I love socially awkward kids

That is why I love watching Scribb's National Spelling Bee. In honor of today's event, I give you the Bee's best winner: Rebecca Sealfon. You know what else is great about this competition? Fainting kids.

The benefits of being a pack rat

I have a problem with not being able to throw things away. Stupid
little rewards, notes, gag gifts...I keep them all. This even started
at a young age, around 10-11 years old. Just recently I picked up a
scrapbook, and other boxes I kept in my mother's apartment, and started
to look through them. What I found were pages and pages of
certifications of achievement, notes I passed around with my best
friend Jamie (who is still very much close to me), birthday cards,
report cards and papers I wrote in high school. I am glad I kept those
papers, it is fun to see how I wrote at the age. Sometimes I look at
those papers and wonder how I was an "A"ish student. One paper I kept, and the comment a teacher made on it, seemed to stand out for me.

It was a paper on Love that I wrote for my Honors Psychology class. I had
to observe a couple, and talk about their interactions and then do an assessment
on how relationships work. Here was my concluding sentence, "Those who
do break up don't do so because there is something wrong with the
relationship, it's because they weren't meant to be together." My
teacher commented afterward, "How Fatalistic." I don't remember being
amused by it then, but I giggled when I re-read it as an adult.

Tales of a Gym Class Loser

I have never been good at athletics. Well except for maybe when I was a young child but aren't all young children athletic in some way or form. I can tell you one thing that I was never: graceful. There are pictures of a 5ish old me at my gymnastics class to prove that. It was around middle school that I lost an resemblance of that child "athlete" in me. So what did people like me hate in high school? Gym.

We had to take gym, it was mandatory (not all 4 years, thank god). My freshman year the gym class was divided into boys and girls. The vaginas would do synchronized swimming, archery, scooter games, field hockey etc. The penises (what is the plural form of penis anyway?) would play flag football, basketball, weight trainings. Any undetermined genital did not exist in my school, as far as I knew.

My sophomore year, that is when the gym classes were integrated, and instead separated into Gym "A" (the old "boys" curriculum) and Gym "B" (the old "girls" curriculum). It might be surprising to find out that I went ahead and enrolled myself in Gym A. I don't really know why. Maybe I felt like I had something to prove.

It was horrendous. The girls that were in the class with me were the athletic popular girls, that for the most part hated or ignored me and the guys just hated me for sucking at every activity we participated in. I take that back, the guys did not hate me if I was not "forced" to be their partner or on their team (which by the way, the teacher was decent enough not to have people pick teams, which I am sure I would be next to last chosen). You know the teacher did do once? He once made a list of the best bad mitten players to the worst. Then he made double teams. The bestest player went with the worstest player. My partner, who was good, always stole the birdie from me and would yell at me for missing shots. Good times.

I did have one shining moments. It was during our flag football section. We were split into two teams, everyone was on the field playing, my team was offense. I was just told to run ahead, try not to attempt to block/run after anyone...just stay out of the way. Then one play, the quarterback (who was actual a star varsity basketball player) was looking around for an open player, the only one being me. We looked at each other and a nonverbal understanding was made...I had to catch it. I outstretched my hands and closed my eyes as I saw him release the ball. Next thing I knew I was cradling the ball the same was Baby was cradling the watermelon on Dirty Dancing. I took a split second to smile at my accomplishment, before jetting it towards the endzone. I only got about 10-15 yards, but still...I totally caught it! As I headed back to the huddle, I was greeted by high fives. I know this goes against my "I hate everyone attitude" but I enjoyed the moment of acceptance.

Ok, so I take it back, I didn't have just one shining moment. I had that moment, and a entire shining section. That section, being swimming. I was the only swimmer in the entire class (built mostly of athletes...basketball, football, cross country etc). So basically, I kicked everyone's ass. The first string quarterback was stuck in the shallow end learning how to float, because he didn't know how to swim. When we had races, the best of the girls vs. the best of the guys, the guy I swam against, wouldn't even swim the front crawl against me, because he didn't want to get embarrassed. Wussy.

In reality, I was an average swimmer. Well, I didn't really apply myself. Maybe this is why I was not athletic, I didn't have the drive. What I did have was endurance, so I was placed in the distance competitions. A friend of mine has this theory, most people that did distance competitions (running/swimming) in high school were the kids that were slackers, but had good endurance. Personally, I do think this applies to me. After the race had finished, I was never red faced or gasping for breath and while racing I was usually singing a song in my head or thinking of something else that would amuse me for 20 laps of the pool. I think that if I actually drove myself harder, and trained off season, I would have been really really good. As it was already, I as lower rung varsity.

