Traditions of Fall

With the arrival of fall, I have been starting to enjoy a few of the fruits of the season.  I have already been apple picking with my nephews and enjoyed some delicious apple cider as well.  This is pretty normal stuff, but if you actually take a time to sit down and really think about it, some of our fall traditions are quite unusual.

Let's start with apple and pumpkin picking.  In the 21st Century we want everything fast.  Food, correspondence, information--we don't usually like to wait for anything too long.  Nevertheless, come fall, we have the grand idea to revert back to our hunter and gathering ways of old.  Unlike in the past, however, survival is the last thing on our minds.  Instead, it's a mad race to find the best  apples and pumpkins--the bigger the better.  There's no need to worry about carrying your own pumpkin or bushel baskets because if you're smart you've brought your very own haul mule.  In my family, that lands on my father. A fifty pound pumpkin, no problem, I brought my dad.  After you've found and collected your pumpkins and apples, then the real fun starts.  Who can climb the highest apple tree?  Who can find the grossest rotten pumpkin?  How many adorably cute, but totally useless gords can you stuff down your shirt to smuggle off the farm?  Without a doubt, it's safe to say our priorities have certainly shifted since our pilgrimage days.

Another delicious tradition is the caramel apple.  Anything healthy about the apple is quickly butchered in celebration of the fall.  Spoonfuls of sinfully delicious caramel turn a once nutritious snack into a sticky, cavity-ridden mess of a good treat.  And let's be honest, if they skimp you on the caramel, there will be hell to pay.  The art of topping is also a very personal matter.  Some like nuts, others like chocolate chips, and of course most children are not satisfied unless they have a million sprinkles per square inch of caramel.  Only the lucky and extremely talented avoid getting caramel on their face, in their hair, and up their arms.  For most, that is not the case.  Even so, no mentally sane pereson is immune to the power of a caramel apple, not even my grandma who must take out and clean her dentures of the sticky caramel afterwards.

Jumping into a pile of leaves is another fall past time not to be missed.  You don not even have ot be a child to enjoy the fun if my twenty-six year old self is any indication.  Just make sure to be surrounded by at least one child in order to avoid stares.  I will admit it may seem a bit strange to go about all the work of raking leaves into a big pile only to demolish it, but it's cheap, amusing fun.  It's the joy of stuffing leaves down your brother or sister's pants. It's the hilariousness of your sister screetching when sh discovers a slimy grub amonst the leaves.  It's fun, plain and simple.

Pumpkin carving is yet another unusual tradition practiced in autumn.  We sit down with children, gather sharp knives of all shapes and sizes, and start hacking silly faces into large, orange vegetables that you will later at night light with a candle.  Seems legit, right?  In all honesty, it is pretty cool.  The gushy guts make for a disgustingly awesome fun time.  They make for an even better weapo to throw at my sister and nail her in the side of the face.  Of course, in my family it doesn't stop with the guts.  There is also the pressure to come up with the best carved jack-o-lantern, and your creative prowess better be fully operational if you plan on winning.

Finally, we arrive at the most unusual tradition of all--trick or treating.  In a world that continually warns children to avoid strangers, it seems weird to me that once a year we dress them up in unusual and elaborate costumes and send them around the city banging on doors in the demand for candy.  I guess it all boils down to the fact that the human child will always be controlled by the need to get their hands on as much sugar and chocolate as possible, and if it's free, even better.  It gets even odder however when you grow older.  Suddenly nurses, witches, and kittens become slutty, and liquor is the new sought after treat.  All of this in celebration of the dead--what a conundrum Halloween is!

So there you have it.  They might be strange, but those are the many traditions of autumn.  Hopefully, you get to enjoy a few of them this season.

Am I alone in thinking...

I have a lot of random, strange thoughts and questions throughout the day. I thought I’d share a few of them with you in the hopes that I’m not alone. If I am, please don’t judge me. Here goes…

Why do guys always seem funnier, friendlier, and sexier in books, movies, and tv? I really need to stop falling in love with fictional men. It’s just not healthy.

