Harkins' Happenings

Halloween: where costume and awesome collide

2011-10-31T00:00:00.006-05:00

Halloween has never really been a holiday that trips my trigger. Obviously when I was younger it was a little bit higher on the 'awesome holiday' list- but nowadays I'm pretty fond of my Memorial, Labor, and Martin Luther King Days. Paid holiday- yes please!

I have however over the years had some pretty memorable Halloween Costumes. When Mindilicious wasn't busy saving the world, she could sew a mean costume. I think more than anything, good ol' H to the Ween was more exciting for her. I was like her little dress-up play thing that could be subdued by way of Milky Way or Gobble Stick (bee-tee-dubs, does anyone remember Gobble Sticks? They were delicious. Packaged like something similar to a string cheese. I'm telling you- that was like meat stick cocaine for this girl) while she was measuring and sewing away.

One year I was Pippi Longstocking. I had long hair. We took a cloth headband with a clothes hanger run through it, and braided my hair onto the wire. It was epic. I remember another girl went as the same thing that year. She had these weird braids on the top of her head that just stood straight up into the air. Essentially she had braided horns. True colors perhaps? I think so! I also colored my hair red with this crayon like substance. It smelled like fish. I was self-conscious of it the whole day- trying to blame the smell on someone else.

I was a Spanish Senioretta when I was in 2nd grade. I remember wearing bright, streetwalker-esque red lipstick, black fishnet tights, and HUGE hoop earrings the most. I also remember going to a church. It wasn't my church. And it wasn't any of my friends churches. It was just a randome church. I was with my Nanny. We stopped for a costume contest that was offering a cash prize. We walked in. I stood on a stage. I waved my paper fan for full effect. I Won. And then we walked out. I don't remember ever seeing that money in my pocket or towards my college fund from that one.

And one year I was a princess. Mindilicous whipped up this purple robe/cape thing; complete with spotted white fur and gold trim. I had a crown. And a wand? (Because princess' have wands right?) and I think some sort of poofy dress that completed the costume. One night as Mama H was working away, I decided it was necessary to parade around the house in my cape. When I had done enough royal sauntering around the living room, I decided that as a princess I needed to take a drive. And being that it was October, I was 6, and my pink barbie convertible PowerWheel was fresh out of juice, I had to improvise.

I went straight to business:

:: Drawing of a steering wheel taped to the wall. Check.

:: Barbie riding shotgun. Check.

:: Stuffed animals in the back seats to act as my people (I was their princess after all, and princesses always have lots of friends- just look at Kate.) Check.

:: Mom's keys that I found in her purse. Check

:: Four holes in the wall placed just to the right of my make-shift steering wheel to put Mom's keys in. Double Check.

Royal party on the movie- time to get the party started in the land of Harkins!

...... Or blow out the power in the house as it turned out.

I literally shocked the hell out of myself.

Burnt a mark into my Mom's car key.

And blew out the power.

Smooth move, Princess!

From then on, when the Princess needed transportation, she stuck to the good ol' horse and carriage. A much royaler and classy mode of transportation, I might add. And Mindilicious started putting her keys up higher after that. Apparently this Princess is never to be trusted!

This year I was a di (still looking for my 'ce' apparently). I couldn't bend and the waist, couldn't be rolled or fit through a crowded room without turning sideways, or even sit down- but I sure felt lucky! The odds were totally in my favor! (There are 5 dots on my front side. The one dot was on my rear- which Roland liked to refer to as my butt-hole throughout the night. Awkward.)

So to all you October 31 fans I say this: I hope your hair doesn't smell, you see the result of the costume contest you win, that you keep your keys out of light sockets, and that you think about the placement of your dots.

Happy Ween o' Hallows!

Skinny Ankles

2011-09-01T11:24:00.003-05:00

I'm not exactly what you would call a 'fit' person. But I do enjoy the fitness on a regular basis. It's a work in progress for me, this journey we call health. I gym it up often. I run (not quickly). I elliptical (like a machine). I lift (and have shaky muscles). I do squats (complaining the whole time). Though I have much farther to go to reach my personal fitness goals, I am happy to say that I am at least doing something. Which let me tell you- two(ish) years ago was something I could not say. So 'woot woot' for me.

Anyway....

It seems like some of my more interesting/funny/awkward interactions are at the gym. I don't know what it is about that place. It's like when you're looking your worse, and smelling your worst, and sweating your most, people flock to you. Um- I put a lot of effort into looking good most days, so why is it when I look like Hades, do I get the most conversation. Why, world. Why?

While at the gym yesterday, in the middle of leg presses ah thank you, an elderly women approached me. In her defense, we do know each other outside of good ol' Gym 24. But the exchange was nothing short of hilarious. It went something like this.

Fort he sake an anonymity, we'll call her Blara.

Blara: Emily- it's so good to see you here doing something.

Emily: Yeah! I'm here pretty often. Really trying to get healthier. I've been pretty good about it for the last year or so.

Blara: Good for you. Because you have such a pretty face.

Emily: Oh. Well. Thanks. Now I'm just working on the rest..... cricket, cricket, cricket.

Blara: Do it while you're young. Because when you're old like me, it's not as easy. And you have such a pretty face.

Emily: Insert awkard laugh and.... Cricket. Cricket. Cricket.

A few minutes later...

Blara: Keep at it Emily. Because you really have a pretty face.

Emily: Thanks again, Blara. Cricket. Cricket. Cricket.

Blara: At least you have nice legs. Look at those skinny ankles!

Emily: Yep- they're svelte from carrying around the rest of me.

Blara: Look at those skinny ankles....

So interwebs, I'm happy to report that not only did I walk away from the gym yesterday with a few more miles logged into the books and a few more pounds lifted, but I now know that my skinny ankles and pretty face really do leave their mark in this world.

So no need to call me Emily anymore. From now on I'll be answering to Skinny Anlkes, ah thank you!

I'm Glad I Had a Footlong. The Napkins Came in Handy

2011-08-29T22:42:00.002-05:00

"I was oddly content not trying to predict the outcome of the movie because i was too busy trying to control my emotions." Roland Ferrie, circa last night.

Let me set the stage:
Two 25 year olds.
One patio love seat. (Not ideal for two larger than life people. He in ego, me in bum width)
Crisp night. A light jacket was suitable.
A nice computer with an irritatingly dirty screen.
Black dog at our feet.
Tears-a-plenty.

As we started to watch the movie, my hopes were high. I could feel it in my bones that this was gonna be a winner. Like maybe not as winner as any Tom Hanks movie ever made, because if we're being honest with ourselves, that man is pure gold. But I knew it was going to be good. Andie MacDowell was in it and ever since her epic performance in Groundhog Day, my life has been forever changed. So yes. I was hopeful. Mister Ro on the other hand was less than optimistic. But let's be frank here, there are many movies that I bring home from my job at the FamVid that are less than stellar- like the one movie we watched about a support group for zombies- not exactly a homerun. So based on previous experience, Ro may have had reason to question.

Anyway, last night, on the most Sunday of Sundays, I forced Mister Ro to watch The 5th Quarter with me. It started out like a Hallmark, Made for TV Movie. The opening scene consisted of old fading pictures set to cheesy, yet whimsical, piano music. Before you know it, you see a 15 year-old boy kissing his father as he's dropped of at school (Um- that right there was enough to scream OXYGEN network. What boy at 15 kisses their father. In front to people. None that I know. Or that I've seen outside of Jerry Springer-which is a whole other blog post) In any case, cheesy music continues, yada yada, family love ensues, yada yada, and before we know it we're at the tragedy of the movie that defines the plot.

Now I think it's important to note that I generally am not a huge crier. I didn't cry when I got my caugh*8th*caugh tattoo. I didn't cry when Brad and Emily broke up. And I didn't even cry when the cast of Dancing with the Stars was announced tonight. Which by the way, I totally should have because they all are crap. I just don't shed tears that easily. Unless my heart is really hurting. Then I cry. More like wail. If I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna REALLY do it.

As this tragedy unfolds, I couldn't help myself. The tears started to well in my eye beds. If I blinked they were going to fall. So instead I sat there wide eyed, hoping a gust of wind would come and help a sister out. No such luck. I blinked and down they went. I felt silly. Until i heard just seconds after the blubbering and sniffling fool next to me

So there we sat, both crying like babies, sniffling like fools, consumed by emotion. Mind you- this is about 13 minutes into the movie. Great. We're screwed. It's a good thing I had a few Subway napkins left over from my $5 footlong. It was at probably the most moving/emotional part of the movie that Ro and I really let our emotions get the best of us. Not only were we snot-nosed sobbing, but we started laughing hysterically. I can not even imagine what we looked like from the neighbors who of course were peering out of their kitchen window at us. PA to the THETIC. (figuring out how to type that wasn't nearly as easy as it should have been. The double 'the THE' really threw me for a minute. Don't judge.)

In any case, this movie was good. No- check that- great. Roland didn't even talk excessively or point out the coloring, film effects, or director's errors. For him, this is huge. Something actually shut him up. Unfortunately I was not so lucky while watching the Bachelor Pad tonight... but I digress.

So yes. We cried numerous times. Felt uplifted. And just plain silly by our over-emotional showing. Our only comic relief during the movie was the character Rachel and her impeccably timed facial reactions. If you watch the movie, you might understand. We just couldn't get enough. So watch this movie. Watch it with your kids. Watch it with your youth group. Watch it alone (probably the best idea since tears are almost inevitable). Maybe you can do it without the love seat, lap-top, and neighbors peering in on you. But watch it. You'll be glad you did.

*Let it be known that though I work for FamVid, these views are my own and I was in no way paid to review this movie. Though it they would have offered, I totally would have accepted. I am not above that. Word.

In the Most Emily-ist of Fashion

2011-06-26T00:20:00.002-05:00

In my extensive years and extensive wisdom, I have learned many important lessons. Unfortunately some of them have been learned the hardway. But I digress... On this 25th anniversary week of my entrance into this lovely world, I'd like to take the opportunity to share with you my "Top 25 Things I've Learned in the Most Emily-ist of Fashion"

1. Dont wear a short(ish) light-weight dress on a windy day when visiting a new church. People will know you more quickly than you were expecting.

2. Take out the trash on a regular basis. People judge you if you don't. And then will ask over and over and over and over and over again why you didn't do it. (PS If I had an acceptable answer, I would have told you the FIRST time you asked)

3. It is okay to build completely new patios if it makes your neighbors clean up their backyard as well. Suckas! It's is especially okay to do this with your dad. Bonding over retaining walls at its finest!

4. It is not okay to put Mindilicious on speaker phone with your office door open. Sometimes the woman's mouth is on fire and the wrong person might just happen to walk by. Like your boss. No, not Jesus. Though I'm certain He heard it, too.

5. It IS okay to still talk to your Mom everyday. She's cute and will always make your day a little better.

6. Find a RHYTHM (a healthy, sustainable, life-giving, pattern that works for you) and just do it. Quit finding excuses. Life begins when you're 'in-step.'

7. You can't give it out, if you don't have it yourself. Oh so wise. So, so wise.

8. Best not to call your dog by his nickname when the neighbors are out or small children are around. You might be tagged as intolerant.

9. When your Sister tells you to read a book and even goes as far as to buy it for you, actually read it. Mama didn't raise no fool with that one! That book might just change your life. AND if it does, its completely appropriate to pass it onto everyone you know.

10. Make check-lists if necessary. A visual reminder never hurts anyone.

11. Always check to make sure that your window rolls down BEFORE you're in the middle of the drive through.

12. If you're going to get caught for something you shouldn't be doing, own up to it before you're called out on it. It makes the punishment far less. Right Mindilicious? I think we both know the high school party were talking about here....

13. When drinking a beer or seven at higher altitude, remember that less oxygen means faster and stronger effects.

14. It's completely appropriate to pick up the dog poop before a bag of it weighs 33 pounds.

15. It is also okay to watch where you're walking. Those cracks might just jump out and get you when you're least expecting it.

15.5 It is NOT okay to sit in Hy-Vee after falling over one of those cracks and cry. Even if you haven't had water that day. It's just not acceptable. Unless Jeffry is there. Then cry away.

16. If you want to buy one of the cutest and kindest black labs ever, totally do it. Even though they poop like a machine and shed like an alpaca, they're so darn wonderful. They kiss you when you least expect it. Snuggle with you when you need it most. And make you care about something other than yourself. They also are a good form of birth control. Because if you're complaining about letting the dog out at 3am, imagine what a child would be like.

17. It is okay to call the police if there are unidentified animals trapped in your window wells. It is also okay to let them have their guns drawn if it means that innocent lives will be saved. Mainly Ro in his blue terrycloth robe.

18. When you decide you want to buy a house, do it within a week. It really helps to cut down on the nerves and anticipation. There really is no time like the present. Also- assemble a mob of children to help you move. They accept many forms of payment, and will enjoy the extra space to inhabit.

19. Don't let Asians live in your basement or cook in your kitchen. It's potent.

20. Cherish the people you love. Make memories that last. And honor the lives that they lived. And if they ask you to do a monkey call, always do it. You never know when you might be able to monkey no-more.

21. Harry Potter is much more than a children's book. Read it for the lessons of faith, purpose, endurance, and self discovery that it really is. Remember that, "It is our choices, that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities" - Professor Dumbledore

22. Work at Family Video if for no other reason than to get the free movies. Your cable bill will thank you.

23. When people are mean to you, take it as a challenge. Don't let the mean girls in a bar or hurtful emails get you down. Consider it your privilege to show them that you are stronger than that.

24. Love your work. It makes it less difficult to get up everyday. And on the hard days, a prayer never hurts anything.

25. Above all else (even if this quote comes from a show that has the good parts edited out by TBS) "The most exciting, challenging, and significant relationship of all is the one that you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well that's just fabulous." -Carrie Bradshaw

twenty five

2011-06-26T00:10:00.002-05:00

Dear Emily,

Well. You've made it this far. Well done young one, well done.

Love,
Emily

Work Ethic and Purple Shirts

2011-06-14T00:13:00.005-05:00

An eventful day.

A good day.
A blessed day.

To illustrate, I'll share with you some numbers:
7:15 :: the time we woke up
42 :: the number of sandwiches Mark made this morning (apparently teenage boys are hungry. like all the time. who knew?)
8:15 :: the time we left the church
10 :: the number of minutes early we arrived at our volunteer site

Public Service Information: Today we spent our time at Food Bank of the Rockies. There we worked in the USDA warehouse, packaging boxes of food to be distributed to families in the Denver/Metro Area. To qualify for one of these boxes, you must have a household of at least four and make no more than 24,000 a year combined income.

Back to the numbers:
500 :: the number of boxes FBR distributes A DAY
2 :: the number of gallon juices and cans of pears that went in a distribution box.
4 :: the number of cans of tomatos in a box.
1 :: the number of cereal, peanut butter, cans of beef, and bags of noodles included in a distribution box.
400 :: the average number of boxes a group will complete in a 6 hour shift
501 :: the number of boxes we set as a goal to complete.
230 :: the number of boxes we completed in the first hour and a half of work.
700 :: the new goal we set for ourselves after we saw what we were capable of.
811 :: the actual number of boxes we completed.
756 :: the number of cans of tomatos we were short to complete 1000 boxes.
3 :: the number of hours we worked TOTAL.

Yes. We complete DOUBLE what a group normally completes in 6 hours in only 3. We had no intention of stopping at anything less than 1000 completed boxes. However, we literally ran the warehouse dry of supplies. Oops. That'll teach them what it's like to work with a bunch of power-house Midwest kids. There's something to be said about Midwest work ethic! So parents, you should be proud. The organization was pretty much stunned. People would walk by and just stare at us. They gathered on the side and watched us in action. They whispered about us as the passed by. And even peeked our of offices to observe the show. At the beginning of our shift, I asked our volunteer coordinator if 500 was a good goal to complete. He looked at me like I was crazy and the awkwardly affirmed the suggestion, knowing that if he didn't, I might flip out or something for doubting our abilities. I don't even know where he would get that idea....

Anyway.

Needless to say, today the church was on fire.
No, No, No.
Not LITERALLY on fire. (No need to worry parents, as far as I know, your kids left their stock of pyrotechnics at home...)
But lit up, motivated, on a roll, fired up.
These kids, YOUR kids, OUR church was on fire today.
And boy did it feel good.
I really felt like one proud Mama. Tear.

After a hard days of work, we made our way to Coors Field to watch the Colorado Rockies take on the San Diego Padres. Unfortunately due to thunder, lightning, and rain we left early and didn't get to see the end of the game. Apparently sitting in the bleacher seats, that just so happen to be highest seats in the field, while it's lighting isn't the safest. Thank goodness I have parents here with me that ayer on the side of caution. I however, was hoping just to write off the storm as Gods way of telling us he was less than enthusiastic that the Padres were leading in runs.

We made it home. He talked some more about Jesus. We scared ourselves in a dark church, and now all the kiddos are sleeping soundly. Alright- that might be somewhat of a stretch. Let's rephrase. They are in their rooms with the door shut and lights off. Most importantly they are in a different room than me, and at this point in the day, that's good enough for me!

So today was good.
We were the hands, the body, the sweat, the blisters, the sore backs of Christ.
Our boys wore Rockies Purple with pride as we cheered on the home team.
And now were in bed.
I think a 'Hallelujah!' is in order!

I leave you with some pictures.
Enjoy! (And please try not to judge, showers are sparse in these parts)

Don't the look good? Much better than the hooligans we usually see running around!

Because we were clearly too cool to be in the 'youth' picture. I think it is undeniable that we make Chaperones look good.

Our box makers. They have battle wounds from this. Picture upon request. Unless I'm going to get in trouble for exposing them to a potentially harmful situation. Then I have no idea what you're even talking about...

Our box cutters, openers, recyclers. I will neither confirm nor deny that they may or may not be holding a sharp cutting tool.

The calm before the storm of the assembly line crew. Little did FBR know that moments later we would take the warehouse by storm. BAM!

They stared out so clean and cute. Then the rain came, and it was a totally different story...

How can you not be happy when you climb stairs to see these awesome kids jumping up and down waving? Just precious. That is until you realize they're not waving to you...

I paid them in cotton candy to smile. The blue and purple mouths were an insurance plan they would refrain from flirting with the kids in front of us. Brilliant. That's what I am.

Up for tomorrow: World Vision, Chipotle, and a Rockin' Church Service.

It's gonna be good.

Brother Wayne

2011-06-13T00:47:00.002-05:00

Wayne.

That is his name.

Born with complications.

Loved inspite of them.

Experiences frequent seizures.

Expected to live only days.

Has made it to 40 years.

Lover of Jesus.

Active worshiper.

Extraordinary witness.

During communion this morning, there was a bit of a stir.

Brother Wayne had a seizure. A violent one. It scared us. We all watched, and worried, and wondered what exactly was going on. We felt helpless yet couldn't turn our eyes. Two of our adult men got up to help hold him. Though the incident caused a commotion, not many were phased. Worship continued as normal, as a man violently thrashed around, screaming. Yet we were the only surprised ones. They carried him out of the sanctuary and into the choir room. There he let it run its course and then regroup.

