I'm an ENFP.  That's my Myers-Briggs personality type.  It stands for "Extroversion, I[n]tuition, Feeling, and Perception."  If you want, you can read a little more about that type here, here, and here.  (HEY!  Does listing three sites where you can learn about my extremely extroverted type confirm that I'm extroverted or simply narcissistic?  Hmmmm.  Moving on, then.)

So anytime I've taken this test, I score somewhere in the close range of 85% to the "E" for extroversion.  The means I'm almost as far away from being an introvert as possible -- an ultra-extrovert, perhaps.  But does being an extrovert mean I just like being around other people?  No, not just that.  It also means I gain energy from being around other people...and mental stimulation from the activities going on around me.  As an extrovert, I can become bored (and sort of "fade") by myself and I actually think better when talking.  So it's a big deal...not just a personal preference.

Now...lately I've been seeing this image all over Pinterest.  It makes some very good points about successfully "caring for" introverts.  I wondered if there was an equally helpful and succinct set of hints for caring for the extroverts around us.  That's when I came across this really cool blog entry on the subject at DailyHuff.com.  (Their points are bulleted below.  My thoughts are in italics.)

And this is what it said:

• Respect their need to share, to ‘talk it out.’ They get their energy from other people.

Yeah, I don't know what it is, exactly, about talking it out -- but it can make all the difference with processing something and moving on, making a decision, or finding a solution.  Trying to do these things silently feels unnatural, clunky like trying to drive on a square tire.

• Just as with introverts, never embarrass them in public. If you do embarrass them in public, go along as much as is reasonable if they play it off like a joke.

I feel like it's a pretty good rule to try and never embarrass anyone in public.  But, sure, someone often more gregarious like an extrovert may be more likely to try and play off such an event.

• Don’t be surprised if they dive into a new situation headfirst. Don’t freak out either if they flounder a little. They’ll find their way.

I LOVE this point.  I sometimes feel like people see me as an idiot jumping into projects or situations and, just like it says, floundering a little.  It's good to know that somewhere, someone recognizes that I eventually find my way...'cause those introverts around sure as hell ain't sayin' it!!  And those extrov... Hey.  Where'd they go?

• Extroverts blurt. It’s the nature of the beast. Most try to leaven it with charm, but try to be patient when they don't.

Sighhhh.  Yeah.  I can sometimes blurt.  Sometimes I wish I'd just shut the hell up.  But most times I'm glad I say what's on my mind (because, aside from charm, I also leaven it with kindness and goodwill).  If I can say what's on my mind consistently, then not only am I fostering honest communication, but also forging stronger, more trusting relationships. But this also brings to mind a hilarious quote from Lamb, The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal (by Christopher Moore).  It goes like this: "You can't just go around blurting out the truth like a prophet with Tourette's Syndome."  Heh.

• Expect interruptions that may seem rude, to some. Most of the time, they mean well.

Ehhhh, "expect"?  I don't totally agree.  You might find this with some extroverts.  And it's not rudeness as much as excitability and the desire to communicate.  I've trained myself to not interrupt, though, and, if I accidentally do, I stop, apologize, and ask the other person to continue.

• Build surprise into your lives together. Most extroverts love the thrill of not knowing what’s up - as long as it’s positive. 

Ohhhh, I loooove spontaneity!  I could pack a bag and be ready to go on a weekend trip on 15 minutes' notice...and the spontaneity of it would make me giddy.

• Be prepared for what looks like ADD. The organically outgoing among us feed off the environment around them. They are often the best multi-taskers around, so understand that they are often paying much more attention to you than you think they are. 

EXACTLY!  You should SEE my desk.  And, yeah, I'm often paying more attention than you th SQUIRREL!!!

• A flashover temper goes with the extroverted personality. The bad thing is it can look like a much more severe storm than it is. The good thing is it’s over quickly.

I suppose I can see myself a little in this.  If I get really mad, I'm more likely than not to let it out, get it over with, get over it, and move on (all in quick order).  There's something about expressing anger or frustration that causes it to lose its power over me...its negative influence.  And I don't think if we get mad at each other, there's something inherently wrong.  It just...happens.  All that being said, if a flashover temper means the extrovert is likely to say things they don't mean or they'll regret, I hope at least I've grown enough to not do so.  I hope so and I think so.  Regardless of our personality, eventually we have to take responsibility for our actions, you know?  Besides, I don't get mad that often.

• Many extroverts live for the intuitive leap. They reach for it. If teaching an extrovert something new, have patience with them jumping ahead of you.

YES!!!  And as a "doing learner" instead of a "listening" or visual learner, it's common for me to jump in there and get ahead of what the person was going to say (even if maybe I'm wrong...see above re: floundering).  It doesn't really matter.  I won't get it really, until I jump in there and try it out.  And, yeah, there's something really exciting about "getting it" and seeing where something is going.  It's like that "AHA!!!" moment.  Maybe it makes you feel like you've connected with the universe...or makes me feel that way.

• They will always have lots of friends. But most extroverts have a core of best friends, and their loyalty can be fierce and aggressive if they feel the need to defend those friends. As with so many aspects of the extroverted personality, you may have to be patient with this.

When I first read this, I couldn't see what there was to have to be patient with.  I had to read it again to see the words "fierce" and "aggressive" for how they were meant to read...like "too much" maybe.  So I suppose this one would be true of me, for sure.  If you came at my friend -- my good friend -- I suppose I would defend that person with more ferocity than I would defend even myself.  Where does that come from?  Well...I'm not sure.  But I don't think it's going away.  It feels as natural as defending one of my children.