When buying toys for my nephews for birthdays and Christmas, I end up spending hours roaming the toy aisles. I suddenly find myself playing with toys that I secretly wish I had as a kid. Is it just me, or are todays’ toys totally cooler than when I was a kid? No fair!

Does anyone else freak out and start thinking about sharks and other sea beasts when swimming in the open water of a lake? God, I hope I’m not the only one!

What is so addicting about celebrity lives? Seriously, why do I even care? By the way, did you hear that Jen finally got engaged? So happy for her.

What the hell is an Oogielove? Enough said.

Is it just me or does anyone else find it odd that MTV doesn’t play hardly any music while that is all Fox, ABC, and NBC seem to play? American Idol, The Voice, The X Factor, The Sing Off, Duets…Please. Just. Stop!

Am I the only one that daydreams about visiting fictional places? I mean, I’d pretty much give my right leg to get a letter from Hogwarts or play with the gadgets in the Bat Cave. Make-believe is such a tease!

When you think of the Oldies, names like Elvis, Johnny Cash, and the Beatles come to mind. What singers and bands are going to be considered a part of the Oldies when I get old and gray? Britney Spears? Jay-Z? Justin Bieber? Let’s be honest; that’s just not right.

After watching the Olympics, did anyone else have the urge to start doing backflips and cartwheels? Or how about trying out the different swimming strokes and synchronized swimming moves in the pool? Yeah, no matter how embarrassing it is, I admit that was totally me.

How come its riding in a car, on a plane, and by train? It really bothers the language arts minor in me. Prepositions really must piss of foreigners trying to learn our language.

After recently having a birthday, I started thinking about how old I am. I mean, I’m older than the Internet, cell phones, video games, Doppler Radar, and disposable cameras. Who agrees with me that when I have kids they are going to call me a freak?

10 Rules to Surviving the Family Cottage

There are some families—both real and fictitious—that are famous in their own right for no other reason than the plain and simple fact that when you get them together chaos ensues.  Individually these family members have no special talents or superpowers, but when combined they become one big circus show not to be missed.  Families such as the Griswolds, the Royals, the Fockers, the Kardasians, and the Simpsons are a few that come to mind.  This weekend, I will be spending it with my very own family up at our family cottage, and chaos is definitely something we have in common with the aforementioned families.  In a nutshell, we’re loud, opinionated, boisterous, animated, honest, and…I said loud, right?  These characteristics are no better displayed than when we all get together at our family cottage, and if you want to survive then there are some important rules you must follow. 

1.) You must eat three square meals a day.  If you are to keep up with us, sustenance is a must.  Claiming that you are not hungry is not an acceptable excuse.  Grandma will badger you every five minutes if you forego a meal.  It comes from a place of love. Trust me; it is easiest to just appease her.

2.)Bring extra clothes.  The odds are outrageously high that a water fight will break out during some point. Being inside, not wearing a swimsuit, or being elderly does not decrease your chances of getting wet.  You’ve been warned.

3.)Shower time or any bathroom time for that matter will be monitored.  If you wish to avoid pounding on the door showers must remain under five minutes.  Also, when nature calls, there usually will be three others that simultaneously decide they too must go.  Grandma will remind  you of that repeatedly on the other side of the door.  Once again, this comes from love.

4.)Bring your A Game.  Volleyball, badminton, ladder golf, croquette, and any other backyard games are not to be taken lightly.  These are serious competitive events that will be scored, critiqued, and discussed later around the campfire.  Remember, smack talk is encouraged, and winners hold gloating rights through the night.

5.)Sharpen your counting and strategy skills before arrival.  You will be playing many rounds and of Rummy, Yahtzee, Phase 10, Conasta, Skip-Bo, Sparkle, Uno, Aggravation, Checkers, Mexican Train, and Chicken Foot.  There will be lots of talking and laughter, but don’t be fooled.  Our family has one strict game-playing rule:  there is no love in cards and games.

6.)Do not bother claiming a seat as your own.  Once you get up, a chair is fair game and most likely will not be available once you get back.  Sorry, finders-keepers, losers weepers does indeed apply in this establishment.

