Really, Nick, REALLY???

When I started this blog back in February (different blog site for those of you newbies - you can still visit those posts at approachingdirtythirty.myblogsite.com) I only promised that I would try to write every day. I never promised that my posts would be intellectual or funny or even entertaining. In fact, a lot of the time you've probably found them to be ranting, childish, silly, and maybe even boring. Whatever, that's all I've got, so deal with it. Or don't. But keep reading, because it might get better. But not tonight!

Tonight we watched Dear John, based on the book by good ole Nicholas Sparks. Yup, that's right, the same guy who wrote The Notebook, one of my most favorite movies. As I'm sure you've guessed, I'm a sucker for a good love story. And throw Nick's name in there and it's guaranteed to be a good one. But Dear John....dear Lord! I'm still in angst over that story. This is a case where I didn't read the book first, because the movie almost never lives up to my experience with the book. But this, this made me want to cry as soon as the letter appeared. I happened to have the book at home (just hadn't read it yet), so I quickly opened it to the last chapter. Turns out the movie ending was WAY better than the book and much less heart wrenching. Come on, Nicholas Sparks, people (me) have come to expect happy endings from you - is that too much to ask????

And take Angelina Jolie out of movies, please. She makes me want to barf. Every single movie is the same - is she a spy or does she kick ass for a living? Hmmmm. (this isn't completely random - I just watched a preview of Salt).

Perfectionista

Practice makes perfect, right? All of my life I have striven for perfection. I've tried to be the perfect daughter, (the perfect sister is out - I was horrible!), the perfect student, the perfect friend, the perfect wife, the perfect employee, and the list goes on and on and on.

Well, trying to be perfect is a lot of work, and with it comes a tremendous amount of stress. This year, as I live through the last year of my twenties, I am realizing that perfect isn't so great. Every house project that we've started I've wanted to turn out perfect. When searching for a new car I wanted to find the perfect one. When dressing I have to have the perfect outfit, complete with accessories, shoes, and hairstyle. We've lived in our house for almost three years now, and I have yet to purchase curtains/window treatments because I haven't found the perfect ones. We haven't painted the rooms because I haven't decided on the perfect color. Our kitchen isn't finished yet because I can't make decisions. I procrastinate so that I can buy myself time to make the right, or perfect, choice. Aaaaahhhhh!

But this year I am learning to let go of the need to be perfect. There's no such thing as perfect, or at least it's what I keep telling myself so if you disagree don't share it with me or you'll ruin my mantra! I no longer want this weighted baggage that follows me around every day. I'm tired of being stressed out and irritated over simple things. I'm trying to adopt the mentality that life isn't about "things" anyway, it's about people and relationships. That's what I'm going to focus on. If the cabinet door has a spot on it where the polyurethane dripped or a piece of hair from the paintbrush attached itself, it is not the end of the world. Life goes on, and so will I. Things that seem perfect on the outside rarely are.

I'm taking a deep breath....and letting it all go...

Hidden Talent

I had writer's block the other night, so I did the only thing I could think of and turned on the television. After scanning all 200 channels I settled on the movie The Breakup with Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston. I caught it right at the point where Vince is making fun of Jennifer's brother that sings in an a Capella group. There are so many jokes about how a Capella group members are weird and nerdy and maybe even gay, and maybe some are, but I went to Binghamton University where the a Capella groups are amazing (and very manly)!

I muted the television and did a quick YouTube search for two of my favorite BU groups: The Crosbys and The Pegs. I perused the song titles, clicked on the ones I remembered, and slipped back into the Binghamton days when my friends and I would clear our schedules to hear the a Capella groups at the Dollar Show. (The lecture hall building at Binghamton contains fourteen lecture halls. Students pile into several of the lecture halls and the university's a Capella groups rotate through each one). It was magic. I graduated from Binghamton eight years ago (eek!), but I'll never forget the talent showcased in those two groups in particular.

So, let's forget these television shows claiming they are looking for the next best singer or vocal group. Go to Binghamton (and other colleges and universities) and watch the talent unfold before you. There is REAL talent there. It isn't forced and it isn't fake. These people know how to entertain and they have fun doing it. They're also smart and can carry their own tune even when the people around them are singing a different one. They make their own sounds and music. If you've never experienced a real a Capella performance, click on the links below and witness the beauty of real talent. You can't pass up the opportunity.

Long live Binghamton a Capella! And long live real talent.

http://www.thepegs.net/ (click on videos to see actual performances)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KkbQym5MM-w
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_slvE5WPvdc&feature=channel
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dq82ONuGhwY

http://www.thecrosbys.com/

What I think about while I exercise

Normally when I'm exercising at the gym it's on a piece of cardio equipment: Arc Trainer, Elliptical, Stair Stepper, Bike, or Treadmill. And in those cases I'm usually reading something, whether it be the most recent Fitness Magazine or a book from the library (don't worry, I wipe the books down with disinfectant wipes before returning them), or listening to my MP3 player. That's right, I have not yet succumbed to buying an iPOD. I figure my MP3 player works and it holds way more songs than I'll ever like, so what's the point?

