You Know You're a Perfectionist When...

You know you're a perfectionist when you'd rather be a part of a devastating traffic accident than be late for work.

I had to be at work at 8am today and I didn't add in enough time to my commute to accommodate rush hour. As a result I was 2o minutes late. I.was.mortified. Ugh it was horrible. I was so embarrassed. In the Grandview Triangle, the intersection of all southern KC highways, I sat in standstill traffic atop an overpass that had undergone major repairs this summer. A portion of the highway was removed and repaved after a sink hole developed and the roadway was damaged. We (Kansas Citians) were actually very lucky that the pavement showed signs of distress before any real damage occurred because they were able to block off that lane so no one was driving on that part of the road when it did collapse slightly a few days later. So back to this morning...there I was sitting on the sink hole repaired road, staring at my clock begging the minutes to stop advancing as my lateness tick-tocked away. I hate being late. That doesn't mean I'm not frequently late, but work is different, especially when at a new job still establishing myself as a trustworthy, dependable employee. The dread of facing my disappointed employer overcame me, my perfectionism and anxiety swirled around me creating the perfect storm producing this crazy thought, "Maybe if the overpass collapsed and I was part of the major accident as my car fell into the traffic below, then I'd have a reason for being late and they probably wouldn't be mad at me." I weighed the pros and cons of a tragic, devastating accident rather than deal with facing the consequences of my lateness. A little excessive I think, but this is a glimpse into my panicked brain. Welcome, it's crazy in here.

You Know You're Becoming an Adult When...

You know you're becoming an adult when you drink coffee because you need it not just because it tastes good.

I'm 28 and slowly but surely I'm shrugging off my delayed adolescence and beginning to embrace adulthood...kind of. I don't actually drink coffee, but I do drink Chai Lattes. I used to drink them because they are delicious. Now I drink them because I need the caffeine. I actually have something to get up for in the morning, some place to be, some thing to do. Rather than sipping away in the coffee shop while reading or surfing the internet, now I'm microwaving my at home version (to save money of course), pouring it into a travel cup, and gulping it down before walking into work. The times how they are a-changin'.

You Know You're Unemployed When...

You know you're unemployed when you're 28 years old and addicted to Barbie movies.

I'm hooked. I babysat last week and watched some animated Barbie movies on DVD. The first one I watched was about a girl (Barbie, but with a different name) who turned into a mermaid, well actually she just discovered her mermaid descent. The next day I babysat it was me suggesting the other Barbie movie in their collection to watch. We watched Diamond Castle. At times the little girl I was watching wanted to play real Barbies, but I was so into the movie that I asked if she wanted to bring the dolls into the living room so that we could keep watching the movie while we played.

You can only imagine my delight when I discovered that my very own niece owns some Barbie movies as well! I was at her house and was able to borrow another 2 to watch. I'm so glad we can share this. I completed Barbie Swan Lake, disappointing and odd. Tonight I will finish Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus.

Diamond Castle was by far my favorite. It had good music, fun characters, a good story, and cartoon dogs. Speaking of dogs...Daniel came upstairs to find me watching the Barbie movie and I told him I was only watching it because Penny wanted to. (I tend to view my dogs as little kids sometimes.) His response: "So you're justifying your watching of a Barbie movie by suggesting that our dog wanted to watch it?" I just try to counter the "crazy" with "crazy". It's all relative. And no matter which way you cut it, I am a little crazy. And bored. Really, really bored.

You Know You're Unemployed When...

You know you're unemployed when you have a really good tan.

Not having a job has afforded me a lot of spare time. In said spare time I've been enjoying my free time at the pool or just laying out on my back deck. As a result I have developed a nice bronzed color. This is the best tan I've had since my days in high school. There are not a lot of perks with being unemployed, you know as most days I'm battling identity issues and finding my purpose in the world, but developing a great tan is at least one nice benefit. This may be (hopefully) the last good tan of my life, at least until retirement that is. It seems to me that most retirees in Florida are all nicely bronzed George Hamilton style.

You Know You're Going to Have an Interesting Night When

You know you're going to have an interesting night when...you leave your ID at home.

Tonight we were headed downtown for an event and Daniel casually asked me as we pulled up, "You have your ID right?" I answered, "Of course." When I went to grab my wallet out of the console, I realized that no, I actually did not have my ID. I ended up dropping Daniel off with the intention to go home, grab my wallet, and return. However, by the time I got home at 11, I had lost most of my motivation for the night and only returned a few hours later to pick him up since we had taken one car.

So I guess I need to revise my thought to: you know you're going to have a boring night when you leave your ID at home.

You Know You're Having a House Guest When..

You know you're having a house guest when you vacuum the stairs.

If you know me, you know I don't clean. Not because I'm a prima donna or have a cleaning lady (I wish! Is it wonderful Brea?), but because I'm just a generally untidy person. I don't clean, but I should clean. My friend Abbie took us up on our offer to stay at our house and we couldn't be more excited to have her under the same roof as our family. I love having people over, but I am embarrassed by the current filth. So I began the undertaking of project clean house tonight and before I knew it I had our Hoover balanced on a step and I was going to town with the hose attachment. (I feel like there's a dirty joke somewhere in there so I'll just get that off my chest before someone else giggles at my expense.) I don't know about other people's cleaning regimens, but vacuuming the stairs is not part of our normal routine. Vacuuming the stairs signifies that someone special is on their way. Only an out of town guest is worthy of a lint free romp up the steps. I realize that this symbol of vacuumed stairs comes from my experience growing up.