7.)Always be sure to get into the water quickly.  If you have the unfortunate luck of entering the lake last, you will be attacked heavily by splishing and splashing and ultimately forced under regardless of the temperature of the water.

8.)Be prepared for both serious and silly discussion around the campfire.  All topics are on the table and nothing is considered too personal especially if it involves bodily functions.

9.)Be cautious of fireworks.  Whether it is the Fourth of July or a Saturday, fireworks will usually be set off.  Due to the handful of pyromaniacs both In the family and in the neighborhood, staying vigilante while outside at night is highly recommended.

10.)Finally, speak your mind.  If you have something to say, say it.  Don’t worry about stepping on someone else’s toes.  Even if you do, in an hour all will be forgiven and everybody will be laughing again.

The Story Behind School Supplies

Summer is nearly over and that means one thing—kiddies around the world are groaning in disgust at the fact of going back to school while parents secretly rejoice.  Thanks to the towering aisles of school supplies found at any and all local stores, even those without children cannot go unawares that school is soon to be back in session.  Notebooks, pens, pencils, markers, crayons, folders, glue, and all other necessary supplies are being scooped up at rapid rates, and parents must hurry if they want to successfully track down all things on their children’s mandatory supply list.  It’s the unavoidable annual treasure hunt all parents have to endure—sort of a parental wright of passage set on repeat if you will.

Let’s start with pencils.  This year I’ve discovered that teachers are requiring students to buy forty pencils in which each must be readily sharpened and initialed.  After doing the math, that works out to roughly fourteen more pencils than there are school weeks in the school year if you average one hundred eighty days per school year.  That might seem insane, but let’s take a moment to really analyze this.  The pencil is the most abused supply in the school.  Students’ myriad of emotions whether it be stress, frustration, passion, or dedication all falls on the shoulder of the poor pencil.  Everyone can recall that kid in class that snapped his pencil every time he got stuck on a particularly tough math problem which ended up being once every day, perhaps every other day if the teacher was particularly lucky.  Or how about that kid that used his pencil as his very own chew stick?  While other kids watched on in horror at Brady’s feral sharp canines praying they would never find themselves forced to borrow a pencil from him, he would mow down his pencil in under a record two days’ time.  Who knew what diseases one could contract from Brady the Beaver Kid’s saliva lacquered pencils?  Then there were those that somehow managed to lose all of their pencils shortly after the start of the year—of course, by no fault of their own they would swear to their teacher—and ended up using a pencil so small it could not even be seen in the grip of their small hands.  Let it be known by the campaign of these students that a five centimeter pencil still has its worth.  Some teachers would go as far as making class rules pertaining to the smallest length of pencils allowed in the classroom; yet, students in small rebel groups would bravely continue their fight of resistance.  Finally, we arrive at the hoarder.  Yep, that sneaky little git who always managed to swipe up your pencil as soon as you turned your back.  He would hoard his stolen contraband in his mess of a desk with a gleaming, nasty smile, and when you returned to find your Lisa Frank Unicorn pencil swiped from beneath your very nose you knew it was him, but had no proof to go on.  With all of this in mind, I’m surprised teachers don’t ask for students to bring another ten pencils just for good measure.

Let’s move onto that sticky white mess found in both bottle and stick form—glue!  Whether it be the glue user or the glue itself, glue always seemed to be problematic for a multitude of reasons.  The glue stick which was supposed to be the quicker, cleaner manner in which to dole out adhesiveness always managed to double cross you.  You would go to streak a layer across the back of your beautifully rendered rainbow picture—because let’s face it, rainbows are the Mona Lisa in the under-nine-years-old drawing world—and the damn glue stick would, out of the blue I might add, fall off, roll across your desk, and land in a pile of glitter, hair strands, paper scraps, pencil shavings, and whatever else found on the ungodly dirty classroom floor leaving no chance for revival.  You would then default to your bottle glue only to find it was just as unaccommodating thanks to the fact that the cap was always clogged by dry glue.  You would gather pencil, scissors, and even wire pulled from your notebook binding all in the effort to unplug the hole only to have the teacher announce it was time to clean up when you finally removed the ball of plastic-like dry glue after a grueling half-hour effort.  Even if you got lucky and managed to avoid these predicaments, you still had to worry about those who were utterly inept at managing the necessary skills required of handling glue.  There was always those few kids that used glue in ocean-like quantities that managed to leak glue all over their projects, their desks, themselves, and of course the innocent by-stander with the simple misfortune of sitting next to them.  Even worse was that kid that would choose to start snack time early with a few tasty drops of Elmer’s finest.  You knew without a doubt in your mind to keep your distance from that kid and answer in simple yes and no responses if he or she ever approached you and quickly high-tail it out of there immediately afterward.  Yes, glue-eating was definitely a deal-breaker when it came to choosing a reading buddy.  In short, glue and its incapable users were never to be trusted.

