On a Scale from Jane Fonda to the Grim Reaper, How Tired Are You??

I'm in the final (ish) stretch of graduate school, which is incredibly exciting. And exhausting. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to keel over before December. It's going to be just like Rocky, but if he had finally been knocked out in the 14th round. Very anti-climactic. 

Just kidding (knock on wood). I can TOTALLY do this. I've got guts! I've got drive! I've got Netflix!

All of this reflecting on how tired and metaphorically beat up I feel led to me creating the below "chart" ("chart," and not chart because I need everyone to be like Peter Pan and just believe it is in chart form, not a random list of crap).   

I give you the Anna Smith, "How Tired Are You?" scale!

1. The Jane Fonda

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This is when your energy knows no bounds. Academy Awards? Sure, get a couple of those. Write a book? No problemo. Break your foot doing ballet? I guess you'll just make work out videos instead. A force to be reckoned with. People around you automatically drop a few levels on the scale, just tiring from watching you. 

2. The Mountain Summit:

Also known as the second wind. You're actually tired, but you've accomplished something that makes you forget. Who cares if you have blisters and stinky socks, you're king of the mountain, mountain, mountain, mountain!!! 

3. The Post-Vacation Haze: 

Theoretically, vacation is suppose to be restorative. In reality, you are often sunburned and overwhelmed with laundry. You can still call up the glow of the Bahamian beaches, but it's rapidly eclipsed by reality. 

4. The Thursdays:

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You may be surprised that this level is not "The Mondays," but deep down we all know Thursdays are actually harder and more tiring. You've put in the time and you've fought the good fight, where is your reward? How is it only Thursday? And why does your brain insist on thinking it's Friday and jolting back to the sad reality that is Thursday? You're out of gas, but you have to dig deep still to make it to the weekend.

5. The Youth Group Lock In:

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Don't be fooled bu the cutesy lock in this picture. Level 5 is when the struggle really begins to get real. There's nothing like staying up all night making sure kids don't sneak off to get in to shenanigans and then trying to serve breakfast to said squirrely kids on no sleep. The kids get to leave and crash, and you are left picking up the pieces of the church and your sanity. The tears might start at hour 30.  

6. The Public Temper Tantrum:

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We've all been there. You're standing in Target staring at two bottles of bargain shampoo, not remembering what shampoo is for or when you picked up the two bottles, and your friend asks what you want to do dinner. You're exhaustion clouds anything but your ability to cry and scream random existential questions, "who cares what's for dinner when I can't even remember my middle name? I'm so tired!! Why do you hate me?? Why is the world so mean?? WAHHHHHH!!!"

7. The Black Hole:

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Forget screaming and crying, you feel nothing. All your nervendings have been burned off by the tired and nothing is left. Wherever you land, you'll probably grow roots. People can talk and interact around you, but it is highly unlikely you'll notice. Your eyeballs are dry and unseeing, like your soul. 

8. The Road Kill:

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You're so tired at this point that it's not just the will to fight is gone, it's been forcible taken from you. Life came hard and took no prisoners. Everything hurts in ways you've never known, but the plus side is you don't care at all, as long as you can lay on the side of the road. 

9. The Graduate Student:

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Any combination of the above, often resulting in panic, distress, and fist shaking. For a shining moment you think you are at a 1 and suddenly you are at a 6, crying at the grocery store. You think for sure you will be at an 8 for the rest of your life, but then the semester ends and you are victorious at 2, then the next semester starts and, nope, you're a 7 for sure.  

10. The Grim Reaper:

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Your bones are made of dust, there is no more blood flow, your skin is going to crawl off your body any second, your cells have gone on strike. There are no words for this tired, just groans and other sad noises. They could stick you in a haunted house and not need a sound machine. Or a zombie, because you don't need a costume to blend in. 

What level are you at right now? Any levels I missed?

Disney Saves Me From Homicide

There are days that are so good and my mood is so high that I feel like if I burst into song and dance everyone around me will join in, because things are just THAT good.

There are other days, like today, where I am in the middle of horrifying cleanse because I've recently found out my list off food allergies is longer than things that irritate me about Justin Bieber and I feel like shaking my fist at everything.

Regardless of the type of day, I have a pet peeve that makes me twitch and fume. Today, because of the a fore mentioned, sad soup cleanse, it is grating worse than usual.

