Words are not enough.

Tags

gratitude, Mother's day, mothers

I scoured the internet looking for a profound quote about mothers, but nothing fit what I was looking for. I was looking for something that would describe exactly the way my mother is in 20 words or less. How naive of me! Sometimes words are not enough.

No words can describe my gratitude I have for my selfless mother who, although is not perfect by any means, is the perfect mother for me. I will be forever grateful for the strong woman who taught me to serve, love and work and ultimately become the woman I am today.

Cats are not dogs.

I loved watching Animal Planet as a kid and have a section of my brain where I store random animal facts. And although I knew the differences between cats and dogs well before my Animal Planet days, I rediscovered it this evening.

Matt and I joined some of his coworkers for dinner and tennis. Our friend’s landlord has a large lot of land and has a tennis court, pool and even a small area for his goats. (Unfortunately, the goats didn’t enjoy my attempts to pet them. I guess you could say goats are not like dogs either.)

After playing a few sets of tennis, I took a break and came across the black and white cat who had followed us all around and mewed loudly. He approached me when I clicked my tongue and ran toward my outstretched hand and began jutting his head up and arching his back to reach it. After a few minutes I trusted he wouldn’t bite me. He kept rubbing his neck on a nearby pole, obviously trying to relieve an itch, so I started using my nails to scratch around his ears and neck.

Maybe I’m not around cats enough, but this was the first time I ever petting a cat without it purring. I wondered if he had fleas. I thought to myself how nice I was being since a) I’m not a huge fan of cats, and b) I’m allergic to them, so an extended period around them (i.e. more than five minutes) brings a full blown war with my eyes, nose and throat. But I kept petting him since he obviously needed it and because he was kind of acting like a dog. And I am most definitely a dog person.

To test the allegiance of my newfound friend, I walked 20 feet to a nearby rock and sat on it. The cat joined me but only stayed on the cement walkway and rolled onto his back. “There he goes again. He’s acting like a dog!” I thought to myself. I reached down to pet its stomach, and that’s when Judas did it: he scratched me!

It didn’t seem vicious, but I felt so betrayed! My wounded ego and arm walked away from the itchy black and white ball of dander and waited for Matt to finish his last game of tennis.

I’m no zoologist, but I do know this: cats are not dogs. Even if they are acting like it.

So after enduring a sneezing fit, cleaning my wound and dressing it with Neosporin and a bandaid, and taking a hot shower, I have a renewed confidence and resolve to never be tricked again.

As naked as a what?

I have just figured something out, and I must share it with you!

I was in the small Oaxacan town of San Sebastian Abasolo when I made the discovery of the etymological complexities of the word “mosquito.”   Such a common word and used in everyday summer vocabulary of anyone outdoors after 6pm. It started with just a little though. In fact, it was the suffix, “ito,” which means “little” that sparked my neurons. The buzzing of a passing mosca kept the process going.

“Mosca” means “fly.”

I’ll be the first to tell you of my remedial math skills, but when it comes to words, I don’t mind working a bit of addition. See below:

mosca + ito = mosquito, which being translated means “little fly.”

This equation and realization was nearly earth shattering in my 16-year-old mind. In fact, I wrote a letter to my family, complete with illustrations, of my discovery.

Today, my mind has done it again.

I have discovered the true meaning of the phrase naked as a j-bird.e

Now, for the longest time, whenver I hear that phrase, I think of two things:
1. A bird; typically a blue jay.
2. Jill (my sister)

Disclaimer: I don’t think of Jill naked. Nor should you. I’m not entirely sure for reason #2 other than maybe Dad called her j-bird once? Maybe even twice.

Allow me to share with you how I came to this realization.

I had a headache and have had it off and on since yesterday. I was telling my coworker this, and she suggested I go downstairs to the little cafe on the main floor to by a Dr. Pepper. So I made the purchase on my daily mail run.

I got back on the elevator with my cold 20 oz. beverage and mail pile in tow. I pressed 4 and was lifted to my floor.