For as long as I can remember, Wayne has been an active part of the HS worship community. He sings, he prays, he joins together. But on several occasions I have witnessed him sieze in worship. For those that attend regular worship with him, they have come to understand this. They lift him up in prayer and accept it as a part of who he is. They embrace him. They love him. Every week, though easier to just sit in the back incase a quick exit is needed, Wayne slowly inches his way to the front of the sanctuary. It is just about the time he gets to the center where something happens. And then after each recovery, Wayne returns to the back and begins of process of inching forward again. He wants to be there. We want to be in the action. Mixed in with his fellow believers. Amazing.

After worship, I was fortunate to be able to talk with Wayne's mother. She seemed concerned, though not shaken. In talking with her, a few words really hit me. This is what she said to me, "This happened for a reason today. Do you see that women over there? The one in the wheelchair? She also suffers from seizures. Because of this she is very depressed. And I've been worried about her. But today when Wayne started she got to see that she is not alone. And then after, she got to talk to Wayne and be a source of help. I can honestly see a bit of the weight of depression lifted off of her. Today this happened for her."

Wow.

Someone pass me the Klenex, ah thank you.

Something painful returned something beautiful.

A man so intent on being in worship, showed us that our faith should be important at all costs.

That we should always be inching toward it.

Never settling for just sitting in the back.

So Brother Wayne- thank you for the example of what is means to desire the Lord. To actively worship. To long to be part of a worship community. And thank you for being a Witness to us and others through your suffering and faithfulness.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Safe Safe Safe

2011-06-12T11:10:00.002-05:00

I am happy to report that we have made it to the Wood- as in LakeWOOD.
We got here in record time, though speeding really was kept to a minimum. It was apparent that we were traveling with a several women, and fellas with small bladders, as we made bathroom stops nearly every 2 hours. Funny enough though, before we even left the church I made a public announcement that I refused to stop before Omaha. Unfortunately, Anne D was the one who had to stop in Des Moines. Way to follow instructions, CHAPERONE.

Anyway.

To the church we arrived. Within moments Fort Deemer was being assembled in the basement of Holy Shepherd Lutheran Church. For those of you parents, I'm sure it comes as no surprise, that a group of teenagers can almost completely ~~destroy~~ overtake a room in a matter of seconds. After setting up camp, we ventured to the land of Mindilicious and BillyH (my parents). There we were greeted with the best food EVER and a warm pool.

At this point I think it's important to mention that several of this kids asked me this: "Why would you ever leave this food and house?" Well fine children, YOU are the reason, you little jerks! I love, I love.

By about 9:00pm (10:00 WaveTown time) we were all pretty pooped and bed was clearly the best option. Until we got to the church and a second burst of energy happened. Go figure.... Oh teenage boys you never cease to surprise me. A movie was on, others went to bed, and eventually sleep happend, THANK YOU JESUS.

Overall a wonderful day. Safe travels. Good people. Wonderful hospitality. And Mindilicious. What more can you ask for!?

As for today: Church in 15 minutes, a pool party and BBQ at La Casa de Harkins this afternoon, and probably a host of sunburns to boot. Look for another post later!

Emily Out.

I just found all my old pictures from college and now I might end up sharing way too many stories from the good ol' days

2011-05-07T23:56:00.005-05:00

I had great roommates in college. Nothing like that whole Roommate movie that just came out where the girl goes all bat crap crazy and wants to become her roommate and then kills people who get in the way of their friendship and then steal identities.

No. Nothing like that.

My roommates were awesome. Wonderful. Fantastic. Lovely.

I got into and out of more trouble than Mindilicous really wants to know with them. Also, because I just broke out my old computer and got my old pictures off of it, I recently realized that I took some of the worst pictures EVER with them. Why didn't someone tell me that my "what the hell' look isn't a flattering one? Thanks a lot, friends.

Anyway.

One of the albums that I came upon was a little album called, "Funny Crap." So of course with a creative name like that I was compelled to open the album and see what goodies were inside. When I did so, I was photographically reminded about this....

My roommate Emily (tell me that didn't get confusing at times) had a thing for germs. Like she's not crazy about it. But she's a fan of the sanitizer and keeping things out of compromising places. Knowing about this full well, my other roommate KLar and I decided to have a little fun.

So what did we go. We took her name tag for work and documented the places it visited...

The toilet. A good place to start. At this point I think it's important to mention that the housing we lived in allowed us to have our own bathroom. That means that it was our responsibility to clean it. No student housekeeping for us. I don't think any of us splurged for a toilet brush that year. Between the beer and spicy pickles, there just wasn't enough left over.

Next stop, the shower floor mat. Just like the toilet, cleaning this was our responsibility. Four girls. One shower. All of us with hair significantly past our shoulders. Sick.

And of course a stop in our pants was necessary. Nothing like a little denim loving. Also important to note that since quarters were in hot demand, we often wore our jeans for a week at a time.

What's left to do but burn it at this point, right? Take that name tag!

I think once the name tag had made sufficient stops we emailed the pictures to Emily (who was probably wearing the name tag at the time) with a note attached. If I recall it said something along the lines of, 'at least you can still sanitize it."

Oh wait.

It's a miracle we're all stil friends.

Gullible Is Written On The Celling

2011-05-07T23:45:00.003-05:00

Dear Tee-El Bo Bee-El,

Remember that one time I told you that the ashes that they use to put a cross on your forehead on Ash Wednesday were human ashes? And then your Mom (Karebear) told you that they keep them in an urn in the main office?

Right.

Well.

Those were lies.

You made it too easy. You're just too sweet to question. Thanks for the laugh.

Love,

A Story About 'Urgency'

2011-02-21T00:16:00.004-06:00

A story...

About how things happen quickly...

How someones personal business can become public knowledge...

And timing...

South Dakota.

Early July.

Driving through the Black Hills.

Destination: Mt. Rushmore.

I have taken many-a-youth trip in my time. I consider it one of the perks of my job- well that and the leftover body of Christ on Sunday mornings. Nothing says Sunday like a little extra helping of Jesus. Someone pass the wine... wait, who said that?

Anyway.

It was hot. Like smoldering, butt sweat, humid, hot. And trust me when I tell you that a hot like this doesn't mix well with middle school boys who haven't had a decent shower in a week. It gets potent to say the least. At this point you have to decide what is worse- staying in the car and letting the odor fester, or braving the heat to let the smelly tykes air out a bit. A hard decision I assure you. But rest assured that the heat really was more tolerable than the smell radiating from them.

It was just after we had made a pit stop on the side of the road to let the vehicles and children air out. All of a sudden the leader of our caravan pulled over. Confused because we had just made a pit-stop, I knew something that needed urgent attention must be happening. Concerned, I too pulled over, turned on my hazard lights, and made a quick exit from my vehicle to go assess the situation. (I mean I am the leader of the brood and assessing situations is totally why I get paid the 'big bucks,' no?) As I neared the vehicle, one of the boys bolted from the car and headed toward the first pile of sticks he could find.

Slightly alarmed, I went up to the drivers side window.

Emily: What is going on. Where did he just go? Is everything okay?

Other Adult: He had to go.

Emily: Go where. We're already on our way. And we just stopped. Where could he possibly have to go?

Other Adult: No. He had to GO....

Emily: Wait, what? Like he's pooping?! Behind that pile of sticks?!

And this is where personal business become public knowledge. Because as soon as I said that (not quietly, clearly) the rest of the car overheard me. So what do they do- but jump out of the car, of course! And as soon as the smelly pubescent passengers of car one make their exit, of course the passengers of my car and car three made theirs as well. Before I know it or could stop it, the entire group is standing on the side of the road, fully aware of the business that was being taken care of.

So there we stood, on the side of the road, waiting for the young lad to reemerge from the wood pile. All 14 of us. It was like we were welcoming home our lost son. And let me tell you, there was a look of pride on his face like nothing I've ever seen before when he finally did return. I guess there's something about pooping in the wilderness that really puts hair on your chest?

Unfortunately the look of pride was quickly replaced with a look of embarrassment when he realized that the entire group was roadside cheering him on. Epic fail as the leader of the brood, me thinks. I really should have left the boy to poop in peace. But I didn't. Instead I let the group gather on the side of road and wait for the poor guy.

Side note: I'm sorry for that, Pooping Boy. I'm also sorry that I'm telling this story now. Well kinda sorry. Because I still think it's funny. And the world deserves funny. You understand, right?

Anyway.

After Mr. Woodpile gathered himself up and poured himself back into the car, we got back on the road and continued on our way. But here's the real rub. We weren't in the car more than 3 minutes when we came upon a public restroom! So if he could have just waited 3 minutes, it would have been a totally different story. Not nearly as funny. And not nearly as manly. But maybe he would have left with a little more dignity.

Ah. Timing really is everything, isn't it?

I love my job.

This Post Includes Pictures. I'm Sorry For Any Damage That May Cause

2011-01-17T22:04:00.004-06:00

2010 was a good year for me.

I'm not even going to lie about it.

I'm also not going to lie about the fact that it really started kinda shotty.

But that shotty start really is what ultimately made 2010 such a rockin' year.

And by rockin' I mean totally life changing.

Have you heard of Story People?

If you haven't, I strongly suggest that you check them out. They're really wonderful pieces of artwork that have funky people and creative sayings on them. Sometime the sayings don't make any sense at all. And sometimes they can be real life changing.

I have several of these hanging in my office and home. One Story People piece really stands out to me though. It says this: "Everything changed the day she realized she had just enough time for the important things in life."

This statement has been my anthem for the last year.

Because everything did change for me the day that I realized I had enough time for the important things in life.

For me, this was figuring out that I had enough time in a day to make time for ME.

My whole life I have spent my time trying to please people. To be the person that they needed me to be. I would never change this. And I'd like to think that I haven't. However, in doing this, I have often neglected some of my own needs. And as hard as it is to admit it, this has primarily been in the are of my health; specifically my weight.

But because of my shotty start to the year, I was really motivated to make a change. This year I realized I had just enough time to change my life.

Here are some numbers that have been important to me in the process of this whole life changing thing...

800: the number of miles I logged this year either walking, jogging, but mostly elliptical-ing.

12: the number of months it took me to complete this.

804: the number of miles it is from my house in WaveTown to my parents house in DTown.

12: the number of hours it takes to drive from WaveTown to DTown

60: the number of pounds I lost this year.

Though there is still more pounds to lose and more miles to be logged, I feel overwhelmingly pleased with the progress I have made. Though it scares the Hades out of me to do so, I'm going to post two pictures. One from January of 2010 and one from January 2011. I hope you can see a difference. I think you can. But then again, I might be a little bit biased. If nothing else, at least Mindilicious can notice a difference. And let's be honest, her opinion is really what matters.

So here's January 2010. Say hello to my coworkers at the Deemer. Unfortunately they are awkwardly cropped in the picture. Sorry about that. Especially you, Carl. You're all up in this photos buis-nas. (Carl is the red-shirted wonder to my left in the picture)

And hello January 2011. Cheers to awkward pictures taken in the Deemer ladies bathroom mirror! As a side note, blonde really is a much better color on me. Please don't tell Mindilicous that I admitted that. This has been an on-going battle royal for us. I will not go silently into the night.

So here's to a shotty start to a year and a the wonderful outcome of it. I'm ready to do it again, minus the mean girl in the bar. Bring it world.

Emily out.

I Hope There's Beer In Heaven, Too

2010-12-21T12:52:00.004-06:00

So there I sit in my office, at my desk, with snot and tears running down my face.

So classy, I know.

My bestie from The Deemer shared this video on her Facebook page. It's long. But within about 3 minutes, it's apparent that it is very powerful. If you have a half hourish, watch this video.

Watch it in the three parts.

No really.

Watch it.

If this doesn't pull on a heartstring, I don't know if we can be friends anymore.

Just saying.

Always a Learner

2010-12-16T13:27:00.002-06:00

"You learn something new everyday."

So. True.

But some lessons more valuable than others, me thinks.

Here are the things I have learned in the last few days:

ONE: Planning meals ahead is good. Being organized is good. Setting out the dish your planned and organized meal will be cooked in is good. Locating the plastic lid that fits the dish perfectly so your leftovers remain eatable is good. Setting the dish and the lid in the oven so it is 'out of sight' so your kitchen looks clean until you need it is good. That is until it's not good because you preheat your oven without remembering where you had put your dish.

*Note to Santa: Emily needs a new Pyrex dish and lid.

TWO: When you're used to working out in capri length pants, it is best not to wear sweatpants on a day when you are doing more than your normal mileage. They're called sweatpants for a reason. Might as well call them sweaty death pants for me. Because I was hot as hell in them.

*Note to Emily: Do more laundry more frequently.

THREE: The same 20lb bag of dog food costs $6 less at Dollar General than at Hy-Vee. The same 20 pack of bottled water costs $3 less and the same smelly candle is a good $2 less. Why shop anywhere else for these items? Granted the carts are kinda janky and I question the instant muffin mix that is only a dollar. But it's Christmas time and a penny saved with the General is a penny spent on presents under the tree.

*Note to Hyvee: I still prefer your muffins.

FOUR: Don't leave your tanning lotion in the car when it's 1* outside. It will freeze. Also, don't sit on the bottle to warm it up. The lid will pop up and enough will be unthawed to leave a mark.

*Note to Self: Try to pick a light colored lotion. Brown lotions leave a questionable mark.

FIVE: When going through the drive-through at a local eating establishment, it is best to make sure that your windows are not frozen shut before you get to the ordering station. Otherwise you will have to open your door to order. And again when you pull up to pay. And again when you collect your food- though this time making sure to pull far enough ahead to have enough room for the to food exchange hands.

* Note to the Forgetful: If your window didn't open at the fast food joint, chances are it's not going to work a day later at the bank window. A hot cup of water might go a long way.

You're Welcome.

Is This Heaven? No. It's Iowa.

2010-12-15T12:02:00.006-06:00

Before they decided to become a brood of drug trafficking hooligans, Minnesota game losers, and Insight Bowl goers, the good ol' Hawkeyes really had a glory streak a-going. One of the oh-so-awesome games they notched on their winning belt was the epic game against Michigan State.

And boy was it epic.

But I feel pretty confident at this point in time to say that the reason it was so spectacular was because I was there. Oh yes. I. WAS. THERE. In the 18th row. On the 48ish yard line. Sitting in padded seats. Make no mistakes about it- I was only there because of my friend Kenna and her sweet grandparents, but I was there nonetheless!

Throughout the whole game, there was lots of cheering, and high fives abounded. The sun was shining. The weather was perfect. And the people around us were all sufficiently drunk. I think my favorite drunker that day was the man in front of us that would make whale calling noises/grunts is a very rhythmic fashion between every play. In the spirit of true camaraderie, many people in our section joined in the chant as well. Talk about strong (under the) influence...

But I digress.

Without a doubt, it was one of the best days of my life. This is of course forgetting the whole - I didn't wear socks with my shoes because I was going for a specific rolled up jeans and sweet kicks look, and ended up getting blisters that bled in my shoes, and then ended up walking barefoot in Iowa City because the gross ground felt better than my shoes- thing. But yes. It was still Hawkeye Heaven. You know that old Field of Dreams saying, "Is this heaven? No. It's Iowa." I felt like on that blessed day, they were really one in the same. Heaven = Iowa. Or at least Iowa Football.

Oh be still by Kirk Ferentz lovin' heart.

P.S. Thanks to Jules for being our photographer for the day. I'm pretty sure if a camera would have gone anywhere near my hands, it would have been dropped because of the shaking excitement that overwhelmed my person that day. I stole these pictures from her. She's good at picture taking, clearly.

Old Post. New Picture.

2010-11-19T10:11:00.002-06:00

I decided in the interest of the holiday spirit, I would repost one of my favorite blogs from last year. It seemed like the only right and logical thing to do. And maybe, just maybe I'll get an offer again to try this Bird-Trifecta for free and actually take them up on it! If I do, we'll get all sorts of blog happy up in here!

None the less, at this point I am still repulsed and still not a fan of turkey in any form.

Enjoy!

I have something that I need to share. And you're probably going to judge me. But at least I will feel good knowing that I got it out there for you all to know.

Here it goes...

I don't like turkey.

Well. I kinda do. But not enough to eat it on Thanksgiving. Or ever really. So. Maybe I don't like it. My jury is still out.

I don't know why. I'm just not a fan. It always seems dry to me. And it really doesn't matter how much gravy I slather on it, because believe you me, I slather with the best of them- it still tastes dry. And meaty. And birdy. And I just really don't like it.

Call me unAmerican. I can take it. But I can't take the turkey. No way. No how.

I eat Macaroni and Cheese on Thanksgiving. And sauteed onions. And Kit-Kats. And Coke. Honestly. I do. Just ask Mindilicious. We get all sorts of crazy up in the House of Harkins.

But as much as I don't look forward turkey, I can't even imagine looking forward to this:

I introduce to you, the Turducken. (Or maybe you're way far ahead of the curve and you already know about this. In which case, consider this your REintroduction.)

Are you freaking kidding me? A chicken, stuffed inside a duck, and then wedged into a turkey. That is by far the most disgusting thing I've heard of in my life. One bird is doable if eaten by itself. Two varieties is pushing it. But THREE is just ridiculous. Not to mention they are stuffedinside of each other. STUFFED.

I feel pretty positive that if you eat this, you will grow wings- like awkward fowl, my body is too big for my wings to support, give me hot sauce- wings. And you wouldn't be able to fly. And then people will make fun of you. Or be scared of you. Because you are a freak. And eventually they will eat you for Thanksgiving. That's just how it'll happen. I see it clear as day.

So don't do this. Do not consume this. Because it's disgusting. And you'll turn into an awkward grounded bird. And clog some arteries. And I will not be your friend anymore.

(When I did a google search for the image on this post- I found a Turducken that was topped with bacon. I think someone was lookin' for a crafty way to kill some folks. Honestly, I think that would do it. Gag me with a spoon.)

This Is What Happens On A Tuesday Night When YouTube Gets Involved

2010-11-16T23:27:00.003-06:00

There's something to be said about being a copycat.

While it may piss you right off when someone copies your wicked style, really it's a compliment at its finest form. For instance, if Ro didn't totally love Dexter would he photoshop himself into posters? Or if he didn't love Michael Jackson would he Moonwalk across the kitchen floor on a regular basis? I think not.

Flattery. That's what that is.

Tonight at la casa de Harkins, we let the cat out of the copy bag.

After seeing this little ditty, you can bet we were moved to fire back with a video of our own.

I guess at this point I really don't have too many words.

Yeah.

Premature? I Think Not.

2010-11-01T00:05:00.003-05:00

Reason number 5,835, 9812 that I love Ro:

When I mention the idea of putting Christmas lights up on the house before it gets so balls cold frigid out, he actually agrees with me that it's a good idea and suggests we do it today. I love being efficient. I didn't even have to put it on one of my crazy 'To Do" lists because it's DONE. Boy that Ro knows how to get right to my core.

Yes. You read that correctly. La Casa de Harkins has Christmas lights up already.