Lastly, let’s visit the magical and powerful world of crayons.  As crazy as it seems, crayons were always a status symbol when I grew up, and I’m fairly certain they still are if my substituting observations are anything to go on.  You had the choice of Crayola or Rose Art, and let’s face it, you were immediately out of the race if you were found toting Rose Art.  Rose Art Crayons were the losers of the coloring world and so were you if you found yourself coloring with these plastic, easily breakable Crayola Crayon wannabes.  That’s right; if you were anybody of importance in the dicey, complicated social infrastructure of the elementary classroom you were packing Crayola.  Sorry, no arguments.  However, the simple ownership of Crayola Crayons was not the end of it, not by a long shot.  Owning the basic eight set also made you an easy target.  To be safe, you had to have in your supply arsenal, at the very least, the standard twenty-four pack.  Yet, the coolest of the cool at the top of the cool kid kingdom even blew the twenty-four pack out of the water.  That’s right she would swagger in embracing for all the class to see…wait for it…the 120 pack!!!  Bam!  All kids groveled at her feet in the hopes that Her Majesty would bestow upon them the kindness of sharing her crayons with their far less-fortunate selves.  Still, there remained those opportunistic power-hungry few that wished to de-thrown Her Highness with a box of glitter or glow in the dark crayons, but they only managed to reign for a few weeks until the flashy novelty wore off and the queen recovered her rightful chair once more.  Let’s face it, to this day, the 120 pack and its mac n’ cheese orange remains the coolest.

Funny How a Melody Sounds like a Memory

Everybody needs food, water, and shelter.  Obviously, I’m no exception to that list; in fact, I would like to add one more need to that list—music.  Music is my own personal life support—I would simply cease to exist without it.  Therefore, you will not find me anywhere without my very own adult version of a security blanket, my ipod.  Whether I am sad, happy, anxious, mad, or tired, my music is always close at hand.  Country, classic rock, indie, alternative, pop—I simply cannot discriminate, neither would I want to considering each caters to me in their own individual way. 

The other day as I was listening to Eric Church’s song Springsteen the line “funny how a melody sounds like a memory” struck me.  It got me thinking about just how many songs can transport me back to a specific time and place.  I started pouring through my various playlists and taking a look at individual songs that symbolized particularly strong memories.  I thought it would be fun to compile and share a few of them here.

Voodoo, Godsmack:  Every Sunday my dad would drive my cousin, sister, and me to Sunday School while he would listen to this ridiculously titled rock radio program called House of Hair.  I can remember loud 80’s and 90’s rock and metal music blaring from the speakers as my Dad shook his head along to the deafening beat.  From the back seats, we would chastise him and ask him if it was appropriate to play the “Devil’s Music” while driving us to church and then fall into fits of giggles.  He would simply bob his head and turn it up at the request of Dee Snider, the radio host, while explaining, “Dee Snider…He played for the Twisted Sister.”  My young, innocent past self was always left pondering how he could possibly be a sister if he was a man.  Anyway, one memorable morning Godsmack’s Voodoo came on and the chilling lyrics of “when I feel the snakebite enter my veins” came pouring into the car and the laughter was instantaneous.  We couldn’t help but laugh at the complete inappropriateness of it all as we drove along to church of all places.  My dad found it quite entertaining and to this day the House of Hair and Godsmack’s snakebite lyrics are still ammo in which to tease my dad.

