One Crazy Cat

I am a dog person, but I can't say I always have been.

Growing up we had cats before we had dogs, and I enjoyed having them around. Then Nicodemus happened.

The cat was crazy and had some sort of vendetta against me or he thought I looked tasty. One of the two.

But he was constantly stalking and attacking me. This is no joke. I am somewhat traumatized from the experience. He'd launch himself at me in the hallway. At night, during the day, it didn't matter. I was his target.

So cats aren't cool. They're are weird temperamental creatures that drive me crazy a little.

But I'm not bitter about the whole experience at all.


Getting back on the horse

For the past five or six summers - well, since my the summer before my senior year of high school - my job has been mowing lawns.

I owned a mower before I owned a car. I study lawns like an artist studies paintings. I had REALLY bad tan lines with feet that looked like I was still wearing socks and thighs that never saw the sun. Swimsuits were not my friend.

This summer is the first that I am not returning to the Ham to continue mowing with my father. I have an internship that will run for July and, if I'm lucky or persistent, I will have a job following that.

But today I mowed. I gave my sister, who has stepped into my shoes, the day off and myself the chance to make some much needed cash.

And I can say I will definitely miss it.

There is something to be said for a job that allows a person to be outside all day everyday, stay partially in shape, and enjoy the good (and bad) weather.

This summer I will spend a majority of my time behind a computer making less money per hour than I ever did mowing. But my tan lines won't be hideous and I will be one step closer to a real adult life.

But I will miss my Toro mower, the time spent driving around town with my dad, and some of my favorite customers.

One of whom today told me there was something different about me. He said I had a sparkle in my eye and asked if I was in love. I told him I was still looking for it and tried to hold back my laughter.



There's nothing like a trip to dentist to increase feelings of guilt and a sense of impending doom.

Today was no different.

Earlier this week I realized that I had forgotten to schedule appointments for while I was home. Luckily they were able to squeeze me in at the dentist and the eye doctor.

So I set off this afternoon for one of my favorite places...the dentist chair.

It was just a cleaning, but, as usual, was accompanied by a conversation about flossing, toothbrushes, gingivitis, the pockets around me teeth, and other important dental hygiene topics.

I left without having to make another appointment for cavities (Yay!) but also vaguely confused as to why there are still even teeth in my head. Based on everything I've done wrong, they probably shouldn't be there.

It's not too late though.

The highlight of trip: the receptionist asking me, "You are 18 now, aren't you?"

Just by a day or two.



It's been a day, which is true most days.

I woke up this morning, finished cramming my last few items into an already stuffed car and headed off. I had a six plus hour drive in front of me, from school to home.

First, however, I had to make an important pit stop. The farm had a new addition overnight. A spindly legged, wobbly, little black filly. She was absolutely adorable and all of six hours old.

Then I had to leave. And drive. In car with only a geranium and a guitar for company in the passenger seat.

I made the trip in six hours, 37 minutes less than Google maps said it should take. My great achievement of the day.

Now I am sitting on the couch, surrounded by barking dogs, and watching 27 Dresses. What a day.


Boy Scout

I set out today for town feeling very prepared for whatever might come my way.

I was in the Subaru, loaded down with a little bit of everything, most of which wasn't even mine.

With the stuff packed into the car I could camp, play some guitar, watch a movie, or even decorate a room. Whether it's hot or cold outside, I could handle it.

Little did I know that not everything I came across today could be dealt with by the things in the car.

I played some terrible tennis, was bored out of my mind, and got a parking ticket. The ticket really got me down. Luckily the boredom was solved with the purchase of a $1 book, thank you Bookie Too, and I was able to laugh my way through tennis even as I was getting rained on.

The only thing I ended up using out of the car was a sweatshirt. Oh, and a pillow. When I was reading my book/taking a nap.

I guess it was a good thing the car was stuffed after all.


Back in the Saddle

I went riding today for the first time in seven months. It should have been only six but last time I attempted to ride there was a hoof that connected with my thigh, leaving me uninterested in climbing in the saddle.

It was wonderful.

I climbed hills, crossed fields, and even got a little pink from the sunshine. Half way through our ride, the tall one, old one and I enjoyed an adult beverage and shot the breeze.

Overall, it was wonderful way to spend a day of vacation, especially after how hard we worked yesterday.

Granted, I might not be walking very well tomorrow. Three hours in the saddle after all that time off will do that to you.

But it was totally worth it. If only I could spend every day that way.



I don't know what my problem was today. I could not seem to keep liquid upright in its proper container.

I spilled beer, iced tea, and more iced tea.

It's been a long, busy day. I'm covered in a layer of grime, chemicals and sweat. But the apartment is clean and everything is moved.

