7 Ways to Tell That You Should Stop Reading Dating Advice

1. You identify with EVERY SINGLE ARTICLE YOU EVER READ. "7 ways to know you are a desperate dater". "7 Ways To Know That You Are Not Desperate Enough" "7 Ways To Know If Your Partner Is Enough and Desperate" "7 Ways To Read This Article With Desperation"

2. You don't identify with ANY article you read.

3. You accidently refer to your friends as Relationship Experts.

4. You start to notice that every movie, every song, every television show is full of crap and doesn't apply to real life at all and it's all emotionally manipulative swill that teaches us to distort reality.

5. You find yourself curled up in a ball under your desk at work clutching your cell phone to your heart repeating the words, "I should call. I shouldn't call. I should call. I shouldn't call."

6. You start to think you've got it all figured out.

7. You realize you will never actually have it all figured out no matter how many boards of directors you employ or msn relationship articles you read and the truth is that this is between you and your "partner" and God and at some point, you do it your way and someone sees through it and somehow falls in love with what's rolled up in the crazy.

Bathroom Cookies/ Urinal Cakes

I left my camera in NYC a few weekends ago and have not had the wherewithall (I just wanted to say wherewithall) to get it back quite yet so this update is sans pictures. I'm a little boring to myself without pictures but so it is...

The bathrooms are back! After two months of painful, bladder exploding, stair running, pilgrammage jokes at work, we are able to walk down the hall to go to the bathroom again. I was so excited about the announcement that I made bathroom cookies to celebrate. They were affectionately dubbed "urinal cakes" by my office friends and I'm happy to report that they were snapped up immediately and filled the measure of their creation. (I laced them with fiber. I wasn't messing around.)

I spent thanksgiving with my grandparents and I made yeast rolls that turned out like my mommas except that they looked sadly phallic in a droopy kind of way. The good news is that they tasted just fine. fine indeed.

I took the GRE! I did it and I got high enough on the math portion that it doesn't look like I filled in bubbles randomly...it just looks like I'm mildly retarded which is much, much better. I would like to take the time now, in this forum to thank SB and my roommates and that guy who helped me with square roots when he could have been playing rock band. I whined for weeks and made myself an absolute bore. I cried openly about my lack of left brain will power and my slowly shrinking vocabulary to anyone who would listen and blamed genetics, the long haul to the bathroom at work and carb-loading for my failure to understand the whole point about prime numbers and equilateral triangles. Won't being with me through grad school be a pleasure???

I've been sick and it's been the best diet ever. I reached a milestone today that will bring me so much closer to my WW goal than I have ever been in my entire adult life. And the best part about it is that I did it slowly, tenatiously and healthily. I realized recently that this whole body image, weight thing has been one of the most important journeys of my life and has really shown me that change is not only possible but inevitable. The key is three things 1.) Every day is different and you really can start over 2.) spend time getting used to each plateau so that you know how you have to eat at each weight to maintain and then when you are ready ramp it up 3.) Choose to be honest. Step on a scale even in you're scared you've made mistakes. It is better to face each week in the know than to pretend you don't see what's happening. That's the only way to move forward.

The cool thing is that these three principles apply to just about everything that you are trying to accomplish. We get nothing out of dishonesty. We sometimes need to rest and let our bodies and our minds adjust to new situations. Nothing is ever a lost cause. All this is gospel stuff, but it's like I just discovered that it applies to life for ril.

Ok, now I am done being didactic (gre word).

Sometimes I Speak My Heart And My Heart Wins

Sometimes I tell you what I am really feeling, unafraid of the consequences because this is what love and trust are and I am nothing without those two things in my life.
Sometimes I let the chips fall as they will and believe that God makes everything work for the good of those who believe in Him.
Sometimes I have the courage to choose myself.
And sometimes, I am rewarded for my efforts - maybe not in the way the world understands reward, but in my way.
Integrity is your lesson to me. I will not forget it. I am changed.

Colorado Called....

She said to say hi and tell you not to feel guilty about all the times you never came to visit. She found some very nice people from DC who will play bridge with her and call her "home" for a few days. She'll be just fine. No, really. Just. Fine.