I Will Always Love You, Whitney Houston:  This song is famous throughout the world and known by almost all, but there is only one thing I think about whenever I hear this song and that’s my sister.  It’s safe to say that my sister had a religious relationship with Whitney Houston, and this was her very own personal anthem during the year of 1992.  I vividly remember how she played it on repeat nonstop in her room while creating her very own dance routine to it.  She perfected the routine over and over again while dressed in various bedazzling old dance recital costumes.  Unfortunately for the rest of us, her upstairs room had an interior window that opened up to the kitchen below therefore sharing this love anthem over and over with us as well.  I would mutinously stare her down and curse her obsessive revere of one Whitney Houston with as much malice as I could muster.  If it weren’t for my parents I’m quite certain I would have murdered my sister and relished never hearing those lyrics again.  On her gravestone it would have read Here lies Whitney Houston’s #1 Fan, and In celebration I would have danced upon it to any song other than I Will Always Love You.

Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen:  Queen is one of my all-time favorite bands.  Nobody can belt out a song like Freddie Mercury.  During a ten day outback trip in Australia I discovered a group of strangers that shared in my love for this legendary band.  We were traveling along the west coast of Australia stopping at beautiful beaches, tall sand dunes, breathtaking National Parks, and endless country land hundreds of miles awy from any modern city.  One night while camping we all gathered around the fire as was the nightly tradition after dinner and began talking about music.  We got around to discussing just how awesome Queen was and no sooner had the band been mentioned did one girl burst into the opening lines of Bohemian Rhapsody.  It only took a matter of seconds for the rest of us to join in, and under the most exquisite stars and creamiest Milky Way, fourteen strangers from all over the world did their best to make Queen proud.  Our guide said it was the most hilarious and entertaining six minutes he had ever witnessed from any of his tour groups.

Bye Bye Bye, ‘N Sync:  I was a middle schooler when the battle of the boy bands broke onto the stage.  ‘N Sync, The Backstreet Boys, and O-Town were all the rage.  I vividly remember girls swooning and professing their love for these young heartthrobs while believing with absolute conviction that god really must have spent a little more time on them.  The abundant hair gel, slick choreographed dance moves, and boyish good looks even had girls arguing back and forth over who was the ultimate boy band hottie.  In my school the verdict landed squarely on Justin Timberlake with an overbearing outcry from the majority of the female student body population.  Even the school talent show was littered with numerous acts dedicated to these love pop songs with each girl utterly devoted to nailing their carefully designed dance routines alongside their friends on stage.  Teachers and annoyed boys, who simply couldn’t compete with these boy band wonders, watched on while conspicuously hiding their smiles.  It is safe to say I cannot reminisce upon my middle school years without recalling these boy bands and the screaming mobs that followed, but I suppose every generation has their own boy band heroes whether it be the Beatles, ‘N Sync, or One Direction.

There's nothing to fear, but fear itself...and Spiders!!!

Spiders-They say they’re more afraid of you than you are of them, but if that’s true then why do they sneak up on you in the oddest of places?  Not to mention, who needs eight legs?  I mean that’s just unnatural.  The cut off should clearly be four legs and no more. God was obviously having an off day when he created these creepy crawlers—some are small, some are big, others hairy, a few poisonous, some even eat their own husbands!  Does the Black Widow not ring a bell? The spider even has its very own cute nursery rhyme just so toddlers won’t run away screaming in terror from them.   If I had it my way, the rain would have certainly washed out the itsy bitsy spider for good.

Lately, I’ve been having my own personal war with a battalion of centipedes which if you ask me are just cousins of the spider that are equally if not more scary.  As if eight legs were not terrifying enough, this creature has a hundred, a HUNDRED!  People say that isn’t really true, but no one knows for sure.  Know why?  Because no one has ever been brave enough to get close enough to actually count--that’s how awful these bugs are!  The only thing these creatures rival when it comes to fear are clowns.  (Yes, thank you Stephen King for never allowing me to think of circuses without shuddering.) Centipedes are ugly, fast, sneaky, and have currently taken up residence in my shower.  At least once a month, I climb into the shower and encounter one of these freakish anomalies.  Thank goodness my shower head has strong pressure because God knows I’m not going to be squishing them with my bare hands.  I have jumped from a plane, hung from a bungee cord, and leapt from tall cliffs, but some things are just too risky, and touching a centipede is one of them.

