That's tagtastic!

Alright here you go, Kendra. I'm pretty sure you're the only one who will read this, but that's ok. One of these days I'll start posting for real and make it into the LH blogger community.



Number One... I have a problem with tweezers. No seriously, it's bad.

It's my eyebrows.

I just can't not tweeze them.

I have to.

Everyday.

Someone once suggested that I get them waxed. The THOUGHT alone of letting my eyebrows get unruly enough to wax makes me sick. I can't handle that.

It's not just my eyebrows either, it's everyone's. It's probably the first thing I notice when I look at someone. I have to fight the urge not to go up to strangers and ask them if I can fix their eyebrows.

Two summers ago I was getting on the plane to come back from Kenya with my carry-on. As my backpack went through the X-ray I got "the look." "The look" is really bad in a foreign country. The not-so-nice lady looked at me and said, "do you have tweezers in your backpack?"

I panicked.

I lied. "Ummm no, no I don't think so, it must be some other metal object shaped like tweezers?"

Right.

It took them all of 2 seconds to rip open my bag and hand me the tweezers. "We don't allow these on the plane."

Then I am pointed to the most horrifying thing I've ever seen. A huge plastic box filled with tweezers and fingernail clippers.
I see the slit in the top.

I know what I have to do.

I took a moment.

Those were my favorite pair of tweezers.

I had to fight back the tears as I walked away, leaving them in tweezer hell with all those other tweezers.

Ok enough. Now that you all know I'm psycho, you might want to hide your eyebrows. I once tweezed and entire wedding party the night before the big day. I'm obsessed with perfect eyebrows. Those of you who think you have naturally shapely eyebrows, think again. They don't exist.

Number two... I hate breakfast.

I have no idea what it is with you people and breakfast. When I get up in the morning, I'm hungry - I don't want a piece of half-burnt bread. I don't want some sugary cereal that's going to leave me hungry again in an hour. I need protein. I used to be able to eat eggs in the morning, key words there: used to.

Last Christmas we went on a cruise and I mistakenly ordered eggs for breakfast one morning. Let me just say that food-poisoning + sea-sickness is a really bad combination. I won't be eating eggs again for a long time.

So what do I eat?

Whatever I want.

Pizza, a sandwich, peanut butter crackers if I'm in a hurry, whatever.

That really grosses a lot of people out, but why should it matter what time of day it is? Why is it ok to eat Taco Bell at 11 and not at 9? And at what minute that does rule suddenly change? I've never understood this.

Number three... I read all of the LH blogs religiously.

If you go to LH and you have a blog, chances are I'm the first person to read your new posts. I am so serious. I don't even know a good portion of the people whose blogs I read. If you are linked from the Hendricks blog, I have read your blog.

Bacaks? How did I not know these people when I was in College Station? My youth minister growing up is one of the elders at Ecclesia. In highschool I helped remodel the Taft building. I've even read one of Chris' books. And then I find out randomly that they have this incredible sister who goes to Living Hope? How random.

So now when I go to Ecclesia and I see Chris and Robby I can say, "so what do you think of Jenn and Rusty's new foster child?" and they'll say, "oh you know my sister?" and I'll say, "no, I just read her blog."

Number four... I have a gecko.

His name is Scott.

I bought him on a whim in MIDDLE SCHOOL.

I swear these things live forever.

He eats live worms. Yes Heather, I keep live worms in my house.

Meet Scott.

And finally, number five... I LOVE fireworks.

Or anything else that blows up, really.

In highschool, we used to have fireworks wars.

Ever launched a bottle rocket at someone through a PVC pipe? I have.

My favorite fireworks though, only blow up when defective.

They are the chickens.

I have no earthly idea why I think these are so funny, but I do. They lay fire eggs and then make this awful screeching noise. The thing that gets me though, is sometimes they are defective and they explode, catch on fire, or go flying away. I think maybe I just like the mystery of what will happen after they poop out all of their eggs.


Ok that is all. I would tag 5 people, but I'm pretty sure everyone I know has already been tagged. If you somehow come across this and you have not been tagged, tag yourself. You know you want to.

Blast! I've been tagged!

So Kendra tagged me and I promise to come out of my blogger coma and post on Friday after my last final. Until then, I live in the land of studying (2 finals down, 5 to go!). That is all for now.

LD

Standing in the Ashes

I've tried to write this post three times. It seems like everytime I sit down to write I get about halfway through and stop. There simply aren't words. I'm sorry for what I'm about to write, because I know there are better ways to tell people, but I can't have this conversation anymore. I don't have the emotional strength to go through this with each of you.

This year I have watched my entire life crumble before me, piece by piece. I'm tired of pretending like everything is alright, so I'm just going to stop. It's not alright. Here's my story:

In January of this year I found out that my dad is, and has been since before I was born, an alcoholic. I knew that he drank, but I didn't know that he drank every night, or that he drank over 40 drinks a week. I've never known my dad when he wasn't an alcoholic.

In February my best friend called me to tell me that they found a tumor in her mom's colon and were waiting to find out if it was cancer or not. The next day I called her back and told her that my mom found a lump in her breast and that they were doing a biopsy. Jordan and I have been best friends since we were babies. I have never known life without her or her mom. 2 weeks later I found out that both of my moms had cancer.

In March Jordan's mom had a third of her colon removed. My mom had more testing done and scheduled a mastectomy. During this time I was living with my aunt and uncle in Glen Rose, working at my uncle's clinic. It was here that I learned more about my dad's struggle with alcohol, depression, and cigarettes. He didn't want to stop because he didn't see anything wrong with that he did.

