The Oxford comma

No, this post has no relevance to the story of my life, but it's something I just had to share as a former news editor and now as a book publishing student. I have to get this off my chest. I dipped into this topic when I was writing about my love of graduate school in an earlier post, but by gosh, I think it deserves its own post.

My style is changing, and I don't mean my wardrobe. My writing style. I don't even think I mean that. It's not like I'm going from my semi-snarky style to something super serious. What I do mean is my editorial style is changing.

In the news biz, I was a practitioner of Associated Press style. My journalism profs force-fed me the rules of AP style ... to the point I could recite various rules in my sleep! Now, as I work toward my master's in writing and book publishing, I am learning a whole new world of style rules. My new bible is The Chicago Manual of Style. Tres chic.

This shift in style gives me a bit of anxiety about my blog. Go ahead, say it: How geeky can you be!? I know. I know, but before I would never allow a comma before the "and" in a sequence. Now, I can't get enough of that little comma. It's called "the Oxford comma." For goodness sake, the comma has a name!

I can't be a master if I don't practice the rules, right? Therefore, I'm going to do the ol' swap-a-roo and work on my Chicago style. Yes, my blog is a total mess of different writing styles. I doubt I'll ever go back and change everything. Maybe someday if I ever have that oh so elusive thing called spare time. 

Just a recap for those paying attention ... 

Old style: Waffles, eggs and bacon.
New style: Waffles, eggs, and bacon.

Congratulations! You just read a blog post about my obsessive compulsive grammar disorder. I hope you can say you learned something. Now, who's craving brunch?!

Third time's a charm

When I moved to Austin, I picked up running as a way to stay in shape and meet people. (Perhaps I should first mention when I arrived in Texas, I picked up a few extra pounds due to the introduction of Tex-Mex and barbecue into my diet. Then I realized I needed a hobby!) Running supplemented my newfound friend, "moderation," and helped me set and achieve goals. I never took to running when I was younger, but now I can't image my life without it!

My first marathon was the Austin Marathon with my sister Stefanie (February 2008). We trained via satellite, and it was an awesome experience. We took our time to finish, and I even moved furniture for my new apartment that night. We felt great. We wore shirts in our mom's honor. It was rad. 

Then I ran the Portland Marathon by myself (October 2008). I was not a fan of this marathon. It was rainy, cold, and I went out too fast in the beginning. I hated life after this race. (I did, however, get to keep the space blanket. I always wanted one of those! I felt so official!) 

And then, this past weekend, I ran the Whidbey Island, Washington Marathon (April 2010). 

Whew! This was my third (and perhaps final?) marathon. With my best time yet, I reached my goal of finishing in four hours (my time was 4:00:38!). I was eighth in my age division and the 17th female overall. 

I'd like to thank my best friend and "personal assistant," Emily, as she traveled with me to the island and kept me motivated throughout the run. If not for her and the miracle worker that is GU (gross, I can't believe I actually ate GU), I probably wouldn't have done as well as I did. 

The post-race celebration meal included eggs benedict, champagne, and later, a red velvet cupcake I stowed away in the freezer for a special occasion.

Sylvester's struggle and the irony of car maintenance

I've done my very best to take care of my car, affectionately called "Sylvester Stallone" (preceded by Goldie Hawn and Ron Burgundy). I take it to the shop for scheduled maintenance, never miss an oil change, have my tires rotated, and I try to keep it clean as best I can in rainy Portland.

Why oh why then, does it decide to have a problem virtually no other cars have? Please don't ask me to tell you exactly what it is, but it's something to do with the fuse block. All I know is it's going to cost $600, and because Saturns are no longer on the assembly line, it's going to take 2-4 weeks to "make" the part to fix it! Eek! Oh, and the irony of the situation is that I had my car at the shop to get brand new tires when this problem was "discovered." I've never had a single issue with ol' Sylvie before!

I think the most frustrating part about car issues is the fact that I know nothing about them. I feel incompetent when a maintenance man is speaking to me about my car, and he could be giving me the runaround for all I know. My experiences at auto body shops tend to sound something like this ...

Shop Guy: "Your rotator cuff is leaking exhaust."
Me: "OK. How much will it cost, and how long will it take?"
Shop Guy: "Your firstborn, and how does after the weekend sound?"
Me: "Can I write a check for old time's sake? How do you feel about a layaway plan? Does that grease ever come off your hands?"

Ugggh. I wish I knew more about this stuff! Can I go back to high school and take shop class? Do they even offer that these days?

