The Seven Dwarves - Grumpy

In honor of it's being Monday, and the joy that comes with Mondays, (especially ones that your teacher friends have off,) I've chosen Grumpy for today's dwarf.

I know he's not the most popular one, but he's really just misunderstood, and we need him around to remind us how boring our complaints really are. After all, the air never smelled so sweet as when you come out of the feedlot, and life never looks so good as it does after an afternoon with the Grumpster. So, without further ado, what makes me Grumpy, in bulleted points. May this list inspire you with a fond love of life and growing things.

• No caffeine. Headachey no fun.
• When the square cup holders in Rocky rear their blocky heads and allow my coffee to tip over. Whoever engineered those was not so bright.
• Being late.
• Bad hair days. I have curly hair. Sometimes, I have frizzy, funky, flattish, gnarly hair. This makes me feel like dumping my head in a sink ala Freshman year and never coming out again.
• When people randomly brake on open stretches of freeway. Are you serious?! It's called a FREEway. As in, move FREEly. As in, don't brake in the middle of it and kill us all, k?
• Shallowness. The OC and I have a love/hate relationship. I love the gorgeous weather, great food, and the beach and mountains so close at hand. I don't love episodes like this: Me, at the Tanning salon (yes, I went tanning, and yes, I understand that this kinda shoots a hole in my tirade against shallowness... but a girl can be tan and taken seriously, right?) Somehow, my stint in Texas comes up as I'm promising not to sue the salon if I burn. The girl behind the counter gets very excited about this. Girl, wearing way too much eyeshadow and sucking furiously on a chartruese candy: "So, like, I just have to know. I'm thinking about going to college in Texas, but... are people tan there? I just need to know for myself, you know? I like tan people." I started to answer, "um... what?" but instead went on a tirade about how Texans are some of the most beautiful, welcoming people I've ever known, how most of my best friends and boyfriend are from there, and how it's pretty much a promised land of friendly people, open skies and the American dream. When I was done, Tan Girl stared at me, twirled her bleach blonde hair around her finger and smacked on her candy. "Uh... ok. So, like, your bed's ready."
• Losing things. I lose stuff a lot - and not random stuff like my memory box from 9th grade. That I can always find. What I can't find (almost every morning,) are my keys, cell phone, sunglasses, etc. It's a curse. (I bought an organizer for the purpose of improving in this area, but it hasn't helped. Maybe it's because I don't actually put things in it.)
• Smelling like fast food. I hate it when I go get something to eat and come out smelling like I jumped on the grill for a little afternoon simmer. Gross.
• Cold coffee. Not like Frappucinos, but like bleh in the bottom of my mug.
  
• Angsty teenage music. Every now and then if it brings back a memory or fills a void left in a particularly bad day, it's OK. Most of the time? No go.
• Telemarketers.
• Buyer's Remorse - or, what's more typical with me, is BR's lesser-known cousin, Why Didn't I Buy That? Remorse
• Being tired.
  
• A messy bower. Bowers should be full of fruit, candles, wine, inspirational writing and lovely music, not dirty dishes, laundry, and dog-eared papers.
  
  

Life's Just a Vase of Flowers

There's a bouquet of Sunflowers on my windowsill that grin cheerily at me every morning, brightening my bower with inherent sunshiney-ness and the recollection of the great guy who gave them to me. I love sunflowers and daisies - they're so uncomplicated and friendly. They don't need a large portion of my paycheck or long talks or anything other than a little water and a stem-trimming every few days. Sometimes I wish my life had the same simplicity as my short-lived bouquets.

I'm a worrywart. Anyone who's known me for any length of time knows this. I have a tendency to over-think and take too much responsibility, assuming that my every step out of line indicates a uncontrollable downward spiral.

Lately I've been feeling particularly weepy and last night, I realized just how far I'd gotten. After a good night of Small Group and Monday Night Football, I got home and instead of feeling joy, was overwhelmed with worry for the umpteenth time.

Some of this is normal, I know. New job, new apartment, new expenses. But what is truly at the root of this worry? Why do I isolate myself in my own misery and assume I'm alone in this?

"And who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" This reminder I scrawled on a Post-it and stuck to the side of my monitor in a particularly lucid, desperate moment this week. But I fight every day to remind myself of it. I think what really gets to me is my powerlessness. That I can't add hours or turn things around.

So today I am "seeking first His kingdom and His righteousness," and clinging to the promise that all other things will be added. I am wadding up my Kleenex and accepting my life for what it is - for the beautiful things I have been given and the challenges I don't face alone.

So, please, next time I start whining and worrying about what I will "eat and drink, or what I will wear..." remind me that my Heavenly Father knows what I need. “But if God so clothes the grass (Sunflowers and Daisies) of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown away, will He not much more clothe you?"

Maybe my life could be as sunshine-y and worry-free as my Sunflowers, if only I would let go and trust Him.

The Danger of "Nesting"

A lot of things have changed in my life lately. I started a new job, moved into my own apartment after nearly a year living with my grandma, and played flag football all in the space of one week. (OK, so I know that playing football isn't really life-changing news, but every good writer knows the "list of three" concept, and football was all I could think of on the fly. Sorry.)

I'm here to discuss the "nesting" concept. Somewhere in-between the fascination with play houses and her first burnt batch of cookies, every girl realizes her overwhelming need to "nest". We are drawn into the Home section of Target without trying, buy cute homey things that we neither have room for nor can afford, and are constantly attempting new concoctions in the kitchen. And buying soap. ...or maybe that last one is just me.

Anyways, I have my own place now... as in, MY own place. As in, no roommates, just me. As in, paradise/kinda scary at night/very creatively stimulating and nice to come home to after a long work day.

It's a gorgeous little studio in Dana Point, about 20 miles south of where I was living. I have an itty-bitty kitchenette, bathroom and "common area" which will eventually be organized to the point of cuteness. Right now I feel like I'm sleeping in the corner of a storage shed, but I have only lived there for three days. Shelves, sunflowers, and horses will all soon be in their places, never fear.

And after it's "cutified" I will post pictures. Promise. :)

But anyways, now that the details are out of the way... about nesting. My brother Denver says nesting is dangerous, because the next step is "baby fever". I think I'm safe on that front. However, I can definitely agree that nesting is the girlie version of when a guy walks into Home Depot with a project in mind and a list of "but I need this to do that...". Shark-infested waters, baby.

I have wandered dazedly through countless home stores, sighing over adorable hutches to keep all the dishes I don't own, and agonizing over my sad lack of cash. I hold ceramic dishes in my hands in the store, wishing I had an excuse to take them home, idly pet hanging curtains and try out couches that would take up roughly 60% of my apartment if I was stupid enough to give in and buy them.

I get warm fuzzies just by sitting on the couch (thanks, Adam,) and looking over at my kitchen, itty-bitty edition - complete with toaster oven for baking tiny things, (thanks for that, too, Adam, :) a four-cup coffee pot for half my daily consumption, and a microwave to heat up all that my tiny, delicate appetite can handle. (Haha...)

When I'm at work, all I think about is going home, folding clothes and putting up pictures, and when I'm at home, all I do is fantasize about how awesome my bower will eventually be.

So maybe nesting is dangerous, but what's life without a little risk? So what if I spend a little too much on the perfect curtain or buy another mug that I don't need? Give a girl a break... at least I don't want a baby.