Goober Daisy

Why I’m Ok With Being Boring

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Tue, 23 Oct 2018 13:44:00 +0000

When I was in high school, you were NOBODY if you weren’t passing around 15-20 handwritten notes, folded up into intricate oragami-esque squares to all of your besties and current crushes throughout each school day. We didn’t have smart phones or texting at this point, so apparently I am as old as a rock. Most of the content in these notes was absolutely pointless conversation, usually about music or weekend plans or gossip going around the school, you know... all the stressful, pressing topics for 14 year old girls in the early 2000’s. Life is funny because I vividly remember hating high school my freshman year, and sitting on my parents bed sobbing because I felt like I had “no friends” and I wanted them to transfer me to a different school. I sit here at 30, writing this blog post, dying to have that problem once again.

No friends... no commitments to birthday parties, bridal showers, baby sprinkles, graduations, etc. To have the luxury of living my own schedule, to do what I want to do when I want to do it. And what I want to do at the end of most days is snuggle at home with my dogs and my boyfriend and watch Netflix, which undoubtly turns into me snoring on the couch within the first 15 minutes of a show, leaving the dogs and the boyfriend to snuggle themselves.

In high school, I remember passing notes with one of my guy friends one day, opening the 4th in the chain for the day, and reading a sentence that I probably won’t forget for the rest of my life. Two words.

“You’re boring.”

I was mortified. I was hurt. I was a pissed off teenage girl. This was my friend, telling ME... loud, silly, carefree, extroverted, original, 15 year old Nicole that I AM BORING. I wasn’t even interested in this guy, but I suddenly took a huge blow to my self esteem. I wasn’t ever the head cheerleader type in high school. I never even had a true-lasts-more-than-two-weeks boyfriend until I was in my 20’s. If news got out that I was boring, I’d be ruined, no chance, missing out on all great things in life that would have come around my way otherwise. I think from that point on, for awhile in my life at least, I doubled my efforts to appear to others as some kind of untamable wild thing.... rare and unique and unlike any other girl they had met before. Writing this makes me a bit sad.

Why is being “simple” frowned upon? Remove the word “boring” from the equation. How many times do you see a post on social media of a friend who has traveled to Iceland or Croatia and think to yourself, “Wow, that person is really living their BEST life. Why am I not doing that? Why is my life so dull and mundane?”

I was mowing my lawn the other day, and along my fence line I noticed a string of baby strawberries growing out of nowhere. Any other day, I probably would have just continued on, in attempts to get through that days chores as quickly as possible. But for some reason, I stopped this day. The strawberries amazed me. They were perfect. None of my neighbors grow strawberries, I’ve never attempted to grow strawberries, and yet here they were. Tiny edible rubies growing out of nowhere.

My point is, how many times are we too busy being nearly-literal robots, staring down at a screen complaining about how boring our life is, that we forget how many beautiful, unique, and one-of-kind things we are surrounded by on a day to day basis? Or we are just too “programmed” in our ways to realize we are living a self inflicted blind life to extraordinary beauty we can discover if we just open our eyes. Teach your children the difference between a "want" and a "need". Understand yourself that all which glitters is not gold, and Instagram and Facebook are not a means to judge the happiness in a person's life. If simplicity brings you peace, bring more simplicity in and rid yourself of the frills.

If someone sees the life I’m living as “boring”, I’m ok with that. My dog is extraordinary to me. I see God in him every day, when I wake up and go to sleep. My boyfriend is the soul I never thought could still exist in this world, and our journey of how we have become a “boring” couple never ceases to bring tears to my eyes as I drive down the road listening to a “boring” song that makes me think about us. My house is small. My life is small. My job isn’t to save lives everyday. Does this make me inadequate or unworthy of happiness? No. I have been humbled in ways that I wish most people in this day and age could experience at least once in their life times. Being humbled makes you realize what matters and what doesn’t. So if I never get to visit Croatia, fine. At least I’ll still have some fresh wild strawberries that I can enjoy on a lazy Sunday afternoon in small town Ohio.

Cars (Not The Band) and Tom Petty

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Tue, 03 Oct 2017 15:23:00 +0000

My boyfriend loves cars. Loves 'em. Ab-sa-freaking-lutely loves 'em. One night at our local bar, I swear, I listened to him talk so passionately about cars with a total stranger for close to 2 hours that I'm unsure if he took a sip of his beer or even paused to take a breath during the entire duration of the conversation.

I mean... yeah, cars are cool...obviously. They get you where you need to go fast. They smell amazing (sometimes). You feel a sense of pride when you purchase your first one, and are saddened when the time comes to sell your favorite.

Car commercials where dads are sending their daughters off to college never really tugged at my heart strings enough to make me want to buy that brand of automobile, though. I never really got why so many car companies made commercials so sappy, so cheesy, so family oriented. Until this morning.

Tom Petty died last night. Awesome segue, huh?

Tom Petty died last night and I'm really sad about it. I almost feel foolish for admitting that. Especially after I told my boyfriend that Tom Petty died, and his response was, "Who's Tom Petty?" (Love you, Drew!) 😉

... Apparently, Tom Petty's music wasn't as impactful on some other people's lives and memories as it was on mine.

His music didn't pull me out of a deep depression, nor did it spark an inspiration for a future career in the rock music industry, despite my numerous attempts to convince my mother that I actually am a decent singer. But, his music will always mean a great deal to me.

As many daughters do, I spent most Novembers and Decembers with my mom driving around town Christmas shopping. When I am older, I won't remember the stores we went to, or the items and gifts we purchased during these excursions. What I will remember is the drive there and the drive home; listening to the radio, and "Breakdown" by Tom Petty coming through the speakers. My mom immediately recognized it, and cranked the volume up as far as the speakers would allow. This was the same mom who was constantly nagging me to turn MY music down because it was too loud. It startled me. I looked over at my mom and there was something different about her while she was listening and singing along. Her previous structured, by-the-book driving, became a bit more relaxed and she gracefully changed lanes, weaving to-and-fro as she came across cars traveling at a lesser speed. She knew every word of the song. It was like she was back in her first car, a young woman without a care in the world. Her eyes looked beyond the road and held a glimmer that I'd never seen before in my mom. You know, she was just "Mom" before. She was the woman who drove me to softball games and begged me to clean my room and yelled at me up the stairs to turn my music down. Now, this car ride made her an identifiable person to me. A person who was more than just my mom. A person who had a life before me, who had feelings just like I had, who let music transcend and take her to a different place and time.

When I first learned to drive, my brother (who cannot drive) bought himself a small pick-up truck, and that was the truck that I (as a newly licensed driver) was to drive my brother around in, to whatever destination he so pleased. Brian, my brother, played air guitar in that truck to "Running Down a Dream" by Tom Petty, pretty much on a weekly basis. And you know what? At the stop lights, I played along with him. We jammed HARD in that truck.

When we were kids and we had to drive to Southern Ohio for family gatherings, the biggest challenge my family faced was what music to listen to during the drive down. At the time, it felt like we were crammed into the car like sardines; my brother's boney elbow digging into my side and my little sister was touching me... TOUCHING ME!! She had some nerve. That alone is enough to drive an 11 year old off the edge. I'm sure with our arguing, bickering, and whining, the inside of the car probably resembled more of a zoo's primate exhibit than a family car-ride. However, do you know what song we always agreed on, no matter what, and sung harmoniously like we were the freaking Von Trap family singing "So Long, Farewell"? It was Tom Petty's, "I Won't Back Down". In those moments while that song was playing, there was peace and there was happiness in the world. Or at least there was in the Zuefle family Volkswagon.

He was no saint, he was an ordinary man. He went through the fame, fortune, and struggles that come along with those American dreams that most people never come close to achieving. I did not worship the man like he was a god, but I can't help but feel a bittersweet loss and nostalgia today. I will always remember the times spent growing up with my family and listening to Tom Petty... a time before smart phones, and iPads, and Netflix. A time when singing music with meaningful lyrics and dancing in the kitchen with your family was the normal way to spend your evenings. Do families do that anymore? Without having a cell phone in hand and immediately posting the video of the very personal family memory on Instagram? I know I am just as guilty of this as anyone, but it truly amazes me that I can so vividly recollect these memories of jamming in the car with my family, without the aid of a video on a phone.

This is why I am sad that Tom Petty died. And this is why now I understand why car companies make sappy car commercials.

The Prodigal Blogger... that's me!

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Wed, 27 Sep 2017 13:59:00 +0000

I haven't blogged in over 2 and a half years... and I'm not even sure why I've decided to blog again today.

I guess I'm growing extremely tired of the overabundance and relentlessness of depressing "literature" and "news" on social media over the past few months, (though I know I'm reading it all of my own free will). I just feel the need to put something out there that probably won't start an argument among my friends and family. Who knows? Maybe this post will lead to the 10 millionth great Facebook debate of 2017 between political Facebook experts, but for all of your sake, I really hope it will be much to the contrary.

I haven't blogged in 2.5 years because I've been pretty busy living, learning, coping, growing, dealing with a whole lot. I'd like to emphasize the living portion of that last sentence. How cliche...

Yes, cliche, but also... it's the truth. So, here's some quick updates on my life: nephews and nieces were born, and stole my heart. A long term relationship ended, and independence was found. My mind learned to not dwell on the past and my heart learned what truly made it beat. Weight was lost. A LOT OF WEIGHT. Debts were paid.

A house was purchased.

A house was gutted.

A house caused many headaches and sleepless nights.

A house was made beautiful.

A house was made a home.

Love was found, during the most unexpected time, but in the most wonderful of ways.

Then, I got happy fat... again... which is ok. Just currently need to hit the treadmill and lay off the Milky Way's and craft beer is all.

Also, a lot of scary stuff has happened. A billionaire with little-to-no social awareness/politeness was elected president, social injustices came to the very forefront of every form of media known to man, hurricanes destroyed homes/lives... and that is just a small sample of what has happened within this past year. The year and half before that seems like a distant, murky memory, as I sit and type this.

This is what I know: People are mad. People are angry. People are scared. People are hurt. So much more right now, than I can remember in the past 29 years of my life.

I'm not going to stir any pots and I'm not going to state my opinions on any issue, because 1.) I am no expert, 2.) I hate arguing with people (it's just not in my nature), and 3.) I'm tired.

It seems many have forgotten that the point of an argument is not to see who is right or who is wrong and hand out a hearty, newsworthy pat on the back to the "victor", but to resolve a real problem in the best possible manner.

So... what I will talk about is the fact that today marks 3 years since I adopted my friend, Sampson.

Everyone likes dogs, right?! Ok, fine... maybe not everyone. But come on, work with me, people.

You know what's funny? My last blog post was about my dog, as well. I think it's because in times when I feel like I need to get stuff off my chest, he reminds me that life has the potential to be very simple. I recently watched a documentary about a lifestyle called Minimalism, which is exactly what it sounds like... living your life with minimal extras; minimal "fluff".

