I'm not going to lie. I was a smart kid. Okay, so that may be venturing into a little blatant bragging, but it's soon to be accompanied by some not-so-proud confessions, so the unashamed and the shameful balance each other out. It's probably no surprise to anyone that I was an exceptionally shy, quiet child. My preschool teacher never even heard my voice until the last month of school, when I responded to her "good morning Trisha" with a quiet "hi". It earned me a sticker and a proud note to my parents (which I still have . . . framed . . . . just kidding. Well, about the framed part). In the world of children, shy and quiet usually goes along with the assumption that they're little angels (or seriously disturbed . . . but typically it's the former). Let's face it, it's rarely the quiet ones who are the bullies or the type who make Jenny cry on the playground by pulling her pigtails or not allowing her into their exclusive club. And if there's an obnoxious/troublemaker type kid you can bet it's not the one who softly whispers "hi" in the morning (on a talkative day). In conclusion of this introductory paragraph, it's not too surprising that quiet kids are often thought of as being sweet, simply because they don't actively cause trouble. I could only wish that the same assumption held true for shy adults. . . too bad that after your childhood years are up being quiet is often taken as stuck up or rude. But that's another blog for another day.

I forgot where I was going with this. . . shy kids are supposedly wonderful little citizens. . . I was painfully shy. . .  and fairly smart. Got it. Back on track. So I was thought of as this "perfect" little kid . . . quiet, never mean, did her schoolwork without being asked, did what she was supposed to, got A's in everything but gym. As such, if I ever DID do something wrong, I was very rarely held accountable for it, because adults always thought "Trisha's so sweet, she would never intentionally do something bad. . . she must not have realized that taking the goldfish out of the bowl in the classroom would kill it". Don't worry, I never did that to a fish. If adults were REALLY smart they would have realized in this hypothetical example that I was intelligent enough to know fish die when taken out of water. The problem was, (well really it was not a problem), they always assumed my sweet nature and moral sensibility outweighed my intelligence . . . because even if I was a smart kid, I was still just a kid. So if I did something wrong they assumed I was just confused or didn't know it was wrong. Totally underestimated my intelligence. Or, totally overestimated my propensity to do the right thing. I remember quite a few times I was proud of myself for outsmarting adults whenever I was in a sticky situation that was completely my fault. And a couple of times I'm not so proud of. Let the storytelling begin. . .

It was 4th grade. We had to present our example of a "simple machine" that we made at home. It was a big project that I put off long enough that I completely forgot it was due that day. Most kids brought in things made with little wooden spokes and wheels purchased at the local craft store or made out of k-nex toys. Some of the less impressive ones were made out of cut up cereal boxes, popsicle sticks, coat hangers and yarn. And, because I lived in semi-rich, middle-upper class Orange, aka town of spoiled children pushed to be overachievers, many were clearly made with the assistance of a parent or a very helpful teenage brother who aced shop class and included welded metal and miniature motors. Seriously, here's the type of thing I had to compete with. . .

NO WAY a 9 year old would have built this
pop-a-balloon machine completely on their own,
unless you let your 9 year old work screw guns

I'm going to be stereotypical...
the only sign that this was made by a
little girl is the choice of pink wheels

I don't buy this one either

Okay, this I'll buy. It's made with a toy
and kids are handy with toys. Still, it's too
impressive when I had literally nothing to show.
This kid is certainly proud of it.

This "make your breakfast" machine could have been thought of by a kid and is visually less appealing than some of the other examples. But it has a number of components and is therefore still impressive. My guess? It was a smart parent making it seem more believable...

This was seriously like the
least ambitious one shown...
though it's impressive that
thread could hold such a heavy
book without much support.
That alone would amaze me.

So what was I going to do? One after one, these kids were presenting their genius contraptions and I had nothing. I would have never admitted I forgot about it or put it off. I also would have never lied and said I forgot it at home because it still showed too much irresponsibility for my liking. But, in my mind, I was expected to have one of the best ones of the bunch, because I was an overachieving, perfectionist, intelligent child (although prone to occasional laziness and ignoring of projects). So I did what I'm so poor at in the world of acting. . . I improvised. I grabbed a ruler in my desk, and while other kids were presenting I discreetly plucked off a couple pieces of tape, rolled them up to be double-sided and stuck them on the edge of my ruler. When it was my turn I went up to the front of the class, sprinkled some pencil shaving sawdust on a table and proceeded to clean it up with my sticky invention. Since it was so lame I had to really sell it. I may have been shy, but I was still into acting. I pretended to be really proud of my "machine", explaining how I wanted to make something practical (acting as if I had no clue such a thing as a lint-roller existed). The genius of this approach was that it also subtly implied that my classmates' balloon popping machines and mini "elevators" that could lift pencils had no real, important use, but my brilliant sticky stick could work wonders removing cat hair from your couch. When asked what kind of simple machine it was I said it was a pulley because it pulled things off of other things. I knew it was wrong, but I acted like I thought it was right and hoped that it would be interpreted as if I seriously misunderstood the concept of a pulley as a result of insufficient teaching. Some smart aleck kid asked what to do once the tape isn't sticky any more. I said you replace the tape. He gave me a look that clearly said, "Well that's not very practical, is it?". I secretly was mad at him for asking a stupid question. My grade on the project? A solid B. I knew it should have been a D or perhaps a kind "try again after I help you understand the intention of the project better". But my report page just said something generic and polite like "Let's go over how pulleys work. . . nice try! Clever of you to make something handy!" Guarantee you that if it were a slacker kid who presented a ruler with a piece of tape on it they would have just gotten an incomplete . . . the elementary school version of an F. But I was given the benefit of the doubt. I was secretly proud that I outsmarted the teacher and momentarily curious as to how often I could get away with handing in projects in this manner before she started to catch on and stopped being so kind. I'm not going to lie. This one I'm still kind of proud of.

Some of my other stories I'm more ashamed of. I recall one particular quiz where I looked at someone else's answers and we were both confronted about it. It was a really obvious case of cheating. . . a geography quiz where we both said Nebraska was Zimbabwe on a map or something equally as obscure that would be highly coincidental (read impossible) if we both gave the same wrong answer, probably spelled the same incorrect way too. I couldn't have been all that smart if I considered Zimbabwe a possible answer for a U.S. state. Anyways, we both swore we didn't cheat and I was believed because I was the "model student". I still remember the teacher telling both of us how it's wrong to steal someone else's answers, but looking only at the other kid while she said it. I don't think he was punished, because he didn't confess either (he didn't do anything wrong. . .  other than give the wrong answer), but I remember feeling so guilty for lying, and not getting punished for it, that I considered volunteering to clap the erasers. . . everyone's least favorite job. . .  but then reconsidered because I figured that would give away my guilty conscience. (Clearly, clapping the erasers would have completely reconciled my cheating and lying) I decided to trade with the kid instead: my Dunkaroos for his carrot sticks. Relieved my guilt a bit. I assumed the teacher would have figured out my "nice deed due to guilty conscience" bit but that the kid wouldn't. I clearly thought highly of my peers' intelligence. Horrible child, I know. But I did give up my Dunkaroos. Which at the time was a very big deal. And it traumatized me so much that despite temptation, I never copied from someone again. Lesson learned before I hit a double-digit age.