As I stepped off, the phrase “naked as a j-bird” rode on a makeshift boat (complete with sails) through my stream of thoughts. No one can time these things, but I soak them up whenever it happens.

“Naked as a j-bird….” I thought, as I walked through the hallway. “J-bird isn’t a jay bird…it’s a jail bird! They’re naked because the only thing they have to wear is the orange jumpsuit so they can’t escape and hide in normal society! If they escape and try to rid themselves of their prison attire…they’re naked!” (Unless, of course, your name is Neal Caffrey.)

It all makes sense now.

The light bulb that went off in my head lit up my entire face in the form of a bright smile.

I am so proud of myself.

Happy Friday!

Valentine’s Day Surprise Execution.

Tags

basketball, date night, Miami Heat, surprise, Utah Jazz, Valentine's Day

The bell chimed. I stopped midsentence because I knew what that meant: someone is waiting at the front desk. After I signed for the FedEx delivery, I ripped open the envelope. . I emptied the envelope to hold the best Valentine’s gift ever.

There they were. They practically lit up in my hands. I felt like King Midas for a moment. My golden idea in its figurative golden form of two tickets with the five most important words in my plan:  Utah Jazz vs. Miami Heat.

What makes it the best Valentine’s gift ever, you ask? For starters, it wasn’t a result of scrambled thoughts and desperation on February 13. (Or December 24…or the day before someone’s birthday… which I’m sure everyone has experienced at one time or another.) It all started when Matt and I passed a billboard advertising an upcoming Utah Jazz game. He mentioned how he’d never been to a game before—or any NBA game, for that matter. The conversation evolved as the car ride progressed, but the NBA comment stuck with my subconscious until a day or two later at work.

Somehow, Matt’s comment pushed itself into the front of my mind, and I couldn’t think of anything but researching ticket prices and possible games. I found the perfect ticket: a Jazz home game against the Heat (his favorite team) the first weekend in March. Perfect doesn’t even begin to describe how my plan was. I enlisted my mother’s help so the online purchase wouldn’t be traceable for Matt. I made interception impossible by having it delivered to the office.
I carefully stashed the tickets under my purse and sat at my desk, visualizing (ok, daydreaming) how everything would pan out: Matt and me sitting on the couch after work on Valentine’s Day. I pull out a white box with a red bow on it. He opens the box and takes a second to read what the tickets are for. The moment of realization hits and his demeanor changes from slight confusion to pure excitement, simultaneously standing up and saying , “Oh man!” followed by a few thank yous, a few kisses and I love yous.

But things don’t always go as planned.

The clock hands spun quickly that afternoon because of the satisfaction I felt of a successful surprise, and I was working on an enjoyable project that helped pass the time until it was time to go. The entire drive home, I was excited to see Matt–not only because I possessed the powerful secret in my purse but because he left a voicemail saying we were going on a surprise date that evening.
I picked him up, enjoyed a short commute home and walked inside our apartment.
“So, do you want to know what the surprise date is?”
“Well…yeah! Unless it’s supposed to stay a surprise?”

He began by saying it would be a double date with two of our friends and that I don’t need to change out of my jeans because it’ll be a casual venue. Then he said it. Words that I didn’t want nor fully expect him to say: We’re going to the Jazz game!

I’m sure my face wasn’t exactly the look he had expected. I’m also pretty sure he didn’t expect tears to well up in my eyes.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me…is something wrong?” His concern was genuine; he had no idea that my bubble of excitement shattered, days of excitement extinguished in all of one short sentence.

I quietly walked to my purse, dug to the bottom where the folded FedEx envelope lay. I opened it, took out the tickets, turned to Matt and held them out to him. It took him a few seconds to realize what I handed him. His face, like I predicted, lit up. “Happy Valentine’s day…” I said, pathetically.

I explained my Valentine’s gift and plan to take him to his first-ever NBA basketball game to his favorite team. Also, like I predicted, I got a kiss and an I love you.

