My Blog Gets Results!

I've found that having a blog makes me feel a bit like I have a secret link to the universe.  As if when I post an entry, the powers-that-be take notice.  My thoughts are released into cyberspace, and who knows what ripple effect my inane ramblings may cause.

Okay, actually, I realize my blog is not changing lives... and most people probably have zero interest in sampling the byproduct of my boredom.  But, a blog does lend to its creator a certain amount of self-esteem when that little "view count" ticker goes up, or when someone comments on a post.  I admit that my level of self-importance may have crept up a bit thanks to having my online voice back in operation.  No need to worry about me getting a big head - my level of self-importance was pretty low to begin with.

I don't post to get noticed, but I appreciate when people give my blog notice.  For those that do notice, I like to feel that I'm at least filling someone's time with something more enjoyable than staring blankly into space.  I think that's a realistic and respectable goal...

This clever set-up brings me to the title of my post:  My Blog Gets Results!  Yes, it is true, readers.  I have single-handedly effected change in the world.  Perhaps that is not entirely true... but I do know that at least one incident has occurred as a result of my blog, and I am choosing to irrationally believe that the other may also be a result of my blog.

First incident:  A couple of weeks after writing my "Baby Factory" post, I received a package in the mail... right around Mother's Day, in fact.  I opened it, and encased within was a gift from my mother-in-law.  I unwrapped it, and to my amusement, it held the exact t-shirt that I posted a picture of in that blog:  Baby Factory Closed.  My blog led to me getting an amusing gift related to my post!  The epitome of success!  Obviously, this was the incident that definitely occurred as a result of my blog.  Ahh, the sweet smell of validation...

Second incident:  After writing my "Library of Judgment" post, I went to the library to check out a book.  Judgmental librarian was nowhere to be found.  I not-so-secretly hope his employment has been terminated.  No, that's not the incident, though it was a welcomed bonus.  When I went to the counter to check out my book, the librarian asked if I would like to try self-checkout.  I asked what it was, and she politely led me to a cluster of kiosks to show me.  Self-checkout is exactly what it sounds like - you check out your own books!  (Actually... I did this in college, as well...so not exactly a new concept.)  So, I just swiped my card, scanned my book, and walked out.  I then realized that I never have to interact with the judgmental librarian ever again!  I can check out all the guilty pleasure reading I desire, free of judgmental looks.  You have no idea of the amount of relief that I feel.  Seriously, this is going to make my life much happier and less stressful (is that a little bit sad?...).  I will now look forward to checking out my next Nora Roberts book!  And, I like to think my blog post at least sent out positive vibes to the universe, which led to this magnificent development.  Regardless of the fact that my blog didn't cause this incident per se, it was a fantastic coincidence that the library got self-checkout only a few days after I composed my blog post.

Ask and you shall receive!

King of the Creepy-Crawlies

Last week, I went into the unfinished part of our basement to feed the cat.  When I opened the door, I saw a huge bug dart under the laundry pile.  I, of course, proceeded to scream and frantically look for a sturdy object with which to crush the pesky intruder.  The hubby's sneaker would have to suffice.  Amidst my gagging and screams of "Ewwww!" and "It's in the laundry!", I managed to gather the courage to unveil the creature hiding within the pile of clothes.  I lifted a shirt, and before it could scurry back into the safety of the unkempt mound, I swatted it with the shoe.  It took three hefty swats to topple the giant pest, and the disgusting crunch released with the final blow made my stomach feel a bit like when you go down that first big hill on a roller coaster.

You may ask yourself, "Just what was this resilient beast of a bug?"  Readers, it is the most vile of all indoor creepy-crawlies, and my personal nemesis... the house centipede.  Anyone who has encountered one of these horrible creatures probably just gagged, shuddered, or screamed in terror at the mere mention of its name.  It is undoubtedly the ugliest, creepiest, grossest (etc.) arthropod I have ever encountered.  I say arthropod because I would venture to claim that I hate house centipedes more than any member of the arthropod phylum - and that includes scorpions, millipedes, spiders, and all insects.  Basically, think of any creepy-crawly that may lurk within the confines of your home... and I would rank house centipedes above all of them on my list of "most hated" bugs.  For those of you lucky enough to have never seen one of these things, here is a lovely picture of one, so you can identify them in the future:

Just looking at this picture is giving me anxiety, thinking about all the places in my house one could be lurking. Shudder.


