when life hands you lemons…

in my medicine cabinet, you will find toothpaste, floss, and a contact case, nothing more, nothing less.

while cleaning the other day, i was trying to find a place to put my over the counter meds. wonderboy, in what he thought was a moment of genius, started to put my excedrin and tums on the shelves above my sink. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! i screamed psychotically. that’s not where they gooooo!

why? because people look in medicine cabinets. i happen to be a medicine cabinet looker myself. i also look in the refrigerators of people that i barely know. i go through cupboards and little coobies beneath the sink.

i am a horrible person.

but something hit me just now. i’m sitting here at my parent’s house, taking the week off to spend time with my family and friends. this means that i won’t be around when my roomie moves in this week. this means that he’s gonna go through my stuff while i’m gone. [why do i think this? because that's what i would do.]

not that my life is terribly interesting, but this is why i don’t leave clues about myself in obvious areas… like my medicine cabinet. i guess i should have a little more faith, and realize that most people aren’t as nebby as i am.

i wonder how deep he’ll dig. i wonder what he’ll find and misinterpret. maybe he’ll use the evidence to figure me out before we even get to know one another. maybe he won’t go through my things at all.

we’ll just have to wait and see if he sets off the booby trap

I’ve always thought that my mother was an amazing person. For the past twenty years, she’s been working as a teacher’s aide in a classroom for students with special needs. She is underpaid and underappreciated, but she loves those kids so much that it’s unlikely that she’ll ever leave.

Lately I’ve been thinking about those kids and how their faces lit up when I’d bring them cupcakes in the afternoon. One of my mom’s students, a little boy with cerebral palsy, lived in the apartment complex where I used to lifeguard. It used to make my afternoon to watch him swim laps for hours and when he used to scream over to me, ‘HEY YOU GIRL! YOU COME SWIM!’ His mom had to send him home kicking and screaming every night when I had to lock to pool gates.

Lately I’ve been feeling like there is something missing. Perhaps it is time to rediscover simple joy.

The last time I witnessed pure delight was in the spring of 2007. For years, my college roommates and I used to serve on committees for the Special Olympics Western Spring Sectional.

Never in my life have I received so many hugs, high fives, and toothy grins. These are individuals who have been treated differently since birth. Sure, they are different, but just because they were born with an intellectual disability, doesn’t mean that they don’t have dreams like the rest of us.

Like a proud parent, I watched them compete. I watched them dribble, bat, swim, and run for the gold. I watched them shake the hands of their opponents, with absolutely no concern about who came in first (or last) place. It makes me wonder what the world would be like if we were able to love like they do.

So when I’m sitting at my desk, planning events for college students who have a strong sense of entitlement, I think of the time that I spent with that amazing group of athletes.

Moments when we as strangers, meant the world to someone.

i’ve been pretty lonely at the gym lately. i guess these days, 6 a.m. is just too early for wonderboy. and since martha moved to the ‘burgh, i’m forced to have ‘elliptical dance party’ all by myself. i’m assuming that ‘mr. bicycle intensity man’ has graduated, which leaves me with mediocre options when it comes to gawking at meatheads.

there’s not even anything good on the plasmas. the old men always monopolize the tv’s, tuning them into ESPN, ESPN 2, and FOX news. i don’t mind catching up on the red sox highlights, but i don’t really need to see them 10 times from four different angles.

and so, i find myself memorizing the workout routines of all ‘the regulars.’

yesterday, i saw four of the regulars outside of the gym. it was weird to see them wearing real people clothes and doing what real people do. ‘i know them!’ i shouted. of course you don’t know them. after blurting out this little gem, i had to explain to my friends how i knew these people. here goes:

‘well she spends 30 minutes on the stair master and 30 minutes walking on an incline. that’s probably why she has nice calves. the tall woman spends about 20 minutes on the elliptical and wears a fannypack. the shorter woman runs on the treadmill and sets the speed so fast that she has to hang onto the handles. that guy warms up on the elliptical and then admires his muscles in the mirror. he stole my machine once, and i’ll never for get it.’

my friends just stared at me with their mouths open. whatever, i’m creepy [get over it]. i need a gym buddy… any takers?

the only thing that kept me from buying a pack of smokes was a bag of snyder’s buttermilk ranch pretzels. 

it’s funny, i’ve been nicotine-free for almost three months now, but the cravings never really go away [hence my third attempt]. i’ve been very mindful of the fact that ‘quitting’ usually means an extra 5-10 pounds on my rear.   for the most part, i’ve been leading a pretty healthy lifestyle.  the fact that i actually like whole grains and vegetables and that i don’t mind getting sweaty at the gym once in a while definitely works in my favor.

but i also like chips.

that bag of ranchy goodness triggered a three-day junk food binge.  damn you, addiction for catching up with me again.  of course, i was extra harsh with wonderboy last night when he stopped over and interrupted the love affair that i was having with a bag of krispy kremes.

me:  you’re supposed to tell me to stop. 