One true thing about swimmers, at least from my point of view, is that they are not runners. I think the best time I ran a mile was 8 minutes and that is when I was at my fittest. Many of my friends, that were also swimmers, agree with me.

Going back to the Gym A experience...I think this led me to have an automatic hate for preppy athletic guys. Subconsciously, I think they will always belittle my lack of athletic abilities. That is why I like to surround myself with nerds and hippies. They don't like sports, at least for the most part they don't.

I even carry this athletic insecurity with me as an adult. One summer when I was a camp ground leader, I was playing kick ball with a bunch of 10 year olds. I was in the outfield, as it was easier for me to get the ball when it rolls away(faster because of my longer legs). One kid kicked a high pop up. I got nervous about catching it but went after it anyway. Luckily I did catch it, and ran up to another kid running to second for a double play. (Yeah, in those 10 year old faces!). My teammates later told me, "Holland! You are REALLY good at kickball." This made me smile, because once again I was accepted as a legit athlete....errr, by little kids.

Way to ruin my entire day, Jerk...

So, I am driving to the gym when I hear a guy on a motorcycle shouting from behind me. He totally looked like the typical middle aged white suburban guy trying to relive his golden days by riding around on his 'hog.'

I can't hear him, so I ignore him (pretty sure if I did hear him, I would still ignore him regardless of what he was saying). When I pulled to the stop sign, guy pulls up next to me. Here is the conversation...

Guy: You cut me off back there
Me: (Confused because I dorkingly check my blindspots all the time) Sorry.
Guy: You CUT ME OFF!!! (He must of thought I didn't 'get it' the first time)
Me: Listen, have you heard of road rage? I'm not having a good day and I don't feel like dealing with an asshole. (I was serious too, the id in me wanted to back my car up and ram right into him)
Guy: (as I drive off) UGLY CUNT!

[Start of sarcastic statement] Hmmm. Ugly cunt. Original. You know, as a woman, I have never been called that before. [end of sarcastic statement]

This guy seemed like one of those people that thought because he was a man (not just any man...but a man on a motorcycle) he could scare a young girl like me by yelling at me and throwing me stern looks. Not that I am all bite, but I most certainly do not take shit from anyone. However, I do regret calling him an asshole. I should have been the bigger person, and left that one apology as is, and ignored him.

Also, as much as I like to think and say that words don't hurt me, being called a cunt kills me.

Two words to describe watching childbirth: Grotesquely Beautiful

My niece, Elaine Elizabeth, was born on May 12th and I was there to watch every gruesome moment. It really was beautiful.

It all started one week ago on Friday May 11th. I was on the phone with a friend making plans to go out that night. I wasn't planning on drinking, as I knew that any minute I would get a call from my sister telling me that she was in labor. My friend asked me if I was sure the baby wasn't coming and I said no, not yet. However while I was on the phone, I heard a beep indicating that someone was on the other line. I finished up my call with my friend quickly and checked to see who it was on the other line. It was my sister and her contractions were 30 minutes apart. I called back my friend to cancel plans, ate my dinner, packed my bags and headed up north to Sheboygan.

I met my sister and the family at her house around 9pm. We all went to sleep that night and waited for her contractions to get 5 minutes apart before heading to the hospital. That didn't happen until around 3am on Saturday. Rianna didn't get any sleep because she was busy keeping track (and being distracted by) the contractions. I got about 3 hours of sleep, as did my brother-in-law.



When we got to the hospital, the doctor broke her water right away so that her contractions would come faster and harder. Not to long after that she was put on pitocin to augment the labor (her contractions were not that painful). That is when she really started to feel the labor pains.

At first she stayed with IV medications but soon those were not working out at all, and only took the pain away for about 15 minutes. Around 4pm (being in the hospital for over 12 hours and not getting any sleep for well over 24 hours)Rianna made the decision to get an epidural. At this point she was 4cm dilated and around 80-90% effaced. That decision was hard for her but after the epidural was administered she felt she made the right one, as she was able to nap until she started to push at 6pm.



While she was pushing, the doctor noticed that the baby was coming out face up. So while Rianna was pushing the doctor was also turning the baby around so that she would face downward. It was also around this point that the doctor performed and episiotomy, which was THE GROSSEST part of it all. (All of my hippie, natural birth friends would be shaking their heads right now).

