just call me seven


Knots In My Shoulders, And In My Mind.
15 December 2007, 12:50 am
Filed under: I Dress Like A Hobo, I'm a Crafty One, LaBloShoeMo

Bleh. I have a huge knot in the base-of-my-neck-slash-top-of-my-shoulder. I must’ve just slept wrong on it, because I know I haven’t done anything strenuous lately. If you have any tips on how to get it to GO AWAY ALREADY, please let me know.

I am pretty sure I’ve given up on LaBloShoeMo… I’m pretty sure that there’s no way I could’ve made it through the month anyway. Plus, I am almost positive that I don’t even have 31 pairs of shoes. Maybe I do, but they’re mainly different colors of Old Navy flipflops, and I think that’s sort of boring.

I’ve been making Christmas presents lately… I made my cousin a set of coasters, using old scratched-up CDs, corduroy and felt; I made his wife a purse; and crocheted their two daughters each a beanie. Then I made two more sets of coasters, because they’re really easy… just cut out the fabric, hot glue it around the CD and hot glue felt onto the back. It’s easy, and it’s CHEAP. Which is a must around these parts. I used old corduroy (an old pair of pants, some weird dress thing that I bought at Goodwill for like 99 cents, and the bottoms of a pair of pants that I cut off this summer into shorts) that I’ve had around forever [price: free or maybe 99 cents four years ago], and felt is the cheapest thing you could ever buy at a fabric store [20 cents per sheet, which makes four (FOUR!!) coasters]. Hot glue is a little more expensive… I bought a pack of 100 for $5.99, which is kind of a lot, but I’m sure I could’ve gotten it much cheaper if I drove way the crap out to WalMart, which I didn’t want to do because it means dealing with jammed traffic and holiday-crazed shoppers, and because it means dealing with WalMart (slogan: “Have ADD? Come On By– We’ll Make You Curl Into A Ball and Scream ‘Sensory Overload’ Around The Thumb You’ll Have Started Sucking Again”). So I just paid too much for it at the craft store, and lo! There was much rejoicing, for I did not have to enter WalMart (slogan: “Welcome to Hell”). I’ll try to post some pictures, and maybe a tutorial later on… if I get around to it. I’m not makin’ any promises.

I’m off to bed… I’m singing tomorrow, so I have to be at church early.

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In Which I Spill My Guts, Just A Little Bit.

Day Nine of LaBloShoeMo. This is only my eighth pair of shoes. However, I am not about to be legalistic about the whole thing, so that’s that. It’s hard to be all girly and excited about shoes when you don’t feel anything like a real person, let alone a girly-girl.

These flipflops, I bought at Wal-Mart (I know, I’m the devil) for two bucks, at the end of summer like 3 years ago. I loved them so much (because they were squishy and conformed to my feet) that I went back to buy more pairs, but they had sold out, to my great dismay. I proceeded to wear them for three years, and I still own them. But I don’t wear them very often, because I happen to think it’s a bad thing when you can feel the cracks in the sidewalk. Through your shoes.

They’re so cute, though, that I can’t get rid of them just yet.

So they languish in my shoe bucket, passed over time after time for a better pair, a prettier pair, a pair that works better or a more practical pair.

On a completely unrelated note… I am so tired of being fake. If I have to tell one more person that I’m doing “pretty well,” I just might scream. I hate that our culture (and more specifically, the church) puts so much pressure on everyone to be this perfect specimen of life and love and happiness. Revelations of doubt, self-loathing or temptations are met only with shock and disappointment. Pleas for help hit the brick wall of an expectation of perfection that, let’s face it people, can NEVER be attained this side of Heaven.

I’ll get really honest: I struggle to believe that I’m really saved. I’m afraid that somehow, despite my intense desire to know and love the Lord, I am not one of the elect. I’m terrified when I consider what my life would be like if I never get married, if I am doomed to be alone for the rest of my life. And people say that “if God calls you to that, He will fulfill you,” but I have a hard time believing that. Because you know what? If I’m really honest, God doesn’t feel real to me. I don’t hear His voice; I don’t have confidence that when I die, I’ll hear “Well done, good and faithful servant;” I’m afraid of death; I wonder when everyone is going to figure out that I’m a fake, that I’m not that good Christian girl who reads her Bible day and night and prays without ceasing, who, when her phone rings with the “Jesus Loves Me” ringtone, answers with a hearty “Praise Jesus! How ya doing?” The list goes on. I am full of insecurities and devoid of the smallest shred of confidence that anyone would actually like me if they knew the real me.