Whether in class or a staff meeting or any other professional/educational/meeting setting, I HATE when people talk just to hear their own voice.

I am hear to learn. From the professor. Who knows way more than you. Your fifth comment of the day is just derailing us. AGAIN.

I am hear to get through this. To please my pompous boss. Who thinks he knows more than us. Your fifth comment of the day is just derailing us. AGAIN.

So, to keep myself from flinging myself at someone in a desperate bid to end their yapping, ala Mean Girls the mall/watering hole scene, I decided to start classifying these mouth flappers by Disney sidekicks.*

*I use a variety of sidekicks, all of whom I think are wonderful. The use of them in this classification system is not a reflection on their positive qualities.

The hops is that this changes my thoughts from, "SHUT UP. NO ONE IS IMPRESSED WITH YOU. YOU ARE NO CONTRIBUTING ANYTHING. RARRRRRRRRRR!!!!" to "oh you silly, squawking  Scuttle, you sure are loud."

The Condescending Cogsworth: 

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We all know this one. They feel the need to share their opinion because it is so much better than anything else anyone has said or will ever said. Tell tale signs are the false questioning tone "I'm wondering if anyone has ever..." and the expectant, thoughtful pause at the end. While there is nothing inherently obvious about the Cogsworth, you will know if you are dealing with one because you will feel the instant need to defend against whatever they are saying.

The Gregarious Genie:

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This to me is the most tolerable over-sharer, because the main goal is to get a laugh and they are often successful. Evident by their boisterous laugh and well planned punch lines, they can be entertaining but the impact of a distracted class is the same as the other sidekicks.*

*I'm totally guilty of being the Gregarious Genie. I am working on it! 

The Oblivious Olaf:

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You know you are dealing with an Oblivious Olaf when their comments illicit a resounding, uncomfortable silence in the room. Can I get a big group, "huh?" Bonus: if they think their comment is witty and laugh at themselves with no one else joining in, yet they are not bothered at all. You have to admire how comfortable they are in their own skin.  

The Irate Iago:

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I sometimes feel bad for the Irate Iago. They are often commenting from a genuine place of anger or disagreement, but the way it is handled often leaves crickets chirping. I don't think we should blindly agree with everything people in authority say to us, but I'm all for appropriate tone and timing. The Iago just loses it and squawks all over.  

The Zealous Zazu:

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What's the right answer in Sunday school, always? Jesus. Don't get me wrong, I do think Jesus is the answer to everything, BUT this sidekick uses this like a weapon to get out of hard thoughts. These comments seem to come from a place of discomfort with the subject matter and are intentionally used to derail a conversation. I have only run into this one at Seminary, so far, but there many topics people are zealous about, to the determinant of hearing others.   

What Sidekicks do you have in your life? What creative ways do you handle stress?

Yes, All the Awkward, the Finale, Part 3

PART 1

PART 2

Before I delve in to the thrilling conclusion of my awkward adventures, I wanted to share some feedback I have received from the first 2 parts. And let's be honest, we all know how this story is going to end - me shriveling up into a tiny ball internally and turning into stone externally. I'm surprised I didn't need to be wheeled off the bus.

Things that have been mentioned in regards to my awkwardness:

Painfully awkward Rob Lowe! If only when I wasn't painfully awkward my life was as swanky as his commercials show his to be!

The only time I'm like my favorite pony, Fluttershy, is when we make this face. 

Post-Hulk Bruce Banner. 

And just for fun:

There's totally an episode where Fluttershy Hulks out. Also, when you Google "Flutteryshy Hulk" you can apparently find Fanfcition based on this pairing.... what. That's. Weird. And anatomically confusing.

This is really getting away from me, so let's progress.

There I am hanging out with Switchfoot on their tour bus before their concert. My eyes bulging, which is scary because I can have some seriously huge eyes, my limbs are shrinking into my body like a t-rex, and I have no capabilities of speech.

Nothing has changed around me except now, I'm dying. 

I mean, I'm wearing a unicorn t-shirt. Actually dying. 

Luckily, as soon as the video ended the band was told they needed to make their way backstage for the show. They said their goodbyes, I said something along the lines of "nefghhhhblegh." We all walked inside, I'm sweating profusely in my white puffy jacket, brain fritzing. My cousin and I walk to main area, watch the awesome concert, and that should have been the end. No harm, no foul. 