Then the head came out, my brother-in-law was already crying from joy at this point, the rest of us were holding our breath in anticipation on the first cries and finding out the sex. It was a little scary because the umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby's head twice, but I could see her mouth moving. Rianna let out one more good push and the whole baby came out. Daddy was the first one to say, "It's a girl!" Everyone was crying, even me with my cold black heart. Then my little niece started to cry and people ran out to tell everyone waiting in hall the good news.



The nurses cleaned her up, as everyone remarked that she had a good head of hair, and took her measurements (7lbs 9oz and 21 inches long). When her temperature was taken, it was kind of high, but the doctors didn't make a big deal out of it. The rest of the day went as usual, pictures, phone calls and first time to hold the baby.

The next day my family came to the hospital to find that the baby was hooked up to an iv and that they were for sure staying the three days so that Elaine could get a daily dose of antibiotics for her fever (which at that point had reduced to a normal temperature) and high white blood cells. The doctors told everyone that they were just being careful.



The following day, when we came to visit, we found that they had been to moved to a smaller room (called the "almost home" room) compared to the huge-ass birthing room they had before. Also the baby was jaundice, so she had to be put on this blue lighted bed (or pad when she was being breastfed). I know that there is a name for the light but I forget what it was called. The light made her look like a glo-worm. While breastfeeding, Rianna noticed that Elaine felt warm again, so the nurse came in to take the temperature and lo-and-behold another hike in temperature.

That same day, after my mom and I grabbed dinner in the cafeteria, we returned to the hospital room to find my sister in tears and informing us that they were told Elaine had to stay for 7 days. The doctors were concerned that she may (or may not) have a bacterial infection and felt more secure with a 7 day daily dose of antibiotics. The only good thing in the situation, was that because my sister was breastfeeding, she and my brother-in-law were able to stay in the hospital room even though she was no longer officially a patient.



Soon after being told that Elaine would remain in the hospital, my sister was having difficulties getting the baby to latch on to her to feed. This my sister started a mild panic attack. She was having a difficult time breathing and got nauseous. My mom also looked overwhelmed, that is when I told her that I would ask for the rest of the week off of work, so that I could stay with her (to drive her to and from the hospital and help out my sister and brother-in-law as much as I could).

Since then, my sister has been more confident about breastfeeding and kicking visitors out (because with my family, we have oh-so-many) and just the general well-being of Elaine. She got taken off her glo-worm bed, no signs of fevers, white blood cell count are normal and she is a VERY good eater. Best of all, she is being released a day earlier than expected, so she should be home tomorrow, one week after she was born.

Bessie

When I was young, my family lived in this brown house, that was across the street from two bars, there was a big tree (with swings) in a big backyard, with a poppy tree and chives that grew in around the house. I really liked living in that house, mostly because of the neighbors. There were a lot of kids that my siblings and I would play with and then there was our next door neighbor Bessie.

She was an elderly Jewish woman, who also happened to be our landlord. She was your typical grandmother figure, except older and crankier. My mom would help her run errands and do chores (my family above anything else respects elderly people). I would occassionally go over to Bessie's apartment, she would watch me while my mom was gone or I would just visit, and she would give me and my siblings candy. It wasn't the best candy, kind of like that stale candy that would stick together but hey, I was kid and it was candy. I still remember that her pantry was stocked with sweets. Later in my life, when I would tell my mom about this, she would always shake her head and say, "She wasn't even suppose to have that stuff, she was diabetic."

Other things I remember about her is that her apartment smelled musky and she had "old" furniture and pillows that would vibrate (don't even begin to ask me the purpose of those). She would call me and my siblings over when were playing in the yard, and then she gave us bread crumbs to feed the birds. She called my cousin Joey, "Howie." She would yell at us kids for lying in the grass, warning us that we would get polio. Basically, she was the awesomest old lady ever.

Eventually, she had to be moved to a retirement home, because she could no longer take care of herself, and she had no family to move in with (she never married or had children). I never saw her again, she passed a few years later. I just hope that while we were in her life we made her days a little brighter.

Splurging

I have recently decided to splurge on some presents for myself at Amazon. Now I am super pumped about their arrival, which should be in the next week. Lets take a look at my purchases:

Flight: A Novel by Sherman Alexie

It's about a time traveling murderer. It sounds very Alexie-esque. If you have never read an Alexie novel before, I recommend reading Indian Killer first, then Reservation Blues and he also has great collections of short stories such as 10 Little Indians and Lone Ranger and Tonto Fist Fight in Heaven. I'm not a reader, so you just have to imagine HOW excited I am to read it.