I LOVED THIS DOCUMENTARY.

I think many people don't realize what's important in life until the important things are stripped from them, for whatever reason, (i.e. relationships with loved ones/family members) and all you're left with to comfort you is actually just "fluff".

I mean honestly, sit down and ask yourself, "What do I actually need to bring happiness to my life?"

For me, I need clean water... preferably the running kind. And food. And safe shelter. And love. A little money helps to make sure my water isn't shut off and I have heat during ridiculous Ohio winters. I need my parents. I need my siblings. Friends are cool. My boyfriend makes me laugh and feel wanted. My family provides me with good advice. My dog is my protector and companion. That's it. That's honestly all I need. Maybe a bed. And some playing cards.

But seriously, for true happiness, I honestly don't believe I would need much more than that.

Do I need the new iPhoneX to be able to comfort my mother when she upset because her sister has recently passed away of a terrible illness? No. Do I need 400 cable channels (that I don't even watch) when my sister needs help with her injured toddler because her husband who is in the military has to leave for training for weeks on end? No. Do I need a new designer purse for every season or yearly vacations to the Caribbean in order to sit and listen to a friend who is trying to hold it together during a difficult time when many people would just completely fall apart? No.

When I was watching this documentary and going over all the things I need and don't need, my mind kept going back to Sampson. My dog needs nothing more than water, food, exercise, shelter, and companionship. Not only does he not need any more in life than that, but he literally desires nothing more than that. When I decided to get a dog, I found his picture on Pet Finder, went to the shelter where he was being held, had a mini panic attack from hearing hundreds of dogs wailing in sterile, cold cages, paid for Sampson, I signed some papers, and I got the heck out of there and never looked back.

My dog went through a struggle, like most people do at some point in their life. He had no idea if he would ever make it past that misery, if he would ever have a decent home and a friend again. He wasn't promised anything. I had no idea the impact I would have on this dog's life, honestly. I just wanted a dog. When I heard his story of how he came to the shelter, it broke my heart but also made me elated that I could just provide him a good, healthy, loving home. Nothing extravagant, nothing grandiose, just some warmth and water and food. Maybe a tennis ball, here and there. The thing is, that was all he needed to feel like himself again.

What we need more than anything right now is companionship and simplicity, to feel like ourselves again.

I don't know... maybe there's more to it than that.

But I think that's a great start for people who are feeling lost and helpless and afraid during these times. Simplify your life. Purge the fluff, the frill, the negativity. Spend time with your friends. Listen first, and then talk once you've thought about what is actually important to say.

Chew on a tennis ball. That's what helps Sampson when he's feeling stressed.

Dinner With Sampson

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Tue, 20 Jan 2015 17:54:00 +0000

We didn't have pets growing up. Well actually, I'm lying... we did. Allow me to rephrase... we didn't have any pets that could survive longer than 48 hours in our house when I was growing up. All of our "pets" met the same fate of swirling around a porcelain purgatory before being laid to rest, down the depths of our commode, at the commencement of their short stay with us.

Looking back, I don't fault my parents for not allowing us to have non-aquatical animals (cough cough, Ping Pong Fair Game Goldfish) in the home, seeing as I had the attention span of a gnat when it came to new hobbies I was into, my sister had a nose for getting into mischief (i.e. playing barber shop with the neighborhood heathens while adults weren't paying attention, playing hide-and-seek in automatic-locking, non-ventilated, cedar chests, innocently crank-calling emergency dispatchers... the list goes on. We admire your curiosity, Kelli.), and my older brother, Brian, spent half of his childhood being probed and prodded in a hospital bed. Oh, and my mother has terrible, knock-you-out-for-weeks-at-a-time animal allergies. It would not have been responsible for us to own pets, nor would it have been logical, in general.

However, the longing for the All-American K-9, who would sleep at the foot of my bed and play catch with me on sunny afternoons and protect me from creepy bandits in the shadows of a dark alleyway, never really vacated my mind. I've always wanted a dog. I've always been enormously jealous of friends and family who grew up with dogs.

And so, I got a dog.

This is the most appropriate point in my post where I should forewarn you that I love my dog, but he's an idiot. Like, everyday-he-runs-full-speed-into-objects-that-have-always-been-in-the-same-exact-spot-in-my-house-since-the-day-we-got-him-and-no-he-isn't-blind-or-deaf, dumb. Also, the amount of knowledge that I possess about life with dogs, ownership of dogs, dog psychology, and dog training, is so minuscule, that God has to use a high-powered microscope when investigating that part of my life. So, if you are some ~~crazy~~ highly-dedicated animal rights activist or you think that all dogs should be treated like royalty, please stop reading now. I live by trial and error with my dog. I am a human. He is an animal, a house pet. He is not my child, I am not his mommy. But, he is a part of my family. He is a companion, a friend, and I love him so very much. He is a nuisance who makes life very messy. But he's my nuisance.

Alright, so maaaaaaybe this decision of mine was a little on the... oh... not-so-well-thought-out side. So, what?! Don't you judge me.

Since the idea of owning a dog was never far from the forefront of my essential life priorities, I would often spend my lunch breaks on PetFinder.com, perusing through pups from all over my area, in search for the one that I couldn't live without.

During this time, my boyfriend wished that text messaging was never invented. I'd send dozens of doggie-profiles a day, to which he would not respond, because he actually has a functioning brain, and he knew I had no idea what I was trying to do. God bless my man. Seriously.

He finally conceded/gave up at the end of this September, when I sent him this picture of "Brent". A nine month old chocolate lab mix.

"Whatever you want.", was my boyfriend, Jason's response. So, we got "Brent".

First off, what kind of name is Brent for a dog? I'm no expert, but I'll tell ya, it's not a name for a dog. It's just not. I will also tell you that moving from Ohio to Florida, and leaving behind three dogs in your adandoned home for weeks, with no food or water, without attempting to surrender them to a safe environment, should be a very punishable offense.

I don't remember much from the dog shelter, except that I hated it; I wanted to get out of that place as fast as I could because it was cold, and loud, and tense, and all-together frightening. This was Sampson's home before I adopted him. Sampson is his new name, and this is his new story.

~~The first month was rough.~~ The first month was brutal.

Sampson chewed up expensive, leather shoes (Jason's). Sampson chewed up wool hunting gloves (Jason's). Sampson chewed the buttons off of dress shirts (Jason's). Sampson scratched up baseboards. Sampson whizzed on the carpet. Sampson pooped on the carpet. Sampson puked on the carpet. Sampson must have felt bad because he started pulling up all the carpet. Sampson ate an entire bag of English Muffins. The next day, Sampson ate another entire bag of English Muffins. Then, he ate a whole loaf of bread for dessert. Everyday, it was something else. After two weeks of this, I decided to put up a baby gate to keep him contained in the kitchen while I was at work.

Day three of the baby gate, I came home to find the baby gate broken down and a mighty, poop trail through the house, up the stairs, and into the bedroom, with Sampson casually hanging out in the upstairs hall, taking a nice, leisurely nap.

I lost it. I couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. My clothes, my bed, my world smelled of warm dog poo. I scoulded him and whacked his nose with a rolled up magazine. As this was happening and I was cleaning up, trying not to let frustrated tears fall from my eyes, Sampson started puking. And then he started pooping. And then he puked again. Clearly, he was sick, and my heart sank.

Sampson had stomach worms. I took him to the vet, got him meds, and he was feeling better in a few days. Unfortunately, I still felt like a terrible, heartless person for awhile after that.

Later that week, I took him with me out to my Grandmother's land, out in the country, out in the middle of nowhere. As I opened up the car door to let him out, he ran faster than I have ever seen him run, down her hill and into the grassy field below. I panicked. That was it. My dog was gone. He was running away from me, as fast as he possibly could. And who could blame him? His previous owner abandoned him and we just couldn't get on the same page. Discouraged, I desperately shouted his name, hoping that this wasn't a huge mistake. As I looked out, I saw his ears perk up, his tongue flopped out, and just as fast as he ran down that hill, he galloped back up to me and jumped up on my legs to give me a sloppy, wet kiss. My heart melted, and we played the rest of the afternoon.

The thing is, Sampson, for the most part, is pretty simple. Once he got into the swing of our routine, we actually noticed that he's a really good dog. Ok, so every night while we eat dinner, he sits four inches away from our face and stares at us with literal puppy dog eyes, like we haven't fed him in months. Big deal, I know humans who would do that, if no one was looking. So what if he can't lay peacefully, at the foot of my bed, because he weighs 75+ pounds and nothing he does is peaceful? So what if he doesn't understand that I can't play catch with him, rain or shine, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week? So what if I ever encountered a creepy bandit in the shadows of a dark alleyway, Sampson's only defense would be to lick them to death. SO-FREAKING-WHAT?! He is still a good pup.

Even after the night that I whacked him with the magazine and he had his tail between his legs, 10 minutes later, he was back at my side, bright eyed, tail wagging, waiting to be pet. He loves to be the center of attention, he loves naps, he loves shiny things, he loves food, he loves to watch TV, he loves to be active, he loves to love and be loved.

He is me. But with fur.

He still gets into mischief, more than I would like him to; this morning he ate a brand new make-up sponge that I just bought and half of a box of Hot Tamales. But, I couldn't ask for a better, more loving friend.

So... me thinks I will keep him.

The Commute

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Wed, 18 Jun 2014 20:26:00 +0000

This morning was beautiful. I love mornings like this morning. Which is weird, because I used to totally and completely loathe waking up early.

I'd drag my body into the bathroom to shower, feeling that it should be illegal to get out of bed before 11 a.m. I'd be stuffed up, coughing up crap, sore from sleeping wrong. I'd burn my toast and spill my coffee (of course, all over a pair of white pants). So, I'd have to change and I wouldn't have enough time to pack my lunch. I'd get in my car, and my gas tank would be empty. On the road, chimpanzees would replace human drivers. It was raining or sleeting or snowing... EVERY MORNING! Or at least, that's how I saw my reality, at the time.

Recently, something changed.

Something within me matured, thrived, and grew up. It's actually something I can't quite give a reasoning for, besides the fact that sometimes you just have to sit back and let time pass in your life. Sometimes when you're in a funk, that's all you can do; Allow time to pass in order to gain perspective and inner resolution.

Lately, I don't mind mornings. In fact, I enjoy waking up, getting out of bed, and seizing the day.

Different brand of coffee, you ask? Possibly.

But, sometimes it just feels better to push yourself, rather than embrace the lazy angel scheming on your shoulder. Don't get me wrong, being lazy feels fabulous and sometimes, it's just what the doctor ordered. But, I just don't feel the need to bask in an aroma of procrastination as much as I used to.

