altered versions of the truth. “I just have bad hands.” I say, instead of “My NF affects my fine motor skills and become clumsy, so it's very hard for me to write, pipe, and crimp neatly.” (I have a Baking and Pastry Degree, so decorating skills are important, and I lack them severely) It's too much to explain and understand. It's best that they don't know. I'm used to the teasing and comments. But Facebook, believe it or not, has made me open up more about my NF than anything else. I've found so many friends, who make me feel so accepted and normal with how I feel and what I go through. It's so comforting to know there are people out there with things you can relate to with MRIs, nerve pain, itchiness and tumors. There's always someone to talk to.

I'm not sure how I feel about NF. I think about it every day. Wondering when it will get me. If my thoughts about only living to 25 will be true. If I do make it past that age, what will my life be? It's going to get me someday. Good health doesn't last forever. You'd think that thoughts like this would challenge me to do all sorts of things: skydive, travel to a distant country and eat bugs, swim in Hawaii, climb mountains, eat cheese in France. But I don't. Not yet. Doing so would seal the deal of my death date. So I'm here. Working twice as hard as everyone else just to prove that I'm normal. A “high functioning freak”. My prognosis when I was two years old was I wouldn't make it past the mental/functioning age of 6. So for me, to have a job, college degrees, a car paid for with my own money, and a guy I'm practically engaged to is sort of a big deal for me. Small wins. Stuff you Normals take for normal is a small win for me.
But I try to make something out of my life. I see the positive stuff that is in NF. How hard I try at my job. Being compassionate and friendly to people who are different. Possessing deep empathy. Trying hard to be my own person and make the best out of my situations. And of course, I love my spots. I have the affection for them like one with a tattoo would. The blotches of cafe au lait on my skin. They stick out, like some sort of Freak Alarm. If I didn't have my spots, if one day they were to be gone, and I'd have normal skin, I would feel at a loss. NF is a part of who I am, and while it may kill me someday, I have no idea what I would do without it."

So thank you, dear Kristi, for both living every day with NF, and giving me the chance to post my story.

25.

2009-08-12T15:32:00.009-04:00

I've been thinking about death a lot lately. I read a post from a favorite blogger of mine and the life expectancy thing has made me contemplate death nearly every spare moment I've had since its publishing.

Ever since I was old enough to understand death, I've somehow had it in my head I wasn't going to live very long. How long? At the time, I didn't know, but for the past few years the number "25" has been in my head. It's weird.

I don't know the life span of people with NF1. It's out there. But I don't want to know. I take comfort in the fact that most of my NF friends are 30, 40, 50, and older. All with various levels of NF. And they're alive. With careers, families. They travel and live and are fine. But it doesn't do much. Deep down, I know. I know like we all know: This is something that is going to kill me. The life of someone with NF is usually taken by complications from it. From surgery, from cancer, tumors, things gone wrong and out of control of any doctor.

Now, people out there who don't understand NF, or any disorder at all, will call me irrational and crazy. But do the research. Complications from NF is what kills people with NF. Old age? Hardly.

I write all this to get it out of my head. Maybe if it's here, I wont think about it all. The. Time. But I also write this out of guilt. If you'd read the post I linked above, you'd see that a doctor speaks of life expectations for children with a certain disorder:

"I'm not sure exactly how I feel about how the doctor replied, but the question had been put out there and so perhaps a straightforward answer was appropriate. The doctor put together a hypothetical patient with a number of specific conditions that roughly matched most of the kids at the conference. And then he said it. He just opened his mouth and said it. "Statistically, that patient could expect a lifespan of approximately eight years. If they receive home care rather than full-time clinical care, that number goes up to about ten years."

Ten years. Ten years? Ten years and I'm worried sick of not seeing 26? Let alone 65? What was I doing at ten? Running around in my sunflower swim suit in the summer. Getting tan and sand in my suit. Playing in leaves, making snowmen. Not even worried about NF, or my future or anything.

And these kids have so many issues. I feel so guilty about it. I feel insensitive, just like the blog author does.
But I'm frustrated. I don't want to think like this. I don't want to worry when I'm going to die.

Know what else freaks me out? This whole Myan Calender thing. It makes my future stop at 2012. Seriously. I feel like NF or The Mayan Calender is going to kill me. And if I do die at 25, maybe I'm better off. Be long gone before the Calender kicks in.

I just can't see myself growing old. I think about getting married, and think about kids, and a future. But they're just thoughts. Not plans.

I don't like surprises. My mind has drifted from tumors and cancer, to car accidents. I drive into work at 4:00 in the morning. I wonder "Is a deer going to spring out and cause a deadly accident?" "Is a drunk going to be on the roads?". I'm very aware of my mortality. I don't take my age into consideration that I'm going to be fine. That nothing bad can happen. Something bad can always happen. Especially with thoughts like that. It always happens when you don't think it's going to happen. I'm one of those people who expect the worst, so when nothing happens I'm pleasantly relieved.

Look at me. I'm usually happy. I'm a high functioning freak. I have a job, a car, and a boyfriend; all of which I like. I'm 23 and I feel like life is just beginning. It just fits that something bad is going to happen. Can't you just feel it?

It's just out there. Lurking. Waiting.

(EDIT: A commenter on another post told me that some family members with NF have lived to be 90 and 80. So I'm feeling a little better. 90! How amazing is that? Unfathomable.

Look Me In The Eye

2009-07-01T18:46:00.007-04:00

I picked up a book today, "Look Me In the Eye" by John Elder Robison, and it's gotten me thinking.

The book is a memoir about Asperger's. I began to read the first few pages, before hopping on his blog to talk to him (Which to me, talking to a well known/well read blogger is just as good as talking to a celebrity. No, it's better). I just wanted to talk to him, and the people who read his blog. Because I felt like getting something off my mind.

So here is a section of my post, used without permission, though I'm sure it is still somewhat my property?:
"...I don't know if I have Aspergers. Sometimes I feel like I do, but I don't fit the general tendencies, but sometimes I wonder.
I have NF1, and I suppose that's what has lead to such social....ineptness. But it's funny. I feel like I don't have enough NF to fit in with the NF crowed, or Aspergers-y enough to fit in with that crowed (is that offensive? If it is I am sorry) So where am I? "

I feel like this all the time. I don't fit. I don't fit in anywhere. My NF is so mild (But thankfully so), that I don't fit in their world of surgeries. I'm not society's definition of Normal. Nor did I appear to have the symptoms of Asperger's growing up, as far as I know.

So what? Where am I?

I had this conversation with Matt. We were at a red light, and I was thinking about the book.

"Do you think I have Asperger's?"

"No...I don't think so."

I said the above that I don't fit. And where did I fit? "I'm Jenni." I said.

"Be your own trailblazer" He challenged.

"And what? I'm the only one of me that I know of."

I feel like I'm in Limbo. I'm so weird and deeply awkward and strange, but no label. I kind of want the label. Just so I know what I have so I can deal with it properly.

I sometimes think I'm emotionally scarred. Extern comes to mind when I think of that. Three socially bad situations presented themselves to me over those months, in quick succession

1) Extern BLEW. I mean, come back from work at 1pm and cry till whenever I fell asleep after 8 pm sort of blow. Where I either had no appetite or ate way too much. Tortured. I picked up my sailor's mouth from there. Sometimes I still randomly yell expletives like "****ing people!" or "****ing bakery!" Like my co-workers once did. A favorite motto there was "Work. Die." I swear way too much because of that place.

2) I had a sort of boyfriend, and it didn't end great for reasons too weird and complicated to discuss here. But it's probably not what you think. It was devastating.

3) A friend, or, a girl I thought was a friend, stabbed me unexplainably and for reasons I do not remember or understand. Or ever will understand She would prank call me at all hours, leaving cruel messages and e-mail me terrible things. For weeks.

I can't actually believe I'm opening up to a bunch of people I don't know like this. See how easy it is on a blog? I can't even look my boyfriend in the eye when I tell him this. I can't really look anyone in the eye. Except him.

But for me, I think it's different than with people with Asperger's. For me it's a mix of shame and wondering what they think of me: "Do they think I'm ugly? Do they think I look funny?...... I'm talking too fast, STOP TALKING SO FAST!!!!!!!!! Do they think you're stupid. God, what you just said was stupid. Are they looking at how ugly you are?"

I don't know what's gonna happen when I post this. But I'm going to post it, because I feel like if I don't get out of my head, I will go out of my mind.

Hair

2009-06-23T19:13:00.003-04:00

I dyed my hair today. Don't ask me why. I've had this overwhelming urge to dye my hair blue, or pink, all last week. But based on the fact that my boyfriend, family and more over; work, would probably not appricated techinicolor hair, I didn't think about it again......

At least about pink hair. I think what I wanted, was to break free. From what? I don't know. Just break free Like the song. I want to break apart from other people and just be myself and be weird with my snazzy spots and funky hair. I've been feeling such a need to rebel, be different and just run.
But the thing is, for the moment, I don't think I'm running from much of anything. Other than the stuff from the below post. Which at the moment, isn't bugging me nearly as much. But that's just right now. Wait an hour and ask again. I'm like a freaking Magic Eight Ball. Indecisive, and possibly filled with blue liquid.

So, Monday I got a box of hair dye: Clairol Natural Instincts Cinnaberry. Number 22. After letting my hair stay nice and washed for the allotted 24 hours, and after I eagerly got home from work, I was excited and a little nervous to do this. What if my hair falls out? What if it turns red? What if I screw this up? But I was committed.

After dampening my hair and combining the two bottles, I went to work, wearing my rattiest clothes. At first, not much happened. Then, halfway through I noticed I neglected to put on the plastic gloves that would be best used to apply hair dye. Whatever. Too late now. I kept squeezing, squishing and applying, finally getting my hair into this thick mass of dye, piled on my head, kept with a hair elastic.

I only waited eight minutes, because I was unsure if the time spent applying the dye to the hair counted as the time spent with the dye in your hair.
Rinsing it was the odd part. I was so worried I'd leave hair dye in that I rinsed for a good 7 minutes before rubbing my hair with a towel to be sure it all came off.

Even though my hair was wet, it looked darker, and I was dying to see the results.

As my hair dried, I noticed something. My hair was at least three shades darker, and had an undenialable hue to it.