Wet Hot American Summer

I love Stella and Michael Showalter (lately it seems like 'sense of humor' is climbing up my list of 'Reasons why I would do you'). This is one of my favoritest movies, and yet I had not owned it before I purchased it. I am cheap and lazy. I like goofy/silly humor that is a little absurd. How can you go wrong with a line like, "You taste like burger, I don't like you anymore."

Bring it Back by Mates of State

Finally buying it more than a year after it has been released. I was hesitant in the purchase, because it always seem to me that my favorite bands/artists always seem to crash and burn with every subsequent release. However, from what I have heard, this album is on par with the other albums (which means if you are a MoS hater, you will still hate them). Since I love all MoS releases, I am sure I will like this one. Plus, I like the two videos they have out for the albums.

Slightly off topic: While looking through Amazon, I wanted to see how much they were asking for Sandlot (you play ball like a girl!). Its 10 dollars by the way, but that's not my point. My point is that there seems to be two sequels to it. Both, obviously had to be direct to video. I think it is damn close to blasphemy. Don't ruin a masterpiece!

I don't know what made me love the Sandlot so. Was it the plot? Was it the dialogue? Was it Benny "the Jet" Rodriguez? Yes to all of them, but mostly the last one. I (and my sister) totally hearted Mike Vitar. I will illustrate with an already made graphic.

Creepy? Yes.

Back on topic: Still excited about the arrival.

OMG Guys!

Remember how I was talking about the Monster Squad, and I almost forgot how awesome it was. Guess what. It is totally coming out on DVD. Awesomeness.

Moon Pie

My brother's favorite book as a child was Just Only John. It was a story about a little boy who turned into whatever the people around called him. His mother called him "Little Lamb," and his father called him "Little Man," and he turned into those things. Of course by the end he became himself, of rather "Just Only John." It's a good story about not being ashamed about being yourself.

This made me think of what my dad calls my cousin. He calls her Moon Pie. I never got the reference. I have never seen them sold anywhere in Wisconsin. Apparently the are round pastry treats. Dad called Emily, Moon Pie, because her face is very round...and edible. This is what Emily would look like if she were in a book called Just Only Emily.

We all have standards

While looking through Found Magazine I found this little gem. It looks to me, like it is a list of "marriageable qualities" that some girl made. I like how her list becomes more superficial as it goes on. At least she seems to start off with "good/moral" qualities. It seems like the good girl version of "Mary Van Note's Rules on Dating Mary Van Note by Mary Van Note." Note: If you decided to Google her be warned that her stuff is not safe for work and not safe for anyone that is shy about sex humor. I think she is funny.

You know...I have standards too. I never actually wrote them down on paper (or on the Internet) but I keep a running list in my head, and yes, it is mostly superficial. Here it is, not listed in order of importance.

1. I will not date anyone that wears white shoes or white hats. People that do this are douche bags. This statement is a little extreme. 60% of white shoes/hat wearers are douches and that douchiest are the ones that are really concerned with the brightness of the whiteness.

2. No hunters. (No, I do not belong to PETA). I live in Wisconsin, so this is hard to find.

3. No Nascar fans. Especially the ones that wear these jackets. Ew.

4. No Toby Keith/Kenny Chesney fans. Well the music thing can keep on going. No Nickeback, Seether, Daughtery and anything like this. I also hate music snobs.

5. Do not come at me with flowers and/or candy and even a song/poem written for me. This is corny. Corniness makes me uncomfortable and not in a blushing/giddy way. More like a "get me out of here" type of way.

6. Must be funny. All the time.

7. Don't be prettier than me. Oh, you can be better looking than me, that's no problem, just don't be prettier. What does this mean? If it takes longer to get ready than me, if your wardrobe costs more than mine, if there is product in your hair, if you smell better than me (high possibility) you might be prettier than me.

8. I don't really have a problem with facial hair. It can be funny, it can be hot. But you know what is not hot and not funny? Soul patches.

9. Sensitive guys need not apply. I will make you cry...a lot. And when you cry, I will point and laugh.

10. Must be tolerable to my religious views (or lack there of), moments of airheadedness, and my constant jokes that I will be making about you.

11. Must hate Styrofoam as much as I do.

That is all I can think of right at this moment. I swear that I am not picky.