Sylvester's identical twin, hot off the lot:

Remind me to tell you about my auto shop back in Austin. I found it based on the distance from the location of my breakdown on the freeway one day. After I found out my AAA membership had expired, and I signed up on-the-spot (sitting on the hood of my car on a freeway access road), the tow truck driver just delivered me to this shop. It looked kind of suspect, but the guys turned out to be amazing, and a true gift from God. They took such good care of me, wrote me thank yous, and they called me when I was due for maintenance. They knew I was a poor journalist and sent me gift certificates in the mail. I was on their "frequent customers" plan, too. They even checked out Sylvester for free before I purchased him from the used car (excuse me, pre-owned) lot. That customer service is hard to find these days, and although I am happy to have a car that doens't break down on the freeway anymore (or so I thought?), I miss those guys at Leonard's on South Lamar!

The stages of simplification

The first step is admitting you have a problem.

This is true for many-a-thing, but for me this is in reference to stuff--specifically clothing, papers, newspaper clippings, notes, old bills, handbags, Cougar Athletic-issued gear, books, magazines, old race T-shirts, shoes, and winter accessories.

I need to ... I must ... get rid of this stuff! I thought I did a great job of purging myself of unneeded and completely unnecessary items when I moved from Austin back to Portland, but somehow, over the course of seven months I have managed to accumulate a ton more STUFF. I can't stand it any longer.

As much as it pains me to part with some of my clothes, I am going to do it. I have to. For my sanity. I want to look into my closet and actually see my shirts, slacks and sweaters. I love clothes so very much, but I can't handle the chaos that is my room. Perhaps if I wasn't living at home again I wouldn't notice the mass amount of stuff I have, but since I am, and since I will be moving again in a year, I need to consolidate.

The thought of simplifying my life sounds so sweet. Living a clutter-free life is more than appealing. It's something I want to strive for the rest of my life and pass along to my children. I simply do not need all that I have, and others can benefit from my hand-me-downs and donations.

I have one garbage bag full of clothes, and that is just Round 1. I plan to--as gut-wrenching as it might be for the clothes horse that I am--get rid of even more and as soon as my excessive-stuff-removal is complete, I plan to abide by the following set of guidelines:

1) Purchase items I cannot live without only. If I really, really think I cannot live without a new top or pair of jeans, I must make sure it fits (applying the "if I lose five pounds this will fit" rule can never apply under this new set of guidelines), and I must carry it around the store for a serious duration of time OR place the item on hold and "think about it" for a while before purchasing.

2) Just because it's on sale does not mean I need to buy it.
3) For every one thing I bring in to my closet, I must find a new home for another item (or two!).

4) Read and recycle mail or file it away immediately. For every bill that could be received electronically, I must go paperless.

5) Every time I buy a magazine or a new cooking magazine comes in the mail, I must give myself a two-week window of opportunity for reading. Rip out recipes I want to try and file them in a cooking binder. Recycle old magazines or donate to the library.

This is just a start, but it's something I hope to stick to. I can't stand the clutter any longer. I should post a photo of my overstuffed closet but it's just too embarrassing. No one needs that many shirts, shoes, pants, jackets, skirts, or dresses (even though I am a firm believer one can never have too many dresses)!

Please help me in this endeavor. I need all the encouragement I can get.

Rocky Mountain High

Skiing in Vail, Colorado. Rocky was so pumped because he didn't have to babysit me snowboarding. I chose to ski this time, and I'm not sure I'll ever go back! Although he hit the double black diamonds, and I barely made it to the blues, I am anxious to get back on the slopes. Next time I visit Colorado in the winter, however, I'm not going to forget to bring ski clothes. Thankfully I was able to slap together an outfit for the weekend.

Vail Village after a long day on the slopes

My wonderful, funny, pretty, stylish, thoughful, cheese-loving, wine-drinking friend, Jenny!
The Dallas/Austin/Fort Collins/Denver, group: Mike, Geoff, Matt, Rock, Wes, Will, Brandon, Erica, Chelsea, Jenny, and Lea.
The newly engaged Erica, me, (Will in the background), Jenny, Lea, and Chelsea.
Check out this beach party at Arapaho Basin. People stake out their slots early in the ski season and back in their trucks for a winter tailgate party. Kegs, grills, burgers, and fun for all!

Do the best you can ...

... and leave the rest to God.

I think I first heard these words of advice when I was in high school.

Also in high school, I had a teacher who used to hand out motivational and inspirational phrases including, "Inch by inch, it becomes a cinch!"

Never before this year have I so excessively repeated those lines in my head. I've prayed more than ever, too.