• They love compliments, but can usually see right through insincere flattery. Well-timed encouragement, though, can help an extrovert soar.

YES...and absolutely.  It feels so good to receive a sincere compliment...and so flatly annoying to be "complimented" insincerely.  Actually, when someone pays me an insincere compliment, I feel almost embarrassed for them.  I suppose my perception is that it's as obvious to anyone and/or everyone present that the person is being so transparently patronizing (including the patronizer).  Depending on the situation, though, I either play it off gracefully (like if I feel the person is just uncomfortable or is trained to be overly polite) or make little attempt to hide my ambivalence (like if I feel the person is just an asshole).  But those sincere compliments...ahh, yes.  I accept those without trying to hide my absolute delight.  Operant conditioning for everyone!!

• Sometimes, it’s okay to just go along with the “show.” Consider it free entertainment.

SURE I can give 'em a show sometimes, I suppose!!  If I gain energy and mental stimulation from being around other people, then I'm one of those who will sometimes be high on life.  I've got no problem sharing that joy with those around me, even if it's just making them laugh.

• Respect their extroversion. Don’t try to pin them to your board or cage them. And do them a favor, if you are not yourself outgoing, extroverted - gently but persistently remind them to read something like this [the "How to Care for Introverts" image] as often as possible. They probably will need the reminders.

True dat...on all counts. 

So I'm getting bored with this now.  See how that works?  There's no one around, no new stimulation to write about, no one's energy to help get mine going.  Sighhhh.  Okay, one last thing.  If you don't know your MB type, but you'd like to, you can take the test here.  I highly recommend it.  Peace out.

I'm not going to lie, friends. It was a little bit sad (is a little bit sad) getting through Valentine's Day without a romantic love in my life. And I don't think I'm special or extra-deserving or anything. I know lots of people don't have romantic love in their lives on this day and I saw a lot of thoughts about the day -- good, bad, and indifferent -- scroll across Facebook. These are my thoughts and reflections, in general, on this particular Valentine's Day.

I, myself, went to bed last night feeling rather unhappy with the scene. But maybe I was just over-tired. When I woke, though, I felt differently. Maybe it's the clarity those early waking minutes bring. In that first hour I was up, before office telephones started ringing and legal documents had to be reviewed and created, a distinct feeling washed over me. And that feeling was one of gratitude for having always felt love from my friends even when romantic love was not in my life. I recognize that many people spend their lives steeped in greater loneliness than I.

So I decided to honor the day and the idea of love and companionship. I put on a pink plaid shirt. I bought a heart-shaped breakfast biscuit. I turned on my "Love" playlists on iTunes. The point: to keep my heart open to the idea of someone with whom I can share that part of my soul, maybe to even manifest such a blessing. To be clear, I am one of those who believe that if you look for love, you're much less likely to find it than if you let fate kind of take the wheel. So I don't look...but, yeah, I dream.

And it made me happy for my friends when I saw their thrilled posts scroll across Facebook, posting pictures of flowers and cards or checking in at restaurants for lunch or dinner with their significant others. I wondered about the slight anxiety or discomfort -- or excitement! -- of those friends in relationships too new to post something with confidence. I wondered if anyone out there still got anonymous love notes or gifts (the last of which I received, I think, in maybe my sophomore year in high school) or if the relative anonymity of the Internet eliminated the need for such pre-planned, tangible offerings.

In the end, I think what gets people is not the fact that they're "alone" (in that certain context) on Valentine's Day. I think it's that being "alone" sort of feels...well...underlined on that day. But tomorrow that underline will be erased and those of us without partners can all get back to the business of being happy, single adults...with our hearts open to the modification of the "single" part.

The last couple of days I've been reflecting upon humankind's protectiveness of animals. I'm speaking generally, of course. Obviously there are many people out there who aren't kind to animals at all and that kind of ties into what I'm saying. But the trouble we'll go to, even for a wild animal, is remarkable.
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Last year, for instance, a black bear found its way into the river in Charleston. (It's not a stretch to imagine this situation because, although it's "downtown" Charleston, it's a relatively small, valley area and it's bordered by woodsy areas on all sides.) So while Black Bear is making his or her way to the river bank, the police come along and stop traffic so the bear can safely cross the road. I'm sure all involved were excited at the sight of a bear crossing the road in broad daylight and were happy to watch the bear climb the hill to safety. By the way, if you're city folk and can't imagine why people would be happy to see a bear headed into a woodsy neighborhood, black bears aren't like the bears of northwest United States. Unless in a highly-exceptional situation (like protecting a cub, being approached when wounded, etc.), a black bear tends to act kind of like a giant raccoon. They like to get into the trash, tear some stuff up, and usually run at the sight of a human. (The instances of black bear attacks are increasing with housing expansion but that's another story. The point is, don't try to make them your pet and it'll probably all work out fine.)
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Here's the sad example I'll throw in the middle to kind of buffer it:

Yesterday I was turning onto Route 119 from Lucado Rd. and I saw, to my right, a deer which appeared bedded down right there in the gravel. I'll call it a "she" because of the relative sizes of the head and body...making it likely a female. I pulled over and called 9-1-1 and told them the deer was either injured or trapped (and freaked out) and that either way, help was needed. You might think a 9-1-1 operator would scoff at such a thing being classified as an emergency but he said he'd send someone (and by "someone" I knew he'd be calling the DNR's field unit). So as I sat and waited, the deer tried to get up and run away. Without going into graphic detail, it became clear that both of her front legs were broken. She made it to the other side of Lucado and collapsed at the hillside.