Merry Freaking Christmas, WaveTown!

I mean sure- as Ro was on the roof and I was laying out lights across the front yard, wrapping banisters, and precisely positioning lights in my nicely pruned bushes, people drove by and gave us strange looks.

Sure people thought we were ridiculous because it's not even November yet and we seemed to have grazed over Halloween completely. There was not a pumpkin or fall wreath to be found up in here.

Sure the lady at Walmart gave us a judgmental glance when she scanned our energy efficient LED strands and asked if we were really going to put up lights already. And then actually lectured us on how most people wait until after Thanksgiving. Really Walmart lady?! Why hasn't anyone ever told me this before?! I feel ROBBED.

Sure my Christmas tree never actually made it back into the box it came from but still sits in the garage, completely assembled just waiting to be juiced up, in plain sight when the door is open.

Sure. I may do things a little different than the normal person.

But seriously, I will have the last laugh.

Because in 3ish weeks from now when people are out hanging their lights in the frigid Iowa winter, wearing like 8 layers and cursing the fact that they can't feel their fingertips, I will be sitting in my warm house, flipping my light switch (which so awesomely turns on my lights from the inside- thank you Painter for educating me on your wonderous ways) laughing at you. I might even drive around town and gawk at YOU. Because today it looked like SO much fun while you were doing it!

And as for the tree: when everyone else has to take theirs out of the box, re-fluff their limbs and try to assemble it correctly, making sure that the string of lights is tucked in just right, I will just be plugging and going. Yes, I'll still have to add my ornaments. But my fake greenery is WAY better than yours. And the cobwebs that may adorn the branches will really just add some extra gleam when then lights are plugged in. Be jealous. It's a breathtaking sight.

So to the person in the minivan who drove by and let your children gawk out the passenger window as we got all Christmas-y up in here, happy light hanging 3ish weeks from now! May you remember MY brilliance when your nose is running, your fingers are freezing, and your breath is showing.

I won't be so crazy then, will I?

Bwhahahaha. (Totally my evil laugh. I'm not even ashamed.)

No Candles To Blow Out

2010-10-26T00:52:00.002-05:00

I like to plan things...

Birthday parties.

Church events.

Nail polish colors to match the season.

The weather. (Wait, what?)

This week I decided to plan out all of my evening meals and make just one productive trip to the grocery store. I feel like I was actually teetering somewhere between Betty Homemaker and Rachel Ray, except without a raspy voice and any real epic cooking skills. But like Mindilicious has always said, it's the effort that counts. And let's be honest, me and my shopping cart, list of groceries, and planned meals were really putting forth a solid effort.

I even made it through the store without any real incident. Forget the fact that I almost ran over a small child in the produce aisle. In my defense though, he did try to get in between me and my ginger root. What was I supposed to do?

As I was loading my groceries into the car in the parking lot, a man was walking to his car carrying a fresh cake from the bakery. He walked over to his old Chevy Cavalier and began to get into the drivers seat. As I was setting the last bag down, I heard a loud "Ahhrgha" from the man with the cake, in the car parked across the row from me. I turned to look. Because let's be honest, when you hear a grunting "Ahhrgha" you can't help but look. It's like a car crash. Who really turns their eyes from that? No one. And if they say they do, they're lying. And they should not be trusted. And maybe they should even be fed to the dogs.

Anyway.

The man, as he was getting into his car, dumped his entire cake on his lap. So there he sat, in his beaten down car, with a sheet cake adorning his lap. While my first instinct was to laugh, I immediately felt a tinge of pain in my heart for this man. I don't know why exactly. But something inside of me knew that spilling this cake was probably a big deal; an almost deflating blow for him.

As I sat in my car for a good 5 minutes, watching this whole thing happen from my drivers side mirror, I was at a loss for what I should do. I wanted to help. But what was I going to do- go over and help him scoop chocolate layered cake from his crotch. I mean- I'm friendly. But not that friendly. Then I thought... should I go buy him a new one? But if I did... what flavor was it? If I got chocolate, maybe there would be an allergy? And what about the words on top? How was I to know who's name should glisten across the top of the butter cream frosting?

So what did I do?

I sat there in my car, just watching. I prayed that this incident not be a defining moment for this man. But as for action- I didn't do anything. After a few more minutes I drove away. Feeling terrible. I still feel terrible. And I'm willing to bet that in even 4 days from now I will feel terrible.

So to the man in the old Cavalier with the cake on your lap,

I'm sorry I didn't do anything. I promise that next time I witness such an event, I will buy the cake. I'll even have them write something like... "A Cake With a Story Tastes Better Anyway," just to make you smile. I hope you can forgive me.

Love,

Emily

Rebelling For Boobs

2010-10-08T11:32:00.003-05:00

I love me a good cause.
Feeding hungry children. Check!
Sending love to Africa. You bet!
But what I'm really into THIS month, is Saving Second Base.

When I was younger, I always wanted to dye my hair some outlandish color because it was totally the cool thing to do. It was all the rage to put a sweet stripe somewhere in your hair. The best was when you kinda had to tuck it away so your parents wouldn't see it- but you still totally knew that it was there and that in and of itself was like super rebellious and super liberating. For many of us, because our parents wouldn't ACTUALLY let us foul up our lovely locks with permanent dye, would make this happen with the use of kool-aid. You think that stuff stains carpets when it spills... try blonde hair!

At this point I will neither confirm nor deny that I did or did not actually do this. This may have something to do with the fact that Mindilicious was totally a hair Nazi while I was growing up. You think I'm kidding, but the lady who did my hair shook in her smock when she saw us walk in. Too much off the length and she knew she was a dead woman. So if I HAD done this, it would have been on a small strip of hair that was on the underside of my hair where it could be hidden when I wore my a hair down. But again, I will neither confirm nor deny, as we don't want to spur the Hair Nazi to attack...

Well guess what Mindilicous/Hair Nazi- I've got some color up in this business!

That's right! Because this month I feel compelled to do my part to save boobs, I rebelled a little bit. It cost me $10 to do so and was totally worth it. But the best part is that YOU can do so, too! AND it's NOT permanent. Say wha?!

For the month of October, you can go to ANY Aveda salon in the country and have a PINK hair extension put in. It's simple, it's cheap, it's fast, and it gives $10 to breast cancer research. Why would you NOT do this? You get to totally relive the glory days of kool-aid hair coloring AND help save the boobs. Woman AND Men will be thanking you for years to come. Cause let's be honest, we all love breasts in some way or another.

And it's pretty much adorable. I mean really. Pink is like totally my color, no?

The Smarter You Are, The Stoopider You Look

2010-09-24T12:28:00.004-05:00

I am an iPhone user.

I love it.

Like, love love love love love it.

But I'm not some crazy lady with like 600 applications that I don't actually use. I have my basics. A few extras. And then a guilty pleasure or two (ahem... Tetris and Dancing with the Stars). I really do believe that having an iPhone makes me smarter. No really. One of the Apps that I have is the Dictionary.com App. My favorite part about this application is that is sends out a notification everyday with a "Word of the Day." And I'm here to tell you that it is totally contributing to the increase in my intelligence.

But there's the problem, while I'm getting smarter, building my vocabulary, wowing the world with my words, everyone else just stays the same. So while I may have a whole new basket of words to use at my disposal, if there isn't anyone who understands them, I look like the fool.

For example the word: Frabjous

By definition it means: wonderful, elegant, superb, or delicious.

Here's the word used in a sentence: If there's a more frabjous pairing of husband and wife than Mindilicious and The Painter, I can't imagine it.

This is my point- If you didn't know what that word meant, you would think I'm the idiot who doesn't know how to spell FABULOUS. See what I'm saying?!

I AM smart.

But I LOOK stupid.

How is this even fair?

It's not.

Plain and Simple.

Just.Not.Fair.

So here's my plan. I will continue to silently gain knowledge and build my vocabulary in an attempt to not look stupid, all the while building up my strategy for how I will take over the world with my intelligence.

I won't LOOK stupid in the process, but boy you'll know I'm SMART at the end.

Have a Frabjous Day.

My Dog Makes Friends Easier Than I Do

2010-09-20T19:16:00.006-05:00

I got Cash when he was just a pup. He weighed no more than 10lbs. and most of his chew toys were bigger than he was. He was seriously precious. Except that he chewed up stuff ALL-THE-TIME and had really sharp baby teeth that he used with the fury of a thousand demons. But he's better now, thank Jesus. Now he only chews computer chords when I am stupid enough to leave them laying around and his razor fangs have long since disappeared. Now-a-days, Cash is the size of a small horse; weighing over 100lbs.

But here's the thing about this beast I call my dog; he is the sweetest thing in the world.

He's a total lover.

He loves to cuddle and give kisses.

He hardly ever barks; unless he wants attention or food.

And he loves other dogs and animals.

As a side note, we have two neighbor dogs who are jerks.

They're total bullies.

They bark.

They growl.

The jump at the fence.

When we put Cash outside on his leash, he will just lay in the driveway and watch the other two dogs as they do their freakout jerky dog thing. He doesn't bark. He doesn't give into peer pressure and join them. He just watches. He's a dang good dog. He might judge them a little bit- but that's okay- they totally deserve it.

But I digress...

Today Liddle Bite came over after school and as she walked up to the house, she noticed that Cash was enthralled with something on the deck. It appeared as if my gentle giant had made a friend. Sitting just inches from his paws, was a little bird.

He wasn't eating it.

He wasn't barking at it.

He was just looking at it.

And loving it.

When Liddle Bite tried to get a better look, Cash inched closer as if to protect his new friend. The bird and Cash sat there together for a good 15 minutes. Cash laid down and put his head just inches from the bird. Obviously the bird was hurt or he would have flown away once a massive black beast started getting all up in his business.

BUT NO!

The bird wasn't hurt!

After the little photo shoot, the bird just up and flew away. Somehow my lover of a dog befriended a lonely little bird and they bonded as friends.

I'm so dang proud.

I just wish they made a bumper sticker for this kind of activity.

After 32 Years I Would Want To Attack On A Regular Basis

2010-09-16T12:20:00.005-05:00

Dear Mindilicious and The Painter,

Today marks the 32nd year of your marriage together. That's a really long time. How can you two still stand each other? I've only been around for 24 years and I have a had time standing myself some days? Like today for instance, I didn't shower and it's been a hard one to get through. But that's not really the point of this I suppose.

I'm sure in your time together, you have learned a lot of things. For example, I'm sure that Dad has learned that Mindilicous is ALWAYS right. Even when she's not, she is. It's just much easier to concede then to battle the beast that is Mom when she's on the loose. I think that was a good lesson to learn. For your sake, I hope you learned that early on in the marriage, Dad.

Mindilicous, I know for a fact that you've really had to learn some things along the way, too. For instance, when dad is snoring on the couch with the remote in his hand, despite what he says, he is NOT actually just resting his eyes. It is best to just give up the battle and go find another TV to watch, because he is not budging. And that on Sundays your pretty much guaranteed to have a "Sunday Jerk" to deal with. My favorite though is that when The Painter wants to start a small project, it's NEVER actually a small project. You're a good woman for resigning to the fact that you're now in for a major reconstruction. I just thank God daily that I'm out of there and don't have to jump on board, too. You're a better woman than I am, Mom!

Sometimes it's really funny to watch you two, too. You don't even realize it half the time but you both function as one unit. You are constantly bumping into each other because you're both trying to complete the same task without even talking about it first. You laugh at the same stupid jokes, watch the same lame shows, and even make the same strange breathing noises when you sleep. It's awkwardly awesome to be real honest. And if you want to get real honest up in here, let's not forget that The Painter totally pretends to be Mindilicious on Facebook and creeps on people's profiles. Like I said, awkwardly awesome.

But I think it's most important to note that the best thing that has come from your 32 years of marriage is clearly me. So for that, thanks. I REALLY appreciate it. And so do Cash and Ro. They'd really be in a world of hurt without me. So I guess at this point, I just want to give a real big shout out to your 32 beautifully flawed, awkward, and awesome years- because without them, I wouldn't be here.

As a side note to Mindilicious, I've got to give you some major props. When Dad fell the other day and knocked out his front tooth- that's when I would have been out the door. But not you, you're a real trooper. Clearly looks don't matter to you. (After all you do have a mean Pop-eye troll looking daughter...) Painter- you should consider yourself one lucky man.

In all seriousness, thanks for showing me what it means to love someone more than you love yourself. Thanks for showing me that sometimes it's okay to argue with the one you love. Thanks for showing me what a partnership looks like. And thanks for showing me some good tricks to get revenge when needed.

You guys are blessed.

Don't ever forget that.

Love you both.

He's Older Than Me and Apparently People Like Him More Too

2010-09-13T14:15:00.004-05:00

About a week and a half ago we celebrated the birth of my dear roommate Ro.

Yes folks, believe it or not, this wonder of a man is quarter of a century old.

Wowza.

On his birthday, he got to do one of his all-time favorite things.

Take pictures.

But not only did he get to take pictures, he got to take pictures of football.

He was like a giddy little girl who just got her first kiss.

No really, he squeals. It's kinda endearing.

While taking pictures at the Burg football game, my lovely Ro was apparently being scoped out. After the game when he returned to his car, he found a card tucked behind the handle of his door.

He opened his card to find this:

Totally classy, no?!

At this point, Ro is STILL trying to figure out if this was serious or just someone playing a joke on him. I lean toward the joke side of it. But I think a bit of Rol want's it to be serious just for the sake of having a good story.

So here we sit, waiting anxiously for the possibility of another stalker encounter. Until then though, Ro has taken to editing and improving his note...

So here we sit on baited breath, stalker.

Please don't disappoint.

Happy Birthday (only a week or so late) RoPo!

Apparently I'm not the only one who "Time of long I love(s)" You!

The Lesson of Luka

2010-09-10T10:06:00.000-05:00

Here is a story of faithfulness, peace, and trust.

This is the lesson of Luka.

I was blessed to hear this story from Pastor Hafermann on the eve of his return to Tanzania.

Only weeks before his passing, Luka was hard at work. Like always he had immersed himself in the project at hand and fixed his light on the building of Christ. Literally the building. He was in the bush, working faithfully on what was his 46th, and final church building. Though he had not been feeling well for some weeks prior to this build, Luka continued on in faith, knowing full-well that his life was best spent in service to the Lord.

He worked for many days on this church.

Building up the walls.

Laying the floor.

Finishing the roof.

On the last day, Luka was on the scaffolding hanging the simple cross on the peak of the church. As he stood there, he grabbed his side in pain and said to those who were close enough to hear, "This is my last job in this earth."

It was only weeks later that Luka lost his battle on THIS earth and returned home. At age 29, Luka knew his time on THIS earth was done.

There are so many things that stand out to me in this final sentence.

The peace he felt.

The certainty he knew.

The promise he understood.

At age 24, I can tell you that while I do not fear death, it is not something that I am necessarily at peace with. But Luka left us with this example; that in death there is peace. There is rest. There is eternity. Why worry about what death will bring, for Christ promises us an eternity of love with the Father in heaven. Luka showed us that while our time on this earth may be limited, it is just that- time on THIS EARTH. We have so much more to set our eyes on. To fix our lives on.

What a Spirit focused man Luka was to even have the understanding and foresight that the end was near. To feel so connected with the Spirit that it was simple to understand and to say, "Okay- now I am done." It just amazes me. It truly seems like everyday I learn something more from this man.

The Lessons from Luka will live on in my life forever.

And that to me, is another way that the Spirit is moving.

I Don't Like To Share My Markers

2010-09-09T00:29:00.006-05:00

As far as I know, my teachers have always liked me pretty well.

I've always done my homework.

I don't talk when I'm not supposed to.

And I always share.

That is unless they were asking me to share my Crayola Markers- because then there wasn't a chance in hades that was going to happen- those things are like gold.

But generally I'm a good sharer.

Sometimes I even share a bit too much information, hence my sister's refusal to read my blog based solely on principal. But today I will use my sharing skills. This is what I know to be true and feel compelled to share with you, dear readers.

1. God is Good.

2. People are Good.

3. Love is alive.

4. The Spirit is at work.

If you read the last post here at Harkins' Happenings, you'd know that a beautiful man has gone to meet our Maker. The loss of him is something that literally shook people around the world. He was a man of Jesus and there has not been a day since receiving the news that I have not thought of him and celebrated his life. In my last post, I set a goal to collect the equivalent of a year's worth of salary that our dear Luka would have made ($720.00). This would then be given to Luka's wife to help ease some of the financial stress that comes with loss. In my oh-so-helpless state, I figured this was something that I could organize that would help to make a difference.

I am overwhelmed and blessed to share that as of yesterday when I ate dinner with The Haff and handed him a tightly sealed envelope, I had collected a total of $2,430.00.

Oh. My. Goodness. That is over 3 times what the goal was to collect!

God is good.

People are good.

Love is alive.

The Spirit is at work.

Pastor Hafermann was astounded by the gifts, thoughts, prayers, and love of so many. To everyone who contributed, thank you. I can not express to you the hope that was felt through your contributions and selfless actions. Know that it will make a mountain of difference in the lives of beautiful people who meant the world to a man we all loved and admired. I was amazed to see all the different people who responded to my call. I had the parents of my middle school best friend, people from my home church in Colorado, Wartburg friends (old and new), parents of Wartburg students, and members of Redeemer who responded overwhelmingly.

I also think it is important to acknowledge that more than money was collected with this endeavor as well. Hundreds of people were united in prayer around the world to lift up Luka, his family, and the ministry that he did. It's amazing what a good ol' prayer circle can do! Especially when you bring treats. It really ups the prayer output!

In addition to the money collected for Emi, Redeemer collected enough donations to complete a school building project that Luka had started, without being payed, before he passed away. The school will now be finished and dedicated in his name. Upon completion, the school will officially be recognized by the Tanzanian government and receive funding (though minimal). Because of Luka, hundreds of children will now have a brighter future ahead.

People are good.

You all are good.

You're love is alive.

So while I still refuse to share my markers, I thought it was important to share how the Spirit was alive in all of you. It was a beautiful man and gentle heart that united us in giving, connecting all of us more closely to the body of Christ. Even in death, he is teaching us lessons of what it means to serve others and give of ourselves to the Lord. Praise God for the man that Luka was and is today in heaven.

Amen.

(If you would still like to donate and have not yet done so, I will still collect money. The Haff will return to good ol' WaveTown in December and will plan on giving to him at that time more funds to support Emi and the ministry in Tanzania. If this interests you, let me know via facebook, comment, or email.)

Home

2010-08-27T11:47:00.009-05:00

For me, my faith has been established by key relationships in my life. My understanding of God lies within the actions and examples of faithful Christians. To understand in part the intensity of love that God feels for me, I call upon the love I feel with people in my life. People have defined me. Key people.