Now all I have to do is repack the Subaru so the two VERY large duffel bags I brought home will fit. It's a good thing I'll be driving across the state alone. It could get ugly.



Tonight I strolled down a gravel road, drink in hand, headed to a bonfire and felt like I had come back.

The evening was country, but I wasn't really raised country. Growing up I lived on a acre on a gravel road, but I wasn't country.

Then I went to school. In a place surrounded by fields of wheat and herds of cattle. During my time here I filled drill bits, moved cattle, and flagged combines on top of work, school and play.

So it was nice to sit on a log and have my butt covered in pitch while farmers talked shop and rehashed stories from the past.

It was nice to roast hot dogs (well, I didn't), marshmallows, and banana boats over the fire.

I also plan on riding a horse and if I'm lucky I might even get to see a newborn foal.

Things have changed here though...some. There's wireless internet which was never a reality before, but I still don't have cell service.

Some things change and some don't.



Generally speaking I am a pretty able person. I am coordinated, my limbs works as they are supposed to.

Somehow I managed to have a lot of issues growing up. Basically I was a little bit accident prone. Luckily enough I managed to come out mostly unscathed. The objects around me weren't as lucky.

Here are a few examples of what I am talking about.

Numero Uno

Perhaps the first, and definitely one of the more unfortunate incidents involved a pellet stove when I was four or five. My siblings and I would take baths and then stand in front of the fireplace to dry off and warm up.

Apparently I was a poor judge of distance. Before I know it my butt is burned badly enough that I have to take a cloth to sit on at preschool.

Numero Dos

At the age of ten I convince my parents that I was old enough to handle our moped. We lived on an acre, so they strapped the helmet on my head, explained the basics, and away I went.

Unfortunately I put a little too much into the handle throttle, froze like a deer in headlights, and went straight through my neighbors fence much like a dog goes through a dog door.

Numero Tres

Ok, so this is more of a theme in my life...keys. I have dropped keys into a lake while on vacation so my dad had to snorkle for them. I locked them in our conversion van at a basketball tournament and we had to slide my sister through the narrow side window. I even managed to lock the keys in the car with it running once. Basically I have a gift.

Numero Cuatro

While on a missions trip with my church youth group I was refilling a stapler. Simple enough.

After replacing the staples I shut the stapler with a little too much force and managed to staple two of my fingers together. You think I'm joking, think again.

That happened.

The. End.



I was pretty lucky growing up. I got along with parents for the most part, enjoyed my siblings, and had a pretty nice life.

This isn't to say it was perfect. There were a couple times we were house-less, between locations, my brother and I fought like cats and dogs, and we were never (and still aren't) rich.

But I was blessed - a better way to say it than lucky I think.

Today I was reminded of something funny from my childhood...from family road trips.

My brother, sister and I are less than four years apart in age. This means we were all under the age of four at together. Personally, I don't know how my mother did it, but that's not the point.

We would travel quite a bit. We were on one side of the side and had quite a bit of family on the other. This meant anywhere from five to eight hours of driving, and this was pre-dvd players in the car.

As they say, desperate times call for desperate measures.

For my parents, that meant dimeatap (or however it's spelled).

Everytime we got into the car to make the trek across the state, or any other long roadtrip, we would take dimeatap. This ensured we would sleep and my parents would at least have a few hours break from:

"Mom, he's staring at me" or "that's my side of the seat."

And here I thought dimeatap was used to fight colds. Little did I know.


Sports Parents

Over the years I have observed that most parents that have kids in sport fall into one of six categories. Working a girls wrestling tournament this weekend only reinforced that. Some of these categories can occur in someone simultaneously.

1. The pusher - this parent has their kid doing every camp, team, and clinic possible. The child might not even like the sport or care, but have no choice in the matter.

2. The yeller - everyone in the gym knows this parent, and who their child is. They can be positive and negative, but either way they are just plain loud.
2a. The cheerleader - always positive in their yelling, using phrases such as "unlucky" or "nice try sweetie."
2b. The downer - only yells about what is going wrong, which could include reffing, coaching, or the child them self.

3. The strategist - as soon as the game or match ends, this parent is ready to sit down to discuss in depth what just happened and what needs to change.

4. Preoccupied parent - usually accompanied by a phone/PDA, a small child, a book even, or some combination of the two. This parent doesn't usually have a clue what is going on and tends to be running late quite a bit.

5. Soccer mom/dad - ensures at least half the team makes to the game, also supplies drinks, snacks, and first aid material.