I realized that the deer could probably not be saved (because their front legs are very spindly and personality-wise they're not going to cooperate during healing) but I also realized that she didn't appear to be injured other than the front legs. I called 9-1-1 again and told them, for sure, what was wrong with the deer and that she probably needed euthanized because her injuries wouldn't provide a timely end to her suffering. (I didn't say it like that but instead spoke mostly in short phrases forced through tears.) And then I sat and waited, not wanting the deer to make it out of sight and not being able to simply drive off. (I was afraid she might make it far enough away to bed down and, therefore, suffer much longer.)

Many, many people stopped. Many had seen the deer on the side of the road and had come back around the neighborhood to check on her. Several stopped and asked if I had called, or to tell me they had called, 9-1-1 and to ask how the deer would be helped. People were very concerned about this animal even though the relationship between deer and humans is sometimes sketchy. (Deer will eat up your garden and your flowers and jump right out in front of your car...which can cause human injury, too, or thousands of dollars in damage to the vehicle.)

More time passed and the after-school traffic died down. I waited in my van across the road, about 20 feet from the deer. We both seemed resigned to the situation, and she stared at me and I stared at her and there we just sat and sat. About 45 minutes after I first saw the deer in the gravel, I saw the DNR officer's truck pulling around the turn. He told me he would either "put her down" or help her if he could. That was my signal to drive away and I did.

So the deer couldn't be helped, but it wasn't for people not caring...and it wasn't for people not being willing to help. Had it been possible, I'm positive someone would have had her in their Volvo SUV headed off to the emergency veterinary hospital just down the road.
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And then there was the time the combination of roads and animals and people turned out to actually improve some lives. Just a few days ago, a small, confused Beagle wandered onto I-64 and became trapped...and terrified. Motorists stopped along this 60-to-70 MPH stretch of road to try and help the dog. They called 9-1-1 as the scared dog ran back and forth across the road. Somehow the Beagle escaped injury until police arrived. And what did the police do? I know you can guess. They stopped traffic on I-64. The dog took shelter under a truck where the police were able to grab it. Yesterday the Beagle's picture was on the front page of the newspaper and, of course, people were lined up to adopt it.
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If you've watched Animal Police, or even just your local news show, you've probably seen the lengths we'll go to to save an injured or neglected animal. You've probably noticed some decently-harsh sentencing for people convicted of animal cruelty (even though some may consider it humans' place to reign over animals and treat them how they wish). So what does it say about society when so many of our members would spend so much time, so much effort, and so much money to help creatures they don't even "own"? And what is it about animals that cause us to get our protective backs up maybe even more than we would for the guy next door? I think it says our instinct is to protect those we feel are weaker. Or maybe its because animals live lives of relative innocence and they lack human sins. Food for thought, no matter what.

The four-year-old just said (about me)..."Her shaked her head no." Her dad corrected her..."SHE shaked her head no."

I guess we should be glad his job is math-based.

We observe our heroine browsing through her old MySpace blog, checking it over for important tidbits she might not want to be lost when MySpace goes the way of Trapper Keepers, the kangaroo ball, and guys with one earring. Miraculously, she spots a blog entry of such high quality that she simply can't make that double-layer click-through then CATCHPA entry to finally see the entry deleted from 2007's favorite website.

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November 20, 2006

Super Feminize Me!

I was cleaning out a "catch all" file in my desk today and came across an article I had photocopied from Bust..magazine a year or two ago... It's a light-hearted look at what's fed to women by..society, the media, and other women, in fact, regarding what it is to be a woman... It cracked me up then and I was laughing out loud today reading it again... Enjoy.

SUPER FEMINIZE ME!

The road to excess for the female sex

by Wendy McClure

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Thanks to this year's gross-out documentary Super Size Me, we all know what happens when you eat nothing but McDonald's food for 30 days. ..Or rather, when a guy eats nothing but McDonald's for 30 days... We knew what would happen, and given the venerable male traditions of Jackass, Tom Green, and lad-mag beer-bong experiments, we knew it was gonna be disgusting. Still, a guy honking down Double Quarter Pounders at every meal is an exposé on American culture, whereas a woman honking down Double Quarter Pounders at every meal is either a.) in a TV movie about binge eating, or b.) Cameron Diaz. Belch! She's sexy! In other words, a woman couldn't have pulled a stunt like the one Morgan Spurlock did in Super Size Me and have it mean the same thing.

Then again, women have long known the effects of fast-food consumption. We've known, ever since we started reading YM at the age of 12 or so, that fast food totally makes your skin break out, and your prom dress too small, and that the nasty, icky, grody feeling you get inside after you break down and eat some fries at the food court thereby breaking your diet and ruining all your highly ambitious sophomore year makeover plans most definitely means McDonald's is bad bad bad! So that movie was not exactly news to us.

But what about the rest of the stuff that our culture feeds women? Are there other things out there that are bad for us when not taken in moderation-besides fast food, and also besides tanning, Diet Coke, cardio, ginkgo biloba, exfoliation, earth tones, accessorizing, flirting, spray-on butter flavor, highlights, carbs, cyber chats, lipliner, energy bars, conditioner, gossiping, fragrance layering, and vibrator use? There have got to be more things that women's magazines can warn us about, right? And if we're stupid enough that we need to be chastised for abusing salad dressing, then what the hell else might we be susceptible to? That's why I recruited a team of volunteers to investigate - ordinary women, like the ones on The Swan, only less, you know, dumpy. Each one would set out to over-consume an especially feminine pop culture offering and examine its physiological and psychological effects.

I knew there were dangers: after all, most of the girliest pop products out there are intended for occasional use only-as "indulgences," "escapes," "guilty pleasures," "treats," and "splurges," meant to give us girls a break from a world made of steel, made of stone. What would happen when these things were taken in decidedly non-"oh, just a little something" amounts?