When I was in Tanzania in 2008, I was an idiot. We went snorkeling and I didn't wear shoes as I walked out to the boat. Because I am who I am, and accidents flock to me, I happened upon a school of sea urchins and ended up with nearly 30 urchin spines in each of my feet. I hobbled my way to the boat and remained in it as spines were dug out of my feet with a rusty fishing hook. As the tears ran down my face, Luka was there, holding my hand, wiping my tears. After the bleeding stopped, I told him to leave me and go snorkeling. Every 10 minutes he would come back and check on me, each time bringing me a different colored starfish he had found. By the end of our time, I have a collection of 6 different starfish' keeping me company in the boat. We threw them back when we left clearly, as I don't really have a way to keep starfish, despite my best efforts.

I am a strong believer that your actions define who you are. It's easy to talk; saying precisely all the right things. It's harder to actually DO what you speak of. To truly live a life for Christ, in my heart and mind, you must be a do'er. A selfless do'er. Someone who seeks only to serve the Lord and others through their actions and inactions.

Life in Africa is hard. Life in American is hard for that matter. But life in Africa is really hard. Daily the people in Africa have to worry about the water they are drinking, whether it is clean or not. They have to worry about the parasites that their food may contain. They have to worry about the deadly bugs they come into contact with daily, where they will sleep, how they will feed and educate their children. Life in Africa is hard.

Luka is my dear friend from Tanzania. He works in unison with Pastor Hafermann, spreading the word of God to the people of Tanzania. He is an evangelist and a master builder. He is a father and brother, a son, a lover of soccer, a laugher at jokes, a kind hearted soul, a man of Christ. Originally a Muslim, he was inspired and called to a life of servitude in the Christian faith through The Haff. He has gone to Bible School and is now an evangelist, serving nearly 120 preaching places in the Morogoro dioceses alongside Pastor. He has built many churches and oversees all of the building in the preaching district. He has also trained countless others to build as well, as the desire for more churches grows in Tanzania. He works every day, from sun-up to sun-down. He rides is bike to and from the seminary where The Haff lives. Luke rests for nothing. He is a true do'er. A model of servant hood. An example of what it means to live a life dedicated to Christ.

He has a wife named Emmy and a daughter named Christine. In the last two years, Luka has also taken on the responsibility of 4 other children because of the deaths of his two siblings to cancer and AIDS. Recently his family was blessed with the news that they were expecting a second child. Luka does all of this around $60 a month.

I have never in my life met someone that has set before me a better example of what it means to live your faith. To be humble. To serve others. To love unconditionally. When I grow up, I want to be a Luka.

This morning, at 8:15 I received news that Luka had passed away. He has gone home.

I have never in my life felt a sadness like this. I have experienced death in many form. But none that have reached into my core like this. At the center of who I am as a Christian stands Luka's example of love, service, and faithfulness. To say that a part of my identity as a Christian is wrapped up in him would be accurate. I know the love that God has for me because of the relationship that I have with Luka.

Being a humble servant, Luka was not mindful of his own needs. While out on builds in the middle of the bush, we would consume unclean water, dirty food, and endure the bites of malaria infested mosquitos. But through it, Luka didn't complain. His life was best spent in partnership with others- eating and drinking of the same plate and cup. Humbling himself to the life of those he served. What an example of Christ-like living he has set. As a result of this, Luka's liver became infested with parasites and just stopped functioning. Because he refused to stop long enough to take care of himself, along with the harshness that is life in Africa, Luka lost the battle.

So many things have hit me as I process this whole thing.

:: Who will take on the building projects?

:: Who will take care of Luka's family?

:: Who will take care of The Haff?

In my mind, Luka was to be the one to take over Pastor's responsibilities when The Haff finally decided to retire for real. Luka was the one to carry on the work that was started when Pastor arrived in Tanzania 40some years ago. And now, who will carry that torch? My heart aches over the thought of this. I feel so helpless in the moment. Yet compelled to so something.

As I sit here- this is my thought. I am asking for your help. The Haff returns to Tanzania late next week (he will miss the funeral, which seriously breaks my heart in a thousand different ways). I would like to send with him the equivalent of a years worth of salary that Luka would have made, to give to Emmy and the kids. While I know it is a temporary solution it is at least something. This amounts to $720 US dollars. If we collect more than that- great. It is not like it is going to a bad place.

If this interests you at all, please contact me at harkinsemily@gmail.com or leave a comment via the blog or facebook. I will then email you my address so you can send any amount you want and I will get it to Hafermann. Anything and everything helps. If you're writing a check, please address it to Emily Harkins, as I will deposit it and then write one large check to The Haff. If you plan to do this, it needs to be done soon, as he leaves within a week.

If this does not interest you, no worries. Please just keep The Haff and Luka's family in your prayers. This is no time to lose faith.

Through my years I have doubted the existence of heaven on more than one occasion. But in this moment I have actually never been more certain about it. There is no way that a man like Luka doesn't have an eternal spot to rest. I am comforted by this though. Welcome home, Kaka. Ninakupenda.

There Is No Real Ending To This Post. It Just Kinda Stops. Oops.

2010-08-22T22:20:00.009-05:00

I graduated from college once.

It was a good day.

Actually, it wasn't a good day at all. I was ridiculously sick with Malaria and had Sea Urchin spines in my feet and couldn't remember my own birthday or what I put in my Chipotle burrito. And trust me, those are both REAL important things to me. But I guess that really isn't the point of this story. Oh and there was a huge tornado a few towns over the day of my lovely Pomp and Circumstance.

It was several years ago.

It was on a Sunday.

I was 21.

I had brown-ish hair and bangs.

And I didn't want to wear a dress under my robe because no one would see it anyway.

Ro and I drove around through rain puddles for about an hour to escape the mayhem that is a graduation party thrown by my favorite, yet crazy ultimate party planner mother.

The Painter made mini bbq weenies which were delicious.

I had recently finished my student teaching (believe it or not- I'm actually kinda awesome in a classroom. Unconventional- sure. But awesome none the less). I had spent my last semester splitting my time in a Middle School and in a High School. Both schools were awesome and I loved each of them for different reasons. Middle School because I got to tell the boys not to 'Army Crawl' across the room to the reading corner and High School because I got to hear all the gossip about who's dating who and who, and who secretly voted more than once for Prom Queen. It was awesome. And I totally LOVED going to school everyday. (As a total side note- I will neither confirm nor deny that I was voted biggest gossip in high school superlatives.)

At the high school I taught Freshman World History, Junior Iowa Studies, and Senior Government. It was totally awkward when I saw seniors out on weekends at some of the bars I went to in college. That's usually when I would leave and then be pissed that my STUDENTS ruined MY night. What. The. Heck. But I digress...

In any case, this past week MY FRESHMAN started their SENIOR years.

I have never felt older in my life than I do right now.

Not that I am old.

Because I'm not.

And I have good genes so I'm pretty much destined to look foxy until I'm 60 (here's to you, Mindilicious!).

So I'm not really worried about that.

But MY FRESHMAN ARE GRADUATING THIS YEAR.

MY FRESHMAN.

I feel a whole swell of emotions.

Happiness. That they have made it this far.

Joy. That I didn't mess them up too much.

Sadness. That they will no longer be at the school when I go to sub.

Jealousy. That they are starting a new adventure that I have already passed.

Love. For the wonderful adults they are becoming.

I wonder if they'll ever know how much they've meant to my process of growing up? Somewhere along the lines I graduated and became an adult.

They helped a lot.

Especially in that whole, "I'm telling you not to do that because it's inappropriate but secretly I'm laughing on the inside way more than I should be," kinda way.

Self-control is a lovely thing.

They taught me that.

So thanks for that kids.

I owe you one.

This Is A Long Post With Lots Of Parts And A Happy Ending

2010-08-02T11:15:00.005-05:00

Sometimes people just suck.

Really.

They do.

And sometimes people don't suck.

They're awesome.

Honestly.

This is a story about both of these kind of people.

First thing to know is that Mindilicious is rad. And totally not one of those people that sucks (except when she wakes me up on a Saturday morning super early to do house work. Then she sucks a little). She used to work at a place that doesn't suck but for people who do. When Mindilicious parted ways with the mean people who suck, there were some hard feelings.

Second thing to know is that The Painter is a racecar driver. He always has been and always will be. He's good. Like real REAL good. He's been at it for nearly 30 years and in that time has a whole plethora of trophies to show for it. He doesn't suck.

Third thing to know is that the place that Mindilicious used to work, with people who suck, is the same place that The Painter goes to race nearly every weekend during the summer months.

Do you see where this story could be going....

Though we love the track, the people who run it just suck. And because they suck and have some bad blood with my lovely mother, my dad has felt the pains on the track.

Not fair.

But it is what it is and because my parents are PHENOMENAL people, they show up every week with their heads held high, proud to be there, despite the drama mama of others. (In all honestly, this blog post is probably too much drama mama for them. But I don't care. I'm writing it.)

Two(ish) weeks ago The Painter got in a really bad accident. He was fine (Praise Jesus) but his truck was not. They had to disassemble the truck to even get it into the trailer. The engine was even moved several inches from where it is supposed to be. When this happens, you know it is a bad hit, as the engine is one of the more heavily protected parts of the structure. It was bad. Very very bad.

More important things to know:

One: The accident was not The Painter's fault. He was caught in the crossfire of two drivers who were busy getting into each other. Honestly The Painter was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But alas, that is racing.

Two: When an accident happens, track rules say that someone has to be at fault. When fault is decided, the person found responsible must go to the back.

Three: No one was punished for this accident because not one of the 10ish track officials, including the Track Operator who's job is to watch every second of every race and be the final authority on all things racetrack, "Saw Anything." These are the people that suck.

Odd that when a decision should be made in defense of The Painter, no one from the track saw anything. Interesting to say the least.

Defeated, angry, and hurt, Los Padres were faced with a very important decision at this point. Do they rebuild a truck to return to a place that is intentionally out to get them? And where do they find the money to rebuild? While The ZERO truck does have some sponsorship, it is minimal and pays only for basic racing costs like fuel and tires. Not the expense to completely rebuild a truck.

The decision was hard. But the Harkins Parents had made one.

It looked as if the ZERO truck had run it's last lap.

The hurt and betrayal felt from that track was going to touch them no more.

We were ready to be done.

But this is where the people who don't suck come in.

Word had spread that we would not be returning. And most people were not okay with the decision. Among these people were Christina and Gerry. They themselves are truck racers. They know The Painter and Mindilicious and respect them as competitors and friends. As soon as the decision was made, Christina and Gerry made one of the most moving, powerful, and generous gestures I have ever witnessed. On the Tuesday afternoon following the accident, Gerry called up The Painter and flat out offered his truck to dad for the rest of the season. Just like that. No money exchanged. No hidden agendas. Just a person who doesn't suck helping another. The Painter was instructed to do what he needed to do to make the truck his own.

So The Painter did. Along with his awesome crew (another group of people who don't suck) they took the truck apart, reassembled it, and made it into a Harkins racecar. On Saturday night, the Harkins truck and the ZERO Hero's made their way through the gates of a place that thought they had gotten rid of us forever. Boy were they wrong. Heads were held high and pride radiated from the hearts of many as people who don't suck triumphed over those who do.

Needless to say, Saturday was a good day not to suck.

And a bad day for those who do.

Suckas.

Warning: The Duck Pond Is Weedy

2010-07-02T01:33:00.005-05:00

I recently decided that my world would not be complete unless I become an avid fisherwoman. For some reason, baiting hooks with helpless worms and touching slimy fish just seemed like the real icing on this cake I call life. Now I've fished before; mostly when I was younger. But my skills need to be a little bit tuned, if you will. Please keep this in mind if you decide to continue reading.

So I went to the mart of walls (weird- who wants to buy walls?) and bought me a new fishing pole. (I had one before but new is always fun) And a fishing license; because apparently it's illegal to fish without one. At this time, please let it be noted that I got an IOWA fishing license BEFORE I got an Iowa drivers license. Also please note that this almost didn't happen because I don't HAVE an Iowa drivers license and I had to sweet talk the guy at the gun counter into letting me get one. I'd say this was a real victory for me.

With my new pole in hand and my license in tow, DM and I packed up the car and went down to the duck pond. Oh yes, the duck pond.

I have to admit, by about minute 27 I was getting super frustrated. As it turns out, our little duck pond has A LOT of weeds in it. So while I thought I was feeling resistance on my line, all I ended up with was a lot of wet, stringy, fish poo covered, grass. By about minute 37 I was practically up in arms because every time my line was caught in the weeds, I would loose my bait. So by minute 41 I was ready to quit and call it a day.

All of sudden, DM casts out and within seconds is reeling in a FISH! So there is hope after all! Praise Jesus there's more to this pond than just weed!

Feeling a sense of renewed spirit, I casted out. However despite my best efforts, my line only made it about a foot off the shore. Pathetic. Slightly embarrassed but mostly on the verge of irritation again, I began reeling in to cast again.

But the magic of the pond was on my side.

Because when I reeled in, I caught a fish! I huge, monster, prize winning, record setting fish.

Um... or not. Because it's actually like the size of my EAR.

What. The. Heck.

But I did catch it! Kinda. Because if I'm going to be completely honest, I don't know if the fish was ever completely hooked. I think he was more just stuck on my line because as soon as I reeled in, he flopped off my line and started movin' and a groovin' on the ground. If you would have been there- there is where you would have seen two fools chasing a fish around through the grass. A real spectacle, I tell you.

In any case, I feel it safe at this point to call myself a budding professional fisher. After all, I don't even have to hook my fish- they just come to me. Holla!

Happy Birthday To The Coolest Girl I Know: ME!

2010-06-28T23:25:00.003-05:00

Dear Emily,

You made it to 24! Way to go, kid!

How does it feel? Any different than 23?

I just want to remind you that as you get a year older, it's very important to act your age. People will really start to judge you if you don't. And you don't like people judging you- so it's just best to avoid that situation.

Now that your older, your memory is sure to start fading quickly. So I just wanted to jot down a few highlights from your 23rd year. So I present to you in list form, because I know how much you LOVE lists:

THE BEST OF THE BEST FROM THE 23rd YEAR OF YOU

1. You bought a house this year. Your very own house. And you even did this ON your birthday. So poetic, Em. So freaking poetic.

2. You went to New Orleans two times. The first with some rowdy youth directors. The second with some rowdy teens. If I remember correctly- the adults were FAR worse to manage than the kids. Lesson learned = don't take youth directors to Bourbon Street.

3. Middle School boys will always smell like onions. No matter how much deodorant or cologne they put on, they will still smell. Especially after days in a car on the way home from a trip to South Dakota.

4. You got a son! He's illegitimate and a different color that you. But you sure do love him all the same. His name is Cash but will answer to Cash Money, Money Maker, Mr. Jones, Crap Head, Money, Murphy, Outside, and Monkey. He's the light of your life, even if he is a crap factory.

5. Cash pooped in a nursing home. Because of this you have a great story to tell. Over and over and over and over and over again. But remember that it's only good if you use the "Marva" voice.

6. G-Funk left this year. It was sad but knowing that he's dancing with Jesus and Grandma makes it all sorts of awesome. What a dancing fool that man is!

7. You made a lot of REALLY good friends. Remember to thank God for them every night will yah!?

8. Mindilicious got a Facebook account and The Painter likes to stalk people on there. Life. Is. Good. in the Harkins household.

9. You got to go back to Tanzania. You found your heart again. You lost it again. You were reminded of who you are and why you love. Your soul was complete for a brief two weeks.

10. Despite all your trips and falls and scrapes and twisted ankles, you've lived to tell the tales of them. Often in blog form.

Happy Birthday, Emily Jane Harkins.

You've made it another year.

I'm proud of you.

Love,

The Older, Cooler, Better Looking YOU

Who Else?

2010-06-05T21:13:00.002-05:00

Who else could manage to come down with Strep Throat?

Four days before leaving for Africa?

Who else could manage to get Strep mixed up with Tonsillities?

And end up in the emergency room two days before leaving for Africa?

Any guess?

Right.

This girl.

Is anyone surprised? I'm really not. This is true Harkins style, really.

In any case, I'm leaving on a jet plane in the morning for some Tanzania lovin'. I'll be gone for 17 days. I'm pretty excited. My puss filled tonsils on the other hand really aren't. But they don't really have a choice in the matter. They're kinda along for the ride.

I'd love it if you would follow along with our trip at this special, awesome, wonderful, other blog I set up. Check it out. You'll love it. I promise. It will make all of your wildest dreams come true. Not even kidding.

So. Goodbye for 17 days.

Emily Out.

A Correction

2010-05-25T23:35:00.003-05:00

So The Painter called me this afternoon....

Painter: Emily. Your blog is wrong.

Me: How so?

Painter: She didn't tell me to shove a cookie up my ass.

Me: She didn't?

Painter: No. She told me to shove a cookie TRAY up my ass.

Me: Oh. Well I still don't know how to do that, either.

Painter: Give me some credit. I can figure out the cookie. The tray is more difficult.

Me: Dad. I can't talk about this right now, Dad.

Painter: Bwhahaha. Click. Silence.

Me: Dad? DAD?! DAD?!

My Dad Swears Like A Sailor But It's Really Funny So I don't Care

2010-05-24T19:26:00.005-05:00

This is a post about my father.

And the funny things that have come out of his mouth in the last few days.

Please be advised that since the words came out of The Painters mouth, this post may contain profanity. And by may- I mean guaranteed.

Last Friday I got a phone call from my dad. I answer and this is what I hear:

Me: Hello!?

Painter: How do you get a cookie up your ass?

Me: Um. Dad. Is this a bad joke?

Painter: No. How do you get a cookie up your ass?

Me: I have no idea. Why?

Painter: Because you're mother told me to shove a cookie up my ass and I don't know how to do it.

Mindilicious in the background: He's being a jerk so I told him to go shove a cookie up his ass!

Ah. So this is what love looks like! Thanks los padres for that shining example.

Next...

I am somewhat ashamed yet slightly proud to announce that Cash has facebook. Yes. My dog, the beast, has facebook. So Cash was on facebook a bit ago and so was his Grandma, Mindilicious. So it was only right for Cash to say hello to his Grandma. His momma didn't raise no fool!

This was the conversation:

Cash: Hi Grandma!

Mindilicious: Ruf Ruf

Cash: How are you?

Mindilicios: Don't tell your mom this is Grandpa

...... switch to actual characters.....

Me: Bwhahaha! Dad- get your own damn facebook.

Painter: NO I like stalking better

Me: Bwhahaha! Oh Dad.

Thanks for your honesty, Dad.

Your secret is safe with me.

Clearly....

I Don't Hug Trees But This Story Makes Me Want To, Kinda

2010-05-20T22:46:00.004-05:00

I was in Colorado a few weeks ago.
And it was good.
Except for when I had to go get emissions done on my car.
And when I caught Cash practicing to take his one-dog singing show on the road. I was all sorts of honked because he knows we're supposed to be a duo.

See The Rado has this thing where they think they need to protect the environment and regulate the gas that comes out of the rear ends of cars. I think they just like hugging trees and use this as a way to distract from their bark lovin' antics. In my humble opinion.

Anyway, I wasn't what you would call very excited about spending an hour or so at a shed that collects and tests gas. If I wanted to surround myself with gas, I'd sleep in a room with middle school boys at a lock-in. But let's be honest, that would be a lot bit inappropriate and just totally disgusting. So I just don't do it.