Is that...Is that...PURPLE!!? I looked in the mirror at my drying hair. Purple!!? It was so scarse that you could swear it wasn't anything. But I swear my hair is now the ever so slightest shade of purple. When the light hits it JUST right.

And I couldn't be more psyched. Purple hair that is not purple. "Cinnaberry" with "reddish hues
" my ass. This is PURPLE!

I blew dried the rest of my hair,hoping Matt would be home soon to see my darker hair. Sure enough, he walked in from work, and I sat on the couch (in good light) and played with my hair, looking at him. In the clear body language girls give to people that says "Guess what's different about me." He got the message. Eying me suspisuciously he said "You look.....Nice?....Did you get your hair cut?...(No)..Did you dye your hair?" (caught grin)
"Yeah! And look! It's almost purple!!"

He says he can't see it, but I know it's there.

This hair dying this is sort of like a fun, less deadly version of Russian Roulette. It's like trying a new beer, or a bottle of wine from a winery you've yet to sample.

Afterall, it's just hair.

You can't tell, but it's THERE.

I am crazy.

2009-06-21T16:53:00.003-04:00

I feel like I'm living a lie. I'm living this lie. I eat secrets. I don't tell the whole truth. I know better. I'm not allowed to express anger, frustration, any negativity. I don't know how to express it. It stays with me until it bubbles over in hostility and incoherent, furious rambling. Or emotion felt so deeply that I tear up, even if I'm not sad. I get so frustrated by my feelings, by what's going on around me, that I loose the ability to verbally express how I feel.
I don't know if the inability to express such feelings stem from my NF, or how I've grown up, or both.
This shouldn't be that hard. People get angry and are able to coherently and exactly say what's wrong, and how it can be fixed. Things aren't this hard for other people.

I hate Sunday. Sunday is my laziest day of the week. I sleep till 7 (or God forbid, 8), eat, watch Tv and generally do nothing. I'm actually kind of rested and I relax.

But that's when those thoughts creep in. That your life is passing you by, that you eat too much, are too lazy, don't work hard enough, that everything you do is wrong all the time. Where are you going in life? 'What happens next? Is this it for me?' 'Am I going to die young? I'm never going to travel'. 'My god, it's June and I don't think I can bear another bitter Winter in New England!' Sort of thoughts. Does everyone think like this? No.

Other people are happy. Other people know how to properly deal with their feelings.

I feel angry a lot of the time over various things; in my life, not in my life, in or out of my control. It doesn't matter.
"I have a right to my anger, and I don't want anybody telling me I shouldn't be, that it's not nice to be, and that something's wrong with me because I get angry."-Maxine Waters

I can't really help being angry some of the time. Is it normal to feel like this? I can't repress it. But no one understands. I've been trying to stave off depression for awhile now. Triggered by unusual or valid things, it brings me to feel like this, or with pangs of pain, or with irrational anger at the wrong people.
I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. Am I meant to be emotionally stunted my entire life? I'm going to have a freaking breakdown if this lasts much longer. I wish I had the balls to say "I'm angry with you." or "I think you're stupid." or "This is unacceptable and I will not put up with this any longer." or "SHUT UP!!!!" Man, that'd be great. A big dramatic blow up that no one will forget and no one will dare cross me again.
But would life be easier if I was a pushy bitch? Yes and no. I knew a few pushy bitches and they aren't something I'd like to have in my life. But having more of a backbone would be great.
I'm a jellyfish. Eager to please, not rock the boat and non-confrontational. But I repress how I feel, or don't shoot back with the truth that is known to both parties.

I do that all the time. And I'm sick of it. People must think I'm so stupid. I hate myself for letting things go on like this. Well, I've had it.

I am not one to be screwed with any longer.

"It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not." Andre Gide

Social

2009-06-14T11:30:00.005-04:00

I sometimes wonder what it must be like to have things come easy.

There are few things in life that have come easy for me.
Relationships are not one of them. Forming bonds and attachments are easy. I can get a good read on someone fairly quickly and my instincts about them are almost always right. I like people almost instantly; customers, people I've just met, even waitstaff and cashiers. But after that, after the initial meeting, it gets hard.

With the Internet, I have a lot of people to talk to. People I've connected with from shared interests, shared disorders and similar experiences. But this stuff is easy; a dropped line here and there, brief conversations.

The real stuff kind of scares me. Going out with people means social interaction. Nothing to hide behind. Conversations in real time, not typing with minutes of silence being natural. I don't know how to handle myself in these situations. I'm weird. I'm painfully awkward and I'm not the person I'd like to be.

So I've always pushed the idea of friends away.'Friends? Me? I don't need friends. I barely need anyone at all. I'm fine on my own.' I've thought this to myself for so long over the course of my life I've grown to believe it. Even in college I'd quietly sit in classes, before they would start and observe classmates talk, laugh and make plans. I'd be so jealous. I'd act like I barely even noticed, while writing posts in my notebook with my iPod in my ear. Any scraps of conversation or even a greeting thrown my way was important to me, even though I didn't need anyone.

They thought I was weird anyway, so why bother initiating conversation if they just give you ''that look''? The look that they think you are stupid/crazy/weird and ridiculous for bothering to think they'd give you the time of day. I'm surprised that in college, not only do people still give you that look, but you're still hurt by it. One of those looks destroys a thousand friendly greetings.

Now I'm 23 and without any good social skills to speak of. NF has made social things difficult. Due to my own insecure problems and the idea that I've never quite belonged in the normal world.

To me, friends don't mean fun, laughter, and bonds. Friends means committing to time, being out later than you'd like, feeling pressured to do things you don't like to do, movies you don't feel like seeing, and time spent doing stuff that can be better spent doing things yourself.
This is terrible of me to even admit out loud. Way to get friends, Jenn. Tell them you don't need them, that'll work. Having friends means letting people in. My instincts are to keep them out.

It's a wonder how I have a boyfriend. I met him by chance at an Anti-Valentine's day thing that my classmate (and his R.A) was having. I'm lucky to have found someone that puts up with this. But he's not the going out kind of person, so, somehow we work.

I don't know what I want. I'm terrified of social interaction. Nearly every 'friend' I've ever had has left me, turned on me in cruel ways, or just disappeared (only to return and never speaking to me again). Mostly it's been turning in cruel ways. So I don't let myself get set up. I'd rather be friendless by choice, because then who the hell can turn on you? No one. No one can turn on you if there's no one there to begin with.

It sucks, but it's true. I have a boyfriend who's my best friend, and it's taken me a while to trust that something like that wont happen. But still, I wonder.

By now you can probably tell I have some serious social issues. But it comes with the territory. And it's all my fault, anyway. Maybe if I wasn't so weird growing up, so different, I'd have friends and be popular. But then again, I learned early on in life, if they don't like you when you're yourself, then why bother?

It's been awhile

2009-06-02T19:56:00.003-04:00

I seriously think I have ESP. Just today, in the shower; or in the car, or at work, or eating, I was thinking about my blogs and how long it's been since I've written much of anything. But I pushed the thought away, because I really doubted anyone noticed. No one appears to read it, after all.

However, a comment on both blogs, pointing out that I haven't written in awhile and asking if I was allright has sparked my interest. Who is this person?

I really hate it when y'all don't put a name or any clue as to who you are. =p I am dying to know who you are all!

Anyway, to answer the question; yes, I am fine. Just busy. Matthew came to visit April 20th (roughly around the time of my last post), to look for a job. And he hasn't left for more than 72 hours since! He got a job right near where I work. A cushy corporate dining job. Weekends/holidays off, some level of benefits, and uniforms AND a new pair of shoes every year! From a REAL catalog! How jealous am I? I like my job, but weekends and holidays off are something bakers only dream of.

Anyway, he's very well liked. And got a glowing 3 week review today.

As for myself, I'm still at the bakery, we've gotten new employees for Markets and stuff. Which is a blessing.

Also, in other news, I have bought a car!!! A car! I've been looking at cars, though not seriously for a few months. I know my dad is a typical dad, and wouldn't look at anything I'd like, just junky old crap. So I had to wait for Matt to come for his two-week job search visit.

I was pretty dead set on a Nissan, for reasons I do not know. I wouldn't look at anything...Why did I want a Nissan? Oh, because in Spring my dad brought home a Nissan Versa for a rental. I didn't like it, mainly because my first ride in it was in the small back seat with two other adults; in the middle seat. That car made me feel carsick.

Anyway, Matt finally convinced me to look a different models, and after having him look at a Consumer Reports used car issue, I settled on a Toyota Corrola, A Honda something or other, and a Toyota Camry, because they had good things across the board.

I fell in love (well, in like) with a 2006 Toyota Camry, black and a 2005 Toyota Corrola. The dealer was a nice guy and non pushy. Which I liked.

From there we hit a Honda in Westport, where a highly pushy guy wanted me to buy a new Honda Accord? With all the perks. For over $20,000. His logic? The payment plan was, and I'm, not kidding, 7 bucks cheaper than a used car.

We test drove the new car, and an old one, and left. We both felt cranky and agitated and in need of a drink. So I made a quick desison turn into a McDonald's, where we had cold drinks and discussed our next options. I for one was tired, getting more cranky and more frustrated by the minute.

Toyota of Westport wasn't much better.

I was stuck on the Toyota Corrola. It had less than 26,600 miles on it. It was silver. Drove like a dream. The breaks actually worked.

So, this car that I liked, when all was said and done (plates, taxes, registration, etc), would end up being around 14,500. Not a bad deal. Considering there was an 06 Corrolla at Westport with 35,000+ miles for $17,000+- before taxes and all.

My dad was skeptical. And not nice to the dealer. Which I hated. He also wasn't very polite to the credit guy at the credit union he told me to get in touch with. (A guy who loves the bakery, and was very cheerful and told me my credit rating was a whopping 764)

I ended up buying the car. I put down 8,000, and a very good loan rate on the rest. I mean, when your credit lender leaves you a message after you tell him the rates with a "Wow, those are some damn good rates." you best take them.