My first volunteer, Cassandra L., read nothing but "chick lit" for 30 days, at the rate of approximately four and a half titles (256 pages average) a week. By day 11, she developed a bizarre tendency to fall down in high heels, especially in the presence of male employers and potential suitors, though by day 14 she began to carry a Marc Jacobs handbag, which she used to control her balance. By day 20, Cassandra needed special electromagnetic spectrum therapy to relieve the eyestrain caused by overexposure to the color pink on book jackets. By day 28, she slurred in a unique dialect that consisted of endearments like "crazy sweetie kitten" and weird British-isms like "naff." On her final day, she appeared disoriented as she stumbled up to the counter at a coffeeshop and tried to order something called a "cosmojito."

In order for Jennifer R. to peruse Playgirl every day for 30 days, five years' worth of back issues were needed to provide maximum muscular manpower. The effects set in as early as day six, when she went to her gym, glimpsed actual chest hair under a male patron's tank top, and began shrieking in terror. The routine physical examination at day 15 revealed she had developed an unusually strong right index finger as a result of hooking it through the belt-loops of male strangers whom she'd pull with considerable force into coat closets. She did this with great enthusiasm, though she reported having no idea what to do with them next, other than rip off their shirts and lick their pectoral muscles. By day 21, it was discovered that Jennifer's diet now consisted of only penis-shaped pasta, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce; it was at this point that she elected to end her portion of the experiment out of health and sanitary concerns.

Our third subject, Margaret P., was a fascinating case: she watched five TV movies a day for 30 days, a steady diet fed by channels such as Lifetime, Oxygen, and the Women's Entertainment network. She required intervention as early as day ten, after she began to frantically search for her baby in a supermarket. When well-meaning friends attempted to remind her that she never had a baby, she screamed, "That's just what you WANT me to believe, ISN'T IT?!"

Extra volunteers were called upon to provide in-home supervision for Margaret. This was difficult only for the three days she believed she was under house arrest for smuggling smack for her man; things went much more smoothly after day 17, when apparently she decided the women keeping an eye on her were fellow call-girls. On day 26, she turned to them and asked, "Which one of you bitches is my mother?" She then reportedly asked one of them if she could "sleep with danger."

Danger indeed, we decided. Do not try these experiments at home, girls. No, really, we're warning you - we're a magazine, after all, and we know what's good for you.

We observe our heroine browsing through her old MySpace blog, checking it over for important tidbits she might not want to be lost when MySpace goes the way of Hammer pants, Dorothy Hamil haircuts, and The Macarena. Miraculously, she spots a blog entry of such high quality that she simply can't make that double-layer click-through then CATCHPA entry to finally see the entry deleted from 2007's favorite website.

Peering over our heroine's shoulder, we read...
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August 14, 2007

On the road again

Today I drove from Charleston to Union, West Virginia and then on to Roanoke, Virginia in an attempt to find a man that my firm wants to give tens of thousands of dollars. Actually, we're not giving it to him, more like holding it for him. He was a class member in a big class action involving mortgages and the case settled. He's my last missing class member and it is absolutely required that we find him. But he's a hard man to find.

Nonetheless, I don't mind a road trip too much. A four-hour drive is totally do-able. Sometimes I amuse myself with my observations and stream of consciousness. Here is some of what I thought about and saw in my four hours of driving today:

I am unable to hear the song Three Times a Lady without singing the chorus, out loud, as: "Unce...tice...fee tiiimmes a maadaayy." What can I say? As a child, The Little Rascals and Saturday Night Live were two of my favorite shows!


On the way through Lewisburg, I saw signs that said, "fair parking," and "no fair parking." I can't imagine that the "no fair parking" gets much business. Honesty in advertising is great but maybe they should just get out of the business.

Do you notice that, with every really good song that comes on the radio, or from your CD, or iPod or whatever, you turn up the radio? When the volume finally reaches its limits, it's a real downer. Then you're just stuck and your hearing is, of course, depleted and permanently damaged, so now you can barely hear your favorite song!!!!

When I get to a spot with bad radio reception, I either hook up the iPod or search for a CD. Today, I found a CD. It was a CD of love songs that someone had made me when he was overseas with the military. (Aawwww.) That reminds me of another time in the van...I found an unlabeled CD. I put it in and the first song was something really cool like Al Green or something. After that, Kung Foo Fighting. (Also cool, but odd.) After that, another really cool song. After that, the MoviePhone bit from Seinfeld (audio only...duh):

It was like a hilarious mystery!! The pattern went on like that for the whole CD...one great song, then something funny. I still don't know where it came from. Eric probably made it and then just forgot.

And perhaps the three sexiest songs in the entire universe are Crazy for You (Madonna), I'm on Fire (Bruce Springsteen), and Every Breath You Take (The Police). I mean, they're ssseexxxxy. Oh, yeah.... Excuse me for a second.



Ok. I'm back.

I have never driven down I-64 across Sandstone Mountain when it did not smell strongly of burning brakes. That stretch of road must be absolute hell on the truck drivers.

To the lady in the red Corolla: that white pick up truck with a yellow, flashing light in the middle of the grassy median is not, as you fear, a police officer in the wrong kind of vehicle and with the wrong color flashing lights. It is, in fact, a Division of Highways vehicle. There is absolutely no need to slam on your brakes. This causes me to slam on my brakes and annoys me greatly as you'd been playing the "I'm not going to use my cruise control" game with me for about 20 miles. Moreover, there is really, really, really no need to slow your speed down to 55 on the Interstate..cop or no cop. The speed limit is 70.