(Is it a sign of my poor eating habits or a sign of good training that right after this happened in an attempt to console my conflicted happiness/disappointment, Matt asked me if I wanted to get an In-N-Out shake? Either way, we got one…with a delicious side of a Double Double, naturally.)

In retrospect Matt’s glass was half full because he scored a great deal on tickets to his first NBA and Jazz game, which he has wanted for a long time, and received an early Valentine’s gift to see his favorite team in just under two months. For me, my glass was half full because I got to go on a surprise date with Matt to a Jazz game, was able to enjoy In-N-Out completely guilt free and look forward to a game with Matt in just under two months.

When you combine the two, our glass is completely full.

Goal setting 3.0

Tags

goals, motivation, resolutions, running

I’m pretty hung up on goals lately. Everyone makes resolutions when we flip the calendar to January, but is that the best way to approach a goal? I don’t want to jump on the bandwagon of goal-setting simply because it’s a tradition and everyone’s doing it. (And since I wouldn’t jump off a bridge just because everyone else is doing it, my stubborn side refused to publicize resolutions.) Besides, it seems as though resolutions are disregarded by spring. I don’t want to be that person.

I usually am that person, so I’ve decided it’s time for some change.

Rather than setting goals simply for the sake of setting them, I’ve let ideas simmer on things I would really like to improve. Life is meant to be lived, and I feel I’ve been complacent for the past few years. I daydream at work of all the things I’d like to accomplish in my lifetime. I see and admire others’ talents and want to pursue those skills for myself.

But nothing happens.

Those daydreams remain in my head and revisit me often. So what’s the hold up?

Accountability is the air goals need to survive.
I don’t go to classes anymore where someone evaluates my work daily or pushes me to think outside the box. I realize now I’ve lacked accountability. I need to institute a shift where I am actually accountable for myself. Although unwinding by watching The Office after work seems harmless, I’m hurting myself in many ways. I’m not exercising, I’m not reading the books on my “to read” list, nor am I trying new recipes, or… The list goes on.

How can I expect to be in shape for a 5k (or any k for that matter), expand my vocabulary and literary knowledge with Dickens or Austen or become a decent chef (all goals that have found their way on random slips of paper in my purse) if I’m not doing those things; how can I expect change when I’m just sitting there?

A fresh start and friendly inspiration.
Fortunately, the sun still rises every day, and every 24 hours life presents us a fresh start.

I’ve been an avid blog reader for a few years now. I love reading others’ goals, what they want to accomplish and their progress along the way. Some of those goals are now on my list, so to those cyber friends out there—thank you for the inspiration.

Motivation and bribery can be synonymous. And smart.
To overcome my goal-accomplishing inconsistencies, I’m bribing myself. For example, I want to run 1,000 miles this year. I needed to be much more specific with myself than just getting in shape. What does that even mean? Well surely if I run 1,000 miles I will be more in shape by the end of the year than I am now.

Don’t set an unattainable goal. Otherwise you set yourself up for failure.
Originally I thought it would be clever to run 2,012 miles, but I had to be honest with myself. I guess if I had wanted to be realistic, clever and healthy at the same time, I needed to be born when Columbus sailed the ocean blue or at least during the Crusades. But I would have had a much different and less reaching medium to document the journey. Also, it probably wouldn’t have been very enjoyable to run sans treadmill and with pesky petticoats. I guess there are pros and cons to everything. I’ll stick with spandex and moving ground, thank you. I digress.

Slow and steady wins the race. So does rewarding yourself.
One thousand miles seems a tad unattainable when I’m winded after three miles. I decided to break it down a bit so I can be happy with my results even before I cross the finish line. Lots of mini goals, if you will.

Matt gave me a DSW gift card for Christmas. I also have a coupon stashed away in one of my “don’t throw away” piles of papers. I plan to buy a gorgeous pair of shoes that will no doubt look amazing on me when I buy a lovely new dress after I’ve trimmed down a bit from my post-wedding pudge.