6. The politician - constantly talking about what is wrong or right with the situation. This parent will bring up poor coaching decisions to anyone that will listen and is constantly acting as a advocate for his/her son/daughter. He/she is not above making phone calls or petitioning to get what they want.

This list could go on for quite a while, but this covers just a few of the major sporting parents that exist out there.


The name of the game is Stress

I am not normally an individual that stresses out easily.

Then I have moments when I freak out. This morning was one of those.

After returning to my room from a breakfast I didn't eat I began packing and organizing my stuff. I am headed home next Saturday and need to move some stuff to the apartment and take some stuff with me.

Feeling overwhelmed, I managed to throw some old papers out and grab some hanging clothes, really accomplishing nothing.

Then I thought I lost my keys. A friend came in needing a ride to her car. I couldn't find the right car keys. The ones that had a key to the apartment. The apartment I had to be at in half an hour to meet Mr. Comcast.

Feeling rushed I grabbed the spares and ran her downtown. On the way back Mr. Comcast called saying he would be there in 10 minutes, 30 minutes before his scheduled arrival. He agreed to come back later (but he was supposed to be here by noon, and hasn't arrived still).

Then when I finally left the dorms to head to the apartment I left the necessary paperwork and had to turn around.

I ended up getting to the apartment at 10:20. Mr. Comcast was coming anytime between 10 a.m.-12 p.m., so I supposed he might have been by already. I sure hope not.

The good news of the morning, I successfully put our TV table together with a partially stripped screwdriver, so that's pretty exciting.

So ends one in the driest, dullest blogs from recent history. Enjoy!



Last Friday afternoon after work, my friend and I signed on an apartment, where I will live through July.

It's kind of a weird thing to be moving but only know that it's semi-permanent. Seriously, I only know where I will until August 1.

Then, no clue.

Instead I am sorting my things, moving some here, taking some home, and just trying to find space for it all. I'll put it off and then I'll end up with random assortments of stuff back in my parent's house and here.

Oh, and United is causing me to pay to bring stuff home. Awesome.

What a great way to start live as an adult. Not that I have a real job, but who's counting?!



I want to start out by apologizing to my mother. That was a pretty lame mother's day post. She definitely deserves better. So this one's for you!

My mom writes. If anyone was ever born for something it was my mom and writing.

She's kept journals since well before my life began, and every day she writes in them.

It was her I turned for every time I had a paper due, even after I moved out of the house. She forced me to be better and even now as I write this blog she will mention when I screw something up.

At the same time, because of her abilities I feel lacking and sometimes I prove that I am. There is a story behind this...

One day I was riding in the car with my mom. We were going home from who knows where and just about to turn onto our street. I remember it distinctly.

I was talking about how I've always felt that I am not that great of a writer, but recently had realized that I really was above average as I compared my own writing to many of my peers - mostly in school work.

The I turned to her and said, "It's not that I'm uncapable."

Case in point. So I should probably leave the writing to her.

The funny thing is, I have fallen into a job that my primary responsibilities have to do with writing - stories, press releases, recaps.

This memory though - to get back to Mom - is one that we use often. Mostly to poke fun at each other, because that's what my family does.

I still have her look over my writing, too.


Cell Phone

My cell has developed some sort of virus. I am hoping it is the 24 hour variety, but I'll probably head to Verizon.

For now though, it ends calls one second after it connects. Not a second more, not a second less. Because of this, I couldn't wish my mom a happy mother's day.


Unfortunately that's the best I can do at the moment.


Day late, not a dollar short

I had this idea ready yesterday, but then I went to play poker and didn’t get home until late. Too late to make enough sense to write a blog, that is.

So guess what time it is?! That’s right – person o’ the week.

I am taking a story from the world I have been immersed in the past few months. If you haven’t picked up on it, I work in wrestling – mostly at the senior level.

Nationals were a couple weeks ago and at the event I met Lindsay Berra, Yogi Berra’s granddaughter. This may or may not mean anything to you.

But that’s not who the blog is supposed to be about. I am going to try to stay focused here.

Lindsay wrote a story on Sara McMann, a wrestler who has a silver medal from 2004 and has been on top of her weight class since. That is until Nationals. But her story is really about much more than that, much more than wrestling. Lindsey says it better than I, so I will leave you to check out her story.

I know a lot of athletes, a lot of people, have gone through a lot to get where they are. Sara’s just one of many, but that doesn’t make her story less remarkable.



What the heck?!

I was at lunch today, riding in my coworker's car on the way to Panera. We were stopped at a red light.

We look over and a semi has somehow managed to stop blocking the entire intersection. Let me just say if you're a truck driver you probably know when you can and can't stop.

Anyways, the semi starts reversing, which is fine. There is plenty of room between the semi and the Ford Ranger pick up behind him.