I am a car owner!! I love this car. I filled my tank a week and a half ago, and it's just down to 1/4th tank....240 miles so far! Insanity. I love this car. The way it drives, the headlights, the breaks. I promise to take car of this car as well as I can. I heard nothing but great things about Corrollas. =)

The blazer is no longer...But sitting on the lawn. When matt and I were in the blazer, on the way to the dealership to pick up said car, I began having a conversation with the blazer:

"Okay, so you've done me somewhat well for these past few years. But it's time for me to move on. It's not me, it's you. I don't care if you want to burst into flames when we are a safe distance from you when we get home. Just get us safely home and you can do whatever the hell you want. Okay? Okay."

I get in my new car, drive home, with Matt driving the blazer. When we were pulling out of the dealrship, I looked in the rearview mirror, trying to catch Matt's eyes to wave enthusasticly at him. And he had a weird look on his face. I wanted to call him to see what was up, but I knew better. What should happen when we park both cars? The blazer begins smoking. SMOKING! It's like it KNEW! He said the car smelt funny the whole way home.

That's what's new with me. Hope you enjoyed. But now, it is my intention to have some quiet time before bed. I get to go in at 6 am!! I cherish the 6 am days.

So, Mr.Ms Annon commenter, hope this did you well. Sorry for the delay. I'll try harder to keep posting, I just felt like I was writing the same stuff in the same ways, so I thought you all were sick of me. =\

Chop Suey part two.

2009-03-27T19:37:00.004-04:00

Not sure what I feel like writing about right now. Just going to let things flow, and to hell with any kind of structure or anything being witty.

I'm not going to lie to you, I feel like drinking. I'm sitting here, on a Friday night, with the "Complete Symphonic Recording" of Les Mis playing. So I feel depressed and a need to drink a wee bit buzzed.

So I've decided to crack open a Harp, and just let things flow for a bit. What do you care? You don't read this, anyway.

..........I'm not sure what you're waiting for. Right now I feel the need to be in a musical. "I am a-GOG, I am a-GAST, has Marius seen love at last? I've never heard him ooh and ahh! You talk of battles to be won, and here he comes like Don ju-an, it's better than an o-pe-ra!"

Les Miserables is a seriously amazing show. You really must see it. The music is INCREDIBLE. ""Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men, it is the music of the people who will not be slaves again. When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomarrow comes."

But right now, I feel deeply lonley. I miss Matthew, who may as well be on the other side of the country for what good it does me.

"The city goes to bed, and I can live inside my head." I think I live in my head too much. It's a defense mechinasm. I have a lot of those. Growing up, especially, especially in Middle school, I had an incredibly rough time (but readers of my blog would know that already) So I retreated to the one safe place I felt that I had: my mind. I lived in a world that was different from the one I had. I was happier in my mind than I was anywhere else.

I've never actually admitted this to anyone, not seriously at least. I once teased Matt, I said "in the world my head, you don't even exist!"

This makes me feel crazy. But I just finished my beer, and I'm feeling a little ballsy. But I lived in my head. Alot. I had this other world, where I had friends, I was accepted and understood. I lived the life I always wish I did. I guess I was just lonely growing up. Even though I rarely let them see that. I read a lot of books, so it just kind of took off from there.

So this song, "On My Own" from Les Mis, is especially fitting. "All my life, I've only been pretending". I lived in a world of make believe. I built up a wall, I remember sitting in math class, pretending I didn't hear the scrawny little immigrant kid insult me in probably the only words in English he knew, as I drew doodles and doodles in my notebook, pretending I wasn't as lonely, or hurt, or outcasted as I really felt. I acted invisible. I was invisible to everyone else. I was only visible when they needed to attack someone.

I really hope that kid is deported by now.... Sorry, that was mean. (But probably true).

"The world is full of happiness that I have never known." Well, that last line isn't actually true for me anymore. I'm with someone who genuinely makes me feel happy, and right now he isn't here, so this song makes me feel sadder and lonely than I probably should feel right now.

Anyway, sooner or later I realized things would be different. Someday I'd have someone who'd like me for who I was, so why bother being someone I wasn't?

And they are. So I'm trying really hard to shed that part of my past and just be happy. But as you can see, this stuff runs deep. And it haunts my posts and my mind, making me feel weird and different and paranoid. Like I'm being judged and laughed at. Old habits die hard, but I was hoping I'd have shed them by now.

Just another day, stuck in a tube.

2009-03-16T09:42:00.010-04:00

Had an MRI today. Which I'm more or less okay with. It's been a year and a half since I had one, and the paranoia of what could be wrong with me has settled in the past 6 months, so I finally was able to convince my Neurologist that it was time for another. (also, for a week, my toes had been tingly, once a day, for about 30 seconds, so that was enough to convince her, apparently)

I've been getting MRIs my entire life. When I was younger, I needed to be sedated to be able to get a proper reading. I tried books on tape once, but it didn't work. Now I don't really mind laying there still for an hour or more until it is done. It's kind of cozy. If someone my age or older was getting an MRI for the first time, the enclosed space and grinding and whirring noises may be disconcerting, but to me it has this weird comforting familiar quality to it. It's cozy. My mind drifts in and out of musicals I like, blog posts I'd like to write, I doze, and wiggle my fingers to relieve the urge to move.

My spine is easier to do. I can afford to wiggle my fingers and toes, as the movement wont really reach my spine. But my head is agonizing. I can't hardly move period. But for now, it's just my spine.

Getting an MRI isn't a big deal to me. It's not something I'd bring up in normal conversation, but it's normal. It's not something I get every month or even every 6 months, but it's normal and everyday enough for me to be okay with it and not think anything odd of it at all. Just another day, stuck in a tube.

So I got to the hospital, finally managed to get parked and find my way to the MRI department.

Turns out, I went to the wrong place. Wrong building altogether.

Now, I've been getting MRIs at the same hospital since I was about 2 years old. I remember getting whatever disgusting tasting medicine to put me to sleep and I'd watch Eureka's Castle while waiting for it to kick in. But I knew better. I was too smart for that! I'd fight sleep off. Refusing to let myself fall asleep. Because I knew what would happen. But I'd sooner or later succumb to the syrup (which, at the moment. I remember the taste as strongly as if I just took it. My stomach feels queasy at the very thought), and fall asleep and I'd wake up groggy some time later.

But they made a call and sent me on my way to the proper place. When I got there, I felt like I was in the wrong place. But I went in, and found the department. I apologized for being mixed up and I filled out the same old paperwork. When it asked why I was getting an MRI, I filled in "NF1" with no hesitation or anything. And it felt good. I was actually acknowledging I had this thing.
The Technician took me and sat me down, asking questions, like why I was getting this, how long have I had (or known I had) Nf, and what symptoms I had, how frequent, and such. I told her "NF1. 6 weeks. Mris since age 2. Infrequent nerve pain and recent tinglyness in my feet." It was so weird. When I used to be asked about NF, I'd be so overwhelmed with unexplainable upset that I wanted to cry and I'd get nervous. Now it was no big deal. It was so refreshing to embrace this.

She went over the MRI stuff; keeping still, the contrast shot that I wouldn't need. But I'd heard this laying still thing a thousand times. I'm quite good at it.

I finally got into the little tube with ear plugs and I was put in. My New NF friend had reminded me that music was usually a good option, but I never use it. I have incredibly bad music ADD. I rarely listen to the whole song right to the end. Sometimes I'll skip to the next song midway. Usually I skip to the next song right before it ends. I think it's a control issue. I think I like being in control of my ipod and other things because growing up I had no control over my NF, my medication, doctors appointments and humiliating children hospital visits. So I was bossy growing up and now I like to be in control of my Ipod (it drives Matthew crazy)

The usual whirrls and clanks and scanner noises were loud, but not annoying. It kept me still and put me in this groggy daze. Loud, annoyingish white noise. Sooner or later you start to hear the sounds within the sounds. The tap-tap-tapping within the "Brrrt, brrrt, brrrts" and "taankstaankstaanks." And if you go really crazy, you start to hear the noises turn into words.

I drifted in and out of my head. Thinking about this post and half forgotten songs from "Newsies" ("That's my cigar!" "You'll steal anudder!" "Hey bummers we got work ta do!" Oh God, stop me right now.)
I also kept my eyes closed, to try and doze. But I also ended up thinking about how small this thing was. Could a person weighing even ten pounds more than myself fit in here? What about severely overweight people? I felt like I was barely contained in this tiny thing.

I was done. I asked the Technician how long I'd been there, because I felt the usual grogginess. She told me "You were in there a long time! Forty-five minutes!" She said. To which I replied that that wasn't too bad. I wanted to tell her I'd been in an MRI for over two hours before, but I didn't. Forty-five minutes wasn't long at all. It's almost a whole episode of "Real Housewives of New York City" or the time it takes to bake an apple pie. 45 minutes was nothing to me.

When I was done with the MRI, I considered what I wanted for lunch. I was craving a hamburger and vanilla milkshake from Friendly's. When I was little, my mother would bribe us to do things with food. For my MRIs it was Friendly's. For my brother's haircuts, it was mousse cups from a bakery. I remember one MRI where I wanted a milkshake and the Grandmotherly looking waitress brought me a gigantic adult sized milkshake and I couldn't fathom the size, or why she'd brought it.

Instead, I went to Trader Joes to pick up some stuff for dinner. I saw the not-so-common chocolate Joe-Joes (Trader Joe's Oreos) and grabbed a box. A little, psychological treat for myself for being so good. It's funny I did that. That at 23, I still craved a little something for good behavior.

I'll get the results from my Doctor in about three days. We'll see what happens. But to me, it was just another day. Stuck in a tube.

Annnnnd We're Back. (Part 2, Matt's Graduation)

2009-02-27T17:21:00.006-05:00

Part Two! Here's part one if you missed it.