But it gets old to always be the downer, too. Because I’m afraid that no one would ever want to be around me if I showed my true colors; I hate to be that girl who is always depressed, the one whom you avoid when you see her coming because you know if you don’t that you’ll be subjected to an endless litany of all her problems. I guess I figure that if people are going to be nice enough to put up with me when I’m around, I might as well do them a favor and at least attempt to appear okay, so they don’t have to deal with the mess that is me.

Some facts:

Fact: I love to sing, and while I feel my voice has gone downhill in recent years, I think it sounds pretty good; at least that’s what I’m told. I sing at church a couple times a month, and I would love to do it more, except I am certain that people would think that I think I’m hot stuff, which isn’t true. So people ask me why I’m not singing in the choir, and I come up with lame excuses like that I’m too busy (I work 15 hours a week. I have like 21 hours to kill every single day) or that I don’t know, when I know perfectly well why. It’s because I am so worried about protecting my Good Christian Girl alter-ego that I can’t do anything that I think might jeopardize that, like making people think that I’m vain and love the sound of my own voice. (Fact [since I’m being all honest and stuff]: I am vain, and sometimes I do love the sound of my own voice.)

Fact: I worry that no boy will ever love me (Fact: I worry that girls don’t love me either).

Fact: I feel like I am a disappointment to everyone I come in contact with: I make mistakes in my work; I am jealous of other peoples’ happiness instead of rejoicing with them (which makes contact with happy people sometimes awkward instead of joyful); I tell Smalls, when she asks me to do something with her, that I don’t feel like it and promptly go back to my dinking around on the Internet, doing nothing of importance and worrying my mother with the amount of time I spend on this life-sucker; I don’t respond well when my dad tells me stuff; I don’t ever call my siblings who don’t live here; I don’t call my siblings that do live here; I don’t call my friends; I come across as rude (I know I do, and I can’t seem to stop it) to people I don’t know very well, because I am so uneasy in social situations that I can’t even answer questions with much more than a two- or three-word sentence, and then can’t think of anything to say/ask in reciprocation, so an awkward silence falls, while I die of mortification because while I know I’m being rude, I have absolutely. nothing. to. say. ever.

Well. I think I’ve said quite enough, and I will probably regret being this open in the morning, but I am sick to death of putting my little mask on and pretending that I don’t cry myself to sleep on a regular basis. I’m not looking for affirmation, so don’t feel like y’all (if anyone actually reads this) have to clog the comment form with gushes of nice things to say about me. I just wanted to spew all this out so that I can start to be a real person instead of just a cardboard cutout.



In Which I Discuss The Hazards of Working at a Drive-Through Coffee Shop.


Just a quick post again today… I have a bunch of junior high & high school girls coming over to spend the night. It’ll be great.

These are my running (though that isn’t what I use them for… you will never see me run. Anyway…) shoes. I originally bought them to wear to work. I used to work at a coffee drive-through, and our stand was built back in the day when you weren’t allowed to plumb in– you had to be completely portable– so we had RV-style water & waste removal systems.

We had to fill a water tank inside the shop with water using a hose, and everything that went down the sink went into a portable holding tank that we then dumped into a special hole in the ground. Let me tell you… that blue waste tank was the bane of my existence. It was caked with sour milk and coffee grounds and gunk from the powdery mixes we used in our blended drinks. It was nasty, and it wouldn’t come clean, because it was like seven years of accumulated muck. So you would have to take the drain hose out of it, put a cap on it and wheel it over to the hole in the ground so you could dump it. It was heavy and it stank, and basically it was The Worst part about my job, hands down. Then one day the city started doing construction right behind us, and they tore up the parking lot that we wheeled the tank across to get to the hole where we would dump it, so it was just a big field of mud and grossness when it was rainy (which, hello… this is Oregon. It rains a lot). I would always wear flipflops to work, because that’s the way I roll, but after awhile of this rain and mud and getting my feet nasty (one of my biggest pet peeves), I decided I had to protect myself and get me some real shoes. And I figured while I was at it, I might as well get shoes that would last a long time, and be good arch support and all that stuff. So yeah. I went to Mervyn’s and bought this pair of New Balance whatever-sport-they’re-for shoes, and I wear them frequently now.

End of line.



In Which I Share Yet Another Pair of Shoes.
6 December 2007, 11:29 pm
Filed under: I Dress Like A Hobo, LaBloShoeMo

These shoes were purchased at Goodwill in Indiana. My cousin took me shoppin’ and we each bought a pair of the same shoes– only hers are white. I think it’s pretty cool, and all for less than $5. Actually, I’m pretty sure they were like two bucks… I think they were having some sort of half-off sale or something.

