It has been too long since I've written, so here I am checking in from work. That's right, I'm blogging on work time! I feel simultaneously guilty and thrilled by this. I had an appointment with a client who has not shown up (just remembered annother appointment I never put on my calendar... just a sec, ok back) so I am free, footloose, and completely distracted.
Where is that girl? I can't write about ber because of client confidentiality issues, but I am allowed to be annoyed that she's not here. Annoyed and relieved. I like alone time.
While this job is amazing for the chance to work with so many people from different countries and backgrounds, and to affect change in so many lives, I do not think I would want to do it for the rest of my life. I don't know what kind of person I actually am, but I'm trying to figure it out and this job is certainly helping.
I am an Employment Specialist Assistant and AmeriCorps member, which basically means I get paid a pittance for work that others do on salary,barely paying my rent and food and student loan bills which have not been deferred yet despite all promises to the contrary. (Damien Rice, The Blower's Daughter) I am in the process of applying for food assistance from the county and will not feel bad about it at all. Pretty much every AmeriCorps volunteer goes on assistance because we are absurdly poorly paid, meaning not paid at all, only given a living allowance. Allowance? What sort of living am I exactly allowed to do?
Stop it!
This is giving you the wrong impression: I do not really care about money, and I love living without having to lump myself in a category with all the other well-off middle classers who can't figure out what shade of Ugg boots to ask for for Christmas. I do not need lots of money to survive. I do not want lots of money to survive. I would love to pay off my student loans, and sure, it would be great to be able to visit my family or friends in far-off states whenever I wanted to, but I'm making a sacrifice.
Why exactly? More on that later.
The previous few paragraphs seem exceedingly boring to me and, I'm sure, to anyone who has held out hope long enough to read this far. I apologize; I am not usually so boring. Or maybe I am and no one will tell me.
I SHARED THE GOSPEL WITH SOMEONE LAST SUNDAY!!!!! It was SO amazing! He was so interested and searching but asking all these really deep and totally understandable questions and I answered what I could but it's between him and God even though I fell blessed to have even been a little part of what God is doing in his life (the guy shall be called Paul, as in -On-The-Road-To-Damascus, which is my hope for him) although I am really hoping and praying that eventually he takes the plunge and throws in his lot with Christ. This is not Aladdin, the guy down the street. Different guy. Paul is someone I work with at the cafe, and we ended up talking to about nine hours straight!!! It was so amazing. I gave him four books:
1. Pascal's Pensees, told him to read "The Wager." Got me through a lot of doubting.
2. CS Lewis' The Weight of Glory, told him to read the title essay and anything else he wants.
3. Lee Strobel, the Case for Christ. He needs the Case for Faith, although he's reading Mere Christianity which should help a lot.
4. Till We Have Faces. If this guy is brought up on the spiritual milk of CS Lewis he will have a happy and healthyinfant Christian growth indeed! I don't know what will happen with him but it is NOT IN MY HANDS! I just need to be there for him and I AM!
Oh God, oh God, bring him to You!
I will keep you updated on his spiritual journey; maybe I'm just one small part of it and he needs another 15 years of struggling... I'll just keep praying!
Love bunches!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Friday, November 9, 2007
i, l, k, j, and o while I still can
Some things cannot be put into words. For everything else, there's this blog.
Let's try that again. (1)
Some things cannot be adequately described in words; to understand any of this, you'd probably need to know at least a little about me--enough to recognize a Strongbad quote, forgive me for using the occasional "damn," or realize why a turkey curry buffet is so damn funny. But who am I to say whether any of this could mean anything to anyone but me and the few, the proud, the friends? I miss my friends. (2)
Rundown: SWF, brown hair, Christian, far more intelligent than is necessary to lead a normal life, far less motivated than is necessary to lead a normal life, watching too much television as of late and as a consequence I can feel my brain rotting inside of my head, generally too attracted to men in general, an impossible combination of cynical and optimist/idealist which is adding headache to brain rot.
I am a romantic who is, as though plotting her own Julia Roberts movie, determined to not believe in love anymore--or at least as long as it takes for Prince Charming to waltz in and move the plot forward. Except not Julia Roberts... I would definitely be Bridget Jones.
Oh where, oh where has my Mark Darcy gone? Oh where, oh where can he be? (3)
You will, of course, be kept up on all that boy nonsense that spices up my life. But there will be other tales, oh yes... tales of glory and sacrifice, of honor and betrayal, of hair dyes and stilettos. Ok, not very many stilettos. I'm eclectic, not insane. (4) I will be honest about my idiocy, vulnerable, snarky, all the things you love about me. I hope I'll write more about love than anything... hope. Can't promise anything.
