The Kick

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The Kick

As it turns out, I’ve always been an author. The Kick is a fabulous (and insanely thrilling) short story I wrote in first grade. It’s about a girl who puts her foot in the air and then back down. In addition to being a very creative great writer, I was quite the artist. My first grade teacher happens to live next door, and happened to be cleaning out her attic while I was home on vacation. Talk about lots of laughs!

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Snapshots of Summer

Concert at Park Street Festival. Turned out to be an awesome band!

Pride Parade was as colorful as ever, but hot as could be!

Dessert. Pretty much sums up Convention 2012…

Perfect shot of summer! This was taken some time around 8:30 pm. I still have a hard time believing it’s still light at 9:00 pm.

The Shredder

So in preparing for bikini season 2013 (ha!), I’ve spent the past 6 months really hardcore working on my fitness. I’ve worked with a trainer, started running, done exercise classes and really put myself out there trying to get to a point where I felt like I was in better shape.

I thought I was doing a really great job. I spent my Friday evening walking Grandview with E. On Saturday (even though I almost died of dehydration and hunger) I walked the 8 mile round trip from my neighborhood to downtown Columbus with E.

I was confident. And then I met The Shredder….

Columbus Commons, the newest green space in downtown, offers free bootcamp, kickboxing, CrossFit, yoga and Zumba throughout the summer. I got really excited last week and signed up for every class. The first class, bootcamp, met tonight after work. The new HQ intern and I decided we’d go together, so we showed up (nervous, of course) to see what bootcamp entailed.

We were met with the very in shape, nice looking trainer (who was literally Mark Sloane in the flesh). The Shredder wasted no time. His first words to us: “You see the sidewalk that borders this park? Yep, we’ll call that a lap. Now everybody run one. Quick, or I’ll release the dogs.” And so we did. I was so proud the whole way through my lap that I wasn’t at the back of the pack that I failed to notice that The Shredder had already begun lining up those who finished first. They were doing high kicks across the park. (At this point I’m a little short of breath, but still feeling confident in my abilities.) Annnd so I begin my high kicks across the football field-sized park. About halfway through, The Shredder gets bored and has my line sprint to the opposite side. Now I’m struggling just a bit. He has us quickly line up and we begin what he calls “the warm-up.” I have to admit that I’m a little confused at this point, because I thought we had already warmed up…

We proceed to do squats, lunges, push ups, burpees and the like. Out of 300 people, The Shredder notices that my squats aren’t low enough (‘scuze me) and comes over to push me lower to the ground. So now I’m visibly struggling. The Shredder proclaims that we are finished with our warm up and can move on to the actual exercises. He has us do squats at one side of the park, sprint to the other side, do burpees, and sprint back. This cycle counts as one point. He yelled at us to “run faster or I’ll release the dogs!” I channelled Cato in The Hunger Games…I fought hard for a minute, but in the end, I certainly would have been eaten by the dogs.

I wasn’t even embarrassed that I stopped to get water and only racked up two whole points tonight. See you next week, Shredder.

Welcome, spring

The weather has been fabulous! And I’ll admit, the winter wasn’t so bad this year, but I was still glad for the warmer temps to roll around.

Thankfully, I’ve been able to spend a lot of time outside. And a lot of time with friends. And a lot of time doing things I love.

Speaking of things I love, it seems I’ve sort of gotten back into photography lately. First, I took pictures for my friend Emily’s engagement, I took pictures of my friend Kylie’s wedding, and most recently, I had the pleasure of taking pictures of my friend Farrah‘s sweet little girl, Millicent, for her second birthday.

Isn’t she a doll?

Don’t Follow Your Passion

“Follow your passion”: a tidbit of advice I received from my parents once…

I think this advice is a little bogus (sorry Mom and Dad), or maybe I’m just doing it wrong.

In high school I was passionate about art, photography, design, color and art history, so I chose to major in Graphic Design. The decision to become a designer ultimately led me to choose Auburn (which claims one of the best programs in the Southeast) and straight into classes that I loved to hate. They were bittersweet. I enjoyed the work, but I hated being graded on something I loved so much. Getting a B- when I thought I had done A+ work was like taking a dagger through the heart…I was way too passionate. Every semester I swore I’d change to Marketing. And every semester, I stayed in design. Somehow I made it through two cuts, cried my entire way through the classes, and in May 2010, I graduated with a degree. Only I wasn’t super excited…I didn’t want to be a designer. I was stuck. Talk about confusing: I loved design, but  had figured out a bit too late that I didn’t want to design for money. Fortunately for me, I was slightly interested in exhibit design, and was lucky enough to get an internship with my sorority working in our museum for the summer. Which turned into a full-time job working in our Membership Services Department. I loved the job. I wasn’t passionate about it, but I enjoyed it. It was easy to put effort into what I was doing. After a year, I was offered a job as the Social Media and Communications Specialist, again something I wasn’t passionate about, but I really enjoyed doing, and something I continue to put a lot of effort into. And it’s funny…it seems that all of my effort and hard work has slowly turned in to passion.

I don’t know that I could have explained this or understood  before reading this blog post. But now I do. When I graduated college, I hated art. I hated photography, I was bored out of my mind by design. My camera stayed in its case for a year before I finally got it out again. I turned my passion into a job instead of a job into a passion.