I was quite proud (and about the most rebellious I got as a child) to outsmart my gym teacher a couple of days each month. Although in this case it wasn't really as much outsmarting as it was simply getting my way. We were all instructed to wear sneakers and either pants or shorts twice each week on our gym days. I hated gym. Hated it. Almost as much as I hated recess. (Mandatory social interaction and the freedom to choose an activity was painful for me. I was an odd child). But, as much as I hated my mother regularly dressing me up in dresses, bows and shiny shoes for school, I hated gym more. So on gym days I would always "allow her" to pick out a dress for me. Then, I'd have to sit out of gym class and watch everyone else play. The gym teacher never yelled at me (because I was a sweet, quiet girl), but he would nicely remind me to wear appropriate gym wear. Always hating to take blame as a child, or give the impression I did something wrong, I told him my mom made me wear dresses. I really was an angel, wasn't I? A note was sent to parents to remind them of gym days. My mom started paying attention, dressing me in pants. A minor setback, to which I found a solution. I simply packed dresses in my backpack and got changed into them at school. I was never punished for repeatedly wearing dresses. Just nicely reminded. Come to think of it, this is probably a big reason why gym was the only class I got Bs in.

The whole quiet & smart thing worked to my advantage up through high school. I remember one calculus exam I just didn't study for at all for whatever reason. . . busy with dance, pure laziness, new episode of 7th Heaven. . . I don't remember why. I failed it horribly. . . got like a 30. But because I typically got As my teacher asked me what was up, I said severe stress or something, and he let me re-take it. I figured I'd get a similar exam to the one we took that covered the same topics. But no. I got to re-take the exact same test, after we had already gone over all the answers as a class. I got a 100 to replace my original score. I was older at this point so I did feel some guilt for this, considering I didn't even try the first time around. But then again, it was the teacher's decision to give me the exact same exam. It was a "lucky me" moment and I was thankful for a nice, though perhaps too understanding, teacher.

No clue what made me reflect back on these stories recently. I've realized I was a manipulative little kid who clearly had an issue thinking she was smarter than everyone else and more entitled. Good thing I've grown since then. Mostly.

I've always been a cat person. There are cat stereotypes... that they're independent, unsociable, aloof, only sleep and eat, etc. etc. while dogs are "man's best friend" and infinitely more intelligent and loving. Vastly unfair to the feline population, if I say so myself. Like dogs, cats have very unique personalities, as I've come to learn. Due to the average lifespan of a cat (~ 15 years), my current, relatively short time on Earth (nearly 26 years), and the fact that I only enjoy having one cat at a time, I've had 3 cats in my life. Each completely different in personality. This here post is a little cat story time. I promise I'll try to keep it entertaining... even if you hate cats (shame shame).

First cat I had was Prudy, short for Prudence. My parents had her before I was born and she stuck around until I was 9, at which point my brother and his friend chased her into the woods from which she never returned. I don't remember her much but there are a couple of awesome, somewhat unbelievable stories of hers that certainly help give evidence to the "cats have 9 lives" theory. In fact, when I was in second grade I wrote out 2 of her stories, accompanied them with a lovely little crayon drawing of Prudy, and entered them into an "awesome pet stories" contest my local movie theater was having as a promotion for the 1994 flop "Monkey Trouble". It won me a free sundae at Baskin Robbins (1st place) and a Monkey Trouble T-Shirt (2nd place). I was pleased. I was also probably the only child who entered.

Anyways, first story... I was driving my younger brother to pre-school which was a short 5 or so minute drive from my house. Well, my dad was driving... since I was only 6 or 7 at the time I was merely along for the ride. We get out of the car and hear a cat meowing. Being an avid cat lover, and a curious individual, I proceed to look for the source of the mews. Who do I find? None other than Prudy, sitting on the exhaust pipe of the car. Our conclusion? She hopped on the exhaust pipe at home (she was the only outdoor/indoor cat of the ones I've had), and balanced like only a cat can for the 5 minute drive. Nothing else made sense. Thinking back to it now I think this may be a warped memory of some sort since I don't think there's physically enough room for even a mouse, never mind an adult cat, to fit on top of an exhaust pipe. Maybe she was on the roof or trunk and no one noticed? I'm sure it made an interesting view for any other cars that passed by us on that short drive. But she was not IN the car, unless my memory is seriously warped or my dad was playing a bizarre trick on us... regardless, it's a pretty fun story. Not sure if that one won 1st or 2nd place. haha

2nd Prudy story... she apparently liked to jump up and sit on a particular windowsill at our old old house. One hot summer day we opened the window and when she jumped up she didn't realize the glass was open and she fell right out. To add to the drama, apparently our old pool used to be right outside of said window and she landed in the water. This story took place either before I was born or when I was younger than 4, aka before my memory really kicked in. I'm fairly certain this one was at least exaggerated. She probably jumped up, was confused by the open window, and stumbled a bit, nearly falling out... nevertheless, the falling into the pool bit became cat legend in our house. One of those stories that my parents have told so many times that by now they may even believe it really happened. Children are gullible so I of course, ate it up. But who knows? Maybe she did go swimming that day.

On to 2nd cat, Missy. Missy was my baby. My uncle got her for me as a surprise (even to my mother, who wasn't too pleased),  shortly after my parents separated and I wrote a "Why I Deserve a Cat" essay for my mom. Can you tell I enjoyed writing? Can you tell I was a huge nerd? The commercial below made me laugh when it came out because if I had been born 10 years later this SO would have been me (side note: yes, though I'm "young" the entirety of my elementary school years were pre-internet. Powerpoint was a newfangled program teachers had to learn about, never mind incorporate in the classroom, when I was a child... I used a typewriter when I was young, admittedly though it was an odd childhood obsession with nostalgia thing rather than a necessity... we did have the giant gray Mac computer with the black screen and green font, but I remember the excitement of FINALLY getting dial-up internet at home when I was 14. I look younger than I am. end side note.)

But yes, Missy was my love, and she with me from age 11 to 24... through the divorce, emotions surrounding leaving my father, the ups and downs of relationships & love, depression, college, first "real" job and all those crazy adolescent years of growing up. Pets are lovely companions, and this is especially true for introverted individuals such as myself. She was my confidant and friend. End of sappy cheesy comments. Not many people liked Missy, to be honest, and she didn't care for many people besides me. She hated to be picked up, preferred to be alone (though appreciative of company when it was her who initiated the contact), and regularly took swings at people (and dogs) who invaded her space. Perhaps what's most disturbing about all this is that people often said she was just like me, or that I trained her to be evil. Lovely compliment. However, her overall temperament and typical behavior with others made her affectionate nature with me all the more special. Losing her was the hardest loss I've had to go through yet in my life, which I am somewhat ashamed to admit, but I suppose it makes me very lucky. I still think about her every day and wish she were here.

Cat #3, Luna cat, could not be more different in personality than Missy. Missy rarely exhibited "kitten behavior" while Luna is the most playful, curious cat I've encountered. Missy's favorite word was "hiss" while one of Luna's nicknames is "purrball" because she purrs the minute she sees you. Luna loves to be held and petted, and her curious nature earned her the additional nickname of "disaster cat"... bathroom doors must remain shut if we don't want toilet paper all over the house, bags must be closed tightly if we don't want their contents strewn across the room, and glasses of water must be carefully attended if we don't wish to share our beverage. She manages to find pieces of paper and plastic around our (relatively) clean home and is often spotted trotting around the house with them in her mouth. I've seen her attempt to climb into the trash can multiple times to find something to play with. The other day the kitchen floor became a pond because she decided to go into her water dish, splash around to the extent that, like I said, the entire floor was like a pond and required three bath towels to mop up. Just to top it off she left a trail of wet paw prints around the rest of the house. The other week she jumped onto a counter, knocked over a dish of lollipops and batted them around the house. After cleaning it all up she jumped back up, picked up one in her mouth, jumped down and batted the one around the house as if to say "okay, if I can't have them all I will settle for one". Her other favorite activities include sticking out her tongue and sitting in bags and boxes. The pictures below are only a sample... if I was more crafty and had more time on my hands I could totally turn this into a themed "cat in a bag" scrapbook.

