Swimmin’ with the fishes

When we signed up to go snorkeling on our honeymoon, I didn’t really think it through. I don’t know why, but in my mind we were just going to show up somewhere and get in the water – no boats necessary.

First timer over here.

In reality, we were about 30 people on the boat, getting ready to go out nine miles to the Molokini Crater.

And I should probably mention: I’m not so good on the water.

When I was much younger, I have a memory of being with my family on a boat – a very slow-moving almost ferry-like boat – and feeling sick. So I fell asleep on my dad’s lap to try to ignore it.

About 12 years ago – again as a family – we went on a cruise. Cruise ships are pretty big. Sometimes you can almost forget you’re out on the water. Unless you’re me.

I felt every dip and every swell, and was guzzling ginger ale (and virgin daiquiris) to combat the nausea.

With all that history, I think it’s clear that I overlooked the boat aspect of the snorkeling.

But that’s a good thing. If I had, I might have psyched myself out and missed out on one of the best honeymoon adventures that we had.

This does not do it justice. I’m a poor photographer, and those underwater cameras don’t mask that fact.

Yes, I was a little nauseous as we started moving. And super jealous of the kids that kept running around the deck without a second thought.

And once we got the snorkeling gear on, I was extremely nervous about jumping in the water. I wouldn’t be able to touch the bottom! There were fish! There was coral! What if I got water in my mask?! What if I touched some ocean life I wasn’t supposed to?

(Apparently even when I’m scared I’m worried about breaking the rules.)

I’m mid-jump here. And while most people kept one hand on the mask when they jumped, so it wouldn’t move, I kept two – one to keep it on, and one to cover the tube lest any water get in.

But once I jumped in and put my mask under water, all those worries disappeared.

The view was breathtaking and the water was calm (except for all the other snorkelers churning it up). It was anything but scary, even as we got farther and farther from the boat.

That’s not to say that suddenly I’m an ocean girl. I still like my beach time, reading and lounging in the sun.

But, after swimming with the fishes (and one turtle!), am I as scared of the ocean as I used to be?

Not a chance. And that’s definitely a step in the right direction.

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Do they cover this in finishing school?

There are certain skills that many women (and I’m sure men, too) have, that I often feel as though I’m lacking.

It’s really the little things. Like:

• wearing pantyhose without squirming

• commuting in heels instead of keeping them under your desk at the office

• ironing out all the wrinkles (not just the easy ones)

• caring enough to blow dry your hair (maybe the caring isn’t a skill, but the blow drying is)

• painting your own nails

• putting on makeup (and taking it off)

And you see, it’s this last one that I’ve been having the most trouble with recently. I’ve pretty much given up on the rest of the list (I might blow dry if I’m feeling extra ambitious), but the makeup issue remains.

I’m not one to wear a lot of it. In fact, I’m not one to wear any, unless it’s a special occasion. And while most mothers seem to think that their daughters wear too much makeup, and so would be pleased at my minimalism, mine has been begging me wear more. (In a nice way, Mama, I know.) She’s been subtly and not-so-subtly hinting at it for years, but after this most recent wedding, when I had my makeup professionally done, it came up again.

I asked her what she thought about it, and took her silence to mean she didn’t like it. “No,” she told me, “I just wish you did it more often! It makes your eyes pop!“

So, even though the wedding was weeks ago, I finally took her advice. It seems ridiculous to say, but at the ripe old age of 25, I’ve finally started wearing mascara and eye liner on a regular basis – as in every day this week.

This is groundbreaking stuff, I know.

And she’s right. My eyes do pop. I actually feel just a teensy bit more confident when I leave the apartment in the morning. It’s the same kind of confidence as when I manage to walk a block in my heels without tripping.

The thing is, now that I’ve got the makeup on, I can’t take it off! Apparently straight soap and water are no match for MAC, Maybelline, and Ulta. Who knew?

So I basically end up scrubbing, still waking up with raccoon eyes, and just reapplying on top of the leftovers. I realize this is not a good thing, but I can only grow up one step at a time.

Last time I was home, Mama did my makeup for me. Maybe this weekend, she can teach me how to take it off without ripping out my eyelashes.

Though, if any of you have any tricks or favorite removal products, I’ll gladly take your input.

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Trying to get back to my inner math-nerd

I have to admit: in high school, I really loved math class. The trig, the calculus – it made sense to me. There were formulas and steps and definitive right answers. It wasn’t that it was easy, exactly, but it was logical. And I liked that.

However, when I got to college, I avoided math (and science) classes like the plague. I was an International Affairs major, thank you very much. I was leaving the world of black and white, right and wrong answers, and entering an entirely new sphere consisting (seemingly) mostly of that gray in between area.