But I had to go get tested.
The car I mean.

Here's how this process goes:

So you drive up, and wait in line. Then a grungy woman with a snaggle tooth, frizzy greying hair, fingerless gloves, and a fanny pack comes up to your car and kicks you out. She points you in the direction of a waiting booth. There you must sit in cracked plastic chairs and share stories with the spiders that make their home in the corner. There is glass on either side of the booth so you can watch as the car is going through the gas collection process. While you are in this booth of waiting, you can either sit or watch.

And watch I did.

I watched as fanny pack lady drove three different cars into the booth before mine.
I watched as fanny pack lady messed with every single cars radio dials.
I watched as fanny pack lady draped herself over the steering wheel and hung her fingerless gloved hand out the window.
I watched to see what trick she might pull with my beloved car.

So I watched.
Glaring at her from behind the glass.
And she knew it.
So she didn't do anything except keep a beat on the steering wheel.
Apparently she likes The Beatles.
This went on for nearly 5 minutes.

And then it happened.

Like something out of a movie, where everything turns into slow motion.

Snaggle tooth turned to me.
Looked me right in the eyes.
Raised her fingerless gloved hands.
And give me without a doubt, the largest, double handed, thumbs up I have ever seen.
I am here to tell you that this thumbs up was epic. Her whole arm shook. Even the lose skin under her arm was alive and well; moving at the opportunity to inform me that my car had passed my emissions test.

But then I happened.
From somewhere deep inside me, I felt it.
An urge.
To return the gesture.
And so I did.
With double thumbs, cheesy grin, and wildly shaking head.

In that moment, Grungy Snaggle Frizzing woman and I were united. Like two kindred spirits together at last. If I could sing harmony, I would have. That's how good it felt.

But we're not finished yet...

While I could have basked in the moment with my fanny pack wearing friend for eons, I broke our connection to invite another in. After sharing bliss, I turned to Minidilicous who was carrying on a conversation with no one, quite frankly, and gave her the double thumbs up, too.

But she wasn't excited.
In fact she just look puzzled.
And maybe even a little bit embarrassed.
But mostly puzzled.
But still embarrassed.

So instead of reciprocating, she just laughed at me. And then left me in the room of waiting. But I wasn't alone. Because I will always have that moment. Where thumbs and fanny packs united. Where snaggle tooth and frizz worked together in unity. A memory of a time where gas bred life into a new friendship. At the emissions building where I found her. Testing for gas. With her fanny pack. I will never be alone.

I think I shall go hug a tree now.
It only seems right.

King Day

2010-05-11T10:19:00.006-05:00

Hey Dad,

It's really too bad that every year your birthday gets overshadowed by Mothers Day. A real downer, I tell yah. But luckily because I'm the best daughter ever, I didn't get you anything for your birthday either. So really, Mothers Day and your birthday are just like any other day this year. No need to thank me. I just do what I can to make your life a little better.

On your birthday I think it wise to reflect on some of my fonder memories of you, Papa.

Remember when I was little and we used to play tickle? Now that I'm older I realize that you really didn't play very fairly. Not nice, Dad.

Red light. Green light. Remember that? You NEVER stopped at the red light. Not that that is very surprising, you rarely stop at them when you're driving- so why would this be any different? Anyway. We'd play and when I would say 'Red Light' you were supposed to stop tickling me. SUPPOSED TO STOP. Remember how you never did and this got so bad that we had to come up with a special, "stop right now or I'm going to pee my pants" word? As I think about it, that usually didn't work either. You big jerk!

But my favorite part by far about playing tickle was when, though rare, I would get a good one on you and get your arm pit. You giggle Dad. Yes. GIGGLE. And then get mad because I got you. Sucka!

Oh those were the days.

Though I also really liked the times I got to spend with you in the race shop. I'll always remember coloring-in the 'Goodyear' on your week old tires so they looked new for the next week. You a sneaky (and thrifty) man, Painter. And you let me get on the crawler and hang out under the racecar with you. That was fun. And I'm pretty sure that I was the only 9 year old that had mad skills with an air gun to change lug-nuts. I also rocket the rivet gun when you hung the body on the chassis. Clearly these are invaluable life skills that will carry me far into my future. Always thinking about me Dad.

And then there's that whole crying thing, father. "Oh my eyes hurt and I need to readjust my eyebrows. No of course I'm not crying over that commercial I just saw on the TV." Yeah right, Dad. Don't even pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm onto you. (You're probably crying right now reading this- don't lie.) I think it's cute. And so does Mindilicious. So embrace it, yo!

Also, let's clear something up here. You know those times you've called me only to say to me when I answer, "Why'd you call me?" Dad. I didn't call you. If you miss me, it's okay to call. You don't have to blame it on me. I miss you, too.

But in reality Painter, today is a celebration for me. Because it means that my wonderful, non rule following, racecar driving, can fix anything, cries at everything, Daddy has been in my life for another wonderful year. And I can only imagine that this will be the case for a while. Luckily. So Dad, today I want you to know that I love you. That you are in fact 'effing joyce' and 'the man.'

Happy Birthday, Old Man. Maybe next year I'll buy you a new racecar.

But to be completely honest, I wouldn't hold your breath.

I Didn't Get My Mom Anything For Mothers Day But I Planned To Blog All Along

2010-05-10T10:50:00.008-05:00

I was going to buy Mindilicious tickets to Champions on Ice for Mothers Day because I know that she longs to see Even Lysacek in tight fitting pants. But then I didn't. For one, because I don't think that The Painter would have been too fond of good ol' Mindilicious checking out the Olympic goods. But also because the seats that would have been good enough to actually see the goods were ridiculously expensive. And I'm somewhat of a slacker and just didn't do it.

Sorry about that Mindilicious.
If you want me to make it up to you, I'll put on some tights and skate around for you. But it won't be graceful and my goods aren't anything to be oogled.

But I'll do it.
Because I love you.
And you're my mom.

But since I didn't get you anything for Mothers Day, I offer this post to you instead...

The Top Ten Reasons

My Mom is Better Than Yours:

(But I like your Mom, too)

10. She makes me eat Mandarin Oranges when I'm sick. And those are just delicious. And she makes the best grilled cheese. And toast. I think it has something to do with the amount of butter she puts on them. My stomach and my thighs appreciate it.

9. She's on facebook. Is old(ish). And refuses to use those silly acronyms like, "LOL" or "LMFAO." She's a classy facebooker.

8. When I didn't get her anything for Mothers Day, she was happy with a phone call. I think. And if not, she puts on a pretty good show.

7. She has really funny facial expressions and giggles at herself.

6. When she's mad she makes "The Lips."

5. When she's mad and making, "The Lips," I point it out and she laughes. And then forgets why she is mad at me. Works like a charm, every time.

4. She puts up with The Painter being a 'Sunday Jerk,' not just on Sundays.
(I'm talking to you Dad...)

3. She's always right. Even about clothes that I don't think will look good.
She's. Always. Right.
(As a side note- when does the shift happen and I become my mother?)

2. She doesn't know lyrics to ANY songs.

But she can sure hum like a champ.

1. She birthed this little bundle of joy. Luckily for her I wasn't this big when I came out. Though that would have been impressive. Like a special visit to your house from Oprah, impressive.

Mom. I love you long time.
To the moon and back.
THIS MUCH.

Also, I found my Bin hinding in the cupboard in my old room. I took it. And am now sleeping with it. It smells like you.

The End

2010-05-01T01:47:00.003-05:00

So I didn't blog everyday during the month of April. But I was pretty dang close. To celebrate I rewarded myself with Chipotle.

Okay to be fair- the two actually had nothing to do with each other.

But look how dang happy I am for my favorite burrito goodness.

It would be mean for me not to share this with you.

Heaven.

Hurray for me.

This Really Shouldn't Surprise Anyone

2010-04-29T22:51:00.005-05:00

This story really shouldn't surprise anyone. At least not if you've ever been around me for more than 4 minutes.

Today I went to Subway. Because I am a self admitted Subway addict. Like I walk into the store and they start making my sandwich before I even approach the counter. I've got them well-trained. But today I went to a different Subway so this didn't happen. Made me a little sad, but I got over it as soon as that Teriyaki Chicken goodness hit my nostrils. Y.U.M.

Anyway, because it wasn't my normal Subway, I felt a sort of obligation to make small talk with the young fellas behind the counter. This is where there story turns into a typical Harkins story. Let's see how this plays out in dialogue form:

E: This will be my part of the story.

SG: This will be the Subway Guys portion.

Now that we are clear, let's begin.

SG: Evening Ma'am. What can we get started for you?

E: Chicken Teriyaki. Wheat bread. American Cheese. Microwaved.

... awkward silence as I wait for the microwave to beep ...

E: So are you guys in High School?

SG: No, I dropped out.

Other SG: Me, too.

E: Oh good. Sorry I asked...

... another awkward silence ...

SG: Are you still in High School? (Okay. Apparently I look 17. Because a month or so ago I was ID's to get into an R rated movie, too. This just pisses me off. I'm almost 24 dammit.)

E: ..... Um. No. I haven't been in High School for about 7 years.

SG: Oh.... (trails off)

... silence and veggi toppings ...

E: Well thank you. I hope your night continues to be not busy.

SG: Thanks. Enjoy your sandwich.

E: Great. I'm sure I'll see you again soon.... As I seriously TRIP out the door.

Yep. I TRIP out the door as I'm saying goodbye. I highly doubt that they will forget me if they do get to see me again. Because I'm the one who acted eager for our next sandwich encounter and then FELL OUT of the door.

For the love of all things holy, why me?!

I'm just a hot mess.

Humph.

don't even think about eating this or you will turn into a chicken and then die

2010-04-27T00:38:00.005-05:00

How do you feel about this?

Because I just feel clogged.

Do we like this because we're trying to be carb conscious? Because I have news, Colonel: It looks a little bit breaded to me. And by a little bit breaded, I mean you might was well have a loaf on Wonder Bread camping out next to those breasts. (Oh la la) So if low-carb is what we're going for- I'm pretty sure that you're nowhere even in the neighborhood. Not even in the right zip code to be honest.

Or maybe we're just looking for a more socially acceptable way to shove two full chicken breasts in our mouths at one time and not be judged. This seems more likely. In any case, I loath the fact that thrown between two breasts of the chicken on this wonder bird sandwich, is several pieces of bacon and cheese. Apparently we need more assistance on our way toward Heart-attack Ville and ahem regularity.

Sweet Jesus. Don't anyone eat this. Yes, I'm talking to you R. I know you like chicken in every plausible form and have strange eating habits. But you're better than this. These are two breasts you want nothing to do with. Wait, what?

Pooped

2010-04-26T00:07:00.004-05:00

Additionally, this is what a 10 month old black lab looks like after a 4 mile walk/jog.

Too tired to hold his own head up.

Too tired to wag his tail when you say his name.

Too tired to get up for the treat sitting a foot away from him.

I present to you: Pooped.

But not 43lbs worth....

Though he did poop in the road.

I'd avoid the street just South of the Green Bridge for a few days...

Who said that, what?

Silent Sunday

2010-04-25T22:20:00.005-05:00

Sometimes the best things in life don't involve words at all.

Like a delicious pancake.

Or the sound of laughter.

Or a beautiful picture.

Compliments of The Guy Who Rents a Room From Me: Moon Apple

Happy Silent Sunday

How To Go On A Safari (And Live To Tell About It)

2010-04-24T23:40:00.009-05:00

In 5 Sunday's from now I will be on a plane heading to Tanzania. While there, we are going to go on a bit of a safari. Because honestly, you can't travel halfway around the world to the land of elephants and zebras and not go hang out in the wild. That would just be so ridiculous- it should be illegal. So I decided to put together a bit of a "How To" guide:

How To Go On A Safari:

1. Load awkward van/bus/truck thing. It's only kinda safe. Focus on the animals and it won't bother you for too long. (I kid, I kid.)

2. Hang out the window like a fool so you can look at a handful of elephant butts. If you hang out far enough, you might catch a trunk at some point. But you will learn to become a butt person and people might think you're weird because you have so many butt pictures.

3. Approach sleeping lions with care. Or don't.

4. Don't throw rocks at the sleeping lions. Or do.

5. Prepare to run when lion has gotten sufficiently pissed off.

(I have no picture to share for this one since we heeded the warning of this tip)

6. Don't let old people out of the van/bus/truck thing. Even if they have done it before. And want to show you where they got stuck one night ten years ago. Resist the temptation. Assume senility has set in.

7. Don't trust the monkeys. They're sly. And have large teeth. And they bark. And steal cookies. They're not snuggley like one might hope. Think: beast.

8. Stop and realize that it really is like the Disney Movies. Complete with James Earl Jones voice radiating from the sky. Trust me. I thought it was weird, too.

9. Unless you have four legs and a tail, observe the watering hole from a distance. You won't fit in and the other animals will look at you strange. And then start rumors about you via text message.

10. Snakes are scary. Even when they are in a glass box. Devils.

And there you have it. How to go on a safari. And live to tell the tale about it. Good thing I get to do this again. Maybe this time I won't be so lucky. I plan on throwing more rocks. Just so you know. (Sorry Mindilicious)

Because You Want To Know About My Aching Body

2010-04-23T23:48:00.004-05:00

I can't decide which hurts worse. My throbbing arm or my aching shins.

Either way- both are in preparation for what lies ahead.

And by that I mean that as of this moment, only 43 days separate me from the land I love.

The arm because it played host to an injection to protect me from the blood suckers of Eastern Africa. And the shins because I've been brushing up on my running skills so that I can successfully run from a cheetah if need be. Actually, I'm just shooting for being able to run faster than the slowest person in the group. How's that for brutal honesty and pure brilliance?

However you look at it, I'ma achin'.

But dang it feels good.

It's Awkward When You Sing It. I Promise.

2010-04-22T00:40:00.006-05:00

Several years ago my sister, DG and I were driving up to watch The Painter race. It was a Saturday. And we were listening to the radio as we merged into the traffic on one of D-Towns busiest highways.(I-25, represent!) I don't know what station we were listening to, but the announcers were ridiculously lame. Like reading their jokes from one of those joke books you purchase at the book fair in third grade, lame.

As we listened to their complete incompetence (I just spelled incompetence incorrectly the first time. Like the kettle calling the teapot black, right there.) and waste of airwaves, we heard it. The best song ever.

Coincidentally it happened to be Earth Day, that lucky Saturday. And our toolish announcers decided to bless our bleeding ears with a little tune they themselves had created in honor of this national treasure of a holiday. I don't actually think they had ever sung through the song- but more just came up with it on the fly. Because if they had- they would have known this foolish outcome. It goes to the tune of, "Happy Birthday."

Trust me, please. As you read they lyrics, make sure to sing along. I promise it will be awesomely and awkwardly worth it. Here are they words: (Imagine a real hispanic and choppy feel to this ditty as you sing it. Like really emphasize all of your syllables and beats. )

"Happy Earth. Day. to You.

Happy Earth. Day. to You.

Happy Earth. Day. Mother. Earth. ... Earth.

Happy Earth. Day. to. You."

All was going real well until that third line. When all of sudden there was another syllable that just snuck right in there. So what do you- throw another Earth in! They kinda paused for a minute as they realized there was still another beat to fill. In that moment, I'm pretty sure that their jobs were in jeopardy. Because let's be honest- there is no place on this Earth Earth for people who neglect syllables. So to this day, I still sing this song to my lovely sister DG every blooming chance I get.

(Look at these little beauties growing in front of la casa de emilie. Green. Thumb.)

So people of the world, Happy Earth Earth Day. Go recycle something. Or don't. I don't really care.

I am in AWE

2010-04-21T23:18:00.007-05:00

It is rare for me to stop. It is a struggle for me to slow down. It is hard for me not to be in control. When I lose control of things in my life, I feel nothing short of lost. I feel as is everything in my world is slowly falling down around me and that nothing could support my crumbling. (Mindilicious- best not to get your socks in a knot right about now. I'm just fine. This is just a general statement. Nothing has shattered m life as of late. Expect that the last two minutes of Glee didn't record on my DVR. Glad we got that cleared up.)

Even admitting this is hard for me. It forces me to stop long enough to look at a weakness. But here I am, stopping, and acknowledging that I struggle. That I am not always in charge of what is happening in my life. This is me admitting that I can't do it all.

But I know who can.

God is good; all the time. And all the time; God is good. Tonight we had our monthly AWE service. Often times I will use a NOOMA video (if you haven't heard of these- look them up as quickly as you can. Your life will never be the same) as the message and then share some of my own thoughts at the end of it. The message in the video was about how God meets us in the struggles of our lives. That when we are at our lowest, He is there. And to Him, those are His favorite times with us. Not because he rejoiced in our sadness, but because we realize our necessity for Him. This whole promise makes my heart just sing. I love knowing that my God is with me all the time. (If it were anyone else- I'd probably think they were a total creeper. Unless it were Mindilicious. Then I'd just be giddy.)

As I was giving my little message after the video, I referenced the "Footsteps"poem. I was all ready to paraphrase it, because no way in Hades did I have it anywhere near memorized, when one of my more unexpected Wee Ones pipes up and says, "I can recite that poem right now. Verbatim. From memory." Slightly surprised but a little bit curious, I encouraged him to share it with us. To be honest, I figured he might get a few lines into it and then just say something like... "you get the idea," or "yada yada," because that is honestly what I would have done.

But no.

He recited it. Verbatim. From memory.

And it was beautiful. He was beautiful. The light of God that was shining from him in that moment was beautiful. He was so open, sharing of himself, allowing his vulnerability to show to everyone who was there. All I could do was stand there and smile, as the tears started to well in my eyes and the goosebumps adorned by body. It was so unexpected and from such an unexpected source. I was truly in AWE. What a blessed gift the wee one was tonight. To me. To his peers.

As I stood there- I was boldly reminded just how awesome God is. That in my weakness, He is strong. Like the gift of an unexpected wee one showing some poem love, it is when we open ourselves and show our vulnerability that we truly meet God. If my struggles are my strongest connection to him, then boy howdy, I am here to admit my weakness.

Thank you for the example you set tonight, Young Poem Boy.

I love you. (There's the whorish love thing again. But I really really really mean it right about now.)

Look how awesome you are in a hair net, Wee One. A true little blessing from God.

Amen.

On Being a Love Whore

2010-04-20T23:18:00.006-05:00

(I've been sitting here, looking at this blank screen, wishing that this blog post would write itself for about 40 minutes. But unfortunately my powers have run out and I no longer can produce something from nothing.)

After much debate, I have settled on a post about being a, "Love Whore." Trust me when I tell you that this decision was not settled into lightly. Seriously. I thought about blogging about how elated I am that Kate is no longer on Dancing With the Stars. And I thought about blogging about a YouTube video that some kids at my teaching gig the other day showed me, (that probably would have made the cake, except that I couldn't embed the video). And I even thought about writing about the frequency in which I change my nail polish color. But none of these options seemed very... viable.

So instead you get a post about my whorish antics when it comes to love.

