E-R-I-N

For a good portion of my adolescence I can remember doing acrostic poems and brochures for every conceivable project in school. Acrostic name/vocabulary words/protagonists/antagonists poems, as well as brochures to Mecca, Jamestown, Wisconsin, and even a personal one in the mix. I am unclear as to whether teachers were advised that these were great projects that could be applied to all subjects or simply something easy to explain to 7th graders.

Either way, I found myself thinking about the classic acrostic name poem, and if I thought I'd use the same words to describe myself today. Granted, I don't have too much room for change when there are only four letters. I can remember clear as day the exact words I used too:

E-energetic
R-responsible
I-interesting (sometimes intelligent, depending on the day's math lesson)
N-nice

For someone who read a lot as a child, I'm rather underwhelmed with the language.

I think my energy physically has plummeted. Recess was an activity most kids counted down to each day. When I get home from work now I nearly bribe myself with a glass of wine to work out. And I really don't think nutritionists advise hydrating with wine. However, I think energy as it relates to stamina and achievement is still prevalent. I am not a procrastinator, if anything I jump the gun too early, thus my energy to get things done and checked off my list (or clear the table too early as I'm sure my parents remember). I like tasks done efficiently, and appreciate this characteristic in others. So much, that I must exert tremendous amounts of patience for friends on the other side of the spectrum.

To quote MXPX, "responsibility, what's that?" Seriously, I have never known responsibility since this wave of house buying hit. WOW. So long paying rent on the first of the month and calling for maintenance requests, hello homeowner's insurance, loan docs, and a mortgage. It's not to say that I am unprepared to take these head on, we just went from zero to 60 in about a month. I am convinced my looks have aged 50 years in the last few weeks.

Interesting. I was awkward most of my adolescence, being that I've been about the same height and weight since 4th grade. That was horrible as a 10 year old when your friends are a foot shorter and the boys are virtually babies. I was certainly a spectacle of interesting to the other kids in my class. Interesting today is Scott raising an eyebrow when I told him I entered a Harry Potter Ultimate Fan contest for the Ellen DeGeneres show. I wasn't selected.

Well, nice will never change because it's pretty hard for me to be mean. My parents pounded the Golden Rule into my sponge brain and I think even the most cynical soul can respond to a certain amount of courtesy politeness. Don't get me wrong, it's not given out free and easily, but I figure if I set the bar high, at least I tried. Pleasantries really do go far in customer service, and frankly, it gets you places. So yeah, I suppose I'm still nice. It would really be terrible if during this self-reflection I realized I was mean.

If I had to rewrite my acrostic poem today, things may even remain the same. We change and grow, and the "Erin" I was as a 12 year old has defined this Erin at 26.

Sunday Confessions

Most of my Sunday confessions are lighthearted and somewhat flippant. Today I am going to take a turn for the thought-provoking with something that has been nagging me for a while. I am not really looking for specific answers from anyone, but as was the initial intent with this blog, simply a place to express my thoughts.

Ironically, I am in a weird place when it comes to religion.

Technically I grew up in a Catholic household. By that I mean I was baptized, made my first communion, and regularly attended church until about 11 years old. After that, my family's attendance pretty much faded into oblivion. At the time, I didn't mind, I had better things to do. As I aged, I occasionally went with Kerri, but it always felt that I was going through the motions. More times than I'd like to admit, I simply felt I should be there, and spent more time counting blue hats or daydreaming about boys, not listening for any sort of message.

As I've grown and matured, my beliefs have as well. I am lost when it comes to where I stand. I understand the principles of the church, and though I don't agree with all of them, I can appreciate the traditions. Conversely, I am appalled at the monstrosities that have come from so many parishes and the complete mismanagement of dealing with the consequences.

That being said, and the beliefs that are at the core of Christianity itself (no labels in terms of denomination), I struggle with where science fits in. I know it's a major controversy for some, but there are things I can't argue with. Evolution occurs. I don't necessarily think one day that a fish crawled out of the ocean, but environments change, animals adapt, and I believe Darwin's theories that only the fittest survive.

This post is long, and I still don't have all of my thoughts formulated. I find that I am at a crossroads and have been so for a while and not sure where to turn. When I do not have the answer to something, I turn to books or Googling. In this case, I don't want to simply be sold on some other branch of a religion. I suppose it might be something that other people struggle with too, and perhaps the answer for some is simply faith. Overall it's just frustrating. I feel ill-equipped to formulate the questions to seek any answers.

