My life as a sloppy joe

I love to shop. Especially in housewares. There is something fantastic about a well decorated display. The colors, furniture and wall treatments can change your mood, making you feel comfortable, posh, urban, or even give you culture. Today I felt like going about town, I have no money so it was purely for fun. Among many others I browsed a store called Anthropologie, a shabby chic store filled with little details to make you feel like home. Something I find intriguing about a store is its employees. In this particular Anthropologie the employees were well dressed and sophisticated. I on the other hand, rolled out of bed, no make up, nails a bit trashy and hair unclean. I was wearing a plain dress and sandals, nothing fancy. As I perused I began to feel unwelcome. With everything I touched I'd get a sour look from an employee, making me feel as though I didn't belong. They, the employees of an Anthropologie chain store, made me feel as though I was not good enough, rich enough, pretty enough to be in the store that they merely worked in. This got me thinking, if I had money to buy something here, I would not, purely on the service I was NOT given. I flipped through a book about Audrey Hepburn, (one of the classiest of women) and the woman at the counter bellowed, "are you going to buy that?" while the pretty woman beside me read an entire novel. I realized that this was my biggest pet peeve. What gives one the right to think that they are better than another. Who gives someone the right to look down upon someone else. This sense of entitlement pisses me off to the core. There are few things in life that can tick me off and this was one of them. I was in the sequel to Pretty Woman. At first I felt inferior, then I realized how stupid I was for allowing this type of conduct. On a daily basis I allow the people and even friends around me to make me feel less important then they. I may not be the coolest, prettiest or well-groomed individual, but as cheesy as this sounds, I am Gods creation. He created us all and He created us all cool in our own ways. No one is better than another and we all have something amazing to offer. We all do ugly things and we all at some point will feel superior to someone else. We also all do pretty things and have the ability to make those around us feel special. I'm slowly but surely reading a book called Just Like Jesus by Max Lucado . I quote "Those in the circle of Christ had no doubt of his love; those in our circles should have no doubt about ours". I've decided from this day on to no longer accept this inferiority but to make others feel superior. Not because I am superior but because we are all inferior to God. And damn it we are in America, there is no cast system here!

My life as the third musketeer

I've never liked the 3 Musketeers bars. After a bite I wonder, why not go the extra mile and get a Milky Way, at least you'll be getting some caramel. With every bite I'm left wondering whats missing, no caramel, not nuts, no peanut butter, no marshmallow... almost any other chocolate bar can offer more than chocolate and fluff. There seams to be only two musketeers in that equation. The french novel by Dumas, featuring Porthos, Athos and Aramis is a Three Musketeers that I can enjoy. I can't remember experiencing an "all for one and one for all" moment, like I did TONIGHT. As all good stories start, my evening began at Skateland. I'd met up with some friends and had my very first roller skating experience. This was my first time at a roller rink and my first time on 8 wheels. We dressed up in 80's garb and as it turns out, I am quite a natural! Afterwards I stopped by a friends house and had my very first cherry pit spitting contest. I'm currently going through a cherry phase. Maybe its because they're on sale at Safeway, or that I'm allergic to artificial cherries, so the real this is refreshing. Regardless of the reason, I'm in cherry mode. My first cherry pit spitting contest was off the tailgate of a truck, unfortunately, I am not a 'natural' spitter. These events seem minor, but they lead up to the big bang. While spitting cherries my friend Matt suggests a run through a cornfield. Caleb and I were the only two both willing and able. We parked a distance from the cornfield and journeyed on in. My initial reaction was a fear of running into snakes, but soon realized that a person within this cornfield would be an even worse alternative. With my huge fear of snakes and even bigger fear of the dark thriving within me, the three of us pressed on, determined to make it from one side of the field to the other. Our search for the end included a couple tries at a human pyramid for direction from the moon, piggy back rides, a couple scare tactics by both boys and several sprints through corny terrain once frightened. When we finally reached the end of the cornfield we had a gutter/river to cross. The boys made it with ease but I hesitated. Both boys helped me across, and it was then that I felt the bond. We had had quite an adventure, risking pesticide poisoning, possible interactions with children of the corn or the Chandler murderer, and fighting back unruly corn stalks, yet we'd had finished our task. Now sooo hot from the still piping Arizona night air, we walked to a nearby fountain. We were swimming around, smacking each other with Matt's wet shirt, throwing me in the lake and plotting revenge when a cop pulled up. Swimming in the fountain is prohibited, or so the sign says, so we figured we were in trouble. The cop then asked us if we'd heard a loud bang. I had, but the boys had not. We came to that disagreement and the cop realized that conversing with us was worthless, he offered us a ride which we then declined. If we sat in his car, he would know we were wet, we'd be caught. Only moments later another cop pulls up, but this time from behind us. He gets out and asks for names, d.o.b's and what not. We were questioned yet again about the bang and then left wet and out of trouble for the crime we just committed. On our journey back we saw a Filibertos, open, 24 hrs!! None of us had our wallets but we were determined to eat. Matt was not permitted to enter, so he sat reading the paper, half naked, in front of Fili B's at 2 in the morning, while Caleb and I worked our magic. We got two free burritos, drinks and choco tacos, but I can't disclose how. After the final walk to the car our journey had ended. My only regret, not riding in the cop car, I've never been before believe it or not.

