The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Tomorrow Steve and I are setting up Christmas. I have that night-before-Christmas excitement -- all jitters and anticipation to go through the big Christmas box, reminisce about past Christmases, drink egg nog, and rediscover all our decorations. Though this is only our second Christmas as a couple, we already have so many Christmas memories together, a home full of decorations, and a tree full of ornaments. Maybe we went a little overboard buying Christmas decorations last year, but that was only half of it.

My mom gave (gives) my siblings and I one or two ornaments every Christmas, telling us that when we grow up and move away, we'll have enough ornaments collected over the years that we'll be able to fill our OWN tree. And so we did. Since Steve had the same growing up, combining our Christmases was magical -- we both had our childhood Christmas memories merging into one to decorate the best tree in the world. So thanks to all mothers who think ahead and love Christmas :)



We fought for that tree. Spending half an hour to find the perfect tree only to see someone else walking away with it was heartbreaking. Thank God for Christmas miracles. Maybe we'll have another one tomorrow....

Christmas is the perfect time to embrace sentimentality.

And discovering Lady GaGa has a Christmas song makes this holiday season even better. Though my favorite Christmas song will always be Last Christmas. All versions of it. Even Scandinavian pop versions. I'm shameless.

Baking Nightmares

I love cooking. It's so satisfying to sit down to a meal that was birthed from a jumble of ingredients that, when combined, create deliciousness. It's especially gratifying when my own creations turn out to be a new favorite meal. And I think this is the problem: I want what I cook to be my own -- I hate following recipes. Maybe it's a pride thing -- the idea that anyone can follow a recipe, but actually being creative and inventive takes talent. But as I'm still pretty new to the whole cooking thing, I tend to start off with some sort of recipe. But I never follow it. It's just a base, especially when I want to know what ingredients will give a certain flavor. But that's it. Once I get the basic idea, I ignore the recipe. It takes up counter space. Plus, normally my cooking experiments turn out better than I expected. So I get spoiled. I think I know what I'm doing. Until I start to bake.

Baking terrifies me. Maybe too because I'd rather eat salty and spicy foods over sweet ones, or maybe it's that the oven scares me. I like being able to taste as I go. With baking it's a guessing game. I don't like just hoping it turns out. But since most of my experiments were turning out, then why wouldn't a baking experiment turn out well too? Right? Crap.

I hate knowing that the first time I taste something is also the first time everyone else is tasting it. The fear, the anxiety, the nervous tension. Watching everyone take the first bite, looking for facial expressions. I can't ever really enjoy something I bake. I'm too nervous about the outcome. Plus I'm incredibly hard on myself when it comes to taste -- if something doesn't taste amazing, I label it as a failure. And since sugar tends to make me feel sick, if I'm going to eat something sweet, I want it to be pretty darn good.

So at this point, all I can do it breath. Remind myself that a year ago I couldn't successfully create any sort of food item from scratch. I've come a long way. But I have that neeeeeed for everything to be perfect. But sometimes experiments don't turn out quite the desired way. But failure IS part of learning. So I'll try to save it. Whatever it is. And move on. There will be other Thanksgivings. And like my dear brother said, it could be the beginning stages of a favorite dish. The very beginning stages.

Tattoo You

Tattoos are horribly addicting. I never believed all those people that told me that. I thought I had self-control.I thought, "I don't want to be covered in them, so refraining from getting more will be easy". Right? Erm. Not so much. I too have been pulled in by the allure of them.

However, this is not to say that I'll run out and get more. I can't. But I really would like to. Not even that it's my own desire. It's this strange need. The same reason why I spend hours searching tattoos on google. It's unhealthy.

So for now, I'll have to be content with the two I have. But how long can this last?

Ah, sweet sweet failure

The educational system is frustrating. Especially college. In High School at least, there's room to argue, or the best of all, have your parent call the school and complain on your behalf. That was a lot simpler. I miss having my parents save me from the horrors of unfair teachers. But alas, college doesn't really work like that. Nor, for the most part, do they care if you do have a complaint.

Science is not my thing. It never has been, and I did my best to avoid it throughout my entire school career. In middle school, I managed to slip past the system, only taking two science classes. In high school, I was stealthier. I graduated high school taking only anatomy. How I did this? Well, it's really not that difficult. Going to a school that doesn't actually count credits seemed really worked to my advantage in this. I spent my high school years taking the subjects I love: english, history, and french. Maybe I didn't love french class, but having picnics in the park while speaking french was rather romantic. And I learned a little bit. The day I spent in France, I was actually able to understand a little. But I'm getting off track. And OK, I did take math in high school. I hate math. But next to science, I'm in. Let me explain. I have zero interest in learning what organ does what, the names of bones, how DNA works, ect. To me, it's going to happen whether I know what it is or not. My cells are going to do their stuff, blah blah. I don't need to know what's going on. I'm glad not everyone thinks this -- otherwise we'd all die. Science stuff is very important. But do I really need to know it? Yes? Ok. Fine. I'll take the stupid biology class.

