Fair Fight

I really love the metaphor of wrestling with a problem.
Problems are not neat, they are not confined by a set start or stop, by boundaries, by rules of fair play. They no no Queensbury Rules. Problems are a bar fight and everything in arms reach can and will be used as a weapon. A struggle is a struggle because it grabs you around the waist and tries to drag you down with it. A struggle will punch you in the gut when you're thinking you have it confined in a head lock.
I like that image of grappling with the less than glamorous sides of life; that the best and worst of us hardly coexist peacefully.
I'm learning to realize that the wrestling matches in my life don't follow my timeline.
Nor do they define me.

Quarter? Hoarse.

For some reason lately I've been thinking about the phrase "acting your age" because I feel like I don't. But then of course, I have no idea what that even means. I'm 25; how should I act?
I want to be eager to laugh, but I don't want to be that annoying giggly girl.
I want to know what I'll take and what I won't tolerate, while still being open and relaxed.
My sense of humor is slightly dirty and full of sarcasm and puns; I know this and I think it's fine. Yes I still giggle at the word "pianist" but come on, it's funny.
Is there something else I'm supposed to be doing besides paying my bills on time and sending cards for family birthdays? My mom and both my sisters were married at my age (we can scratch that off the list of things to do today) and two of them already had kids (plural).
Next summer the three of us year-long interns are supposed to move in with the summer interns and I have to say I'm less than thrilled, since most of them are going to be college sophomores or around there. That's when I feel my age, when I'm around current college students and I can no longer relate to them; I feel like a chaperone rather than a peer. Ever notice that everything is so exciting and AMAZING and THE GREATEST to some of them? Bugs the crap out of me. It's like living with Smiley Smurf.
For today I wish there was a hot/cold gage to tell me if I'm going on the right track--if my idea of what 25 should look like is way off base, or if I'm just expressing myself within the boundaries of growing up.
(also: decided new dog name for a cute puppy with big eyes and long floppy ears and long fur is Jordan Catalano. Or Danny Zuko. Either would be funny. Not Burt Reynolds funny, but still funny.)

Hug it Out, Bitch

I took a class in college called "Speech Communications in Organizations" which had little to do with what we actually talked about. I think. Since we weren't allowed to take any notes in the class, I really can't remember what we learned.
One of the only things ever handed out to us was an article about how human babies will essentially whither and die if they are not touched and held. If I remember correctly, there was actually a king in Europe who tested this around the 15th century with infants taken from slaves. The nurses who cared for the children were not allowed to hold them except to feed them, and every child died within two weeks. What a horrible way to test our innate need for touch.
I read an article recently on the topic of health and human touch. We humans need four hugs (or touches) a day for survival, eight hugs a day for maintance and 12 hugs a day for growth.
How much we take touch for granted! Being in a new place with unfamiliar people, I've become acutely aware of this need, and I'm not typically an overly touchy person.
I'm now in a place where I'm not shaking hands with people on a regular basis, getting pats on the back, hugs from friends. I can physically feel the difference.
How strange it is that our personal health is so dependent on the affectionate touches of those around us.

Fires and Fists

First thought:
The most interesting thing I saw from the tragedy at the Amish schoolhouse was the general reaction about their lack of anger. I read an article in the London Times (God love the internet) that was befuddled by their desire to not live in their anger. The article seemed to want wrath, wanted there to be vengeful fire and thunder bursting from the lips and fists of the victims' families. What the Amish offered was forgiveness and grief.
Why is that harder to accept than righteous retribution?

Second thought:
This is a truly beautiful country.

My Little Instruction Book on Food

Hey, if you have to smell the milk before you pour it, just throw it out.

Reheated rice is disgusting, so even though it comes in those cute little cardboard cartons, it's for the best if you just leave it.

Honey, he's not in the fridge so stop looking.

Pre-sert: Every good cookie deserves another. Preferably before the meal begins. It's a freedom of adulthood.

Did you buy potatoes? Go check on them, cause when they rot, you just have to burn your house down to get rid of that smell.

Do you really need that many coffee mugs? Who is coming to visit, the VonTrapp family?

Don't buy another cookbook until you've at least tried a recipe out of the ones you already own. They aren't Clash records, they don't make you look cool or cultured. Well, some do.

Slim Jims? Really?

When it comes to buying cheap freezer bags or brand name freezer bags, always go brand name. Your chicken will thank you.

Half-caff coffee is a joke. It's the El Camino of the coffee world.

How come they don't make a 20-something cereal? Like one that doesn't have kid games on the back, but also one that doesn't sell itself as promoting regular bowel movements? A slightly sugar cereal that is sort of good for you, that promotes “Eases hangovers!” or “Good for three meals a day!” “Can be made with water if the milk smells funny!” It has to be tasty enough to compete with Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but look grown up enough to eat dry out of a baggie while riding on the metro. The back can have horoscopes, gossip news, a sudoku puzzle, conversation starters for the person who stayed over last night and you aren't sure why, or serious topics like what exactly is a 401 (k) and what one should look for in a good dental plan.

Buy your honey in the little plastic bears. Good karma.

If your country-themed kitchen decorations were purchased at Pottery Barn, they aren't country. They aren't even original. No one should pay $80 for a worn-looking wooden rooster. Not even you.

Your intentions with those leftovers were probably good, but we both know you won't ever eat it.

Don't buy another kitchen utensil until you can identify what all the ones you already own are supposed to do. Can't do it, can you?

Buy a microwave you elitist jerk.

Things to not buy in bulk: Cottage cheese, mayonnaise. That's it.

Cheap garlic power: death.

Do you really eat enough sushi to justify that whole sushi eating set?

If you need a measurement device to tell you how much a pinch is, you're an idiot.

Have you ever had the dire need to julienne something? Do you even know what that means, cause I sure don't.

1% milk: it's God's way of telling you to make up your damn mind.