Since Luna is so curious by nature I'm constantly keeping tabs on where she is and what she's doing. The other week I couldn't find her after checking all of her usual hiding places. I resorted to getting ice from the fridge (she loves the sound of the ice machine and usually comes running, hopeful that a piece of ice will fall for her to bat around the floor). When this didn't work either I got nervous. Instinctively, I opened the front door. There she was, sitting on the porch, like she had just rung the doorbell and was waiting for me to let her in. She meowed at the sight of my face and instantly walked right inside when I opened the door. She is an indoor cat. I had definitely seen her since I had gotten home and no one else entered or left the house since so I had no idea how she got outside. After weighing out several impossible scenarios and some investigation I realized she went out the doggie door, onto the back deck. Missy was never strong enough to do this, but Luna has so much energy it wouldn't surprise me if she took a running charge at the thing to get outside. Anyways, she went out the doggie door, onto the back deck, jumped up onto the railing (2 stories up, so if she fell off good luck to her), walked along the railing to where the baby gate was to keep our dog on the deck, jumped over the baby gate onto the stairs below it and thus effectively made her way outside into the real world. Once we discovered her tactics we had to MacGyver this creation out of lattice fence material that made our deck look like a DIY project gone wrong to prevent her from escaping again. Thus far there have been no additional attempted escapes. Thank goodness I had the instinct to open the front door, and that she happened to be right there, and eager to come back inside. Though Luna has only been with us for 5 months she already has created more stories for herself than I have time or desire to share. Thus, this cat inspired blog is ending awkwardly now... well, after this video of the attack cat Luna with our dog Hercules.

I've written many a blog post about my obsessive need to use every coupon I see and my excessive enjoyment of finding good deals. While I'm a far cry from those coupon hunter crazies on TLC or whatever channel it is, it's still an unhealthy habit for my wallet. My latest finds that feed my addiction are Groupon and LivingSocial. Big savings at local places. Well, big mistake. Heed my warning if you are a coupon fiend such as myself.... I avoided joining for many, many weeks, as I feared the inevitable decline of my bank account and increase of purchases. But I am weak. And I gave in.

Day 1 after signing up for their tempting emails I made a purchase. Day 2, I made a purchase. Day 3, I made a purchase. Thankfully, at least, it was only one purchase each day. Thankfully, at least, it was only one purchase from Groupon OR LivingSocial and not both. So anyways, only three days after joining I forced myself to stop opening the emails. It's like a 10-step program. Hopefully... eventually... I will be able to open the emails, look at the plethora of good deals and just say no. But I have to take it in baby steps. Right now the subject line headings with their "deal of the day" mentions are hard enough to handle. I'm proud with each delete I manage. But it's a struggle.... it's difficult to talk about.

This here blog post is a story of one of my Groupon purchases. I bought a facial at over 60% off as a little treat to self. I had never had one before and again, it was a good deal, so I thought why not? Well, I show up yesterday at this "spa" which is really a one-woman show in a tiny space where the lobby-slash-store and one "treatment room" combined are about the size of large closet. The business owner is the only beauty technician, or whatever they're called, and she's also the receptionist, and the seller of beauty items at 20% off. I mean... good for her, owning her own business and running it all. No complaints. Just describing the setting for you here. Recreating. Business must not be doing too poorly, since when I walked in at 6:25 for my 6:30 appointment she asked if I'd mind waiting 5 minutes since she had back-to-back appointments all day and didn't have her lunch yet. Then again, maybe she's so busy from all of her Groupon sales, from which she may actually be losing money (despite the benefit of potentially gaining new clients). When I made this Groupon purchase I was the 250th person to do so... I remember because I was happy that it was a nice, clean number. That's a lot of facials for one woman who works out of a closet.

Anyway, once I'm in the room she's chit-chatting, small talking, asking questions away... way too much energy for a woman who had been working all day through her lunch (maybe her 5 minute lunch was a redbull). I respond with my usual short but polite answers which clearly give off a vibe that says "I'm shy and quiet and prefer not to talk". Vibe is either not recognized or ignored. I feel as though a big part of the job of any beauty technician (still don't know their title), or hairdresser or whatever, should be feeling out how social your clients are and acting accordingly. Nothing's worse than a stylist who relentlessly tries to small talk with someone who's clearly not having it. It's awkward. I generally prefer the awkward silence. But I was perfectly polite and after about 15 minutes fully gave in and catered to her need to talk... asking her questions about the business, appropriate skin care routines and her life. Despite the small space and forced conversation it wasn't completely unrelaxing. There was one of those natural sounds CDs playing in the background so whenever she paused to breathe I got to hear some waves crashing or rainforest bugs chirping. And the chair was heated, which was nice. After a "hot steam rinse" I got about 8 different peels or masks put on my face, all of which she supposedly customized to my skin's needs, accompanied with 8 heated towels and one mediocre arm/hand massage. I had the choice of an extraction or a mini back massage. I chose the extraction since it's more facial-esque. Little did I know choosing between an extraction and a massage is basically choosing between extreme pain or relaxing comfort and of course, I went for the pain. She covered my eyes to protect them from this crazy bright light and then proceeded to injure my face. I have a high pain tolerance but I'm girl enough to admit it hurt. The worst part though, was the bright light. The curse of my blue eyes is how sensitive they are to light. Despite being clenched shut and covered, my eyes were tearing to the point where it looked like I was full-on crying. My self-conscious, prideful self wanted her to know that these were not tears of pain but mentioning that would have been even more lame than if they were tears of pain, so per usual, I kept silent. For the final "calming mask" she left the room for 10 minutes so I could relax. Twas peaceful. At the end she said I may breakout from the facial. Great side effect to a supposed skin cleaning, no?

All in all, worth the full price? Not at all. Worth the Groupon price? Maybeeee. Will I do it again? Probably not. Well, unless I find a coupon.

Tune in soon for my zipline adventure story... yet another Groupon purchase. Luckily I've managed to steer clear of the Escape Getaways. My wallet thanks me.

I was expecting something like this...
candles... quiet... relaxation....

  

But this more accurately depicts how I felt

 

This is a long post. One that jumps around between a couple of topics. One I probably should have edited to make shorter. But I didn't want to go through the hassle of editing this here casual blog of mine. So, instead I left it in its wordy, drawn-own state, added in this introductory paragraph to make it even longer, and all I have to say is bravo to you if you make it to the end. Really wants to make you keep reading right? Drawing the reader in with clever opening lines was always a strength of mine. Cough. Anyways, if you're still with me, here it is...

I'm re-reading one of my favorite novels, The Thirteenth Tale, and this one passage stuck out to me... it's about an author and the stories she has yet to write,

"My study throngs with characters waiting to be written. Imaginary people, anxious for a life, who tug at my sleeve, crying, 'Me next! Go on! My turn!' I have to select. And once I have chosen, the others lie quiet for ten months or a year, until I come to the end of the story, and the clamor starts up again."

I felt an instant connection to this passage because it perfectly describes how I feel about choreography. I have a huge list of songs I have to use, the workings of multiple pieces started in my mind, and the minute one dance is done I'm eager to pick out the next and get started, feeling bad for the other songs and ideas that will have to wait until later. I'm lucky to have such a passion and it's crazy to think that just 6 years ago I had absolutely zero interest in ever attempting choreography and little to no respect for it as an art. I truly believe this is one of the main reasons I was led to Wheaton, to discover this passion of mine... every so often things happen to fall a certain way and a lot of "chance" things lead you to something wonderful you couldn't have expected. Wheaton for me is one of those things... to think of how I ended up there and then what I got out of it... it's nothing short of a blessing.