Anyway, today I branched out of my normal exercise routine and joined a class called Group Ride, which is supposed to be like spinning but more geared toward an actual road bike ride. Until today I considered myself to be in pretty decent cardio shape. Five minutes into the class and I was huffing and puffing and probably could have blown a house down had there been one in front of me. I found myself looking at the clock at the change of every song. The minutes were creeping by. So what was I thinking about? Let's see, when will this class end?; why did I decide to do this?; I could be leisurely working out on the Arc Trainer right now; What if I pass out, do you think I'll hit my head?; Maybe I should pass out; I could die and this would be my last activity on this earth; I'm sweating an awful lot, can you sweat fat off?; How many calories am I burning?; How does my butt look from behind? And then I looked at the clock and only three minutes had passed. I'm serious. It was only after I hit the halfway point in the class (1/2 hour) that I started to get control of my breathing. Then it wasn't SOOOO bad. In fact, I think I might even go back for more this week (am I really typing this????).

Does this make me a masochist?

Mr. Ding-A-Ling is actually a woman

Our neighborhood has an ice cream truck that goes around once or twice a day. The first time I saw the name on the truck I laughed hysterically. Mr. Ding-A-Ling! I sent numerous picture messages to friends via my fantastic Samsung cell phone. We all had a good laugh. I always assumed the driver would be a man, which I have to admit creeped me out big-time (Ding-A-Ling and serving ice cream to little kids? You can't yell pedophile louder than that!) But to my surprise Mr. Ding-A-Ling's driver is a woman! I realized this as I pulled onto my street and passed the truck at the stop sign. Interesting fact.

Other interesting facts:
--> Whenever I drink wine little pains shoot through the sides of my jaw (not when I drink beer or other liquor, only wine). What is that about?

--> There is a new Green Grocery store in my town that sells all natural food and products. Today I found my pasta that I normally wait 15 minutes for at the farmer's market for the same cost. Score!

--> Every time I go to Target I end up with the same cashier. She is from Thailand and she is an absolute doll! The interesting thing here is that she remembers me every single time, AND she remembers our past conversations. Today she told me she thinks we knew each other in a past life and are just drawn to each other. So sweet :)

What is the point?

So if you've read my facebook status this evening, you already know that I am totally miffed that our barely two years old deck is not wearing as well as we anticipated it would. We bought Veranda composite decking in a beautiful light cedar color from Home Depot in 2008. I am not an impulsive person, actually quite the opposite, when it comes to large purchases, so please know that we spent months researching the best decking for our tri-level deck (that my husband designed).

The deck boards looked great when my husband first screwed them down (which was a process in itself - I probably cannot count on one hand how many drill bits were stripped!), but toward the end of that summer it started to get little black spots everywhere. Every few days I would get down to work with a toothbrush and a mild dish detergent/water mixture to remove the pesky spots. I know it sounds anal, but the decking wasn't cheap!! Rewind for a second to the moments before purchasing the decking. More than one Home Depot employee, along with the Veranda website, stated that the composite decking was virtually maintenance free but that it might need to be sprayed off with a regular garden hose at the beginning of spring each year. So we sprayed it off last year, and again this year. But that didn't remove or prevent green algae-like stains and black mildew(???) spots from covering the deck boards.

A few weeks ago I went to Home Depot to announce my grievance and get some advice, and I was told to buy this rather expensive composite deck cleaner that you have to apply with a mild to rough brush. Did I mention our deck is 500 square feet? But the directions clearly state that one must scrub, let sit for 15 minutes, but NOT allow the product to dry on the deck. Um, hello, it's SUMMER!!! So late this afternoon when the sun hid behind our pine tree I whipped up a mixture of cleanser and water and went to town on a set of stairs. While it removed most of the green algae stains, it did not really remove the black mildew stains. In my opinion it should look better than it does, but I guess I'll take it! My husband built this deck from scratch and I know he wants it to look perfect, or at least close. A lot of blood, sweat, and swears went into that deck, so we want it to look good for a long time! Here's to hoping Veranda gets back to me soon regarding the email I sent today :)

I guess my question for the night is: What is the point of buying the "best" product if it doesn't live up to its promise? Or is this just another example of the Walmart/warehouse effect?

Wah, wah, wah, SHUT UP!

Why do people like to complain? I spent an hour and a half at a training session this evening for a volunteer program, and almost 40 minutes of that session was taken up by complaints. And tattling. I almost couldn't believe it, and then I remembered that people are crazy, and many of them suck. Most of the complainers were over the age of 65 - I don't know what that means. I said a little prayer tonight that went something like this: Dear God, Please do not ever let me get to a point in my life where I complain about little things like how many points I should get for volunteering long hours, or how I deserve a prize for volunteering the most hours. No, I'm not kidding. That really did happen. More than once. Eventually I tuned out the whiners, but thought to myself, really? Is this the most exciting thing in their lives that they need to complain about it? But I guess I answered my own question. Anyway, note to self and everyone else out there: Remember what our mothers told us - Nobody likes a whiner! (A little side note - I actually have a line between the hallway marble floor and the tile at the entrance to my classroom called the "Whine Line". No whining allowed once you cross into my classroom! Now if only I could figure out a way to make that line portable...)