This morning, I felt freakishly calm, happy, and at peace. Maybe it was the gorgeous sun beaming over the city's skyline, maybe it was the moderate morning temperature outside, maybe it was the shoes I decided to wear. Whatever it was, it was working in my favor. To give you a visual, it was like I was Grace Kelly, pink flowing scarf and immaculate white gloves, driving endlessly in a convertible (although, I am Nicole and I drive a Hyundai, but you feel me?).

For no reason in particular, none of the annoyances that had previously erked me were able to get under my skin. And then, the beauty of the morning pushed me towards a realization.

I want to do more. And I should. I want to see more. And I really should! More sunsets, more mountains, more concerts, more life. I live in a country jam-packed with a plethora of gorgeous sights to see and wonderful people to meet. I'm going to start watching the sun rise in the morning and I'm going to gaze at the stars at night. I'm going to listen to water washing up on a shore, whenever the chance is presented. Maybe, I'll even ride an elephant one day... who knows?!

After this morning, I feel inspired to experience everything beautiful that this world has to offer me. And I'll be damned if I don't!

Ashes

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Wed, 05 Mar 2014 16:01:00 +0000

For Catholics, Ash Wednesday is the "Launch Party" for a season in the church called Lent, during which we prepare for Easter Sunday, a celebration of God sacrificing his son Jesus, in order for our humanly sins to be forgiven, and that son coming back to us after his death in order to save the world.

Sounds positively wonderful, right?

Well... unfortunately, when you ask most Catholic's about Lent, the most common response is one of misery and irritability. And it's understandable that some of us feel this way. We are human... we like to have our cake and it, too. We like to take the easy way out of tricky situations. We like luxury. No one instinctually desires to live a life of desolation and poverty, and that's almost what it feels like you are doing when you choose a Lenten promise for yourself. By mid-Lent, many Catholics come to mass, looking like this guy...

Lent has a tendency to make some of us feel raggedy, pained, and dismal. Surprisingly, and to the shock of many, this is the opposite of how you should be portraying yourself during this time. If you read my last post about Lent, you know, I myself, have been guilty of this in the past.

Yes, we should use this time to make sacrifices for the purpose of showing God how much he means to us, however... complaining, griping, and moaning about how miserable you are and how much you are craving chocolate doesn't really show your love to anyone who you are attempting to make a sacrifice for, much less The Creator of Heaven and Earth.

Though, I'm not big on quoting the bible, simply because it can be difficult for non-bible enthusiasts to understand, I think the message that this verse provides is important to keep in mind during this time of the year.

“And when you fast, do not look gloomy like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by others but by your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you." - Matthew 6:16-18

It's so easy to lose sight of why we are doing what we are doing during Lent.

So... right now, today, in this very moment, I want you to forget what you know and what you think you know about Lent. No, I'm no expert and I've never been to the Vatican, but my gut tells me this... (and like Olivia Pope from Scandal would say, "Trust your gut.")

Lent is a time to begin a new journey. The idea of this journey may have been in the back of your mind, tucked away, and almost forgotten because you know that as this journey comes to life, you will be faced with many difficult decisions and forks in the road. One path will appear to be easier, more comfortable, and will take you right back to where you started, but the other, which will appear to be more difficult, will lead you to the place where you have the ability to become the best version of yourself.

It doesn't matter if you are Catholic, a follower of Christ, or lost somewhere in translation. We all have burdens that we bare daily, and the thing is, we have the ability to lift them, if we put in the time and effort, and decide to endure the uncomfortableness that comes with making a life change.

Maybe you haven't spoken to your mother in years and you can't even remember the reason why. Maybe you haven't treated a co-worker as nicely as you should because of one negative incident at work. Maybe you have the resources to donate to a local food bank monthly, but instead you treat yourself to a pedicure. Maybe your drug addiction has distanced you from your children. Maybe you haven't visited a friend who is sick in the hospital because it makes you feel uncomfortable and scared. Maybe you need to ask forgiveness or forgive someone from your past. Whatever is keeping the best version of yourself away from your loved ones and those who you surround yourself with... let it go.

Now is the time. Do something different to make a positive change. Of course, making this conscious decision to leap into the unknown is the scariest decision you will ever make. It's a big risk. But the bigger risk is what you will lose in your relationships, if you don't try.

I truly believe in the "ripple effect". If you show love and kindness to one person, that love will radiate to more places than you can imagine.

Isn't that what life is about? It's not about you living the way you see fit. It's about living in such a way that you are positively effecting the lives of others. And that is how you show God that you truly care.

So, as we enter this Lenten season, I encourage you to make a selfless change that will benefit another person's life, because I think that is the kind of sacrifice we are called to make and that change is one we should continue to embrace, even after Lent is through.

Winter needs to get lost

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Tue, 04 Mar 2014 02:37:00 +0000

Over the past 4 months...

It snowed and snowed and snowed some more.

I wrecked my brand new car.

And then I wrecked it again.

I fell, and slipped, and scooted, and tumbled.

I lost a glove that I really liked.

I watched every single audio visual segment that has ever been released on Netflix.

I ate and ate and ate some more.

I tried to go for a run, but that's where the slipping, falling, tumbling, and scooting began.

Mean kids laughed at me and my running, slipping, falling, and tumbling.

I developed a nightly case of narcolepsy every evening at 8:30 p.m.

I paid more for my gas bill in one month than the total of all of my gas bills for an entire year.

And I still froze.

I broke two car window scrapers.

I lost my beautiful tan.

... Dear Winter, GET LOST!!!!!!!!

The Lake

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Sun, 02 Mar 2014 15:41:00 +0000

Every summer, my best friends and I take a long weekend trip to a lake house on Middle Bass Island. During the miserable winters and dreary, rainy springs that Ohio is so well known for, I constantly remind myself that this annual trip is right around the corner and I will be relaxing poolside, mimosa in hand with my very best friends (who are more like "soulmates") sooner than I think.

Not to sound snobby, pretentious, or uppity, but these friends are truly some of the most wonderful women I have ever met and the bond that we share is one of the most important and special aspects of my life. Basically, my friends are better than yours.

You know when you watch, "Sex and The City" or "Friends" or "Now and Then" and you think to yourself, "Friendships like that do not exist in real life."?

*DISCLAIMER TO MARIA, KRISTEN, MORGAN, JORDANN, AND MAILEY... I'M ABOUT TO GET REAL SENTIMENTAL WIT' IT!*

Well, I am here today to tell you that they actually do. My group of friends has been inseparable since high school and we have remained close, starting at the time when we were just a group of silly girls and still now, as grown women.

Don't get me wrong, they all drive me absolutely bat shit crazy, but I wouldn't trade them for anything in this whole world.

It's the late night phone calls, catching up on life, love, family, work, heartbreaks; it's the "I'm in town... happy hour... you and me... 30 minutes..."; it's the note and flowers saying "I know today is going to be rough, and I am thinking of you and I am here for you."; and it's the saved spot I know I have in their hearts, and the spot they all have in mine, that makes the friendship we have so irreplaceable. I can count on these girls, day or night and sunshine or rain, to be there for me in any way imaginable, and I would do the same for them without hesitation, in a heartbeat.

I have come home from the lake house with countless hilarious memories; memories that make me laugh so hard I nearly pee my pants when I randomly recall them.

Kristen getting kick punched by an old, drunk hag. Retracting a dead mouse from the restroom with a golf club. Our late night sober dance parties being secretly filmed. Developing a British accent when talking amongst ourselves. Being chased by ducks in very deep waters. Acquiring the most random pieces of oversized, costume jewelry and bingo hats from complete strangers. Morgan turning into a tomato after being exposed to sunlight for 15 minutes. Bike rides that left us sore for 2 weeks. Capturing tribal hair and salad fingers on film. Going to town on cookie dough logs and apple salad. Maria and Jordann turning into 65 year old gambling addicts upon hearing the word "Keno". Mailey's pirate impressions. Shutting down Frosty's by requesting Jeremih and NSYNC.

While writing this and recalling these memories, I'm struggling getting any words out and down because I can't hold back the laughter caused by our ridiculousness.

Bottom line, I would like to pay homage to these goofy chicks, let them know how much I appreciate everything they've done for me over the years, and how much I am looking forward to the millions of belly laughs to come. Here's to all future lake trips, hopefully we'll be giggling just as hard with our scooters, walkers, canes, and dentures. I love you all to pieces.

9 Favorite Scenes

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Sat, 01 Mar 2014 22:42:00 +0000

1.) The Sandlot, "You play ball like a GIRL!"

http://youtu.be/gVscCNZsYSY

2.) My Best Friend's Wedding, "I've got moves... you've never seen."

http://youtu.be/QAsI8z9qfKY

3.) The Sound of Music, "I have confidence in confidence alone!"

4.) Sleepless in Seattle, "It was... magic."

5.) Home Alone, "... including in-between my toes and in my belly button."

http://youtu.be/Zlu7S8dUUBY

6.) When Harry Met Sally, "No, you pretty much wanna nail them too."

http://youtu.be/i8kpYm-6nuE

7.) Ace Ventura, "What happened to him? What happened to me!"

http://youtu.be/5g4DgQayaOw

8.) The Proposal, "It takes two to make a thing go ri-ight!"

http://youtu.be/159twS-rDM4

9.) Good Will Hunting, "How do you like them apples."

http://youtu.be/VmRe_fK7pbw

What keeps me (mostly) sane.

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Fri, 28 Feb 2014 17:45:00 +0000

In a world that's full of radioactive material, serial killers, economic depressions, adulterous relationships, it's no wonder why we all feel like we need a Zoloft at the ending of most days. Actually, come to think of it... the phrase "a hard day's work" really shouldn't be as commonly used as it is. Why is life difficult? Why are we faced with problems daily that seem to have absolutely no easy solution? Well folks, I haven't taken a class on philosophy and I'm not a clinical psychologist, so I can't answer either of those questions for you. The only advice that I can give you, is to start doing the things in life that make your heart beat a little faster. A pitter-patter, if you will.

Many professionals suggest meditation in times of stress, proclaiming that it brings you back to your life's core purpose and it can help you ground and center your thoughts, realizing what is important and what is not. Personally, silence irritates me. Maybe I still behave like an antsy 5 year old child, but whenever I'm forced into a situation where someone is telling me to envision a clear blue sky, and a whispering wind grazing my bare neck, I start to think about the ants that would inevitably be crawling up my jean shorts, and how the grass that I'm supposed to be sitting in would no doubt cause me to break out in hives.

Meditation? Not for this girl. Not in the sense that most people meditate, anyway.

I always tell people that my worst punishment growing up would be having my music taken away from me.

Though, I can't sing or play any instruments, and I dance like a total white girl, music is such a huge part of my life. It's importance and power was taught to me at very young age, mostly by my father. To this day, whenever I go home to visit my parents, 9 times out of 10, I walk in the door and immediately hear music playing.

