Epiphany

I had one of those enlightening, eye-opening, smack you in the head, epiphanies last night!

If you're a reader of this blog and its comments, you've probably noticed the football rivalry between my sister-in-law and myself. We have very differing opinions.

My problem is, I believe some of her comments, opinions, to be not fact based at all, totally false and far-fetched. (Stay w/me here, Jo, keep reading!)

I, on the other hand, believe that some of my opinions are completely and 100% factual. Which leaves me is a quandary when people disagree with...with...with a fact!

As I was pondering this it dawned on me:

Oh-my-gosh I am my father!

Then, I started freaking out like all good natured twenty somethings do when they realize they have some of their parents annoying qualities...like always having to be right!

Let me explain my dear ol' Dad.

My Dad is a retired United States Air Force F-15 Fighter Pilot. My dad was one of the best. Now, that is 100% factual. I am not exaggerating one bit.

He felt the need, folks, the need for speed! Ahahaha! He kicked some tires and started fires! Oh, thank goodness for "Top Gun," the movie!

Anyway, my dad is an intellectual man. Who has opinions. Lots of opinions. About politics, current events, sports, etc. The thing is, my dad would disagree that he has a lot of opinions. My dad, would state, that he has the facts and comes to the only logical conclusion possible with those facts.

I think that might be a common trait among fighter pilots. They have a stressful job where one mistake in the air could mean death, so they have to be confident in their decisions, in what they know. Sometimes, that carries over into their every day life.

And, I think somewhere along my growth and development, I inherited...or adopted...this quality.

So, take my "opinions" about Peyton Manning. Peyton Manning (to me) is professional, is a smart quarterback, is respectable, does not pout, takes his job very seriously, and is good at what he does. I've read numerous football articles about seen numerous sports news and ESPN stories.

So, being my father's daughter, and because of all of the "research" that lead me to my informed decision, I have turned my opinions regarding Peyton Manning into facts. Therefore, when people disagree with my facts, i.e. have their own opinion (for example, my sister-in-law calling him a spoiled brat), I think it's the most far-fetched, unwarranted thing! I don't even have the ability to grasp where such a belief comes from. This has got to be because I turn my opinions to fact, just like my dad. All of this dawned on me last night, out of the blue!

I have my father's quality! The very quality that frustrated me as a child and caused me to stomp away from him, then turn back and glare at his laughing face, subsequently causing me to walk straight into a wall and smack my head, making him laugh even more and making me even more mad at my Always-Mr. Right-dear-ol'-Dad.

OMG. Holy cow. Hello Epiphany.

I Have an Announcement to Make!

I have lamented over aging quite a bit. If you've read any previous stories on here, I'm sure you've picked up on that!

I love, Love, LOVE birthdays and birthday celebrations; so, imagine my surprise when aging, the very thing birthdays are centered around, became an issue for me. It pained me to say that I was 27. I grieved every time I had to announce I was 28. I know, RIDICULOUS!

I was not OK with that number increasing!

I believe that the number (the age number) going up stressed me out because I didn't feel 27 and I don't feel 28. I felt younger, I felt like I was in my early 20s and I thought that is where I wanted to stay, I thought that was such a fun place to be.

Somewhere along the way, that way of thinking for me changed.

Being young at heart is extremely important. No matter what age the number says I am, I will always be young at heart.

Amen!

So, on February 17 I am turning 29 and I am celebrating and looking forward to 29! I'm excited about being able to say that I am 29.

And you know what? The thought of turning 30 doesn't even freak me out! I'm looking forward to 30, too!

Maybe someday, I'll figure out what finally got me to this place. This place where I embraced "aging." In the mean time, I'm just going to enjoy it!

"Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you
If you're young at heart
For its hard, you will find, to be narrow of mind
If you're young at heart"

"You can go to extremes with impossible schemes
You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams
And life gets more exciting with each passing day
And love is either in your life or on its way"

Do you know that it's worth every treasure on earth
To be young at heart
For as rich as you are it's much better by far
To be young at heart"

"And if you should survive to 105
Look at all you'll derive out of being alive
Then here is the best part
You have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart"
-F.S.