Somewhere just over the West Virginia border (in Virginia), I saw a tree with maybe 100 coffee cups nailed to it. They were all over the half of the tree that faces the road and went all the way to maybe 15 feet up the trunk. How cool! I wonder if it was Outsider Art or if someone hung their coffee cup on a spare nail one day (so they could carry a package from the mailbox, or a stray goat or something) and just thought it looked damned cool.

I saw this sign when entering the Interstate in Virginia:



I wonder what it means. I bet they don't like The Fonz.

If I ever accidentally leave my cell phone on after talking to someone and while I'm driving on a road trip, they'll be treated to a non-stop Karaoke-like, bad-singing fest like they've never heard before. In fact, if this ever happens when you and I are talking, you'd best just go ahead and try to disconnect the call. My singing voice could seriously break your phone otherwise.

And whatever happened to Eminem? I haven't heard anything new from him since before he remarried Kim and then sort of lost it.

When I got to the Monroe County Courthouse, I walked in and asked the first person I saw in the clerk's office if they knew the guy I was trying to find. They did (they always do in small towns) but they hadn't seen him for years. They gave me his daughter's phone number, though. This reminds me of walking into the Lawrence County, Ohio courthouse looking to find the birthmother of a client. (I had already found her name...now I just needed to find her.) The first woman knew her and sort of knew where she lived. The second guy drew me a freaking map to her house!!! (Here's a nice tidbit: when I drove out to her house and talked to her, she was, of course, wary of me. She asked what her supposed son's name was and I told her, "Brian." Her face softened. She knew that was right. Her voice was very sad when she said, quite simply, "I never wanted to give him up...but my parents made me." She went on to explain that she had been so distraught and inconsolable that the social worker had broken the rules and told her her son's adoptive name.)

When you drive through very, very rural areas...like where cars don't come along but maybe once a minute on the road...and when you do pass someone coming the other direction, the proper and accepted etiquette is to raise your four fingers (on the hand nearest the window) in a sort of modified wave. Everyone does it and I love it!! Okay, this may only apply to West Virginia. I've noticed it now in Monroe County and Pocahontas County.

That is all.

When I got out of my van today (on my way into Taylor Books to study), I grabbed some trash that had accumulated around the passenger seat of the van. The passenger seat of my van could also be known as my filing cabinet/pantry, by the way.

I found a half-full bag of Pretzel Flipz (my favorite snack) that was sealed tight but, based on the chunky feel of the bag, contained Pretzel Flipz that were all melted together. Disappointed at the loss of my beloved snacks, I tossed them in the sidewalk trash can along with empty cups that used to contain sweet tea.

Sitting here in the coffee shop at Taylor Books, I saw outside the window a clean, neatly dressed man (whom I know to live in a shelter) walking along at a decent clip. He paused at the trash can, retrieved the Pretzel Flipz bag from the top of the contents, opened it, and started munching on the chocolate, salty deliciousness. He continued along at his previous pace, still enjoying the snack.

Good for him. I feel wasteful...but I'm happy to have been given the opportunity to think about it.

Ah, sweet winter. Sweet freezing cold, oppressive ice, and wet, wet snow...and dark days. It's not good for the soul, I think, to be this cold and to live in the dark for more than 10 or so hours.

So I've added about a third of the blogs I read to the "Blogs I Follow" tool on Google. I've got two sections to go but also a short attention span. Doing even more to open up these lines of communication and expression help deflect winter's harsh effects, though.

And right now, I've got one follower. Want to lighten and warm my world even more? Become one of my Stalkers and Lurkers. (That's a "follower" by the way. See lower right-hand corner of my blog.) If you follow me, I promise not to lead lemming style and never to offer you any special Kool-Aid.

Thank you for your support.

Since I'm still in transition mode (from working full-time-plus to graduate school and more household stuff), my head is still spinning a little and I've had no inspiration for writing.

This little "tag your friends" thing that's going around Facebook right now at least made me think a little about the type of subjects you'd write in a blog. It's similar to some of the things that were passed around on MySpace back during its peak popularity (before ultra cool people like me transitioned to Facebook).

So it's a good jumping off point to (hopefully) get back into communicating. Without further ado...here is my "25 Random Things About Me" entry on Facebook...complete with annotations:

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1. I eat any single peanut M&M by biting off half the chocolate, eating the peanut, then eating the rest of the chocolate. (You should see how I eat a sandwich.)

2. I'm trying to find time in my schedule to study yoga, Scrabble, poker and Spanish. (OH YEAH...and graduate school stuff!)

3. I love to cook but always cook way too much. I don't want food for guests to run out!

4. I still haven't figured out anything I'm really, really great at. (Okay...don't ever challenge me to a game of Simon...but that's the only thing.)

5. I was born in eastern Kentucky but have shed any Kentucky accent by living in other places. (That's Pikeville, people. The home of Hillbilly Days. Yikes.)

6. My neck turns obviously bright red and blotchy if I have to speak in public.

7. Small, repetitive actions (like the "I'm crushing your head" thing) are like nails on a chalkboard to me.

8. I'm completely addicted to Altoids Smalls mints. I eat maybe 20 or more a day. (If I really like you, I'll still give you a box of them even though I really want them all for myself.)

9. In my younger life, I seriously considered careers in medicine and photography.

10. I still physically cringe when I think about mistakes I may have made years ago...not that they were so bad, just that I can't let those things go. (What's really great is the older I get, the more of these jewels I collect. Is NIYYCE!!)

11. I've been told by strangers or near strangers that I had a calming effect on them. It's one of the most flattering things I've ever heard. (And that makes me more confident in my new career goal of counselor.)