At this point I think it is important to assure you that these whorish antics have nothing to do with the "Secs". But just love. And how I love to love. Like Jesus love. Or sister love. Or brother love. Or kid love. Or flip flop love. In the words of Lady Gaga, "Love Love Love!" (even though Lady G is like super crazy, I like this little phrase in her crazy lady tune.)

But it is true. I love to love. I tell everyone I know that I love them. Because I do. I really, really do. I feel it is what God has created me for. To just love. And boy am I good at it.

Mom on the phone. I love you.

Middle school boy that smells like an onion. I love you.

Dog who just ate my tulip. I love you.

Roommate that wont share his cookie. I love you.

Jerk on my machine at the gym. I love you.

Sometimes I wonder why it is that I am like this; if my whorishness takes away from the meaning of love. But then I realize that I am who I am, and I whore my love out because I know how good it feels to be loved; Mindilicious and the Painter did a mighty fine job of this. I can't imagine being a person who doesn't hear that they are loved on a regular basis. So I make it my mission to let everyone I know that they are special, and worthy of love.

So blog world. I love you.

Creeper in the corner who never comments. I love you.

Unidentified person who did a google search for "whore" and ended up here. I love you, too.(Even though I honestly am judging you a little)

And now you know. You're welcome.

My Dog Is a Creeper

2010-04-19T23:22:00.010-05:00

Have you ever heard the saying, "Only a face a mother could love?"

I feel like it applies directly to this picture.

Because my dog looks like he has been doped up.

And is a squinty-eyed pervert.

And if he had long enough legs and thumbs, he'd drive a white stalker van.

With lots of candy inside of it.

And he watches you with those squinty eyes when you get dressed in the morning.

And when you sleep.

Because that's what squinty-eyed pervert looking dogs do.

Oh and his white van would have curtains.

Musty velvet curtains.

But boy, am I a proud proud mama.

I love him long time.

On Being an Iowan

2010-04-18T22:12:00.013-05:00

I still have a Colorado drivers license. Yes. I admit it. And recognize that it is in fact rather pathetic. I mean- never mind the fact that I have lived in Iowa for the last SIX years and am coming up on a year of home ownership in WavTown, USA. I'm still a Colorado gal, right?

No. Not really. At heart, always. But in present, not so much.

This is hard for me to swallow. I don't know why. I love Iowa. I love living here. And at this point in my life, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Not to mention that I like saying "Iowan" much better than "Coloradoan," because you just sound stupid saying "Coloradoan," like you can't pronounce your consonants correctly. It just doesn't roll out quiet as lovely. But there is something about giving up my Colorado license that makes it so... permanent. (I would however like to take a new picture because the one on my CO license isn't necessarily as bangin' as it could be.) The permanence of it all is what makes me get my socks in a knot. That and that I wont be the cool kid at the bar anymore with the out of state license. That always just adds a little bit of mystery to this foxy lady.

But I am making strides, I tell yah.

This last August I went to my first Tractor Pull. Then the same weekend, I went to my first barn dance (that wasn't actually in a barn because it was on a concrete slab in the middle of the park. Awkward.). And then I topped it off with a corn feed. I have never felt a stronger kinship with rednecks all around the world then I did that weekend. I was even half tempted to buy a pair of cowboy boots just so people wouldn't look at me weird when I showed up in my flip-flops. (My friend KC showed up in heels- so I didn't feel so bad) That weekend, I danced with the townies, got excited about mud tracks, and picked corn out of my teeth with a plastic knife. In my mind, I had become Iowa.

Just when I thought I had really arrived as an Iowan, I was presented with the opportunity to pick rock. Yes. Rock. In a bean field. On a farm. In the middle of Iowa. With tractors, work gloves, and pitch forks.

See, where I come from- we don't pick rock. We leave it where it's at. It's called mountains. Generally don't you pick things that are growing? Like flowers, or weeds, or wedgies. Because the last time I checked, rocks are rather, let's say... sedentary?

But we picked it. And we dumped it. And I actually LOVED it. It was good work. I felt like I was really DOING something. I felt mighty. I got dirty. I felt Iowan. Oh, and I rode in a tractor and ate a soy bean I found on the ground. Pretty sure that's the icing on my redneck Iowa lovin' cake.

Look at my dirty face. I wasn't even upset. I just felt burly.

I'm changing my license this week.

Lord help the corn lovin' folk of the this world, Ima comin'.

On Being Quiet

2010-04-16T22:19:00.003-05:00

I'm learning that sometimes the hardest things in life come in the form of saying nothing at all. That sometimes you just want to open your yap and let the world know what you think. Or what you feel. Or what you know. Or what you want. But the right thing, and the hardest thing to do, is to just be quiet.

For the record, I'm real bad at being quiet.
Real, real bad.

I even talk in my sleep. Now that's sayin' something. Literally.

You Can Judge, I'll Allow It

2010-04-15T23:45:00.005-05:00

Sometimes I wonder how certain people become parents. Not the process by which it happens, I understand that very clearly (bow-chica-wah-wah), but why the world lets some people reproduce.

While Mindilicious and The Painter did a pretty good job with one Emily Jane, my upbringing wasn't without a few fumbles along the way. For instance, there was the time I stuck a key in a light socket and blew out the power in our house and on our street, or the time I ran my mom's car into the bush in the front of our house. And let's not forget the time I called the psychic network and wracked up a couple hundred dollar bill by asking questions about the boys in my sixth grade class. So clearly, it's not like we're looking for perfection here. More just a hint of competency.

This to me is not what you would call 'able parenting.' Your kid ended up in one of the quarter sucking claw machines. How does that happen? I will allow you to pass your own judgements on this one. Not much commentary is needed for this doozie. I will add this thought however- that when the wonder boy's mother was asked about the predicament, she said and I quote, "He look(ed) so cute inside the machine waving back. He was our prize waiting to be plucked to safety."

Yes. Your 2 year old in the claw machine was a prize waiting to be plucked. Brilliant. Or maybe your child waving from the machine was his way of indicating that he was running low on his air supply? Better yet though, let's videotape the whole ordeal and post in on YouTube. This could be the next Balloon Boy. We'll call him The Claw Kid.

Why world. Why?

Shenanigans from the Beast

2010-04-14T23:51:00.004-05:00

I don't know if we started out on the right foot this morning, Cash and I. If we had, I don't think he would be sleeping in his kennel right now.

Here's what you need to know:

If I am certain of anything, it is that I am not a morning person. If I had the option, I will sleep until the Lord returns. Sadly for me though, Cash has settled into a routine that involves a 6:30 wake-up call that I have had to follow. Without fail, 6:30 every morning, my little bundle of joy has to go to the bathroom. He wines, he jumps up on the side of my bed, puts his paws across my chest and nuzzles into my bosom. As I write this process out, it seems more endearing than it is. I assure you that at 6:30 in the morning, it is nothing less than painfully irritating.

Like clockwork, I pull myself out of blissful slumber and stumble to the back door, where I then attach him to his leash (sometimes I don't have pants on when this happens so it's a real balancing act to put the leash on while still keeping my bum inside the house and not exposed to the neighbors) and wait for him to sprint back up to the door once he has finished his busi-nass. And I assure you- he sprints, because what comes next is far better than the urine that just made an appearance. Oh yes. At 6:30 in the morning, I feed the beast. While Cash is mauling his food with the force of a Chinese army, I crawl back into bed and wait for him to come join me again.

This is what we do. Every morning. Without fail. On the rare but blessed occasion I have been able to trick him into waiting a little bit longer. This generally involves me laying VERY still and pretending to be asleep. One little move of the pinky will set him into motion. At this point, there is no recovery. If and when this happens, I have no hesitation chalking the day up to a victory! But this is rare, and Cash usually wins.

On a different but related note, (trust me- this will all make sense later) Cash knows some tricks. Not many, so don't get your pants in a hot mess, but a few. One of these is laying down, staying, and not moving until he is called. (Sounds like my father, no Mindilicious?) *If there is a new person around him- there is no chance in hell this will happen. Often while R and I are on our walks with the beast, we will practice this trick. R will hold Cash's leash and I will walk ahead. Once Cash has laid down and showed us that he is ready, R will release the leash, and I will call him. Generally this is a good idea. Generally.

Keeping in mind what you now know, and remembering that Cash is locked in the pen, here is the rest of the story:

This morning, I was running late-ish. I had to be to work by 7:00 for some high school and pancake lovin'. Because I was so tired, I was able to make it to 6:45 this morning with the beast. But that was only because I had this new obnoxious squeaky toy (thanks for that mom) that was occupying him. I should have just gotten up because the squeak was keeping me up anyway. Knowing that I was going to have to make Cash's routine choppy since I had to leave for work, I wanted to put my socks and shoes on before I left my room so I could just let him out and back in, put him right into his kennel, and then head out the door. Really good idea, I thought. Except that I was not dressing my feet quickly enough for Cash's liking. As I was putting my right shoe on, Cash just let go right there. In the middle of my bedroom, he cranked the fire-hose on. I was able to nudge him enough to make him stop and got him outside, but the damage was done. He had left his mark on my extra 15 minutes of bed time.

Then this evening, while on a walk with Mr. R we decided (I decided) to practice his trick with him. Cash laid down, R kept him focused, and I walked ahead. When I called him, Cash came barreling at me with the force of a pirate ninja and flat knocked me on my bum. I tripped over my right ankle, rolled it a bit, and then hit the pavement. You can imagine R's shock when one moment he was looking at me upright, and the next on the ground. I do love a good tradition, and that's what my falling has seem to have become! The little monster apparently does now know his own speed or strength. But boy, I do. He's a strong little motha! After a few choice words that came flying out of my mouth, I got back up, walked the rest of the way home, and am now pouring on the Icy Hot like it's going out of style. Which it is. The 80's called, they want their heat tube back...

Needless to say between his urine escapades and his bulldozing attacks, Cash and I are not on the right foot. (Actually I'm not at all on the Right. It's currently being iced and elevated!) So Mr. Cash is locked in the pen. Or at least he's in there until I can hobble out of bed to let him out. Which will probably be soon. Because he's crying. And I'm a sucker for a good lookin' pooch.

But at least I tried to discipline, right? Here's to hoping an hour in lock-up will make him realize the error of his ways. If nothing else, I'll hide the damn squeaky toy. That'll really show him!

Lessons From Crowns of the Casting

2010-04-13T23:46:00.005-05:00

Tonight I was a groupie! Like a total, "I'm with the band. We're in an exclusive 'Jesus lovin' club" kinda groupie. There wasn't any sex, drugs, or rock-n-roll (Mindilicious is now wiping her brow with ease) but there was some serious ministry love going on. It all happened because I was fortunate enough to make an appearance at the Casting Crowns concert tonight. While there, I had the opportunity to join a few of the band-mates for a little pep-talk time. Why? While I would like to think it was because of my jaw-dropping good looks, it was because I am a Youth Director.

During this time, this is what I was reminded of:

I am a Youth Director.

I hang out with kids, many of which smell like wild onions.

My wardrobe consists of many t-shirts and jeans.

I struggle to understand kids.

And then on the other hand know them all too well.

I often make a fool out of myself, usually resulting in a good laugh for others.

I get serious only when needed.

I have many names for God, some of which are no where listed in the Bible.

I love unconditionally; even to those who don't want it or deserve it.

I do because it is what Jesus does.

I love because that's who Jesus is.

I realize daily that God does not use me because I am capable.

But God uses me because He wanted to bring me along for the ride.

To see.

To share.

To love.

To experience.

To understand.

In my imperfections lay God's sufficiencies.

In my brokenness, He shows me wholeness.

I am a Youth Director.

A relational minister.

A warrior of the Youth Room and donated couches.

A lover of smelly young bucks and lost socks.

An extension of Christ.

A groupie for Jesus.

Dang it feels good to be a gangsta!

The Return: Melodic Monday

2010-04-12T23:34:00.003-05:00

Remember when we used to post a song every Monday?

Those were the good ol' days, I tell yah.

But then it just got hard.

Hard to find the time to do it.

Hard to find a song that we liked.

Hard on everyones ears.

So we stopped.

But today, we're back.

And with a real classic I might add.

What self respecting 23 and 24 year old doesn't love this little melodic masterpiece? Because I know for a fact that 40some little tikes at The Deemer love it long time. In fact, they love it SO much, we're going to sing it in church in a few weeks! Complete with animal actions and everything. (You should see the parents that stand around on Sunday mornings during music time and encourage the kiddos to do the actions by modeling them. A bunch of awesome fools, for sure.)

Honestly, who doesn't get giddy over a song about elephants, crocodiles, and fuzzy wuzzy bears. Don't answer that. Because if your answer is no, you have no heart and I will be forced to judge you. And I don't want to do that. Because it makes me feel bad. And I can't afford to feel bad. Because when I do, I want chocolate. And chocolate is totally counter productive. And currently not in my house. Which would mean I'd have to go to the gas station. And to be honest, I just don't feel like putting on my shoes to go there. Wait. What? I do need gas though...

Moving on.

The only way that I would like this song more is if the butterflies were made of ~~chocolate~~ money. Without further ado...

The Return of Melodic Monday: THE BUTTERFLY SONG

The Butterfly Song from Emily Harkins on Vimeo.

Might As Well Be 40

2010-04-11T22:01:00.005-05:00

Meaghan, Megs, MegHag, Dirty Pirate Hooker,

Today is your birthday. You're 24. Congratulations on making it this far. There's been some questionable activity that may have led me to believe this day would never come. But like always, you have surprised me yet again. I like a good surprise. And I like you. So that works out really well.

As your friend I feel a certain obligation to tell you that while today you are 24, you're actually 40. Because let's be honest, friend. There is nothing special about 24. So if you're 24 you might as well just be 25. And if you're 25- it's just a short hop to 30. And at 30, what's another 10? So Megs, 40 it is! Damn, you look good, girl!

Life with you my friend is nothing short of interesting. You have the mouth of a sailor and the intelligence of a google search. Mindilicious fondly refers to you as Crazy Meaghan and your energy is matched by only that of a certain black lab I know or second grader with ADHD. You're beautiful, confident, and loud. When you walk in a room, people notice. This might have something to do with the profanity that comes streaming out of your mouth or the animal noises that you have perfected and love to share with the world. I have to admit though- the combination of words you produce is nothing less than impressive. I would never think to put a certain body part and tool together is such a way. I know your parents are proud.

If I were to pick one moment that stands out as most important to our relationship, I don't think I could pick just one. Every moment with you Megs is important. I do have some favorites though. The night we heard a knock on the door at 1am to be greeted by 2 of WavTown's finest is a top 5 for sure. I don't think I've ever told you- but I really appreciated the opportunity to pick you up at 4 in the morning. Thanks for letting me do that. I'd also like to say, "thank you!" for not letting me die that one night. I was really lost without my pants. Vegas, Tila Tequilla, Our Soup, Grey's Anatomy, and The Foot are among some of my other more cherished memories. And maggots. We can't forget the maggots.

Meaghan- I hope that this next year is nothing less than fabulous. You are an amazing woman and I truly believe that I will never stop learning from you. More than many, you push me out of my comfort zones and encourage me to be a better person. I am blessed beyond belief that you are my friend. I can't wait for our next adventure; even if it does end up with you in jail and me without pants.

I love you.

Happy Birthday.

The Painter: Round 29

2010-04-10T07:50:00.009-05:00

My father is a racecar driver.

Always has been, always will be.

Now I'm not talking about someone who just jumps in a car and drives around in circles. No. This man, my father The Painter, is a balls to wall, pedal to the metal kinda guy.

Today marks the beginning of his 29th year of racing at Colorado National Speedway. For me, today marks the beginning of my 23rd year of watching mi padre race. Now that is dedication; to sit there and just watch. To not get the thrill of driving. But just to watch. It's actually quite selfish of you, Dad. But I do it, because I love.

Several years ago I was watching a NASCAR race on TV and they were doing a pre-race segment about the different drivers and their rituals before each race. When they got to Dale Earnhardt, they showed the inside of his car. Taped to the dashboard-ish area, was a bible verse. Every week, his wife would pick a different verse and put it in there. Dale then told us that as he would sit before every race, he would read the verse, asking God to protect his race journey.

After seeing this, I started doing the same for my father. So when I still lived in Colorado, I would do this for my father every week. When I moved away we switched to a seasonal verse and note.

This is the note for my father this year:
Good luck, Dad. No one drives a better car than you (partially because you're old and experienced. But mostly just because you're old) and clearly no one looks better the mirrored sunglasses than you.

Love! Love! Love!

Because I'm Sitting In Class and They're Playing Silent Ball

2010-04-09T10:06:00.003-05:00

Today I am a teacher. And because I am such a fine educator, the kiddos are playing Silent Ball and I am filling out a survey. I love Fridays.

1. Where were you 3 hours ago?

Snuggling with the crap factory.

2. Who are you in love with?

Jake Pavelka and Jesus. Both J names. I think it works out well.

3. Have you ever eaten a crayon?

I don't want to talk about it...

4. Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

My nails. Thanks Mindilicious for that fine Easter Basket addition.

5. When is the last time you went to the mall?

Last week! I bought these awesome little kicks!

6. Are you wearing socks right now?

You clearly don't know me well if you have to ask this. Once the snow is gone, so are my closed toed shoes.

7. Do you have a car worth over $2,000?

Yep! My SUV and I ride in style.

8. When was the last time you drove out of town?

This morning. I passed a cop. Because I was speeding. But I smiled at him so I didn't get a ticket.

9. Have you been to the movies in the last 5 days?

That's a big negativo, Batman.

10. Are you hot?

Clearly. Even the birds whistled at me this morning. Smart, smart birds.

11. What was the last thing you had to drink?

Water. In a Nalgene that REALLY needs to be washed.

12. What are you wearing right now?

Nothing. Wait. What? (Kakis and a great shirt.)

13. Do you wash your car or let the car wash do it?

Yesterday I had the car wash do it, and I was sadly disappointed.

14. Last food that you ate?

Blueberry Pancakes. Made em' on the my griddle. They were prefect!

15. Where were you last week at this time?

Sleeping. Because it is one of my best life skills.

16. Have you bought any clothing items in the last week?

Yep! Actually to be fair, Mindilicious bought them. Love her!

17. When is the last time you ran?

Yesterday.

18. What's the last sporting event you watched?

The Sweet 16 game for UNI and Michigan State!

19. What is your favorite animal?

A giraffe. For some reason I feel a real sense of camaraderie. Even though I'm not tall and don't have spots.

20. Your dream vacation?

Hawaii. Beach house. Good company.

21. Last person's house you were in?

Other than my own, La Casa de Allison y Dale.

22. Worst injury you've ever had?

Stress fractured ankle. I fell over a rock. Does that surprise anyone?

23. Have you been in love?

Yep. And it was good.

24. Do you miss anyone right now?

Always.

25. Last play you saw?

Does a Middle School Variety Show count?

26. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?

My Cheesy Biscuits.

27. What are your plans for tonight?

Movies, Wine, and mighty fine company!

28. Who is the last person you sent a Facebook message or comment?
My cousin Megan. She commented on my last post about Mr. Cash

29. Next trip you are going to take?

Colo to the Rado at the end of April. I think.