The spider has landed me in countless debates about what is scarier.  My sister says sharks are the worst.  My mom argues that snakes win hands down.  My grandma will easily squish a spider but argues nothing is scarier than a rollercoaster or anything fast for that matter.  Here’s my argument.  Don’t like sharks, don’t go in the ocean.  Hate snakes, avoid the Jungle and Florida.  (Florida snakes end up in the oddest of places, at least that’s what the news leads us to believe.)  Scared of rollercoasters, no one is forcing you to go to Six Flags.  Spiders, however, they find you!  I rest my case.

Olympic Obsession

Skimpy beach volleyball bikinis, Micheal Phelps, the fearsome gynastic beam, The Star Spangled Banner--must be the Summer Olympics.  Ever since faithfully watching the Magnificent Seven win gold alongside my mom and sister as a little girl I have been a fan.  I spent the next few months doing cartwheels on my bed and risky jumps off my porch railing to my parents utter distraught.  I wanted to be Dominique Moceanu dancing to Devil Went Down to Georgia--still one of my all time favorite rock out songs.  So it's safe to say I was watching again this year when the Fab 5 took the stage.  They totally blew me away, and left me with one imperative question: how the hell do people contort their bodies like that while flying through the air? I've come to the conclusion that it must be magic, that or fairy dust.

Here's the thing though, does anyone else find themselves shamelessly trying to jinx the opponents?  I was constantly hoping the Russian gymnists would trip up and found myself deviously smirking when they did, my Christian ways be damned.  Or how about when Michael Phelps lost his reign on the 200-meter Butterfly by just a few hundreths of a point?  I was mutinously glaring at le Clos of South Africa.  How dare he?!  My mom actually called me evil at one point, but let's face it, if you're not trying to undermine the competition you have no sense of team spirit. Wink! I know the Olympics are supposed to support world unity, but this girl is all about kicking ass and taking names. 

Another thing I find myself drawn to during these games are those nicely sculpted athletes.  Don't you judge me; you know you were ogling those US Relay Swim Team Men the same as me.  Ryan Lochte, yes please!  What about the women?  You can't tell me Misty May and Kerri Walsh prance around in those bikinis just to keep cool.  The Olympic committee was definitely thinking of ratings when those suits were designed and it's safe to say the male species have come out in strong support. 

Lastly, I love watching the reactions of the family members and friends watching on the side lines.  The cheering, the clapping, the cringing, and the apprehension is almost as entertaining as the sports themselves.  Phelp's mother's reaction at the Beijing Olympics is still a favorite of mine.

So here's to all the fellow Olympic fans--whether you're watching for the brutal competition, the hot athletes, the amusing audience reactions, or something else, I hope you're enjoying the games.

 

Document Overload

It kind of blows my mind how many documents have accumulated on my computer and jump drive over the years.  I literally have hundreds of old papers, essays, and other writing projects from high school and college, and because I'm a complete nerd I couldn't help browsing through some of them. What can I say?  It's like my academic diary.  I came across everything from my To Kill a Mockingbird essay to my attempts at poetry for English class.  Let's just say I'm no Robert Frost, and I won't be taking The Road Less Traveled when it comes to poetry. Anyway, just for kicks I thought I'd share one here that I found particularly amusing.  It's a satire newspaper piece I had to write for a creative writing class.   I think it portrays my geekiness quite accurately.  Enjoy!

            If you have been listening to the radio lately, you may have been hearing a lot about the new and up-in-coming band The 7Poisoned Apples, but who are the faces behind this new, talented group?  It is none other than the Seven Dwarfs.  When their mining company went under, they immediately realized they needed a change.  They were tired of living in the shadows of Snow White and wanted to make a name of their own.  As a result, they set their sights on the music scene.  Fairy Tale Times caught up with the lead singer, K-Doc—formerly known as Doc—and the band to get the inside scoop.