We weaved in and out, searching for people I knew. I bumped directly into Dr. Murphy and dripped wine over my hands.
"Oh, hi!" I exclaimed. "I was just looking for you." We'd find each other sooner or later, we were both about to head somewhere else. I for more food. But the only thing I would find would be some kind of pastry filled with creamy mushrooms and something else some time later. I told Matthew he would need to drive to Mcdonald's later. (EDIT: It didn't happen, by the time we got back to the hotel and I was checked in, we just wanted to chill before dinner)

I found Dr. Murphy again, who was chatting with a small group of graduates. Matt and I hung out and waited patiently, I kept drinking my wine and keeping an eye out for tasty apps. I was thoroughly trying to hold it together, as I was nearly done with my wine and having only one appetizer in my system. I was trying to be normal....Normal for me, at least, which is what some people are when they are buzzed.
She turned to me and said hi. We hugged again, and talked, about work, the ceremony, Matthew being teased in her class, the California trip. We gossiped. Dr. Murphy is another one of my favorite teachers. She was one of the teachers on the Cali trip, and my teacher for History in my 9th term. She's nice, young, smart and a morning person, so we always got on pretty well, even when I was stupid and forgot to do readings. But I don't like to say one teacher is a favorite over another, or in what order of favorite. Because I have this unreasonable thought that they would feel badly if I said I liked one teacher over another.
Or at least, I would feel badly about saying I don't like a teacher or they aren't my favorite for one reason or another. Because the cool teachers, like Dr. Jay and Dr. Murphy are well liked, but the tougher teachers, like Professor Raider or Dr. Flynn are possibly not as popular. I like all four of those teachers, but would just feel badly if any teacher knew I may not like them as much as the popular teachers.

Anyway, Matt's mother found us and we introduced her. As we talked, I wondered why it was that I seemed to get along very well with either people my parent's age (like Dr. Jay) or people slightly older than me (Like Dr. Murphy or my boss). It's really strange. (EDIT: Actually, it's not. This post made me realize why)

Pat brought us champagne, and Matt and I walked around. I made him clink glasses with me, and tried to get him to look more excited about graduating. We ran into his classmates and friends. So, two bites of food in me, and two glasses of alcohol in my system; I was hyper, chatty and edging on the edge of buzzed and about to fall off that cliff into the clumsy world of tipsy. But holding it together. Or so I thought. More than once I had to feel embarrassed and say "I'm sorry, too much champagne".

We finally decided to go. Paul and Jim were in the car. I, for no reason that I will never understand, admitted to Pat that the two glasses I had made me feel a little lightheaded, and that I was sorry.

We clambered into the van and left. I was talking INCESSANTLY! About graduation, and mine, and school and just talking, talking, talking, talking, talking. Paul finally asked if I had to be sedated when I was born, which shut me up pretty quick and made me feel pretty embarrassed. I guess i wasn't holding it together too well after all!

We had an hour to get ready for dinner at St. Andy's. Uneventful.

We arrived at school and walked through it to get to St. Andy's. I walked with his family as Matt needed to check out of his dorm. I took his dad to the baking building to take photos of the cakes in one of the classes, and I was dying to pop my head into a classroom or two and say hi to the chefs, but we were on a reservation, and I didn't want to bother them or keep his father waiting.

And thus began, "Dinner at St. Andy's." Oi. Vey. I felt very bad for our waiter. Right off, I felt we were being difficult. No one was paying attention to much of anything the waiter was saying. So I tried to be extra polite to him. Finally, they managed to order drinks and an App of the Thai BBQ Chicken pizza. I finally decided on a hard cider. Because I knew if I drank much more that night, I would sleep terribly.
Matt ordered a wine flight and everyone else got water. Jim and Pat decided to split the short ribs (even though she complained she didn't like brown rice, right in front of the waiter, and I told her brown rice was good for her, in the way you try to sound positive when a kid says something cranky about the food in front of a waiter), Paul got the BBQ pizza, Matt also ordered the short ribs and I settled on the buffalo burger, cooked medium to the waiter's recommendation.

It all finally tapered out. Pat took photos of all the food, I think Paul kept complaining that our waiter kept accidentally hitting his foot into his chair, and Matt and I debated if they were doing Russian or French service (Doing research, I am now discovering Matthew was correct. Write that down, Matt! You were right!).

It was just an odd night. The poor waiter kept needing to run back and forth in a slightly awkward fashion to refill their water and iced tea glasses and the way my party asked for more water made me slightly uncomfortable. They gave us a bread basket and flavored olive oil and butter, and instead of just requesting regular butter, they complained in a not polite quiet voice that they didn't like the avocado butter. And they asked for more olive oil in a way I found slightly impolite. But maybe I'm just way too uptight when it comes to dining out etiquette.

Our food came and we all dug in. Jim (or maybe Matt) commented loudly that Jim's portion was rather small. But the kitchen had split the order and plated them like they would a full order. So I was slightly embarrassed. I'm all about treating a server right, especially a poor college student working all night for no pay. My buffalo burger was delightfully pink. I am a fan of rare red meat. Pat acted shocked and asked if it was cooked all the way. I, being too hungry and into my burger to really care if it was FULLY cooked, promised it was. It was juicy, meaty and buffalo-y. The wheat bun was soft and grainy. Matt's ribs possibly could have done with another 20 minutes or so with cooking, but were otherwise tender and flavorful.

The pizza, that I didn't mention before, was just as good as before. Slightly spicy, good BBQ sauce, just enough cheese, and this time, featured diced tomatoillos instead of red onions.

Dinner as a whole was delicious, everyone liked whatever they ordered to one extent to another. Paul commented on how long we've been there, and how long the other dinners at the other restaurants took (all about two hours), I don't know if he was complaining, but I don't think any of them are used to these kinds of dining outings. I wasn't, until I came to school and ate on Stage. Now I know when you eat at the C.I.A, you can expect to be there upwards of and hour and a half. But it's a pleasant meal: you order drinks, at least two courses and eat and talk and generally just enjoy each other's company and the meal. I've learned when you go out to eat, to take your time and just enjoy being out.

I still felt bad for the waiter (I'm really glad a big tip was left. I would have left a $20 if they didn't tip him)<<<(At the school, there's an added 15% gratuity that goes to scholarships, anything above that goes to your server, a poor college student, who works long hours there for no pay, so anything at all is greatly appreciated). He seemed to be trying so hard to be serviceable and my party didn't seem to notice. I guess going to the CIA I've been taught to do that to and sort of expect that from a server, so I appreciated his kindness and efforts.

The student manager came by and gave us a comment card, which I filled with all sorts of positive things about the evening, and on the back, wrote "Thank you for putting up with my difficult party!" With my name, and the years in which I graduated (my compulsive need to establish dominance, I guess), and to show that I went here, and could recognize both a difficult party and good effort.

Matt told me they weren't being difficult, but I felt a need to at least acknowledge the fact that he was trying. He was a good server, and I just feel bad when the good servers get put on the wayside of those who just don't care anymore.

So, Jim was super nice and picked up the check, though I'm sure all of us would have been more than willing to split it anyway, because I had planned on doing that in the first place. They made fun of me for calling him "Mr. Good" Because I still didn't quite know him, and didn't feel right calling him Jim. Paul and Pat were different, because I've known Pat, and I didn't know Paul's last name.

Pat and Paul both ordered dessert, Matt and I split a pot of Ruby Slippers and we went back to the hotel, to pick at pie and get Matt's stuff together. If I didn't say so before, I brought three small pies with me to the graduation: a chocolate pecan bourbon (our signiture pie), a pecan butterscotch (my favorite) and a pear-apple-sour cherry crumb, because it's one of the pies I make myself. Everyone who tried them loved them, so I think I'll be shipping pecan pies to their house sooner or later.

I slept badly that night. I didn't like being on the first floor so close to the side entrance, so I was afraid and paranoid and couldn't sleep. I guess the three beverages I drank over the course of 6 hours had a big affect on me. Also, I was probably sad about Matt leaving, and about getting enough sleep for the ride home. I dozed all night and finally woke at 5:30, and woke Matt up- who'd also hadn't slept that well. We hung out, and watched TV before we decided to get Mcondald's and eat it in the room.

After scarfing down Mcdonald's (Sausage Egg McMuffins with hashbrowns, both of my items being dunked in Pancake Syrup). I had wanted a Sausage Biscuit, but didn't realize I'd ordered the wrong number. I was bummed, but tonight decided to get stuff to make that for myself on Sunday, as my parents are out of town), we hung out, both of us were tired from a poor nights' sleep and we got ourselves together for him to go.

I wasn't deeply depressed by Matt leaving, not in the sobbing "Don't leave me!!" sort of way. I was sad, but we'd been together so long I'm confident we'll be just fine. Half our relationship has been long distance, so we were accustomed to such things like letters, nights on the phone, and Yahoo Messenger. This was different. I knew sooner or later he'd be back again for good. (EDIT: When I got home and nighttime hit, I was pretty lonely)

But I was still sad. We said goodbye and they drove away. I went to my room and ended up dozing for about 15 minutes and mulled around for a bit before deciding to go myself.

I got Wendy's for lunch, scooping up large amount of BBQ sauce on each nugget and scarfing down french fries laden with ketchup AND BBQ sauce, and drove home. Which took forever, since I stopped for gas, and pulled over to eat my Wendy's (because it probably isn't a good idea to reach blindly for fast food on 84)