As a kid, my dad would force me to sit down with him and listen to a song, say by John Mellencamp, and afterwords we would talk about the message the song was trying to send the audience, our favorite parts, the best solos, etc. and then we would play the song over and over and over again. It's one of my most fond memories I have with my Dad.

I love the saying, "When words fail, music speaks."

Through tough times, I turn up my music. Through great times, I turn up my music. I love how a song can alleviate worry, alter your mood, or stir up an epiphany within your soul. It's beautiful and incredible when two people can not say a word, but dance and listen to a song, and still be in the same exact state of mind with one another. I can't get enough of concerts, for they can bring people together and spark a wonderful and powerful elation within an entire atmosphere.

Music is my therapy. It makes me happy and gets me through this hectic, wild life.

So, this is my music appreciation post. Tell me, what's your favorite song? Favorite artist? Favorite genre? Favorite era in music? What do I need to be listening to? What music will make my life a little better?

My 8 Wedding Summer

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Wed, 26 Feb 2014 18:25:00 +0000

As some of you know, I have a younger sister who likes to go against the grain. God love her, but it's true, and she will be the first to admit it. She's a rebel with many causes. Always has been, always will be. So... true to form, about a year ago, she came to my family to tell us she and her boyfriend... were engaged... to be married... before me... her older, single, sister.

Well, this wild child kicks off my summer of hell, wait... I mean, my summer of 8 weddings. And while I love and completely adore every single one of my friends and family who have decided to leap into the world of matrimony, I fear for my own mental well being in the months ahead.

"Why?", you ask. "Weddings are a blast.", you say. To which I will respond, "In theory, you are right." But I am certain this theory will be proven wrong, beginning with the conversion of my sister from Miss to Mrs.

I am submitting to the court, Exhibit A, "The life pressures of a young adult."

I remember the stress and anxieties I began to feel in the middle of my Senior year of high school, when family and friends started to inquire about my college plans, dreams, and future aspirations. Being that I am usually a hot mess, and don't normally plan out my next meal until my stomach has been grumbling for a good hour or so, I did not enjoy these interrogations in the slightest form of the word. I am a "one step at a time", "take things day by day" kind of extrovert. The word "plan" and I, do not get along.

I'll admit, I bring entirely too much stress upon myself due to this organizational deficiency, and it's definitely something I am working to improve upon daily (I am proud to say I now carry a pocket planner in my purse and I even check it everyday), however, I do feel that every inch of my life cannot and should not be minimalized and categorized into a minute-by-minute itinerary. I feel that when I try to embrace this "Type A" lifestyle and plans fall apart or chaos ensues or the system breaks down, I have major meltdowns, to which I am ill-equipped to cope.

Of course, I have dreams and hopes for my life, but I've learned that little to nothing in this world is guaranteed, so ya gotta just roll with the punches, for lack of a better cliché.

For some reason, detailed plans are expected of us 20-25 year olds and if we even elude to the fact that we may not have one in effect, a label of social leprosy is stamped upon our foreheads, and we are instantly regarded as someone who needs assistance, requires restructuring, or just needs to get their act together.

So, while I can't wait to celebrate the event of my younger sister entering into a new stage in her life, I am dreading explaining to people why as an older sibling, for now, I'm complacent with where I am in my life.

Honestly, I feel the reason why so many marriages do not work out nowadays is because of this enormous amount of pressure. Being a 25 year old woman, the pressure is on and steadily persistent from the "accomplished" and "successful" peers to settle down, meet that special person, buy a home, take summer vacations, achieve promotions at work, etc. Of course, all of these things are goals that I eventually want to be able to cross off a list, but if they are not reached within a certain time-frame, many young adults either shamelessly exploit themselves on countless dating websites in attempts to find a half decent suitor or enter into a panic and voluntarily commit themselves to a psychiatric ward.

Shouldn't we be more concerned with the impact we are making on the lives of others and on our community daily?

It's an idea that I think gets lost somewhere along the way. We are definitely in the age bracket of self-absorption, trying desperately to find our way, but I fear that our connect with the rest of the world is forgotten when we are so concerned with personal gain and benefit. It's a very scary thought.

So, I will speak on the behalf of the girls (and guys) who are in their mid-twenties... be it, they are single and loving it, or in a healthy, loving, un-married, un-cohabitated relationship, or happily working at a job that does not fall under their career field of choice, or hopeful of having children one day but in no rush to get pregnant, or still renting a one-bedroom shanty downtown (and in my personal instance, almost all of the above)... As much as we love you Planning Patricia's and Pete's and have the utmost respect for the decisions you have made for your own life, I will assure you... We are fine. We are happy. And we will figure out the details of our life when we can.

That is all.

There's being good, and then there's being Brian.

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 07:59:00 +0000

I've been gone for awhile. Symbolically "lost", if you will. I was stuck in a place full of miscommunication, heartache, anger, sadness, confusion, and bitterness. What happened that could have possibly brought me to such a state of being? Well, most people blame their problems on a streak of bad luck; one thing after another... but in reality, for me, it was merely a strong case of self-consumption. I blamed my problems on jerks, on the president, on the economy, on my upbringing, on my good heart, on the American educational system, on the snow, and on anything and anyone but myself. I became absorbed with the idea that this time in my life was "Nicole Time". I felt that enough was enough, I had paid my dues, been through all the toil and hardship I could take, and now life owed me big time.

Oddly enough, life did not get this memo. I was duped by acquaintances I thought I knew, let down by friends I trusted, hurt by loved ones, and I had no idea what to do about it. I found myself in a rut, asking the heavens above, "Why me?! What did I do to deserve all of these craptastic things? When will things start going my way? I'm a good person, I deserve good things!"

I ate A LOT of Oreos.

This thought has been pondered by many wise people before me: Why do bad things happen to good people?

And many wise people have responded with the ironically inconvenient answer of, "No one knows."

As I was laying in bed, day after day, wallowing in my own self pity... the world kept moving. Good things and bad things were happening to my friends, family, and the world around me. Kindergartners were brutally murdered, my little sister fell in love and got engaged to a boy who lives out of state, friends were diagnosed with illnesses, parents took well-deserved vacations, grandparents were in and out of the hospital, coworkers lost their jobs, and I was abruptly forced to recognize their lives realities, along with my own.

I have no idea if fate and destiny take a hand in our daily lives or if there is some cosmic power that controls everything in the world. Personally, I believe in God. I think God nudges each one of us towards a good direction in life; sometimes we go with it and other times we brush it off. I don't believe that God is the one striking some of us down in hard times, without rhyme or reason... or that God gives better luck to some people rather than others, just because that's the way God is feeling at the time.

Some people disagree with me, and that's okay because I cannot prove myself right or completely off-base. It is just something that I have faith in; an idea that my heart insists is true. It's a tricky subject to discuss because so many people have only known easy and simple lives, while others were forced to graduate from "The School of Hard Knocks". It's all a matter of opinion, of circumstance, and of perseverance and resilience. Therefore, it's no wonder to me that the world is diverse with those who are grateful and those who are jaded.

I myself have tried many different strategies when it comes to handling life, and here is what I feel pays off, rejuvenates, and in turn helps me move forward to happier times...

Goodness.

I fail miserably in my attempts to "Be good" more times than not, but I am trying to make it my highest priority. In life, I want to be good and do good.

What do I mean by this? What is this "goodness" I speak of? What are the stipulations?

Here's how I see it... If you are 64, say "please" and "thank you" to the 17 year old serving you pancakes at iHop, even if they seem unpleasant and moody. If you are 23, late for a meeting, hungover and impatient, help the elderly person who is struggling to use the ATM instead of honking your horn at them. If someone bumps you in a crowded hallway and doesn't bother to say "Excuse me", let it go. Smile at strangers, even if they look at you like you're insane. Release old grudges from your heart. Call your mom and tell her you love her. Think about what you are saying before you say it, and how it will sound to the person you are saying it to. Hug your husband. Learn from your mistakes. Help your neighbor bring in their groceries. Don't make excuses for your poor behavior and don't be so proud that you won't admit when you're wrong. Comfort a friend. Laugh with your siblings. Forgive sworn enemies. Be present and patient in your children's lives. Reflect on your actions daily. Cook your grandparents dinner. Pause when you are in a rush and allow yourself to feel grateful just to be alive.

Most of these things feel like huge hassles 90% of the time. When you start this life-exercise, you will begin by forcing yourself to do these tasks, then you will routinely remind yourself to do them, then you will start involuntarily doing them, and then after awhile... you will realize you are happy when you do them. Why? I don't know. I just know that eventually, the pain-in-the-ass of it all goes away, and you just feel good when you selflessly do good for others.

Bad things will still happen. Something will come along to spoil your fun, ruin your day, and attempt to bring you down. "It's not 'if it happens', it's 'when it happens'"
... And then what?

Well, I have an older brother. His name is Brian. Brian is a very good person. He was born with more health problems than I have fingers and toes. He has had more surgeries over the span of his life than the amount of birthdays I have celebrated. He can't see, so he can't drive. He has a bit of a mobility problem, so he can't play sports. He gets lost instantaneously in unfamiliar settings. He doesn't have many friends his own age. He struggled just to graduate high school. Most of the time, he can't remember if he brushed his teeth in the morning or fed himself dinner the night before, which means he has to live with my parents, who he loves, but that in itself can be quite a tricky and unpleasant situation from time to time.

HOWEVER... I do not, nor will I ever, feel bad for Brian. Brian has the strongest grasp on life's mysterious and unfair ways out of any person I know. Brian has been knocked down and defeated, told no and dismissed by life's "elite", yet he still gets up and gets after it every single day. He works hard, he gives 110%, he never has ever given up. Why does he do this when he could be coddled, pitied, aided through life's tribulations? Because he knows that he, just like anyone else in this world, has the strength to survive them. This possession of strength is something he is aware of, yet his humbleness prevents him from fully understanding it's phenomenal rarity. I think for the most part, Brian goes to bed every night, just happy he made it through another day, safe and sound.

Brian often has frustrating days, full of inconvenient hurdles, and will come home, walk up to me, give me a smile and a big-bear hug... and he says "Thank you."

When he does this I say, "Brian! What are you saying thank you for? I didn't do anything, ya silly head!"

He shrugs, says "Oh." and walks away.

I always thought he was just confused or trying to be nice to me or something. Only recently did I understand this ritual of Brian's.

According to doctors, Brian almost wasn't.

No matter how good or how bad life is to him, Brian will always be thankful to be here; to be present and to be given a chance.

Some people might look at my big brother and think "Oh, poor guy... he's had such a rough life!", but whenever something negative happens to me now, I remember that Brian is my brother, and he is and has always been a total beast with a heart of gold aaaaaaaaaaand...

... we have the same genetics and he taught me everything I know, so chances are, I can probably be a beast and handle life too.

