No more visitors, thanks.

Let's talk about insects for a moment. Now, I consider myself a pretty rational person. Even when upset, I can usually see two sides of a story. I can even comprehend how someone could have voted for McCain in the last election (although, under no circumstances can I wrap my head around why anyone could have been gung-ho for Palin).

Still, my rational responses come to a screeching halt at the sight of an insect. Maybe I don't hop on furniture, but spotting one sends me screeching and running towards the nearest exit. Cockroaches, as it turns out, scare me the most.

A few days ago, I met Mildred. Here I was, innocently enjoying my Tuesday evening, lounging on my couch eating sushi and watching Arrested Development for the billionth time (I literally heard my DVD sigh as I put the disc in). Mildred interrupted tranquility and scuttled toward the TV, causing me to absolutely panic. PANIC. IRRATIONAL, UNINTENTIONAL PANIC.

I think I named her to help diffuse the fear. Oh, Mildred- lost again, are we? You belong outdoors! That Mildred - always getting into shenanigans. The desensitization process, however, didn't work. It still ended with the same result: me making ill attempts to end things, growing discouraged, and heading to bed early to let Mildred have her space. Now I consider myself a pretty feminist-minded being, but I would give anything to have someone else deal (read: male) with my unwanted house guest.

Tonight, I finally brought out the big guns. Perhaps it's too preemptive to claim Raid my Joie de Vivre, but I need it (and the extra bait I bought) to work so badly, that I'm hoping this entry will put the positive/lethal vibes out in the universe and will it so.

Rest in Peace, Mildred... please?

My personal motto.

"All my mistakes have become masterpieces."
-Teitur

(photo by LinusVanPelt)

Birthday reflections.

As a child, I would almost hyperventilate over an upcoming birthday. Whether it was a McDonald's let's stack styrofoam burger boxes up real high for a game! theme or it was a pre-teen slumber party watching Edward Scissorhands (which was TOTALLY PG-13 and ohmygod, don't tell your Dad!!!), I lived for my birthdays.

I turned twenty-six today. This morning I walked into my office and sat down in front of my computer and I worked 8 hours. I talked to students about majors and careers, I prepared for some upcoming presentations, and then I logged off my computer and caught the bus home. There were no ball pits or Totally Hair Barbies wrapped in comic book paper. It felt like every other day.

Then I got home and checked my email and voicemail. I was flooded with messages from friends and family wishing me a happy birthday, letting me know that they miss me, that they hope I'm doing well in Texas. Then a co-worker picked me up and took me out to a nice dinner. We drank wine and talked about the importance of friendship. We shared stories about beginnings of relationships and our favorite "how we met" anecdotes that people begin to collect over the years like tea cups or baseball cards. I was struck by such a strong feeling of contentment, it caught me completely off guard.

At some point without even realizing when, the importance of birthdays have shifted from pomp and circumstance to reflection and humility. The people that make up my everyday are my joie de vivre. They create the stories worth telling. They help me celebrate who I am and help me aspire towards what I want to become. To me, that's a damn fine birthday present.

A joyful start

This morning I woke up and groaned. I'm becoming bitter towards the cheerful bells my phone's alarm clock blurts out at me at 6:20 every morning. As I was still lying in bed, full of pillow marks and dreams of 2 more hours of sleep, I thought I'd change focus. Practice an attitude of gratitude. So, with that in mind, this morning I'm feeling particularly joyful about...

• My upcoming cup of coffee, given to me for FREE by my favorite UT baristas
  
• Listening to Passion Pit a little too loud this morning to get the mojo working
  
• Thursdays, because they eventually lead to Fridays and weekends are just downright joyful
  
• The progressive, student-centered workplace I found myself at
  
• Long and winding phone calls with friends which center me and keep me upbeat
  
• My upcoming kitchen challenge tonight - making homemade falafels

What are you joyful about this morning?

Joie de video

An awkward movie experience.

Please repeat after me...
There is nothing

uncool...

about...

3D movies.

In addition, there is also nothing uncool about a blogger's bathroom photo shoot of her ginormous 3-D glasses which were just too cool to leave behind.