The beauty of International Affairs is that, often, if you argue well enough you can always be “right.”

Of course, there were some math and science credits that Hopkins required, to ensure that they were producing well-rounded students, but there were ways around the difficult courses. Case in point: I took a class called Chance & Risk, whose description stated, “This is a ‘math’ class for humanities majors. Minimal math background required.” We learned about odds and probabilities in numerous contexts and my final group project consisted of assessing (very non-scientifically) the probability of contracting an STD while at Hopkins.

Quality stuff.

Now, though, I’m back in school and in need of a math-esque class again and I don’t see Chance & Risk on the menu anywhere. So, starting tonight, I’ll be taking Quantitative Analysis. I’d tell you what it’s about, but the syllabus reads like an entirely new language to me. There are terms that I’ve only seen as I’ve skimmed through survey methodologies, and mention of a statistical analysis program that the professor promises proficiency in.

We’ll see, Professor.

For right now I’ll settle for understanding the syllabus.

And here I thought Econ was going to be my hardest class.

 

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I’m never moving again…until next time

Every time I move I say that I never want to move again, and this past weekend was no exception. We’ve agreed that should we change apartments again, we will be hiring movers. And now it’s in writing, just in case one of us forgets.

Overall, though, everything went well. The big pieces are in and the rearranging has begun. The dust we’ve kicked up has been fighting back with a vengeance (I was sneezing and sniffly pretty non-stop yesterday), but things are slowly settling into place. And I love this part. The organizing, combining, and turning this apartment into our home.

That’s not to say, however, that the move is completely done.

What it feels like sometimes

You see, I underestimated just how much stuff I have. Particularly kitchen stuff. I still have about 4-5 boxes (not all of them big, mind you) of glasses, mixing bowls, pots, and pans to go over to the new place. But that’s also not including my cookie/baking sheets, muffin tins, and pie plates (all of which I do actually use, so I can’t justify tossing) or the kitchen goodies that I’ve already brought over – namely my crock pot.

Thanks to Cla’s influence, though, I’m feeling far more comfortable letting go of things. I’ve already posted three such things on Craigslist, and my donation bags continue to grow. It’s kind of liberating, actually.

I’ll continue the packing tonight while enjoying a glass of wine with another girlfriend, who will hopefully want to take some of these items off my hands. But, even if she doesn’t, I no longer feel quite as guilty about getting rid of them.

And that’s a HUGE step for me.

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I hope you can learn to be more outgoing – otherwise I’m screwed

When I initially wrote my 25 for 25 list, I knew that some things would be a little bit of a stretch. The home run, for example, or actually wanting to finish A Return to Modesty. And there was one that I was really skeptical of – one that I’m still not sure I’ll be able to do soon, if ever. So, in the spirit of guessing games, I asked the boyfriend which one he thought it might be.

“Being more outgoing.” So matter-of-fact. No hesitation. So sure of himself.

“No! I was thinking of one of the running ones…wait a minute. I can be more outgoing. I can!“

I’m not sure who I was trying to convince more – him or myself.

Not counting my diva stage, which lasted until middle school, I’ve always been a quiet kid. A bit of a Shy Ronnie, if you will, save the outburst:

(Ignore the reverse image – at least the song is right.)

In any case, I’m (generally) friendly once I’m comfortable, but I’m aware that my first impression isn’t the best. In fact, BnB once told me, “Yeah, you kind of come off as a bitch.“

Constructive, to be sure.

But this is a goal that I really want to accomplish. I don’t want my shyness to be perceived as bitchiness, and I’d like to be even just a little bit more outgoing. Enter grad school.

Again, I was worried about starting classes and feeling that cafeteria syndrome. You know, nowhere to sit, and the feeling like everyone else already has their friends. But I had a revelation last night in my first econ refresher course: we’re all in the same boat!

Groundbreaking, right?

Seriously, though, none of us knew each other, nobody had an upper hand, and everyone just wanted to make sure that they were in the right place. And that’s how it’s going to be throughout the first week or so of classes. So I seized the opportunity. I may not have completely initiated the first conversation (what, you want me to change my personality over night?), but I chatted and joked with classmates and know that I’ll have a friend to sit next to tonight.

You may call it baby steps, but I call it progress. And I’m confident that it will only get better from here.

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Now who do I root for?

It seems as though everyone who’s been following March Madness this year has been shocked by all the upsets. At least, I don’t know anyone who predicted that Duke would be the only first-ranked team in the Final Four. Do you?

I’ve never been great at creating a bracket and predicting who will go how far. I don’t follow college basketball enough to really make an informed decision, and, as I’ve learned, I’m just not a good guesser overall.