Blame The Angst On *NSYNC

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Thu, 06 Dec 2012 19:55:00 +0000

"It's tearing up my heart when I'm with you. But when we are apart, I feel it too."

Call me crazy, but I don't think at the age of 24 I should still be emotionally identifying with these lyrics. As of recently, I have come to a self-awareness that I'm still as angsty and compelled by irrational emotions as I was at 15. Can you imagine a grown, successful woman, sitting in an office cubical, sobbing and blaring "Quit Playing Games With My Heart" by the Backstreet Boys? Honestly, you shouldn't have to. That is an image that NO ONE should ever have to see. However, that woman, may or may not have been me at one point in recent history.

There are many immature habits which I have yet to outgrow. For instance, ordering chicken fingers and fries at any sit-down restaurant, simply by default... (I get nervous when I look at menus.) But this gut-wrenching heartbreak pattern might take the cake and it's undoubtedly my most difficult bad habit to break.

Just so you have an idea of the self-inflicting pain I speak of, when I was 16 and a boy hurt me, I wanted the world to know what I was going through, so I would sit in my room, blast some cheesey pop music and post an away message on my AOL Instant Messenger that would look a little something like this...

Fortunately, no one uses AOL Instant Messenger anymore. Unfortunately, Facebook has completely replaced our hours spent chatting online with pals. With this new form of socializing readily available on our iMacs, iPhones, and iPads and over 700 "friends" to "share" my personal life with, it takes all of my mental strength not to post lyrics, music videos, and pictures of myself looking adorably lovable on my page, so the world can see how hot I still look after someone has done me wrong.

The problem is subliminal messaging. Yes! I sure do believe in that crap, as firmly as I believe that Miss Cleo was a phenomenal cosmic power in the psychic world!

As a young naive girl, I can guarantee that 90% of my time was spent with headphones on, engraining the wise words of Justin Timberlake, Hanson, Backstreet Boys, O-Town, 98 Degress, etc. into my hormonal, puberty-stricken mind. Have you ever paid attention to the lyrics of these artists? At the time, I swore that these words spoke to my soul. "Baby when you finally get to love somebody, guess what? It's gonna be me." and "Where's the love? It's not enough. It makes the world go 'round." and let's not forget! ... "Am I original? Am I the only one? Am I sexual?"

I mean honestly, come on guys... "Show me the meaning of being lonely." ?? ... What the heck does that even mean?! I'm thinking it means the skills of song-writers hit rock bottom in the late 90's and all the while, the lyricists of "Stairway To Heaven" and "Hotel California" were rolling over in their graves.

Here's my theory, I struggle with starting relationships, discarding emotional baggage, and picking myself up after ties have supposedly been severed because these boy bands told me that's how it's supposed to be. In the majority of their songs, the message being sent to the listeners is that when you fall in love, it's going to be with someone that sucks. And that is going to suck for you. And you're never going to get over it. And you're going to cry yourself to sleep at night, wishing that you never met this person, while at the same time thanking the heavens above that you did, because there just isn't anyone out there that could possibly break your fragile heart quite like they do. Because of these boy bands' stupid advice, we do irrational, psychotic, bat-shit-crazy things for our lover's attention, go after unattainable people, and refuse to let go when there isn't a shred of hope left in a relationship.

Ladies and gentlemen, love doesn't have to be this way. When you decide that you are ready to be committed to someone, it should be with someone who is considerate of your stereotypical-pop-culture-emotional instability, who takes this in high regards, and because of this awareness, won't do things to hurt your feelings. Quit wasting your time on The Selfish and patiently await the arrival of The Selfless.

Love should be simple: "You like me, I like you, we like each other, and ALAS! We are happy."

End. Of. Story.

Forget the lyrics, forget the gut-wrenching drama. If it's keeping you up at night because you have knots, not butterflies, in your belly, it's time to let it go.

Here's one final a tip, if he sings "I'll never break your heart, I'll never make you cry.", has unnaturally colored, frosty platinum hair, and wears matching windbreaker pants with four of his buddies, run far, far away and never look back.

Dating Woes of The Modern Day Independent Woman

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 19:50:00 +0000

I just spent the last two hours of my life trying to unclog my toilet.

No, the clog isn't a result of a massive dump taken. I have a very old apartment... cute, adorable, quirky and lovable... but very old. And it has a very old, very iffy toilet in it's very old, very outdated bathroom.

Needless to say, after two hours of tirelessly plunging... my toilet is still very old... and very clogged.

It is during times like these in my life that I wish I had a male companion the most. I wish I had a boyfriend now, more than ever, to unclog my godforsaken, rickety, teal-colored toilet... and then maybe he could hold me and we could just cuddle and lie there when he was through.

They say that when you are dating, you are attracted to features that your mother or father possessed while they were raising you. Although, this Freudian hypothesis is undoubtedly creepy as hell to me, I do find it to be universally correct.

Looking back on my childhood, I realize that my father was a literal "Jack of Trades". His nickname is Jack, that's why it's literal. Stick with me.

My dad cooked the food, cleaned the house, squished the bugs, fixed the leak, raked the leaves, worked the job, packed the lunch, nailed the drywall, talked the talk, and walked the walk.

Don't get me wrong, my mother is a very awesome lady. She is steadfast, moral, trustworthy, reliable, firm, hardworking, giving, and extremely intelligent. She just doesn't like to cook. Or clean. But, my father will be the first to tell you that he would be dead or in jail, if it wasn't for her.

Basically, my parents are the kind of people who did, and continue to do, whatever it takes to survive, without a grimace or complaint. And they do it together.

Growing up with such a powerful, ready-and-able couple, both of my parents felt it was very important that I learn life skills at an early age, so that I would never have to be dependent on anyone for anything. Anytime there was something wrong with my car, my dad made me come outside and watch him fix it... even in the blistering cold and pouring rain. Anytime, I fudged my finances, my mother made me sit down with her and look at where I went wrong and what I should do in the future to prevent it from happening again.

For all of this and more, I am so grateful. I am not a girl who is scared to kill spiders. I know how to unjam a garbage disposal. I can replace most fluids in my car. I know the proper way to paint a wall. I can bake a mean batch of chocolate chip cookies. I rarely need a knight in shining armor to come to my rescue.

HOWEVER...

For one reason or another, I suck at unclogging toilets. This is EXTREMELY frustrating to me. I am the kind of person that figures out ways to get the job done, even if it isn't necessarily the same way that everyone else does it.

But, unlike eating reese cups, I really think there is only one way to unclog a toilet. And it is a mythical mystery, in a far away distant fantasy land, one that I fear I will never travel to and discover.

This admission troubles me on multiple counts.

First: What kind of nancy sissy baby of a female can't unclog a toilet? It seems as though it's pretty self explanatory... just keep plunging until the flush flushes freely.

Second: I hate asking for help. I hate admitting that I need someone. My generation of females has been taught to behave as though we can do anything and everything that a man can do, and sometimes we can do it better. I know more girls that can change a tire than I do guys. It used to be that women were looked down upon if they didn't behave like a lady and now the most respected women curse like sailors while smoking Marlboro Reds. We no longer have to wait for a man to call and ask us on a date, if we want him, we have no other option but to be assertive and go get him.

Third: I want a man who knows how to work his plunger! (Please giggle at the potential dirtiness of that last sentence.) A man who doesn't scream if he sees a mouse in the house. A man who will let me squeeze the living willies out of his hand when I have to get a shot during a doctor's visit. Does such a man exist anymore?! I know how to do MANY difficult and distasteful tasks in life that are necessary for my survival, but that doesn't mean that when I am with someone, I want to be the man of the house. Of course, I enjoy being a handy woman, but I also enjoy curling my hair, painting my nails, listening to Mariah Carey, and crying throughout the entire ending scene of "An Affair To Remember" and I won't have time for any of those things if I'm always taking out the garbage and hooking up the cable box.

This is all well and good, but I just wonder what happens when we regress back to history's past ways of girlishness and want to be taken care of for a change. Will we begin wearing unbearable petticoats and take to fainting on chaise lounge chairs? Does needing a male companion make us any less of a strong female? Do we lose all sense of independence once we let someone into our lives? Is it okay for us to believe that we cannot do it all? Or is it at that very moment, that we lose the sacred womanly strength we once possessed?

I cannot answer any of those questions at this point in my life. One day in the very distant future, I may have that ability. All I'm saying is, after today, I'm adding "Knows how to unclog a toilet" to my list of dating qualifications and there isn't an ounce of energy left in my ever-loving plunging body that will admit to being ashamed of that.

Before You Speak

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Wed, 19 Sep 2012 19:09:00 +0000

"Think before you speak."

Who truly believes this anymore? Anyone? Anyone at all?

... *... crickets... * ...

With the upcoming election being beaten through our tiny pea brains by the media and advertising industry, it's no wonder that people don't know how to filter their speech, thoughts, opinions, and/or ideas anymore. When an obnoxious fly won't stop buzzing in your ear and won't land somewhere long enough for you to smash it to smithereens, what do you do? You call it an annoying bastard and curse the day it was ever brought into existence. This is a perfect metaphor for my feelings towards the 2012 presidential election.

In fact, just the other day I caught myself holding back the urge to call total strangers imbeciles as they stood in front of me discussing which political candidate they thought would be more beneficial to the future of our country. It could have been Albert Einstein and Sir Isaac Newton waiting in line before me. I didn't care. Because they were in heated debate about the election, they were both nincompoops to me.

Honestly, I find it very difficult to take any interest at all in politics, for the sheer reason that I can't stand listening to people argue, bitch, and bicker, and never come to an agreement on the subject at hand. I realize it's extremely important to educate myself on the election and candidates, take a stance, and finally to vote for the person who I believe will make their best effort to help me, my future, and the future of my children and this country. However, rarely is there a time when I can sit through the name-calling, mud-slinging, and slanderous statements for long enough to decipher through the muck and discover the real facts. It's literally a physical impossibility for me. In the end, I want to punch both parties square in the nose, before finding a more eloquent manner to ask if they could just shut the hell up.

I should not be surprised by any of this, I realize, because we live in a world where the freedom of speech is being abused more and more every hour of every day. When I say that the freedom of speech is being abused, please understand that I love the fact that we live in a country where it is permissible to speak your mind without the fear being stoned to death or imprisoned. What I mean by my statement is that very few people think about what they want to say, before they say it. All they know is that they are completely right, and the person they are arguing is 100% wrong... and they will figure out how to back this up, in due time.

It SHOULD NOT be this way. Granted, some of the most important thoughts are spur-of-the-moment, passionate spontaneities, which unfold in front of us before we ourselves even have a chance to comprehend their true meanings. But truthfully, a well planned, thoughtfully composed opinion is one that I'd much rather listen to, as opposed to one from a person who has no idea what they are talking about until the moment that they part their lips to speak and concoct their support as the word vomit falls from their mouth into my ears.

