Tuesday, May 31, 2011

How to Get into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

I am a 28 year old, professional, logical, intelligent woman and I KNOW I am not alone in my desire to attend what I think must be the greatest school of all time. I mean seriously J.K., how do you think of these things!! I want to fly on a broomstick, run around an enchanted castle, eat chocolate frogs and have a conversation with a portrait. (Being completely honest I already do the latter)


When I drove to New York from Utah, The Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago was having a Harry Potter exhibit. You better believe we made a detour to see it. WE. Were. Stoked! The exhibit had promise to go into Hagrid’s hut and the Gryffindor common room, meet Buckbeak and a Horntail Dragon, and pull a Baby Mandrake. I was pretty sure we could have put together an impromptu game of Quidditch while we were there. The brochure said it was suitable for ALL ages…

The excitement of moving to New York PALED in comparison to these treats.

We drove 200 miles out of our way, paid the exorbitant price for parking and strolled up to the counter. The pompous undergrad behind the desk really pissed us off with her incredulous face as she failed to understand what we meant by “two tickets to the Harry Potter exhibit please.”

Once we helped her understand what it was we wanted (with very little patience and much exasperation) we had the pleasure of being the assholes when she said that the Harry Potter exhibit was there September 2009. (a year ago) Oh.

That’s what happens when I am left in charge of details.

Once she was comfortably back in her position as arrogant hoity-toity she asked f we would like tickets to the exhibit about weather. I was through with her looking down at us (seriously, the desk was really tall) and mocking our excitement and subsequent heartbreak about Harry Potter, I looked at her and said, “No, we’re not smart people, we just like Harry Potter.” Then we raided the gift shop.

I guess I’ll just have to go back to my old method of immersing myself in Ms. Rowlings amazing imagination.

Reading.

Right before the seventh book came out I decided I wanted to read all of the books again. (Once again, I know I am not alone in this endeavor. Admit it, who else read all of the books over…) I read books one through five pretty quickly, then while I was reading the sixth book (I’m embarrassed to admit this) (wait, THIS part I’m embarrassed to admit?) I divided up the book by day, sort of as a countdown to the seventh one coming out. I arranged it just so that I would finish the sixth book exactly the day before my new book came in the mail. Whoa, loser!

The seventh book came out while I was at my live-in job as a Family Teacher with ten teenage girls. For the next week or so I made them all do mandatory reading hour… for like three hours a day… it’s ok, I think five of the ten girls all got their book in the mail too.

*Tangent: I remember one day in particular we were all sitting around the living room reading our prospective books; six of us reading the 7th book, two reading the 4th, one girl reading the 2nd and one had just starting the first book out of curiosity. (The last girl of the bunch boycotted the whole ordeal saying that Harry Potter was a conspiracy theory. Gotta love teenagers)*

By the end of the seventh book I had been fully immersed Potterville for about five months. At some point every day I dipped my mind into magic and adventure and by the end of the five months I found I had a problem.

A problem with reality.

I struggled to get a grip on truth. I didn’t know what was real or make believe. I honestly thought I saw suspicious things and mythical creatures. Every time someone swept the floor I expected them to hop on it and fly away. I would repeat spells pretending I was being funny but truthfully hoping they’d work. I was crazy pants. Literally bat shit crazy.

But therein lies the answer on How To Get into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… Read all of the books really quickly… You’ll think you’re there. You’ll actually have to convince yourself that you’re not.




 
As we all get excited for the 7th movie to come out I thought I’d share this link. Try not to get emotional, I dare you.






!!!!!!!!!!HOLY SHIT I CAN’T CONTAIN MYSELF!!!!!! I just did a little research before posting this. The Harry Potter Exhibit is in New York RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


It’s too bad I’m not allowed to go to Times Square anymore.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Humility Killed the Cat

If you have followed my blog for any length of time you maaaaaaay have noticed that I have an above average amount of confidence in myself. I am not one who lacks in self-esteem. I think I’m pretty cool.

Basically it rocks being me.

Was I going somewhere with this?

Oh yes… Humility…

About four years ago I met a new friend who was startled by the abrasiveness of my lack of humility. I think she was terribly annoyed by what appeared to be my wreckless disregard for self awareness. She always said she was going to spoon feed me humility.
Humility on a Spoon

She asked me once, and I remember because I thought about it over and over,

“Are you really THAT confident?”

I take pride in my ability to self reflect and analyze my character, so I thought sincerely about her question. Do I really think I’m fantastic? Do I really have the confidence to conquer the world?