Take this year, for example. I filled out three brackets. In two of them I had Kentucky (gone) winning everything; in the other I had Syracuse (also gone). Two of them also had Georgetown (out in the first round) making it to the Final Four.

Way to go, me.

So, as you can imagine, I stopped following the games quite as intently, and began to embrace my last (or next to last) place in each pool. I checked the standings this morning, out of morbid curiosity, to see how many brackets had been busted with the most recent games (Baylor in the Final Four? really?), and I saw something that surprised me.

I’m not in last place anymore!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m nowhere near the top, but in one pool I moved up four places, and in another I moved up six! That feels like a lot when you’ve been hanging out at the bottom for so long.

So, even though I have no hope of winning this year, I’ll still follow these last few games. Who knows? I could bump up another few spots.

And, in the meantime, I still have two other March Madness knockoff brackets – cake vs. pie and attractiveness battles – to keep me occupied, thanks to Jezebel and Esquire.

Gotta love the little things.

If you made one, how’s your bracket doing? And, if you didn’t (and/or don’t care about March Madness), what’s your take on the cake vs. pie debate?

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“I hate CVS, doctors, and insurance”*

Remember how I said that 2009 was the year I became a runner – complete with injuries? Well, there’s one injury I haven’t mentioned here, because it’s just been so frustrating. According to the doctor, I have bursitis, which basically means that there’s a sac of fluid in my hip that’s inflamed. Awesome.

It also means that any time I run (I’ve attempted about 3-4 times in the past three weeks), my hip decides to cut me off around two miles. And that’s if I’m lucky.

The doctor prescribed Celebrex and physical therapy, so, trying to be a good patient (i.e. I’m dying to run again) I went to CVS to get the meds. Plot twist: apparently my insurance doesn’t want to cover it, so the doc has to override them, but, not to worry, CVS will take care of it all and let me know within 48 hours.

Lies. This was last week.

I tried to get my ducks in a row yesterday, and the ducks just wouldn’t cooperate. So, of course, I had to vent to a friend, via email:

I called CVS. They said it’s not their fault – they faxed my prescription to the doctor. So he may have contacted the insurance company and they just rejected it again, OR he may not have signed it. They don’t know. Because they did their part.

I called the doctor 1) to check on the prescription, 2) to set up physical therapy. 1) They can’t find any record of a fax form, and have no way to tell if it was received, signed, and sent off; received, but not signed; or just never received in the first place. So I have to call CVS back to have them send it again. 2) I got transferred to an automated voicemail that said NOTHING about PT, so I didn’t even know if I was in the right place. But I left a message anyway. And of course, I got a call back while I was on the phone with the idiot who couldn’t find my fax. So then I called back about PT, at the number and extension that was left on my voicemail. And I got PT’s voicemail again! Why is this so goddamn difficult?

Can you tell I was frustrated? Just a little? At one of the many points while I was on hold, I turned to Miche and asked, “Do you think they can tell how much I despise them by the tone of my voice?“

Finally, after what felt like forever, I managed to schedule an appointment for my physical therapy evaluation. But there’s still no word on the meds.

I just keep telling myself that it’s all about baby steps.

Without the meds, that’s all I might be able to take, anyway.

*That was the subject line of my ranting email. So at least my friend knew what he was getting into when he opened it.

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Now what you hear is not a test…

On a follow up note from yesterday: I’m still not sold, but apparently Vick did all right against Jacksonville. And even garnered a standing ovation. Whatever. We’ll see what happens. It’s still only preseason after all.

But anyway, forgetting about football for the time being, I have something else on my mind this morning. Something that I thought of on my way to work and that I can’t seem to get out of my head. I was listening to music during the commute, as per usual, and my iPod shuffled over to “Rapper’s Delight” – which I love. How could you not?

And as I was bobbing my head and trying not to sing along (people look at you funny when you do that), I wondered if I could ever actually learn all the words. I mean, it’s over 14 minutes long! Plus, I always get a little tripped up on the order of the boogie and the bang bang and the dibbie dibbie and the skiddlee beebop. But, that said, I’d love to be able to bust it out and surprise a crowd – a la Rosie in the Wedding Singer.

Can anyone do that already? Or…have you?

I won’t say it’s a life goal, but learning those words is definitely going on my to-do list. How could I resist a song that actually uses the word “kaopectate” in one of its lines? You just don’t hear that every day.

Think about it.

Happy weekend!

Also, I couldn’t write about “Rapper’s Delight” and not post the following video. However much it disturbs me.

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Protected: TMI Thursday: First time for everything

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