How I ended up at Wheaton College is a bizarre story, all the more so if you know how much I am into researching and planning things and just how much typically goes into my decision making process. I had a list of 7 schools I was applying to senior year, not to name drop them (but I am anyway) they were Brown, Amherst, Wellesley, Tufts, Vassar, Stonehill and Gordon. I had done all my research... I knew their acceptance rates, average SAT scores, and essentially calculated my odds of getting into each one. In my know-it-all teenage mind I KNEW I would get into 2, had a chance of getting into 3, and probably would not get into the remaining 2, but wanted to try anyway... or in guidance counselor terms I had 2 safeties, 3 matches and 2 reaches. I had visited dozens of colleges, done all my interviews, taken tours, sat in on classes, and again I KNEW these were my top 7 choices. So when my guidance counselor told me I needed to apply to more "safety schools" I was strongly against it. If I KNEW I could get into two of my schools and I KNEW I would choose any one of these seven over any other school, why should I have to apply somewhere else? He was adamant that I choose at least one more school, "to give me more options" he said. KNEW (had to throw in one more all caps "knew"... sorry)


Now, normal Trisha, if forced to pick another option, would have gone through the whole research process again of trying to find her 8th choice... the perfect school for her if options 1-7 didn't work out. But rebellious Trisha (a side which rarely comes out) thought it would be perfectly spiteful if she chose a school at random, as if to say to mr. guidance counselor, "fine, i'll pick another school, but don't think I care which one I choose because I WILL get into at least 2 of my schools, I WILL go to one of those and this "8th choice" will be inconsequential and unnecessary, as I said from day 1". Time for Trisha to stop referring to herself in 3rd person. In reality, he didn't know how I came to the decision of choosing my 8th school, and probably it wouldn't have mattered much to him anyway. But I felt deliciously evil in knowing how I decided and in my mind it was the perfect way to get back at the guidance counselor who forced me to spend the unnecessary $55 on another application. So how did I come to my decision you ask? I picked up one of those top colleges in the northeast guidebooks, opened to a random page (which happened to be Wheaton's), saw its acceptance rate was more in the realm of the schools I knew I would get into rather than a Brown or Amherst, and decided to apply there. Knowing nothing about it. It made me so happy to do this to my guidance counselor without his knowledge that it was almost worth the $55 in my mind (of my mother's money... if it was mine it might have diminished my happiness a bit. But that's irrelevant).

Fast-forward several months and low and behold I get into the two schools I knew I would, plus Wheaton, and waitlisted at two others. Once I actually was accepted at Wheaton I figured it would be just plain irresponsible of me to not at least visit the place and see how it compared in my mind to the other two schools. (Of course, my method of choosing the school wasn't at all irresponsible in the first place). Two second background story... at all of my past college visits it had rained the day I visited... every single one (and remember, I visited dozens) so, by the 14th time or so that it happened I said to myself "if I ever visit a school and it's not raining I will take it as a sign and go there if I'm accepted". Well, no shocker with what happened next. I visit Wheaton and it's a gorgeous, sunny day. Even though researching, planning, calculating and comparing is my way of decision making and I'm often ruled by logic, I allowed my gut to take over and, completely unlike me, I didn't even think about it when I accepted my enrollment to Wheaton, turning down the other two schools. I felt that I was led there, for some unseen reason, and that it was where I was meant to be. Strangely enough I was really comfortable with my choice, even though I knew little about the place, because I took everything as a sign. Yet spiteful me was biting her tongue and did not thank guidance counselor. Didn't want to give him the satisfaction.


Now, I always follow my gut... it leads me throughout my life. While my heart isn't always smart enough, and my head doesn't always care enough, my gut has yet to lead me wrong. It combines my head, my heart and that unknown instinctive quality that I believe is God's guidance to get me what I need, even if it's not always what I want. I'm SO thankful I ended up at Wheaton, as I truly believe it was perfect for me and helped me grow into who I am. Beyond the classes and professors, friends and experiences, one of the best things I found at Wheaton was my passion for choreography. I honestly do not believe I would have found it otherwise.

I have been dancing for a long time, over 20 years now (ugh). In high school I had the opportunity to choreograph, and was greatly encouraged to do so by some of my teachers. But I had zero interest... not a spark... not one miniscule part of me had any desire or curiosity to explore even the possibility of it. I liked dancing. I liked others giving me steps to dance. I did not like the idea of creating movement for myself or others to dance. Period. When I got to college I didn't think I would have much of an opportunity to dance again in my life, beyond possibly some occasional classes, and of course in musical theater, but that's completely different. I didn't think I'd be able to dance in choreographed works. There simply isn't much opportunity once you graduate from a studio unless you join a professional company. Then I found dance company at Wheaton. I had an outlet to dance and I had a dance family. Still, I had no interest in choreography and I did not expect this to change. During my first two years at Wheaton I had the opportunity to work with multiple choreographers, all with different styles, very different than I had ever experienced at home. One day, sophomore year I (quite subconsciously) started visualizing choreography to a musical theater song I was listening to. I didn't know what to make of it. More and more ideas came to me with each listen to the song... I was choreographing without even trying. I decided to follow my gut (again) and push myself to go for it... if I'm ever going to choreograph might as well make it this semi cheesy, fosse-esque musical theater choreography I was visualizing, because, I thought, I could do anything with a musical theater style piece, and it would be much easier than a "real" dance. I worked for something ridiculous like 8 months on the piece before teaching it to the company as a junior. I was proud to have choreographed something, when I never thought I would, even if it was "just a musical theater piece". But I hadn't found my voice yet as a choreographer. Honestly, after that first experience I didn't have a huge desire to try choreographing something else and I had little belief that I would be able to ever do a "real dance". Even now, after having choreographed over a dozen pieces I feel like each time I start a new piece I won't know what I'm doing and I have little confidence that I'll be able to do a "real dance". Now I realize my works are real dances, they're just different. (I always thought of a real dance as like a lyrical jazz, which is actually sort of the style of the piece I just set recently.) I enjoy though that with the start of each new work I still feel like I won't have a clue what I'm doing... it emphasizes to me how there's no formula or set approach to choreographing and the process becomes more organic for me. Where was I going with this? (going back to re-read...) Oh, so I had no desire to choreograph again and little confidence in my ability. Then, junior year I worked with a choreographer who completely inspired me. His approach to choreography was unlike anything I had encountered before... there were no counts, no set tempo from dancer to dancer (dancer's choice!) and he had choreographed the whole thing but hadn't picked out music yet... but his passion for movement was infectious. Beyond his approach, which was new to me, what really inspired me was something he said, something that I now consider to be practically my mantra with choreography. Someone asked him why he decided to become a choreographer and through a huge smile he said "I get to play with movement every day of my life. What could possibly be better?" Those words struck a chord with me. Never before had I thought of choreography as playing with movement. I thought of it as you learn these set steps in your technique class and choreography is just stringing those learned movements together in a different order. Romantic definition there right? Can you tell I was a math major? Never before had I considered the possibility of creating something new or playing. My eyes were suddenly open to a world of possibilities. I said my first piece was heavily Fosse inspired... I had always admired his work but had never really thought about why I admired it. Now I believe it's largely because he wasn't afraid to be different, his moves are both sexy and odd and they have a sort of tongue-in-cheek, quirky humor I am drawn to. So many of these qualities I admire in Fosse's work were relevant to me in a fresh way when I thought about choreography in terms of playing with movement... now when I choreograph I do whatever strikes me, even if it's bizarre and different, I enjoy quirky movements that play off of literal interpretations of lyrics and I try not to limit myself to conventional dance steps learned in class. I found my voice and my inspiration, guided by the choreographer's words "play with movement". Such a simple idea, yet it completely turned my perspective upside down, or rather, right side up.

Since then I have been unable to stop creating choreography. Thoughts constantly swim in my mind for bits of movement and new works to set. And while it's possible I could have stumbled upon this passion of mine at some other point in my life and in some other way, I'm not so sure I would have... like I said, I was certain upon entering Wheaton that I wouldn't dance again. And if I didn't dance again, in this traditional way as I'm referring to it, outside of musical theater, why would I have ever been inspired to choreograph? I believe in my heart that dance company at Wheaton, and the choreographers and different styles I was exposed to there (and one choreographer's words in particular) are the reason I found this passion of mine. It makes you wonder what other passions of yours may be out there, yet undiscovered. Here's a shameless invite to check out some of my choreography here.