(Disclaimer No. 1: This is a looooong post. I don't blame you if you don't want to read it.)

I'm living such a fast-paced life right now, and I'm pulled in so many directions. I've made it through two terms of grad school and an entire basketball season, not to mention more than half a year of living away from my boyfriend and in my parents' house again. Now, it's time to reflect on the good, the bad, and the ugly. (Don't be scared--there's nothing too ugly!)

First, I must proclaim how much I am enjoying graduate school. Sure, it's demanding, and sometimes I feel I'm in way over my head, but I am learning entirely more than I thought I would. I know more about business, management, and marketing--well, maybe I shouldn't say "I know more," because the truth of the matter is, I don't think I knew anything about these things before beginning my program.

I am learning that everything I studied, memorized, and applied stylistically as a journalist and editor for the news is completely wrong. No, no, I shouldn't say that either. That's a lie. But, I will tell you I am embracing the Chicago Manual of Style (which is used for books, not news). I have gone two terms without taking an editing class, and it's killing me. It just hasn't fit in my schedule. I try not to act so jealous or overly interested in my classmates who are already taking Advanced Editing, but I totally am! I can't wait to have discussions about comma placement and capitalization. For example, did you know in the Chicago style you do, in fact, place a comma before "and" in a sequential statement?! Crazy, I know. It goes against everything I was taught in journalism school. But hey, it's OK! I've purchased the massive style guide, and I have my highlighter ready for this next term. Look out: Nerd alert on the horizon.

I'll have you know, I made it through an Online Marketing class in which I was required to blog twice weekly. Aren't you proud? Unfortunately the topic matter was marketing and not celebrity sightings or cake baking, but I learned a ton in that class, too. I learned I shouldn't be such a slacker if I want people to actually check my blog more than once every six months. I listened to motivating and inspiring guest speakers who embrace the whole online thing. I'm hoping to carry that motivation (and lack of required blog postings) into an increased outpouring of blog posts on this blog.

***I must add a second little disclaimer at this point: I never intended for people to actually read my blog. I started it so that I would have a little scrapbook of funny and memorable things that happen in my life. But, as more and more blogs-gone-movies pop up, maybe, just maybe, people might want to read what's going on with me. I don't really think so, but some of my friends do (specifically, my friend Katie). Katie, you're my inspiration for my new dedication to this blog. You introduced me to the Pioneer Woman, my soul sister mom-blogger. If people want to read about one woman's transformation from city girl to ranching housewife, well then, it can be done, right? Please remind me to blog, OK?

Wow. Talk about a tangent. Here I was typing about my lessons learned as a graduate student, assistant coach and living-at-home-again daughter, and now I've just written my Academy Award acceptance speech.

Back to the topic at hand.

I believe I was wrapping up my love of graduate school. In summary: Although it's difficult, I enjoy it. This is the exact sentiment I have for coaching. Except I'm going to bump up the difficulty factor to the tenth degree. I think--scratch that--I KNOW coaching is one of the most challenging tasks I've undertaken. Oh and everyone seems to have their own opinions when I say this. People seem to think just because I was a player, I should be a good coach. Just because I enjoy working with people, that I should be able to teach. Just because I went through a rough couple of hoops seasons, I should be able to inspire and relate to the girls on the team. If only it was that easy, folks.

I find myself pretty lost when we're diagramming plays or discussing offenses and defenses. The other coaches are wonderful mentors, but I've been told (and completely agree) it takes several years to actually understand just what's going on (that is, unless you're totally gifted in all things basketball).

Toward the end of the season, I realized that when I got on the court and played with the girls, I was able to see the game from a different perspective (the one I was accustomed to) and was able to teach in ways I wasn't able to from the sidelines. I'm hoping to continue to play and coach from this standpoint as I think it's the most effective.

My team definitely proved to be an inspiration for me. Picked as the pre-season conference champions, they (we?) ended up having a somewhat disappointing second half of the season. We headed into the conference tournament with nothing to lose, needing to win three games in three days to advance to the NCAA tournament (one of our main goals at the beginning of the season). I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a pessimistic attitude at this point, but the girls surprised everyone--including themselves--by winning the tournament and going to the NCAA tournament first round. What an experience! The most important lesson and memory I'll take from this season is that the old adage is true: Will above skill. If you want it bad enough, and if you believe, all things are possible.

I'm not going to dive into the details of the stress and strain of the administrative duties of my job as a coach. Let's just say I felt as though I was wearing one too many hats. Yet, at the conclusion of the season, everything got done, and I know my experiences will help ease the process next season.