My mom always kept our house clean, but she pulled out all the stops when company was in town. Aunts and uncles or the rare visit from my grandma meant every surface was dusted an additional time, every glass pane shined up extra special, and those usually neglected stairs got their day in the sun with a fresh vacuuming. Vacuum cleaners used to be a lot heavier when I was younger making an already awkward location that much more difficult to clean. Thus us kids were often assigned the task. My mom would haul the vacuum halfway up and leave us to stretch the hose as far as we could before returning to move it up the stairway a little further before fully completing the chore. I hated this job. I hated chores in general, though I rarely had to do much of anything. I didn't do a single load of laundry until college. I had to learn how to use a washing machine the summer before leaving for Mizzou. Even then I would usually just save up my dirty clothes and bring them home when visiting for the weekend for dear ol' mom to take care of. She's a real gem.

Back to the vacuuming...Recalling my time spent on stairways is a happy memory despite my distaste for the task. You see the vacuuming was always saved for the very end of the chores. This way the carpet looked oh so fresh for the visitors' arrival before getting mussed up by footprints. Similar to Pavlov's dog, the sound of the vacuum triggers feelings of anticipation. At any moment our guests could pull up and I'd hear the ding dong of our doorbell at which point a joyous reunion would ensue. I can just picture my extended family shuffling through the doorway as I am still rolling the vacuum back into the closet. Legs are stretching, backs cracking, yawning, and wiping off the remains of cramping from the long road trip into town. My oldest sister lives 2 states away and before she had kids she visited less often than she does now. Needless to say her visits were a big deal and my mom demonstrated this with her cleaning routine. Back then Amy had the red carpet rolled out (and vacuumed) for her arrival. My second sister used to get the vacuum treatment when she came home from college. By the time I was a coed the pomp and circumstance of vacuumed stairs had ended (at least for visits from immediate family). I vaguely remember one of the sisters complaining that "Mom doesn't clean for my visits like she does for yours." Whichever sister the complaint came from I'm sure was noticing the lack of vacuumed stairs. If you think I'm exaggerating trust me when you grow up vacuuming those suckers, it's the type of thing you notice.

I may not have picked up my mom's cleanliness or cooking ability, but I did get nostalgic today realizing that I carry on at least one tradition. Who knew that tradition would be vacuuming the stairs.

You Know You're Crazy When...

You know you're crazy when you have internal dialogues about what other motorists think about you having the same car as they do.

When I was driving today I spotted a black Volvo XC90 a few lanes away from me on the highway. The general flow of traffic sent me nearer and nearer to it until I was following right behind it. Then I started to feel awkward. Could they see me? Did they think it was weird that someone driving their same car was right behind them. Then it got worse and I had to pull next to them. Because of the slow car in front of me I ended up driving right alongside them for a good stretch of road. Did they notice me? Were they the type who is offended that someone else has their same model of car or someone who has an affinity for people who also drive XC90's? Do they see me as a comrade or as a nemesis? As soon as a new lane of traffic opened up, I sped toward it and took off as to place a comfortable distance between us and to end the internal dialogue I was having. I am a crazy person.

You Know You Work for Young Life When...

You know you work for Young Life when rollerskating counts as work.

Last night we kicked it at the roller rink y'all! High school kids love the novelty of rollerskating and are not too cool like some adults are to actually do it. I probably skate at least once or twice a year for Young Life. It should be in my job description; ooh which means I can put it on my resume. I think future employers will definitely be interested in that skill set.

I have rollerskated as much as a Young Life leader as I did as an elementary school kid. This statistic does not factor in all the rollerskating that was done in my garage as a kid though. On occasion my parents were kind enough to park their cars in the driveway and let us kids have the smooth paved garage floor all to ourselves. I remember many skating exploits that included my white skates with hot pink wheels and matching laces and a graphic unicorn on the side. We got to bring our boombox with us and play our cassette of The Little Mermaid soundtrack. The poles between car stalls were perfect for graceful spins in order to perform our improvised routines. Oh blessed childhood.

I was free from falls last night, but did wake up with a very tight calf muscle in my right leg. Rollerskating at age 28 may mean I need to start stretching before and after hitting the rink.

That boy in the Larry Johnson jersey was NOT with our group if that gives you any indication of the unruly mob that we shared the rink with.

You Know You're Crazy When...

You know you're crazy when you think your dog is capable of using a camera.

