Mike and I had a very heated discussion tonight about the proper way to eat Lucky Charms. Yes, I said tonight. Yes, I had cereal for dinner. I'm not ashamed. I love marshmallow cereal, it makes me feel better about myself.
I briefly abandoned my bowl of delicious cereal to attend to our nuisance of a cat:
(Follow Peppo on Instagram: Crosseyedkitteh)
when Michael took two giant spoons of my cereal and gulped them down like a starving child. I don't mind sharing with my husband, it is part of the joy of being married. It didn't bother me that he ate my cereal, it bothered me that he didn't eat my cereal correctly.
I abide by a very strict regiment of marshmallow cereal eating. First, you eat all of the wheatie, yucky bits. This leaves a bowl full of early-onset-diabetes inducing marshmallows. THIS IS A TWO-STEP PROCESS! You should never go all willy-nilly into your cereal gobbling up everything in sight.
At this age, I realize I'm probably the only person who still eats Lucky Charms the same way as a two year old. I don't mind, as long as Mike doesn't break the rules and respects the way of the marshmallow.
Since I have moved to Virginia, I have watched an embarrassing amount of television. Writing this makes me feel somewhat ashamed, but not enough to run out and cancel my Netflix subscription. As I have devoured one series after another, I have realized that most shows have either an episode or a series of episodes that culminate in a character standing up to a group of people, either their peers or family, and they have a grand speech in which they assert their position and basically tell everyone else to stuff it if they don't like it. If you watch Grey's Anatomy this happens in pretty much every episode.
I find the idea of making a grandiose, well-worded speech that befuddles my audience completely fascinating because this has never happened to me and I honestly wonder if such a thing exists in real life or if it is more like, a unicorn. Something fantastic you see on TV but somehow, it missed the ark.
In order to provide you with some unnecessary background to my curiosity I submit Exhibit A:
Hint: I'm the one on the right. That track suit was awesome for cave spelunking, terrible for sneaking up on people.
I had an awkward phase. Okay it was like an awkward decade. Some might argue that the awkwardness hasn't disappeared at all. Looking like this doesn't really lend well to confidence. I was an awkward, middle child, squished very tightly between to boisterous and opinionated sisters. Is being a pushover a learned behavior, or was I born this way? **Begin 30 second Lady Gaga Dance** My whole life, as far back as kindergarten, all I can remember is wanting to make people happy. However, making people happy was only a byproduct of not wanting to be left out by other people. I had an incessant need to feel included.
Happy middle child stuck between the bossy older and younger siblings
Fast forward 20-something years and I find the same desire to please everyone still exists. I won't send food back because I don't want people to think I'm picky and spit in my food. I feel bad when I hang up on telemarketers, and try to do so as politely as possible. I can't say no to those people who sell hand cream at the mall because I don't want to be mean. When someone tells me something is ugly, I won't get it, even if I like it. Is that ridiculous? Does that sound ridiculous? It is ridiculous, and I know it, but I can't stop it.
When you are a pushover, you spend a lot of time doing things you don't want to do. Now and then, a little bit if courage rises up, you say no, and then you feel so guilty that you are swallowed up in a sea of yeses again. Being a pushover is not a quality that lends well to making grand speeches, more like angry journal entries.
At some point in my life, I would love to make a grand, "GO STUFF YOURSELF" speech. I think at some point, everyone should get to make the speech that establishes them as the strong, no nonsense, champion of all that is right in the world. The one that makes people stop in their tracks and re-think their position on you. The one that makes them respect you. As a pushover you may be the "go to" or the "nice one" but, are you the respected one? I'm not so sure. I'll keep you posted.
Have you ever gotten to make a mythical grand speech? I would love to hear about it.
So, in six months we moved across an ocean and then across a country. Needless to say, it has been a very busy six months. I left New Zealand with such sadness because it had grown to be our home and we had so many amazing friends and experiences there. I suppose that is why I didn't write for so long, I was stuck in Post-NZ-adventure depression. After spending the holidays with our families, Mike and I were eager to be on another adventure and somehow found ourselves in Virginia.
As newbies to the Washington D.C. metro area we have already learned a few things:
It is never a good idea to drive into Washington. Ever. Traffic is a disaster here. Thank goodness we live close to the Metro.
Downton Washington is beautiful. The buildings are beautiful, the city is clean, and everyone and everything seems very important.