As important as it is to have well-constructed, organized thoughts, I understand that it is equally important to be emotionally connected with the words you preach. Otherwise, there is no way in hell you are going to convince any one that you know what you are talking about, or that your ideas have any type of validity to them at all. For pete's sake, when my own father tells me I'm overly dramatic and ardent, I correct him by stating that my feelings are passionate and heartfelt, otherwise, they would not be surfacing and would not hold a drop of importance to anyone listening. Something inside each of us pushes our scruples to the exterior and, to me, these convictions are worth weighing out.

HOWEVER...

The fact of the matter is, there are certain thoughts that each one of our brains contains, which we should just keep to ourselves. Before we speak at all, we should quickly ask ourselves, "How is what I'm about to say going to affect my listener, positively or negatively?". The answer to this may lean more closely towards the negative end of the spectrum, which is fine, as long as we are aware that this is the action we are about to take and accept the consequences which will follow thereafter.

I am not saying that we should not speak if we believe what we say will cause controversy, argument, or disagreement. This is by far one of the best ways for mankind to learn and grow. The point I am trying to make is that we should be certain that our hearts and our minds are in agreement when displacing thoughts through our mouths. We should be sure that what we are preaching is an idea which truly belongs in the minds of others for them to ponder, refute, or concede with.

Now, if CNN and FOXNews could just grab this concept by the reigns, I think you might be voting for Miss Goober Daisy as the next Commander in Chief.

My slogan?

"THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK."

Dating and The "Happy" Medium

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Fri, 27 Jul 2012 07:53:00 +0000

We have all heard the story of "Goldilocks and The Three Bears". I will honestly admit that I never really understood what this fable was trying to teach us. As a child, I guess it taught me that breaking and entering would more often than not result in three carnivores trying to make me their lean cuisine.

Looking back, I'm beginning to think that whomever first began telling this story was trying to teach their children the beauty of moderation. However, kids usually want a thriller so the adult eventually decided to add in some scary bears that would bust the naive young trespasser, therein derailing children from the original moral of the story.

Now, stick with me here.

In theory, could we apply Goldilocks' attempts to find perfection to say, our lives or even... dating? I think so.

The media and marketers tell us that we either want things to be bigger, better, faster, stronger... or... smaller, slimmer, shinier, smarter. But is this false advertising? When applied to the dating world, how many of us have no idea what we are looking for because of the conflicting advice we receive from friends, family, and society? Do we want someone who is mysterious, sexy, and bold? Or do we go for someone who is kind, caring, and low key? Do we play the damsel in distress? Or do we actively become the heroine of the story?

Let's go with the females perspective, since... SURPRISE! I am not a man and have no freaking idea what men want or think, as much as I may put on otherwise.

So, as women, many of us grow up thinking that some prince charming will come into our lives, looking all Brawny Man-esque, sweep us off our feet, and then provide for us and our family for the rest of our life. Then we get a little bit older, and our elders tell us to "Be smart.", "Forget men.", "Find a career and make a living of our own.", then worry about romance once we have all of our ducks in a row. We take this advice, but struggle to come to terms with the life we choose, because we are still hanging on to the idea that we could have had a man slaving in the work force for us and all we would have had to do was pop out a few babies, whip up a few batches of Kraft Mac N Cheese, and after that we'd be smooth sailing; eating Bon-Bon's and watching "All My Children" on our velvet pink chaise lounge, coming down from a Shiraz buzz.

The fact of the matter is, we all want that happy medium. That porridge, that chair, that bed, that man, that life, that is just right. As much as we are told we need to hold out for the best... the best is boring. A man without flaws is not a man that I want, nor a man that could provide me with eternal bliss. So how do we snag this "not-so-perfect" perfect guy?

Here's the part where I, personally, lose sleep at night.

~~Recently~~ (Who am I kidding?) My entire adult life, I have been traveling first class on The Dating Struggle Bus. I'd like to think this is mostly because everyone has a soulmate and I just haven't stumbled upon mine yet, but I'm pretty sure there is no scientific research supporting that there is a "soulmate" out there for everyone.

Behavioral Decision Making is my dating road block. I can't decide whether it's better to throw my crazy, koo-koo side completely out there for all the men to see, or just to give them small samplings over an extended period of time. Because let's face it, the man I end up with is either going to be the most kind and patient man alive, or a complete and total lunatic. Cross your fingers, I'm hoping he's a little bit of both.

Actually, in the dating scene, I never really know what I'm doing, how I should properly go about doing it, or how to behave afterwards. And I've tried tackling it from every angle. I have played the "shy girl", I have been outgoing and loud, I've been a lady, I've belched, I've been nonchalant, I've been the guys gal (my personal favorite), I've been the unattainable bitch, I've been a bookworm, I've been a matronly mommy babysitter figure. It all ends the same... me in much confusion and a loose pair of sweatpants with a full package of Oreos, a tall glass of milk, and Sleepless in Seattle in my DVD player. Wow, that sounds just plain old pathetic. But hell, the only reason I'm ok with disclosing that information is because I know for a fact (Hey there single friends!) that I am not the only one who does this.

The truth is, I enjoy being alone. ALOT. Probably more often than most people. I really enjoy my own company because HELL, I'm a catch! I'm fun, witty, outgoing, free-spirited, optimistic, and light hearted. And I bet you'd never guess that my vice is my lack of modesty. I mean, seriously, who wouldn't want to hang out with me?! Everyone should want that! Right? Right! But as confident and independent as I am, and as often as I make jokes about it, I would love to be able to meet someone that I like a little more than myself, so that I don't end up an old crazy hag who cracks jokes that no one, but herself, understands. And honestly, I'm starting to think my life is leaning towards that scenario becoming a reality.

Being that I'd like to have a companion that I can, at the bare minimum, tolerate... and who in-turn tolerates me, I often make attempts to be proactive in the dating scene, asking friends and family for dating tidbits.

*NOTE*

- I AM CONVINCED THAT THIS IS A DATING BOOBY TRAP/LABYRINTH/RIGGED MIND MAZE. And this is why...

Friend A's advice = "If it's meant to be, it will happen. Don't push too hard for anything from him. Play hard to get. Act like you don't care. Never make the first move."

Friend B's advice = "If you want someone to be in your life, then make it happen. You'll never know until you try. Never be afraid to share how you feel. Go for it."

Friend C's advice = "Be mean to him."

Friend D's advice = "Be nice to him."

Dad's advice = "Don't put all your eggs in one basket. Have fun."

Mom's advice = "Focus on one relationship. Don't be a floozy."

Dr. Phil's advice = "Communication is crucial."

Maury's advice = "You are not the father."

In the end, I mostly rely on my heart, or my gut, or whatever the hell it is that tells me how or what to make my next move in my relationships. Granted, I know that part of the reason for my unluckiness in love can be chalked up to the fact that I am attracted to complete buttholes (pardon my french), but even as I am learning to broaden my horizons (aka steer clear of guys who know they are tall, dark, and handsome), the fact remains that men (even the nice ones) and dating are an utter mystery to me. I just can't figure them, or it, out.

So, I pose these questions to my readers... Is there a happy dating medium? How do we know where to draw the lines in order to create a steady, normal, healthy relationship? How much is too much? Do you actively seek out relationships, knowing the majority of them will fail due to incompatibility? Or do you sit back, live your life, and wait patiently for Mr. Right?

I realize much of this is circumstantial, but I think it would be a GRAND idea for all of you to congregate, ask yourselves these questions, formulate some solid, concrete answers and then get back to me. These conflicting words of wisdom are really starting to make me feel like a schizophrenic.

Nikki Z's Ultimate Top 40

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Wed, 16 May 2012 19:04:00 +0000

Since I started this whole blogging ordeal, I've had multiple friends request that I write a post dedicated to music. I don't like to toot my own horn (toot toot) but I consider myself something of a musical guru.

Like, you know that game you play in the car where the Car DJ plays a few seconds of a song and you try to guess the title and artist as quickly as possible? What?! No one else plays that?!?! Well, I'm a 3 time gold medalist in that game.

Now, most people don't have an absolute favorite song, but I do, because I'm a freak. It's "Crash Into Me", the single most overplayed Dave Matthews song of all time. I get chills every time I hear it. It makes no sense whatsoever but I can firmly say that there is no better song than that, in my opinion.

So, here... I'm disclosing my top 40 songs aka the soundtrack of my life. How did I select them, you ask? Well, I went through my iPod and wrote down all the songs that were physically impossible to skip over without listening to them in their entirety. I also asked my closest friends what song came to mind when they thought of me. These are the people who know me the best. Some of their responses scared me, because I could totally understand why they associated each particular song with my persona, no matter how ridiculous that song may be... Ehhhemmm... ("Milkshake" by Kelis).

You might think I'm crazy. You might think I'm a genius.

Frankly, I don't give a damn.

It's my list. And I stick my tongue out towards the haters.

"Closer" by NeYo - If this song is slick, then the video is Slick Rick.

"Night Moves" by Bob Seger
"Gettin' Jiggy With It" by Will Smith
"Midnight Train To Georgia" by Gladys Knight and The Pips
"I Believe In A Thing Called Love" by The Darkness
"Shower The People" by James Taylor
"She Talks To Angels" by The Black Crowes
"PYT" by Michael Jackson
"Yellow" by Coldplay
"What If I Came Knocking" by John Mellencamp - It has a rough, sexy, edgy-ness that I love.

"Best I Ever Had" by Drake
"Dancing In The Dark" by Bruce Springsteen
"I Try" by Macy Gray
"Summertime" by Kenny Chesney
"Dream On" by Aerosmith
"You Send Me" by Aretha Franklin
"Sweet Lady" by Tyrese
"I Want You Back" by NSYNC
"Sure Thing" by Miguel
"Valerie" by Amy Winehouse
"Soon I'll Be Loving You" by Marvin Gaye - You can't not like this man.

"Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen
"Never Can Say Goodbye" by The Jackson 5
"I Have Nothing" by Whitney Houston
"Mr. Jones" by The Counting Crows
"Slow Jamz" by Kanye West
"Hear Me" by Kelly Clarkson
"Milkshake" by Kelis
"Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman
"Rearview Mirror" by Pearl Jam - Pissed off? Bad break-up? Give this a listen.

"Ordinary People" by John Legend
"Getting In The Way" by Jill Scott
"Untitled (How Does It Feel) by D'Angelo
"All By Myself" by Celine Dion
"That's All" by Genesis
"Nothing Even Matters" by Lauryn Hill
"One Headlight" by The Wallflowers
"Ain't Nobody" by Chaka Khan
"Crash Into Me" by Dave Matthews
"You Gotta Be" by Desiree - I dare you to listen to this song when you're in a bad mood.

Dear "Now That's What I Call Music" people,

Go ahead, give my people a ring. I look forward to working with you.

