selling papers

I have heard many odd comments and many interesting things, but perhaps none as curious as one I heard today.

In talking about some rather negative stories I've written recently, someone asked me why the paper was publishing these "awful" stories about people. And then the person asked me if it was because we were "trying to sell more papers."

1. This scandal is not like Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinski, people. It's a cover-up at the district level.

2. We've actually LOST subscribers because of the stories, not gained any.

3. It's education. Who is going to buy a paper because the district superintendent is on the cover?

But I digress. I shall continue to hold my head up high and take those daggers-of-death shooting out of people's eyes. You may not like what I'm writing, but I'm writing it anyway (if its worthwhile).

Poppin' my way through the new year

I've signed up for a hip hop dance class for the winter/spring. While I'm super-excited for this class, there are two minor problems:

1. I feel like a fat cow compared to the other 6 women in my class, and given that I'm not all that thick, it's quite depressing and distracting.

2. The ladies all crack jokes about "white girl" dancing and "ghetto booties." You aren't from the ghetto (the nearest one to Fort Collins is at least 60 miles away) and no one thinks its any funnier when throw race into it. So don't.

Fighting boredom elsewhere

After nearly two weeks of working for a day and having the following three off, I am finally ready to settle back into the working schedule. This time, the lack of holiday stories looming over my head will certainly make me much more efficient at my job.

Plus, I am hoping that finally having a working sense of what is expected of me will mean that I will feel less stressed (which I've already been doing since November, with the exception of December). And less stress means I might enjoy life more.

In spite of the impending winter and the usual blues it brings, I am being cautiously optimistic about what might be in store for me. I'm thinking that I will push past these growing pains of becoming an adult and just throw myself into it headfirst. Regardless of the jump, you're bound to land somewhere.

In less depressing news, a conversation with Andi today has led me to believe that I am somehow still emo. I wonder if that's something I can help or not.

Random note: Yesterday I tried to take a run on the treadmill at work. After 2.25 miles and 25 minutes, I felt like I was about to collapse. I couldn't figure out what had happened -- I know I'm not particularly fit but I was capable of keeping a pace for at least 40 minutes when I last jogged in Madrid.

Then it hit me -- I'm back to fighting the altitude. Getting back into running is going to be killer for me, but it gives me something to fight for. Plus, that should alleviate some of the boredom I often feel. If the gym at work is open until midnight, then by george I will be there.

Again, in another unrelated note, I am sitting at a coffee shop in Old Town (downtown Fort Collins) just chillin'. But there's this interview going on in the table directly across from me that has captivated me. The interviewee is a young boy, seemingly teen-aged, and possibly Latino. He looks nervous and a little nerdy. Flanking him on each side are a man and woman, probably between 25 and 30. The boy is wearing jeans and a thick, brown sweater-jacket. The two interviewers are dressed in black and white business attire -- dark slacks, white collared shirts, blazers. I can't figure out what the point of this interview is. College entrance? An odd job interview?? A survey??? The music and general buzz in the shop is too loud to really allow me to eavesdrop, one of my favorite hobbies. So the snippets I do catch are even more awkward than they seemingly would be anyway.

"Why would someone pay for a membership at Sam's Club?"

"It's about the value, right?"

"The checkmarks I'm seeing total up to 60 percent" and something about "a corporation."

Fcuk -- I can't focus because I am so annoyed at the fact that I don't know what these people are talking about. Thus making this the most useless post I've ever written.

"This is the new year...

And I don't feel any different."

I'm still trying to actually write my 10 resolutions for 2010 somewhere (what I call 10 in 2010) so I can see them and stick to them. I don't even know if I have 10 resolutions yet, but I will have them by Sunday. Maybe that can be resolution No. 1?