He just called and his plane landed and he's heading home. So, for now at least, we're apart, and it's going to suck. At school, if I missed him, I could come up for a Sunday. But now what? We'll just have to miss each other till we see each other again.

~~~~~

PS! This is my 50th post!!!! Woot.

Well, Matt's gone. Part One

2009-02-27T14:39:00.005-05:00

Well, Matt's gone. Off to home for the time being while he sorts through his job potenial.

It all started yesterday morning (which inexplicably feels like three days ago) when I woke up at about 5 am, eager to get on the road with the sunrise. The day before, I had gotten mini packets of Crystal Light with caffeine (60 mgs per packet) and dumped two of them into my orange plastic water bottle. In my overnight bag, I had tucked S'mores pop tarts, this breakfast would save me several hundred calories and several hundred milligrams of sodium, which I would soon shoot to hell by eating breakfast with Matt at the diner when I got there.

I made pretty excellent time. I drank my highly caffinated beverage and nibbled on a singular pop tart and listened to Bean Trees on my ipod. No one was on the road going my way. I got there at around 7:15 and woke Matt up after I got up the highway, so he'd be somewhat coherent when I finally arrived.

As I got closer, it snowed, then began to ice, and then turned to rain. Bummer. Matt was really hoping for some kind of winter wonderland for his parents.

When I got there, he was mildly coherent and monotone. We made our way to the diner, and sat. He got oatmeal and tea, lamely enough. I got eggs, sausage, rye toast, home fries and a frozen moccachino.

I was hyped up at this point. The wild strawberry highly caffeinated beverage was pumping through my body and made me very chatty. I talked about work, his graduation, my co-workers, his family, and the ride up. I chatted endlessly and animatedly. And I ate with just as much gusto. The rye toast buttery and toasty, the eggs fluffy, home fries crisp and oniony, the sausage links gigantic, like an entire Italian sausage. My moccachino strong, sweet, and cold. I felt awake, and excited.

The caffeine clearly was giving me a fuel that was only added to the fire that I was already a morning person and already excited to see Matthew.

Matt ate spoonfuls and spoonfuls of oatmeal in the way he did when we first started dating and would eat breakfast together at around 6:30 in the morning. It was a slow, dragging way, as if he was doing it in his sleep. I would monopolize the conversation, and when later in the day I would reference something I said at that meal, he'd blink at me, and say "We had breakfast together?".

I teased him for his tiredness, and told him to be excited! He's graduating!
One of my pet peeves with Matthew is when he says he's excited or happy about something, he doesn't really look it. He's cursed with a monotone voice, so when he makes the effort to sound excited, it sounds forced.

After we ate, we went back to his room to haul his stuff to my car. I took him to turn his mail key in. I waited at the circle, Bean Trees playing, waiting for him. I saw him walk down the steps and he stop to say hi to someone who was walking the path next to my car. I heard a familiar voice and titled my head curiously. It was Dr. Murphy! One of my favorites. But more on that later. We said hi and hugged and chatted in the excited bubbly way that Matthew can probably never fathom. We promised to catch up later, and we left.

Then went to his mother's room at the hotel we were all staying. She was happy to see me, as usual, and was excited to see that I brought pies with me from work for them to sample. We hung out before we got ready to go, and left the hotel a little before noon.

Which was somewhat of an ordeal. Everyone who attended his graduation was: His mom, Patricia, from North Carolina, Jim, Matt's dad and Patricia's ex husband from Ohio, and Paul, Patricia's boyfriend or something, from Alabama, but living with Patricia.
Everyone is friendly with eachother,so that wasn't the issue. The comical issue was how Patrica talks on and on and on (like me) and I was in the back, slightly going out of my mind and thinking something along the lines of "This is going to be my family." in a "I could use a glass of wine" kind of way.

We arrived very early. About two hours. But we got parking and good seats. We took photos and Matt went off to check in. Leaving me to sit with the rest of them. To save you some time, it was an incredibly insanity brining hour and fourty-five minutes.

Finally, finally, it started. The teachers and chefs came in, with the deans and other high ups, the speaker, and finally, the graduates. Now, I don't know what it is about "Pomp and Circumstance" and graduations that makes me want to burst into tears, but I was a somewhat emotional mess on and off throughout the ceremony.
The class speaker was funny, Dr. J, one of my favorite teachers, gave a good speech that I ended up taping. The graduation speaker, a man who I have no recollection of where he came from spoke in great length about various things. One of my favorite moments in this speech was at the start, when he outlined his entire thing like he was speaking at a conference.
He also told a funny story about Julia Child- involving the drink "Lemon drops", if you are interested in it, tell me and I'll post it.

About halfway through his speech, I became hungry. I hadn't eaten since about 8 am, and it had to be about 3:00. "I could really use a snack and a drink right now." I thought. In that order, because, on an empty stomach, it would take very little for me to get buzzed.

At last they began the actual "diploma" ceremony. I was excited. I zoned in and out till they got to Matt's row, and I became even more excited. I adjusted my camera to try and compensate for the crappy lighting, but will end up having to adjust it later anyway.

When he finally walked across the stage and down then stairs, we couldn't catch him in time to take a photo. Which made me feel sad.

It was FINALLY OVER!!!!!! It took forever. I was starving and in need of a drink. So I would need to find a way to procure a glass of wine. We were in a sea of people, and I promply lost Pat and Paul, Matt's dad was somewhere behind me, but as I got to the back where the reception was, I lost my sites on his family, and started looking for Matt. Who I found quite quickly. He was making his way against a sea of people around a table across from me. "Matt!" I called, he didn't hear. "JAMES!" I called louder (His first name, and a tatic we use with my parents. They don't look up to "Mom" in a crowed, but "CAROL!" seems to work nicely). I tried again, and he found me. I grinned and made my way to him. "Matt!!!!!! You're graduated!!" I exclaimed, shaking him by his shoulders excitedly and hugging and kissing him. "Yay!!" I said. Then "I need a drink, but I don't have my ID." So he made his way to the drinks area and got two glasses of wine (I figured they'd serve him, because he was still wearing his sash thingy and probably wouldn't refuse him a glass..Also, I'm pretty sure every BPS student is at least 21)

I took the glass and took a grateful, delicious sip. What it was I'll never know. Then I looked around for food. We ran into his father, and they both ate some kind of crusted goat cheese thing that to me looked a bit like a chicken cutlet. Ugh! I need to eat something substantial immediacy or everyone around me with suffer the buzzed consequences.

I turned to Matt. "I want to find Dr. Murphy. I'm supposed to find her. Oh, and Dr. J, and whoever else we run into." I said. But seeing as we were packed in like Sardines, finding anyone anywhere would be quite a task. Finding the other part of our party would be useless for now, also.

We found Dr. J first. Dr. J is pretty awesome. Not quite sure how old he is, somewhere between 40 and 50, with wild hair and a beatnicky, rock n roll, hippie attitude about him. I had him for History of Americas and had a great time. He sometimes told great stories about his life as a college student, and as a law student working for his doctorate. He focused on what happened and why and what became of it rather than who was shot on what day and year. The class was about in depth discussions, exchanges of ideas, opinions and knowledge and was generally a good class. I liked it, even at 8 am (in those days I was more annoyed about missing the newsy bits of GMA than actual sleep) . (Which, to a college student, is just slightly early, even for a baker). He's one of those teachers that made it easy to enjoy history.

He said hi and chatted with me for a bit, and then with Matt, assuring him that he's (Matthew) is a great guy and should he ever need a reference, a call or anything, to email him. Which I thought was pretty awesome. You can't ever know enough people.

At that point, I spotted Paul, and did the same thing I did before, first calling his first name, and then his middle name (which Pat calls him). Neither worked, so I weaved thought to find him. "I found you!" I exclaimed, fighting the urge to do jazz hands or clap in sign language (which are pretty similar).

At this point it would be prudent to mention I was barely half way though my first glass of wine, and I was feeling it go directly into my head at an alarming rate. I still needed food. When Matt and I walked around a little more, a server with a plate of won ton wrapped chicken that was filled with I don't know what came by, and I took one and popped the whole thing into my mouth. It was both delicious and screaming hot. Something creamy with a touch of Rosemary, maybe?

More about my blundering tipsiness when we return.

Part Two!

Blog from the past

2009-02-16T09:54:00.003-05:00

I was cleaning my room today, and came across a piece of notebook paper. I'm assuming it's from around this time last year, and wanted to share it with everyone.

"If I don't keep my mind busy, I'm going to go crazy. If I don't keep my mind busy, I'm going to go crazy. I'm in Finance. It's only been ten minutes and my mind is already buzzing. I don't care about LLCs, LLPs and general partners. I want to get other work done. Why is it I'm motivated and itching to write in classes, but when I'm relaxing I got nothin?!

I really do need to get out of my head before it gets me in trouble. I'm not even 'bored'! Damn Concerta. Engaging me in boring topics. "What's the difference between a primary and secondary market?" "I have no idea! Please tell me!" Ha, this is entertaining me. Inside joke with myself.
I really need to stop zoning out. I just spent the last 30 minutes with visions of Newsies dancing in my head.

IT'S A THREE HOUR MATH CLASS! AT NIGHT! AFTER DINNER! FROM 6:30-9:30!! Can you blame me? To keep myself sane I keep tick marks when I think I minute goes by.
I'm better in accounting, but this class is brutal. I struggle minute to minute. Dying to get out.

I don't know what happened in the last 30 minutes.

Including.

2009-02-10T15:08:00.003-05:00

Today, just now, I decided that I don't really need to be included.

That's right. I've been rejected by so many people for so long, I immediately reject others before they can reject me (how's that for saving $200 in Shrink fees?) But I just don't really have a need to be included. Well, not exactly, anyway.

I want to be included by my blogging peers. I want to be included at work (which I already am, even if I still am paranoid about their reasons). I want to be included by my boyfriend (which I am, without question or judgment). And that just about suits me.
I don't need much else.

I don't need everyone else's inclusion, and acceptance. I'm pretty good at pushing people away. People like me, we're good at that. People don't usually like us, so we just reject them, get it over with, save them the trouble of doing it for us.

So here we are, this weird little group of outcasts, including each other in our attempt to reject anyone remotely normal who we see as a threat.

I like my little group of misfits. We're weird. We talk funny. We think funny. We're just a strange group of folks. We get eachother. We relate and understand eachother on a level most people probably don't get. It goes deeper than "Oh. My God. I LOVE GREY'S ANATOMY!" or "Like, you have blonde hair!??! ME TOO!". It's more like "I was having really weird nerve pain today." or "I'm just waiting on the results of that MRI." or "My kid is really struggling with his learning disabilities.".

It's funny how people who think they are normal have it better than those who aren't normal. You don't have it better. Just easier. But with our struggles, we have it easier when it comes to being empathetic, good listeners, or just kinder in general.

So I don't have a big desire to be included with all the ''normal'' people out there. I am just as happy being with my nice group of misfit toys.

Lazy

2009-02-09T09:59:00.002-05:00

I'm actually a very lazy person. There's a lot I'm probably supposed to get done today. Such as cleaning my room, switch the TVs so I might have a working remote, run general errands, go to the library, go for a niiiice long walk. My dad suggested we go to a car dealership, but I don't know when that's gonna happen. God forbid I ask, because I actually do have things to do today and it would be very nice to get half of them done. So, it probably wont happen, and I know it probably wont happen. Because I will never get to that point.
I'm so lazy. I have one day off and I want to use it effectively, but since I'm getting out of work so much earlier, I really don't have a need to do ANYTHING errandy today. So my best case scenario is go to the bank, post office and library and go for a long walk.
But I'm lazy! I feel like my life is passing me by. There's so much I want to do but taking the first step to anything seems overwhelming. Like buying a car. The cost, the issue of insurance, car loans, looking at cars. It's a big investment and I want to make the right one. So I'm avoiding it. But I want a car because it's my first step out of here. I want to move out by the end of the year. But I really don't know if that's going to happen. As much as I hate it, I'm probably stuck here till next year.
I'm so lazy. A pathetic, lazy product of my generation.
Alright, screw this. I NEED to do something productive today or I'm going to go insane.

Facebook Epiphany

2009-02-03T18:05:00.008-05:00

When a blog writer (This one in particular I consider an amazing writer and somewhat of a rock star) 'friended' me on 'facebook'. I saw something about him above a photo of someone I used to know (but am not and would never be friends with), with a comment by someone I recently 'friended' a month or so ago. And it clicked: I really hate what facebook (and the internet in general) has done to this world.

I really, really hate it. People post drunk, drugged, and HIGHLY inappropriate photos, and then go to make lewed comments, or further encourage such acts of obscenity. For everyone to see. And they see nothingwrong with it. Not a second thought to that picture of hanging out cleavage, with a bottle of rum in their hand.

I'm looking at the blog writer in comparison with the comment the friend made, and I am thoroughly disgusted and embarrassed. And want to wipe out about twenty people on my 'friend' list.
I really don't care if you are reading this. I'm probably going to put this on my facebook anyway. Because I'm just that bold and crazy.

Facebook, to me, is a place to reconnect with people I used to know and connect with people who I can relate to (such as my enjoyment for grammar and the NF groups I am apart of)

Any idiot can see this generation is in some serious trouble. They drink, do drugs, are wildly obscene in every way. It's disgusting. And you all think it's okay. And the post it online like a prize. Look at me! Look at my AWESOME life!! I'm so EXTREME!!!! Yeeeeeeeeeeeeah....ooookay.

I don't care how you plan on flaming me for this, because really? Your opinion of who I am matters to me about as much as my opinion on you matters to you.

So why am I writing this? Because I'm sick of being apart of this generation. I've only come across a few dozen worthwhile people of this generation, and I think that's pretty damn sad. I think it's sad you publicize your drunk lives, your drugged lives, your 'drunk nights in low cut clothing thinking you look so hot' lives. It's incredibly sad. And embarrassing. I can only hope these people grow out of their little immaturity phase speedy quick and join the 'Rest of Us'.

And by "The Rest of Us" I mean "The people of this generation who don't partake in such silly little acts" where two beers, or two drinks, doesn't lead to five or ten more. Where we go out with friends, have a fun time, and go home for work or school the next day (who come in BEFORE 2 am, and don't have a hangover). The few of us who balance fun with real life. There's actually some of us out there! Where we don't do drugs, or wear skanky outfits and drunkenly hang off the shirts of Tools whose collars are popped.

If you're responsible and smart, you sure as hell don't come off that way. Hope your actions don't come back to bite you in the butt.
I'm pretty sure Facebook is one of the signs of the Culture and Decency Apocalypse.

Pathetic.

2008-11-01T19:42:00.003-04:00

I feel pathetic. It's Saturday night. I'm home alone, talking to you. I'm 23.

I'm not one to go out and drink till I can't stand or do stupid immature things, but a little socialness is nice. I'm supposed to go up to see the boyfriend tomorrow, which will be nice, considering I'm hitting the ground running at 4:30 Tuesday morning, straight on through Thanksgiving and into January......Which I can't bear to think about or I feel like there's doom looming over me. My heart feels heavy when I think about the stress level upcoming, which is coming up weeks sooner than I thought, and the only way to cope with it is to avoid it, not think about it and eat bags of candy and Mcdonald's double cheeseburgers.

On the bright side, I'm working no more than eight hours a day now. It's weird. I clock in at 5, clock out around1, and I'm home. Amazing. I like it. I like working eight hours. Not that I mind working overtime and working hard, but it's a pleasant change to not be exhausted when I go home, or actually run errands. Or be dead on my feet.

Can you believe the last two weeks I worked about 116 total hours? Now my hours are a normal workweek. I don't spend much money outside fuel and groceries, and the occasional purchase of a dvd, book or shirt. Oh crap. And loan payments. I forgot about that. Well, no worries. And looking for a car....and various insurances and.....I'm too young for this....but not really. I'm actually running late with all this stuff. But I can't think about that right now or I'm going to go mad.

I feel pathetic. Oi vey. Is this what adulthood is, really? It kind of sucks. Are we really meant to work this hard only to have 90% of a paycheck go into bills and life-sustaining things? Where's the fun? We get a free ride our whole life till college, and all of the sudden we're slammed with a mountain of responsibility.
Life can't be like this. I refuse. The whole point of working so hard is so you have the means to go and have the fun you need to have in your life. So you can enjoy it more. Not work, work, work to get bills paid. After bills are paid you use what you have to enjoy your life.
I mean, I'm a very frugal person, and I keep forgetting the whole point of putting money in your checking account is to spend it sometimes. I feel weird spending money on groceries, clothes and fuel. I think I got my grandmother's (and grandfather's) extreme frugalness. I'll spend money on anyone other than myself, though. I'm not cheap with other people, but I like to be cheap with myself so I can not be cheap with others.

But I need to remember to have a little fun sometimes. Take my own advice and enjoy myself. That I work at a good job and it's perfectly okay and sane to do something fun for myself and not be so uptight with money.

...Where is this going? See, this is why I should stick to baking and not to writing. Maybe I am more pathetic than I thought. =)

Good Rowayton Girls

2008-10-28T15:40:00.004-04:00

Sometimes I feel like I'm expected to marry someone in my area. Some nice WASP boy from Rowayton from a well-to-do family. Or a boy from Darien with similar attributes? Maybe that's why my family teases me about my boyfriend. A guy with a slight accent from Ohio. Is that why they don't like him? Because a Rowayton girl is expected to marry a Rowayton boy? Am I supposed to marry within my area like good Jewish girls are ''supposed'' to marry good Jewish boys?

I never knew who I'd end up with growing up. I wasn't too concerned with marriage at such a young age. I liked a boy or two in my class, but never exactly thought of long-term outside the crush-spectrum. But was I actually expected to marry one of these guys?! Truly they must have been kidding!! Outside of cute eyes and smiles, and mild personality and intelligence, they didn't have much I wanted to be apart of. Nor where they especially kind to me. The kind of kindness you pity the weird girl with. (Now that I see what these guys have become, I think how lucky I am to have dodged quite a bullet)
But as I became older and got interested in long term things; my education and career, I thought of who I'd want to end up with later on. I knew I wanted to marry a guy who could cook. I loved to bake and knew I was going to go to school for it, so, naturally, I knew I'd meet my husband in college.

And that pretty much satisfied me. Satisfied me from middle school to college. I didn't date (what guy would want the awkward looking girl?) or even really talk to guys (the closest thing I got to a guy in high school were the tom boys in my all girl's school). I knew when I got to college, things would be different. I knew I'd grow into my awkwardness and grow out of my weird looks. I knew I'd find a guy who shared my interests and values. And to me, it made the most logical sence to not invest time and feelings into a relationship as immature as teenage ones that aren't gonna last. Why waste time on a guy in a relationship that was going to end in bitter heartbreak?

So, now I have him. A cook (an especially amazing cook), who's dead smart, sweet, funny, interesting, friendly, polite, understanding, motivated, gentlemanly; all the things a girl could want. Except for the suspecting feeling my family doesn't think of him long term, like I do. I've been with him almost three years, and I'd like to be secure that my family actually approves of him.

I really don't know if they approve. Surely they must know I'm a nervous and neurotic wrek, and take teasing about my appearance, cooking, way of talking, and anything attached to me in general, very seriously. So when I get teased, and even worse, my sister gets to go on these little day trips with her boyfriend who haven't even been together half a year yet, I get a little annoyed.

Anyway. I just wish I knew. "Unfortunetly" I'm one of those girls who cares about what her family thinks of her and her siginificant other, and if there's even a smiggen of discontent, there's going to be problems down the road.

Blog Faves, OR A common blog cop-out pt 2

2008-10-21T16:08:00.000-04:00

I know I just posted, but I'm feeling chatty and nostalgic. So I'm reposting my very first post on my very first blog. Here's the original link