12. I never smiled without feeling self-conscious while growing up. I got braces when I was 19 and that's made a huge difference in my life. (I had a significant fang on one side.)

13. I love the TV shows Intervention, Dr. G. Medical Examiner, and Mythbusters.

14. I've watched the movie Braveheart at least 100 times. (Probably closer to 200 but I couldn't say "at least 200 times" with confidence. What can I say? It was a boring year and I'm somewhat obsessive. Obsessive. Obsessive.)

15. I can't function with any physical discomfort...which is why I'm addicted to those breath mints and to lip conditioner and why I wear loose clothes. (And why I carry dental floss, Band-Aids, eye drops, and nasal spray. If I ever get stuck on an island like Tom Hanks in Castaway, fuhgeddaboutit.)

16. I'm a night owl stuck in a daytime life. My ideal awake time would be from about 11:00 a.m. to 3:00 a.m.

17. I'd love to write a novel. (Like all first novels, it'd be a loosely-based autobiography with enough fiction included so I could also deny the facts if necessary.)

18. Given the right partner in conversation, I could converse in mostly movie quotes. (And I still believe the best, most classic to be, "Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?")

19. I love giant fireworks displays and have to be sitting directly under them or I'm totally bummed. I'll travel for hours and wait in the park all day to see good fireworks.

20. I also love giant roller coasters and will travel quite far for them, too. My number one favorite so far...the Top Thrill Dragster at Cedar Point. (It's the only time in my life I felt like I was flying.)

21. I tend to procrasti

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I have a great family doctor. She's just friendly and thorough and very caring. I'm not the only one who knows this...as evidenced by the two-month wait to become an established patient. (Once you're established, though, sick visits are almost always same-day.)

About ten days before Christmas, a mole I'd had on my back for years suddenly went kind of crazy. Without going into too much detail, I'll say that it went through a lot of changes very fast and, in the end, just looked bad.

Then the last day of my job approached, and my health insurance coverage was, for a time, not guaranteed. In a bit of a last-minute panic, I called my doctor's office on the morning of New Year's Eve and talked to them about the mole. A few hours later, the good doctor was conducting a small, in-office surgery removing a nice-sized chunk of my back, making sure the mole was completely removed along with a decent margin around it. About 20 minutes (and 8 stitches) after that, I was on my way.

Wednesday of this week, I went back in to have my stitches removed and found out that, instead of a potentially-nasty skin cancer, I had had a small, irritated hemangioma. Lucky me!! (Seriously...I'm not being sarcastic.) Moreover, although hemangiomas can be quite aggressive (and difficult to remove because of their high blood flow), the margins of my excision were "clean" meaning that crazy clump of blood vessels is likely done with forever.

Is niice!

So what's with the radio silence, Tina? Well...let me tell you. Today was my last day working in an office for what I hope ends up being a couple of years. Shortly after my last post, I decided to leave my job as a paralegal and go back to graduate school. I'll be continuing work on my Master of Social Work degree with a focus on direct practice (counseling).

Although I'm completely excited about returning to graduate school, I've never had an easy time adjusting to big life changes. For the most part, I tend to become very introverted, albeit temporarily, until my anxiety and discomfort wane. An bona fide ENFP, introverted is usually about the third-to-last word people would use to describe me. (The last word is "male" and the second-to-last word is "asleep.")

Now I have about two weeks until classes start. I hope to spend the time refocusing, getting the house into better order, and tying up loose ends with financial aid, household business, and so on.

In the words of a philosophical master, "Do or do not. There is no try."

Friday evening on Capitol Street (especially during a holiday weekend) is not an easy time to find a parking spot. So, even though I needed only pop into my office for a second to grab a book I'd left behind -- yeah, that's right. I've got books. Hardcover. Lots of words. So even though I only needed one of those parking spots for about a minute, the ideal combination of right-place-right-time just weren't working out for me.

On my second go around the block, I saw a red Jeep Cherokee in front of me with this huge dog inside. Just to get its head outside the window, the dog was hunched over like really, really tall guy going down a low staircase. It had a really big, round head that reminded me of the Akita I used to have -- but it was brownish-gray and fluffy with what appeared to be a thick, winter coat of fur. Despite the dog's substantial size (and likely ability to do just about whatever it wanted), the truck window was down all the way and the dog looked friendly, at ease, and...at least at that moment...well-behaved.

So I was thinking, "That looks so familiar. What kind of dog is it?" And then I thought, "Holy crap, that's a wolf!" And then I was certain. I'm not saying I'm right, but I was certain, if that makes any sense. (I used to have a boss about whom we'd say, "Often wrong, never in doubt.") And, you know what? There was a family in Boone County who used to keep Timber Wolves in their fenced yard -- something I actually saw with me own eyes. It was a little scary but interesting how different these dogs looked than a typical, domesticated dog. They had incredibly long, knobby legs even compared to their large bodies, from the neck down giving them a little bit of a horse-like shape. They ambled, graceful and aloof, along the perimeter of the fence and, for obvious reasons, never appeared concerned about potential intruders.

Back to 2008...the red Cherokee was circling the block, too, obviously looking for a spot. I stayed behind him for about two more rotations before he gave up and went another direction. Had he stopped, I was going to stop and ask him if the dog was a wolf. I usually try and avoid questions like, "Bolton! Are you related to Michael Bolton?" but this time I didn't care! Alas, I missed my chance.