Until this afternoon, I had never seen a 3D movie before. I've seen, well, movies which featured its characters at the theatres with their flimsy red and green glasses. I watched them dart back and forth, spilling popcorn and other such things as to indicate their experience with the third dimension, but I didn't think real people actually attended them.

Earlier this week, a co-worker of mine invited me to see a 3D movie with him about guinea pig superheros. Normally my inner adult would keep me from seeing a film centered around animated rodents, but the fact that it was actually in 3D peaked my interest enough to agree.

In a move so utterly Laura it should be studied, I wound up at the wrong theatre and had to see the film by myself. On a related note, thank you, City of Austin, for having five cinemas with the same name. Cheers.

As I walked into the dark theatre alone, I had to own up to what I was doing. I didn't have the excuse of, "Oh, you know, we just went for a laugh. A kick in the pants, really." I watched all the young children and their parents file into the theatre and began to feel slightly uncomfortable that I didn't have an appropriately aged child sitting next to me. I'm not a creep, I swear! Once the room darkened and I figured no one was really watching me anyway, I spent the previews trying to balance my normal glasses and my 3D glasses on the bridge of my nose. Tricky. Suddenly the movie started and there I was, having animated paraphernalia whizzing past me left and right. It was... awesome.

In summation, the movie was crap but 3D is rad. The glasses alone gave me a great deal of blissful Sunday afternoon joy.

joie de photo

(via papertissue)

Everything I know I learned from Girl Scouts.

When I was in Girl Scouts we used to sing a song about how friends were flowers in the garden of life. I can almost picture singing this song with my fellow Brownies, clutching each others' hands as we belted out the lyrics in a semi-circle. Girl Scouts felt incredibly important in grade school - maybe it was the sash - but I took it all to heart. Maybe that's why, 20 years later, girl scout songs are still belted out in my shower on a semi-regular basis.

I have fabulous friends who despite distance and time I still keep in close contact. Even those I don't speak to regularly are still held on my mantel shelf of awesome. I am incredibly proud of the people I choose to keep around me. And it sucks - incredibly - to be far away from all of them right now. I only hope that the new friends I make will be half as good as the ones I already have.

I checked my google reader today only to find this online shoutout on one of my favorite blogs, thanks to Lizzie. Who doesn't love a little online love, now and then? Despite the Austin heat, I still appreciate the warm fuzzies. And speaking of warm fuzzies...

Friends are like flowers, beautiful flowers

Friends are like flowers in the garden of life.

Are you a Daisy? Are you a Rose? Are you a Dandilion?

You can be what you are and I willl be what I am

We can be friends in the garden of life.

Are you gagging yet? Pish posh, get over it - a little joie never hurt nobody.

good day, sunshine!

I know many would disagree, but one of my favorite times of day is morning when the sun is rising and peeking through your window - mother nature's own alarm clock without all the annoying beeps or traffic reports.

However, I can also appreciate those weekend mornings when the sun streams through your window and you can open one eye, appreciate its beauty, and promptly fall right back to sleep.

One of the major drawbacks of my current digs is a lack of direct morning light, something I grew to love about my apartment in Missouri. Now I've learned to angle my bedroom door just the right way to get a steady stream of light in from the living room come morning. Morning sunlight has become important to me over the years. It's those few stolen moments you can enjoy before dragging yourself into the shower and head off to work. It's all very joie de vivrey.

don't panic.

This blog has been a little quiet lately. For the past couple of weeks, I've been packing up my life and all of its belongings, heading to a new city where no one knows my name. I can obviously recognize the adventure of it all: a new beginning, new surprises at every turn, and everything yet to be discovered. Still, despite all of the excitement, it's difficult and lonesome, too. It's easy to let joy take a back seat when you can't find the nearest grocery store and turning the wrong way onto a street can send you into a spiral of tears.

I've never been any good at bottling up my emotions. If I feel sad, I will be sad, period. I've never figured out how to contain my feelings, and as the years pass, I realize I wouldn't want to even if I could. Being so transparent has its drawbacks, sure, but my tears signal that I need to call someone on the phone. Feeling nervous reminds me to put things into perspective. A clenched fist tells me to take a deep breath.