Football is Rigged!

I know this is opening a can of worms but I cannot help it, it's just how I feel.

Last night when I was going to bed, I turned on ESPN to watch for a few minutes, to unwind. ESPN's entire coverage in that few minutes was on how special it would be and how much it would mean for New Orleans if the Saints won the Superbowl.

The 5-10 minutes of press that I saw on ESPN was biased. Biased towards the Saints. I guess I should be used to that by now- biased press/news coverage.

So, here it is, I'm going to say it. If the Saints win the Super Bowl today, it confirms my suspicions that football is rigged.

I feel bad saying that because some people might say that is not giving credit to outstanding players. I mean no disrespect to the outstanding players. They can't help it if a referee gets paid off to call a game a certain way or if a player here or a player there gets bought off some how. You can't tell me that in an entity as large and as rich as the NFL everything is one the "up and up."

One other point to my case. On ESPN this morning they showed the "touchdown" that Reggie Bush "made" 2 weeks ago against the Vikings. The touchdown that I don't think was honestly a touchdown. Then, coincidentally that touchdown gets reviewed by the booth. Hmmmm...maybe to ensure that the Saints secured the lead and win?

I know that a million points could argue against my one theory. That football is rigged. I just felt a compulsive and nagging need to share!

*Normal Missy will return tomorrow*

Addition: OK, I posted this about an hour ago and walked away, to eat my delicious omelette and watch CBS pre-Super Bowl coverage. I am feeling a little bad about saying if the Saints win the Super Bowl that football is rigged. It depends on how the games goes. SO! I will give you my complete analysis tomorrow.

With that being said, I do still think foot ball is rigged a little bit! With that being said, I do still think that most of the football players are great athletes...who have no idea that football is rigged! Just kiddin!

A Variety of Things

Procrastination...


It stinks!

It's horrible!

It ruins people's lives!


-Well, maybe that last one is a little over dramatic.


Procrastination is the reason why I am not the proud owner of a Nikon Coolpix S620.


Let me explain. I have a digital camera. It is a Canon. It has been an awesome camera. I have had that camera for about 5 years now. I have loved it. I love Canon. But, it's old and it has become quite slow. It's on the brink of dying, I fear.


Thepioneerwoman.com is the first place that I heard about my Nikon Coolpix S620. The Pioneer Woman takes excellent, great, wonderful photos and if she is a fan of that particular Nikon, then I am on board! So, I entered many a contest in hopes to win said camera. And... I lost every contest and never won said camera!


I had been price checking and watching the camera online for months. I was doing excellent online sleuthing. Then, right before Christmas, Amazon.com had the camera priced at $129, which is BEYOND a good price for that camera. I went back and forth for days about whether or not I should make the purchase. With it being right before Christmas, I did not want to spend that kind of money on myself. I mentioned it to Dave one weekend and he helped talk me into buying it! Unfortunately, by the time I went online to make said purchase the camera was priced at over $200 again!

Procrastination... it sucks!

Needless to say, I did not buy said camera for over $200...especially when I knew that it had been $70 cheaper!

Corn Starch...

Last night, Dave and I made Orange Shrimp Fettucine! We were both excited and nervous. Dave peeled and cut oranges. I cut and simmered (or fried or sauted) a red pepper and then I did the same to the shrimp while Dave started cooking the noodles.

Then, the scary part, we had to make the sauce, the very thing that would provide flavor to the whole entire meal. If we messed this up, the whole entire meal would stink! Oh, the pressure! (That's the part of cooking that I don't like.)

As it turns out, making the sauce was FUN! Because, we got to use corn starch! So, what started out as a thin liquid sauce, turned into a thicker, pastier sauce. Whoa! Gotta love corn starch! I'm their new biggest fan!

I've decided that cooking is like magic because stuff magically changes right before your eyes! Shrimp turns a pretty pink, a thin liquid become thick and then, best of all, you get to eat this creative and colorful concoction...magic!