In any case, I know that one of the bigger resolutions is to start cutting the cord from the folks. Now, this has been done somewhat over the last 5 years, but I've always been plagued with this guilt for having left the nest at the tender age of 18 (about 40 years too soon for my parents). I'm starting to realize that it's my life, and if I don't put a stop to their madness and assert my independence, I will be stuck for who knows how long.

So here is the real resolution No. 1: Spend less time at home.
It's not that I don't love my parents or that I don't like spending time with them, but for the last two months since I've gotten my own place, I have constantly felt this pull between them and myself. I want to have a life of my own, friends I can hang out with on the weekends, get to know the city I'm living in. For better or worse, I'm stuck up there for at least a year and I'm not going to hate it any less if I don't spend time there to find something I like. Besides, the fact that my mother thinks I can't even buy a gallon of milk on my own is beyond ridiculous. I've been without her watchful eye for 5 years -- why is this suddenly a problem?

I'm sure part of it is that she wants to have me close now that she can (and especially since I was gone) but this is beyond ridiculous. If I don't put my foot down, what would stop the regression from getting to the point where she is brushing my hair again? The madness must end.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

It's funny. Last year, I would have given anything to take an extra weekend off from helping 7-year-olds learn how to answer "Can a dog fly?" and fly myself to some exotic, foreign European country. And now, when I have five days to do whatever I want with them, I can't seem to figure out what to do with them.

Five furlough days from work means five days of not working (hooray!) but five less days of pay (boo!). And I'd rather not spend that week doing nothing but sleeping, much like I did over my Christmas vacation last week.

Having taken every chance I had to travel last year, spending a week doing nothing at home seems both boring and a waste of time. Do I need a reality check or a whole new brain?

I need rules

After a chat took place between my roommate and myself today, I discovered that unlike her, I need rules.

I need structure in my life, I need to know what comes next. I need to know what is expected of me and what my purpose is. Which is why it's been frustrating working at a place where there just aren't enough hands to provide some of that structure.

In remembering my 6th grade math teacher, Mr. Wallace (whose parents coincidentally lived next door to me), I remember him telling me to trust myself and stop asking questions. And while I recognize that asking questions is what I do, and what I love to do, I really should go out of my way more and take a few risks. Do some things without asking and just follow my own common sense. I'm bound to make mistakes, but there are safety nets in place and I must learn to trust them, and myself, to keep me from doing really dumb and stupid shit.

On an unrelated note, I have the next four days off! Mini-vacation. What shall I do with my time, besides sleep? Suggestions?

Rocker nutcrackers and a good black tea

I was sticking to my guns as a Colorado-raised gal and refusing to buy a space heater for my ancient, icebox-of-a-home. Today, I caved in.

Given that the high today was 7 degrees, it's safe to say that my purchase of a space heater really was a necessity. My icebox house, surrounded by thick, hanging icicles that can only add to the house's "creepy" vibe, does not have central heating. Instead, there are two large furnaces, one for each side of the room. The living room is completely unheated and the two upstairs rooms, converted into balconies, rely on the law of nature that pushes hot air up. Needless to say, with my door closed, the only thing keeping me from the natural elements is the insulation (if any) between the four oddly-shaped walls in my attic room.

Opting to suck it up and buy a space heater, I travel to Target (the temperature at a smoldering zero degrees). While walking through the aisles, I was struck by one particular Christmas item -- the rock star nutcracker.

Unlike the traditional Russian-military nutcrackers, this one was wearing black leather pants and had a guitar strapped across its little wooden body. To compliment Mr. Rock, the nutcracker next to him was a tough-as-nails punk nutcracker, with pink hair and a mini-skirt. I attempted to take photos of these bad-ass nutcrackers but failed because the memory on my camera phone is full with pictures I took of The Bravery and The Sounds during their shows last month.

I found these nutcrackers amusing, and I hope to return to Target soon to photograph, if not purchase these amazingly useless items.

Now I'm off to write a profile for work before I go to bed. I think my mental sanity is more important than doing an hour's worth of work off the clock.