In May I moved to Galveston, right before my mom had surgery. I left behind my best friends in the world, my roommates of 3 years, and my church family. My mom came to stay with me after surgery, and I watched as the strongest woman I know lie there in bed, unable to even sit up without my help.

In June my mom started chemo and lost her hair. Her first round of chemo sent her white blood cell count to 0.6 (a normal white blood cell count is between 4.5 and 10). She got extremely sick, and I soon had my sister and niece staying at my house to keep from getting my mom sick with their colds.

July was a good month. My mom was doing better with chemo, Jordan's mom was recovering wonderfully, and I got ready to start school. I hoped that the worst was over. It wasn't.

I went home the weekend before school started in August to see my family. My dad came in the living room one night, sat across from me, and told me he needed to talk to me. He told me that he got an apartment and was moving out. My mom apparently found some emails between him and a woman he had been having an affair with and told him to leave. I didn't even know what to say. I just sat there staring at him as he tried to explain how they had been having problems and how if my mom had only been a better wife than none of this would have happened.

I have no idea how I could live with someone all of my life and never really know them. I found out later that this wasn't the first woman he had cheated on my mom with, and that he wasn't really sorry that he did it, only sorry that he hurt us. I suddenly feel like I've never even known my own father, and part of me wonders if I ever will. I haven't spoken to him since. I honestly just don't know what to say.

So here we are in October. Trying to handle school in the midst of this is incredibly hard, but by the grace of God I'm making it through. This has been the hardest year of my entire life, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I've been angry and bitter. I'm sorry that I haven't handled this with the grace I'm called to. You guys, know that the Lord is so faithful. I can't imagine trying to do this without Him. My earthly father has failed me, but my heavenly Father never will and that is incredible. He's teaching me to trust Him and to let go. My life has shattered around me, and I've learned dependency. I don't have it all together, I have no idea what I'm doing, but it doesn't matter. I don't have to know all of the answers. All I have to know is that Christ is leading me through this, step by step.

-LD

Pirates of the Gulf of Mexico?

I saw the costume man again today. He was dressed as a pirate this time.

Let the Madness Begin

As most of you know, I made the move from my beloved College Station to Galveston to start PA school at UTMB. Let me just say, this town is crazy.

Seriously.

My first three months here have been filled with bizarre happenings, which I've decided to share.

I feel the need to go back and start over, so that everyone can experience the madness that I live in. It started the day I moved in, and surely has not stopped. So here it is, day 1 - moving day.

May 13, 2006
I'm renting the upstairs of a house built in 1876. That's right, 1876. It's been converted into two apartments: upstairs and downstairs, and there is a carriage house in the back. Thus, the house is divded into 3 addresses: up, down, and rear. The house is on a one-way street named Post Office, also known at Avenue E. Every street in Galveston has two names, which I was not aware of until I tried to set up my utilities.

My phone conversation with the gas company went something like this:
Me: I need to switch the gas bill into my name
Phone Lady: What is your addres?
Me: Post Office St. Up, Galveston, TX
Phone Lady: Post Office? Is that a PO box?
Me: No, it's a street in Galveston.
Phone Lady: Are you sure that's the street name?
Me: Well I think so, that's what's on the street signs.
Phone Lady: That street doesn't exist.
Me: Well that's funny since I live in a house on it.
Phone Lady: Are you sure that's the name of the street?

You get the idea. Apparently the gas company uses Avenue E, unlike the electiricity company. I'm sure that lady still thinks I'm crazy and that I think my house is in a PO box.

I mentioned that I live in the upstairs of a house, but I failed to mention that the only entrance to the upstairs is a very narrow flight of stairs, or that I moved an entire U-haul truck, a mini-van, and a car full of stuff up that narrow staircase. My endless gratitude is owed to Corey and Luke for helping me move. Grand total of furniture painfully moved up those stairs: 2 couches, 1 solid oak entertainment center, 1 washer, 1 dryer, 2 full sized beds, 1 table, 6 chairs, 1 TV, 1 armoir, and 1 desk. It took Corey and Luke half an hour to get my washing machine up the stairs and through the door, only to find out that the washer and dryer didn't fit in the space provided for them. I had to buy new ones.

It is rumored that Galveston is full of crazy people. I have found this rumor to be true. I don't mean wild and outgoing people, I mean actual crazy people. "Loonies," as my mother refers to them. I live about 3 blocks from the medical center, and apparently when people get out of the psyc ward they just take up residence in the neighborhood. The bird man next door (he owns the most obnoxious squawking birds I have ever encountered) told me about one that lived down the street, and I encountered him during the first week I lived here. I was walking down my front steps to my car when I saw a tall skinny black man walking down the sidewalk. I thought little of it until he got closer, and I realized that he wasn't black, but covered in shoe polish. As he passed in front of my house he turned towards me, pulled out a tube of mascara, and proceeded to paint his tongue with it. I just stood there, wide-eyed, as he walked on by. The bird man was outside and saw me. He laughed at me and told me that this was only one of his "costumes." He also wears a bull-figthing outfit and fights imaginary bulls in the street. When I told my mom she said "I told you Galveston was full of loonies." Thanks, mom.

There is a lady behind me that we have lovingly named the cat lady. Her name is Margo, she's in her 80's, and she has somewhere around 15 cats living in her house at all times. She apparently works with the animal shelter and takes care of the cats while they locate homes for them. In the 3 months that I have been here, I have only seen her twice, and I have never seen a cat.

This post is long so I'm going to end it. More to come on my neighbors, the owners of my house, and my classmates. It only gets more ridiculous from here.