To give you a visual, these demons are usually anywhere from one inch (in body length) to three inches long.  I've never seen one bigger than that, though who knows if they exist.  Their legs splay out and look like feathers from a distance.  They run extremely fast, and are often out of sight before you can grab something to smash them.  I would say they run "creepily" fast.  It doesn't seem possible for something that small to move that quickly.  Those ridiculously long legs must really carry them.  Also, though I found this one on the floor, I often find them on the wall or the ceiling.  Seeing one of these suckers scurry across your wall is not the most enjoyable experience, especially when you bat at it, and it falls on your floor/bed/couch and disappears out of sight.  Who knows where it could be lurking?!

I have also learned that cats are extremely interested in house centipedes.  My cat goes into "hunt" mode when she sees one; she reacts as if it is a bird or other equally interesting subject.  Usually it is my cat's behavior that has alerted me to a house centipede's presence.  She will chase it, stalk it, bat at it, try to climb up the wall to get it, and generally make all kinds of noises when she spots one.  More than once, I have been woken up by paws scraping the walls and crying or chirping noises from my cat, and upon seeing her eyes focused in attention on a spot on the wall/ceiling, I immediately would get a sense of dread, grab the nearest shoe/magazine, and flip on the lights, prepared for attack.  Without fail, a house centipede would be lurking in the spot on which she was so intently focused, and I would swat it (this leaves a BIG brown mark on your wall - be warned).  Knowing that these things were crawling on my floors/walls/ceilings while I slept still gives me major heebie-jeebies.

I have done extensive research on these terrible creatures over the past 6 years since my first encounter, initially to try to figure out what the heck was crawling on my walls, but now more out of curiosity on how to avoid/get rid of them.  Here's what I've learned:  they are "welcomed" pests, as they kill spiders and other things; they are venomous, but not a real danger; they like damp, cool places like the bathroom or basement; they often enter your home through your pipes; they can live up to five (!) years; they have advanced eyes and can see you approaching; they like to come out at night; they are not silverfish; they will not attack you (I am not convinced).

I don't care how "useful" they are - they creep me out, and I want zero in my house.  I understand that they cannot hurt or kill me, but I still hate them the most.  When I rank my most hated list of "bugs", the most dangerous ones are not at the top.  "Scariest" bugs?  Sure, dangerous ones rank up there.  "Most hated"?  The creepiest ones win in that competition.

If I had to rank the top 5 most hated, it would probably be:

1) house centipedes,



2) millipedes,

3) praying mantises, 

4) stick insects, 

5) harvestmen (daddy long legs).

I know, my most hated bugs are all things that children find interesting and want to play with.  But, not this child.  No thank you.  I remember crying once when someone put a stick insect on me.  Yes, my country upbringing remains an enigma...

The Library of Judgment

A few months ago, I decided to join my county library so I could get some books to read on vacation.  My Nook taught me that I love free books (who knew?), so I figured my library would be a great way to get even more free books.  And, good ones, even.  I was a little apprehensive about the library because I had never really utilized a public library frequently in the past.  One of my many irrational fears is doing "new" things, however small, so I had some anxiety about visiting for the first time because I didn't know anything about the library and had never been.

I walked in, and I felt pretty good.  I talked to the lady at the counter, and she was very helpful in getting my library account set up and giving me a little introduction to the different sections of the library.  So, I found the section I wanted, got my books, and went up to the counter.  Up until this point, I was feeling pretty good about my new-found free book paradise.  And, I had my newest Sookie Stackhouse book in hand, ready for my vacation.

When I got up to the counter to check out my book, the man simply looked at me, took my book, and gave me a little slip and told me when it was due.  But, the way he looked at me... bothered me.  I felt like he was judging me for my book selection.  I had chosen a bestseller - a supernatural, "mindless" book.  I felt like he was looking at me like I was some vapid woman who couldn't be bothered with thinking too much and instead chose to live a life of leisure and shallow reading.  I know it's kind of self-indulgent, but I really want to feel like people perceive me as an intelligent, professional person most of the time.  I guess I want all of that schooling and hard work to count for something, even though I realize it's almost impossible to gauge a person's intelligence and achievement simply by their appearance or book choice.

