"Sorry Baby......Mommy won't buy you Floosy Sue Barbie."

I've recently began an internal debate with myself about whether or not Barbie is a healthy role model for young girls...or more of an unfortunate role model with her unattainable, unrealistic image and unhealthy habits. Why am I being a barbie nazi, you ask? Well, because. I think these stick thin, fashionably perfect, and popular, cliquey dolls can convey the wrong messages to the young girls that play with them. I know, I sound like a feminist, nonconformist...right? I'm not. I played with Barbies during my early adolescence. And it did nothing to give me a bad body image. The media and peers did a great job of that, not my Barbie collection. I'm not saying I'm anti-Barbie or any of the sort. (Well, I am anti-Bratz dolls. And I'll keep that stance 'til the end!) I'm just simpy saying that the whole idea and theology behind Barbie is slightly twisted.

Before Barbie, there was a German doll similar to her, called Lilli Doll- same height, same blonde ponytail- except that Lilli was the plastic rendition of a Bild Zeitung character who was a hooker. Yep, you heard me right. Straight up hooker! This doll was originally marketed toward adult men as a gag gift. If the original Barbie had been a real woman, her measurements would have been 39" bust, 18" waist, and 33" hips. Now, I don't know about you, but if I saw a real woman walking down the street that looked like that...I just might just crap a brick! Freaky lady.

Now, I think often times Barbie is criticized for her body image messages. Which I do think is definitely distorted; however, I think that the behaviorial image Barbie portrays is moreso of one.

Barbie is a shopoholic. She has more pink miniskirts, bags, tank tops, dresses, pumps, convertables, shorts, and tummy-baring tees that I could ever possibly attain in an entire lifetime, even if I tried. She has a "Jackson Nose," which obvioiusly, one usually isn't born with, unless because of a deformity. I think it's a sad shame that Barbie has probably never even smelled any of those dinners that she's cooked in her little dollhouse kitchenette because of that poor little baby nose. She's "perfect" and popular. There's no Nerdy Jane Barbie, or Chubby Sarah Barbie, or Bank Geek Karla Barbie. It's always Cheerleader Sue, Sorority Lisa, or Beachbabe Samantha Barbie.

Now, on the other hand, Bratz dolls, I absolutely hate. Their hideous, makeup caked faces, poofy hair and self-explanatory name says it all! Do you honestly want to buy your six-year-old daughters a doll that is clad in low-rider jeans, hooker boots, Angelina-like lips, and proclaims to others of her promiscious, bratty attitude? I'd rather not. Bratz make Barbie look like an angel sent from above.

Butt Kicking.

So...I can now say that I know what it feels like to get the crap kicked out of you.....

Now, before you gasp in horror and begin to feel deep pitty and sorrow for me, sadly thinking I got mugged or jumped or possibly punched in face, let me explain....

I went snowboarding...for the first time...and the mountain legitimately kicked the crap out of me.

I've decided I'm a little too safe. I don't take enough risks or go on enough adventures. I don't go outside of that comfortable little box that is nice and toasty warm. I just don't try things of the unknown nature; things that I have no idea how they might end, or how I might look doing them. But, I don't know why that is exactly. I don't know why it can be so scary trying new things sometimes. But it's dumb! And I don't like being held back by subconscious thoughts and premade decisions that should have no say over my actions. Anxiety should not be able to tell me not to snowboard or not to sing loudly. It should not have any say over whether or not I go cliff jumping or speak in public without shaking. It should not tell me that I shouldn't run that race because I can't finish. Only I can be in charge of that.

Anywho, back to the big a-kicking. We drove up to Magic, dressed in our appropriate cold-weather garb, clad with our board of a shield, and trudging chin up with our oversized boots and positive attitude. It was snowing. Which you might not see any significance in me mentioning, but the fact that I had a positive attitude whilst knowing I was soon to be out there in the snow is actually quite a significant statement. We started, and I fell. Then, I fell again. And again. And I started getting tired. And sweaty. And sore. So we took a break. Then...back at it again. And I fell, and eventually got up. And fell. Meanwhile, I'm sitting at the top of the bunny hill, with 6 year olds carving on right past me spraying up snow in my face and laughing their hineous gapped-tooth laughs. (That might be a slight overexaggeration, but that's how it felt at the time.)

Our last run of the day was up the big lift. We rode higher and higher up the mountain, as did my anxiety and excitement. As soon as the lift touched the top and we pushed off our seats...I fell flat on my face. However, I got back up and continued on down the mountain. I fell a few times on our way down; and often times it took me a long time to get back up, but I always did get back up.

All in all, it was a wonderful day. I had a great time with Tyson. I was really grateful to see his patience in me and encouraging words as I struggled through the learning process. And it's things like this where we will develop our hobbies together and find out what things we'll love to do together for eternity. Perhaps this will be one of them. Its so great to be able to push through your mental blockers and realize what things you can do that you wouldn't have ever thought you'd be doing. My next obstacle was overcoming the soreness. The tense muscles, the aching tailbone, the stiffness. It all came alongside it. But, just as I'm finally starting to feel like I might actually live, we're planning on going again this Saturday, just in time to break my body again. Ah.....yes.

Truly Blessed

I am a truly truly blessed individual.

And there you have it. No suspenseful introduction. No intense buildup. No climax. No attention grabbing guessing game about what I'm going to talk about. Just straight out with it and to the point...

I am blessed.