**Sidenote: I’m not concerned with weight–at least any specific number. I don’t own a scale, and I refuse to weigh myself at the gym. I don’t want to let that number dominate my fitness goal. At this point, I want to feel comfortable wearing the jeans I was able to slip on last year, which I believe was a healthy size for me. Presently, they are stored underneath my newer, bigger jeans that I had to purchase when double cheeseburgers and sedentary habits took over.

Since there are two things I want (to be healthy and fit as well as the new pair of shoes) I might as well tie them together. I won’t allow myself to buy the new pair with my gift card until I have completed 100 miles. And not only that, Matt is holding me accountable and added an additional stipulation. I am allowed to miss a maximum of two days. That way, I can still allow recovery days as my body readjusts to activity, but it motivates me to not get lazy.

I completed a cumulative total of 15 miles last week, and I was so pleased with myself. So pleased, in fact, that I let myself miss three days in a row. Because of my foolish choice to lounge, I had to start over. This week I’m back up to eight miles and will continue to press on.

Maybe as I run tonight I’ll brainstorm ideas of what my next motivation should be to complete the next hundred miles. Maybe a fun three-day weekend getaway? I’ll see if I can convince Matt…

I’ll have my cupcakes and eat them too, thanks.

Tags

love, special delivery, Valentine's Day

Matt dropped me off outside my office and offered to get my door. After a hug and a kiss, he told me not to fill up on sweets throughout the day because we have dinner reservations after work. Cue instant excitement and confusion. First the excitement: we’re going out somewhere special tonight! Second, confusion: What am I going to fill up on exactly? I mean, I did take a bag of Sour Cherry Gels with me to snack on throughout the day, but I didn’t think it warranted Matt’s recommendation. He of all people should know how I can down a bag of candy like nobody’s business. (Case in point: Since beginning this post, at least seven or eight of these lovely cherry confections made my stomach their new residence.)

After I settled in at my desk and turned on my space heater, I heard someone walk off the elevator. It’s difficult to not be excited when treats wrapped in cellophane obviously observing the Valentine’s Day color code make their way closer and closer to the front desk. It’s a practice most women follow, I believe, to be excited but not too excited just in case it is for someone else. I imagine it’s similar to when the last two finalists stand on stage waiting to hear who the next Miss America will be. Ok, maybe it’s not that intense, but waiting and wanting to hear your name can’t be too far off.

The floodgates of excitement unleashed when, “Delivery for Emily,” became audible. I’m sure this delivery man sees the same delirious smile every time the receptionist signs for her own gift. If he doesn’t, he at least got to see it on me this morning.

Thank you to my Matt, who warned me not to eat all of the desserts he sent to me this morning. Lunch will be a bit sweeter this afternoon, thanks to him.

Special Delivery.

Tags

Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day package

This evening Matt and I enjoyed a date night of Sweet Tomatoes and reminiscing. Three years ago today he left on his mission. While I’m so glad he was able to go and have seen huge blessings as a result of it, I am so glad we are past that point in our lives. So glad! The two years he was gone were the most trying times thus far in my life. (Note to fate: I’m not trying to tempt you right now.)

Sometimes it’s hard not to want a remote control for life to fast forward though the hard things and rewind and play back all the happy times. I don’t see myself wanting to rewind anytime soon, although I did enjoy receiving letters every week. It seems that snail mail is infested with business promotions these days and that letter writing is a lost art.

Speaking of mail. As we drove back to our complex, I told Matt we still needed to check the mail for the day. I even told him, “You never know, we might have a present in there!” The most present-like of mail I was hoping for was a Bed Bath and Beyond coupon. I can dream, right?

The unlit mail area made it hard to tell if anything was in the box, but I reached in and felt the plastic of the Big Box key. I was so excited! We had a package! I walked over to the Big Box, turned the key and saw the brown paper package addressed to us.