Regardless, I felt judged by the librarian.  This probably goes back to my desire to believe that I like intelligent, high-brow, cultured entertainment.  But, as I've said, I can't help it - I love mindless reading.  In school, I always liked the classic novels.  Some of my favorites were A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, The Great Gatsby, and Sense and Sensibility.  Literary "greats", to be certain.  I still hold a place for books like that, but I find it exhausting to read "good" modern literature.  I want my book to be an escape.  I don't want boring but profound passages, I don't want to look for symbolism, and I don't want to feel like reading the book is a chore.  I know that some people love literary masterpieces, and they will only read "good" literature.  Sure, those are nice every once in a while, but I am just not that refined, I guess!  I like mainly romance and supernatural/action novels, even when I know they are not technically well-written.  I want something that holds my attention so much that I can't put the book down.  Books don't have to be great to be entertaining; it's nice if they're both, but that is rare, indeed.

I would love to be a book snob... I'd love to have great "taste", high standards, and be passionate about the written word (I suppose then I would be a librarian!).  But, I feel like that takes a lot of effort.  Instead, I guess I am a closet book snob.  I can tell the difference between "literature" and "books."  I can tell when an author is truly talented... and when they're not.  I know many of the books that I read are not "good" by critics' standards.  And, there is a big part of me that would love to impress the librarians with my book selections, a part of me that craves their approval when I bring that book up to the counter and feels a bit ashamed when I know my book selection is not exactly Pulitzer material.  I would love to hear a comment about how good a book is, or how they think I will enjoy it, or even a recommendation for "another" great read.  Maybe one day I will check out a critically acclaimed book just to see if I get a different reaction than when I check out my Nora Roberts paperback romance.

I doubt that's happening anytime soon, as the next 3 books in my "hold queue" are: the 2nd book in a young adult series, the book on which a recent chick-flick was based, and the newest Sookie Stackhouse novel.  But, you know what?  I bet I will enjoy every minute of them!

So, judge away, Mr. Librarian!  Your judgmental looks will not deter me from checking out my vapid literary entertainment, though it may make me feel ashamed while doing so...

For a huge collection of these memes, go here.  They are supposed to be about a bookseller, but they are all things I think the judgmental librarian is thinking...

Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot...

No, it's not just the name of the cheesy tune a guy performed on America's Got Talent last week.  Though, he was hilariously terrible...

It is reality.

It has been ridiculously hot for over a week now.  Almost a week straight of 90+ degree temps in the first week of June?  I am officially declaring a heat wave.  I am tempted to update the Wikipedia entry for heat wave to include the past week.  

**As an aside, while reading the Wikipedia entry for heat wave, I came across the entry for Dog Days.  It turns out I have been mistaken as to what Dog Days means for my entire life.  I should know better than to try to learn colloquialisms from observing my family's usage of a term.  The only time I ever heard the phrase used was when I was told I could not swim in the creek because it was Dog Days.  During "Dog Days", the creek was mossy, stagnant, and gross-looking.  I always assumed Dog Days referred to the grossness of the water, and I couldn't swim because the creek was gross.  I figured it meant "only dogs would swim in that" or "you'll get sick as a dog if you swim in that."  Something along those lines.  I realize now that the creek was gross during actual Dog Days, so it's almost impossible to know if my family was using the term correctly to refer to the hottest days of summer or was using it to refer to the unswimability of the creek.  I'm calling my mother tonight to ask her what she thinks Dog Days means!**

Back to the topic at hand:  it's hot.  Everyone who lives in the Midwestern or Southern United States knows it's really, incredibly hot right now... this is not news, and I am not here to complain about the heat.  Everyone is hot.  Of course I'm hot... but what is bothering me today is my view on the heat.  As with many things, I think it is yet another sign that I am getting older.