~~~~~~~

Awkward.

I’m awkward. Aren’t we all a little awkward? My clumsy way of speaking and acting around others is halting, driving me to live in my thoughts, to be quiet and exempt from the sociality of the world. I’m different in my mind: I’m lively, talkative, able to express my thoughts clear, I’m happy in my mind. I drift in and out of lectures, wrapped up warmly and comfortably with the thoughts I let float like clouds, without any direction.

But I wish I wasn’t so awkward. I wish I could be the person I am in my thoughts. The me in my mind is happy, or at least more able to express her feelings. I’m coherent, understood. I write because when I do, I become the person trapped in my head. Writing becomes an extension of myself. I express, I can verbalize, articulate exactly what I need to say. You would never hear me say the words I type in the ways I can write them. It’s just too difficult. I’m okay with that. Somehow, I’d rather be socially awkward, unpopular, and unhappy at times and be able to express very single thought clear on paper, then be popular and average.

I love to write. I’m constantly in my head, thinking lines that would develop into articles, blogs, ideas. I find myself scribbling down lines furiously in the margins of my lecture notes, desperate to hang on to that great sentence. I don’t just love to write, I need to. Writing is the only way I can make people understand me. I’m desperate to be understood and I feel this is the only way I can.
I think people who can speak slowly, and be understood, people who are popular and have large circle of friends, take all this for granted. I struggle to speak. I shake when I speak to someone, my words fumble together and I cringe, embarrassed and ashamed, feeling like a child. I feel stuck inside myself. I’m dying to get out, break free of my disorder (I have NF, but that’s another blog) and express myself. But, as I said, if this is the only way I can get through, to make myself heard, then so be it.

I don’t know how much this will be read, if at all, but that’s okay. I’m happy to type my feelings as a way to get my feelings out. I have mood problems, it’s hard for me to control them and communicate them. What happened to me? I was easy going, happy, energetic, hyper, the little things about my disorder never really getting to me. Now I’m quiet, moody that is punctured occasionally with bouts of the above emotions. Hopefully, eventually, things will be different. Until then, I try hard to control my emotions, be happier, and work hard at making myself better. I guess I don’t mind being awkward much afterall.