Sincerely,

Nicole

Twitter meet #The Worst.

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Mon, 14 May 2012 19:56:00 +0000

I know some of you are Twitterless Twits and that's ok, don't you fret, because I'll give you a brief rundown about the subject which I'm about to address.

"Twhat?", you say?

Precisely.

There is currently a trend on Twitter, which consists of posts relating to awkward or awfully embarrassing moments in people's lives. These Tweets begin with "That moment when" and then describe the painful moment, which other people may or may not be able to relate to on a personal level. Obviously, I'm a huge fan of this, considering I could write a series of novels on the stupid crap I do on a minute to minute basis. So, for example, someone might post "That moment when you run into your ex during the exact moment that a juicy green booger is dangling from a rogue nose hair and you are completely unaware."

For the record, that has not happened to me... as far as I know. So actually, it might have happened to me.

Oh crap, that totally happened to me.

In fact, just the other day, I posted about how I hopped over a mound of clothes piled on my floor, which made me trip over a godforsaken shoe, landing directly on an earring which was lost in my carpet, coincidentally piercing my left palm. Oh, and this moment was during the wee small hours of the evening, around 2 am, so I couldn't scream because everyone in my house was blissfully slumbering, and heaven forbid I should wake them up to the bloodbath which I just created for myself. I think my face turned purple, then red, then blue all in a matter of 7 seconds.

No. Big. Deal.

And then I made a discovery. Here's the thing about the Twitter generation, we believe we are so clever with our witty hashtags and brutally honest anonymous tweets, however, this whole "That moment when" trend is not an original concept.

Have you ever heard a person tell you a semi-painful story and follow it with, "Yea I hate when that happens... That's the worst."

Ellen Degeneres... one person who I would pay ungodly amounts of money to have lunch with, did a bit about this during one of her stand-ups. I definitely suggest you watch the entire show (You might want to be wearing a diaper while you do). Hey, if you ask nicely, I'll even let you borrow mine, but for the purposes of this post please skip to 6:20 of the video below.

ANYWAYS! I've decided to start the #TheWorst trend on Twitter for two reasons...

1.) When people think horrible things happen to them, they normally need someone to either tell them, "Oh yea, that's the worst!" or "Hey, why don't you gain some perspective and go shove your silver spoon up your..."

And 2.) I want to be famous for something.

I actually can't sit here and act like I've never said, "Man, that's the worst!" In fact, here are a list of things that I find are #TheWorst that life has to offer...

1.) When you really gotta go. I mean REALLY gotta go. And you are nowhere near a bathroom. Like NOWHERE NEAR a bathroom. Suddenly you see a glimpse of light in the far off distance! You read the letters and form a connection "REST AREA 1 MILE". You hear angels sing Hallelujah as if they were floating beside you in the passenger seat. You race out out of your car like a bat out of hell (whatever that means) and you squat over the first toilet you see. You relieve yourself, and grab for some toilet tissue. And what do you find. A cylinder of cardboard. #THEWORST

2.) When you have a cold, the flu, allergies, and every time you start to talk to someone, they ask you who died. #THEWORST

3.) A sunburn. And then a cold shower. #THEWORST

4.) Spilling hot coffee all over yourself while in the car trying to merge onto a major freeway, as you are running late for your first day at your new job. #THEWORST

5.) Sneeze-farting in mid-conversation with your new co-workers during your first week at your new job #THEWORST

6.) Having to come up with something clever to tell your guy friends as to why you don't want to party when you are PMSing or having any kind of menstrual issues. I.E. Boobs that ache too much to move, so I'm not really concerned with raging tonight. #THEWORST

7.) Having an itch somewhere you can't (or shouldn't) scratch. #THEWORST

8.) Eating something crunchy, that by definition should not be crunchy. #THEWORST

... you get the picture.

So, for all you tweeters out there, get this trend going and don't forget to hashtag #GooberDaisy right after it. I want everyone to know I came up with this great idea!

Wait a minute...

Mother May I?

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Thu, 10 May 2012 06:36:00 +0000

My mother wouldn't let me get my belly button pierced.

My mother forced me to play softball when I asked to cheerlead. I was literally bawling my eyes out, watching out the window as she pulled out of the driveway to sign me up.

My mother didn't buy me a car for my 16th birthday. I don't know why I expected this, but regardless of my idiocy, I did.

My mother promised to never give me another one of her hard-earned dimes if I ever even thought about getting a tattoo anywhere on my body.

My mother made me come straight home after school dances, I wasn't allowed to "stay the night at a friends house".

My mother cut up my first credit card and made me pay off the entire balance the day she found out I had one.

My mother wouldn't let me watch R-rated movies. She still won't watch one with me. I'm going to be 24 this year.

My mother wouldn't buy or let me wear anything from Abercrombie and Fitch.

My mother made me get up and go to church every Sunday. If I was sick, I had to show her my puke in the toilet in order to get out of it. If I accidentally flushed before she got there, well... I was out of luck.

My mother lectured me about wearing clothes that were too tight, too short, too revealing... and still does to this day.

My mother made me get a job, gave me chores, and made me do my homework. Buzz. Kill.

My mother wouldn't be my friend.

So, if you're wondering how I feel about growing up with the meanest mother that ever lived, my fear of her will not keep me from disclosing the truth to my readers...

I am eternally grateful for all the things she never let me do.

Happy Birthday Mom, thanks for loving me enough to be mean to me! I love you!

And Happy Mother's Day to all the other mean mothers out there... keep on keepin' on.

Big Girl Panties

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 17:19:00 +0000

Today, I start my very first 40 hour a week, Monday through Friday, big girl job.

I should probably be preparing myself, i.e. packing a lunch, gathering paperwork, finding a work appropriate outfit (since I've been wearing jeans and a t-shirt to my place of employment since I was 17) etc. but instead, here I am... blabbering on for your mid-day literary pleasure needs.

In fact, you are probably sitting in your very own big girl (or boy) cubicle, at your very own big girl (or boy) desk, peering into your very own big girl (or boy) computer screen, skimming over this post to avoid doing your very own big girl (or boy) work.

Ah yes, it is time for Miss Goober Daisy to throw on her very first pair of big girl panties and jump into the real world. And let me tell you, although this is a life event that most people see as inevitable, I've been avoiding it at all costs. Don't get me wrong, I'm pumped to not be working my ass off, only to get paid $4.36 an hour, however I am not a person who is big on the two things I'm about to embark upon: 1.) Responsibility... and 2.) Change.

My entire life, my parents, friends, and family have been trying to extract me from my very own La-La-Land; a place where everyone gets along, arguments are pointless, people work because they enjoy every moment spent at their work place, hot guys aren't complete a-holes, girls don't have to wear a push-up bra to get someone to pay them attention, the most difficult decision you'll have to make is which brand of beer you'd like to drink as you play Cornhole in the summer sun, a smile makes everything better, and daisies grow like dandelions through gravel.

So here I am, growing up, becoming an adult, taking on the world. Am I scared? Out of my mind. But you have to do what you have do. And that might mean I lose my sense of humor, lust for adventure, peace of mind. But hey, we all have to become adults eventually, right?

Wrong. As far as behaving childish goes, you can consider me a "Lifer".

In fact, my future coworkers got lucky that April 1st fell on a Sunday, "The Day of Rest". Lord knows, had today been April Fools, well... I might have ended up back at square one (The Classifieds) tomorrow.

Wish me luck!

The Little Spy That Could

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Tue, 13 Mar 2012 17:52:00 +0000

I remember being about 6 or 7 years old, and waking up with an unusual amount of enthusiasm for the upcoming school day. The reason for my ardency? The fire department was coming to school and they were bringing a fire engine with them... So. Cool. Duh! And I knew that if I got lucky, they'd let me try on their gear. I was such a girly girl back in the day, I promise.

I'm sure there were 29 sets of parents that were extremely peeved that evening. Why you ask? Well, all of us 6 or 7 year olds were instructed by the cool firemen to go home and ask our parents to plan, practice, and execute multiple escape plans in case of a fire or other household-life-threatening emergency. I'm pretty sure my parents told me that if there was a fire to just open my bedroom window, jump out of it, and hope not to land on a rock.

That story does correlate with what I'm about to tell you, I'm just not exactly sure how so.

...

You know those movies about spies on top secret missions, or bank robbers who are trying to steal the world's largest diamond? Of course you do.

Alright, you know the part where they suddenly develop professional gymnast skills and can maneuver through a laser-beam-security maze like Nastia Liukin performing a floor routine?

Ok, confession. I may or may not have a teensy weensy fantasy about doing this. I'm talking about being a spy, not being a gymnast.

I actually didn't realize that I'd been subconsciously visiting this fantasy in my head until a few days ago while I was at work. In the basement of our building, there are double doors which have a sensor that allows the doors to open automatically if someone is walking towards them. The sensor is only on one side of the doors though, which perplexes me. If you are on the other side of the door, you have to physically push the doors open. I'm not perplexed by the fact that I have to exert energy, I just don't understand why there isn't a sensor on both sides.

Anyways, as you push open the doors and pass through them, your movement is caught by the sensor on the other side. At that point, they finish the job for you and automatically open the rest of the way.

Well, I've apparently convinced myself that there is a flaw or a break in the sensor and if I move through the doors in just the right way, probably with a few backhand springs and round-off's... I will breach the system and bypass the sensor, and thus pride myself in stumping what I believe to be Big Brother.

I didn't ever realize I was doing this. I've worked at my job for over 3 years. And I'm pretty sure I go down to the basement a few times a week. And it just occurred to me that I literally make this an utmost important goal of mine every single time I go down there. Like, the day I pass through those doors without them opening automatically, I will probably shout "YIPPEE!" at socially unacceptable volume levels, immediately leave work, and head straight to the Pentagon to attend to more pressing matters.

God, help me. I need to solve this mystery.

Bluetooth: The Not So Silent Killer of Conversation

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 18:25:00 +0000

I love my iPod. And I'm not using that term of endearment loosely. I literally treat it as if it were a newborn baby, with a head full of soft spots. I think it's the greatest invention since the wheel and sliced bread.

However, my father's opinion of the iPod is a bit different. It began when I received my first Walkman. What the honkey doody is a Walkman, you ask?

You remember having to wind the cassette gears with your pinky finger and sweat collecting in the foam earpieces? Ah yes, the original iPod.

I got tired of my parents telling me to turn my music down, so once I owned a Walkman, I would just throw on my headphones, crank my music up and tune out the world. This became a major frustration for my parents when they wanted to get my attention to do daily chores, come eat dinner, stop giving them a headache from attempting the hit Mariah Carey's falsetto, etc.