Throughout middle school, high school, college, and even law school, I loathed the heat.  I hated going outside if it was over 85 degrees, unless it was to swim.  I hated sweating, I hated feeling hot, and I just felt miserable in the heat.  I couldn't understand how people lived without air conditioning in the "olden days" (though I didn't have A/C in my Chicago apartment... but... that's Chicago).  Movies like Gone With the Wind made living in the South in the 1800s look so glamorous... but, when I thought of how hot it would be to wear all those layers of dresses, I decided it would be terrible to live in the 1800s, no matter how rich you were.  Six Flags on a hot day was about the most miserable I can remember being in my life.  Waiting in line in 98 degree, sunny weather?  Pure torture.  In middle school, my mom tried to make me go outside during the day on summer breaks.  I used all the excuses I could think of to stay inside.  Heat advisories were my best friend.  If there was a heat advisory in effect, I would at least have a well-supported argument for not going outside.  Once I reached high school, I think she eventually gave up on trying to make me go out in the heat and accepted my aversion to heat.  

The last couple of years, however, I've started to become more and more comfortable with heat.  I still get hot, but I never feel as miserable as I used to.  I am not sure if this is due to simply having a higher tolerance for being uncomfortable, or if it actually feels less uncomfortable.  Whatever the cause, I simply don't notice the heat as much as I used to; I daresay I even sometimes enjoy the heat.  When looking at colleges, I actually designated a line across the US, saying I would not go anywhere south of that line for college because it would be too hot.  I could have applied to Tulane for free, but wouldn't even consider it (kind of glad now, actually, since Katrina hit while I was in college!).  Now, however, I have no qualms about going outside and doing something when it's 90+ degrees - I'll grill, do yardwork, hang out with friends, go for a walk, roll the windows down in my car and turn off the A/C... all things I never would have even considered doing a mere 3 years ago.  

Such a thing as "too hot" still exists, but oftentimes I find that I enjoy the feeling of the hot, thick summer air.  Last summer, I vacationed in Savannah in June, and it was in the high 90s the entire time.  A lot of the time, we were outside or in a place with no air conditioning, but the heat didn't slow me down.  It was definitely very hot, and I still couldn't comfortably do anything between 1 and 3pm... but it usually wasn't insufferable to me.  I enjoyed walking around Savannah in the 95 degree heat.  This is an inadequate description, but somehow, it felt more like "real life" to me.  I'm not sure how else to put it.  Something about forgoing the modern convenience of temperature control made me feel more relaxed and alive.  It seems that the more immersed I get in technology and convenience, the more I feel that I need to get away from it to feel like myself.  Perhaps it is being an adult that has led me to this conclusion.  An adult that doesn't mind the heat because it makes her feel real and alive...  

...And old.  When I think of a hot, muggy day, I think of my Grandpa refusing to turn on the A/C until the 4th of July, and even then only turning it on because my Grandma insisted that it had to be turned on for company.  Grandpa spent most of his time outside, his leathered deeply-tanned skin showing his love for the heat and the outdoors.  He was always on his lawn mower, in his garden, walking his dog... in bluejeans and suspenders, with no shirt.  His refusal to turn on the A/C was almost unbearable once the temperature outside reached above 85.  My mom explained to me that "old people" are always cold and want it hot all the time (or some of them are just too cheap to pay that high electric bill...).  So I am now left wondering if my tolerance for the heat has increased because I'm "older."  I'm almost positive that is the reason, but why age is the culprit is something that perplexes me.

Perhaps my perspective has shifted enough that I do not see the heat as that large of an annoyance in the grand scheme of things.  Perhaps I have experienced enough pain in life that my tolerance for discomfort has increased.  Perhaps I have matured enough to not complain about things I cannot change.  Or perhaps, as we get older, we cling more to the things of childhood.  We long to go back to a time when you never noticed the level of the mercury, but instead lost track of time playing outside all day - chasing butterflies, climbing trees, running through sprinklers, riding your bicycle, going on adventures.  When heat meant that you got to go outside, not that you had to.  I like to think that this last "perhaps" is the answer.  The others sound too stoic and somewhat depressing.  Maybe I just want to believe that it is the child in me that is resurfacing, and not the old woman that is emerging.  Maybe it is what I want to believe... but that doesn't mean it can't be true.  

Sometimes, I think the best part of getting older is simply allowing yourself to be young again.