And as a random conclusion to this essay length blog of mine, if you haven't read The Thirteenth Tale and you enjoy reading, go read it now. I love a lot of books but very few are memorable and this is one that still creeps into my thoughts years after having read it, necessitating multiple re-reads. That's all.

Random pic, just because.

Since the world is ending tomorrow I thought I'd write one final blog post. A somber farewell. Although I'm sick of the topic, I can't help but jump on the bandwagon (a trite expression I hate but find myself using, then criticizing myself afterward for doing so). Yes, everyone's favorite hobby of the week seems to be making fun of this grand announcement, so I might as well jump aboard (gahh, trite expression #2 already). If you've been hiding under a rock (#3), perhaps you don't know that tomorrow is the beginning of the end. They say 3% of the world's population will die tomorrow and in 5 months time everyone will  be gone. So while you may make it to Memorial Day or July 4th, you might as well cancel any Thanksgiving or Christmas plans. Say your goodbyes and your love yous now because Judgment Day has arrived. Needless to say, tomorrow I will not be waiting for the end of it all, nor will I be celebrating at a "Judgment Day party" to mock the whole thing and have an excuse to drink. Twill be just another day. Sorry to be so boring.

I was driving in to work on Tuesday morning when I first saw the infamous billboard which I now can't avoid seeing 12+ times a day. You know the one... unless you're still hiding under that rock of yours.

At first I thought it was just a very odd plug for familyradio.com but soon the news spread like wildfire (trite expression #4... let's see how many I can rack up (#5?)). That's right, there's actually a group out there who thinks the world is ending tomorrow. And we would be foolish not to believe them, right? Who am I kidding... in today's society we're skeptical of things that are all but fact, so of course no one will believe them. Who is this "them" you ask? "Them" equals Harold Camping and his Project Caravan followers who spent a bunch of money on billboards to spread across the country, because after all... the world's ending tomorrow so might as well spend all that money now. I'll admit, after I first saw the billboard I checked the weather report for Saturday to see if there would be any signs of an earth shattering storm. When I saw that it would just be the usual rain we've had all week, I felt instant relief that the world would not be coming to an end, thank goodness. It got me thinking though... about how it all could end... the ways we fear it happening... what could happen the day after tomorrow? Shoot! That would have been a great line had I written this yesterday. Anyway...

Sure it's possible we could just get a ton of rain again like THE flood circa 4990 B.C... seems all the more plausible after this week. But over time we have dreamed up a lot of ways it could end. Everyone loves a good apocalypse movie. It could be aliens, a black hole, meteor or gamma ray burst from space. In the Bible it DOES say Jesus' return will take place in the sky... though I always pictured this as more of a supernatural experience than something like a meteor. Although, aliens are supernatural... but you know what I mean. Hopefully if it were aliens they would land their UFOs first and come out of their ships, thereby giving us the chance to attack them (as is so often seen in alien movies) rather than simply attacking us all from the sky first and getting it over with. Let us pretend we have a chance. I'm pretty sure we could detect most of these space related finales with satellites and jazz first (though what do I really know on the subject?). So unless this Camping fellow has a high-tech satellite and sees this stuff coming in (or NASA for that matter), I don't think this is how it will all play out. Next!

Look at this fun coloring page I found.
Have your kids color in the aliens shooting laser
beams through people and ending the world. What fun!

Perhaps it wouldn't be something from the sky, but rather something from the earth that ends us all. This string of recent earthquakes and tsunamis are certainly frightening and everyone is up in arms (#6? I lost track) over global warming. Something like this in a grand scale is conceivable. I've always been slightly terrified at the prospect of one of those super volcanoes erupting and disrupting the climate enough to kill all life on Earth. Maybe it will be a wide spread infection. Those like to pop up too. Swine flu, bird flu anyone? Maybe robots really will take over and our own technology will destroy us all. Or perhaps it will be a nuclear war. I still think the only way 3% of the world's population will die tomorrow is if this Camping figure pulls some sort of heinous attack so that no one can call him a liar. It's not really something to joke about. Part of me is worried that his followers may end up pulling something like the Heaven's Gate Hale-Boppers of 1997 who were convinced the world was ending. As I said, not really something to joke about. I don't go around preaching my beliefs, but I am a Christian. I do believe Christ is coming again... just not tomorrow. Insert bible passage Matthew 24:36 here.

Let's face the facts... every prediction of the earth's end thus far has failed. And there have been plenty. I may have fed into them a bit more when I was younger (during the Y2K scare I was a skeptical but slightly paranoid teenager who thought there was at least the possibility of a mass blackout, if not the end of the world), but now it's just silly to think you can predict these things. I'll live tomorrow like a normal day and yes, I'll be seeing you all December 22, 2012 as well. But if you'd rather prepare for the next famine/environmental collapse/solar flare/bombing/magnetic pole reversal be my guest and stock up on food and water, sport your facemasks and hope it will save you in the end. You never know.

It's already happened. I can't believe I'm at the point already where I forget how old I am. The past few times someone has asked me I've had to pause, think "1986" and mentally subtract from 2011 to tell them I'm 24. Quite a difference from my younger years where I could instantly spit out "I'm 11 years, 7 months old". I know I'm still young and therefore you're probably chuckling that I used the phrase "younger years". But as I'm approaching my quarter-century mark this July I've been reflecting more and more on how different I am now than I was. Sure, my personality and interests have remained primarily the same though they've evolved somewhat, as they do over time with everyone as they experience more in life. But I'm pretty sure I'll always be fairly quiet, curious & nerdy and have a soft spot for musical theater. The big difference is in my maturity and outlook on life. I feel like an entirely different person.

When I was young, even as early as elementary school, I remember feeling like I was mentally and emotionally mature for my age. I didn't have much interest in "play time" and I remember "not getting" how to play make believe type games or understanding why it was supposed to be fun. I don't think that's really a maturity thing... I think I was just odd (another thing that never really changed), but I remember feeling like I was more mature. Shift forward a few years to middle and high school and I remember REALLY feeling more mature. I didn't understand why people would be mean to each other, or try to act cool to fit in. I didn't find what most of my peers found funny amusing. And I thought to myself, when adults say "teenagers think they know everything and think they are mature enough to deal with anything", that I was an exception to their statement, because while I may not have known everything, I was still beyond my years in terms of emotional and mental maturity. I felt like I thought like an adult, assessed things like an adult, handled emotions like an adult. In no way was I "inferior" and I expected adults to think of me this way and treat me this way. I laugh at all of this now because it's probably what every teenager feels like. In some ways I do think I was more mature than my peers, but I was still an angst-ridden teenager.

I still remember the first time I felt a disconnect with people younger than me. Not children... I've never been much of a children person, even when I was one. I don't know how to act around kids and basically freak out if I'm around too many at once. No, I'm referring to teenagers, middle & high school age. I was just out of college and whenever I saw a group of teens walking around I felt a very strange disconnect. I'd look at them and smile to myself, thinking about how silly teenage years are, and then it suddenly hit me that I now felt like I fit in more with "adult adults" than teenagers. It was an odd, odd feeling and probably the first time I truly felt like a real adult. However, it's been in the past two years or so that I really started to feel like I'm different from who I was. That I have a firm grasp on who I am, what I believe, what I want and what I stand for. It's strange to think about because like I said before, throughout my whole life I've always felt like a mature, introspective person, but now its different. I can't pinpoint it or describe it well, but I'm grown up.

