pickers and blowers

It's taken me a long time to get up the courage to talk about this. But, rest assured, I've been thinking about it for a good 2 years.

My mom is a blower. I know I heard her honking blow at least once a day growing up. Dad, on the other hand was a picker (I just know, ok). I saw our family divide down the middle with most of the boys (I don't know about all of them) becoming blowers and the girls pickers (yes, that's me... and sorry, Jo, your secret is out). I didn't really think about this divide spreading across the human race until I moved into my current apartment 2 years ago. For some reason, it felt like I was living with my mom... then I realized it's because every night and every morning, I would hear honking sounds from my roommate above me. Then it hit me: She's a blower! I mentioned it to my other roommate and admitted to her that I am a definite picker. She also admitted to being a picker but had the desire to switch teams.

So, what is the benefit of blowing? I'm pretty sure it would not get the job done for me. Only when I have a cold do I actually blow my nose. But, daily blowing? I can't see how that would produce satisfactory results.

side-note: Just in case you are thinking of switching from the blowing team to the picking team (you know you want to), you should know that being a picker can be risky. I understand that some people are pickers but are more conservative about when they choose to pick. I, on the other hand, have fallen pray many times to the classic blunder of thinking no one is around and it is safe to proceed when that is never, ever the case. When will I learn?

part 12 of 364

Things that keep Melissa alive

Part 12: Perspective


Sometimes I am reminded that I need to get back to my roots. I remember loving our perspective lessons in my jr. high and high school art classes. In a way, that is my roots. Things that have made me what I am today: an art weirdie that also likes sciency, left-brain things.

But today I'd like to talk about perspective in a slightly different manner. The last 24 hours have taught me a lot about the beauty of comparing our lives to other's. I know, I know, everyone says comparisons never make us feel good about ourselves. But when you come across others with struggles you could only nightmare (opposite of dream) of going through you suddenly become grateful you are only a mid-single old maid living with over-active stomach acid.

Part 1: Last night, while standing unassumingly at a rather public spot in the temple, a brother worker asked me if I would go into the women's dressing room for him and get his wife and tell her they had a family emergency and she needed to get dressed in her street clothes to go home. I had to try to patch this message to her in intiatory and when she finally made it out to where I was standing, I told her to dress in her street clothes and though she didn't ask what was going on, I'm sure her heart was failing a bit at not knowing why they were leaving early. She left to go change and I stood there trying to imagine what she was feeling while dressing. I'm pretty sure I felt enough anxiety in that moment for her.

A few minutes later, her husband walked by and was stopped by the head of the temple emergency team who told him right in my ear shot that a family had member had called about an attempted suicide. It's amazing how being so close (spatially, not familially) to a situation can make me realize how far away my life is from that kind of drama: Perspective.

Part 2: This morning, a coworker brought a card over for me to sign for another coworker who was diagnosed with skin cancer a few months ago. After a few surgeries and tests he was declared clean. But, apparently they have just discovered cancer spread to his liver and lungs. Let me tell you about Andy. He can't be more than 25. From the moment I started working here, he was always super friendly and happy to be around. My heart goes out to him and his wife.

Perspective, you are a cruel cruel teacher. But I thank you, anyhow, for showing me the distance between my struggles and what they could be.

marketing for the reincarnate

I was heating up my michelina's lunch today and decided to wander around the break room looking at the vending machine options.

A familiar sight greeted me:

You see, whoever fills the vending machines in our office complex likes to jazz things up by putting a bunch of random items in one slot for 25 cents each. (if they weren't pretzels and raisin cookies, I'd totally go for it) He also likes to advertise this fact and other items he feels we should take note of with classy sticky notes. I have to admit, I like it. It gives our cold business-like office a down-home ghetto feel.

Are you wondering how I know he's a he? It's because he has my Dad's handwriting. This, to me, is proof that my Dad is still involved in my every day life. Telling me that the cream cheese danish and king sized snickers are only 75 cents is another way of him saying "I know the thoughts, desires and struggles in your life, and I am working on them... I thought I'd start with your office vending."

One thing I've never looked at is the drink machine. So I wandered over to inspect it's sticky:

Now what would you do if you saw this? That's right.. I had to buy it, of course. In my heart I knew it had no chance of coming out as a bottle of A&W rootbeer but I couldn't resist so I stuck my 75 cents in as my pulse raced and I pushed the button.

Apparently dad wanted me to drink a diet pepsi with lime that expired in Feb 2010. Lesson learned.

decisions are hard

So I'm in the market for a road atlas for my upcoming trip and it was looking like this was probably going to be my best option:


59 Rand is currently $7.77. That's not too bad

But lately I have been a loyal customer of Amazon so I also made sure to check their site and found this beauty:

The good news is, it's only $3.99 for the shipping! ~maybe I better add shipping insurance to my 7 mil dollar purchase....