According to my father, these bad boys ruined society. Alright, maybe he's not that pessimistic and maybe he owns an iPod himself, but he does have a valid point. As kids walk around campus to their next class (a perfect opportunity to meet complete strangers or start up a great conversation), everyone has white cords dangling from their ears, music blasting so loud that if a Jet Airliner landed directly behind them, they wouldn't have a clue. No eye contact is made, and it's as if people develop mute tongues until their personal mp3 device is powered down.

Hey man, we all need some time of reflection in my opinion. I can listen to music and get completely lost in the lyrics and it's the most fantastic euphoria. But would it hurt to listen to the birds chirping, or the cars blaring on their horns to warn you that you're about to be transformed into a human pancake?

Hmmmm...

My issue is with people who use their Bluetooth in public settings. It's one thing to be hands-free in a traffic jam. But when you're in a place where you could and should be having a conversation with the person that you're standing directly in front of, eyes fixed on their eyes, smiling, asking questions that the person could very well have an answer to, well... that's just cruel, unusual, and not to mention, extremely rude, in my opinion.

It's also very sneaky and awkward. Why does it seem like the person has every interest in how you're doing, but then they shake their head when you respond?

How am I doing? I'm very well today, how about you? Why are you shaking your head and looking confused that I'm doing well? Oh, you didn't want to know how my day was going? That's odd. Do you have Schizophrenia? Oh, your mom stopped by and did all 3 loads of your laundry? Well, I didn't really need to know that but thanks for sharing. My mom never does my laundry. Yea, I shake my head when I think about that too. I don't know your friend Cindy but I'm glad to hear her rash cleared up.

And then the person you were having an in-depth heart to heart with pulls back their hair, points to their ear, smiles, and continues on their merry way... leaving you feeling like a complete and total imbecile.

Jerks.

Get Crafty With It.

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Sun, 19 Feb 2012 01:28:00 +0000

Call me what you will, you can even call me the next Martha Stewart and I wouldn't be offended. I've always been up for a good craft. It's a challenge, it gives you a sense of pride and accomplishment once you've finished, and you can put your own unique spin on the whatchamacallit you are choosing to create.

Unfortunately, I personally hate starting projects when I really don't have time to finish them, and therefore don't "craft and create" as much as I would like to.

That is, I didn't... until (DUN DUN DUN)... drum roll please...

The launch of PINTEREST!

If you haven't heard of Pinterest.com , it's a new website that kids are using these days and the idea behind it is to have an area for people to share ideas. These ideas can be on anything from crafts, recipes, and decor, to fasion, music, and hair and make-up. If you enjoy any of those things but really don't have a whole lot of spare time on your hands, I advise you to click out of this post, and immediately block Pinterest from your browser. Just looking at the stuff other people post on there is addicting, but once you take it a step further and begin actually taking action (i.e. creating the crafts, cooking the recipes, braiding the impossible waterfall braids)... well, it's a done deal. In that very moment, your social life and free time will become unsalvageable.

Here's my suggestion to you if you decide to give Pinterest a go... Thoroughly read and understand the directions, prep time, estimated project time, and any possible warning labels or side-effects that you may be in risk of inheriting via said project.

I saw a cute idea for old t-shirts one day and decided I would give it whirl. I had the weekend off from work and I figured I could get the entire project started and finished on a Saturday evening before dinner was ready. The only text that I read regarding the project was the materials needed and I skimmed over the directions. The project at hand was a shag rug, made from old t-shirt scraps. Simple enough, right?

Wrong.

Just cutting the scraps... all 3,000 of them... took me 4.5 days to do. And I literally spent every spare second I had doing it. Then I cut 3,000 holes into the base of the rug for the scraps to loop through. After those two tasks were completed, my thumb was so bruised and blistered that I thought I might have to get a doctor's excuse for work so that I could heal and lay around sobbing from the pain. I even considered what medication I might ask my doctor to prescribe me. Demorel? Percocet? Vicodin? None seemed to be strong enough.

I then returned from my trip to crackhead fantasy land and realized I now had to loop 3,000 scraps of t-shirt material through tiny holes.

My heart sunk. But I promised myself I would finish. It was a project that I wanted to complete and I knew I would feel like a million bucks the moment I looked at the finished product.

I began weaving the pieces into the base of the rug, letting out a small shriek from the pain with every scrap I looped. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel when the rug was close to 70% completed.

And that's when my mother intervened and said "Nicole, just cut the end off and call it a day."

I scoffed at her suggestion. "Mom, if you and Dad have taught me anything, you've at least taught me that once you set your mind to doing something, you finish it!"

She shrugged her shoulders and walked upstairs.

And you better believe that the moment her bedroom door shut, I cut the end off of that bad boy, smirked, and therein completed the FIRST EVER "mini" t-shirt shag rug.

Sometimes, in the world of crafting, innovation trumps endurance.

What's Yo' Fantasy?

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 04:04:00 +0000

I recline slowly into a velvet upholstered chaise lounge that coordinates with the bohemian theme of my dressing room. I am surrounded by bouquets of yellow roses and orange lilies. The bubbles from the most rare champagne in the midwest gently make their way to the top of my fluted glass, as I ponder sipping. Miles Davis plays softly in the background and I brush coral rouge across my cheekbones as I begin mentally preparing myself for the night which awaits me.

Abruptly, 3 consecutive knocks bark at my door.

"We need you out here pronto!", an unfamiliar, yet still quite routine voice beckons.

Showtime.

I zip up my thigh-high black leather stiletto boots and slide a final coat of sheen across my lips, pout, and blow a kiss into my mirror.

As I make my way through the corridors which are packed full of foreign faces, a man tugs at, brushes through, then finally pins up the extensions which make my hair seem never ending. "Go get 'em sweet thang!", he shouts as I continue on my way. A random young boy, who has 4 large spools of electrical cords wrapped up both arms, holds out his fist for a universal good-luck "knucks" pound. I still feel that I need good luck, although I have most of this down to a fine science.

"Huddle up!", a female calls out, with a voice resembling a combination of Melissa Etheridge and a 60 year old suffering from severe emphysema.

The people who have become my greatest of friends overwhelm me with their arms linked around one another, a cyclical formation with me at the center of attention. I rattle off a few song lyrics from greats like Dylan, Joel, and Springsteen... ones that I easily repeat because their meanings are embroidered onto my mind. A few members bounce up and down, even throw imaginary punches into the air. A woman wearing what appears to be a be-dazzled bra and a shredded pair of Levi's carries a platter with 8 tequila shots to my crew and myself.

"Let's go!" I shout.

We cheers, take the shot straight, and sprint onstage.

This is my fantasy.

I am Nicole, Goober Daisy.

Writer by day, rock star extraordinaire by night.

My Real Life Kramer

noreply@blogger.com (Goober Daisy) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 19:50:00 +0000

Have you ever met a person and literally questioned if their existence stemmed from planet earth? Yes, I accept that I may be that person to some people. But I am nothing in comparison to a girl who I truly believe is going to be my real life Kramer.

You see, I categorize weirdly weird people as "Kramer's".

You know, the kind of people who will say the unexpected, do the unexpected, and leave you feeling completely and utterly confused about absolutely every action they take. They might have a few screws loose or be just one sandwich short of a picnic, but the awful thing is, most of us don't care to know why they are the way they are. Because, most of the time, there just isn't a logical explanation for their lack of... how shall I say this... social normality's? We simply come to accept their offbeat ways, so as to protect our Ambien filled evenings from any more psychological disturbances.

Kramer, who's real first name is fittingly "Cosmo"... is Jerry Seinfeld's peculiar neighbor who lives across the hall in his apartment building. Kramer wears his hair... well... however it wants to wear itself on any given day. Kramer's wardrobe is that of a 90 year old retired Harvard professor. Kramer loves smoking cuban cigars. Kramer's subsistence thrives on making bizarre outbursts about insignificant annoyances. If you need someone to say something that may be inappropriate, uncalled for, or downright jaw-dropping, Kramer is your guy. He's completely disconnected from reality, to put it nicely.

Well folks... I seem to have acquired myself a Kramer.

Naturally, I realized the friendship was blooming on Friday the 13th. I was on my way to see "The Beauty and The Beast" in 3D, and heard Will Smith's song "Men in Black" as I was driving up the interstate. Let me tell you, that in itself gave me goosebumps and I thought, "Holy evening of throwbacks! Self, tonight just might be a night to remember."

If I only knew at that moment how very aligned with the stars my thought process was.

So, as any poor mid-twenties female does before she goes to the movies, I parked my car at Target and made a Bee line for the candy aisle. Once the necessities (Trail Mix, Junior Mints, Hot Tamales, and Cookie Dough Bites) were all accounted for, I felt myself slip into a mind-numbing daze, forgetting the worries and woes of the past work week and approached the check-out line. And that's when it... or actually, she... hit me. Metaphorically speaking, of course... though, I wouldn't be surprised if that in fact happened.

I knew it when our eyes met. I recalled her from my memory a few months back. Let the record show that I rarely shop at this particular Target, and I had not been back since the first time we'd been acquainted. She had stringy, dirty blonde hair, one of those nose piercings that makes people look like a bull, or a future steak dinner, and her left eye was somewhat of a drifter. I remember feeling that my personal-bubble-space had been invaded when she asked me why I kept pink Mace dangling from my keychain for the the world to see and if I felt that I would scream or sprint if a rapist tried to attack me in a dark alley. What kind of person asks strangers such personal questions? She spoke to me as if we had been close buddies for years. She had a line of about 8 impatient people behind me, but she felt the need to badger the crap out of me until she was satisfied with my answers to her inquiries. My skin, which was now covered in a film of creepiness, crawled the entire drive home.

You'd think I would have learned my lesson and make attempts to scope out the cashiers before entering into their professional domain. But here I was, once again, face to face with my real life Kramer. On this particular day, she was wearing a Hello Kitty headband. I don't what it is about adults sporting Hello Kitty gear, but they seriously erk me.

Here's how our conversation went...

Her - "Smuggling all this into the movie theater, eh?"

Me - "Yea."

Her - "Wow, that sure is a lot of candy."

Me - (Embarrassed and more than likely blushing) "Oh, it's not all for me."

Her - "Well that's good, at first I thought you were alone... which would be really depressing. People that go to movies alone depress me. But it would make sense, because you have so much candy."

Me - "Yea, well, I'm meeting someone. I'm not alone."

(The people behind me were burning holes through my body with their eyes and the people behind them were pouring salt into my wounds via snickering.)

Her - "Hey! That's so weird!"

Me - "What's that?"

Her - "Your total is $6.66."

Me - (Under my breath) "Perrrrrrfect."

Her - "Gosh, I have a really awful feeling about tonight! Do you ever have that? You know, like something terrible is about to happen!"

Me - "Not really? But good luck with that."

She ruined my movie. And potentially the rest of my life. Because now, I'm stuck with that "awful feeling" that I'm going to continue having run-in's like this with her until I'm 6 feet deep, pushing daisies.