I like fun.

      Once when I was small, maybe like in early grade school, an elderly woman told me that God doesn’t let people into heaven until they’ve finished all the projects that they started in their lifetime. She said heaven’s gates are lined with people finishing their life’s work so that they can enter through the pearly gates. That story, even though I don’t believe it, stuck with me. I think about it sometimes and wonder what would possess an old woman to tell a little girl something like that.

      I like fun and it’s not a new affinity. Fun has pretty much ruled my existence forever. I also like to try new things. The only problem with this scenario is that the second I stop enjoying myself, I have the tendency to move on to the next fun thing. I think my mom always worried that this would make me a “quitter.”  As a result, she always “encouraged” me to complete what I started. My life is littered with projects and passions that I began and then fizzled out on. My guess is that my mother was sharing her frustration about my pile of unfinished projects with the aforementioned woman and she took it upon herself to try to help by scaring me.

      I started a cross-stitch project in the early 90′s. I’m not sure exactly how old I was, but I know we lived in Nyssa, so it was pre-1992. It seems hilarious to me to even admit that I tried cross-stitch, but I was really into it. I’m not going to lie, I was a crafty queen (and still am – I heart DIY and I refuse to be ashamed to admit it!). The cross-stitch pattern is a 24” x 24” Precious Moments family celebrating Christmas. :-) Hilarious right? I was going to make it for my mother for Christmas. The sheer size of the design translates into thousands of stitches. I still have it and it’s still not finished. In my defense, I’ve been working on it, in little bits, for years. I stitched on it sporadically throughout high school (hidden in my closet so that no one would know that I was a cross-stitcher). I took it with me to college and when I worked on it I locked my dorm room, so that know one would know that I was a cross-stitcher. I think you get the point. When I was getting out my Christmas decorations this year, I stumbled across the cross-stitch tub (yes, it has a dedicated tub). I immediately thought of the woman’s story and pictured myself sitting outside the pearly gates stitching furiously.

     I’ve been reflecting on the woman and her threat a lot as 2009 comes to a close. I’ve had a great year and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. In 2009 I married a wonderful man, spent a week in Hawaii, had tons of fun with my friends and family, got a new puppy and much more. Even though it’s been a fabulous ride, I have some nagging frustrations. Especially in the later part of this year, certain events in my personal and professional lives have left me unsatisfied. I can’t help feeling like I consistently take one step forward and two steps back. I often catch myself longing for what I want to accomplish, instead of enjoying the journey it takes to get there.

     One of my goals (I prefer goals to resolutions) for 2010 is to finish the cross-stitch project. I have no idea what I’ll do with it when I’m done, as it doesn’t fit my personal style (if you like precious moments, let me know and there’s a Christmas cross-stitched pillow coming your way), but I’m committed to finishing. I think it’s the perfect metaphor for my life these days. Stick to it. Finish the race, even when it stops being fun and it seems like you’ve been racing forever (or cross-stitching for almost 20 years). Keep your eye on the finish line, but don’t get obsessed with it,  and remember to enjoy the scenery along the road, each milestone holds it’s own fun and accomplishments that you don’t want to miss.

     In addition to 1) finishing the Precious Moments cross-stitch project and 2) adjusting my expectations and concentrating on the fun things along the journey instead of always wishing for the destination, here are the rest of my 2010 goals in no particular order.

3) run the Helvatia Half-Marathon
4) don’t eat fast-food (if it’s an emergency, choose subs or burger-ville only)
5) write at least one blog post a week
6) read at least one book a month (for fun)
7) keep up with US weekly (I’m usually 2- 3 weeks behind, which is just ridiculous, I need to keep up with the smut!)
8 ) make Brent laugh at least once a day
9) get back on the budget and catch up with the debt-free program (the wedding, etc got us a little bit behind)
10) document my professional goals and achieve at least three

Wowa. That seems like a lot. I can do it, as long as it’s fun. :-) What do you have queued up for 2010?

     Around about Thanksgiving, Brent started acting suspicious. He began closing the lap-top abruptly when I walked into the room, text messaging more than usual, calling my sister and the two-of-them overcomplicating the explanations for the calls with elaborate cover-stories.

     I knew there was a Christmas surprise in the making and after weeks of plotting and much to my delight, my gift came five days early. On December 20, 2009 my stupendously-wonderful husband came home with the CUTEST Christmas puppy you’ve ever seen. Roscoe (yes…as in P. Coltrane) Patterson, an eight week old Yorkie, joined our family. He’s only about eight inches long and he weighs less than two pounds, but he’s turned our worlds upside down.