Maybe that's what finding a religion is all about. I honestly don't know. How's that for a Sunday confession.

Saturdays with Scott

This boy

Adores this man

(Jack Donaghy, not Alec Baldwin).

So much, he told me to channel him today as I negotiate the sale of our dining table to a Craig's List buyer. I'll probably pull a Liz Lemon "lizaster."

Move.Donate.Sell

We are moving and I am at the point of keep, donate, or sell with some of our household items. Genius idea: I have a blog, I'll use for a little revenue generation if possible.

With that, I give you our wedding chandelier beads. Previously purchased for $200++ in 2008 to decorate centerpieces, it's time these puppies found a new home or event.






I think there are about 25 of the strands and 75ish of the chandelier beads. I'd sell them for $50 if you are interested. You can email me at erin dot haselton at gmail dot com, or post a comment.

Sunday Confessions

The reason why my Mac keys are sticking is probably due to the fact that I may have dribbled a little coffee on the keyboard Thursday morning. I did my best to wipe it up! Please help!!

Please remember that glowing bbq review I did yesterday!

Saturdays with Scott

Someone in my life has missed this weekly "column" that died a few months ago. So, I will try my best to bring it back, though I still think there should be more guest blogging happening on a newlywed blog! Hint, hint.

Today was day one of apartment packup for our big move. We ended up sealing somewhere between 19 and 23 boxes, though I must admit packing and storing stuff and hauling it down three flights of stairs is much easier than the first time around, when we were moving things against gravity, up three flights of stairs. Lesson learned-live on the first level if at all possible-or look into the property having elevators.

At the end of this day, albeit productive, a finale bbq is in order. This is where Scott comes in. Of course I can barbecue, but I don't have the natural skill this guy does.

At a family dinner, his parents once asked me where I had my favorite steak. Without even thinking twice, I proclaimed Scott's steaks as the best ever. Mind you I have had the opportunity and pleasure to dine at several four-star restaurants around Orange County too. The bar is high I can assure you.

I have since learned a man can harbor a great deal of anxiety regarding his grilling, so much that even having his parents over was stress inducing. Truly though, his marinades, attention to the meat on the grill, and general TLC, keeps me a happy steak-loving wife.

Scott, you are a master at that grill. You top Mr. Stox any day.

TGIF

At one time of my life, I looked forward to Friday for the powerhouse ABC lineup that was Family Matters, Full House, Step by Step, and a fourth program that was never that interesting, hence the late time slot. Pizza with the family and Urkel, sometimes that weird Dinosaurs show (what on earth WAS that?) and my favorite, Full House.

I counted down the weeks until each new season, where we would get to see the opening credits and what DJ and Stephanie were up to. My favorite episode was when Danny turned into a stage dad and pushes Stephanie to excel in her dance class, ultimately stressing her out at the big Motown Philly dance performance. I tried to find a YouTube of the video but instead came across a surplus of stange dance montages of Stephanie dancing throughout the seasons. Complete with Karaoke-style soundtracks. That was an experience in YouTube's weirdos.

One year for an elementary school talent show, I taped that episode, memorized it, and taught it to my friends for the big performance. I believe we wore shortalls, keds, and matching hats. Yeah, epic fashion sense!

Anyhoo, after that mad tangent, these days, Fridays are simply filled with unlimited optimism. The beginning of a glorious two days off, a glass of wine at the end of the night, and simply, relaxation.

Sunday Confessions

There are times I want to curse on this blog, but I refrain, knowing I'll probably regret it, and I really don't like when people swear, unless it's warranted. And let's be honest, there are occasions it is.

This week is one of those weeks. I'd like to give a big eff-you to our government. Thanks for taking a grip out of my paycheck every month and then needing me to supply you even more to allocate god knows where. Probably some idiot's bathroom remodel. Strongly worded letters are my specialty but I have a feeling if I wrote one, it'd likely be viewed by someone's overworked and underpaid assistant who could only send me a courtesy "thanks for the correspondence!" note, or they'd come after me, claiming I have some secret millions in a Nigerian hedge fund. No, it's in snuggled in Switzerland, land of neutrality, cuckoo clocks, and chocolate, of course.

Special Friends

As I drove to work earlier this week, the DJs on a local station were taking calls from parents about kids and their attachment to stuffed animals-and how to rid them of their "security blanket."

I must admit I still have my "special friend," and have had her for 22 years. Holy moly, that's a big number, I now realize. Meet Webby, gifted to me on my 4th birthday by my maternal grandparents. I was the number one Duck Tales fan for a period of my life.