For you, the passion route might work…who knows? Just be aware that it’s easy to burn out, and sometimes focusing on something you enjoy will work even better!

The Neighb

I always say that my life experiences, if compiled, would make a great book-turned-movie… 

Some background: I have this neighbor. We ended up meeting and introducing ourselves because I thought he was abusing someone in his apartment, so I told my landlord. Turns out it wasn’t him, and we became friends…or sort of.

Our friendship started with text messages. Pretty typical–we both work full-time, and I’m never home, so it’s really all there was. Several days after we started texting each other, I proposed we get drinks sometime. He agreed.

Naturally, I felt it was best to follow-up for drinks, so several days later I asked if he’d be up for a drink after work. Kicker: he couldn’t… his girlfriend was coming over.

I thought it was a little strange that someone with a girlfriend waited so long to tell me, but I shrugged it off and went on with my life.

Here’s where it gets juicy: Last Wednesday (about a month later) he sent me a message– he and his girlfriend broke up, so we were on for drinks! I thought it was a little weird, but with lots of encouragement from friends, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to give him a fair chance in person…. (Clearly my friends hate me and my decision-making skills are severely lacking.)

Fast forward to Saturday… he somehow manages to tell me he’s super attracted to me, has been since he met me, and wants to take me out. I’m skeptical at this point, and assure him all he is looking for is a rebound. Before I know it, he’s on his way home and wants to see me tonight. I’m crazy, so I agree to it.

He had been drinking, and asked me three times how old I was. Finally after an hour of uncomfortably answering the same questions several times, I told him I needed to head to bed. He stood up and hovered. I assumed he would probably just stand there until the world ended, he passed out, or I hugged him, so I took one for the team and hugged him with the old one-arm-we’re-just-friends-and-you-won’t-let-me-go embrace. And then, to cap it all off, as if my hug wasn’t enough, he asked me for a kiss. (My theory is if you have to ask, it isn’t happenin’, pal.) My only wish at that moment was to see the look on my face.

Here’s where I start laughing:  Sunday rolled around, and I wasn’t sure if he would even remember our conversation. Unfortunately, he did, and assured me he still wanted to take me out. I am…or was… a believer in second chances, so I told him that sounded nice.

Last night, a mere 24 hours later, I asked him if he was interested in getting a quick drink. (Why I’m still trying to be this guy’s friend, I don’t know.) Of course he wasn’t. He followed my drink offer with a text, “Random question. Do you believe in second chances? My ex is coming over tomorrow so we can talk about things.”

My response… “Honestly, after everything you’ve told me, I cannot  believe you just asked me that.” He then tried to play it off as if I was the one that started it all. He was appreciative I was so interested in him, but he needed to “work on himself” and still hoped we could be friends.

PSH. Girl, puh-lease.

Friends don’t turn friends down for drinks.

The Month of February

“you did not have 1 blog post during February…just saying…”

Straight up called out.

I know…I know…I’m not very diligent anymore. I occasionally have things to write about, but when it’s suddenly 11:30 and I know I’m getting up at 5:00 am…let’s just say the urge to blog is the last thing I am really feeling.

To start, we can go back to the story of why I didn’t blog in February….

Once upon a time, there was a princess girl who moved 500 miles away from everyone she knew. It was fun, and she had good friends in this new land, but she had to learn to take care of things by herself. She had it easy for a while…but then one day she had a tire problem. She took it to her trusty mechanic and asked him what the problem was. His news wasn’t very good. The back tires on the carriage Alteema were very worn, to the point of being dangerous to drive on! They were cupping, and one even had a bare spot! The mechanic warned the girl that she was an interstate away from a blowout. The tires needed replacing immediately. Before she could even ask questions, the mechanic had an estimate for new tires + service. Only a cool $400.

Fast forward several weeks. The girl is now dealing with the Nissan dealership 500 miles away, who originally sold the tires that hadn’t lasted as long as they were supposed to. They give the poor girl the runaround for a week. Her father calls and instantly everything is easily solved. They say only the tire manufacturer can handle the situation. The tire manufacturer sends her to a different mechanic (tired yet?) for a “warranty inspection.” The mechanic laughs…there is no problem! The girl can get many more miles from these tires. the mechanic shows the girl her tires, shows her what the problems would look like if there were any, and says all she really needs is an alignment.

The girl was furious. She had been taken for a fool! She had a right mind to go back to the first mechanic and have him show her the problems. And that’s exactly what she did…

And it went a little something like this…

Girl: “Hi! Before I buy tires, I was hoping you could put my car on the lift and show me the bald spot and the cupping. I would like to know what to look for next time.”

Evil Mechanic: “Oh sure! Let me have a guy put it up and we’ll walk back together.”

Evil Mechanic: “Now, you probably won’t be able to see or feel this bare spot. It’s sometimes hard for normal people to feel.” (Um, really dude? I’ve been feeling things for 25 years now…)

Girl: “Ok, well show me the cupping…”

EM: “…”

Girl: “So there’s no cupping, and I can’t feel the bare spot… Now tell me one more thing…how dangerous is it to drive on these tires?”

EM: “Oh, you should be fine. It might just vibrate some.”

Girl: RAGE

And that, my friends, was the story of the month of February.