30. Ever go to camp?

Did I ever! I even worked there!

31. Were you an honor roll student in school?

Chyeah. The Painter was so proud, he often cried.

32. What do you want to know about the future?

If Dexter ever gets caught. And if I look good with gray hair.

33. Are you wearing any perfume or cologne?

Yep. I smell like a budding flower.

34. Are you due sometime this year for a doctor's visit?

Yeah. Will I go? Probably not.

35. Where is your best friend?

Too far. I miss her.

36. How is your best friend?

Busy. She's on her way to saving the world. One patient at a time.

37. Do you have a tan?

Yep. And the burnt butt to show for it.

38. What are you listening to right now?

Girls talking about prom. Oh the good ol' days.

39. Do you collect anything?

Money. Lots and lots of money. I am also a liar.

40. Who is the biggest gossiper you know?

I plead the 5th...

41. Last time you got stopped by a cop or pulled over?

Don't tell my mom. A few summers ago.

42. Have you ever drank your soda from a straw?

Yeah. That's what classy people do. And I'm classy. Like pearls on a Sunday.

43. What does your last text message say?

Today! Today! Today!

44. Do you like hot sauce?

I am hot sauce.

45. Last time you took a shower?

This morning. Shocking, I know. I hate showering.

46. Do you need to do laundry?

Nope. I think the only dirty clothes I have are the ones on my body. This is epic for me. Just ask R.

47. What is your heritage?

Irish, German, and Norwegian I think. So, white, white, white!

48. Are you someone's best friend?

My mom sure thinks I'm clever and fascinating.

49. Are you rich?

With love, yes.

50. What were you doing at 12AM last night?

Believe it or not, sleeping. A novel idea, I know.

This Is My Confession

2010-04-07T22:03:00.007-05:00

I have a confession.

For lack of a better word, let's say I neglected to do something.

For about 4 months.

Mindilicious told me not to wait too long.

However, I chose not to heed her words of warning.

In my defense though, it was 4 cold, snow-filled, months.

And sometimes you just don't want to listen to your mom.

Because she's usually right and that's a tough one to swallow.

All. The. Time.

My confession has to do with this little bundle of awesomeness. Clearly he is brilliance in dog form.

And this dog food bag.

But here's the confession:
What's in it is actually the opposite of dog food.
Because it's poop.

32.6 pounds of poop.

4 months worth of poop.

You see the irony in the usage of the bag, no?
Smile it up Cash, you little fully functioning crap factory.

*One bit of poo I picked up looked like a dead mouse. I have reason to believe that, in addition to being a crap factory, he is a mouse eater. This makes me feel gross. And a little bit proud. Just don't tell R. He'll never let Cash live it down.

An Update with some Wit

2010-04-06T15:45:00.003-05:00

If you've been a reader of this here blog for a while, then you know that I've started a personal mission to get saucy. And in my mind, the word saucy is interchangeable with: foxy, hot, sexy, minxy, smokin', fit, healthy. I don't know if the thesaurus necessarily agrees with me, but this is my blog, so I'm always right. See how that works? It's a lovely thing.

Anyway I joined a challenge called the 500 in 2010 Challenge. The basic idea is to move your body 500 miles in the year 2010. I know that seems obvious from the title, but one can never be too sure. Maybe they're talking about 500 pieces of gum chewed in the year 2010. In which case, I'd be out because I get tired of my gum after about 10 minutes. Just saying.

So I joined. And I've stayed committed. And it's be awesome. I was actually the guest blogger over there last week if you feel like checking it out. You don't have to though. You could even say you looked and then not do it. Because I really wouldn't even know the difference! But you'd be a liar. And you'd have to live with that. Not my burden to carry.

Back to the subject- I blogged a while ago about how numbers and I generally aren't friends. Which is still true. I actually had to count on my fingers today to make sure that I remembered my multiplication correctly. Pathetic. I should be let no where near a math classroom. Good thing History is my thang. Luckily though, I'm starting to like numbers a little bit more.

For those of you who are keeping track, here's a fun little breakdown for you:

Weeks at the challenge: 12 (I started a week later than everyone else)

Miles completed so far: 259.98

Miles I will have completed by the end of the year if I remain consistent: 1039.92

Total weight loss to date: 29 lbs.

Place in the challenge: 3rd

Miles separating me from 1st place: 15.05

How many more reason needed to be awesome: None.

How bout' them apples, world?

Today I Thought About Him

2010-04-05T10:32:00.007-05:00

Today I thought about my G-Funk, a lot.

Maybe it was because it was the official start of baseball season and the Cubs played their opening game.

He is the reason I love me some Cubbies and some baseball!

(Never mind that they got skunked and I will now hang my head in shame)

Or maybe it was that I learned that he attended Butler for college and just so happened to watch that game tonight.

Or perhaps it was that I got an invitation today for my cousin's sons birthday party that will be in Webster City, and that's where I spent so much time with him.

Most likely though, it's just that I miss him.

Because he is my Grandpa.

And I love him.

And I still can't complete a crossword puzzle on my own, though I do put forth a valiant effort.

And that just irritates me.

Because apparently G-Funk didn't pass on all his skills.

2010-04-05T01:02:00.003-05:00

Some might call it lazy.

I lean more toward, cleverly planned.

You see- as you drive around the lovely streets of WavTown you will only see Christmas lights still hanging in the yards of semi-questionable homes. You know the houses- they're the ones that might have a tire or old bathtub adorning the front lawn. And maybe a garden gnome with a funny hat. And if you're real lucky a crib in the front yard. To these homes, Christmas lights are really just a glitzy accessory.

But to homes like mine, which doesn't have a tire or bathtub- it just looks like I am lazy.

But I want to assure you that is not entirely the case. No. It was planned that way. (Totally just lied to you right there) So that on the eve of Jesus' return, we could celebrate with a little light show. We do it for his first coming- so why not his second, right?!

You should have seen the looks I got from people driving by as I took this picture. I tried to act like I was taking it because I thought the people who lived there were crazy, but I just don't know if I pulled it off well.

In any case, Happy Easter.

Here's some lights to really ring in the resurrection!

Easter Bunny Spoiler Alert

2010-04-03T20:07:00.006-05:00

I have something to report.

Your Mom is the Easter Bunny.

See.

Thanks Mindilicious.

My heart is a little bit giddy right now.

Don't get me wrong, I love an Easter basket as much as the next 23 year old. But I just feel the need to clear some things up. There is NOT a woodland creature that will hop through your house, leaving a trail of chocolate eggs (that's questionable anyway, if you ask me). The Easter Bunny does not have the ability to purchase you new Easter dresses or CD's you've been longing for. And most importantly, the Easter Bunny does not lay colored eggs in the backyard. If you notice, they're the same ones that you just painted. Coincidence? I think not.

Not to mention, under normal circumstances, a woodland creature perusing your house would be considered a pest problem. People judge people with pest problems. I should know, I had a Mountain Beaver problem once. Let's not make exceptions here, folks.

So don't let anyone tell you differently.

Mom = Easter Bunny.

Glad we got that out of the way.

Happy Easter!

The Lord is scheduled to return tomorrow.

Get excited!

And It Was Good

2010-04-02T07:44:00.005-05:00

We call today Good.

But why?

Today our Lord was put on a cross and died.

There is nothing Good about it.

He was tortured.

He was bruised.

He was cursed.

He was betrayed.

The evil of this world was given and received in full force to the ONE who created it.

There is nothing Good about it.

Except that there is.

Because He had to die.

For us.

For you.

For me.

Because of LOVE

The Goodness that we hold onto, is the RESURRECTION to come.

The Goodness of a life lived in PEACE.

The Goodness of GRACE.

The Goodness of FORGIVENESS.

The Goodness of an EVERLASTING LIFE.

Today we wait as the reality of our humanness sets in.

Today we wait as our bondage to sin reminds us why we need the cross.

Today we wait for Good that is to come.

For the Lord is Good.

Especially on this Friday.

(I put together this video as a part of your Good Friday service at The Deemer. I thought it would be lovely to share it with you, world. I know it's kinda long, but I'd like to think it is time well spent.)

Good Friday from Emily Harkins on Vimeo.

Janky with a side of Basketball

2010-04-01T23:23:00.012-05:00

I have a secret. And it would probably be best if you didn't tell Mindilicious. Because she gets all anxious and nervous and goes all Mom on me when these kinda things happen.

So if you can keep a secret, then I have a story.

It started on a lovely day in March.

March 26th to be exact.

I was super excited to have tickets.

Yes tickets.

And not speeding tickets, because I've had a few of those in my day.

And those aren't nearly as fun as THESE tickets.

Not to mention that Midilicious gets in a real huff about speeding.

And Mindilicious in a huff is like the fiery pits of hell.

No ones gets out alive.

But I digress...

Can't you tell I'm just jovial with excitement?

Because I am.

Pure hoop and ball excitement.

Anyway elation was oozing out of me.

That was until we arrived in St. Louis.

To our motel.

In the middle of the ghetto.

One word: Janky.

You know that old saying, "You get what you pay for." I am here to tell you that there is some MAJOR truth to it. Ask me if I will ever find the cheapest motel on hotels.com again. Do it. I dare you. Lesson seriously learned. Read the comments, people. Costumers jump at the opportunity to be brutally honest.

I think this might have been a good hint: "Not for the Squemish"

"My biggest problem with the hotel was that my bed's boxspring had a hole in it and I was afraid all night that something was going to crawl out. I never saw any creatures, but there was a moustrip under my bed that made me wonder..."

Or I like this one, too: "Overnight Stay"

"The neighborhood is scary, the towels are stained, Carpet dirty, and the beds were okay. Just felt uneasy the whole time we were there not knowing if someone was going to approach us and try something. I do not recommend this hotel, even for a one night stay."

Without further ado, I present to you, Jankville, USA. More commonly referred to as the Days Inn on North Hanley Road.

Landscaping! Nothing like the lure of green gardens and low hum of traffic to welcome you to a restful night of sleep.

Or how about the deluxe Penthouse accommodations to whisk you away to vacation bliss. With exposed beams and painted fiberglass, it's no wonder this magical room goes for such a high price!

To make sure that the valued costumers are fully taken care of, this fine resort posts helpful tips such as, "Don't leave valuables in room unattended." or even "For safety, use deadbolt at all times." My favorite was by far the well-made sign of warning in the bathtub. Clearly nothing but the best for the guests of this fine establishment.

My favorite part was the sense of security I felt. Knowing that the police were patrolling our parking lot through the night, as evidenced my the constantly flashing lights and sporadic siren bursts, was enough to really make me forget about the drug bust I witnessed on my way back from McDonalds. Not even kidding.

It really didn't matter how many diseases we could have gotten or how many thugs we might have had to wrestle. Because we got to see this...

And this.

And we looked like this. Foxy.
And all was good.

Even if we did have to spend the night in a janky motel, in the ghetto of St. Louis.
Sorry Mom.

A Promise

2010-04-01T23:12:00.002-05:00

I Emily Jane Harkins

of sound heart, soul, and mind

do promise

to blog

everyday

for the next

month

In that time,

I am not to be held responsible

for things that come out of my mouth

or the nonsense that fills your minds

Amen.

Dear World

2010-03-19T03:14:00.006-05:00

Dear World,

Thank you for making my day a little better. I was very excited when I got to put on a new pair of flip flops this morning. This was especially exciting because the last pair I had ended up suffering the Wrath of Cash. So thanks for providing me with some Rainbow love for my feetsies.

But World, if you don't mind... next time you grace me with such a gift, would you please take the tag off of them BEFORE I wear them around all day and night.

If you promise to do this, I'll get better at recycling. I swear. Or at least I'll pretend to care a little more. I'll make an effort to put my empty cardboard cereal boxes NEXT to the trash-can instead of in it, so to let R do with them what he will. That's gotta be worth something, right?

Thank you kindly,

emily

Oh yeah, and I'm sorry the dinosaurs died. I made a shirt with one on it for an event at church in their honor. I'll send you one if you're interested.

Love,

Happy Nubs

2010-03-16T01:15:00.007-05:00

My Nubs are happy. And by Nubs I mean toes. For my Nubs to be happy is a big thing for me. Because I hate toes. Like really really hate toes. Like gag me with a spoon, pull out my arm hairs one by one, shave off my eyebrows, hate toes. (I just spent the last 20 minutes trying to find a post I once wrote about this, with no luck. So now I'm irritated and still hate Nubs.)

But today my Nubs were happy.

It was the day they've been waiting for.

The day they've been dreaming of.

The day my little piggies have been enduring months of socks for.

When I woke up ~~around noon~~ at a reasonable hour today, I was pleasantly surprised to see a bright and sun shiny day. (I totally just hummed this song as I typed that)

So because today looked like this:

My Nubs looked like this: Free and exposed to the world!

Or if you like a more rustic looking Nub, you might like the wooded deck scene. I think the wood deck really gives my little nubs a burly and outdoorsy feel. Makes me think I'm hanging out in a mountain cabin with a bearded mountain man who wears a skunk hat.

But I digress.

Let us rejoice and be glad.

As a side note- you can kinda see the Africa tattoo that Mindilicious ~~loves~~ despises so much in the first Nub picture. Oh and despite what you might originally think, that's not bird poo on my Chacos. It's paint. (I hope/think) Though it does look questionable.

A Week Plus One

2010-03-12T12:20:00.002-06:00

I will neither confirm nor deny that I may or may not have fallen again.

And twisted an ankle.

Or skinned a knee.

While walking up my driveway.

After taking out the trash.

If this had happened, I would possibly add that this could have happened only a week plus one day after my incident a week ago.

Of course, this information has not been confirmed.

So don't spread it via the interwebs.

Thanks.

Into the Wild: Tanzania Style

2010-03-11T01:04:00.015-06:00

When I started at the Deemer nearly 3 years ago, I told a few people that we were going to go to Africa sometime in the near future. They clearly didn't know me very well at that point. Because if they did, they would have known enough to run and hide. Quickly. Because when I get an idea, this strange thing happens. It's like I'm a Toyota. My brakes just don't work and I kick into overdrive. It's just how I operate. Don't worry- Mindilicious is still one proud mama. Actually, she is the only real voice of reason that I have when I get some of my crazy ideas. But even she can't stop me every now and then.

Like the time I got a tattoo of Africa on my foot. Trust me when I tell you that Mindilicious was nowhere near that decision. Or the time I washed my Chaco Sandals in the dishwasher. She wouldn't have been what you call "supportive" of that I fear.

Anyway.

I decided we were going to go to Africa. Then last Easter, actually it was the Saturday before Easter, I decided we were going to go THIS summer. And, so we are. To Tanzania. From June 6th through the 22nd. Who's excited- this girl... and 12 other lucky folks who get to party Africa style.

In any case, this is the video that we showed to the congregation of The Deemer to get them pumped about this upcoming venture into the wild. I think it kinda does a number on the whole heart. I get all warm and tingly when I watch it- in a totally not awkward and inappropriate way, of course. (As a side note, I have a friend that will find that statement really funny.) So hopefully it will pull at your heart strings a little bit as well.

You know me- I just like to share the love!

P.S. I really did get a tattoo of Africa on my foot. And Mindilicious wasn't overly pleased. But she still loves me because she birthed me. Thanks for that, Mom.

I'm Accident Prone and it Usually Ends With a Swollen Ankle or Skinned Knee and In Some Cases Both

2010-03-08T21:26:00.010-06:00

I shouldn't be let out of the house.

Ever.

Because when I am let out of the house, I hurt myself.

Almost always.

You think I'm kidding, but I am not.

I trip over nothing.

I run into everything.

I slip on the thinnest sheets of ice.

I've even managed to bite my own lip and leave a gashing hole.

And then there's days when the ground is covered in ice or snow.

You don't even want to see the train wreck that is Emily Harkins on those days.

It's comical to say the least.

Anyway- this is a story about me.

Of my injuring escapades.

Let me set the scene...

It all started when I couldn't find my passport photos. I have the passport- but can't for the life of me find the extra photos that I usually keep with it. See I need the pictures to send in with my VISA application for Tanzania. Paperwork paperwork I tell yah! In any case, I looked high and I looked low and no pictures were found. So I had to resign to the fact that I would have to get them taken again. Pure elation. That's what I felt about this. Except not at all.

But because I like to be efficient, I opted for the 10 minute (or so I thought 10 minute) route at Hy-Vee. Remember that I was already irritated that I was having to get these pictures taken again. As I was walking from my car to the the store with my youth BoBeal, I fell. Right there. In the middle of the parking lot. With a handful of people around. Down I went. There was nothing graceful about it. Not in the slightest. I truly wish that I could blame it on an icy patch or even wet cement. But there was nothing more to cause me to fall than just a bit of uneven sidewalk.

Leave it to me though. I found it and made something of it. Skills. That's what I've got.

Anyway, here I sit, in the middle of the parking lot with a handful of people just looking at me. To make matters worse, I could see the people INSIDE of Hy-Vee in the food nook peering out from the windows. I was slightly mortified. Before I could get up, a nice gentleman came over and offered me a cart to "stabilize" myself. Um. Thanks. I could have used the cart BEFORE I graced the pavement. (I might as well have a bad hip or something.)

As a result of this fine fall, not only did I twist my RIGHT ankle, but I skinned my LEFT knee. Totally got a two for one deal. Now that's grocery store style!

After a moment of deep breaths, I stabilized myself and went into the store. There I ran into Jeffrey. Now let me tell you about my good pal Jeff. He likes to talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. Wonderful man. Quite the chatter. As I stood there trying to hold it all together and talk with Jeffey Boy, I could feel my ankle swelling and my knee throbbing. I was in a real hurry to get the picture taken and get out of there.

Well as luck would have it, Jeffrey was training a new girl in the area of professional passport photo taking. So what should have been a 10 minute process ended up taking nearly 30 minutes. All the while my ankle is getting bigger and bigger. I would compare it to the scene in Harry Potter when Uncle Vernon's sister Marge comes to dinner and she just starts to inflate. I didn't float away. But it was really only a matter of time. To say that I was frustrated would be an understatement. So frustrated that I just started to cry.

And for those that know me well. I generally am not a crier. Sure, I got choked up during one of the Olympic video montage's that NBC put together. But those are dreams, people. Big big, golden dreams. To not cry would be un-American; and honestly I can't afford to not be patriotic!

Back to the story...

So not only was I the girl that biffed it in the parking lot, but I was the girl who cried at the customer service desk. I was ridiculous. Tears were rolling down my face as I was laughing and complaining about my lack of water consumption for the day. Somewhere in my sobs I threw in that I was upset I had wasted my time watching a terrible movie, and that I was worried that my workout schedule would be thrown off. I was a hot mess. A crying, swelling, hot mess. Good Lord.

After about 30 minutes of waiting, I finally received my photos and could leave. I was so pleased when they were returned to me and I looked about as good as I felt in them. Thank you Jeffrey. It's called digital for a reason. Delete and try again. For the love!

Long story short, I left the house Wednesday morning in top form and returned home with body parts that looked like this. Be jealous. Very very jealous.