The keys on my laptop intermittently blank out because I spilled a glass of water on it two weeks ago. So far, I've lost and found: i, l, k, j, and o. I only use my pointer and middle fingers of my right hand when I type, which I've been mocked for before (you know who you are, Faith), but it's because of a fateful program malfunction in 6th grade typing class which gave me a D+ in the class and crippled my style forever. I mean, distinguished my style.
I would like to sing in a band. It's turning into the only thing I can think about. I sing in the car instead of listening to the radio, or I sing along with the radio. I sneak away from my desk at work and go sing in the bathroom when no one is there. I sing quietly at my desk and I'm sure I will eventually start belting loudly in a crucial slip of couth and tact. People should be worried about me at this point.
I just love to sing. I'm not even that great--but if you sing a lot your voice does improve and I'm not terrible. My band would never make it anywhere, but who the heck cares. I don't need fame or fortune. But my insides are bursting and I don't know how to relieve the pressure, if I can't sing. What else, what else can I possible do? Writing helps.
Anyway. A quick rundown of the Men in My Life (with the ever-popular Pseudonyms of Fun and Mystery!):
-Aladdin--friendly boy-next-door turned passionate love interest, a huge conflict because we are perfect for each other except for the tiny insignificantly essential fact that he is Muslim and I am a Christian, and I don't missionary-date. I definitely missionary-befriend, however. But I'm struggling with missionary-wanting-to-kiss-him, which is probably not a real missionary thing and should be avoided. Sigh.
-Fish Guy-this is a nickname from my previous blog (which I deleted in a frenzy of life renewal that did not, in fact, get my the guy, drop 20 lbs off my body, or get me into grad school. So much for my damn renewal plan.) and a young man I might call a Person of Interest. POI. Meaning he's interesting, and a good friend, and causing all sorts of internal conflicts for me. Goodness gracious, if men knew the effect they have on me with even a few words, they'd certainly abuse their power. So it's a good thing they don't! Also he's really hot.
-Jimmy--the ubiquitous Perfect Man to whom I feel no attraction whatsoever. Also he kept touching my leg and trying to snuggle, which, ichhhhh. Ok, not so perfect. But at least well-meaning, and an easy fall-back should I decide to play it safe instead of betting it all on the chance that someone magical will come along. Poor guy... I hate to call him that. I don't deserve him. But he's not The One, or even A One of the Ones. Because I'm all about the Ones. (6)
-Dad--this is an ironic one because he's only in my life in my head, not in real life. More on that later. Also not a pseudonym.
- Chuck--no pseudonym needed as he is not a real person. He is a character on the television show with his name, and he is wonderful. Except he needs to grow as a character... I would like to see him stop being a wuss and kick some ass. Otherwise, he is awesome.
-Jim--again, no pseudonym. From the Office. Enough said.
AAAAH. Most of the men in my life are fictional or only in my head! Ok, there are more:
-Bruce--guy from work who is nice but about two feet shorter than me. Also has a girlfriend. But at least he's male and under the age of 30.
I live a sad life. (7) Hey Mr. Love... what a good song.
More to come on the fantastic wonderful women in my life next time: Jamie, Elizabeth, Celeste, sisters one and two, Mom, Cari and Angie, Song, Leah, and many more! Right now I have to go to sleep so I can work at 7 tomorrow morning in my cafe. Which is wonderful. And it's on, hey you guessed it, Grand Ave. (8)
Good night. I love you, and I'll try to love you better.
Soundtrack:
1. "Girlfriend" Avril Lavigne
2. "Learn to Fly" Foo Fighters
3. "Breakout" Foo Fighters
4. "Grand Theft Autumn" Fall Out Boy
5. "Sugar We're Going Down" Fall Out Boy
6. "The New Cancer" Panic! at the Disco
7. "More Than Melody" Anna Nalick
8. "Dreaming With A Broken Heart" John Mayer
(the phrase: "She's, like, so, whatever..." -Avril Lavigne. Oh Avril, who knew what a poet you were?)
Let's try that again. (1)
Some things cannot be adequately described in words; to understand any of this, you'd probably need to know at least a little about me--enough to recognize a Strongbad quote, forgive me for using the occasional "damn," or realize why a turkey curry buffet is so damn funny. But who am I to say whether any of this could mean anything to anyone but me and the few, the proud, the friends? I miss my friends. (2)
Rundown: SWF, brown hair, Christian, far more intelligent than is necessary to lead a normal life, far less motivated than is necessary to lead a normal life, watching too much television as of late and as a consequence I can feel my brain rotting inside of my head, generally too attracted to men in general, an impossible combination of cynical and optimist/idealist which is adding headache to brain rot.