Yet another pair of shoes that I never wear, because I’m too busy wearing flipflops.

This is a quickie, because I’m taking my friend to the airport in the morning… she’s going to India for two weeks! So I’m off to bed so I can get up on time.



In Which I Mourn The Non-Seaworthiness Of Salt Waters.
5 December 2007, 10:49 pm
Filed under: I Am A Rat of the Packiest Variety, I'm a Big Dork, LaBloShoeMo

Day five of LaBloShoeMo.

I bring you… (drumroll please) Salt Water Sandals, official choice of children everywhere. And me.

Mine happen to be navy blue, and I just discovered tonight that one of the straps has come unsewn in the front of the left shoe. That is sad news indeed, and makes me wonder what my shoes are about in my shoe bucket that a sturdily sewn sandal could pop a strap, but I believe that somehow, I shall survive.

This is actually the second pair of Salt Waters I have owned, and they are exactly the same as my first pair. It’s a pretty funny story…


I went rafting down the Rogue River with my youth group one summer (long time ago… I was probably 16 or 17), and somehow had gotten in my head that because Salt Waters were called “Salt Waters” that they would probably be good shoes to wear in the water. I was mistaken of course… they were heavy and annoying. And when we got out of the water to jump off of this really tall rock into the river, I slipped and slid all over the place, because, let’s face it: Salt Waters have the least amount of traction out of any shoe on this green earth. I would rather hike in high heels, because at least they have a pointy part you can use for grip. So anyway… I made it to the top without killing myself, by the grace of God, so I jumped off.

You know how when you jump off the side of a pool, you take a quick breath and hold it? I did that, except I started running out of air, and I hadn’t hit the water yet. I had time to take 3 or 4 breaths before I finally hit… that’s how tall this rock was. I hit the water with a bang, and immediately started shooting back up, because I was chicken and wore my gay orange lifejacket. As I started getting sucked back to the surface, my right sandal was ripped from my foot. I tried to save it, but I was being pulled too fast to the surface. I came up and gasped for air, and tried to look around for my shoe, but the water was too muddy. I thought that maybe if I waited for awhile, it would show up, but I thought wrong. Did you know that Salt Waters sink to the bottom of a river faster than a lead factory would to the bottom of a puddle? Neither did I. I sat around wondering when my sandal was going to show up, and a slow puddle of dread formed in my gut. I took off the other sandal and did a test float… sunk like an anchor. I knew then that I would never see that right sandal again.

For some reason, I kept the left shoe for a long time… like a couple years. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I was waiting for someone to show up on my doorstep, Prince Charming-like, with the right one in hand, and say, “Excuse me, miss, but did you lose this on the Rogue last summer?” Then I would say, “Why, yes, I did… and here’s the other one!” And maybe then he would say, “I love your shoes… let’s get married,” or something equally ridiculous. And I would live happily ever after with both of my Salt Waters, and my Handsome Prince. Or maybe I thought that an amputee woman would have a garage sale one day, and I would happen to be there, and she would just happen to have one shoe that she didn’t need, and it would be a size 8 navy blue Salt Water sandal, the right one. And I would buy it for fifty cents, and THEN wouldn’t I be glad I’d hung on to the other one all these years?

Eventually I realized that I was the dumbest person on the planet, and that I was never going to come across just one sandal that would happen to be the correct size, color or style (not to mention that it had to be the RIGHT sandal), and that the space in my closet could be better devoted to other things.

A couple years ago, I was in Goodwill, checkin’ out the shoe section, and came across a pair of size 8, navy blue Salt Waters for somewhere around $4, so I snatched them up and hustled them home as fast as I could, where I proceeded to never wear them again (hardly ever).

Thanks to Smalls for her cute little face. You’re beautiful, sis.



In Which I Discuss (Pros and) Cons


Pros:
*They are COOL. Come on, people.
*They are comfortable.
*You can get them dirty or draw on them, and they still look hip.
*No matter what color they are, they’re like a neutral: They go with everything.

Cons:
*They make my feet cold (I have no idea why).
*They lack arch support.
*If I wear them for a long time, they’re not comfortable anymore.
*I can’t wear them with skirts like I’d like to, otherwise I look like I have cankles.

Day 4 of LaBloShoeMo: My Converse Chuck Taylors. The second most expensive pair of shoes I own (only my walking shoes cost more) (I believe I may have mentioned once or twice my lack of class in the shoe department)(Actually, that’s not right. I’m lying. I own a high-top pair of Cons that cost more than these). Shown here (in the top photo)(my, I’m overusing the parentheses this evening) with The Croodler’s muddy high tops which happen to be the same color (he wasn’t wearing them at the time (which is obvious))(what did I tell you about the parentheses? (I am hilarious (I think))).