Blog Faves, OR A common blog cop-out

2008-10-16T19:58:00.002-04:00

I haven't been writing lately. I think it's funny I start a lot of my blogs like that. But I kinda want to share the stuf I've written that I like. I've seen two other bloggers do the same and I kinda like it. So I'm gonna cop out and post something I just re-read that I wrote long ago and put it here for all to see.

This feels weird and mildly awkward, but I think I'm okay with that.

"

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Another holiday post. Valentine's Day is such an odd holiday. Everyone views it differently. People expect day long flutters of romantic feelings, some expect chocolate, others diamond rings or jewelry...others hate it.

Valentine's Day was always a fun thing at my house, we would go out for dinner usually, siblings and I would get a small box of candy and some other kind of small things to acknowledge the day...no big deal. Just a day to make a special effort to show people you care for them. So when my boyfriend asked me “So what do you want for Valentine's Day?” I was mildly appalled, and turned to lecture him. Is it my birthday? Is it Christmas? Anniversary? So why is he asking me what I'd like? I didn't think Valentine's Day was a holiday to get something you want. I'm happy with some form of chocolate, a decent meal together and just a relatively nice day. I don't think it's low expectations, it's logical. Giving someone a car or a phone for Valentine's Day is just...another example how it is a consumer driven holiday. Some woman expect way too much. Hundreds of dollars spent on some sort of thing...makes them seem a little high maintenance. A card, chocolate or flowers are more than enough to acknowledge the day, and we should be happy with it and appreciate it. There's so much pressure to get the holiday right. Last Valentine's Day was the very first with a boyfriend. We'd met the Valentine's Day before, at an Anti-Valentine's Day (but that's another story), so while it would be a year that we met, we weren't one to celebrate every teeny “anniversary” together.

We had a blizzard and the first snow day in ten years at school, so everything was shut down. Any plans for dinner together up at school was spoiled. I had made chocolate lava cakes, had gotten him a box of chocolates I had customized at a Russel Stover site, and we got dinner at the Rec Center Cafe. I remember he gave me a good bar of chocolate, possibly a few other cute small things, and that was all I really needed. You shouldn't go too crazy on the 14^th.

I think people who hate view it wrong. I grew up thinking you didn't need some kind of boyfriend to have Valentine's. It was one of the best days of the year in class- cupcakes, candy, fun cards (for everyone, of course), you got a box of chocolate from at least one family member, we went out for dinner- which was always a treat, some cards, silly Valentines cartoons. An all around fun day to show silly forms of affection for people. Now I guess it's just an excuse to have a date. If you are single, it's a day to send flowers and cards to friends, and call home, I don't know why it's so hated. I don't think I ever hated it, just mild jealousy when I saw girls have flowers and such. The anti-Valentine's Day party where I met my boyfriend was just because my classmate was hosting it as her R.A event and I wanted to go support her. That was two years ago! Insane.

V-day is what you make of it. If you want to be miserable, that's your choice. But you're missing out on a day that can be fun. You can be happy and still be single on Valentine's Day....anyone who tells you otherwise is just single and miserable, or taken and rubbing it in your face."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today: As in Oct 16h, 2008

Check out my old stuff on my blogs, too. I don't write this for my health, ya know!

Well, kinda.

Other blog

2008-09-25T17:01:00.001-04:00

Been working on my other blog. More tags and such. So check it out, people. The older stuff is pretty good- if I do say so myself. =)

My Day Off, and Earthbound

2008-09-22T18:30:00.005-04:00

I did nothing today. Nothing productive. I woke up to my alarm at 6:30, and then convinced myself an extra hour of sleep would be good for me. So I woke up at 7:30, tried for more sleep, before I crawled out of bed and sat at my computer with the express purpose of getting my last post done. But the net wasn't up (and didn't go up till after 12 today...Don't get me started)

I spent the day in my room, watching Saved By The Ball and tragic stories about childhood dementia and playing Earthbound, for the upteenth time.

I love Earthbound. My love for this game has no limits. I love its charming graphics and storylines, cute little side things, little lines and good message and dramatic, moving final battles. From the first "Fuzzy pickles" all the way to the very dramatic "The war against the Giygas is over." That STILL makes you have this "Wow." feeling, even if you've done it seven times. This game is indescribable. I can't do any justice to it here.

This truly is a stand alone game. I don't know of any game that is its equal. If someone knows about it, please tell me so I can find it and play it for myself.

So that was my day. I figured I could get away with a lazy day after working a double and driving to and from school to see my boyfriend. Especially since I'm going to work a full seven days this week....actually, I'll be working Tuesday through next Monday, to the following Saturday.....a 12 day week? Sweet. That'll be good, because I need to make up the three weeks I didn't work and the overtime wouldn't equal that, but it would be a help.

Damn, that's gonna be a long week, but it's going to be the holidays before I know it, and since I have the cashflow for the first time...well....ever, I'd like to get nice things for people. Really nice things.

I haven't written in a bit, and I've always vowed to write on my days off, but I have no ideas, so typing aimlessly makes me feel somewhat productive. I'm not nearly as witty and smart as some blogs I read (and I'm terribly jealous of them), but I guess since this isn't my life right now, I can't do much more than this. =\ Apologies all around, but I hope I can make this into something good sooner or later.

Freeform

2008-08-04T18:40:00.003-04:00

I haven't written in awhile, so I just felt like typing, as I have nothing to really say.

It's Monday, my day off and the day I wake up with my first clear thought being "What the hell am I doing working these hours?". This usually dims sometime after 2 or 3, but even now I'm thinking "Agh, what am I doing!!?" I think it's because I get a taste of a relaxed day every weekend. I wake up by 8:30, hang out, run errands, and generally not do much of anything. Yesterday I drove up to my old school to spend the day with my boyfriend, and I got a taste of actually doing things. It was a pleasent drive, I played Harry Potter and Abba, we went to go see Mamma Mia (which I'm still pretty shocked he let me talk him into seeing, now I'll never hear the end of it) and it was just so nice to have the time to see him. But now I'm going into a work week and I don't think I'm too up for it.

We're closing for a week in about two weeks, and I think that's why I feel like this. I'm looking forward to a long break, a trip to Delaware, sleep, shopping, seeing my boyfriend at some point and time away from the shop. I do like my job, don't get me wrong, but I'm just looking forward to my trip and I feel like it can't come any sooner.

I really like spending time with my boyfriend. What a funny realization; to find out you love the person you're with. I like planning, baking things for him, the drive up, and just being there. We've been doing some form of long distance for about half the time we've been together, and it feels nice to have the means and funds to go visit him. He usually comes down here, which is nice, but it's a long trek by train, and pretty pricey. Driving up takes half the time and the cost. It takes me about two hours both ways. In the time it takes a basic train ride (one way, mind you), I could drive to and back from the school. And we have a car, so we can actually go DRIVE to eat, drive to go to the store.

Anyway, I hope work doesn't suck this week. Saturday was pretty sucky for everyone. One thing after another after another after another. (Crap! I need to write something about the store!!!!) Cutting this short, hoping to do more later.

Early, but not really

2008-05-14T07:54:00.003-04:00

I'm a little tired this morning. I woke up at 5 and slept surprisingly well- Trader Joe's Bedtime Tea has to have something heavy in it, I was able to get to sleep by 11.

I'm planning on waking up at 3:45 to start. I figure that'll give me 15 minutes of lesiurely waking up, dressing and getting ready time, 25 minutes to wake up mentally so I'll be able to drive, and to eat, 5 minutes to wait around to go, and out the door by 4:30 to get there early on my first day.

I'm usually pretty good at waking up pretty throughly at such early hours. I'm more or less a morning person, and to have a reason to get up that early is enough of a reason to be fully awake and ready to work.

Still, I'm a little sleepy today. I hate being sleepy so early in the morning. It makes me feel like a lazy youth. I think I'm going to have a relatively calm day. If I get bored enough from being awake in the house sine 5 am (and I probably will) I'll go for a walk, but other than that, nothing too crazy. The only thing I'm really doing today is going with my mom and sister for a belated mother's day tea at a tea house in Darien.

It's only 8:27 and I'm already bored. Lucky for me, I'll be at work during the morning.

Telltale signs I need to get a life

2008-05-08T17:51:00.005-04:00

1a) Lost time reading hilarious blogs: http://evanschiller.blogspot.com/ and http://kidicarus222.blogspot.com
1b) http://www.foundmagazine.com/
1c) http://www.drewbacca.com/html/index.php?p=54&more=1&c=1&tb=1&pb=1
2) That's about it.

Mother's Day

2008-05-08T12:22:00.006-04:00

Our family isn't sure what to do for Mother's Day. Not exactly. My mother has tons of flowers in her little flower area: a dozen orchid plants, and others throughout the house. I can't bring myself to get bouquets of flowers. How is giving someone a bunch of dying flowers and having them die all week showing someone how you feel about them?

My mother says she doesn't care what we do and we'll "figure it out" this weekend. But that's not fair to us. We want to give my mother a nice weekend, and she should be a little receptive to ideas. We want to cook her a nice dinner, and have my sister and I take her to a Tea House in town for lunch on the weekend. I think that's a nice day. I'll be extra sure to keep the house extra clean- all month (not just the weekend) and do what I can to help out even more. I'm not sure what else to do or to give her. Mother's Day Gifts seem so cliche and not really thoughtful. Chocolate? Flowers? Giftcards? Cell phones? Is this really showing Mom we love her? I saw a commercial for Sears to buy Mom large appliances, Stoves, Dishwashers and Refrigerators..."Happy Mother's Day, Mom! Bake me cookies!" That's as bad as giving her a vacuum.
Cell phones are a bad gift for anyone unless it's for your own child. "Happy Birthday/Christmas/Valentine's /Mother's Day! Have a cellphone with a plan you have to pay for!"
Why do we have such pressure to buy gifts for anyone? Society pressures us to buy things to show love and affection. Why can't we show care for our Mothers by helping out more? Taking them to a place you know they'd like? We shouldn't have this guilt ridden need to buy, buy, buy. It's ingrained in us to buy things. We shouldn't stand for it and feel like we need to spend all this money on someone to prove something. And we feel like we have to, we don't want to disappoint the person we're giving to.