Celebrity Look-Alike (part 3) Mrs. Beasley

The other day, I walked into work and my boss kept staring at me kind of funny. You know that look. The one that says you have broccoli stuck in your teeth. After a while, in the middle of a conversation about some microbiological thing, she leaped out of her chair and screamed, "MRS BEASLEY!!!!" I don't know who Mrs. Beasley is, so I just sort of turned uncomfortably in my chair to see if there was someone outside the door named Mrs. Beasley. No. Turns out, I AM MRS. BEASLEY. A doll. A creepy, old lady doll from the show Family Affair. Does she talk? I really hope not, because I don't know if I could handle the sad plummeting value of the real estate of me that has gone from Drew Barrymore (before braces) to Charlize Theron (once) to the bird guy from that sci-fi show to Kate Gosselin to a creepy freaky doll beloved by a sitcom child named Buffy (with a brother with a girl's name). I'm all out of surgery cards (stimulus), so I guess I'll just have to wait patiently for the tide to turn in the market and someone somewhere to tell me I look like, oh, I don't know, my grandmother (would do me just fine).

Of Anxiety and Happiness

Two totally unrelated emotional events today:

1. Sitting on the bus as it barrels through the streets of NW DC. The sun is shining. It's abnormally hot for October, but it feels good. I'm peeking through the window, thinking and texting in between the spindles of prayer that are seeping from my brain to the heavens. I see a man playing the trumpet but I can't hear him. He's homeless or at least slightly destitute. Another man in a business suit walks up to him, hand outstretched and I can see there's something in his palm...he slips it gently into the palm of the trumpet player. I think maybe it's a cigarette. The trumpet player smiles big, wide, overbearingly at the palmer and hugs him in an awkward hold. Words are coming out of his mouth now- these men are old friends. I imagine business suit gives trumpet a cigarette every morning. They are friends! I still can't hear the conversation, I'm just a bus observer, just like always...But then. Then. The suit walks away, shaking his head and smiling just as the bus rolls slowly past the trumpet. The trumpet is blowing hard, long notes. His cheeks distended like dizzy. A triumphal shout to his friend and the cigarette at 8 am. I can actually hear it and this makes me as happy as anyone.

2. New drug. New dread. Everyday at 1 o'clock, I think the sky is falling for about two hours. I can't think. I can't do much of anything except bounce my leg and blink. I've been taking the NSAID for three weeks and now I can bend, stand and jump without breaking. But this gross cloud of two hour anxiety is NOT working. I texted you once and asked if you were ok? Is something terrible going to happen? You said you were fine. I thought it was intuition. Turns out it was just the damn drugs. I guess I'm not a visionary afterall.

Stories I will probably tell my children Part 3

NINNY BETH GETS EVICTED

So my landlords are getting a divorce. It's a quiet sort of separation. We don't hear from them often unless we have a fly infestation (true story) or the air conditioning breaks down during the hottest week of the summer (true story). That's why the email we got at the end September was so alarming- NOTICE: 30 days to vacate. In this communication, the landlady expressed her sorrow at having to kick us out, but she needs a place to live and a home for her children. Are you kidding???? The letter was overly dramatic and cc'd the landman who happened to be at our house fixing the squealing dryer (true story) so I assumed it was a passive aggressive ode to divorce if ever such a thing existed. And it was. Turns out, she had no legal ground to stand on and we get to keep our lovely home at least until February when we may be booted out into the winter snow drifts of northern virginia (lie).























NINNY BETH FINDS JOY TUCKED AWAY IN A CUPBOARD AND THEN THROWS IT AWAY BECAUSE IT'S OLD.

NINNY BETH REUNITES WITH HER KOREAN ROOTS.

There was this time I saw Dai and Scott in Virginia!

We did as we always do: smile for the camera (cheese-uh), eat korean food from dubious vendors, buy tights that are made to look like skinny jeans and watch some serious b-boy action. All in the parking lot of a K-mart. I love

NINNYBETH AND THE CHLOES.

I got a new calling. I'm in the Young Women's Presidency and I have the charge to befriend the chloes. That's right. Two completely adorable blondies who flip their hair and exclaim "awwww, that's sooooooooooo Sweeeeeeeeeeet!" to everything you say. The best part about this is that I am once again reminded of how NOT cool I was at 14 (true story). But if you look at the chloe's hair and compare it to the picture of me on the right (don't get confused) you might see that was headed in the right direction (lie).