I did notice that the vehicle had West Virginia plates, though. Since the dog didn't look like the Timber Wolves I'd seen in Boone County, I did a little bit of research when I got home. Although I didn't find any blog entitled "Red-Cherokee-Fred-And-His-Pet-Wolf-from-WV" or anything, I did find at least one person in West Virginia selling wolf-dog hybrids. The ginormous dog I saw on Capitol Street looked like a combination of "Mac" and "Timber" here on this page.

Maybe I was right, then. (I guess if it was a hybrid it would make me more like 90-98% right.) I'd still like to know for sure.

To my left is a sleeping four-year-old. To her left, a sleeping six-year-old. The four-year-old is tired...just getting over being sick for about five days. The six-year-old is tired...just starting to be sick today. The six-year-old will occasionally get up and run to the bathroom. She's very private about things like throwing up -- or really just being in the bathroom. Plus, being nauseated, she doesn't want to be touched. Since she has no fever, we're really just letting her sleep and keeping an eye on her for dehydration.

And...we were supposed to do Thanksgiving tonight at my in-laws because they're flying away for vacation early Friday morning. It looks like we'll be self-quarantined here, though, until at least Friday. Even if both kids were to feel great tomorrow, it's too risky to expose my in-laws to the potential germs since they're headed out for vacation.

Isn't it interesting how parents seem to develop a super-duper germ resistance? Of course, aside from medical professionals, we're probably exposed to germs only less than people who work in schools.

So, for us, this Thanksgiving will be spent at home. For no particular reason, I'm thinking that might be okay. No businesses will be open so this day at home might actually be spent...at home!

(Cheesy? Yes. The only semi-clever title could think of? Yes.)

After our scary Scrabble-travel-adventure last week, I forgot to post the follow-up with this fun picture. This was taken the morning after we had gotten some sleep and we had not died on a snow-packed highway.

And I have to ask...is my nose that crooked or are my glasses that crooked...or both? If it were both, then would my glasses sit straight?

I've been known to play some poker here and there. Since they opened the poker room at the Tri-State Racetrack & Gaming Center, it's been a good place to occasionally sit for a while and forget about any stressors aside from a bad beat. Often when I get back up from that table, I've got a little more money than I started with, and sometimes walk away with a lot more (but, of course, sometimes I walk away with nothing).

And I'm sure you'd guess that, as far as attendance, this poker room of the casino is a male-dominated place. Women probably comprise just about 2-5% of the players, on average there (but more like 60% out where the slots are). So when the casino started having a Friday night women-only tournament, the dealers and some of the players asked me if I was going to play. At first I just said, "Naahh...I don't think I will." The question keeps coming, though, and I have to ask myself why I won't play in it. Yesterday I realized that I would freak out if women were excluded from a particular tournament...so why should I be okay with men being excluded?

Maybe it's overboard but...I don't know. Despite any little jabs I might take at men-folk as a group, I believe that men and women are equal (which does not mean I think we're that much alike). So, if I insist on complete equality, should I ever accept a simple card game that leaves the men out? What about GLBT folks? What about that guy who dresses like a woman, carries a purse, and wears makeup but claims to be sexually-attracted to women?

Last night someone sort of laughed when I told them I didn't think I'd ever play in a tournament that excluded a certain group. He's lucky I love the First Amendment but chose just to let him use it and keep my thoughts to myself. But, seriously...I think the idea of the tournament is that women can't compete as well as men at poker. If we want complete equality, that kind of thinking needs thrown in the muck.

Because obviously they prefer to sleep on the hardwood floor:

There's a child under that shiny, pink blanket. It's my youngest...who started out the night on her bed. By morning, she'll be at least halfway out into the hall. Her sister is about five feet to the left, also on the floor. She also started out on the bed. I've tried to put them back on their beds, but they don't stay. I've asked them why they sleep on the floor...but they just use the standard kid answer. ("I dunnooh.")

I don't remember ever preferring a cold, hard floor over a soft, warm bed. Eric says that, as a child, he liked to sleep on the floor a lot of the time. With these two, I'll find the older one sleeping there maybe 40% of the time and the younger one almost 100% of the time.

So is this something most kids like or is it just some King Family trait?

Boy, today has been rough. It was the second day of the MOO Scrabble tournament in Mississauga, Ontario and all of my group were anticipating some decent results, based on Day 1. Although three of the four of us who attended the tournament maybe didn't plow over the opponents as we'd hoped, we each gained a nice number of ratings points. The fourth Scrabble friend came down with the flu last night and couldn't play today. (What a nightmare. Away from home, unable to finish a tournament, feeling like crap, and having to travel with a bunch of people.)

The games aren't a huge focus for me right now, though. I'm coming down off a serious stress-attack. After our fourth game today, I went to pick up my friends Sara and Jennifer who came along to do the tourist thing. And guess what? I got lost....for two hours. There are lots of things that could have improved the situation, but by the time I realized that I could not get myself going in the right direction, I felt like I was so far off the mark that even stopping for directions wouldn't have helped (because there would be too many details). Plus, at that point I was in tears and very, very upset.

Anyway, I made it back to the tournament after missing the entire first game following lunch. I was so shell-shocked that I racked up three huge losses in the last three games. Thank you to everyone who was concerned while I was MIA and who offered me comfort when I returned. (By the way, the tournament people did try to call me when I didn't come back from lunch but my phone didn't ring, most likely because I was in Canada.)

After a long, long day, the crew piled back into the van, each of us ready to get to our respective homes. We knew there were some winter weather warnings to the south...but there was really no other direction to go. Since we weren't quite ready (or invited) to relocate to Canada permanently, we headed out. Following some fast food dinner, a gas tank fill-up, and maybe 120 miles on the road, we found that winter weather.