But, really, the best of all, was that no fire alarms went off last night and our dish was actually edible and palate pleasing!

I leave you with this visually pleasing picture of a future Hall Of Fame QB. Ahh, he's one of the best, the greatest...

*sigh*

Hero

A hero comes along

With the strength to carry all

And you cast your fears aside

And delight in the glory that is Peyton Manning

Whoop-whoop! :)

The Sugar War!

At 3 o'clock, something comes over me. Something that I have no control over. Something that has total control over me.

Like clock work, every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday at 3 o'clock my sugar tooth starts to crave...desire...NEED...sugar! No matter what I do, it will not go away! I scour the office like a rodent, walking past every cubicle looking for a piece of chocolate, just a piece! One simple, little, tiny ounce of melt-in-your-mouth relief!

I decided that it was not good for me to go through this every day and I started bringing little sweets to work with me. At 3 o'clock, when my craving hit, I would grab my miniature 3 Musketeers candy "bar" (it's not really a candy bar, more like a candy bite) and savor each pleasurable piece of it.

And, just to be clear, the word "craving" does not even begin to do justice to describe the "craving" that comes over me! This "craving" folks, it is hereditary and I got it from my mom. Honestly. My mom is a chocolate lover, shes' a chocolateer, a chocoholic, a...you get the point! So, back to my 3 Musketeers...

After eating my 3 Musketeers I felt satisfied and could effectively and efficiently continue on with my work day. Until the day that I opened a can of worms. I rue the day!

Last Friday was "one of those days." One of those days where it's acceptable to eat sweets to make one feel better.

What?
Huh?
You say it's never OK to eat sweets to make one feel better? Well, hack-puh! I spit on that!

So, last Friday I bought a box of Sweet Tarts. Oh, how I love Sweet Tarts! The problem is, once 3 o'clock hit, I couldn't stop eating them! As soon as I would finish the small pile I poured for myself, my mind could not, would not, stop thinking about getting more. The "craving" really is inexplicable. It's a need, a very strong N-E-E-D. Something comes over you and all you can think about and focus on is getting that sweet. I ended up eating Sweet Tarts until I had sores on my tongue and felt sick to my stomach. Ugh, I know, horrible, isn't it?

The Friday Sweet Tarts lasted me until yesterday (Monday) afternoon, 3:37 PM to be exact. I knew I couldn't keep doing this or I would turn into a plump sweet tart myself (well, plump and sweet, but not a tart!). I got the BRILLIANT idea that I needed to by a hard candy that will take awhile to consume and satiate my hunger. I figured that I would eat less of this hard candy since it would take longer to eat, hence satisfying my craving.

Enter Wal-Mart. Purchase Gobstoppers. Check!

This afternoon when that stupid, all consuming craving attacked, yes, attacked me, I was prepared! I laughed in the face of this temptation: Whaaa-haaa-haaa! And with that, I opened my Gobstoppers, took one out and began to enjoy it.

Gobstoppers, I thought, were a hard candy. I wanted it to be a hard candy so that it lasted longer. Just to test it, I bit down after a few minutes of it being in my mouth. Much to my surprise and horror, the Gobstopper broke in half!

"WHAT?!?!", I shrieked! This is not supposed to happen, I thought! Oh well.

And, as soon as that Gobstopper was gone, I wanted another, and then another, it was just like with the Sweet Tarts! I ate Gobstoppers until I felt sick. (Really, though, sick is too strong of a word, let's say uncomfortable.) I ate Gobstoppers until I was uncomfortable.

CRAP!

Since that plan back-fired I decided that I need to go back to bringing in one single candy to satisfy and fulfill my craving. That way, when it's gone, it's gone. In the mean-time, I don't know what I'm going to do with all of these Gobstoppers!

A Super Bowl Missyism!

Ay Caramba, folks. It is only for your pure entertainment that I am telling you this story. And, you know, maybe this is one of those stories that I should keep to myself; but, this embarrassing thing happened to me in front of a bunch of people; so, it's not like I'm the only one who knows. I'm just broadcasting it to the world now! Or, to the 10 people who read this! (Lol, JK)

I love football and football parties. Our tradition, every year for the past million years, has been to set up camp at my sister-in-law's house and watch the Super Bowl. This involves the yummiest buffet of food evah, the greatest of drinks and the loudest of friends and family hoot'n and holler'n for their team's victory!