At any rate, it's back to mutual for the likes of me...young women values, charm bracelets and awkward teen angst. It's good for me. It's good for me. It's good for me.

Well, This Is Most Inconvenient, Indeed

How many times do I go to the bathroom in a day?
How many minutes after drinking a thimble of water do I need to use the facilities?
How often have I purposely chosen dehydration in fear of no discernable (or less desireable) toileting options?

If you know the answer to any of these questions, you will understand why the CLOSED (for one month) BATHROOMS ON THE SECOND FLOOR (my floor) of my workplace is distressing. NAY, unacceptable. There are a few reasons this has driven me to consider a removable catheter:

1. Other people (my boss) will now be very aware of JUST how many times I go to the bathroom every day (10) as I will be missing from my office for 15 (30) minutes at a time.
2. Strangers use the other bathrooms...STRANGERS! People I DON"T KNOW are sitting their naked bums on the same seat as me. At least on my floor I know everyone and can ascertain to some acceptable degree their cleanliness and hygiene. I don't know those other butts.
3. There are stairs. Just in case you were confused about that...the 1st floor and 3rd floor require that I walk up STAIRS. Try navigating stairs with your legs crossed. not easy.
4. Kidney failure imminent. Holding it, not good.
5. Though I have ceased and desisted (for the most part) with caffeinated beverages of the diet variety, I still like to retain the possibility that I could drink a diuretic if necessary. But not so now. No no. This bathroom situation has killed HOPE.

That is all.

All This Going To Crazy

I don't know how else to say this so I just will. I'm crazy. I have been for a long time, I feel like I will be for a long time to come. I can not rest my brain. It swirls and buzzes with all manner of thoughts, ideas, stories, weirdness. I hyperfocus on somethings, blow off others. Right now, in this space, I am hyperfocusing on why I am not married. An ex sent me an email link to an article about why men marry some women and not others. I can't stop thinking about it. There are all these women all over the streets of DC. They have rings, they have husbands, they have babies in little baskets in their bikes. They are on their cell phones talking about the ring, husband and baby in basket. I walk with my face turned to the sun, wind whipping my hair, thinking about everything dying and wondering how I got so shaken. How I got so wobbly.

What's so very interesting is that I feel ashamed. Ashamed that no one has chosen me. Embarrassed that I wear a badge that screams unwanted. I know I can't be the only person to feel shame at being single, but it's a new emotional revelation to me. The thing is that I realize this feeling is so outside of me... that my shame is based on the idea that others are judging me when in reality, no one probably even gives a crap. Most importantly (and perhaps ironically?), why do I feel the need to say it out loud to my blog? To the very audience that could be that silent judge I beat back with feverish prayers and moments of hard earned clarity from a source outside of myself. But, still I do...I need to tell you about it. I feel like this is so big in my body right now that if I don't put it somewhere it will implode and I will be lost.

Caviat: I'm not the bitter type and I'm not heartbroken. Please don't respond to this with how men are jerks and I'm perfectly ok. I'm working through these thought processes so I can eventually have the kind of marriage that I want to have. I brought you along for the ride. I'm willing to experience a little discomfort in this endeavor. It quiets my brain for while.

Hated for Loving

I don't know when it all changed. Once upon a time, they had to beg me to eat my vegetables, practically shoving them down my throat under severe duress. But like any good romance novel, those hateful, violent first glances soon began to turn and before I could say, "WHAT THE ...WHAT?" I was accidently brushing up against brussel sprouts only to discover a gentle flame fanning in my loins. (has anyone else noticed a recent theme in my blog posts? or is it only the single mormon man backing away carefully who can hear my shriveling eggs screaming?)

So yes, I love the carrot, the spinach, the tomato, the eggplant, the asparagus, the pepper and even the aforementioned sprout. In fact, I love them so much the I routinely add them to everything I consume...you'll find them sneaked in to the most unassuming dishes...chili with broccoli, eggs with spinach, burritos with EVERYTHING. I've even started tossing a handful of normandy blend and brussel sprouts into my carcinogenic microwaved lunches. But here's where I'm confused. Instead of being CELEBRATED for my healthy ways, I am mocked. Routinely. My coworkers stand at the door of my office, shake their heads and laugh while saying things like, "What the hell is that? Carrots? Only you would eat carrots." Really? I'm really the only person you've ever known to ever eat carrots?

or my favorite "Why are you eating broccoli????!!!"

