December 19, 2008

Sweet Reminders

Sometimes, when my faith is lacking, I'm blessed with a little reminder of just how beautiful God's love is. It came to me tonight in the form of a song: "Divine Romance" by Phil Wickham. It's been a while since I've heard it, and I was so thankful to rediscover it on Nicole's lovely Grooveshark widget:) Check it out to the right. The song is gorgeous, and it makes me wonder how anything could be as satisfying as a life devoted to praising something even more beautiful. Enjoy!

December 16, 2008

Rolling Backpacks


Is it really that hard to lift the backpack up, throw both arms through the straps, and carry it around like a normal person? Kids in high school sometimes used rolling backpacks (although some also carried a duffle bag so they could, obviously, have all of the contents of their locker with them at all times), which just didn't make sense because of staircases. Surely lugging that thing up two flights of stairs, letting it smack each step as you grunted and panted, pulling it up with you, was much more difficult than just putting it on your back...but then again, maybe not. I'm fairly confident my brain doesn't work in the same way as the brains of the people using these contraptions.

What will be next? Notebooks on wheels? Will we have to drag our pencils behind us on strings because they are too difficult to put in the rolling backpacks? They're already at ground level! BACKpacks, people, BACKpacks.

December 15, 2008

A Different Kind of Christmas List

Lauren and I are watching MTV's The Hills, our weekly indulgence, and we try to pretend we're as fabulous as them. Except we are sitting around in sweats, eating bowls on cinnamon toast crunch, so we know we aren't. But we do know we aren't as messed up as them because we are able to offer the occasional psychoanalytic comment when the characters (excuse me, "real" people) do something particularly stupid.

For instance, in response to Spencer, "He's only like that when it's just the two of them because he doesn't feel like he has to compete," and then, when he proposes while she's clearly not in the state of mind to make a decision, "What a mature, confident guy, waiting until she's drunk to propose. This is something she'll really be happy about in the morning." And then we couldn't stop musing about how much Whitney's new love interest Jay looks like Barry Gibb. It's that lush, feathery hair.

Enough about that. I realized I've been posting way too much about last year's overseas escapades, and it probably looks like I have an unhealthy obsession with that time in my life (I do) and that I can't really get over it (I can't) and that I don't want to try to move on (I really have no desire to do so); however, to keep from driving you, dear reader, crazy, I am going to refrain from all talk about traveling. Done. Over.

So...let's see...what to talk about...well, it's cold outside. Christmas is in just over a week. Oh! I know. You've probably noticed I have another obsession: making lists. I make lists about everything: things I like, things I hate, things I have done, things I want to do...they're just so satisfying. 

So here is my list of things to do over break:

1. Read The Princess Bride, Pride and Prejudice (for the millionth time), The Four Loves, and anything else I find time to do.
2. Bake and cook and fry and saute and the whole shebang. Curry chicken, sugar cookies, thin mints, paglia e fieno and anything else I might crave.
3. Paint my toenails. They haven't been touched since my birthday in October, and they need it. Desperately.
4. Build my running tolerance past the one-mile I've currently reached. I was easily pushing 45 minutes this summer, and I've been a lazy bum this semester. It's time to feel the pain.
5. Clean out my closet. Momma's been begging me to do so for years, and I've put it off for just as long. I suppose it's time.

Episode's almost over-- gotta go:)

December 14, 2008

Maybe things aren't so bad...

Another glorious Sunday. It's cold and wet outside, but I'm warm and dry, curled up in my dreamy bed (I have the best bed ever, I really do) with my laptop, a larger-than-life mug of Lipton Green Tea with Honey (my current obsession) and a playlist consisting of Adele's "Chasing Pavements," Duffy's "Warwick Avenue" and Amy Winehouse's "Love is a Losing Game." Hm...wonder if I'm missing London?

Finals begin this week and I'm somewhere between caring just a little and giving up. In recent weeks I have discovered an inverse relationship between the amount of studying I do and the resulting grade. Case in point: I got a 98% on my most recent management test, the highest grade I've received in that class, and I put in fewer hours preparing than ever before. As you can see, any attempt to further study at this point is...well, pointless.

I've found myself focusing on more important things, like Christmas break. I tried to remember
 if I was as ready to go home last year as I am this year, and I realized that last year I spent the week and a half leading up to Christmas lingering in a state of exhaustion in frigid, Irish hostel beds (with Carrie to keep me warm) and various countries' airports. I very distinctly recall being ready to come home, probably more so than I am now, but it was different kind of ready, one mixed with hints of desperation: the two days before the 25th I was worrying about just making it back in the country by Christmas Day. 

After missing my flight from Heathrow to Chicago) due to weather-related issues that held up my Dublin to Heathrow), I was lucky enough to catch a stand-by flight to D.C.. I think my dad contemplated driving out to pick me up. I got into D.C. late and missed my connecting flight to Chicago, so I pulled an all-nighter in the airport (with the help of my German friends and about four Starbucks grande-sized, sugary concoctions), washed and dried my hair in the bathroom (the only reason I can see fit to justify those terrible air hand dryers environmentalist-types seem to like), and caught the 7 am to Chicago on the 24th. 

'Twas a lovely experience, but I have no desire to do it again.