With Dallas navigating, and offering a great deal in the way of calm, solid driving advice, and consultation on our travel decisions, I drove on for an hour or so. The stormy weather faded in and out, allowing us to build up to a slow-but-reasonable speed and then forcing us back down to 15 miles an hour. When the high parts of the snow tracks started scraping the bottom of the van, I started to lose my energy for it again. While I know there was little chance of a problem, I was fretting primarily over the safety of my five passengers. Secondarily, I was concerned about our comfort (as in how uncomfortable it would be to be stuck in a snow bank with a non-operational vehicle). In a tie for third place, I worried about the happiness of my co-travelers and about maintaining my van in its non-wrecked state.

After a while, I pulled over to let Dallas drive. The decision had been to push on a little way and see if the weather got any better (and if the trip got any better with a fresh driver). We took a break at a gas station, allowing people to make some phone calls and get snacks.

As soon as Dallas' shift started, the roads began to clear. We built up a little speed...up to about 45 miles an hour. As if we had driven through some tiny little sheltered stretch of road, we emerged into a road in bad condition just like it had been. I'm not sure if I should say Dallas is a more confident driver or just a less nervous driver (and I'm not sure if there's any difference) but he seemed to be doing just fine. For no obvious reason (other than your average packing of snow and ice), we started into one of those sideways, spinning slides. Dallas brought the vehicle back into control right away and, right away, it was decided that we would pull off at the next exit and get hotel rooms.

Now we're safe and sound (and starting to relax) outside of Erie, PA. The rooms weren't too expensive and it wasn't absolutely critical that any of us be at work tomorrow. In the frustration of the moment, I wasn't sure if it was better to stop for a hotel or if I was overreacting. Now that we're here, I'm glad.

There's a slight tapping sound on the window where snow and ice are hitting it. By tomorrow morning, though, the roads will be treated and it will be daylight (as implied by the term "morning"). With at least a fairly decent night's rest, we'll press on toward home and hopefully feel better about the process.

We've finally moved back into a home of our own! That's a change back in the right direction -- and nice in so many ways but I'll write more about that later. In the meantime, my access to the Internet is iffy. What's more, I'm working about 11 hours a day right now so I don't have much time at the office to write.

Soon (but not soon enough) our Internet access at home will be activated and I'll be back in the loop! By then, I should have some news about the second-to-last stop in my 2008 Whirlwind Scrabble Tour...the MOO!

YES WE DID

change his clothes

About three-and-a-half years ago, I noticed I was putting on some weight at kind of a fast pace...but I couldn't figure out why. Since I didn't think my diet was crazy-high in calories, I was especially annoyed by this...oh...baggage (heh). Plus, at only 5-foot-2, I don't have a lot of vertical space on which to spread out those additional pounds. At the peak of the weight gain, here's how I looked:

I chose my driver's license picture because, first of all, it's a pretty decent representation of how I looked...not too flattering, not dramatically unflattering, etc. Yeah, and blame that particular skin tone on moisturizer with a "light" self-tanner. Liars. Secondly, this picture is dated at just the right time. Anyway...during these many months, I was cutting back on my caloric intake and getting more physical activity to try and combat the problem. After having no luck with that approach (and, in fact, still gaining weight), I talked to my doctor about it.

I was disappointed when my initial blood tests came back showing no evidence of what the problem might be. Fast forward to nearly two years later, and I was still gaining weight and nothing seemed to help. I had talked to my doctor two or three more times about it, and I had made it clear to her that: (a) I was not a closet eater; (b) I was doing things to combat the weight gain; (c) I actually know a good deal about nutrition and physical fitness; AND (d) almost no woman on my mother's side of the family has a functioning thyroid gland. Imagine how disappointed I was then when my doctor offered to give me dietary information and tried to talk to me about being "over 30" now.

Ummm...didn't I just tell her that I knew a lot about nutrition? And, further, did she think I'd just clicked onto some magic age (like 33 years, 4 months, and 2 days or something) and then suddenly...BOOM...there goes my metabolism??? Even coming from a woman, I think this is at least partially a sexist thing. I could go into great detail about it, but really the best thing to do is ask you a question. What do you think would happen if a man went to his doctor and said he'd gained 30% of his prior weight in just about 18 months and had, in fact, been doing all the right things to reverse the weight gain...and that he had a family history of thyroid disorder?

So there I go. Off to a new doctor! On the very first visit, my new doctor found the problem. Here's the thing: for some people, thyroid problems don't always show up in blood tests. But with the right kind of physical examination of my neck, New Dr. could feel that my thyroid was enlarged and, after that, she sent me for radiologic tests to determine the exact nature of the malfunction.

Within three weeks, I was on the proper medication and looking forward to a resolution of all this frustration...and a reversal of the great packing on. From what I'd read, people suffering from hypothyroidism who get proper treatment can expect to lose about ten percent of their body weight fairly quickly. I think I passed that point at about the one-year mark. Coincidentally, this picture of me with my dad was taken almost exactly a year after I started my treatment.

I've lost about five percent more of my starting body weight since then. The rest of the excess weight should come off after that but more slowly. Without any other intervention, eventually I will return to a more natural, typical weight based on my normal metabolism. The great thing is, if I ever find time to exercise (instead of studying Scrabble word lists or writing blogs...or working...or raising kids...or laughing with my friends)...if I ever find time to exercise, I will actually see progress this time.

So, good, gentle readers...don't be afraid to stand up for yourselves when it comes to your health care. Even if you don't have "MD" or "PhD" or "Esq." after your name, it doesn't mean you don't know nothin. (Triple negative! Three points! Three tiny finger gun shots into the air...pwew!pwew!pwew!)