But really, I probably whine a little too often. And sometimes I wonder why I am so unlucky that I have to drag my (lazy) butt out of bed at 7:30 in the morning to get to work by 9. Why don't I get to spend more time with my husband? How come I have to buy a purse from TJ Maxx when I feel as though I should be buying a genuine Dolche and Gabbana?! Why me, Me, ME? Oh dear, my life is sooo taunting and horrible, right? Wrong.

I am truly blessed because:

• I have a most wonderful and dear family whom I love and enjoy spending time with.
• My husband took my car today while I was taking a nap (wherein lies another blessing: a nap.) and washed it inside and out. Vacuumed and all. He does things like that for me all the time. And that is a blessing to me.
• I have a great job; which I whine about just because it takes up so much time, when really I should be rejoicing each morning in the fact that I have a job when many people don't at this time. And it's not just a job, but a good job, with great people.
• Tyson and I live in a warm house. A big warm house. A big warm house in which we don't pay rent. That's a blessing.
• We're healthy, and always have been healthy. Our health is a blessing.
• After tomorrow I have a four day weekend. President's Day is a blessing.

I'm going to stop now because I could go on all day, and already I've written too much.

But, today I'm feeling as though I should be the happiest person alive with the life I have. Why do I not live each day with that attitude? Now, I don't want you to think that I am unhappy with my life in any way, or that I'm always whining and complaining. That's not the case. I just think that sometimes I take things for granted and look at the negatives of a situation rather than the positives.

Perhaps I should work on my outlook of life. In fact, not just perhaps, but I'm going to. Startinggg.....tomorrow. Because today, I have a headache that feels as if I got my skull runover by a big ol' 18-wheel truck. So, I'll give myself just a few more hours to wallow in self pity.

I'm no martha stewart.....yet.

Ever since the morning of January 23rd when I said "I do," I have been taken over by some sort of odd Betty Crocker- Mormon Wife complex. I have no idea how this happened. I have always been the type of woman who struggles to just feed herself each day and will eat the same leftovers or routine peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for a week until I run out and have to resort to living off of canned soup for the next week until it runs out as well. But since that day, I cut 8 inches off of my hair, put on an apron, and have cooked more in the last two weeks than I had in the last two years.

I have cooked chicken enchiladas and beef tacos.Homemade mashed potatoes and crock pot beef stroganoff. Fresh salmon and fried talapia. More-than-delicious spinach dip, and last but not least...beautiful lemon cupcakes with fresh strawberry frosting. And you know what the best thing about it is so far...? I haven't failed a single recipe. My husband has actually eaten all of the meals and complimented me on them (whether or not he's telling the truth). Now, I'm not saying that I'm cooking at an Emeril Lagasse level of cuisine or anything of the sort; but simply that everything I've cooked thus far has not only been edible...but even enjoyable. Who would have thought?? I definately am the last one. Well, actually, maybe my mom is the last person who would have thought I'd be cooking successful meals.

It's interesting though. I feel as though after tying the knot, I was possessed by the spirit of Betty Crocker and now I am constantly filled with thoughts and cravings to cook and collect recipes and do crafts and clean the house. Unfortunately for me, I work full time, so the only time I have to do anything other than work is after 6, and often times I'm spending time with Tyson, at the gym working out (actually spending time with Tyson), or trying to get something else more important than cooking done.

I'm really hoping this isn't just another one of my crazed flashes of a hobby. I honestly don't think it is, but then again, I've said that many-a-time before. (ae: sewing, running, fishing, jewelery making, scrapbooking, musical instruments...and that's just a start.) I mean, you never know. It could be just a temporary hobby that I'm suddenly wanting to do all the time, which might pass within a few weeks. I doubt it though; especially knowing the fact that I can't just stop. Ever. By saying "I do" I was basically saying "I do promise to always keep my family fed and their tummies full." Which I have no problem with.

Regardless and luckily for my sweet husband, I was one of the few lucky young wives to be able to have the spirit of Betty Crocker enter into my countenance for now and not have him go hungry just yet.

Here we go...

Well folks, today I'm finally turning in my ol' leather bound journal and pen to keep up with the generation of today, and mostly to keep up with writing about my life happenings. I love writing about my daily events or thoughts and what have you, but I just get so tired of wasting the precious time to slowly scribe it down on paper. Half the time I'm too lazy so I just leave out most of the wonderful details, or else just skip the task all together. By starting a blog, I now have no excuse for not recording my life and I'll be able to inform others about what's happening. I love looking back on the past and seeing where I've come and what I've done. Plus, I'm cooler now that I have my own blog! Just kidding. (No, but really.)


Everyone has heard about those boring people who blog about their ideals and rant and rave about pointless crap. But really...what's wrong with that?? Everyone does everyday to eachother anyway. It's life. That's what we do. We voice our thoughts and our opinions to others to get feedback and to hear what they sound like coming out of mouths. But, I feel like writing them down makes even more sense. If you're ranting and raving in a blog...no one has to read it if they don't want to. No one has to sit there and act interested when they're not. The only person that has to read it is yourself (and perhaps your spouse or significant other if you make them). I like being able to write down and read my thoughts more than just speak them. When thoughts are written down you're able to understand them better and make sense of it all. You can sort into categories. You can take written words back. You can backspace and punctuate and exclamate. You can read it over and over and over until it makes sense. Or, you can choose to not ever read it.


So....here begins my blog.