            During the interview, the group mentioned how their meager beginnings were spent writing and practicing songs at their former mining cave.  K-Doc explained, “It was better than any garage.  The high cave walls gave us great acoustics and recall.  It really let us hear our music and where we could go with it.”  From there the group began playing at the local Enchanted Woods where their following soon began to grow.  It was not long before they finally received a big gig at Cinderella’s castle.  Local damsels-in-distress could not take their eyes off the cool, but shy guitarist, Bashful.  In fact, one maiden gushed how “Bashful is so dreamy!  He’s so cool, but he won’t even admit it!”  Bashful is not the only Dwarf that has the local fans swooning.  The loud-playing drummer, Grumpy is another one to watch out for.  Although he finds the screaming fans amazing, he is in it for more than just the fame.  He told our reporters “Actually, music really calms me.  I used to be a really angry guy, but drumming has become my anger management.  I haven’t felt so free in a long time.”  The band also has its comic relief in the form of band member Dopey.  There is not a single concert where Dopey does not manage to crash his cymbals around Happy’s head or fall off the stage, but the fans love him and are always there to catch him.

            Although this band may be golden, it is not without its troubles.  Rumors have been flying that band member Sleepy was approached by fellow band members and questioned about his dedication to the band.  Witnesses have reported him sneaking off to catch naps during band practice and missing the bus several times while on tour because he could not get himself out of bed.  When questioned about these rumors Sleepy pleaded “No comment.”  A few weeks later, photos of him sleeping on a local park bench surfaced and were splashed across tabloid covers.  Unfortunately, Sleepy is not the only one dealing with issues while on tour.  Band member Sneezy has been struggling with a severe case of Chronic Sneezing Disorder also know as CSD.  He was diagnosed at the early age of seven when his parents realized it was more than just allergies.  When asked about his sickness, Sneezy stated, “It’s something I’ve learned to live with.  It’s tough, but I won’t let it define who I am. I have music and the band.”  Coming in July, the band will be performing at a local CSD Benefit.  Sneezy feels it will be a great way to raise money as well as awareness for the disorder.

            While the band may not be perfect, their music does not seem to be suffering.  Their first record, Don’t Doubt the Little Man, has already gone platinum with hit singles “Don’t Fear the Wicked Queen” and “Hi-Ho, It’s Off to Rock We Go.”  Fans are anxiously awaiting The 7 Poisoned Apples’ second record, Magic Mirrors Tell Lies, that comes out in late May.

A Dirty Review

As masses of women storm the streets to get their hands on the smutty sensation that has become Fifty Shades of Grey, I too must admit I was amongst them.  As an avid reader that keeps her mind open to all kinds of literature you bet your ass I was not going to pass by this erotic tale that had libraries quickly banning it from their shelves.  Without further ado, her are my thoughts on the racey novel.

Caution: If you're a prude or even a bit feint of heart this is fair warning to stay fifty feet away from Fifty Shades of Grey.

Fifty Shades, aka BDSM 101, was one hell of a ride--pun definitely intended. E.L. James gives new meaning to emotionally fucked-up when it comes to Christian Grey. (Sorry for the language, but I'm just keeping in tone with the novel.) How can one person be so intelligent, sweet, successful, funny, and charismatic yet totally demanding, moody, depressed, domineering, and scary? This conundrum is what kept me reading. Trying to figure out his past and what haunts Grey is what will probably have me reading the next two books as well.

As for Ana, I found her both annoying and strong. Her obsession with his beauty was a bit extreme. I didn't need to be reminded every other page that she was shocked again and again by his handsome face and physique. Also, her wishy-washy feelings at times about his punishments were frustrating. One moment she's aroused the next she's horrified. To me, it just made Ana a bit scattered and immature. Then again, that is kind of the crux of the story--an older hot man seducing a younger, naive girl--so I did try to overlook it the best I could. What did appeal to me about her character is her strength not to completely submit to Christian. She never entirely loses herself in him no matter how infatuated she is. I like that she has wit and sarcasm and continues to push for answers from Christian. Ultimately. I think that is what also makes her stand out to Christian as well.