wonderboy:  [ignoring my manic outburst] you’re just stressed out.

me:  you are such an enabler.

wonderboy:  [sigh] maybe you should start keeping a food diary.

okay, maybe it’s not such a bad idea.  in the past three days i managed to finish off three bags of chips, the ranch pretzels, skittles, chocolate covered chips [i blame wonderboy for that one], a whole entire package of guacamole, half a pizza, anything else i could cover in chocolate or ranch dressing, almost a whole bag of krispy kreme doughnuts, and other processed delights.  mind you, i don’t usually keep junk food in my house.  i had to make special trips for this.

so here’s the new plan:  find some freakin’ self-control.  if i can give up smoking [which disgustingly, is still something i think about all the time], then i can stop myself from eating the whole bag of doughnuts… right?

after hours of filing and doing clerical work, my brain finally stopped, and i looked up from my spreadsheet. i just remembered something…

i have a freakin’ college degree.  wtf.

my first piece of paper took me four years to earn and has already racked my debt up to the thousands.  the second piece of paper that i’m working on is supposed to secure my future.

and yet i’m doing work that requires nothing more than a high school diploma.  my degree is worth about as much as a two-ply roll of charmin.  only the charmin probably gets used more and costs about 89 cents per roll.

i have a bachelor of science in communication/english writing.  i have one year until i graduate with a masters degree.  i’ve done two internships and i just started a third.  i’ve worked since i was 15.  i have planned successful events and fundraisers from start to finish.  i have management experience.  i’ve run successful programs that generate revenue and bring in clients.  and still, no one takes me seriously.  when’s it gonna be?

it makes me want to punch babies.*  [if barack can do it, then so can i.]

*ok… so i’d never actually punch a baby.  but you get the point.

last week when i was in the ‘burgh, martha was complaining about his sore toe. we suspected that it was broken, but he was still, for the most part, pretty mobile. after a few days of incessant bitching, he decided to get it checked out. this was the info i got from him after i had returned home:

me [via text]: what’s the prognosis?

martha: i’ll have to tell you it’s painful. they think it might be arthritis.

now, i just may be the world’s biggest hypochondriac. i log into webmd at least four times a day. there’s always something wrong with my body, and there’s never a good enough explanation. if you currently have an ailment, i’ve got it too– only worse. here are two conversations that i had with two different doctors:

doctor visit #1

me: i think i have mono.

doc: what makes you think that?

me: my spleen is swollen. where’s my spleen?

doctor visit #2:

me: what if its not a migraine? what if i’m having a stroke?

doc: you would just know.

me: how? by dying?

for the past couple of weeks, i’ve been complaining about the arthritis in my foot, [what most people don't know is that after my knee swelled up to the size of a basketball a few years back, my doc thought i had arthritis], so naturally, when i got this text, i thought martha was making fun of me.

bitch is tryin’ to steal my thunder.

as it turns out, he wasn’t joking. his foot is pretty darn swollen. so much so, that his roomie and i named it ‘merle.’

anyway. i’m gonna go check out this bug bite. i hope it’s not mrsa.

let us take a journey back to april.

if you were too lazy to read my post from ‘way back when,’ then here is a recap.  [because there's nothing in this world i'd rather do than be boring and redundant so that you can spare a few seconds of your time.]

so basically, i was bored.  i was living alone and i was loving it.  i listened to my music at maximum volume, peed with the door open, and vacuumed in the nude.  but being a grad student has taken a toll on my wallet, and i half-heartedly advertised for a roommate.

needless to say, in about a week, earl will be moving in.

i don’t even know how it happened.  i didn’t actually think that a single, twenty-something male would want to move in with a twenty-something female.  [wait a second.  why wouldn't he.  dammit.  i can be so stupid sometimes.] 

yes, earl is a stranger.  but we had met once before when i interviewed him for a position in my office.  unbeknownst to me, he was offered the position on the same day that he responded to my ad.  which means earl is not only my new roommate, he’s also my new co-worker.

other than his ‘good work ethic,’ and whatever else was on his resume, i don’t really know much about the guy.  i couldn’t even find him on facebook.  it’s been extremely difficult to stalk him. 

we chatted briefly on the phone to talk business.  i gave him the spiel on rent, utilities, furnishings, the landlady, and distance to campus.  and then he said, ‘my buddy thought it was weird that a guy and a girl would live together. i think its a little strange, too.’  and this is what flew out of my mouth:

‘listen, i’m looking for a roommate, not a husband.’

surely this would send earl running for the hills!  but i suppose some part of him found this reassuring, and he asked to set up an apartment tour.

he took a brief look at the place and decided that yes! house on quiet, tree-lined street was right for him!  hesitant to let me cohabitate with another man, wonderboy was there when earl came to check things out.  ‘what if he’s a creep?’ he pondered.  but he seemed to like earl [which isn't surprising to me at all.  because wonderboy tends to like most people.] needless to say, i was given his blessing.

