Sheesh

So..funny story….
I went to a Life Group meeting last night which also happened to be a potluck dinner. I was wearing a maroon maternity shirt, as I am building quite a bump.
I walked out of the restroom which was next door to the playroom where the children were playing.
At that time I overheard one of the girls say in disgust to her friend, “Did you see the lady in the maroon shirt with the kinda fat tummy? She was eating a cupcake!”

Guess she didn’t know WHY I had a “kinda fat tummy” I should probably still lay off the cupcakes, though!

Conspiracy Theory

I try not to practice paranoia, but I think there is a largely neglected conspiracy in the Universe. I have not heard of any research grants for this, nor have I really met anyone in a panic to push legislation to initiate them either.

I’m talking about the alternate universe to where all spare socks go. I have no less than 20 single socks-very cute socks in fact-that are absolutely useless to me. I’ve turned every couch cushion, searched under every bed and cleaned out all the drawers at one point or another, only to end my search dejected and confused.

I’m afraid to buy more socks. What will keep those from falling prey to this unseen danger?

I just wanted to raise awareness.

Hats are Dropping

They say in pregnancy, the surge of hormones can make your emotions sway from one extreme to another. They (whoever “they” is) say that it makes you cry at the drop of a hat.

Now, I submit that I am immune to this and that every time of the 5 times I cried yesterday was for a completely rational reason. Even the biggest grouse would have reacted the way I did.

Well, maybe not. I cried at 3 email forwards, a pharmaceutical research company commercial, and Deal or No Deal. But that Howie Mandel is a really touching guy! The contestants have to make really hard decisions! It’s gripping!

I know, even though I’ve spent my entire life trying not to be, I’m nothing more than a statistic.

Exasperation Defined

I am trusting. That is different from naive. I prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps that is why I believed the telephone survey guy when he asked for a moment of my time.

Webster says a "moment" is : 1 a : a minute portion or point of time : INSTANT b : a comparatively brief period of time.

I asked this man what was his definition of a "moment". He replied that he only required 3 minutes. THIRTEEN minutes later I had answered every invented useless question related to taco establishments.

He asked me if I had ever eaten at an establishment named "Baja Fresh".
I answered No.
The very next question was "Do you like Taco Bueno or Baja Fresh better?"
My answer: "I don't know what Baja Fresh is"
Next question: "How would you rate the cleanliness of Baja Fresh versus Taco Bell?"
My answer: "I don't know what Baja Fresh is"
Next question: "Do you eat at Baja Fresh a. one time a week, b. 2-3 times a week, c. 5 times a week, d.--"
I couldn't let him finish. "Seriously, I can't answer any questions about Baja Fresh"
"Ok Ma'am, I'm sorry. Now, would you recommend Baja Fresh to your friends?"

What I do recommend to my friends is to hang up if the survey guy asks you for "3" minutes of your time.

The "Not-So-Easy-Button"

Is life getting too easy? I just used a calculator for double digit addition. I think that the key to preventing the demise of our intellect in the society of the “easy button” is to implement a “not so easy button”.

What if your calculator refused to solve simple problems? The readout would say…. "Duh. Do it yourself!"

What if the TV remote control did not work at close range?

What if your car went into “penalty phase” after you drove less than ½ a mile to a destination? I drive 2 blocks to the gym to work out.

What if email only allowed “x” number of correspondences before a face to face or “real letter” was initiated?

Nah, I like easy.

Is There a Doctor in the House?

There is at my house!

Congrats to my husband Burrojoe for passing his dissertation defense on Friday!

Now he's Dr. Burrojoe.

He's brainy AND Cute! Beat that ladies!

Cars are no longer People

And the saga continues again...(and then abruptly ends. Then begins, then ends.)

Summer 1997-In comes the 1992 Silver Mitsubishi Eclipse originally named Joshua after my favorite U2 Album, Joshua Tree. You know how God changed people’s names in the bible to better suit them? That is why I changed the name of this car to "Saul of Tarsus". This is because he was persecuting Christians---me especially.

I learned very quickly it was a bad idea to buy a car from a man named Sam who knew little English and operated out of a building the size of a snow cone stand. Also, a valid reason for choosing one car over the other was not that it had a cooler CD player. That aside, it took 3 engines, 2 timing belts, 3 radiators and a myriad of other things to go wrong with it before I had finally had enough. My sweet parents had to finance all of the above as I was a poor college student, so they should be bitterer than me.

I can count no less than 15 places in town where I have broken down. It seems like all of the places I broke down were abandoned hotels, Adult book stores, dark, scary gas stations on the bad side of town. Once this car broke down simultaneously with the onset of a stomach virus. Bad Day.

Now with the spirit of optimism, I would like to point out, that through these experiences I met some wonderful people...among them Benny the mechanic, his wife and (before Benny took charge of the repair) the other random people that would wait at Pep boys during my several hours there. That's where the sweet fluffiness ends.

