I'm a female?!??

Lately I've been finding that my emotional response to fictional and/ or televised material to be significantly heightened.  Usually my sadness response was limited to well crafted movies and that scene in Scrubs where Dr. Cox thinks he's at his sons birthday party but he's really at his best friends funeral (swear to God, saddest moment on television I've ever seen), but even in those situations, I only ever THOUGHT about crying, I'd never actually shed any tears.  However, recently there have been MANY sad things on TV and I've even had a full blown meltdown during a movie.  I think I've figured out why. 

I am now in a relationship.  I think since I've started dating John, I have been put in the role of girlfriend and my body suddenly realized "OMG!  I'm a female!  I should act like one!".  It's like my hormones were laying dormant pretending that they didn't exist and giving me a false sense of sanity.  But then they were called upon to fulfill their destiny of turning me into an emotionally compromised crazy person.  Now I'm the kind of person who starts balling in the middle of "The Last Unicorn" because the main character is having identity issues.  And just the other day, I had to stop watching a show about this girl who hordes animals because it was so sad it made me want to kill myself. I swear my feminine hormones are just throwing a wild party and laughing at me while I cry at every sad story on TV. 

I wish I had some kind of master control switch that could turn them off at will.  I'm sensing a great business opportunity here.  Someone should invent this.  Females and boyfriends everywhere will thank you and forever be in your debt. 

Me being innocent and carefree before I realized I'm insane

Angela

Update: Distraction

I actually made it past the dreaded purple levels (all 2 of them) to the even dreadedier turquoise level.  Of course having never made it this far, the turquoise level kicked my ass but not before I made a significant dent in the overall ball count. 

Mark my words, turquoise, someday I will make you my bitch....

Angela

(Not) An Allegory

Today I am going to tell you a story that is going to sound like I made it up.  You're probably going to think I came up with this story to illustrate a point, to point out some bigger universal truth, or to make myself sound wise and spiritual.  However, this story is one hundred percent true and factual.  It is simply cosmic coincidence that it just so happens to double as an insightful allegory. 

Most of you are familiar with a certain trust exercise which involves one person leading another person around blindfolded (or just with their eyes closed).  The whole point is to illustrate how hard to it can be to trust another person with your safety.  Of course it's easy to assume they wouldn't lead you off a cliff or into a large body of water because they wouldn't put themselves in danger as well, but it's harder to trust that they are paying attention to make sure you won't trip over any rocks, tree roots, or (if its the rainy season) walk into any puddles.  

For some weird masochistic reason, I thought this exercise was great fun and it became one the occasional pastimes of my teenage years.  Living out in the sticks like I did also made it even more challenging and extremely treacherous.  I would mostly play with my BFF, Brandi.  I got so good at trusting her that I would walk beside her (eyes closed) at my normal pace of walking (as opposed to stepping cautiously and flinching when passing under shadows because it felt like something was about to hit me in the face). 

This place was TREACHEROUS!  Look!  A wild Tiger!

One particular fine day, we were walking around like this and I was SO confident in my abilities as a blind person that I was sure Brandi was leading us the wrong way.  I argued with her.  I pulled her in the direction I thought we should be going, but she was having none of that.  So, instead of simply opening my eyes to gain orientation and prove to the person who could SEE that she was wrong about where she was going, instead of doing that insanely smart thing and ruining the game, I DROPPED HER HAND AND CONTINUED WITH MY EYES CLOSED. 

Now there are any number of things that could have happened to me at this point.  Considering all the possible obstacles in my yard, I'd say pretty much the worst thing that could have happened was the exact thing that ended up happening.  Not long after my bold, blind departure from my sighted guide (going average walking speed), my face collided with something hard and metal.  I opened my eyes to find A) the bar on the side of the motor home to which the side mirror is attached (to high up for my outstretched hands to have detected) B) I was nowhere CLOSE to where I thought I was (big surprise) C) the throbbing pain on my face specifically my upper lip (it was a miracle I didn't loose any teeth) and D) I'm an idiot (Brandi could have told me that 10 seconds ago). 

I'd LOVE to say this story is something I made up as a wise allegory about how you should trust people and not walk around blind because you'll hit things, but I didn't.  Instead I experienced this story so that I could set an actual example of why you should follow the rules when doing the 'lead each other around blind' exercise.  If you don't trust your partner, don't be an idiot, just open your eyes. 

Angela

Distraction

Was there something I'm supposed to be doing right now?

This is the reason it took me a whole week to post a blog.  Every time I would think "Hey, I'm gonna write a blog post!" for some reason directly following that thought was "But first, I'm gonna play this game!"  I think the logic centers in my brain thought playing this game would somehow stimulate my thought processes and cause me to be a better writer.  However, after countless episodes of me deciding to write and then never quite making it to blogger, I started to realize that this premise was false. 