Webby, the world traveler, seen here in Hawaii, in 1990.

Kerri even had one! And I was a B for always giving the poor girl bunny ears.

Webby has been through surgery, when my little sister decided she wanted her, and we got into a tug of war, ripping a hole right down her arm. My mom sewed her right up, and I think coerced a schoolmate to donate hers to my sister, as Webby was no where to be found. Or she bought her on eBay, I really don't recall now.*

Sadly, as of late she has been regaled to a closet, as I don't think cartoon ducks really go with the married life and its decor, but I can't bear the thought to get rid of her. I don't think I'll ever get rid of this now greyed and very loved duck. It's one of those items that will travel with me through homes, children, and all of life's hurdles, even if it's in a box or closet.

*Editor's note: mom actually TRADED my friend Stephanie her Webby for our Tigger. The things you'll do for a child!

The Sky is Falling

One of my greatest fears are earthquakes. Growing up and only ever living in Orange County has exposed me to many over the years. Thankfully, there has never been any damage, and the bigger ones have been in the early hours of the day, or on weekends.

Today, Mexicali, Mexico was the epicenter of a 7.2 quake that was felt as far north as Los Angeles, as well as in Arizona and Nevada. It was the first time I've been in a car and felt that rolling, wave-like motion, where I am convinced a crevice is going to open up and we are all going to fall to the center of the earth. Yes, I am a worrier.

I know that I cannot live my life in fear, but these crazy earthquakes around the world really have me developing wrinkles at an early age. I also know that I live in California, where you go through school doing earthquake drills and it's just our geological makeup. The midwest experiences tornadoes, the south hurricanes, the northeast blizzards, and the pacific northwest rains. It is what it is. There is no perfect place to live (though I still don't understand as California sinks into the ocean through earthquakes or debt, more and more people continue to flock here.)

Nobody likes a Chicken Little, as there are more important things to worry about, like do I want to paint my toes a flirty pink or bright berry. But, these Nostradamus types still manage to get to me. I suppose this is an instance where I just can't watch those Discovery Channel shows. Just like I was forbidden to watch Rescue 911 many years ago. I was developing an ulcer at 9.

Sunday Confessions

I really love those Duggars. As crazy as their lifestyle may seem, they really make it work, and those have to be some of the most articulate and loving kids I've ever seen.

In a TLC tangent, however, I do not understand their recent spike in programming featuring little people. Maybe that makes me sound anti-little person, which I am not, it just seems sort of exploitative. I haven't asked a little person. Perhaps they love the fact they can identify with similar families and professions, a la the Little Chocolatiers.

This feels like an awkward post.

Reliving the Past

I spend a considerable amount of time driving each week, to and from work, and event to event. If anyone rides with me, I have to be the most annoying driver DJ ever, in that I change the station so often, convinced a better tune is yet to be found.

It's during these channel surfing moments that I often reflect on my dance team days and the coulda-woulda-shoulda routines I wish I had the time or the thought to choreograph for our various performances (excluding songs that didn't yet exist).

Dance team pretty much defined me in high school. It holds the bulk of my memories, and even though there were moments typical of high school girls and their incessant drama, I can see past that, and truly do miss performing. Which is why I love Karaoke, even though I cannot sing, but it does offer the opportunity for shimmying, which I never deny.

A sample of the songs that would have graced my Spring Show routines:

• Son of a Preacher Man, Dusty Springfield
• Traveling Soldier, Dixie Chicks
• Uprising, Muse

I know there are more but I am totally drawing a blank. Just like I do when I actually do Karaoke and stare at binder full of songs going, hmm and fall back on the tried and true favorites of Madonna, Pat Benetar, and of course, Joan Jett.

Little Loos

I'd like to have a word with the architects who design public bathrooms. Oftentimes, those stalls are built for one dimensional people, with the distance from toilet to stall door. I am an open germaphobe, and prefer to make a quick exit, which is very hard to do.

My perfected method, The Flush and Run, is best illustrated as a dance move. One must stretch the right leg to the flusher and use the left hand on the door clasp. On the count of two, flush, and three, click open, for a speedy exit, to avoid any debris particles that may escape the lidless public loos.

There are many potential flaws in this method, such as wearing flip flops, which could fall off into the toilet, and of course, simply being exposed to the swirling flush as one narrowly escapes.

It's the best remedy I have if the handicapped stall is unavailable, or just an average-person sized stall.

I know space is an issue with the amount of stall, but seriously, can a girl get a few feet?