My Mustache and Willies

I do support the troops and all, I just get the willies every time
I get pulled over. The willies are those really awful chilly feelings you
get when you are trouble. The exchange is just awkward to me.
Parent/child relationship feel.

I had a terrible, no good, very awful day yesterday.

I was coming out from an appointment when one of my
client's mother called me; I'm an awesome listener and I may
not have been paying attention as great as I should have. I may
have pulled out a little close in front of a vehicle. It wasn't that awful
though. Really. But I do realize that I am distracted and
pull into the nearest store parking lot to finish my call.

I am a good citizen for pulling over right?

Naturally, I was surprised when I get out of my car to grab
something from the trunk and a very menacing police officer is
leaning up against my car. Whoa!! Where'd you come from?!

"Do you know what you did?" he said.

"Uh... you mean pulling out in front of that car out there? I didn't
see him, sir. I am truly sorry."

He looked really mean. It was making me nervous.
"Do you know why you did that? That is called reckless driving."

"I really didn't see him sir until I was already out in the lane..."

"You know why?" he interrupts. "Because you were on that thing,"
pointing at my offending cell phone sitting on the seat.

Man, this is going to make my mom so happy. She is always telling
me to get off my phone when I drive because I'm too distracted.
I realize denial is never going to work. I pull out the big guns: sympathy.

"Yes, sir. You are right. May I tell you why I was so distracted?"
He looked really mean. Did I mention that?

Silence.

"Can I?"

More glaring. And then a slight nod.

"Well sir, I am a PSR Worker and that happened to be a call from
one of the client with not the greatest news. I really didn't see that other
car. I realized I was far too distracted, thus while I pulled into this lot
to finish the call. I am usually quite a responsible driver."

(PSR Worker and police have to work together occasionally. I had
a friend who got out of a $80 ticket because she was able to convince
them that her driving record was really important to keep clean to be
able to transport clients. Handy knowledge in times like this.)

He asks me lots of questions: who do I work for, where was I headed, ect.
He takes my license and registration and tells me to go sit down while he
does his little laptop thing in the car. I am biting my nails. I got a ticket
not two months ago will that effect how awesome I look as a responsible
PSR/citizen?
He walks back I give him my "sorry-I-am-such-an-idiot-and-this-will-never-
happen-again" look. He tells me that I really need to watch my driving
because I have two citations from 2010. I want to tell him that that was
soooo last year; I am a reformed woman! But I don't.

A not so bad interaction and I got away with nothing but a nose bleed.
No seriously my nose started bleeding a few minutes later.

Life could have gotten a lot better, but it didn't.
I went and picked up one of my kids. A six year old who is learning
English. I am talking with him about meditation (right what six year old
is going to use meditation?) when he starts pointing and laughing at my face.
All my insecurities come out.
Did I write on myself with pen?
Do I have a big zit that needs popping?
Is my nose really that ugly?
What did I eat for lunch?

He blurts out,"You have a mustache!"
I hurry and turn around to see who of my co-workers heard.
I'm dying in my seat. I try to hurry and talk to him about making fun
of people but he is just laughing too hard. So I do the only logical thing:

I put him in time-out.
(He deserved it. He was being mean to me.)

Then run to the bathroom to check out this mustache.

Truth: I use Nair.
And we are close that I can tell you that.
I hadn't used it in a while, but honestly it wasn't that bad. No black hairs,
just a little long around the edges of my mouth.

We had a good long discussion about making fun of people.

Mister says he doesn't see the stache. But he is too sweet so
honestly can't be trusted.

Confession

I will never lose weight for one reason:

I come home at 11 or 12 every night and

proceed to eat three bowls of Cocoa Krispies.
And I love it.

A Happiness Project

"There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy."
~Robert Stevenson

{photo by Jaya Photography}

I'd always thought that someday I'd grow up.
I'd would do all the things that someday I said I would do.

I'd remember people's birthdays without being reminded
by my mom or facebook. And in so doing I'd sent them cute
little homemade cards in the mail. I figured that I'd get out
of bed in the morning with enough time to do my hair and
take a shower without having to chose between the two.

I'd be an expert photographer, and use Photoshop
like a pro. I'd start eating less crap and taking care of my body.
I'd be a granola-type person and run barefoot
during the summer and understand my body enough to know
what it needed.

I'd spent more time with friends and less with myself.
I'd read the classic and be cultured enough to talk about politics
and offer logical explanations in philosophical discussions.

I'd be more fashionable, but still comfortable enough with my
body to wear jeans and a t-shirt without always having
to adjust to hide certain undesirable parts.

I'd draw and have time to relax. I'd do art for the simple
joy of doing it. I wouldn't watch TV while I ate.
I'd use my running shoes.

I'd keep in touch with old friends.
I'd find a niche just for me with enough challenge to keep
me excited and motivated.
I'd stop wishing to be someone else.