But the semi driver keeps backing and backing. Finally he rams the Ford backwards a few feet, pauses, and continues to reverse.

The driver of the Ford does not honk, yell, or anything. Instead he reverses a little farther back to give the semi space.

The light changes and the semi drives away.

I don't really understand what was going on. At all.


Looking back

I was reminded today of the awkward stages I went through growing up.

Contrary to popular belief, I have not always been the paragon of beauty and grace that I am now. There were a few bumps along the road. Let's look back at a few of those phases.

First there was the boy-like hair cut. I think the common term is bob, but on my head there is nothing feminine about it. The great part is, I had that style three different times throughout my childhood.

How awesome was this haircut?

During a visit to Taco Time, I went up to get the dessert that came with the kids meal. The employee handed me my dessert and said,"here you go, sir."

No joke, it was that bad.

Second awkward phase: seventh grade. I hadn't yet gotten contacts, my braces were freshly glued to my teeth, and I wore a not-so-attractive green jacket all the time.

Let me describe in a little more detail this jacket. It was green plaid, fleece, and rather bulky. Think along the lines of a lumberjack. And no joke, I wore it every single day.

Last bad idea/awkward time in my life. Sun-in.

Anyone who experienced sun-in during the life probably doesn't need to read any further.

This stuff was supposedly the cheap, and quick, way to make your hair lighter in the sun - or with a blowdryer. Instead my hair turned a orange/yellow shade and was practically dry enough to snap.

If that doesn't say sexy, I don't know what does.

What I am trying to say is that awkward and I are close friends. True story.



I notice yesterday that I mentioned something about being a ballerina. And it reminded me of my one foray into the world of ballet.

When I was a wee child, probably four or five, my grandmother really wanted me to take ballet.

So I was enrolled in ballet.

Here's the thing. I was obviously not meant for ballet.

I generally consider myself to be a fairly athletic person, who can pick up sports rather easily. But I am not, nor have I ever been, flexible.

I was the kid in class that couldn't do half the stretches and only really liked when we practiced jumps. That was the best.

Needless to say, I never took ballet again. And I'm still not flexible.


Rating Scale

Have you ever thought about how most of us judge ourselves, what scale we use. Generally we compare ourselves to others.

It struck me, today, how ridiculous this really is.

The scale, or system, seems so effective when we compare ourselves to people that aren't as good at whatever we are focused on.

I will always be able to find someone who doesn't write as well, isn't as well read, is in worse shape, etc.

At the same time, I can find millions of people that put me to shame. It is so easy to feel like crap.

So really, what's the point of comparing yourself to all these other people?! It doesn't even make sense.

Instead compare yourself to you. Are you better today than you were yesterday? Have you learned from the experiences you've had?

I will never be a cover model, an astronaut, or a ballerina.

But I can be the best me possible. Or at least the best I can be on any given day.


The Five-O

I was part of one of the oddest traffic stops I have ever seen today.

I was driving down Union, a road I tend to speed on unless blocked by slow drivers. In the Springs, slow drivers seem to make up most of the population.

As I approached one of the worst intersections in the city, partially due to construction, I saw a copper waving someone off. Keep in mind he was walking through the street carrying his radar gun.

He waved the car in front of me on, so I groaned and pulled through the traffic cones to the side of the road. I had absolutely no clue how fast I had been driving.

As he approached the vehicle with his gun raised, ok - I just made the second part up, I rolled down the window.

"I wasn't waving to you. You can keep driving," he said.

My heart returned to its normal rhythm as I pulled back into traffic, safe to speed another day.

But seriously, why was he walking through traffic to pull people over. Safety first, I always say, and that wasn't safe.


Sorry I missed a week

It's that time of the week again. I know I missed it last week, sorry.

Person of the week.

This one is about no one famous, no one you know. In fact, I don't even know the man's name, but this man really made an impact on me.

When I was in community college everyday I would drive the same way to and from school. On one corner by the mall there would always be a homeless man or two holding signs, looking for money.

Most days I would avoid making eye contact because it was just easier. Some days I would give whoever was standing there that day something to eat.

One day I got stuck at the light. It was a warm day, my windows are down, and there's a man sitting right beside me. I am working hard not to pay attention, but finally we make eye contact.

For lack of anything better to do, I smile and say hello.

And he thanks me for making his day a little brighter. That's it. No awkwardness, no begging, just a smile.

I was able to see past the situation to the person.

Lesson learned: stop judging and start smiling.


I played in an intramural soccer game tonight.

During the game, I took a shot on goal to forehead. The force of it knocked me down.


I sacraficed for the team and we didn't even win.