But this is what happens when I take said biology class: the teacher hates me. I do my homework. I study for tests. I come to class. I put sharp objects in fire. I look at bacteria in microscopes. Isn't that going to make me sick? Probably, but I have to pass. But this does not matter. She still hates me. Am I overreacting? I don't think so. It's that horrible realization that your professor doesn't want you to pass. Lovely.

The fact seems to be, some teacher are just unfair. Is it really learning when even if you know the answer, you get it wrong because you didn't write it in some form that you didn't even know you have to write it in? I don't think so. But that's the way it is. That's the way it usually is. And sadly, that's probably the way it always will be. Fortunately, this will be my last real science course. I've even gotten around science fairly easily in college. Anthropology counting as a science credit is a beautiful beautiful thing.

After this quarter, I get to move on and spend my time doing nice things, like taking classes on folklore. That will be nice. I do like school. But it's a whole lot more pleasant when school likes you back.

What does relaxion even mean?

Getting a random day off from the horrors of six hours of classes is an amazing thing. I always plan out some wonderfully productive day, where I get up early and do everything on my check-list. But it usually turns into hitting the snooze button until it runs out of snoozes, and getting up three hours after I originally planned to, eating the worlds slowest breakfast, and not doing anything productive till mid-afternoon. So at least today I only got up an hour after I planned to, and blogging is more productive than getting sucked into watching hours of television. But some days, wouldn't a completely unproductive day be nice? Of course this is humanly impossible, as there is far too much work to be done.

I remember the good old lazy days, before responsibilities overtook life. Back when I had no job, it didn't matter if I did my homework, and I could watch movies all day, guilt free. What happened to that? Even if the studying has been done, and everything taken care of, I can't just relax. I have to be doing something useful. Even if it is as small as cleaning Steve's apartment. Ok--cleaning a whole apartment is not exactly a small feat. But that's how I feel--I need to accomplish something great in order to not feel anxious about relaxing. And even relaxing has to include something. Maybe that's a good thing--feeling guilty about wasting precious time watching television. But sometimes, I'd like to have the luxury of doing nothing.

When it comes down to it, even my hobbies contain some sort of accomplishment. Cooking a meal is not only fun for me, but it provides the reward of enjoying good food. Reading a book is relaxing, but also expands one's mind, and can open up worlds of new creative possibilities. Books are so influential to me, so even though I consider that a leisurely activity, is it really? (Ok, there is some real trash out there, but if the trashiest book I've read is Twilight, I consider that pretty good.) And then there's painting, my newest love. But it also reaps the reward of enjoying something created by your own hands. Hanging my own paintings on the wall is so satifying, like I really did something. Not saying I'm some great artist, but I'm not terrible, which is a great confidence booster. Steve coming home from work after I've finished a painting, exclaiming how much he likes it, is a great feeling.

So if everything, even my so-called leisurely activities accomplish something, is it truely relaxing? I don't like thinking that the only way to relax is by doing something mindless. I like expanding my mind more than turning it into a gooey substance. Maybe it's just being surrounded by American society, which tells us that spending Sundays, the most relaxing day of the week, watching hours and hours of football is how we are supposed to "relax". Sure, it's great to watch a movie with family, friends, ect. It's great to laugh together. And sometimes, watching TV/movies all snuggled up to my love after an exhuasting day is really all I want to do. But there has to be more than that in my freetime, otherwise I feel guilty. And maybe a lot of people feel the same way. So really, maybe I'm not this anxious person who has everything figured out. Perhaps my striving to constantly be expanding, creating, growing, is truely how humans are supposed to work. Maybe constantly filling our brains with all this mindless crap is just, well, lazy.

So as I say all this, I should probably really apply it. If I know I'll feel terrible if I don't accomplish the many tasks in my life, as well as if I don't expand my own interests, why do I spend hours on facebook? Never do I look back and think "wow all that facebooking was really fun..."

Mentally Checking Out

Thinking can be dangerous. Rather, pondering can be dangerous. Tonight the words "Losing your mind can be so refreshing" popped into view. It was like they wrote themselves onto the wall, each letter carefully etching itself into place so it could not be ignored. They pulled at each anxiety, each fear, beckoning me to join them in their irrationality. And the truth is, I normally do. There is a promise that behind every emotional breakdown there will be an undeniable clarity.

Not to say that in this moment in life I need a mental breakdown. But there's something so appealing to say "Forget my responsibilities for the day, I'm going to ______ ". We all take mental health days. And during those days, usually a lot is discovered.

I don't advocate ditching responsibilities. But when nothing actually needs to be done, what's the rush? The stress is most likely exaggerated anyways. And there is something so refreshing when ditching everything, and just taking the time to be. I think those are some of the moments when we learn the most about ourselves.

So, as I agitatedly smoked a cigarette, flicking it so hard the butt came off, I knew I needed to do something. Something different, and something I wanted to do. My choices were either spending more money on paints and canvas (which is not different, but it is something I like to do, so it should still count..), or the free option -- starting a blog. Plus, I hate going to gas stations after dark, and I'm on empty. So the option was fairly simple: the birth of this blog. We'll see how far it goes.