We loved opening the Valentine’s care package from my mom. Inside was a bag of Brach’s Sour Cherry Gels, which I confectionally referred to as Cherry Bombs growing up (think sugary, cherry explosion in your mouth); the recently un-vaulted Lady & the Tramp; and a Best Bites dessert calendar, which will soon take its rightful place on the kitchen wall.

Perfect for Valentine’s Day weekend and a great way to wind down the rest of the evening!

What’s in a job?

Tags

bad economy, Generation Y, work

A job by any other name would smell as sweet.

False. Some jobs just plain stink.

Disclaimer: I am, in fact, grateful to have a job. My job requires no straining, manual labor; I smell essentially the same as I did when I leave work as when I got there in the morning; I interact with friendly people and make a decent living.

So what’s my issue?

I find absolutely no satisfaction in my job whatsoever. (And I know many people can relate.) I know I am capable of pushing myself and accomplishing great things, but between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m. I rarely get the chance.

The Gen Y Effect
I admit that being born into Generation Y (or the Entitlement Generation, as some like to call it) may have an influence as to why I feel a bit jipped. After all, haven’t we (the Gen. Y-ers) been learning since the days of diapers and Sesame Street how we can be anything we want to be when we grow up? It’s tough when there’s no spoon full of sugar in this tough economy to help us down this medicine of adult-flavored reality.

Realizations
After a few years of letting my thoughts and disappointments simmer, I have come to the following conclusion: my issue is a sense of uncontrolled failure.

It’s one thing if I fail a test I didn’t study for, but how can one fully prepare for a plethora of unanswered applications and unsuccessful second interviews? I have come to know the answer: you can’t. You have to learn to play the cards you are dealt. And if those cards aren’t going to win the current game, make up the rules as you go.

For the past three years I have worked well below my capacity. I’ve watched nepotism delay a promotion, endured cursing clients, and survived a well-meaning micromanaging co-worker. It’s hard to not buy ad space on a billboard off I-15 with a 50 foot version of me saying, “I am capable! Hire me!” followed by my contact information.

Game Plan
I’ve lived and I’ve learned. So rather than wallow in self pity, I have a game plan. First, I will stop yelling at my computer, “How am I supposed to have five years of experience to apply if no one will hire me to get any experience!”

Second, I will create opportunities to grow and prove my capabilities. If leadership examples is what you want, future employer, then I’ll volunteer in my free time at a service organization and produce results. If you’re looking for someone with writing experience, then I’ll make sure I have plenty of writing samples available at any moment by consistently updating my blog. I have plenty of thoughts and theories from my eight-hour shifts of monotony.

Third, I will get what I set out for.

Even if I have to wait a while.

The perks of misunderstandings.

I love misunderstandings. At least when they benefit me.

When I picked up Matt from work, I told him how at some point this evening he needed to take me to In-N-Out for a shake to celebrate my half birthday. It was a must. He said we should just go right then because he was hungry and really wanted a Dr. Pepper. I interpreted that as, “Let’s just eat at In-N-Out tonight, Emily. After all, it is your half birthday.”

He didn’t protest to me parking and having us order inside. But when I suggested we get fries as well, his confusion appeared. As it turned out, he was only planning on getting the Dr. Pepper and vanilla milkshake. (A non parking, drive-thru friendly order.) His saying that he was hungry was irrelevant to wanting a Dr. Pepper. (Apparently, men are literal creatures. No reading between the lines here.)

We ended up staying and eating dinner, double double style.

After all, it was my half birthday.

Hap Birt.

Today is quite important. I know what you’re thinking: what holiday is sandwiched between Groundhog day and Valentine’s day?

My half birthday, of course!

So there you have it. Although half birthdays don’t call for special treatment or a night on the town, they do call for acknowledgement and a little something special to mark yet another milestone in my life. I am half way to my birthday.

Although, since it’s leap year I’ll have a wait an extra day. No matter, I’ll think on that as I sip on a vanilla In-N-Out shake later this evening.

That is, if I can convince Matt to take me there tonight…