     First let me say, I love this dog. He is fun and the biggest cuddle-bug you’ve ever met. He makes me laugh with his…I can eat while standing on three legs and walk while I try to itch my collar off and chase my tail so fast you can’t tell my ears from my toes ways. Despite is utter adorableness, I guess we all know that it would be impossible for me to have a dog that wasn’t just a little bit crazy and totally full of mischief.

    This puppy hates his crate – as in hysterical barking that has our neighbors threatening to move out. He “eliminates” exactly where he’s supposed to seven out of ten times, and then chooses particularly naughty spots to tinkle or poo the rest of the time. He chews toes with his jaws of steel, makes me cry when he gets sad, eats my Christmas tree and takes running swats at the low-hanging ornaments AND has the most foul-smelling gas (yes…unbelievably stinky farts) you’ve ever smelled. I’m still unsure how something so small can also be so smelly!

     Thankfully, none of the above matters because Roscoe has stolen our hearts. All he has to do is look at me with his cute face, or snuggle into my neck. He curls up to sleep on my chest (Brent says he’s obsessed with cleavage), or my shoulder and it’s the best, most soothing thing. My world is complete.

     I’ll be checking number 3, puppy, off my fun list. You’ll hear more about Roscoe as I write about our fun adventures. He also stars in his own video series and you can watch him anytime on my youtube channel.

Myspace keeps sending me email messages encouraging me to find out what my “myspace friends” are doin. Obviously Myspace didn’t get the memo that Facebook is now the place where I catch up with my buddies. I got another spammy email from them this morning, so I logged in to delete my account. Instead of deleting, I started reading old blog posts. Wow. It wasn’t so long ago that I was a CRAZY single girl. I’m happy to say good-bye to most of those escapades, but there was this one story that I found particularly funny. I decided to share it here on this space for posterity’s sake.

Into the Mystic
Originally posted Thursday, June 22, 2006 

         In the spirit of full disclosure, I have to begin by saying I’m a total chub these days. Well I guess I should say these years. I’ve also been unemployed for weeks now. Camped out in lovely, but rainy, Portland, OR I am WHITE. The only thing that is worse than being fat during summer is advertising my tendency towards French fries and milkshakes with pasty whiteness. I would have loved to spend my days of leisure laying out and turning a much more flattering shade of golden brown. No such luck.

      So now with my back-to-work start-date just around the corner, I’m headed to Bend for a few final days of fun with my friend Jaimie. She’s the hottest of all my friends (yes pooks, you are still the best looking) and I needed a little pick me up. Addicted to water sports, I’m certain she’s going to make me wedge into a swimming suit before the stay is over. Terrifying. So yesterday, on the first day of summer, I decided to take action. For weeks now I’ve been driving by the sandwich sign on Hwy 43 that announces: Mystic Tans here. Golden Brown Skin in less than sixty seconds. Seduced by the promise, I put that telling Friends episode (the one were Ross ends up with a really dark front and an oh-so white back) out of my mind and took the plunge.

     Oh yes. The kind lady at Oregon Tanning Co. first asked me to watch the instructional video. I spent five minutes watching a tiny, hot, model in a bikini demonstrate how to pull your hair into a funny paper shower cap, rub blending lotion into your hands, feet, knees, elbows and ankles. No explanation as to why, just do it.  Then wave your hand in front of the sensor to open the machine. Then wave your hand again to close the door and once more to start the spray. I’d seen this part before (remember Ross?), she demonstrated how to hold your arms for maximum coverage. Fourteen seconds of spray for the front. Then turn around for fourteen seconds in back. They warn you that the spray is cool.

     Fully instructed, I walked the long hallway back to the booth, stripped off my clothes, and avoided looking in the mirrors. I followed the preparation instructions to the tee. The only glitch was the establishment did not provide the nose plugs that the model in the video inserted up her nostrils to make sure none of that spray went up her nose. Not dismayed, I used my craftiness to roll two small pieces of paper towel into nose plugs. Perfect. I waved, waved, and waved again and then stepped back into the correct position. It was at this point that I started to sweat. The booth was all closed in and the air was moist and I was having trouble breathing because of the paper towel up my nose. At this point I gave myself a silent pep-talk that went like this. Get a grip. This will take less than sixty seconds; you can fight your claustrophobia for at least that long. Your reward is a much more flattering brown hue.