I am a romantic who is, as though plotting her own Julia Roberts movie, determined to not believe in love anymore--or at least as long as it takes for Prince Charming to waltz in and move the plot forward. Except not Julia Roberts... I would definitely be Bridget Jones.
Oh where, oh where has my Mark Darcy gone? Oh where, oh where can he be? (3)
You will, of course, be kept up on all that boy nonsense that spices up my life. But there will be other tales, oh yes... tales of glory and sacrifice, of honor and betrayal, of hair dyes and stilettos. Ok, not very many stilettos. I'm eclectic, not insane. (4) I will be honest about my idiocy, vulnerable, snarky, all the things you love about me. I hope I'll write more about love than anything... hope. Can't promise anything.
The keys on my laptop intermittently blank out because I spilled a glass of water on it two weeks ago. So far, I've lost and found: i, l, k, j, and o. I only use my pointer and middle fingers of my right hand when I type, which I've been mocked for before (you know who you are, Faith), but it's because of a fateful program malfunction in 6th grade typing class which gave me a D+ in the class and crippled my style forever. I mean, distinguished my style.
I would like to sing in a band. It's turning into the only thing I can think about. I sing in the car instead of listening to the radio, or I sing along with the radio. I sneak away from my desk at work and go sing in the bathroom when no one is there. I sing quietly at my desk and I'm sure I will eventually start belting loudly in a crucial slip of couth and tact. People should be worried about me at this point.
I just love to sing. I'm not even that great--but if you sing a lot your voice does improve and I'm not terrible. My band would never make it anywhere, but who the heck cares. I don't need fame or fortune. But my insides are bursting and I don't know how to relieve the pressure, if I can't sing. What else, what else can I possible do? Writing helps.
Anyway. A quick rundown of the Men in My Life (with the ever-popular Pseudonyms of Fun and Mystery!):
-Aladdin--friendly boy-next-door turned passionate love interest, a huge conflict because we are perfect for each other except for the tiny insignificantly essential fact that he is Muslim and I am a Christian, and I don't missionary-date. I definitely missionary-befriend, however. But I'm struggling with missionary-wanting-to-kiss-him, which is probably not a real missionary thing and should be avoided. Sigh.
-Fish Guy-this is a nickname from my previous blog (which I deleted in a frenzy of life renewal that did not, in fact, get my the guy, drop 20 lbs off my body, or get me into grad school. So much for my damn renewal plan.) and a young man I might call a Person of Interest. POI. Meaning he's interesting, and a good friend, and causing all sorts of internal conflicts for me. Goodness gracious, if men knew the effect they have on me with even a few words, they'd certainly abuse their power. So it's a good thing they don't! Also he's really hot.
-Jimmy--the ubiquitous Perfect Man to whom I feel no attraction whatsoever. Also he kept touching my leg and trying to snuggle, which, ichhhhh. Ok, not so perfect. But at least well-meaning, and an easy fall-back should I decide to play it safe instead of betting it all on the chance that someone magical will come along. Poor guy... I hate to call him that. I don't deserve him. But he's not The One, or even A One of the Ones. Because I'm all about the Ones. (6)
-Dad--this is an ironic one because he's only in my life in my head, not in real life. More on that later. Also not a pseudonym.
- Chuck--no pseudonym needed as he is not a real person. He is a character on the television show with his name, and he is wonderful. Except he needs to grow as a character... I would like to see him stop being a wuss and kick some ass. Otherwise, he is awesome.
-Jim--again, no pseudonym. From the Office. Enough said.
AAAAH. Most of the men in my life are fictional or only in my head! Ok, there are more:
-Bruce--guy from work who is nice but about two feet shorter than me. Also has a girlfriend. But at least he's male and under the age of 30.
I live a sad life. (7) Hey Mr. Love... what a good song.
More to come on the fantastic wonderful women in my life next time: Jamie, Elizabeth, Celeste, sisters one and two, Mom, Cari and Angie, Song, Leah, and many more! Right now I have to go to sleep so I can work at 7 tomorrow morning in my cafe. Which is wonderful. And it's on, hey you guessed it, Grand Ave. (8)
Good night. I love you, and I'll try to love you better.
Soundtrack:
1. "Girlfriend" Avril Lavigne
2. "Learn to Fly" Foo Fighters
3. "Breakout" Foo Fighters
4. "Grand Theft Autumn" Fall Out Boy
5. "Sugar We're Going Down" Fall Out Boy
6. "The New Cancer" Panic! at the Disco
7. "More Than Melody" Anna Nalick
8. "Dreaming With A Broken Heart" John Mayer
(the phrase: "She's, like, so, whatever..." -Avril Lavigne. Oh Avril, who knew what a poet you were?)
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