I'm a fairly low-maintenance person. I don't like flowers, I don't like diamonds. It doesn't take too much to make me happy. But I don't know if other people really are also. When my mother says (or any mother says) we don't have to do anything, we wonder if she really means it. Girls are peculiar like that. We infrequently say how we really feel or what we really want. "Oh, you don't have to do anything!" from a mother could mean "Well, I'd like flowers and not to cook." But they don't want to tell you that. They want us to figure it out, because they shouldn't have to tell us. I know how it is, I'm a girl too, I know how we do things. But it shouldn't be like that. Life would be so much easier and happier for us all if we just told people what we liked when they asked us: Don't say "I don't know what to have for dinner." When you really want steak. Don't say "Oh, rent any movie" when you really want to get the latest release.

We all need to speak up. I understand we don't want to impose or be a bother, but I think we'd all be a lot happier if we just expressed our needs. I know I'm very opinionated, and I tell it like it is, but I'm like that a lot too. We don't want to be imposing or make someone do something they may not want to do. But if we spoke up, especially all the mothers out there, we could save some stress and unhappiness to create a much better Mother's Day, and everyother day out there for everyone.

Shy and Ramblings of an nervous Job seeker

2008-05-06T15:06:00.002-04:00

Why am I so shy!? I want to submit something to Relish magazine, but why would anyone want to publish someone fresh out of college?
We'll see....I might try it. I just hate that I lack confidence in things like work. I'm painfully socially shy and feel like I would do something wrong and cause many problems and much anger from my employer....Damn externship.... I want to work, and I want a job, but I don't think I can do it. There are probably more qualified people and I just don't want to screw anything up for anyone.
But I don't want to be here forever. I want to be independent, on my own in an apartment somewhere, making money, getting my writing together.

I worry too much. I wish I didn't. I worry about everything. Jobs, money, the environment, everything. I just want to be able to look for a job without wondering why anyone would want me or if I can handle it.

I'm shy, I worry, I am outgoing, but only under odd situations: when I'm around certain people and when it -really- matters, like job interviews, on the phone, speaking to adults, and (back when I was a server at Apple Pie Bakery for a class) with customers....So maybe it would work for me. I don't know. I like working with people, I like customers, and kids...but really...what kind of job can i handle? I can't ice a cake well, and have difficulty with making things pretty....and I can't explain that to anyone. I've given up. My mom brags about her pastry chef daughter, and it makes me mad sometimes....because I dont feel like a pastry chef....just someone who has a degree in baking and pastry who really enjoys baking and making things....but that last step of presentation is so hard for me....

I'm such a mess.....I'm sorry I have such issues with these kinds of things. I really am a capable person, reliable, professional, sense of urgency and getting things done. I'm motivated, friendly, more or less smart...so why shouldn't I be confident....I don't know....This would just be my very first real real job and it makes me a little nervous.

I think I will give Relish a shot and send in a query, who knows what will happen but I really should try. Taped to my monitor is a fortune from a cookie that says "Nothing is impossible to you" I take that as a good omen, and hopefully, it will turn out to be true.

Logical thinking and mild cop-outs

2008-04-29T14:43:00.002-04:00

Well, I'm not sure how to begin or talk about this post. It would be incredibly arrogant and egotistical of me to assume that the people who have my cover letter and resume would bother to look at my food blog, let alone this one, but I know better. It would happen that the one time you talk about a job or an employer that they'd find out. And I'm pretty sure the school has some sort of "Let's not be negative about any potential employer or anyone in the food industry...EVER!!!" policy. ...they kind of look down on that.
So I'll have to tread lightly on this one.

I'm thinking about jobs and such. My mother is pressuring me to get a job in some bakery somewhere. But I'm a stubborn person, and just a little bit difficult. I refuse to succumb to her suggestion and do what I want to do. (Which my mother has ended many arguments with a very guilt ridden "WELL! You always do what YOU want to do ANYWAY!"- What's so bad about being determined to do what you want to do?) I have my reasons: 1) My brother will need a car for extern- whenever that happens. 2) My mother needs the car sometimes, which she should take anyway 3) Gas prices are INSANE!! Insane. So if I can save a car and half my paycheck going into gas every week, why not? 4) My hands are horrible. I can't make things look very nice, and I'm getting a little frustrated over the fact that my mother doesn't understand how difficult it is for me to ice, pipe, cut and decorate. So my confidence in that area isn't there. I can make things taste good and make them great, but that last important stage is something I lack.

Anyway, I don't want to work in a bakery in Stamford, or Bridgeport, or Greenwich, or anywhere else my sister or mother can find. I just don't. I want somewhere in biking or walking distance. Is that really too much for them to understand?

There's this Church secretary job that pays $15/hr, and even with taxes taken out it would still probably be more than most anything else I can find. I'd be lucky to get anything over $10 anywhere else. It's part time, and would open up potential babysitting jobs, providing extra income. This isn't the rest of my life. Just a temporary job. I wish they would understand that.

If I end up working at the part time baking job, that's great, but this would be good too. I want something part time, in town, and pays well. This is it. This is just a part time job. Not the rest of my life. How many c0llege grads do exactly what their degree dictates the first 6 months out of college anyway? Not many, that's for sure. This part time job would be great while I work on my food writing stuff. I'm going to send out more things this week and hopefully things will start to happen. Until then, a job as a Church Secretary, or a part time baker, will do just fine.

Nothing Much

2008-04-24T09:59:00.003-04:00

It's such a nice day out, but all I'm really planning on doing today is going for a walk. I don't know what else to say, really. I feel quiet. Maybe I'm just a little tired. Maybe I'm just getting a little weary of my daily life. I don't want to jinx it, but I really hope I get the part time job at the ice cream store/cafe in town. It'd be so great, but I'm so nervous about calling. They said they'd call this week, but to me, Ms. Prompt and Anal means Monday afternoon, so I'm nervous. What do I even say? "Hi, this is Jennifer Robinson, I spoke to you about the part-time job and was wondering if you still wanted me to come in?" Geeze. How lame...I'll figure it out.

I can always take the job as a Church secretary, answering phones part time for 15/hr. That could work. I don't know if it's still even open. I just know I need to save up and get out of this house for a bit. I've been here a month and I have yet to find a job. I've sent out four packets of cover letters, articles and resumes last Saturday, which I'm not really expecting to hear back from because it's too soon...but I'll send more out, lots more. I need some form of a job in walking/biking distance. That I cannot stress enough. Biking would free a car up and get me in shape for summer. Gas prices are going to be awful, so I'm expecting to bike to anywhere less than four miles away, but lucky for me, everything I could need is in that range: libraries, food stores, CVS, town. Biking is good for you anyway.

Anyway, I hope it works out. Being here makes me guilty over everything. From sitting in my room reading to drinking milk. Seriously. It would be great to get a job and contribute groceries. I already clean daily and cook when I'm able to. I think helping out a bit more will be a good thing and make me feel less than some kind of sponge.

Cars, Gas prices, Guilt and The House of Repression

2008-04-23T09:48:00.006-04:00

I don't think I ask for much. At home, I go for long walks, read most of the day, keep my room more or less picked up and I clean. I clean the kitchen every day. I'd like to cook more, but I haven't done that for a bit and hopefully will be doing more of it soon. I pretty much keep to my self, out of trouble and do everything I can to help. I think that's better than most people in their 20's living at home and out of college (except I hope I'll have a job soon, and that'll help as well)

So I feel like I do everything and ask for nothing. Does anyone have any idea why that is? Because I do everything and ask for nothing. I don't use the car much. Guilt of taking the car from my mom, who actually needs it, as well as horrible gas prices, keeps me from getting stuff done; grocery shopping, errands, returning books to the library. Sometimes people use the car who really don't need to do it. Make your own coffee. My mother shouldn't have to not have a car because someone wants to buy overpriced, crappy coffee. But you didn't hear that from me. I need the car maybe once a week and when I plan on cooking, but I'm going to try and plan meals out better and bike for stuff I need. So let my mother have the car. I don't need it and I'd rather have the person who needs it the most and who actually owns it use it. As for gas prices, when I go out I try to at least put back a few gallons, which makes me feel less like a sponge.

I feel so guilty for using the car. I feel like I shouldn't be using it. Ever. And I can't ever say that, to anyone, or anything else that may be viewed as negative or what I like to call "telling it like it is", which tends to get me into trouble (Oh well!). I can't express my feelings or my self in this house because it's always met with teasing, fights or "I AM NOT REFEREEING!!!" It's not fair. Sometimes I think I'm going crazy here....I repress all my feelings because god forbid I express any anger. God forbid I DEFEND myself or "talk back" And people wonder why I have such a hard time expressing how I feel.....

This is going to be an honest blog....lucky for me no one really reads what I write. But what else can I do? I can't express myself anywhere else. No one listens, and I have so much trouble verbalizing because I'm alway shot down. So I'm driven to come here, in my head, in my fingertips to say everything I've always thought but never said out loud.

So, sorry if it sounds angry, or aggressive or harsh, but if people just let me express my feelings like a normal person without being told I "go over the line" or "I'm not refereeing", maybe it wouldn't sound so harsh and aggressive if you gave me a chance when my thoughts were "normal" and "reasonable".

But this is what I think, this is how I feel, and I shouldn't have to apologize for feeling the way I feel after I've been silenced for too long.

I assume no responsibility for any emotional anger expressed here. If I was "allowed" to be expressive and "defend" myself, maybe I wouldn't be so emotionally screwed up. Just maybe.

PS. Just to let everyone know, my family really isn't all that bad...I just get frustrated sometimes. It's aggravating to know you can't really express how I feel sometimes, and it has to get to that point where things just blurt out...only to get slammed after. It's not fair. I feel like I'm the only one who this is being done to and it's just awful to feel like no one is listening or cares about how things really are around here, or to express how you feel about something going on. It is fixable....if everyone stopped being so quick to anger and so close-minded and exasperated when I open my mouth...... I just can't suppress how I feel. It's so unhealthy and it makes me absolutely miserable.

Explaination

2008-04-23T09:40:00.000-04:00

So, here I am, another blog. I realized how important it is to have a food blog separate from a normal blog. Now I won't feel guilty about it or confuse potential employers.

This will be great! Hope to blog soon!