Lastly, I must address the last character in this story--SEX! Being an erotica-genre virgin (HA, I really must stop with these puns!), this was definitely an interesting, unique read for me. I'm not going to lie, the BDSM had me cringing and squirming right along with Ana. It was definitely hard to wrap my legs, I mean my head (okay, that's the last one, Scout's Honor) around the fact that people actually do this shit, but the more I read the less judgemental I became. I came to the conclusion that if both parties are willing, whatever floats your boat I guess. Surprisingly, the scenes that I actually found the hottest were the plain "vanilla sex" encounters as Mr. Grey likes to call them. Ana and Christian were both the most honest and emotionally connected during those times and as a romantic at heart who truly believes that sex is never just sex I found those the most believable and enjoyable as a reader. With that in mind, I think it's safe to say I'd be no match for Mr. Grey either.

The Unemployed Graduate

From little on it's all laid out for you in a nice, neat timeline: 1.)preschool, 2.)elementary school, 3.)middle school, 4.)high school, 5.)college, and finally 6.)start your own life.  What they failed to tell you was how hard the jump from number five to number six truly is in reality.  The persistant student that has met all of these steps and often times has even went above and beyond suddenly has to face the cruel reality that the world as it is today may not have an opening for them.  The bright future that was promised should finally be in your grasp, but thanks to a little thing called the economy you find yourself screwed.  After a few failed applications, you start to think this is harder than you expected.  After a few hundred applications, you realize damn this is frustrating.  After a couple years worth of applying, you can sum it up into one, exhuastive expletive--SHIT!

At least that's the word I would use to sum up the past two years of my life.  I was the picture of achievement graduating high school with a 4.0, eager and excited to embark upon my college years.  I knew it was the final hurdle I had to jump before beginning my real life and entering the workforce. After five years of studying, writing papers, student teaching, and dare I say it a little partying and fun, five years later I had finally arrived.  I was a college graduate with an elementary education degree.  So color me surprised when what I thought should have been the golden treasure at the end of the rainbow actually turned out to be me moving back home broke, unemployed, and living with my parents.  I had officially become the unemployed graduate--a name many of my friends and fellow graduates also claim.

Don't get me wrong, I have gotten interviews, but they have all ended with heartbreaking condolenses of We've decided to go in a different direction or Thanks for your time, but we have chosen someone else, or my favorite We went with someone who had more experience.  Cut to me pounding my head into the wall.  Experience?! Really?!!  I don't know if companies realize this but I cannot supply experience until someone offers me some experience.

Let us not forget the time and effort that goes into applying and interviewing for these positions as well.  They ask for nothing short of your entire life in paper: resume, licenses, letters of recommendation, contacts, cover letters, transcripts, finger prints, drug tests, background checks, character/personality tests, personal essays, and any other means in which to discern if you're the "right candidate."  At this point, the only thing I haven't been asked for on an application is my bra size and I'm sure in a few short years that will become standard as well.  Interviewing is even worse.  Let's not forget that to even get an interview that you're usually competing against hundreds of other applicants.  That's a feat in itself, but then comes the actual interview. Nothing makes you feel smaller than entering a room with anywhere from six to ten people all there observing your every move, word, and breath while they advise you to relax and just be yourself.  Yeah, easy for them to say.  They aren't worrying about the fact that if they don't get this job they only have three short months until their parents health insurance expires and loans kick in.  Deep breaths don't really cut it at that point.  Preparing by looking through one hundred plus interview questions is more like it, and even then they usually still find a way to ask you that one question you're not quite sure how to answer completely ambushing your confidence.  Even worse, you might have the perfect interview where you feel like you have got it in the bag only to be devastated by the fact that it came down to you and another candidate and they wish you the best of luck.

So there's the past two years of my life in a nutshell.  It's down right dreary and as you can see it's made me a bit cynical.  I cannot help but asking what now?  Do I keep at it?  Do I choose a different path?  More importantly, when will my luck kick in?