I am awesome. Ro is changing the house locks as we speak so I can't escape again. What a pal! As a side note, I also had soup spilled all over my shirt that night at supper and had to sit through church and youth group with the smell of Taco Soup wafting from my tee. Might as well chalk last Wednesday up to an epic fail!

There's Always Options

2010-03-04T08:39:00.006-06:00

Valentines Day has come and gone.

Thank goodness.

Each year it gets more and more ~~disgusting~~ interesting to live through another one of those holidays. And I say this not because I don't like love, or that I'm bitter because I currently am lacking a certain hunk in my life, but because each year it becomes more clear to me just how commercialized the whole ordeal is. Items double in price, couples pretend to actually like each other, and we cut down a ton of trees, just for cards that end up getting thrown away. It's just really not my favorite day of the year.

But for some, this day is everything. It's the day where anything can happen. It's the day that love truly does exist. But for others, it's the day that their singleness is blatantly obvious. But fear not you single crusaders; I've got some helpful options for you.

I present to you...

Love via the Interwebs. No. Seriously.

Don't feel like paying for one of those expensive dating sites? No problem!

Scared someone you meet might have a criminal past? Wonder no more!

Looking for someone who is always where they say they are? Look no farther!

I present to you: writeaprisioner.com

Here you can search through different prisoners who are seeking both friendship and relationship. Here you can browse prisoners profiles by location or severity of crime. Each profile is complete with ~~mug shot~~ handsome photo, ~~prison~~ location, interests, and reason for incarceration. Best thing about them- you'll always know where they're at!

Or if you don't mind forking out a pretty penny for love, you can alway check out: mailorderhusbands.net

Here you can meet exotic pieces of men from countries all around the world. And for the right price- they can be yours! No questions asked. Fortunately these men also have profiles that paint vivid pictures of these husbands to be.

Example: Andrew

This stud attributes his interest in finding love to his rapidly balding head. He encourages women of any age to act quickly while there is still hair left!

Or if you prefer a more Northern fella there's always Bertram from Canada.

Luckily he warns potential suitors that, "choir girls need not apply," as he plans on, "committing a few sins and misdemeanors in his time." Beware though- that while he claims to be better now, match.com did boot him for allegations of cyber stalking.

So beautiful ladies- don't fear. There are still options out there.

Even though February 14th has come and gone for this year, you can start working on your lasting relationship for next year.

Happy Love Hunting!

Numbers. We're Usually Enemies.

2010-02-02T14:53:00.002-06:00

I'm terrible at math. Just terrible.
I got a D in one of my college math classes.
Seriously.
But to be fair, my teacher wasn't all that fantastic.
Actually he was just about as terrible as a teacher as I was at math.
Not a productive combination.
He wore a mallard sweater several times a week.
I'm talking 3 flying mallards across his chest.
And he wore galoshes when it wasn't raining.
And always had chalk on his pants.
But he was a kind man.
And his voice was very soothing.
Probably why I ~~slept~~ paid attention so well in his class.

Anyway.
Here are some numbers I am not confused about.
(Take that Satan in a Mallard Sweater)

3
the number of weeks I've been at my 500 challenge.
21
the number of days in three weeks.
76.33
total miles completed and recorded
3.63
the average number of miles completed in a day
(assuming that I went everyday. which I didn't. some days were more. others were less.)
10
the number of pounds less that I weigh

I totally used a calculator for help me with these numbers.
I'm not even ashamed.
Actually quite a bit proud.
Not about the calculator part.
I should be better at mental math.
But that these numbers belong to ME.
Amen.

I Will Call This Post: Pull On Your Heartstrings Friday

2010-01-29T13:09:00.003-06:00

So as I was facebook ~~stalking~~ um, perusing I came across this video.
It kinda gave me goose pimples on my arms.
And then it made me want to go sit in my parked car in the garage and put on my seatbelt.

Happy Friday.
Your heartstrings have now been pulled.
You're welcome.

One Time A Girl Was Really Mean To Me In A Bar And It Changed My Life

2010-01-25T14:39:00.003-06:00

I have started and stopped this post many times.
So if you're actually reading this post on my bloggity blog blog blog, I apparently got up the nerve to actually post.
So congrats to me!

As a side note, I will swear in this post. Consider yourself warned.
As a side side note, they were not my words. Just me repeating for the sake of the story.

This is a story about a girl.
A girl who unknowingly changed me life.
But not because she showed me kindness.
But because she called me a, "fat, ugly, dumb, bitch."

(Wowza! How bout them apples!)

On New Years I was out with some friends downtown at a bar in D-Town. Because it was New Years and that is what the glamorous people do. I read it in US Weekly. And I felt obliged to make an appearance.

Anyway, we were just sitting there, minding our own business, sipping on overly priced adult beverages, and this skinny beautiful girl walked up to me. I gave a friendly smile as she approached because that's what Mindilicious would do, and I always try to follow her example. Anyway- when she got up to me, she asked me if I wanted to dance with her.

Um. No. I don't think so.

I kindly told her, "no thank you" because we would have been the only ones dancing and I didn't have anywhere close to the amount of alcohol in my system that would have given me the courage to shake my groove thing as a duet! As she walked away, my all of my friends (my back was to her) saw her say to her friend, "She's a fat, ugly, dumb, bitch."

Well if that's not the best way to start off the New Year, I don't know what is!

Before I knew it my sister, DG and my friend G were ready to pounce. I saw them getting all hyped up but really didn't think anything of it because they are warriors of the bar scene in good ol' D-Town and I figured they had some personal issue going on. I honestly didn't even realize what was going on until later when my friend T asked if I thought she had asked me to dance out of mean intentions.

Wait. What?

After he asked me this, G replied, "That girl was pure evil, Em." It was then that I started to put things together and I asked G what she had said. At that moment I could feel my heart drop a little in my chest as the emotion started to well inside of me.

I went and found DG in the bathroom and just lost it. I'm talking make-up smeared and everything. Which honestly usually happens for me by the end of the day- but rarely because of tears. I honestly just can't understand why people act out of such cruelty. But I gathered myself together, made my friends promise they weren't going to confront her and/or start a brawl (Lord knows they were ready) and went back out to the table.

From the distance I saw the girl on the dance floor shaking it with more people and I decided that I was going to say something to her. So I waited for the song to get over and I went up to her. I has so nervous I could hear my heart beating. Not just feel it. But hear it.

When I got to her, I kindly and calmly said, "I don't know what exactly your intentions were for asking me to dance or what exactly you said when I declined. But it doesn't matter. Know that no one has the right to make anyone feel like you made me feel. You don't know me by looking at me. I'm a wonderful, kind, fun, person."

She just looked at me.
She didn't say anything.
She just looked and listened.

I continued, "I'm sure you have things in your life that you are insecure about. Just as I do." She agreed to this. And I said, " Isn't it funny that you are a thin beautiful gal and we both have our issues. We're really not so different. I want you to know that I am not angry and I'm sure you're a nice person. Just next time think about how your words can impact someone."

I then walked away.
Still shaking.
With the sound of my heart still echoing in my ears.

The thing about this whole situation is this- I wasn't mean to her and to be honest I wasn't even that upset about the whole thing. Yes, I was hurt. But when I thought about it, I realized it was a moment of opportunity. I could have broken out bi-otch mode or let my friends go to battle. But I didn't. I acted as me. I was nice to her and just shared a little bit of who I am with someone who had hurt me. I felt that I was letting Jesus show in the situation. And for that I was grateful.

But I am also grateful that this meanness happened. Because it made me stop. And it made me think. And it made me evaluate where I am in my life. And it swear that something like this will NEVER happen to me again. Because I am making a change.

So to the mean girl in a bar- I owe you a big thank you.
You unknowingly changed me life.

As I've been getting started in this new venture, I've been talking with my cousin a lot. She shared with me that much of her success was due to "going public" with her goals. So blogosphere, consider this my public statement.

I'm making changes.
Once and for all.

I've joined this challenge. You can follow me there, too. Though my info on it is currently not updated. I've actually logged 51 miles in the last two weeks. Woot woot!

Today

2010-01-16T14:18:00.003-06:00

Some days you just feel like crap.

For no reason other than you do.
Which is almost just as irritating.
Because if you knew why you felt like crap.
You could fix the problem.
But since you do not know why.
You just feel.
Like crap.
These are usually the days that no matter how hard you search, you just can't find the motivation needed to change out of sweat pants or even put the contacts in.
These are the days when absurd ideas start dancing about in your head about cutting your hair. Even though you know that EVERY TIME after you cut it, you regret it.
Today might be one of those days.
Maybe it's the company I keep.

In any case.
I'm hoping the gym might clear things up.
Whatever.
I just know I don't want to end up like this guy.

Taking Sides

2010-01-14T22:57:00.002-06:00

I'd like to think that taking sides gives me a sense of purpose.
Something to stand up for.
Something to believe in.
It really gives me a whole, "Power to the People" mentality that I just can't get enough of.

Take for instance the whole Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie thing. I was totally team Aniston. I even made a shirt and wore it around campus. Yes. I take my celebrity relationships THAT seriously. Don't mess me with Jolie. I will punch you in those big lips. Because Aniston and I are like best friends. In a totally non-stalker kind of way. Er...

Or if you want to get into a little Twilight Battle we could address the whole Team Edward and Team Jacob thing. Even though R would probably attack me in the night for saying this, I am totally Team Jacob. Honestly for me- there is not contest. Sure maybe a vampire has that whole mysterious thing going for them. But seriously, Jacob is just hunky. He's totally tall, dark, and handsome. I like me some ethnic not some sickly pale.

Well I feel that the time has come yet again for me to take a side.
So here I am.
Announcing to the blogosphere.
That I am Team Conan.
Loud and proud.
I love that Red Head.

If I could write a letter to Jay Leno in Conan's defense, this is what I would say:

Dear Jay,
I think that you are funny. I've always laughed at you and you have a funny chin. I really like when you do Headlines. I like it so much that when you do them, I often giggle. Which isn't very becoming. But I don't care because they are that funny.

You left late night and that made me kind of sad. But not that sad because I really like Conan, too. And he became your replacement and that was cool. So I was able to move on with limited attachment anxiety. Nice work NBC.

But then you came back. At a different time. And you weren't as funny anymore. I don't know what happened. But it just didn't work. So now you want to go back to how it was before. But I just don't think that should happen. Because you are old. Not like OLD OLD, but old enough.

My thought is this- You quit the Tonight Show. You made the choice. I feel like it is now time to go and play with all your cars and stuff. Pick up a hobby, move on, and start going to bed at an earlier time. It's what old people do. Join the masses. I've heard that it is fun.

Conan needs his shot now. Just because you can't hack it in prime time doesn't mean that you get to capture his thunder. He's got red hair for pete's sake. He was meant to be a star!

I know this is hard for you. But I think maybe if you talked to Favre you could find some peace. After all, he's done this whole two-step with the Packers before. He knows how to Tango. Things don't just go back the way they were. Sometimes you've got to just pack it up and try something different.

So Jay. Quit being a hog. Move on please. And let Conan do his crazy red headed thing. But maybe you could leave the Headlines. Those things are by far my favorite thing that you've got going on.

Peace and love,
Emily

Big John

2010-01-06T22:54:00.003-06:00

My Dearest Grandpa,

You left us.
But I'm not angry about that.
Not at all actually.
I'm sad.
But not upset.
Just the opposite.
I'm joyful.
You are in a better place.

I wish I could join you to do a little jig with the Lord.
Seriously I know that's what you're doing because you love to dance.
But I can't come right now.
I've still got things to do here.
Your LEGACY to carry on.
It's a big responsibility.
One that I don't take lightly.
The shoes of Big John are kinda hard to fill.
You played a two stringed guitar and made it sound magical.
That's just impressive.

Because of you G-Funk I love many things.
The Cubs
The Hawkeyes
Frank Sinatra
Ugly Golf Trophies
Sudoku
My Country
Cheesy Eggs

We went on a lot of trips together Gramps. I feel really lucky for that. I remember 3 specifically. Our Euro trip. Our Hawaii trip. And our road trip to California.

While we were in France, I have never been so proud. To see the beaches of Normandy and see what YOU were a part of made me feel blessed. You were a hero Grandpa. I got to see exactly what that meant. I was even proud of you when you were insistent that my stuffed cow was actually a penguin. How you got that, I still don't know. But your imagination was impressive.

In Hawaii you were in top form. Though we didn't know it at the time, your health was starting to fade. I remember sitting for hours on the deck at the beach house. I worked on Sudoku. You on your crossword puzzle. I lost my pencil many times. You were right there to my rescue. You always have been. Right there.

Our trip to California was epic. Grandma was with us, too. We stopped at a Denny's in Las Vegas. I was in awe. I wanted to pull the lever. Grandma told me no. You told me yes. I felt special. But that was how I normally felt with you.

Grandpa.
I love you.
One of the last times I saw you we laughed.
And Cash relieved himself in the nursing home.
But we laughed.
And I will hold onto that forever.

Tell Grandma hi.
And that I miss her Spam Sandwiches.
Things are different without you.
But life is what it is, because of you.
Thanks for making our family a large group of beautiful and crazy people.
Especially Uncle Bill.
He's a real piece or work.

Keep in touch,
Em

A Month

2010-01-06T22:53:00.000-06:00

It's been a month since my last post.
Sorry about that.

Sometimes life gets in the way.
I hate how that happens.

The Gym Chatter

2009-12-06T17:16:00.002-06:00

The other day while at the gym, I met The Gym Chatter.

This is the guy that for some reason finds it appropriate to strike up a conversation while you're laboring away, sweating your balls off, on what ever poison (or machine) you choose for the day. Now I'm sure The Gym Chatter is all sorts of friendly and wonderful and that many people find him charming and endearing.

But.

Word to the wise.
If I am sweating.
And my hair is in a pony tail with my bangs clipped up.
And if I am wearing headphones while staring intently at my iPhone.
Don't talk to me.

That is not my, "Come and get me boys," attire.
In fact- it is my, "stay away from me because I'm a warrior of the elliptical machine and I will take you out," look.

Because if you do talk to me, I will eat you.
And while this may add some extra calories, I will consider them worthwhile, because you will no longer be there. But because I will be so happy that I no longer have to talk to you AND move my body at a much faster pace than usual, I will find the extra motivation to burn them right off.

So really. It'll totally even right out. Like nothing ever happened.
Except your family might notice when you don't come home.
And for that, I apologize.
I just think we'll have to chalk this one up to a very important lesson learned.

G-Funk

2009-12-03T00:26:00.003-06:00

Today my G-Funk went into the hospital.

I'm praying the Lord takes him when He's ready.
Whenever that is.
I'm learning quickly that there is never a convenient time to go.
But when he does go, he will go in glory.
In true G-Funk style.

Mindilicious always gets on my case about the crazy faces I make in pictures.
From now on, I think she should blame her father.
Clearly, I learned from the best.

Prayers for you, G-Funk.
Love.

You Aren't My Friend Anymore...

2009-12-03T00:18:00.000-06:00

Remember when you were seven and you used to tell people that they weren't your friend anymore when you didn't get your way. Or when they weren't your friend because of really trivial things. Or because you were snotty.

No.
Oh.
Me neither.

But if I had done that, this might be some of the things that ended my friendships:
- You aren't my friend anymore because you wont share your red crayon with me. And it's totally not fair that you have the box of 96 and I only have the 48 count box.

- You aren't my friend anymore because you told on me for putting glue on my hand and then peeling it off. Don't knock it until you try it, tattletale.

- You aren't my friend anymore because you made fun of my quarter up-do. (For the visual people- it was a half of a half pony. I.E. a half pony tail on only half of my head with the other side hanging down straight. I almost don't blame them for making fun of me for this. Almost.)

- You aren't my friend anymore because you made fun of my double-layered scrunchy socks. I'm sorry my feet look thick with them on.

- You aren't my friend anymore because you told my mom that it was me who knocked over the Christmas tree with my pink Barbie Corvette. Not cool.

- You aren't my friend anymore because you pulled my pigtail. Who do you think I am, Pippy Longstockings?

- You aren't my friend anymore because you chased my on the playground and I tripped and fell and skinned my knee. Never mind that I am clumsy. It is your fault.

- You aren't my friend anymore because you took my snack out of my Lisa Frank backpack. Or was it in my trapper keeper- I can't remember. In any case, don't touch the Lisa.

- You aren't my friend anymore because you told me that the Easter Bunny wasn't real. That was a real low blow. A low blow indeed.

So. Now you know. Not that these are actually true. But if they were, and we're still friends on facebook, you clearly didn't pull one of these stunts. Congratulations.

Thankful

2009-11-26T22:19:00.004-06:00

I don't really have anything too witty to say.

Or anything clever to add.
Just that today, I am thankful.

I am thankful for my family.
For my friends.
I am thankful that I didn't have to eat a Turducken
(Though I have another good post in the making about that)
For my amazing roommate.
For a cute house.
I am thankful that I have several cute shoes and attractive feet to put in them.
For an awesome dog who eats my cute shoes and licks my attractive feet.
That I can spell my name and have ready internet access.

I am thankful.
I am also thankful that today I wore flannel.

And choked down a few pieces of (good-though I'll never actually admit it) turkey.
And that I shot a rifle.

And was very American, clearly.
Amen.

Turducken

2009-11-23T22:38:00.001-06:00

I introduce to you, the Turducken. (Or maybe you're way far ahead of the curve and you already know about this. In which case, consider this your REintroduction.)

Are you freaking kidding me? A chicken, stuffed inside a duck, and then wedged into a turkey. That is by far the most disgusting thing I've heard of in my life. One bird is doable if eaten by itself. Two varieties is pushing it. But THREE is just ridiculous. Not to mention they are stuffed inside of each other. STUFFED.

I feel pretty positive that if you eat this, you will grow wings- like awkward fowl, my body is too big for my wings to support, give me hot sauce- wings. And you wouldn't be able to fly. And then people will make fun of you. Or be scared of you. Because you are a freak. And eventually they will eat you for Thanksgiving. That's just how it'll happen. I see it clear as day.

So don't do this. Do not consume this. Because it's disgusting. And you'll turn into an awkward grounded bird. And clog some arteries. And I will not be your friend anymore.

(When I did a google search for the image on this post- I found a Turducken that was topped with bacon. I think someone was lookin' for a crafty way to kill some folks. Honestly, I think that would do it. Gag me with a spoon.)

Also

2009-11-18T10:52:00.002-06:00

Also I was listening to the radio this morning- after I saw the chicken- and heard something that reminded me why I'm proud to be an American.

Apparently 76% of Americans take a written out list to the grocery store.
Imagine that.
A whole country full of list-ers!
I love lists. And therefor love America!

Ah. The sweet smell of patriotism in the morning!

The Chicken

2009-11-18T10:33:00.003-06:00

Why did the chicken cross the road?
To get to the other side.
Clearly.

But seriously.
Today while driving to work.
I saw a chicken cross the road.
Expect it almost wasn't a live chicken because a Semi almost hit it.

But honestly. It was crossing because it just wanted to get to the other side.
Who knew?!