Just the other day I went through my poetry journal, poems I wrote from age 13 on. Poems that my mother read at the time that led her to believe I was going to commit suicide, to which I laughed as I said "they're just poems!" when really on the inside I knew I was showing them to her to tell her how much I was hurting. As I sat there and read these heart-wrenching words all I could think about was how far I've come and how much I wish I could go back and tell my teenage self that it would all be okay. I don't discredit what I felt at the time. I went through something awful that I dealt with in the best way I could... letting it out in words and through dance. I think about how scared I was and pessimistic; how cruel I thought life was and how all of that gave me the strength and growth to be at where I am now, a complete reversal. Now I am incredibly optimistic and hopeful, excited for the future and everything I have yet to learn and experience. I feel like life is sort of like constantly growing up... there's always more to discover... about yourself, about others and about the world. This sort of turned into a cheesy message on personal growth. I apologize. I'm not sure what my intention was when I first started writing or what I was hoping to say. Certainly not bore you with a self-indulgent story on growing up. I thought it was curious though that my poetry book stopped at the age of 19. Half of this 2 inch thick journal was filled with poems from age 13-19, but not one from before I was teen and not one after. It's not like I made the conscious decision to stop when I was 20; I just did not find myself writing poetry anymore. It's sort of like poetry was meant to help me through my teenage years and then at that point it had served its purpose. Now that is cheesy.

I'm not sure I want to publish this post. It's kind of a mental free-write for me versus my usual re-read and re-work pattern of writing in an attempt to make things funny and/or insightful. I guess I'll post it anyway, at least it's real. I'll probably delete it later.

I'm a far cry from a shopaholic. I frequent the mall maybe 5 times a year and usually it's with a specific purchase in mind. Either that or I'll be going there to see a movie and have some time to kill so I pop into some stores. But shopping just to browse, see what catches my eye and spend freely? Almost never. For one, I'm a guilty purchaser. If I spend too much money I immediately feel guilty. This is why I almost always have a planned purchase in mind before going to stores. I feel as though planning out the spending of my money dissimulates my guilt a bit. (No idea if I used "dissimulates" correctly, but it's the word that came to mind so I'm sticking to my instinct). All of this "non shopaholic" jazz doesn't mean, however, that I do not occasionally like to splurge. I'm just a very methodical splurger.

Yes, every so often I will become mildly... obsessed with something, for lack of a better word. Mostly, it's just a couple of obsessions that get recycled over time. They go from something I need to have, to something I kind of forget about once I have it, and then a few months/years down the road I'll need to have more again. My favorites tend to be book, dvd or beauty product related. But if I'm craving new books to read I will not just run out to Borders, browse for a few minutes and pick something up. As I said before, I'm a guilty spender. I need to draw out the process as long as possible in order to dissimulate my guilt (there's that word again) and get the most satisfaction out of my purchase. Even if it is only $6 on a new book.

Let's explain my typical process. I will usually go to Amazon.com and begin browsing (or Sephora.com or etsy.com or even nuts.com haha...depending on what particular product it is that I'm craving). This browsing becomes addictive and quite time consuming. I read reviews for multiple items of whatever it is I'm craving and form a wish list. I allow myself to compile said wish list over several weeks of browsing. By the time it's all said and done I have a wishlist of anywhere from 8 to 50 items. The next few weeks are spent re-reading the information for what I have already deemed to be the best of the best. I need to whittle it down to just one or two items that I will actually get. Then, after the long decision making process is finally done with I buy that item online with complete confidence that I bought THE best of whatever it was I was looking for. I never go and find the item in a store because I find that the waiting each day for the package to arrive only further increases my excitement and anticipation. Then the day finally comes, after what is typically months of planning... it arrives. The excitement continues as I open it up and is usually maintained during the product's first usage. Then it dies down considerably. But the thrill of the purchase typically outshines the guilt when I go about it all in this long, drawn-out fashion.

I'm right in the middle of three obsessions. That is too many at one time for me. Thankfully, one has (mostly) come to a close, because I've pretty much exhausted my purchasing potential in this category. I'll start with that one. Lately I have discovered Hayao Miyazaki's films. If you are unfamiliar, he's often referred to as the Japanese Walt Disney although this comparison is far off. The folks over at Pixar think of this man as a God and his films, as a whole, I believe are much more geared towards adults than children. There's no cliche jokes, usually no clear villian, sometimes not even much of a plot and the characters never break into song, but I saw one of his movies and was hooked in. I HAD to see more of his films. Per my typical purchasing method, I began to look up his films. Disney got the rights to sell his movies in the U.S. When I saw that he only had ten films, one of which I already owned, I knew I was in trouble. There would be no way of getting around me ordering them all. I knew that. If he had 80 films I could have restrained myself and picked out one or two (okay, or three) to purchase, but the fact that there was such a limited number of them... my wallet was going to hate me. I still went through the process of researching each of the movies, including reading several ranked lists, critic's reviews, regular people American reviews, regular people Japanese reviews, trailer viewings etc.. But in the end I did as I knew I would, went and purchased them all. That's why I can say I'm in the clear with future purchases around this obsession. I bought all of his movies. However, there are new movies to be made and several more which he has had a part in, even if he didn't write and direct them all. I shouldn't say I'm safe yet. I'm still awaiting the arrival of 8 of these movies and the anticipation is ever increasing as I'm learning how long it takes disney movie club to ship these things out. At the rate they're going I wouldn't be surprised if they're coming over directly from Japan. Either that or Disney is "being nice" and trying to prolong the process because they know the anticipation is 90% of the pleasure.

I couldn't resist adding this image which features a (still life animation hah) image
of Miyazaki as well as characters and creatures from 7 of his movies.

One of my other obsessions are these wonderful handmade soups by DeShawn Marie. With so many different scent combinations to choose from, it's hard to pick what my next order will be. You can bet I've read through each description multiple times and carefully picked out each one to buy. I really wish I knew how to draw out my happiness from these purchases though. While I do LOVE the soaps I find myself wanting to try out all of the "flavors" as quickly as possible. As a result, I'll open up a package, use it one day in the shower, have that initial excitement of it being something new, and then, instead of wanting to finish up that soap before moving on to the next one, the next day I'll want to open up another one!  (Note that I've only actually done that once. I am usually able to contain myself and wait.) Seriously though, these soaps are so divine that I bought them twice as gifts for people, and both times the thought of giving them away nearly killed me. One of those two times I admit I kept the soaps for myself and gifted something else. Unhealthy obsession.

Yum... I'm addicted to these soaps

My third recent obsession is a more healthy one. Depending on how you look at it. Lately, out of nowhere, I've been craving exercise DVDs. I don't even typically work out. Meaning never. But back in high school I had one dance-ish cardio VHS (yes VHS) that I loved. Something recently rekindled my interest in this and let me tell you, this is THE MOST time consuming addiction of them all. I have different dvd wishlists on amazon all geared to specific exercises: there's a list of cardio dvds, stretching dvds, strength training dvds, yoga dvds, dance inspired dvds, pilates dvds, exercise ball dvds... you name it. So far I've given in and bought 5 of them. That's just so far. I know future purchases will be made. But guess what? I actually use them. I have no idea where this sudden interest came from. I think it's because I have a lot more time on my hands now and I don't know what to do with myself.

Me exercising to a workout dvd... if I were brunette and several shades more tan (tanner?)
Change those two things and insert an image of my dog jumping around my
feet annoying me while I try to workout and this picture is pretty accurate.

I think I'm mostly safe so long as my obsessions stay in the realm of dvds, books and soaps. If I ever have a dire need to collect cars or classic artwork I may be in trouble. But you'll be sure that I have done my research and only bought the best there is! Maybe I am a shopaholic... just a different breed. My obsessive, planning type may be more dangerous to wallets than my spontaneous, impulsive counterparts.