I've tried to understand this phenomenon and explain it away. The truth is that these people have not been with me on my journey toward a healthy self/body image and the subsequent change from a costco sized bag of cheetos for breakfast to a handful of baked cheetos and a sweet potato for lunch. But it still doesn't really make sense. It's not like I am that naturally skinny girl who can pound a pizza and then wake up the next morning bloat free. We're all allowed to hate her and be annoyed when she says, "I'm on a diet. I'm fat. Watch me eat my celery and pills for lunch." I LOOK at a piece of pizza and my face starts to swell. That's painfully obvious to anyone who's seen me post-papa john's two for 10.

So what's the deal? At what point did the sentiment change from, "oh, look, that fat girl is eating green things instead of a pint of ben and jerry's. Good." to "I will point and mock and make you seem like a freakish vegetable eating outsider." ? I can't be the only one eating carrots and wondering about this?

It's Saturday and I'm at work. :(

What did you do today?

Don't Get Jealous

Dear Korea-

Do you remember all those times when your nose was running, your face was melting, you coughed all over me and I was breathing your stale sick air while your head bobbed back and forth on my shoulder as you passed out on the bus from sheer exhaustion? That was a special time. A time when you should NOT HAVE COME INTO WORK and INFECTED ME WITH YOUR BACTERIAL SWILL.

But I'm not angry. No no...I understand that you thought the problem was me. I refused to wear one of those surgical masks to protect me. But I just wasn't willing to let go of one of the most amazing parts of American culture. You see, I still believed in the "sick day"- that glorious invention by which those who are deathly, infectiously ill stay home and get better and then go back to work after the potential for passing on the pinkeye/flu/stomach virus/H1N1/ herpes outbreak has passed. YES SUH! I BEEEEEEEELIEEEEEEEVE!

And now that I've been home for 6 months and employed again for 2, I've been happily reunited with the Sick Day. And we are in love. This morning in fact, we lolled around in bed together after a fitful night of sleeplessness which ended in an ill advised fistful of Tylenol PM.

And then I came to work where I was NOT greeted by harried coworkers who had to cover my classes and did NOT reek of guilt for taking some time to myself to make sure I was functional.

but don't get jealous Korea, because before sick day and I had our tryst, you and I were getting busy in America over the weekend. Don't you remember? I took pictures to prove it. I'll post them soon so you can put them in your scrap book.

xoxox,
NB

RHETT MILLER DAY!!!

No seriously, this is the best we could do. I left my camera in the car and SB brought his BB but Rhett was rocking and rolling so VERY much that the crappy "smart phone" couldn't even contain all his glory. '

And it was GLORIOUS. OH, Rhett charms the ladies and even the mens with his wit and sweaty hip gyrations. Before we even got to the Black Cat, SB told me that he thought he was probably going to throw up just a little in his mouth as he watched me swoon over Stuart Ransom Miller III. But truth be told, By the time Rhett finished breathing out one of his seminal geniusy twangy ditties "The last thing I need....is another girlfriend.... two's enough for me...two's enough....and you would make three!" I do think it was he who was swooning (this is a lie. It was definitely still me.)

sigh. Every day should be Rhett day. more sighing.

Cliche

I do my best.
I put my whole heart into it.
I swirl it around in the pot
soaking it with cilantro, peppers, chiles,
(the green ones you like)- turn out another
bubbling witch's brew of nice try.

The Fall and Rise

I'm not who you think I am. However you've imagined me in your mind's eye, whatever you drew on that paper of yours, I'm different in countless ways. That's the problem with perception. Or maybe it's the genius of perception? It means that everytime we look at another person, there is a universe to uncover- a million hidden quirks swirling around birthing a complex new interaction with the world.

This weekend I faced my greatest fear. I stood at the threshold of the moment that I thought would destroy me, riddle me with holes large enough for the best parts of me to seep out, uncollectible. But it was miraculous, really. I remained. And I didn't just remain. I stood full.

We are all spinning around the edges, bumping into one another, creating friction that has the power to transform. I have an idea today that I will try harder to be honest about who I am and will try a little harder to let you tell me who you are. Honesty is that scariest leap from the precipice but it makes us possible to be healed. And I will pray for it.