When Candyland Isn't All Fun and Games

Jon and I went to visit my family this past weekend. Within two minutes of our arrival, my six-year old niece started taunting me with the promise of good times.

I scooped her up in my arms and her first words were, “Guess what we can play when we get home? Four people can play!”

“What?”

“Candyland. Four people can play.”

Suddenly I realized why she was so excited. Who doesn’t love Candyland and who doesn’t want to spend their Friday night playing a game where you move one orange or two blues and you pray that you don’t get stuck on Licorice Lane and lose a turn, or worse yet- draw the gingerbread card and get sent back to the beginning? I quickly secured our places in the game- because only FOUR could play.

Since we met my family at the kids’ school for my nephew’s basketball game, Hannah Grace rode back to the house with me and Jon. She talked about Candyland all the way home and it didn’t take long for the trash-talking to start.

Hannah: “I’m good at Candyland. I play on the computer and the real game.”
Jon: “I think I’m going to win.”
Hannah: “No, I’m gonna win.”

Me, pointing at myself: “Hannah, you know who’s good at Candyland.”
Hannah: “I’m gonna win ‘cause I’ve been practicing every day on the computer AND the real game.”

Jon: “Well, you better bring it.”
Hannah: “I will bring it.”
Jon: “I’m gonna bring it double-time.”
Hannah: “I’m gonna bring it four doubles.”

I turn and look at Jon. “I can’t believe you’re talking smack with my six-year old niece.”

And then, from the backseat we hear Hannah, “I’m gonna smoke all of y’all.”

Oh, GAME ON girlie! And who won the game? Let’s just say the next day when we were talking about Candyland (because talking about Candyland doesn’t stop just because the game does), Hannah turned to me and said, “Aunt Jennifer, you brought it.”

Yeah, but she kicked my butt 6-1 in Old Maid, so I can’t brag too much.

Indicators of Growth

I know it's bad when I see a photo of myself taken less than a year ago and I notice how much slimmer my face looks. Seriously? Maybe it's the lighting, I tell myself. Surely I haven't been eating that much. I dismiss it. I was probably thrusting my chin forward when it was taken. It's a photo trick that makes you look thinner. Or like a freak. Either one. But then I get dressed. I pull on my jeans that I haven't washed in six wears and realize they should be looser by now. Instead, my thighs are screaming for air. I do a few lunges and squats, hoping to loosen my jeans and burn 1/2 a calorie. They are still too clingy. I decide I need to eat better... and less. At the end of the work day, I head to the Y to burn off the soft drink, four cookies, and chips I snacked on during the day. I work out, then feel bad about how undisciplined I was with my snacking, so I comfort my discouragement by eating some chocolate. Tomorrow is a new day and day eight of jean wear. Surely they will be looser!

This Idiot Voted

Months ago, I decided to not commit myself to any one presidential candidate. The field was wide. My time is valuable. I didn’t want to spend hours researching everyone’s stance on every issue. I knew the field would narrow before I had to cast my vote on Super Tuesday. Monday came and I still didn’t have a candidate I felt passionate about. I sat at my computer Monday night, reading On the Issues and trying to make a decision that would allow me to sleep at night. I went to bed undecided. And, when I say “undecided,” I really mean “undecided.” I don’t always vote along party lines. I vote for whom I think is the best person for the job, Republican or Democrat. Tuesday morning came and I knew I had to make a decision. I got to work. I read more on the issues. By mid-afternoon, my left eye was twitching from the stress. Seriously. The vote was closing in and I had to commit. I left work, driving to the polls around 4:45 p.m. My eye twitching, my mind racing. What is the right thing to do? I don’t agree with everyone on everything. What’s more important? Two miles from my polling station, I made a decision. I don’t remember my eye twitching after that.

I walked in to fill out my form. A long line quickly formed behind me. “You have to check one of these primaries this time,” the woman said. I looked. Democrat? Republican? I don’t want to choose, I thought. What will this mean anyway? Does it matter? I’m a registered Republican, but maybe I don’t want to vote Republican today. I could feel the pressure of those waiting behind me. It’s a good thing my eye was no longer twitching. There I would have been, leaning over the table, talking to myself, my hand going back and forth between the two check boxes, with a suspicious twitch. You know how the Red Cross serves cookies and kool-aid after you give blood? I think the polling stations should serve cocktails. Knowing I had to move, I quickly checked a box and moved on. What difference would it make anyway? A LOT.

In my stress, I overlooked the fact that my ballot would be based on what primary I checked. This is my political ignorance. So, there I stood, staring at a ballot that did not list the candidate I had finally chosen. I finally cast my vote for someone I felt okay about. On my way out, I stopped to get a sticker, but they were all out of the “This Idiot Voted” designs.

The Best of Both Worlds

Ask me what I did this weekend. Be prepared to be jealous though. I saw Hannah Montana & Miley Cyrus: Best of Both World Concert in 3D. Twice. That’s right- I’m thirty-five, without child and I was there. As my niece would say, “Don’t hate me ‘cause you ain’t me.”

Let me clarify though. As an independent contractor with Disney, I was assigned to see it. People paid $15 per ticket to see it. I was paid. Attendees were sectioned off in a separate area at the theater while they waited to go in. All showings were sold out. This was a big deal. This was Hannah Montana. This was the epitome of obsession. This was also one of the most interesting experiences I have ever had in my life.