I have an obsessive need to use every coupon I receive. This is not good. But, you may say to me, you're saving money! So what's the issue? There are several issues. Time for a (semi, not really) brief list of said issues. I've bolded the key points for easy reference, not that it's really beneficial, or that you particularly care:

1. I typically end up spending more than I'm saving. Yes, I get some good deals, but me receiving a coupon means me buying something I most likely wouldn't have bought without said coupon. Example: Trisha gets coupon for $10 off a purchase at a Nike outlet. Does Trisha need new sneakers? (No) Does Trisha even like Nike products? (Not particularly) Will Trisha still go to the store and buy an $80 pair of sneakers for $70 just to use the coupon? (Of course)
   
   CVS is another good example. You know how you get those coupons at the bottom of your receipt for say, $2 off a pack of brand XYZ sleep-aids or buy-one-bottle-of-wrinkle-remedy-get-one-free? You can bet I buy every single one of those items, most of which end up in a random drawer at home... because really, how much of that junk do you need? Yet I can't resist the incentive of savings! But, you never know, maybe someday I'll decide to go back to taking Flintstone vitamins or a young cousin will stay over and it will be my chance to teach them about healthy habits... and I saved money, so the purchase can be justified, right? Of course, I get these coupons every time I visit CVS so each visit ultimately leads to just another one. Vicious cycle of unnecessary spending.
   
   
2. Going hand in hand with issue number 1 is that you usually have to spend X dollars to use the coupon or rack up say, 10 purchases at a store to get $20 off your next one. Both cases lead me to spend more than I have to. Instead of buying just one item I may actually want or need, I have to buy four to get the discount. Great example here is this deli I've been frequenting in between work and rehearsals during the week to kill time (and have some dinner). Now, I work in one of the richest, most expensive counties in the country. Things here are far from inexpensive. A regular old sandwich at this little mom and pop deli could easily cost me more than $10. After every purchase they give you a green slip of paper with their logo on it. Turn in 15 of these and get a free sandwich. I've gone there every day, determined to earn 15 of these said coupons just to be sure that I get a free sandwich for my loyalty. It's to the point where I'm sick of sandwiches. To be honest, I'm looking forward to the day that I finally get my free slices of bread and meat just so that I don't have to go there anymore. That's right, I said "have to", because going there is basically a necessity until I earn my well deserved free meal. At the end of the day I'll end up having spent at least $150 on 10 sandwiches just to get one for free that probably would have cost $2 to make on my own. But I need that free sandwich.
   
   
3. While coupons typically offer a good deal for whatever the particular store is, quite often similar products are available full price at other stores for cheaper than the coupon's discount offers me. Make sense? Best example I can give here is Borders. At least twice a week I get emails with coupons for 33% off any one item, or 20% off all paperbacks. Amazon.com's average savings (sans coupon) is something like 45% from the listed price. Almost all of the time it's cheaper to order books regular price from Amazon than to buy them at Borders, using the best coupons Borders offers. If it's not cheaper at Amazon then it's at least the same cost. I don't think I've ever once gotten a better price at Borders than at Amazon. Yet I get those bi-weekly Borders deals and HAVE to use them. It must be psychological with the savings. Well nice marketing campaign on their end, because I can't even tell you how many books I've bought at Borders in the past month alone. It seems every weekend I'm going there because I have another coupon it will kill me not to use.
   
   Another word about that psychological savings thing... it really is a smart way for businesses to get customers in their store. Their regular price items could be as high as they want but so long as there's a discount offered, people will buy what they're selling. There's an Indian restaurant I go to whose prices are quite higher than average for the area. However, when they bring you the check the waiter always says "I gave you an extra 10% discount". Every time, without fail. So really, their ultimate costs are probably on par with other Indian restaurants in the area, or possibly still more expensive. But this "automatic 10% discount" makes me feel special and keeps me coming back. It's an obvious trick, but a smart one that I completely fall for. Honestly, I'm encouraged to return just to reward them for their clever business scheme.
   
   
4.  Final issue with these coupons is that it's usually the same stores I receive coupons to over and over and as a result, I end up shopping there on a fairly continuous basis. I already mentioned Borders, a.k.a the reason why I need to purchase a new bookshelf due to my overload of books that keep coming in weekly. I must say they are the primary culprit. However, Express gives them a run for their money. (Pardon the trite expression). Now I love Express, but to me it's a "treat store". Its prices are higher than I can realistically afford if I'm shopping there to fill my wardrobe because I'm basically poor. I'm really a $30 or under for pants and $20 or under for tops type of shopper and Express' average ticket price is closer to $80. Needless to say, I only shop there when I'm depressed and looking to splurge (retail therapy) or if I can get a really good deal with a combination of sale prices and coupons. They like to send me $30 off $75 or $50 off $150 type of coupons. They like to send them to me a lot more often than I prefer to receive them. Because once it's received, within a day or two it is spent. I don't often buy new clothes for myself so this type of deal is okay with me, except when it happens more than once a month... and it's still difficult for me, who is usually a discount/bargain clothes shopper, to walk out of the store having spent $100 on only three items, despite the $50 off I received. Just last weekend I went to the store to make some big purchases using one of their coupons and what happened? Two days later I got an email for $30 off $75. Even though I just went to the store and spent over $100, I promptly went online and ordered some of the other things I had wanted, but didn't buy. If they sent me a coupon daily you could bet I'd probably own the store's entire collection within a relatively short time frame.
   
   
5. Okay, I lied about that being the final issue. While typing issue #4 I thought up issue #5. Usually the coupons you receive regularly are all for expensive stores. This is really kind of a combo of issues #3 and #4, but let's ignore that fact. I've mentioned Borders, I've mentioned Express, both of which have somewhat higher than standard ticket prices... depending on your definition of standard. For someone like me (read, very little to no discretionary income), standard = discount-ish places a la Walmart or Forever 21. Sephora is another place that sends me coupon codes on a regular basis. Do I really need another $30 eyeshadow? The overflowing makeup bins at my house will tell you no. But I'll buy it if Sephora's offering a bonus-size free item with any $50 purchase. (Then of course after the $30 eyeshadow I have to spend another $20 to reach $50 and in reality, an additional $25 on top of that in order to get free shipping because I refuse to pay shipping for anything).

Why do I do it? Why do I keep buying things I don't need, from expensive stores, just because they say "shop here between these three days and we'll give you 20% off your purchase"? It's completely psychological. Even if you don't immediately need something you purchase, discounts = spending more now to possibly save more later = being a smart shopper = little pat on the back to self + new stuff! And what's wrong with that equation?! It's like a little treat to yourself (fun new stuff!) that makes you feel good about spending money (because you saved money too!). It's indulgent without being overly indulgent. Who doesn't fantasize about getting luxurious new items? If you're offered a discount, it's a perfect excuse to go ahead and make that purchase you dream of! So what if the "luxurious" item is a new book or a fairly common pair of jeans? If you wouldn't buy it full price any other day, it's a luxurious item in my mind. Hence that exercise dvd suddenly has this feeling of luxury. It may be completely ridiculous, wasteful and result in some degree of "spending guilt", but I don't see my coupon obsession ending anytime soon. And ultimately, I'm okay with that. We all deserve a little treat from time to time... or bi-weekly :-) and you might as well feel thrifty while indulging, even if your savings aren't really so great. Justifiable or completely illogical?... don't answer that.


Do I need new fabrics? Not at all. Will I find a use for them
if I buy them? Probably not. Will I buy some anyway?
Most likely. Who can resist those colorful swatches!?! 
(Or that lovely 10% off sign?)

So it's been roughly 4 months since I've updated my sad little blog here. The reason is not from a lack of ideas... (at one point I had a written out a list of 6 or so blog topics I wanted to sit down and write... of course, now they all escape me... my memory is slowly dying away at age 24, although it was never that strong to begin with, while my ingenuity and motivation comes and goes in random outbursts). I can't blame my lack of writing on being too terribly busy either. I have been busy, but I've always been busy... it can't be an excuse now if it never was one before. I'm going to stop discussing why I haven't written. Just like that. Done.