Oh my. If anyone reads this, I am sorry. Not very, but a little bit.
Also, if anyone reads this, I love you. Please don’t unsubscribe, because that makes me stay up all night wondering what I said to make you leave. FeedBurner is the new crack. No joke.

We’re having Greek food tonight! I made hummus, tabouleh and tzatziki yesterday, and Smalls is makin’ piping hot pitas as I type. Must go help. And then feed. Woot!



In Which I Challenge You To Fight Me.
3 December 2007, 10:34 pm
Filed under: I'm a Big Dork, LaBloShoeMo, This Is My Family

Day Three of LaBloShoeMo 2007.

My trusty flipflops earn the spot today. These guys cost $10 at Target (I believe I’ve mentioned how classy my shoe collection is a couple times before), and are the most comfortable flipflops I’ve worn to date, except for a pair of Reefs that one of my friends used to own. My budget doesn’t include Reefs, though, so I content myself with the Target version.

If you’ll take a quick look at the bottom picture, you’ll notice that the toe of my right shoe is a little chewed up. In honor of my poor injured flipflops, and in order to pay homage to the injuries I myself received, I bring you the story of an incident that occurred earlier this year (September 11, to be exact) which involves pain and humiliation, and me being laughed at for WEEKS by my sister (who I’ve just now decided shall be named Smalls instead of Pippy) every time she remembered the incident. Without further ado:
So, I’ve been going to Curves lately to get some exercise. I didn’t feel like going today, so I said to Smalls, “Do you want to go on a walk with me?” and she said, “Sure.” So we walked around the block that’s kitty-corner from our house, then we walked around the block that our house is actually on. If this doesn’t make sense, don’t fret, don’t fret… this isn’t the funny part.
So we were walking, and kicking rocks, and when we were right about where our house was, only on the next street over, she started kicking her rock further than mine. Well, I wasn’t about to be outdone by a twelve-year-old, so I ran and kicked my rock. Only, rather than actually making contact with the rock and kicking it past hers, thereby winning, I proceeded to trip myself over my own feet. Yep. So I took a few crazy tilting steps, fell on my knee and skinned it, fell on my hands and got a nice case of road rash, and then, because I had so much forward momentum going on, fell the rest of the way down. I didn’t hit my face, thank the Lord, but really, I should have. Smalls started laughing, and so did I… because, let’s face it… falling is funny.
She asked if I was ok, and I said that I thought so. So I stood up and looked myself over, and noticed that my flip-flop is all chewed up at the toe, and hey, so is my own toe. I had a huge flap of skin flopping around on my big toe and bleeding into my sandal.
Smalls and I started walking home… and every few steps she cracked up again. She was making me laugh too, which was probably a good thing, because I was really shaky and all my shoulder muscles hurt, sort of like I gave myself whiplash from falling down so fast.
When we got home I made her get me a drink of water and some wet paper towels so I could clean myself off and my little nail scissors so I could cut the flap of skin off, because it had dirt stuck in it. And while I was tending to my wounds, Smalls started reading her book, but every few seconds she would lose it all over again. She had just recovered after one such laughing fit when I realized that the back of my hand hurt… I looked at it and it was all scraped up. I said, “How did I scrape the back of my hand? I fell on my palms!” Smalls just laughed at me, and I bandaged it up too.
All of a sudden, Smalls started laughing so hard that she was pretty much crying… I said, “What the heck is so funny?” She said, “I was just remembering… you looked so funny… your shoes were all over!” Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I fell down so hard that both of my shoes fell off. How does that even happen?
So anyway… that’s my funny story for the week.
Laugh it up, clowns.

And I know it isn’t much, but they are my wounds. I got them, and they hurt. So now I’m gonna show them off. If you don’t want to see them, don’t look. :)

This is the back of my hand…

This is my knee, and…

This is my poor little toe.

Isn’t that awesome? Who does that? My only consolation is that we weren’t on our own street when it happened, so at least the neighbors shall remain ignorant (hopefully) of my complete geekdom.

But you shall not! Behold, my robot statistics:

Just so you know, Sevenis a Robot that has Hundreds of Tiny Wheels and Wooden Panelling, runs on Methane, is Here To Protect You, can Sidestep Attacks, and is Semi-Organic.Force: 4 Handling: 4 Weaponry: 0


To see if your Battle Robot can
defeat Just so you know, Seven, enter your name and choose an attack:

fights Just so you know, Seven using Force Handling Weaponry
Fight me if you dare.