As I try to wrap up this blog post, I'll just briefly mention that living at home isn't as bad as I anticipated. I am enjoying my time with my parents (for the most part). Sure, I miss coming home to an empty apartment, having space, privacy, and my own kitchen to cook in, but I do love and appreciate the home-cooked meals, conversations, and laundry service that come with my temporary residence with Ma and Pa. (See? Not too ugly indeed!)

Lastly, I miss my Austin friends and (of course!) my boyfriend. I think these relationships, however, are being strengthened with distance. The time has just flooooown by, and if it continues at this pace, we'll be back together before we know it! Rocky is enjoying his job, and it's keeping him plenty busy. He loves his new location, and as much as it saddens me to know he won't be going back to Austin, I'll be ready for a new adventure come June next year.

Right now, I'm on Spring Break in Colorado visiting said cowboy. I haven't had a true day off since October, so let me tell you, it feels good. We're about to embark on a trip to the mountain for my second attempt at snowboarding. The first left me sore and frustrated. Stay tuned for the next report.

The VIP treatment

Yes, I know my blog is full of unfinished posts and thoughts, and my new blogs aren't much better, but it's time for me to get it together!

The other day, I wrote down a couple experiences I never mentioned in The Story of My Life.

Let me rewind to August, 2009. Rocky and I went with a group of friends to a Randy Rogers Band concert at Nutty Brown Cafe. Hands down, this is one of my favorite bands and also one of my favorite places to see a show in Austin.

We went to the concert with a mixed group of friends after a long, hot day of boating on Lake Austin. Sunburned and burned out, we rallied to see RRB. We traveled in different cars and ended up losing some of the friends in our group as it was PACKED outside the amphitheater. I'd never seen it like that before. (Later, we would learn it was the most people ever at Nutty Brown for a show.)

We were standing in what seemed like a 50-yard-long line of people waiting to enter. Although I bought our tickets online, we had to pick them up at will call. This mass of people was the will call line. Ugggh. All we wanted to do was get in, grab a beer, and check out the band.

We could see inside, and the lines at the bar were equally out of control. I was beginning to wish we would have either arrived earlier or headed back home once we saw the overflowing parking lot (more on this later). As we stood there in the back of the line, trying to spot our friends at various points in the other lines, I noticed a couple (probably in their late 30s or early 40s) kind of wandering around. I smiled at them, and they walked right up to me.

"Excuse me, we were wondering if you two would like to sit with us in the VIP section of the show. You see, we bought a table and our two friends were unable to make it."

Hmm. Let me think. Fifty-yard-long line ... jam-packed, standing room only crowd ... pushy people OR the alternative: joining these strangers at their private table in the VIP section, complete with table, chairs AND a personal waiter!?!

Before I said yes, I stopped and thought about how I'd feel if I were one of our other friends. We did come with a big group of people. It's not like we came with just one other person and would be leaving her/him in the dust. I imagined how I'd feel if two of our friends were hand-selected to sit in the VIP section. Well, I'd be jealous as all get-out, but I would be thrilled for them. How cool, right? So, we said yes and we joined our new friends and waiter for the show.

After we made our way through the crowd of sweaty cowboy boot-wearing Texas country music fans, we chit-chatted with our sponsors. I mentioned how it was a struggle just making it out of the parking lot and to the line we were standing in. You see, the lots at these outdoor concert venues are big, empty fields. There was no one directing traffic that night, and naturally it became a free-for-all. People were parking any- and everywhere they could.

I spotted a fantastic place for Rocky to park his big truck. I got out and said, "Yes! Park here!" Little did I know the reason no one had taken my perfect parking spot was because it was a pile of sinking dirt. Rocky pulled in and his two-wheel drive truck sank right on down. After 15 minutes of back-and-forth, he was finally able to get it out of the mud. Many, many people walked by and gave me the, "Oh. Yeah. He shouldn't have parked there" looks.

I was panicking. But, in true Rocky fashion, he was cool as a cucumber and didn't express any worry. I'm pretty sure he was ready for a beer, however, and I told him I'd drive home since I was the one who got us in that mess to begin with. Annnnnyway, our new friends said they had seen us struggling with the truck. They didn't know that was us when they randomly chose us to sit with them. The lady said they chose us because we were at the very back of the looooong line, and she liked my dress-boots combo (of course I liked this response!).

We had a great time living the VIP lifestyle that stifling hot August night. It's an Austin memory I'll never forget.

Happily sitting down ...
While everyone else was packed into the amphitheater!