Today's topic goes back to my old school style blogs. My more recent blogs have dealt with my ponderings on life, random ideas I dream up, bizarre lists I create, etc..  But back in the day I was not so philosophical, and I was arguably, less random. My blog posts were simply stories of what happened in my life, sort of like a humorous diary shared for the reading pleasures of the world (or just me, foolishly narcissistic in the belief that others rushed to read about my life). Today's post is simple... a story about something small and insignificant that happened to me that I found rather amusing.

So, on a recent weekend I went up to Mass. with my boyfriend to choreograph. The hotel we stayed at was no Ritz Carlton, but it had a decent enough pool slash hot-tub area that we were lounging around in. This hotel also had a couple of meeting/event type rooms, a ballroom, and the like for weddings, conferences and other such social occasions. Well, we had noticed during this weekend stay that there was some type of event or reception going on for an Orthodox Jewish group. It was kind of a difficult thing to miss. While we were in the pool area (switching between the hot tub and the pool so as to avoid the groups of children) we saw the whole Jewish group start to convene in one of the hotel's big event rooms. All of a sudden, around the corner, through the traditionally dressed sea of Jewish men, women and children, comes a man decked out in the full on Scottish garb.

That's right. Full on Scottish garb. He was carrying a bagpipe of course. Did we miss something? Did this Jewish group hire a Scottish bagpipe player? That somehow strikes us as odd, but what do we know? We're not Jewish. I suppose it's entirely possible Scottish bagpipe players are part of their customary traditions, however incredibly unlikely it may seem. (Just kidding?) Or maybe they just wanted to let loose with a little Celtic music. (Just kidding again?) We look with curiosity.

Scottish man starts playing his bagpipe. Then he starts walking around the pool, playing his bagpipe. Even the crazy pool children stopped splashing. It was just too bizarre to do anything but stand there and watch. Many of the hotel's rooms had sliding doors that opened directly to the pool area. These said doors opened in rapid succession at the bagpiper's first few notes. It was difficult to tell if people were more a) confused, b) angry at the noise or c) pleasantly surprised by the evening's entertainment. One man pulled out his cell phone... I thought he was calling someone to complain, but Vinny thought he was calling his wife. I think Vinny's guess was closer because sure enough the guy held out his phone for whoever was on the other end to listen and enjoy. He pulled up a lounge chair and sat outside his room. I'm still watching the Jewish clan entering the room, trying to notice if any of them are finding the music bizarre or, on the other side, if they're waiting for him to enter the room. But they seem to pay him no mind and as for the Scottish dude, he stuck firmly to the pool area.

Vinny got up to get his camera just as the guy stopped playing. I watched bagpipe and player round the corner and disappear. I should have followed. All I can say is I'm fairly certain that he was not hired by the Jewish party. Maybe one of the other halls was rented for a Scottish wedding and he was tuning up around the pool? Good acoustics? Maybe he was just a tourist with an unusual hobby who thought no one would question him if he wore a strange outfit? Whatever his purpose, it was amusingly out of the ordinary and rather fun to observe.

 

This was the closest image I could find of a bagpipe player near a pool, and a possible lake background is hardly a pool. Just goes to show how rare a bagpipe player near a pool is. I attempted searching jewish bagpipe player first but there were no results.

Little things that make me extraordinarily happy:

• When I get new messages in my email inbox. Even if 99% of it is spam... or bill payment requests... I still love that initial rush of excitement when next to my little yahoo avatar is the note that I have new messages. You never know what those messages may be. I'm one of many people who obsessively check their email, multiple times each day. It's always delightful to have a new message greet me. And yes, it gives me satisfaction to check the little boxes next to the irrelevant messages I don't want to read and delete them away!

• I still get backstage.com audition notifications (for free!) even though I canceled my account over 8 months ago. I've checked this over with them multiple times. Each time they assure me that my account was canceled last fall and that I'll stop receiving the emails in a matter of days. I continue to get at least 5 e-mails a week from them. The information I'm getting should cost me $16.25 per month.  They've never charged me and I've never paid them a penny. I'm going to stop complaining to them :-)
  
  
• Getting a new book. I was never a "non-reader" who hated books, but I really got into reading just a few years ago. You might say I'm one of the many who started reading due to Harry Potter. Now, few things make me happier than getting a new book (or a well priced used one from amazon) to add to my collection. I'm often guilty of reading several books at once-- right now I'm in the middle of 4. I just love reading new stories or learning something new... it's rather difficult to not get swept up by it all.
  

 I couldn't resist this image because not only is it a pile of books...
but they're all orange.

Nor could I resist this image, because it's so cheesy and predictable. 
"I love books!"... awww

• When I'm outside and can actually smell flowers. Fake floral scents, like in perfumes or candles, are probably my least favorite of all scents (vs. woody, oriental, fresh, fruity, blah blah blah). But when I'm walking outside and suddenly pick up the scent of actual flowers I am always urged to stop and linger. It's simply delightful!
  

 I may not literally stop, drop and... crouch to smell the flowers 

like this shirtless child, but I enjoy their scent nonetheless

• When things work out perfectly. I'm a far cry from being OCD. I'm fairly messy and disorganized with my things. My alphabetized within category DVD collection is probably the only organized thing in my home. And yet, there is this definite OCD side of me that gets really excited when, say, the train stops so that I am directly in the middle of a door, or if when driving to an appointment I pull into the parking lot exactly on time, not one minute late or early. Aren't moments like this fantastic?!
  
  
• When I can find some sort of "mathematical significance" for something... either number or pattern related. This is related to the whole "things working out perfectly" ordeal. Simply a subcategory because the examples above are more obvious... these ones here only a legit number nerd like me would ever pay attention to or care about. I love it if a book is exactly 400 pages or a movie is exactly 2 hours. Or if I notice that there's exactly twice as many men as women in the car of my train one morning. I often do nerdy things that involve counting and grouping. I sometimes spend a while trying to force a pattern out of things and make them end up perfectly. Take, for example, the number of each color M&M in a bag... if there's an equal number of each color that would be a momentous, celebratory occasion indeed! Other (more likely) scenarios can make me really happy as well... like if there's an even number of each color, or if I can execute a particular color pattern without having any left over... I could easily spend 10 minutes with a bag of these chocolate candies, counting and grouping them in various ways, before any would get eaten. Now take into consideration all the ways I could count and group cars in a parking lot, the shelves of makeup in a store... the more patterns I can find in something, the happier I get. Perhaps I shouldn't have confessed to this...
  

My patterns can get rather elaborate...

• Getting my favorite drink at Starbucks, which I discovered when given the wrong drink one day (I then greedily kept it rather than returning... who got the white chocolate mocha with a shot of espresso that I did order, I'll never know). Growing up I was one of those "only snobs go to Starbucks" types who criticized it for being more expensive and trying too hard. (Did it make me a snob to think of Starbucks this way?) Now I think of it as an expensive treat, partially because of how I felt as a child. Even if I go there more often than Dunkin Donuts... it's set in my mind that Starbucks is a luxury item. So besides the tasty beverage and boost of caffeine, some of the happiness brought upon by my Starbucks drink is that I feel like I'm pampering myself. And who doesn't love pampering?

Even their little marketing message here screams luxury, pampering, treat...

• Discovering a new music artist whether it's through Pandora, categorical searches on CDBaby or reading reviews on Amazon, every so often I come across an artist who I simply fall in love with. It's always refreshing to find something new (or not so new, but new to me) with a unique sound.

As a concluding, random note... something that should make me happy but never does is treating myself to buying something. Retail therapy has the reverse effect on me... if I get new clothes (or shoes, or a book, or a dvd) instead of being pleased with my new items I always feel guilty for spending the money. Even if it's a great deal, even it's something I really need vs. just want. There's always the guilt. I'm terrific at spending money, which is why I'm so bad at it. That is all.