When Joseph and I finally traded "Saul of Tarsaus" in, we were less excited about our new car purchase than getting rid of that car. We laughed like little children all the way home!

It was after this car that I stopped naming my automobiles. If they were going to let me down this much, I could no longer trust them or be respectful of them, so they became just another piece of machinery to me. Sad, that I had to become this way, because the 4 cars after that were super dependable and don’t deserve my indifference or wrath. Sometimes life (or a car) jades us beyond repair, no mechanic pun intended. But that’s just the way it is!

Cars Cars and more Cars

So the car drama continues.... 1995-1997 Black 1992 Chevy Cavalier named Job. Job earned his name for all the trials I put him through and he still remained faithful. He was quite possibly the most dependable car of my teenage life. Until John Cathy wrecked it coming back from Sigma Alpha formal. Not bitter, but my car dependability life suffered greatly after it.

Spring 1997 Blue and rust (all natural) colored 1985 Honda Accord. Named appropriately P.O.C.O. which stood for Piece-O-Crap-O. However annoying that you had to fill the tires every time you drove, POCO had his charms and served me well for the short time I drove him. For instance, how loveable is a car that had power lock (singular). The back left passenger door was the only one that worked when you hit the power lock button. Very convenient for that passenger, not so convenient for the others. POCO was actually a loaner from my brother, so thanks Brad!

This is the mundane area. Sweet memories for me, probably a pretty boring read for you. I would hate to skip these cars in my brief history of cars, as they played a role in the feelings and drama to be unfolded in the next blog about Saul.

So all of you who have been praying for patience, consider me a tool of the Lord and this blog as your first trial!

Cars are people too

A car can be your best friend or your worst enemy. I’ve learned in my short 12 years of driving that this can be true. I think car ownership has possibly even jaded my world view a bit. I’m not near as trusting as I was at the tender age of 16.
And thus begins a brief history of my automotive life.

We'll start with the first car and gradually continue.

1994- My first car was a blue 1987 Mazda. I named him Melton. Melton seemed like a chariot of freedom but strangely he smelled strongly of gas. I asked my dad if this was odd, as I had splitting headaches from the fumes every time I drove. I’m not just talking a scent….I’m talking OVERWHELMING stench of gas. A year later, when looking under the hood of my car, my dad noticed that gas was actually spurting on the engine. Amazing that I’m alive

Another adventure encountered with Melton:

Suprisingly modern for its age, Melton had a full digital dash; digital odometer, spedometer, gas tank readout. Typically you can depend on such gages, but with Melton, you could only depend on them if the temperature out side was 90 degrees or higher. Needless to say, I got everywhere VERY quickly (it's not speeding if you don't know how fast you are going, right?) and I ran out of gas OFTEN. Seven times? Now don't judge me. You may have run out too in these circumstances. Or maybe not. It did get to where I would call home from some strange place (pre-cell phone days) and say "guess what?" to which my parents would immediately ask "AGAIN?"

I may be the only person on record to get grounded for running out of gas.

I guess that all of us can't be in a hall of fame. But maybe this is mine.

stay tuned for the adventures with Job and Saul.

Kinda fits the "Optimist Club Title" donchathink? (aka...I'm so predictable!)

Your Candy Heart Says "First Kiss"

You're a true romantic who brings an innocent hope to each new relationship.You see the good in every person you date, and you relish each step of falling in love. Your ideal Valentine's Day date: a romantic dinner your sweetie cooks for you Your flirting style: friendly and sweet What turns you off: cynics who don't believe in romance Why you're hot: you always keep the romance alive

What Does Your Candy Heart Say?

Just in case you are wondering...

7 things to do before I die:

1. be in shape
2. be a mom/be a homemaker
3. travel the world
4. be the Hardin-Simmons nurse
5. be married to JB forever
6. live somewhere pretty
7. have a dog named “Aunt Melissa”



7 things i cannot or will not do:

1. Get Rid of Mr. Watson. (so stop asking Joseph)
2. go for long, extended amounts of time without seeing my family
3. stop loving diet Dr. Pepper
4. enjoy working out… sometimes you just have to do things you don’t want to.
5. cut carbs. I’ve already had 4 pieces of bread today and rice and its only 3:00
6. stop loving Joseph
7. dislike someone without a good reason

7 things that attract me to my spouse:

1. his love for Christ and the way he lives that out
2. the way that people are drawn to him
3. his eyes
4. his sweet guitar playing skills
5. the way he makes me laugh all the time
6. he has an inside joke with almost everyone he knows
7. how he truly is my best and favorite friend (stole this quote from a friend-well spoken lh)

7 things i say most often:

1. “where are my keys?"
2. "I really need to get out of bed. I have to be at work in 20 minutes!"
3. "you’re nice" (when I am given a compliment--instead if accepting it and saying "thank you")
4. "anyone want to go to Cold Stone?"
5. "Joseph, can I quit my job and sleep all day?"
6. "I'm really going to start Weight Watchers again tomorrow"
7. "Mr. Watson, Leave it!! Don’t eat pecans!"