My life as the attributer

The other day an ex boyfriend, who now is a fantastic musician attributed his music playing to me. Saying something about how the only reason he learned guitar was to impress me on my birthday. This got me thinking. I've never attributed anything to anyone. I can't be the way I am for no reason. I'd like to tribute stuff... here goes..

I tribute my blog to Kyle Patrick who inspired me to write my stories instead of tell him.
I tribute my innate need for change and excitement to my mother who constantly redecorates.
I tribute my relationship with God to Ashley who showed me what its like to have a real relationship.
I tribute my love for baking to my sweet tooth, without my desire to eat sweets, I would not bake them.
I tribute my love for music to my Opa who always shows me different composers and gave me unlimited use of his keyboard and my mom who never stopped playing music, especially Abba.
I tribute my Dutch pride and love for history to my Oma who never ceases to encourage me to find that nice dutch boy, tell me stories of Europe or send me haagleslag and druppies.
I tribute my loose lips to Jarred and his never gonna stop approach.
I tribute my need for McDonald's to Lissie and Jess, I can't remember many chats without it.
I tribute my love for dance to Caleb who always created such magical moments.
I tribute my friendliness to moving too many times, four high schools in four years takes the shyr right out of you.
I tribute my coffee drinking to Cammy, I finally caved after two years of asking, and true, it does give you a boost in the morning!
I tribute my hate for peas to Mrs. Brobank at Notre Dame, microwaved peas should never be eaten.
I tribute my love for the car wash to David who showed me the fun of a water sprayer.
I tribute my vocals to Robby, Colby and Alex for making me sing.
I tribute any sarcasm within me to Michelle, first your sour then your sweet.
I tribute my constant apologies to Breanna, you rubbed off on me, sorry.
I tribute my big goals to Auntie Elle, you set a great example.
I tribute my love for Chinese food to Justin, who showed me how to truly appreciate it.

My life as a mailhouse mystery

There are some things in life that don't happen enough. Fireworks, public humiliation and the closely related public fart. Much like fireworks and public humiliation a good public fart is loud and unexpected. I was at the post office the other day changing my address. It was about 4:30 and the post office was packed. In a line of about 20 people, I was smack dab in the middle of minding my own business. Checking my phone every couple of minutes, looking around at the collectors stamps (who collects stamps, really?) when all of a sudden I hear a long and lean fart. It was a ten seconder at least, sounding identical to a whoppi cushion. I look around to both prove that it was not me and to inquire as to who would commit such a heinous crime. As I looked, all twenty of us starred directly at the culprit, a shorter Indian man with a curry colored shirt. Fortunately for all of us, he was at the front desk with his mail, a good ten feet ahead. I immediately bust out laughing. Being the youngest and now obviously the least mature in the room, I try to maintain composure. A gentleman in front of me says, "that was the loudest fart I've ever heard", "was that for real?" the guy behind him said. The woman behind me started looking around and I too was looking for a hidden camera. What was supposed to be a short in and out experience at our local post office turned into a bonding experience with 20 of our towns residents. We had all just been on a journey. From the minute that Indian man farted, each of us left our keep to myself, I'm on a mission mindset and entered a group effort to make that fart seam unheard and natural.
But it wasn't.

Her life as a plate licking debutant

Girls dreams about their "meet cute". If you've ever seen the movie 'The Holiday' you know what I mean. Its that first meeting or reason you are brought together. Whether you date the guy that was sitting next to you on your 6 hour flight home. Or marry the girl you publicly humiliated by tossing her and all her belongings to the floor with one shoulder brush. I've had some good "meet cutes". One of a ski lift, an airplane, a first date where I got motion sickness and one in a photo booth. But the story of the day is not exactly mine to tell.
My uncle asked this girl out on a date, he thought it'd be cute to take her to his place and make her spaghetti. While the meal was ending he told her he had to step out for a minute. Little did she know that he'd gone out to spy on her. As he peered through the big bay kitchen window, he saw his date not only finishing her spaghetti but licking her plate... fervently. After some time, he decided that the plate licker was the girl for him. Now this is the same girl who on our first meeting dared my brother to stick a dried pepper up his nose, sending him home crying. Needless to say they are now married with a very cute first date story!