Sure, I expected the little girls to be excited. I wasn’t too surprised by the Hannah Montana wigs they were wearing, or the screaming. Okay, I was a little surprised by the screaming. I mean Hannah Montana wasn’t actually there- it was a movie. I didn’t realize people actually screamed at movies. They did. A lot. But, these are young girls and that behavior is not odd. Their mothers on the other hand…

These were grown women with cameras. I’m sure they wanted to capture the memory of their daughter’s obsession excitement to show them later in life. That would explain why so many of them were snapping photos of their daughters with friends before the show began. Not every little girl got to go this weekend. Pictures would prove they were there. Those photographic moments can be explained. What cannot be explained is why these same mothers were taking pictures of the movie screen during the show. Seriously. Cameras were pointed up at the projection as mothers tried to snap pictures of Hannah Montana on screen. Let’s neglect the fact that this is in 3D. They did. I know those pictures couldn't have turned out that great. Mine didn't.

Did your mom really just say that?

Usually when you’re getting to know your boyfriend’s parents, there is a bit of nervousness… fear. Do they like me? Do they think I’m good enough for their son?
Do they think I’m worthy of bearing their grandchildren? I’m thankful that I’ve never felt those things with Jon’s family. I liked them from the beginning and immediately felt comfortable being around them. Maybe it’s their fun personalities, or Lutheran love, or the fact that they send me notes occasionally… such as this one I received this week from Jon’s mom.



Funny how something can make you so comfortable, yet at the same time- so very uncomfortable!!!

Interpretation Makes all the Difference

Do you ever have those moments when you’re talking to someone and you’re thinking one thing and they’re thinking another- only you don’t know you’re thinking differently, but what you do know is that things seem weird and suddenly you’re confused and wonder if the two of you are even involved in the same conversation? Happens all the time, right? I like to call it the misinterpretation of communication. Here are some recent examples for you.

Disclaimer: Contrary to my comments on alcohol, I really do not drink that much and the following idiot moments occurred under absolute sobriety. Though being under the influence would provide a somewhat valid excuse for my stupidity.

Misinterpretation Moment #1:
When Jon and I were out on our Vietnamese dinner date last weekend, I noticed a dish on the menu that contained very rare beef. Hmmm, I thought to myself. First of all, what kind of beef is so rare that out of all places, you could get it at this dinky little eatery in a strip mall? So, I pointed it out to Jon- “this one has VERY RARE BEEF.” I wanted him to find it interesting. He didn’t seem too curious about it. Then I thought, seriously… if this beef is SO hard to get, why is it only $5.00? 'Rare beef,' they're full of it. Once again, I commented on the “very rare beef” to Jon, the whole time wondering why he wasn’t as fascinated- and he was probably wondering why I was so fascinated. It was going nowhere, so I moved on. Later in the conversation, he mentioned something about the rare beef… and there is was- the LIGHTBULB! “OHHHH, I said, ‘rare’ as in ‘not cooked!’ This whole time I’ve been thinking ‘rare’ as in ‘hard to get.’ I’m an idiot.” It seems I have to admit that a lot.

Misinterpretation Moment #2:
This morning I was leaving the house and asked my roommate about a Chinese restaurant around the corner. “I’m thinking about picking up dinner for our group tonight.” She started in about how much she liked it because there were “these cute little Chinese boys who sit there in the evenings and do their homework and check you out.” I stared at her for a moment, repeating in my head ‘little Chinese boys…homework…check you out’. And, just before I blurted out, "who are you, you sick perverted woman,” she finished her statement with, “they are really nice, but it makes you wonder about child labor laws.” LIGHTBULB! ‘Check you out’ as in ‘at the register.’ Whew! This is me NOT drinking. Scary.

Not Knowing What to Think of Me

People who have been closely involved in my life in the past several years probably aren’t surprised by much I write on this Blog. They aren’t shocked by my use of an occasional expletive or by my comments on tequila or road rage. This is the me they know. I realize however there are those who knew me in my early years (before I was old and over thirty!!) who probably suspect I’m now a trashy-mouthed, Crack-head, alcoholic stripper. Know this- I neither have the body, nor the dance skills for that occupation. These are the friends who know me from my “young Christian” years. Those years when bad words were substituted with niceties such as “sugar!” and “darn”… when I believed that God answered prayers for finding a close parking space- because somehow His glory is tied into me having a shorter walk into the mall… and when Point of Grace was the greatest Contemporary Christian group EVER! Those same days when I would never drink because it would provide such a poor witness to those watching me that they would somehow NEVER want to know the Lord because how could I drink alcohol and still go to Heaven?

I can understand how friends who knew me then may be banning together at the moment to stage an intervention on my damnable soul. They’re wondering how the former vice-president of the Ole Miss Baptist Student Union could digress to such behaviors as drinking and swearing. Friends, before you pile in the car and crank up the Michael W. Smith while having “popcorn prayers” for me in the car, rest assured that I have not crossed over to the Dark Side. Sure, I cuss occasionally and I drink on a social basis, but I still love Jesus and I still seek God, but I don’t pray for close parking spaces and quite honestly, I think I would rather be a Crack-head stripper than ever listen to Point of Grace again.