Last year, we were all very excited because my sister-in-law was making, basically a keg-sized amount of special punch. What made the punch special? Malibu Rum, of course!

My sister-in-law can never, EVER, root for the same football team as me. So, my plan is always to start the drinking as soon as I get to her house to get warmed up and to keep up with the smack talking! And, that's exactly what I did last year. As soon as I got to her house, I started drinking the punch concoction...maybe on an empty stomach...maybe wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done.

So after a few punch drinks (which were so dangerous because you could not even taste the alcohol) I decided that I needed to eat a little bit.

Well, somewhere in all of this mess, my stomach decided that it did not like what I was doing.

It was minutes before kick-off. Minutes before the game that I look forward to all year long. The battle of what is supposed to be between 2 of the best football teams of the season. I love kick-off; the anticipation, the excitement, I get goose-bumps and butterflies! I love to see the National Anthem being sung and watch the players run out of the tunnel, all excited. In my head, I feel bad for the team I'm rooting against, for they are so unjustly excited as they will probably lose the game, tsk, tsk, tsk.

It was at this time, the commercial break before the National Anthem, that I could not ignore the pains in my stomach any longer. Disgruntled, I made my way to the bathroom. Things went down-hill fast from there. I became very, very warm, hot, clammy, sweaty. Waves of nausea rolled through me like the waves of a stormy sea. I couldn't ignore it any longer; but, I didn't know what to do! I'm sure you've been there- trying to use the restroom at the same time food wants to repeat itself on you- not a pleasant situation to be in. I thought that I could throw-up in the bath-tub in front of me if need be. I hoped against hope that need wouldn't be! I "courtesy flushed" the toilet in preparation of my food repeating itself on me. And, then, to my utter and complete HORROR, I felt water on my bum. One should not feel water on their bum when they've flushed the toilet.

I promptly, immediately, with out thinking, stood up and turned around to face the toilet...the toilet that was over flowing...the toilet that was over flowing in SOMEONE ELSE'S HOUSE!
"WHY?", I screamed in my head, "WHY?"!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was as that precise second that my food and punch decided to repeat itself on me...right into the over flowing toilet...in someone else's house.

*pause*

Mortification does not even begin to explain 1/10 of how I was feeling. At the time that all of this was going on, I could hear everything in the living room. The smack-talking, the National Anthem, the kick-off...it was an ugly moment, folks. Me, standing in the middle of this...this...this mess... and I had no idea what to do!

So... I called Dave! Poor Dave. Poor, poor Dave. I'm just going to let you imagine the scene he saw when he opened the bathroom door and there I was... standing...a disheveled, half dressed mess.

Next thing I know, my brother-in-law and Dave are going to work, cleaning up my mess...again, MORTIFYING! It takes good, special family to do that kind of stuff with out 1 complaint or admonition. They were all trying to make me feel better. My sister-in-law fetched me a robe, walked me to her bathroom and got me a change of clothes. One of my BFF's, Paula, came in to check on me. This time, in my sister-in-law's bathroom, I did a million courtesy flushes! If air so much as came out of me, I courtesy flushed! Then, I made the walk of shame out to the living room and curled up in a corner on the couch.

When Dave and John (my brother-in-law) were all done cleaning up my mess and returned to the living room Dave asked, "What did you eat that had corn in it?" I know, GROSS! I'm sorry. But, that was the comic relief I needed to get over the mortification and enjoy the rest of the game.

You gotta be able to laugh at stuff like that afterwards because, so far, I certainly have not found any holes that are big enough for me to crawl in and hide. And, sorry for telling you a gross story; but, it's a Missyism for sure!

Pray for me that nothing like that happens this year...that will save you from any more gross stories like this! I have a different plan of attack for this year, too. My plan: take it sloooooowly!