Today's joie de vivre is when you finally learn not be so hard on yourself. Feel things, experience them fully, and then keep going. You're doing great - and so am I.

Joie de photo.

(via birdwillbirdwont)

Warm Fuzzies

Furrowed brows.

Recently I made a quick visit back to my hometown in Wisconsin. The trip was fabulous - full of cheese runs, visits with friends and family, and lazy afternoons. Because moving is expensive and I'm not exactly flush, I thought I would get my haircut while I was home - and at the last minute, sprung for an eyebrow wax. I patted myself on the back for being so clever - saving twenty dollars? Done!

This... as it turns out, was a bit of a mistake. I walked into the perm-drenched salon and was greeted by a woman with wildly blond hairsprayed hair . Her eyebrows were penciled in, and her makeup screamed, "HELLO! WOULD YOU LIKE A JELLO SHOT?" I think her name was Tiffany. Trying to not be judgmental (hey, we all have our own looks, right?), I proceeded to the chair.

To make a long story short, I went into the salon with eyebrows and left looking like a surprised hooker. Afterwards, Tiffany handed me the mirror and I audibly gasped. "Oh my god... they're really THIN!" I think I managed to say. Tiffany looked crestfallen. "You don't like them?" I looked at her face, and then I looked again at mine. "Um... well, uh, oh they're just... thinner than they've ever been. Ever. Uh... oh my god."

I was then escorted to the chair for my haircut where I gripped the armrests. I considered faking an illness to avoid the cut entirely. What was going to happen to my hair? I not-so-casually kept saying to Tiffany things like "Oh, you know, just a tiny, tiny trim. Just follow the layers already there. Just... oh, I just need BARELY a cut." I think Tiffany caught my drift because once she started, we both sat in silence, with her looking overly concentrated for a 20 dollar cut and me fearing the absolute worst.

The cut ended up being fine - and the eyebrows, well, I've only burst into tears twice because of them. When I got back to Missouri, people didn't seem to notice them unless I pointed them out. I gradually began to forget all about my hooker brows, unless I spend too much time in front of a mirror. And, thanks to my German and Italian roots, they're already beginning to grow back.

Today's joie de vivre is that most things aren't permanent. Things will come back, grow back, get back to normal. Homeostasis is inevitable. So, yes, I have an awkward period of growth ahead of me - with my eyebrows, with my new job, with making new friends. But things level out; they always do.

So in the meantime, I'll just try to be patient. And try not to look in the mirror too much.

Joie de Photo

joie de vivre: Atticus Finch.

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.

I'm not the type of person who handles change with any amount of aplomb. When it comes knocking at my door, I don't eagerly shake Change's hand and offer him a spot of tea. Some people welcome Change - I try my best to duck and avoid him.

I own a lot of shitty furniture. A 30 dollar couch I acquired two years ago which had been attacked my its previous owner's kitty, my parents 1970's kitchen table, a rubbermaid-drawer-turned-bedside table. Most people would shed these pieces without a sniff, and yet the idea of starting over in a new city AND starting over with new furniture is too much for me. Forget it! I know my limits.

I'm about to encounter a lot of change - change I'm excited about and ready for, but change nonetheless. I am leaving with no partner in crime, no friend waiting for my arrival. This northern fish is going to be swimming in a southern sea. I've taken to muttering mantras to myself in odd places to help me calm down about all of this - in the shower, in the car, when I'm waiting in line for my dry cleaning - I am capable of change. This will not always suck. I am moving to a city which serves a lot of guacamole.

I think people, in general, tend to be too hard on themselves. And I am not going to hard on myself for being a total basketcase these past few weeks. We all go a little crazy now and then, after all. Then we turn a corner, and poof, we return to normalcy. Today's joie de vivre is the people who hold your hand in times of change. The ones who listen to you, despite you being a one-note pony. The friends who offer to come with you to Austin to help you unload the van and welcome you to the city. The family who accepts your endless phone calls about moving options.

I do not seek out change, this is true. I would rather drag a sub par couch on a 13-hour trek than have to find a new one. But I'm proud to say that when change comes my way, I arm myself with loved ones to help cushion the blow. So thanks, friends, for producing some mighty fine padding. It does not go unnoticed.