But of course not. I wasn't humiliated enough!

As we were walking out, I confessed to my cousin that I had no idea that we were with Switchfoot that whole time and I'm so embarrassed at my naivety.

She asked me what I would have done differently if I had known (she's a counselor) and I said I probably would have asked for their autograph or something. She suggested I go ask them now, all on my own, working on my timidity. 

I gather my courage. I am cool. I can play this off. I am well spoken.

Deep shuttering breath.

I knock on the tour bus door.

I'm so nervous there aren't words. I might vomit. 

"Yes?" Keyboardist. He's like in the back, no big deal!

"WE MET EARLIER AND I HAD NO IDEA WHO YOU GUYS WERE BECAUSE I LIVED OVERSEAS AND UNDER A ROCK AND MY T-SHIRT HAS A UNICORN AND I AM REALLY SORRY YOU AREN'T FAMOUS ENOUGH IN MY LIFE FOR ME TO KNOW YOUR FACES BUT CAN I GET YOUR AUTOGRAPH BECAUSE YOU ARE FAMOUS AND I DID THIS ALL WRONG?!"

"Uh. Sure. What would you like us to sign?" They're really nice guys, I could barely tell they were trying not to laugh.

"Oh. Um. I didn't think that far."

They ended up signing my ticket stub. It's lovely.       

What's your most embarrassing encounter with someone famous?

 

Painfully Awkward, Part 2

Let's recap! (and I have a correction) (Part 1 is the last post)

Upon reflection, on the day I met my not future husband, it was not the first week of class. So I was just late and lazy, not lost.

This is important for me to clarify because I really did put effort in to my appearance when I started school. By the time of this story, we were well in to fall, and I did not care, especially in the morning.

How did I realize this timing mistake? My dear Roomie asked me if I was wearing shoes during this encounter.

The answer was no, I was not. I went through a ridiculous, idealistic college phase where I didn't wear shoes as some kind of absurd protest against poverty and shoeless children. Some idea about being barefoot in solidarity, or something. I was a hipster before hipster was thing. And I had really tough feet.

So, there I am. On the path. Bare foot. I am wearing sweatpants that I had hacked the bottoms off to make them into long, ragged shorts and a bright red Old Navy polar fleece. I have not done my hair or make up, and as it is morning, I am rocking my legendary bed head.

LEGENDARY

I am a hot mess, without any of the hot and extra mess. I am a mess mess. 

And there he is. Jeremy Wariner. In all his glory. Walking towards me in the blinding sunlight. I'm fairly sure there was a heavenly choir in the background. 

And I stand there, frozen solid, looking a mess mess, jaw hanging open. I just stop walking, moving, and thinking. Like a really smelly statue.

And he keeps walking towards me. And then he's smirking. And as I continued not to move at all, he is outright laughing. And then he is right in front of me.

Did I move? Make a cute joke and scrape my rats nest out of my face? Jump out of the way? Anything? No. Nothing. I am made of humiliated stone. 

My not future husband then has to step on to the grass to go around me, howling with laughter. He continues on his way, and that is that. A while later, I turn around and go back to my dorm. I had strong rules about not going to class (am I sick? do I have something due in another class that isn't done? is there something more fun to do? is it raining? am I dying of humiliation? No class).

One more story, for your entertainment.

This one took place when I was fourteen. I was newly back in the United States, complete with significant gap in pop culture knowledge. 

My cousin's friend was the stage manager for Switchfoot, an up and coming band (this was right at the beginning of "The Beautiful Letdown" era). She asked me if I would like to go with her to their concert. 

My first American concert (Amy Grant doesn't count, but man, her Heart in Motion tour was spot on, I don't care who you are) with my cool older cousin?! YES.

I was pumped. I wore my fancy unicorn t-shirt.... puberty was tough on me. 

We met the friend at Starbucks and then he asked if we wanted to see the tour bus.

Uh. Yeah.

We get on the bus and there are other people on the bus, other staff and little people, etc. 

We're all hanging out laughing, everyone is so nice! I'm so cool! Living in the United States is a breeze! I've got this!

Someone asks if we want to see the new music video. 

Uh. Yeah.

 PAUSE: Remember that gap in pop culture? I had no idea who Switchfoot was, other than they were cool and famous. 