it’s really happening, there’s no denying it anymore.  i guess i need to learn to turn my music down, shut doors, and keep my clothes on.  bummer.

its the way you rub my shoulders when you know i’ve had a hard day.  the way you do my dishes wrong… but at least you try.  the way you ’stop by,’ just because.  the way you hog the remote and log me out of gmail.  the way you bring me lunch, and sometimes flowers.  the way you’re always patient with me, even when i’m not patient with you.  the way you make other girls jealous of me.  the way you know everything about everything.  the way you play with my hair until i fall asleep.  the way you try to diagnose me when i’m having a hypochondriatic moment.  the way you pay for my dinner.  the way you let me pay for yours.  the way you talk in your sleep.  the way you make an effort to befriend my friends. the way you dance.  the way you treat my rat like a person.  the way you cook me incredible meals.  the way you listen to my pointless rants.  the way you never complain.  the way you remember all of my favorite things.  the way you chew on your beard when you think i’m not looking.  the way you moved my furniture for me while i was away.  the way you bake pies.  the way you open doors and pull out chairs, even though i hate it.  the way you played my best friend’s favorite song on the jukebox that night.  the way you let me use your washing machine.  the way you’re genuinely interested in my uninteresting life.  the way you call people ’sir’ and ma’am.’  the way you read my stupid blogs.  the way your grandma calls me ‘malaria.’  the way you try to kiss me when we’re stopped at a red light.  the way you get nervous, and you don’t think that i can tell.  the way you wear pleated khaki pants like an old man.  the way you text me each morning to wish me a great day.  the way you want to rescue me when you think i’m being threatened.  the way you never judge me, even when others do.  the way you’re completely oblivious when other girls flirt with you.  the way you make me mixed cd’s.  the way that you knew i would come back around.  the way you asked me if i thought ’love was dead.’ and its the way you accept me for exactly who i am.

when i was younger, my parents took me on some pretty great vacations.  my old man and i share a love for roller coasters, especially the old, wooden ones.  mom wasn’t so keen on them, so she’d take l.b. on the kiddie rides while dad and i tried out some of the nation’s best coasters.  my top two, in the way of amusement parks, are cedar point and knoebels. 

i grew up about 40 miles from knoebels [ka no bulls], and i used to go at least once each summer.  for those who were raised in the wick, this park is something that we often take for granted.  but i’m sure we all have fond memories and will someday get the urge to drag our children there.

the other day, wonderboy and i were flipping through the channels, and naturally he stopped on the food network.  the camera was winding through a jungle of wooden beams.  ‘THAT’S THE PHOENIX!’ i screamed.  wonderboy gives me his best, ‘wtf’ look.  i’m tellin’ ya, these kids just don’t understand.

it was the phoenix on the tv screen.  i could recognize those twists and turns any day. 

i’ve been getting the itch to go to knoebels.  i keep bugging my western pa friends to go with me.  they just don’t get it.  kennywood doesn’t hold a candle to my dearest knoebels grove.  and i’ll tell you why…

FREE ADMISSION.  there is no entrance fee [and there's free parking].  which is great for parents and young adults who are ‘too cool’ to go on the rides.  you can stroll around the park all day, check out the museums, and eat the amaaaaazing food. 

THE AMAZING FOOD.  if knoebels was featured on the food network, they obviously have some tasty treats.  among my favorites are cesari’s award-winning pizza and the ice cream at the old mill.  there’s also an international food court and a few sit down restaurants.  the food is extremely affordable.  sometimes i go there and just eat all day.  because it’s that good.

SHADY SPOTS.  knoebels was literally built in the middle of a grove.  trees are only removed to make room for the new rides.  there are also pavillions and spots for family and company picnics.  unlike other amusement parks, you can bring your own food with you.

FREE ENTERTAINMENT. there’s live entertainment, craft shows, and story-time for the youngins.  the bands are usually pretty decent and range from country to rock to elvis impersonators. 

THE RIDES.  you can buy a book of tickets if you’re only planning on only riding a few.  OR you can buy an all-day pass [handstamp] if you’re like me, and want to ride the phoenix 8,000 times. oh, and it’s cheap.

the phoenix just happens to be my favorite coaster.  i may be biased because i’m a PA native, but coaster critics nation-wide, tend to agree.  but there’s something for everyone:  kiddie rides, antique cars, a train ride, water rides, and a pool with slides.  there’s also an antique carousel that displays hand-carved and painted horses that you can ride.

CAMPING.  that’s right, city folks.  you can camp there.  you can bring your camper or a tent and have yourself a blasty-blast.

i’ll be going home to visit the fam in two weeks.  it would be much more fun if i had someone to ride the phoenix with… 8,000 times.

over time, i developed a theory that all babies are, in fact, aliens. seriously, take a look at a baby with a fresh pair of eyes, and tell me that the poop-machine isn’t an extraterrestrial. you may think i’m crazy, but i actually have people who support my theory.  i will admit though, none of my lobbyists have kids.