And of course with all of this, I exhibit a contradictory nature:
I want to take myself more seriously yet accept myself for what
and who I am and was.
I want to make myself someone who I'd admire, yet love myself now.
I wanted to have structure with my time, yet be able to be flexible, free,
and able to engage in any pursue that fancies me.
I want to not worry about the future, yet hold on to my ambitions and drive.

Once I lose those extra ten pounds, or get a better job, or find the right
guy, I'd be the person I want to be and I'd be happy. Or so I thought.

BUT....
I'm not sure it works that way and all the little wishes and goals
boil down to one. My ultimate goal has always been
happiness.

Then I remembered I started this blog. This crazy, lonely blog
that was suppose to record my own little journey from being
the sad, hate-myself-and-my-current-situation person I turned
into after my divorce into someone who was actively engaged in
creating a life worth living.

So, I welcome myself back. Hello Kendra.
And hello to you!

Pst....

Um.... I want to be straight with you and talk about a very

embarrassing problem.
Be nice.

I won't be offended if you want to skip reading
this one. If you have a weak stomach and all.

I sweat. Yep, I am a sweater.
Tacos... I make them all day.
Some big. Some small. But they are there.
Nasty little buggers.

I can't just go to my closet and pick something out.
I have to think about the weather and how my pits are
going to react with the material. I can't wear somethings.
(Maybe shouldn't is a better word, because I still wear them.
Like the purple shirt I wore two days ago for my university evaluation,
(which I should have known better: I sweat when I get nervous.)
I ended going home at lunch wearing my coat to cover myself.
I changed into a sweater. Sweaters are usually thick enough.)

I have a box of deodorants that I've tried.
(probably a year or twos worth)
Clinical Protection. Good smelling ones. The hard stuff.
You name one, I've tried it I am sure.

And I've give up.
My brand right now is Woman's Degree Clinical Protection
Classic Romance.
I still sweat, but I don't stink as bad.

Friends make secrets.
They usually keep them too.
:)

Look in my Room, I Invite You

It is time for another DIY!!!

How I love apartment living. Definitely something everyone
should try at least once. You get to leave a lot of crap at mom and dad's
and get the humbling experience of shoving lots of items into a small place,
become an expert at make the tiniest holes useful,
dealing with other attendant habits (like smoking in the hall),
mysterious noises and smells,
strange stains on the walls and carpet, trying to find all the last renters
nail holes so you don't have to fill more in when you leave,
and the fact that the smallest of messes will take over the whole room
are all attributes that contribute to the wonderful opportunity of
living in an apartment.

When I was at college my favorite was looking
through the windows of other apartments. I was really trying
hard not to be freaky, but I was just so curious how they decorated,
who was there, and... they did leave their window open (it wasn't my fault.)
But this time I live
on the top floor and my window is high.
So... in the spirit of apartment living I give you my little
hole in the wall (known in other terms as my bedroom.)
It is little but cozy for me.
(Who can find Van Gogh?)

And I want to tell you about this little piece:
(It is hanging to the right in my room picture.)

Easy as pie to make (I don't know why they
say pie is easy to make because it really isn't.)
I had an extra canvas lying around so I cut out different
strips of scrapbook paper and simply Modge Podge them to my
canvas. It was so much fun. I think this idea would be great
with a large canvas and use it for a headboard.
Good luck. If you do it, let me know.

{click on tutorial on the sidebar to look at my other ideas}

I am.

I put a girl in detention today. It was awful.
I hope I never have to do that again. I was really struggling
to not get in a power struggle with her. I failed a bit.
Teaching is a tough thing.
But really rewarding as well.
I hope that I can relax eventually. I get really nervous
my first hour class (the poor guinea pigs) and by the
second have a better grasp of things.

I am: finding my weaknesses and strengths daily.

I think: nutella comes from heaven.

I have: some of the greatest friends and family and
a really sweet Van Gogh doll. (Just mentioned it for you, Tara.)

I know: I am a child of God.

I miss: college life.

I feel: a bit chubby; I just ate half a pizza by myself.

I wish: things made more sense at night.

I hate: public nose-pickers and doing laundry.

I fear: failure and being alone.

I care: far too much what others think of me.

I lose: my cellphone all the time, and keys.

I search: for redheads everywhere I go. I don't know
why, I just like red hair.

I love: new socks, clean bathrooms, and cuddly babies.

I am inspired: by this picture.

{image}
I always: layer my clothing. I don't ever go anywhere with
just one shirt on.

I never: use salt and pepper on my food.

I write: because I love meeting new people and telling
my stories.

I win: at the card game Speed.

I listen: to Josh Groban. I had a dream last night where we kissed.
It was pretty sweet.

I never: drink enough water.

I usually can be found: with all the paper, pencils, and other
various art supplies.

I'm scared: of losing my teeth.

I don't always: think I do things right.

I dance: when I am doing the dishes.

I need: a hug often.