Humidity. Apparently, it is not even that hot yet but, I feel like I turn up to everything like a hot mess. I'm going to be a disaster come July.
Mike and I got very lucky and found a lovely place to live within our budget and within walking distance to shops, restaurants, and the Metro. I told Mike I wanted three things: a tub, a nice kitchen, and a big closet. Mike being the stud that he is, found us a place with all three.
As a bonus, I got to bring my furry monster, Peppo. Although he is a nuisance at 3am, having him around has helped immensely with the homesickness.
Thanks for not giving up on my little blog. If anyone is planning a trip to the east coast and wants to couch surf with us, we would love to have you and we would love to show you around the city.
I like to consider myself to be a creative person. When I was in 6th grade, we had a Medieval Festival where all the sixth graders drew out various roles (queen, king, jester, etc.) and I got to be a nun. Although I don't have any photographs of this momentous occasion in my creative life, I can only assume it looked something like this:
At any rate, one of our assignments for the festival was to create a diary entry from the perspective of our character. I proudly stood in front of my sixth grade class beaming over my creative prowess as I read the diary entry that I created. I don't remember the details but I'm pretty sure I joined the nunnery as refuge from my abusive father who used to lock me in closets (impressive, right?).
Lately, those creative juices have been seriously depleted. In order to ameliorate the situation I have resorted to googling "creativity slump", there are some real gems in this google search but mostly I've just learned that I'm a lazy, procrastinating, perfectionist. I've also found that I need to be inspired by others to be creative which leads to over-researching and in turn to a realisation of my ineptitude to create something unique.
Today, I've decided to overcome my slump by creating something, and found myself extremely motivated by the Typo shop on Queen Street which is full of creative awesomeness. I'll keep you posted on how it goes, for now enjoy some stealth photographs of the awesomeness I spotted in Typo.
Cat salt and pepper shakers, at first they were cute and then they were creepy.
I have been thinking an awful lot about Hobbits lately. Firstly, because I am hobbit-sized and still haven't recovered from my love of the shire. Secondly, because I am very excited for the movie to come out in December.
Please enjoy yet more photographs of the accountant and I in front of Bilbo Baggins's house. I can only assume we were seconds away from Bilbo meeting Gandalf at the door when these photographs were taken.
On running The other day I ran the farthest I have ever run, 14 miles. This is pretty awesome until you realise that I have signed up for a marathon and have to add 12 more miles to that. At any rate, as I was running, I thought of Samwise Gamgee and how he said, "If I take one more step, it'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been." In reality, I can't really get much further from home than New Zealand, but sometimes I feel like tackling this marathon is a bit like trying to get a ring of power to Mt Doom. There are no nazgul or orcs in training for a marathon but there are rainstorms, cars that don't yield to runners, and the unfortunate realisation that you need to pee when you have 8 more miles to go. Running is hard. Really hard. Most days I ask myself why the hell I keep going after this ridiculous goal. I guess I just remember that not too long ago I couldn't run around the block without getting winded and now I'm running a half marathon regularly as part of training. Moral of the story:
I have been thinking about books lately. Not just books, but the art of reading, how we approach reading, what we hope to gain from reading. These are the things that keep me up at night: books, global warming, and how people have chosen to make their political/social views known by eating chicken sandwiches.
"When you read a book as a child, it becomes a part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your whole life does."
When I was learning to read, I used to sit on a stool next to my mom while she sewed. I remember looking up into her sewing light and asking her what words meant. She patiently explained words to me, I remember admiring her wisdom (still do). I spent hours sitting under the desk in our bedroom with a blanket and a book completely engulfed in Jules Verne, Harry Potter or Tom Sawyer. I devoured books.
Reading led me to an English degree, which has in turn led me to an egocentric opinion on all things literary. I have had a rather conceited opinion about what people read. In fact, I have spent a few weeks brooding over how ridiculous this whole 50 Shades of Grey obsession is when there are books like Wuthering Heights which should fill the public's need for a scandalous and complicated romance.
However, as I write this blog, I have realised that we all read for our own purpose, some read for self-help, some read to find faith, some read to be transported to fantastical worlds, and some read for pure nostalgia. Reading is a personal hobby, it is an investment in yourself and if you chose to invest yourself in 50 Shades of Grey, who am I to judge you. So, good for you, for all of you who find yourselves reading a book, any book. I am glad you are reading and I will even attempt to withhold my condescending looks and urge to dry heave when you tell me how wonderfully complex Christian Grey is.
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