Instead, I believe what happened is that every time I started playing this game, the colorful disappearing magic balls wiped all thought out of my brain.  It's like they have some kind of hypnotic hold over me which they harness with their colorful arrangements and magical disappearing sounds.  I'm not even being cute about that last magical reference; they really do use the same sound effect that always accompanies magical wands in Disney movies. 

I've actually gotten pretty good at this game.  I can pass the first four levels with little to no problem, but whenever I get to the dreaded purple level, I run into issues.  I have passed it twice though and that was cause for celebration.  Then I realize the cost of achieving excellence in a game with no consequence (not blogging) and I die a little inside. 

I'd like to say that blogger being down for an entire day put a dent in my productivity, but really that was only one day and I could have written my post in word pad and saved it to post later.  In fact, that's how I used to write all my blog posts until I got lazy because blogger saves my drafts every few seconds without me even doing anything so I have become less paranoid about losing my material. 

That being said, I believe I have come up with a solution.  When I decide that I am going to blog, I shall forbid myself from playing until after I have finished.  In that way, it will become a reward instead of a distraction.  In case you're wondering, I have not mentioned the name of the game on purpose because A) I don't want to hear any immature giggles and B) I hope to save you from this addiction.  I know it would probably take you like 2 seconds of research to find out.  Do yourself a favor, just leave this one alone. 

Me about to loose the dreaded purple level

Angela

Angela: Grad Student

I found out in the middle of last week that I have been accepted into the graduate program of Liberal Arts at Sacramento State.  Now I am officially a graduate student.  After 2 years of aimless wandering and half made decisions, I feel like my career is moving forward again.  It feels really good knowing that someday I will have a degree that actually means something in the world of employment.  On top of that, I also have a very promising job prospect (for right now). 

Sometimes I feel like God's just messing with me.  Every once in a while he looks down at me and says "Is she sufficiently panicked yet?" and if I'm not, he waits a couple months and then checks on me again.  This time he looked down and saw me freaking out and decided to throw me a bone.  He has decided that I have panicked about my future enough. 

Perhaps I just worry too much about my future.  I think I'm learning how to be less worried though.  I just remind myself that, no matter how uncertain things may seem at the time, my basic needs will always be met.  Also things just seem to work out for me.  I'm not sure how it works, but I always find myself in new and exciting places.  I'm happy with where things are going. 

All that being said, I'm also pretty terrified about actually attending grad school.  I have to write a 50-75 page minimum thesis paper.  On a side note, how can there be a minimum range?  Wouldn't it just be 50 pages minimum?  Or does that mean I will get skinned alive if I go over 75 pages?  Either way, that's a long paper to write.  Of course, I'll have plenty of time to write it.  I guess this is exactly the same as the time I was terrified of beginning college.... and the time I was terrified of beginning high school and middle school.  Perhaps a certain amount of fear is needed to ensure success.  In high school, I was so terrified of failing my first Algebra class and I ended up receiving an award for algebraic excellence. 

In conclusion, I believe I am sufficiently afraid enough to begin grad school.  Also this post took forever.  I'm not sure why. 

Angela

Sometimes I forget which fingers are mine

Same picture, different post

I assure you, this is not the same post as last time with me bragging for an entire post about how awesome I am at typing.  I just want to talk specifically about this picture which was taken in the spring of 2008.  I had completely forgotten the context behind this picture, as I often do what with my less than stellar memory. 

It dawned on me while I was examining this photograph last week, those are not my fingers.  I wanted to offer this picture up as evidence of me typing on my computer, but it suddenly became clear to me that there is no way those could be my hands in the reflection. 

Evidence #1 - The website depicted here is Gaia, a veritable "what the hell am I doing on this website while I could be doing something much more exciting like watching grass grow" of the internet.  I probably spent a whole 10 seconds on that website, which makes it extremely unlikely that someone would have gathered photo-evidence of that short visit. 

Evidence #2 - Those fingers are just a tad longer and skinner than mine. 

Evidence #3 - I'm the only person who resided in that dorm room who would have taken a picture like that and there is physically no way I could have both taken the picture AND posed for it.  I mean, unless I was magic of course, but the jury's still out on that one.  We will have to assume for the sake of science that I am not magic because science can't prove that I'm magic. 

So, with those 3 pieces of hard evidence, the only person it could have been is Kris.  To demonstrate how awesome I am at something, I used a picture of someone else doing it.  Let me assure you, this does not in any way make me less awesome at it.  It simply means that during the time it takes to write one post, I temporary forgot what my fingers look like, the fact that I hate Gaia, and that I am not scientifically proven to be magic. 