We sit down at the back of the bus to watch and as it plays I realize something. 

These aren't little people. They aren't staff. They're the people in the music video.

 I'm hanging out with Switchfoot. 

 TO BE CONTINUED

Hi, My Name is Anna, and I'm Painfully Awkward, Part 1

Most of the time I'm loud, friendly, engaging, all the "typical" signs of an extrovert.

An illustration of this - whenever I take personality quizzes, for example "What My Little Pony Are You?" I always get answers like so:

Pinkie Pie

Thus, it's often shocking to people when they find out that I am introverted. If I do not have significant amount of time in my nest, I turn in to a monster. When I speak in front of people, I get so much adrenaline I cry and my voice shakes. Going places where I do not know anyone zaps all my energy. Meeting famous people, important people, and/or powerful or pretty people turns me in to a babbling idiot and/or crazy person. 

This last point was illustrated in my life a few weeks ago. One of our most important clients was visiting at work, during the negotiations to renew the account. It was stressful for all involved. I was not part of the meeting, but I was very aware of what was on the line. I spent all morning bouncing on my ball (sitting on my ball is often a bad idea, I'm just waiting for them to take it away). 

As I'm bouncing on the ball the client appears over the top of the cubicle, like a jack in the box, to ask directions.

My adrenaline immediately skyrocketed, my bouncing increased, and I start babbling away about various directions, pros, cons, and drawing elaborate air maps with my hand. After this onslaught of information, the client politely said thanks, with the mild look of alarm I often illicit in people in his eyes, and I said "you're welcome," and then I did the one-two finger guns.  

Finger guns.

FINGER GUNS. 

This catastrophe reminded me of previous times I acted a fool.

My freshman year of college was soon after the '04 summer Olympics. If you remember those games, you know who Jeremy Wariner is. He was an amazing runner, broke all kinds of records, always wore his sunglasses and giant diamond earrings, and supposedly had an ego the size of Texas.

I was in love.

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18 year-old me is swooning, 28 year-old me is rolling my eyes

As fate would have it, my freshman year at Baylor was his senior year there. I just knew we were going to meet, fall in love, and have very athletic babies. 

My first week of class I was running late and was hopelessly lost. There was no one around, except one person walking towards me on the path, one very famous person. One very famous person in sunglasses and diamond earrings,..

TO BE CONTINUED

Reading and Mockery are a Few of My Favorite Things

I LOVE reading. Like, I just finished book 9 of 2015. Love it. And I am a very accepting reader. I've even read all of the Twilight books. Twice. In my defense, I read them the first time to see what the hullabaloo was about, and then again because I figured I missed something since there was still said hullabaloo. Sigh.

Despite my ability to read garbage and enjoy it, I have a few pet peeves that  really get my goat.

1. Typos

From my understanding, books have a lot of people touch them. Writer, editors, friends, family, more editors, publishers, advanced readers, etc. So many people, so how do all of these people not realize that there is a sentence that says, "and despite her flowning face..." WHAT. THAT'S NOT EVEN A WORD. YOU HAVE ONE JOB. How are typos even a thing with all of those people reading it? ONE JOB. 

2. Over Description of Outfits

One of the downsides to my willingness to read whatever is put in front of me is that I read some terrible writing. I usually enjoy the story despite said awfulness, but there is one thing I can't stand. I have come to realize that there is a hallmark of bad writing - describing what everyone is wearing. ALL THE TIME. 

I read a book that listed five different colors of pink nail polish. FIVE. "And her Ice Princess Pink nails...." and "she looked at her Fru Fru Magoo Pink nails..." What. Why. I was really starting to get into this ridiculous story and suddenly all I can think about is how often your main character is painting her nails. 

3. Literally

"He was so angry that his eyes were literally on fire." SOMEONE HELP THE DYING MAN! THAT SOUNDS TERRIBLE!! Unless you are Rob Lowe on Parks and Rec, and deliver this line with absolute sincerity, do not use this word. Just don't risk it. It literally always goes wrong.  

4. Decimate

This one irritates me so much because it's been misused to the point that the definition of the word has changed. Decimate means destroy one in ten. Writers LOVE this word. "The war decimated the population.." I mean, 10% loss isn't great, BUT IT'S NOT WHAT YOU MEAN. Devastated. Destroyed. Annihilated. All lovely options. 