     Finally the jets turned on. Cool was a total lie. The spray was freezing! The video also failed to provide any kind of instruction about when to breathe. I was already hyperventilating. And then because I was breathing in and out through my mouth I got three huge inhales of mystic tan fluid into my mouth and lungs before the coughing and sputtering and gagging started. Then I started to panic because I was convinced that the spit running down my chin was going to leave spit stripes. Finally it stopped and I turned around for round two. I was light headed and still couldn’t breathe. Through sheer will power (more self-talk – I will not pass out naked in this small booth) I lasted the remaining 14 seconds. I frantically began waving my hand back and forth in front of the sensor and my panic reached new heights because the door wouldn’t open. I gritted my teeth to avoid screaming and then took a deep mystic tan spray filled breath and slowed my hand down. FINALLY the door opened and I was free.

     All was well again. I was a bit sticky and smelled funny, but totally proud of myself and on my way to a sexy new tan. Last night I was drinking Citron and soda with my brother-in-law and his sister and I noticed my hands looked a bit funny. My palms and fingers were looking orangey. My stomach sunk a little. I’m totally one of those people who mocks girls that try to use sunless tanning lotion and end up with orange hands, wrists, ankles and the like. At that point I began to worry that I had become one of those girls that I make fun of. I woke up this morning with a nice golden tan AND orange elbows, hands, toes and ankles. Something must have gone amuck with the blending lotion. I’m sure its applicator error, but Id rather blame that damn model.

      We’re really excited about our newlywed Christmas. As a result, our apartment has turned into Christmas palooza. Brent can’t remember ever having had a fresh tree. He’s from Florida and un-used to our “live” tree ways. I wanted our first Christmas tree hunt to be really memorable. Yesterday afternoon we headed to Lee Farms in Tualatin. It always amazes me how quickly, in Portland; you can go from city/suburbia to farm-land and country. I heart urban growth boundaries! The tree-lined road to get to the farm was beautiful and definitely worth the short drive. In addition to Christmas trees, Lees has pony rides, pint-sized cows and goats and yummy treats! After we picked our tree we munched on home-made donuts and sipped fresh apple cider while we browsed in their Christmas shop. The family-run operation is fun and festive.

Picking the Perfect Tree

     Have you ever been tricked by nature? You know what I mean. When you’re outside at the farm every tree, even the big cool ones, seem smaller and much-more manageable than they actually are. How many times have you gotten your perfectly-picked tree home only to discover that you’ve been duped by the great-outdoors and your perfect tree is perfectly too big? I knew about this trickery. I warned us – out loud – while we were searching for our tree that this could happen. We re-assured ourselves that our high apartment ceilings were calling for a big Noble. Insert a sigh here. Remember what I said about Christmas palooza? Our humongous tree adds to the spirit.

     Here’s how it went. We picked our perfect noble and then the friendly Lees helper took it to this “shaking” machine that knocked all the loose needles (and probably the critters too) out. After they measured and calculated our damage, they bound up the tree and strapped it to the roof of our car (this was a first for me). On our way home, we went to the Schlager’s for Turkey Boats. By the time we were unloading, we decided we should follow the tree-care instructions and saw off a small piece of the trunk. I busted out my trusty hack-saw (purchased explicitly for Christmas tree projects) and we went to work. An hour later, we were still sawing and I was ready to give up. My hack-saw has a blade with tiny teeth, not exactly the best tool to saw through a six inch in diameter trunk. I’m sure we were quite a sight posted up on the side-walk outside our apartment taking turns sawing our Christmas tree. After what seemed like hours of sawing, cursing and complaining (from me), Brent was able to saw all the way through. Triumph! We celebrated briefly, only to discover that the tree we so pain-stakingly selected and then sawed was a GIANT. It skimmed our “high” ceilings as we stood it upright. It’s up and it’s beautiful, but it totally dwarfs our living room. I’m enjoying the smell as I sit here and type and looking forward to the decorating party that will commence when Brent gets home from work, but I can’t help giggling every-time I look up.

      Good luck my friends with your tree-hunting this season. I’d love to hear about the fun places that you go to find your trees and the adventures that ensue. Remember when you’re doing your picking that the great-outdoors is deceiving. Objects in nature are actually larger than they appear.

Fun Stuff.

Fun Stories.

Fun Eats.

Fun Places.