I have often stated in this blog that I am a crazy person. I have completely irrational thoughts running through my brain on a regular basis. Remember the Volvo thought process? I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that my thought process on that issue was completely genuine. I love my dogs and am fully aware that they are in fact dogs and not people. I don't pretend that they are my babies or anything crazy like that, but still my brain processes my thoughts as such and I end up with crazy thoughts like these two examples that I submit here for your consideration:

First, Daniel and I were getting ready to take the dogs for a walk downtown and I wanted to take a picture of Daniel and me in front of this cool mural painted on the side of one of the buildings. But then I realized, "Who is going to take the picture since I want Daniel and me to both be in it?" Here was my brain's response to my own question: "Oh I'll just have one of the dogs take it." I'm not joking. I literally thought Toby or Penny could take the picture for us. I'm not sure how much of a delay there was before I realized how non-sensical this was, but it was not instantaneous by any means.

Second, I was thinking how fun it would be for my sister and brother in law to visit me overnight at Young Life camp, but then considered, "What would they do with their kids (my nieces) while out of town?" Ready for my crazy response..."They can just board them." Yes, board them. Like dogs. Again not sure at what point I realized the absurdity of this response, but for at least a few minutes my brain had accepted the feasibility of this option. I think it was 10 minutes later or so when glancing around my kitchen and spotting my dogs' kennels/crates that I even remembered having that thought. It's craziness didn't catch me off guard, but rather just floated through my brain amidst other normal everyday thoughts unchecked.

So if I ever end up in an institution, you'll know it was because I live in my own little world where dogs can operate cameras and children can be boarded in kennels.

You Know You're Old When...

You know you're old when you cry during high school musicals.

Last night we watched West's production of A Chorus Line and Daniel and I both found ourselves choked up multiple times. Of course we are biased, but anyone who sees the show will tell you how well done it was. The kids on stage were fabulous, but I was struck by the back stage production as well. The lighting in particular was striking and created these beautiful stills of the dancers on the line.It is always special when some of the kids we know from Young Life are in the cast and last night there were a lot of them. I felt so proud of them when the spotlight was on each of them and was surprised by how emotional I became. Kelsey's big number came and she sauntered confidently singing about "this and that", the high school edit of the racier original lyric. She brought all her sass to the role referring to the other characters as "Honey". Kelsey hit her final note and luckily the applause picked up to cover the sound of me sniffling away. Hartzell, the Senior football player and track star, made his theater debut and I sat there wishing he would have started his stage career 4 years sooner so I could have enjoyed him in more performances. He brought his athleticism to the stage and his toe touch was higher than a lot of the girls'. And though known for his accomplishments in sports, he gave a sincere performance and showed he is just as great of an actor, dancer, and singer. Tyler, the veteran, didn't disappoint in his role as Don. And though he's always the first to break in the dance floor at the school dances, I'd never seen him dance like this. And he delivered in the comedy department as well, gesturing about a woman's large yahooz. And then there was the gorgeous Mandy as Judy. With her height, comedic sensibility, and honesty, she was born to play Judy. She looked stunning in her pink leotard and braided hair, but then when she opened her mouth to deliver her lines, she was quirky and silly and always got the laugh. I cried at the end of her number as well. The cast was filled with a lot of other familiar faces and incredible performances. Every member of the cast danced beautifully. You would have never known that most of them had never danced before. Someone observed it best by saying, "There wasn't a weak link in the whole group." Agreed. The final reprise of "One" while they each take their bow really made the lump in my throat rise and I was done for when the big backdrop lit up mid song illuminating those young kids in all their glory. The main reason I'm most drawn to high school ministry is because there is not another time in life that is so magical and mysterious and hopeful. For most of us, there is not another time in life where we'll have the opportunity to be on stage, to be the star, whether that's literally on a stage or on a court or athletic field.

As we slowly made our way out of the theater I told Daniel how old I must be getting because I can't get through many performances these days without crying at some point. I've cried at 2 of the 3 choir performances this year (Sam's solo pushed me over the edge). And I wept at the district finals of VOLLEYBALL! I got very close to the team this past fall and when they lost to our rival North in the finals, I couldn't contain myself when hugging the players after the game. All of the girls were crying themselves and asked me why I was crying and I didn't know what to say except that I loved them.

I know I'm married to the right person because when confessing my tears, he confessed his as well. He said he was just so proud and then mentioned what a mess we're going to be when we have kids of our own. Oh mercy, I can't even imagine.

Check out that gorgeous lighting! (Image from promo poster via facebook. Don't know who to credit for the shot. Anyone know?)

Photo taken by photographer Cyndi Morrow (and proud mother of Mandy/Judy).

You Know You're Pretty When...

You know you're pretty when instead of bringing in a picture of a celebrity to their hairstylist, people bring in a picture of you when getting their hair cut.

I brought in a picture of my friend Abbie at my hair appointment today. She's a part-time model, but a full-time babe.

Photo from Standard Style's Fall magazine

She would hate that I'm doing this post. She used to live in Kansas City before relocating to Springfield. We used to have weekly game nights. We used to text each other commentaries during the commercial breaks of The Bachelor. I miss her. Having Abbie as a friend is like having your own real life My Size Barbie to play with.

Disclaimer: If anyone remembers that movie with Tyra Banks where she plays a doll that becomes human, trust me the real life Abbie doll would be nothing like that. I'm pretty sure the Tyra doll marries Lindsey Lohan's dad in the movie and the Abbie doll would never pull something like that with my dad. Weird.