5. Hair color

I finally read Gone Girl the other day, and it was really good! BUT as a girl who has dyed my hair a gross amount of times, I had one major pet peeve. The main character dyes her own hair brown (fine, that's a thing) but then dyes her hair right back to blonde. Nope. No no no. Not a thing. Dying brown dyed hair with blonde dye from a box has two outcomes - horrifying or blood curdling. Neon orange. Or green. 

Am I nit picking? Yes. Would her green hair have ruined her whole story? YES. 

What's your biggest pet peeve in reading?

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RAR!! I'm Angry Like a Dinosaur Stuck in a Party Hat

When I write, I do it to help my own process and to entertain, because making people laugh is pretty much the best thing in the whole world.

Today, I don't feel like being funny. You know that feeling you get when your soul feels like it is physically on fire because you are so aggrieved and/or hurt and/or stabby? I have that in spades today. I could give you an outline of all my internal organs because my feelings are so visceral.

As I told Princess Consuela, "I have rage in my soul," and she suggested we name our band that. T-shirts are in the works.

Typically, I would not deal with this online for all the world to see, because it's not nearly as fun to read about gross feelings as it is embarrassing stories. However, the whole point of all this is that I am tired of keeping silent.

I wrote a while back about the idea of shame and how damaging it is (if I remember to, I'll put a link in the comments, but I probably won't). Being a people pleaser, with a very external locus of control, I'm often impacted by shame, real and/or perceived, so it shouldn't be a surprise that I have more to say on the subject.

I'm frequently shamed for who I am. Let's look at the facts - I'm fat, I don't put effort in to my appearance often, I'm loud and opinionated, I'm emotional, I often take up more space than allotted, I wear a sock monkey hat on a regular bases, and the list goes one. I am not dainty, I am not put together, I am not demure, I am not traditionally attractive, I rarely say the right thing, and, boy howdy, does that piss society off.    

"But Anna, we live in a society that is liberated and women are free to be what they want and look how they want. Society is so much more progressive now, you're behind the times, this isn't the 1950s!"

BULL SHIT.

Well, not totally. You are correct it is not the 1950s, I stand corrected. But as to the rest, BULL SHIT.

I am shamed by friends and strangers alike. People often think I can't hear them in places like the grocery store. Friends think what they say doesn't get back to me. A look communicates so loudly you might as well yell.

It's exhausting and makes me heart sick.

And I'm sick of it. For myself and for others like me who aren't even in the same room as society's mold. It's total crap. If your perfect life is so unsettled by who I am that you have to communicate it directly or indirectly, then go away. I'm tired of being the one running. I'm tired of pretending I can't hear or see. And I bet others are too.

I am awesome. I'm gut-laughingly funny, I'm bright, I love fiercely, I have eyebrows to die for, and skin so great people want to make me into a trendy vest.

I am also deeply loved. I have people who are so affirming in my life, it's almost aggressive. But the reason I can't stay silent anymore? Because the negativity people who don't fit in face is so loud, it is so damn hard to hear the positive.

Shaming people doesn't just effect the people who are the direct recipients, but their loved ones. My husband has to deal with the me rejecting compliments about my body because I often hear things like, "oh wow, are you sure you want to take a picture next to her?"

So stop. Just stop. Leave us alone. Leave alone people who are overweight or have bad skin. The people who are socially awkward. The people who love Pokemon way past the appropriate age. Shame is so damaging, and whatever the goal is, it is not achieving any positive outcome. You telling me I'm fat isn't going to  magically inspire me to lose weight.

And you. Yes, you. The person who understands what it is like to hate parts of yourself because society says you should. STOP IT. You are so wonderful. I would much rather hear about your weird obsession with comic books than about the newest trick for applying eyeliner. Unless that's truly your thing, then I want to hear about. Embrace your quirks, your looks, your attitude. You are an inspiration, deal with it.      

Being shamed is awful. But the worst is when it translates into shaming yourself. I've been letting myself be eaten up by shame the last few weeks, for various reasons from various sources. And the tragedy is, it's my fault for letting them win.

So no more. I'm delightful. If that bothers you, I don't care. If it inspires you, wonderful. And if you ever need someone to speak louder than all the shaming bull shit in society, I'm  your girl.