If you're still wondering what Kris was doing on my laptop in the first place, you're in luck!  I remember that as well.  See, Kris lived in the top bunk-bed which, in a standard sized room, was closer to the ceiling than anything else.  She also lived on her computer so she spent a great deal of time on the bunk-bed while also on her laptop.  It's pretty obvious to see where this is going and, yes, she dropped it.  The computer got angry and stopped working so I allowed her to spend quality Gaia related time on my computer while hers was out of commission. 

So THAT is the complete story about how that picture came into existence.  It's a pretty long story about one snapshot, but you know me, I could write a novel about every picture on my computer and there is a lot of them. 

Angela

PS - Happy Mother's Day.  I love you, Mom.  You made me into a functional human being and I am grateful. 

Typing = Cool

I always feel super cool when I'm blogging or chatting with one of my buddies on instant messenger and my fingers are practically flying over the keyboard in their ultra-fantastic choreographed typing bonanza.  It's almost like my brain can't keep up with my fingers sometimes.  To be able to type so fast makes me feel like I've arrived; that I've officially reached computer awesomeness. 

I first aspired to this position when I used to watch my mom type on our computer and, to my little kid brain, she was typing up a storm about super important business.  Of course this was during a time when it would take me 10 minutes of searching the keyboard just to locate the "A" key and then once I found it, go on another epic journey for the "N" key until, after an average movie-lengths worth of complete non-action, I managed to spell my name.  I thought it would be so cool to be able to type like my mother and be able to crank out pages of text in seconds at a time.

After my arduous journey of learning how to type along with plenty of internet play time for practice, I discovered one of those mind-blowing secrets that shatters childhood notions of how things were.  I had the opportunity to work with my mom in the same office and I discovered she never actually learned how to type.  She's one of those people who looks at the keyboard and just has a good idea about where all the keys are and thus has managed to type at a decent speed.  In fact, she contracted me to do a job that required typing something up because I was a faster typist. 

Although somewhat surprised that she couldn't possibly be as quick as I remembered, (perhaps writing words in seconds instead of pages) I had arrived.  I realized that I had surpassed my childhood expectations of how cool I would look typing too fast for the naked eye to see.  The only way it could possibly get any cooler is if I could type really fast while not even looking at the computer screen to see my words.  Oh wait, I can.  The only problem is, there are very few occasions when this skill is necessary so no one gets to see that awesome talent.  Either that, I just look like a total douche who's just showing off.  I practice this skill in front of John when I want to reassert my superior skills because he's one of those "look at the keyboard" types.  He doesn't seem terribly impressed, but I know he's just jealous. 

I can type fast.  That makes me cool.  It's proven my science.

My keyboard where I type fast which makes me cool as proven by science

Angela

Recovering is Highly Recommended

I don't want to speak too soon, but I believe I'm finally recovering.  It's a good thing too because I only made 2 posts last week and, at this point in the game, anything less than 7 times a week just feels inadequate.  However, I feel like now that I don't have to post, my posts should be better because I have more time to think and perfect them.  If I have an idea about something to write about, I think "If I wait longer then my ideas about this topic will get better and thus my post will be better".  This is not the case. 

What actually happens is I completely forget what I was going to write about and end up sitting in front of a blank screen thinking "What was that idea I had?  Something about.... fish?  Pickles?  Paint?  Wait, how on earth do those things fit together?  Maybe I should go watch the Daily Show and I'll come back to me."  Then I go and do other things and forget about posting. 

So, now that I am feeling better, I believe my brain is functioning at higher capacity and thus I shall not allow my brain to be tricked by my faulty logic.  Also it means I will be doing more things because I feel well enough to do them and thus will have more things to write about.  It's a win-win.  I don't know why I ever got sick in the first place.  All it did was bring me down.  That was a bad decision on my part.  I mean, it couldn't have been my faulty sick-logic that got me sick because I wasn't sick yet.  Somehow in my clear headed mind I thought it would be a good idea to sit around and be unwell for over a week. 

I told John not to get sick.  I hope he learned something from my example.  It is definitely a bad decision and I would urge anyone to take it seriously.  I can only in good conscience recommend that someone get sick if they are A.) wanting to get out of school (but only for below college level because you're not paying for that time) B.) need some time off a job that offers paid sick leave (but don't contract anything serious or you won't enjoy the time and you might have to leave said job) C.) need to get out of an awkward social obligation (in which case faking it would probably be sufficient).  Other than those situations, don't even think about being sick.  You will regret it. 

I really wish I have a picture for this post.  That would make it so much cooler. 

Angela