7 books or series i love:

1. Christy
2. Redemption series
3. Redeeming Love
4. Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
5. “When Pixels Speak: Why games deserve free speech, why they will never get free speech” (JB’s dissertation)
6. The Secret Garden
7. Nicholas Sparks books

7 movies i could watch over and over again:
(much to my beloveds chagrin)

1. Sweet Home Alabama
2. The Notebook
3. Legally Blonde
4. While You Were Sleeping
5. White Christmas
6. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
7. Wedding Planner

Don't Show All Your Cards

Secrets are not my forte.

Don't misunderstand me. If you tell me something in confidence, most likely it will remain hidden in my thoughts (albeit bouncing around wildly out of control) not to be revealed until given permission. The one whose confidence I betray most is myself.

If I am playing cards, I cannot cope with the knowledge of a great hand- or poor hand for that matter -all to myself. Hints fall out of my mouth, comments are like stray bullets. My face also tells the story. I'm going to leave the Vegas poker tables alone for now.

I don't think even once, Joseph reached a birthday or Christmas without knowing what I bought him.

Today at the gym, I was talking to the GM about payment options; she asked me why I was reticent to sign a year contract. Before tact or reason could take control, I blurted out "Because I'm a flake". Not good, Crista. Who's going to help out a flake. I just might go in my first day and yell, "Please waste your time on me!"

Lastly, a friend pointed out the frailty and transparency of my gift receiving procedure. Have I only been kidding myself? Now, this is the truth. I am always grateful for any gift that anyone gives me. I find that the thoughtfulness and sacrifice touch me far deeper than the quality of the product. That being said, I have realized that If I receive something that is not exactly what I would have chosen, I will compliment it on one particular attribute. For example, "Thank you for the bright orange Mohair sweater. Its so soft!" In actuality, "soft" does not win a sweater its way into my wardrobe. "Cute" is the ranking factor. Its just true. But the eternal optimist in me will bring these accolades to the surface.

Well, now that's great. I just showed you all my cards. Christmas should be fun.

I'm Alive

I survived my second attempt at skiing! I will fill you in on my first attempt so that you can have an idea of how joyous my victory was!

The year was 1995, the place Angel Fire, New Mexico. I was a confident 17 year old joining this world of skiers that I had heard so much about.

I gathered my equipment and headed to ski school. My instructor was a frenchman named Jean Marie (make sure you read his name with a French accent). The humiliation began at that moment. 12 year olds quickly picked up Jean Marie's instruction while I struggled to stay on my feet in line for my turn to snow plow. It was my turn and I fell flat on my rear end!

Jean Marie tried to help me up but in the process, my ski whipped around and slammed him in the knee. He hobbled and cursed under his breath at the injury. He released everyone to the slopes and turned to me, pointed and said "YOU Are not ready! Come back to ski school this afternoon."

I Failed Ski School!!

Dejected, I tried to ski down the bunny slope towards my cabin. After falling 3 times, I removed my skis and trudged home. I spent the rest of the weekend watching "The Breakfast Club". Four times.

I'm proud to report that this weekend, after a morning and 1/2 afternoon of falling and crying, I finally became one of you.... a skier.

The irony....I not too intelligently undertook this challenge while my insurance was on hiatus (due to comapany billing mix up) but I left the slopes unscathed. And hour later, however, in the shower, the shampoo bottle fell on my foot causing my only injury.

I'm healing fine, though, now...thank you for asking.

Jan 12, 2006...A Return to Blogging

I'm excited to see "The Pastor's Wife", "My favorite Brother whose name is Brad" and "Tex" back with new posts today after an extended break. They are all great posts. Check them out with my conveniently located links to the right.
Have a great day. I'm learning how to ski this weekend maybe, so there may be much fodder for this blog page when I return.

Foot in Mouth

I have to tell a story on My beloved--BurroJoe.

The day after we were married we were on our way toward south Texas, our honeymoon destination.

As is policy whenever one is near, we stopped to eat at Cracker Barrell. A beautiful May afternoon lured us out to sit in the rocking chairs on the front porch as we waited for our table.
As we were waiting, we heard on the intercom "Rick, party of one, Rick Party of one, your table is ready".

Rick stood up from a rocking chair down from ours and began walking toward us in the direction of the restaurant door.

Not noticing this BurroJoe then very loudly quipped, in Rick's earshot "Who eats alone? Rick Party of One!! HA! Loser Party of one! That's what that means." I was horrified!

Sorry Rick. I bet you aren't a loser, but if you are we probably shouldn't have rubbed it in.