I’m going to share a little story…

In 8th grade I managed to piss off some huge girls with the obnoxious antics that are a natural part of who I am. They cornered me in the hall and belittled and berated me for (what felt like) 45 minutes. (Probably closer to 2½) I cried the rest of the day. A teacher even kicked me out of class because I couldn’t pull myself together. Sure I was upset from the encounter itself, but I was more frustrated with myself. While they were disparaging me, I wanted to stick up for myself. I shoulda/coulda/woulda told them that my offensive actions were entirely inadvertent. I intended to set the record straight that I in no way meant any harm, and that until this point, I was actually unaware of their existence. But alas, I was scared shitless and it took all the strength I could muster not to cry in front of them.

I walked away from that experience with a resolve never to allow others to intimidate me. I worked hard over the next few years to really shape who I was as a person. High school went entirely opposite for me than Jr. High. I realized that I deserve to be treated with respect and I would not stand from someone to treat me with anything less. This theory I will carry with me til the end. Oh sure, I still feel intimidated by things and people, but since this encounter I don’t let it affect my behavior. Putting up a front of confidence builds actual confidence. If I have to fake it till I make it, fine, but no one will ever dictate how I respond to them because they try to push me around.

So does that answer my friend’s question? Am I really THAT confident? I guess not, but it doesn’t matter. When I’m feeling nervous or scared I just remember…




Have you ever made a conscious decision to change who you are as a person?

Monday, May 23, 2011

You Can do Side Bends or Sit Ups but Please Don’t Lose that Butt

I’m here to set the record straight about being sexy. Some women are sorely misguided.

I’ll only say this once so listen up: If you are making sexy poses and not pulling off sexy, you’re too skinny!

I don’t want this to turn into a rant about how here is too much focus on being thin. But there is too much focus on being thin, I tell you. You really cannot go anywhere without being accosted by advertisements for weight loss and dieting. There seems to be a push for a general shrinking of our goods. BUT WHY??

I have a friend (you’ll notice I never use my friend’s names so that I can later deny which friend I’m referring to) who has recently acquired her big butt. She spent the first few months lamenting the change in her britches and then buckled down to shrink it. What she doesn’t seem to understand is that she looks so much better with the extra jiggle in her walk.

My boyfriend is always saying, “If loving big asses is wrong, I don’t want to be right.” Thank Troll for him.

I have been doing P90X for about 35 days now. I started it for many reasons; swimsuit season, general healthiness, improve my running ability, but the absolute most important reason was that my boyfriend just finished the program and he looks freaking amazing. I mean serious boyfriend upgrade. However, I couldn’t have him looking better than me.


Actual Photo
So now I’m a third of the way through P90X and I have run into an unforeseen problem. I’m getting too skinny. I was excited when I lost 5lbs, and stoked when a few of my tighter pants started fitting better, but now I’m getting nervous. I still have about 50 days of this nonsense left and what if I lose my beloved curves?
I’m ok for now (I make sure to eat whole pizzas by myself and lots of ice cream) but I feel this weird conflict. I can’t stop working out because I’m in a contest with money and pride on the line for finishing, plus I’m enjoying my new abs. But my ass! I don’t want to lose beloved derriere. In fact, my ass loving boyfriend generally hinted at that if my beautiful booty were to diminish there would be problems in our “R” word.

But that’s just the point I’m trying to make. Ladies, are you hearing me? We all know how much better we look when we’re thick and curvy, yet we try so hard to get rid of the exact thing that makes us appealing.

I know what you’re thinking, this sounds like a skinny girl complaining about being skinny, but you know I’m right. Take a look at Sofia Vergara (not the photo-shopped pictures) and you can see what I’m talking about. She is hands down the hottest woman right now. She's rocking her healthy body and looking mighty fine in her curves if-I-do-say-so-myself.

Bottom line, we look and feel better with our extra grabby meat, so go eat a whole pizza and don’t work out today, because we have to keep our… well… our bottom line.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

How to Cope with Work Stress in a Healthy and Effective Manner (If all Else Fails)

Option 3: Let it all Out Big Guy


I’ve mentioned before that I deal with a lot. I’m not trying to be a weenie about it; I’m just trying to cope the best I can. I’ve devised a few methods and they are fool proof. Yep, absolutely fool proof. But if all else fails I rely on my trusty dusty fall back method. Sometimes you just have to let it all out to move on.

Step 1: Find a cry song. This is a song that makes you cry every time you hear it or in some way makes you feel ok blubbering like a baby. If you don’t have one, I will lend you mine. Don’t ruin it though; I’d like to keep it in tact. I use it a lot.

I know it’s a country song, don’t judge. It works. By the second time the chorus plays I’m sobbing.


Step 2: Find a good cry spot. May I suggest the shower or an elevator. These are my favorite places to break down and let my tears fall. They’re private and hidden and if you choose the shower, it’s also nice and warm. However, in a pinch, I will take full advantage of the social stigma to ignore others on the subway and have my tearfest while riding to my next destination of torture. I firmly believe the subway is one of the most private places you can go to be alone. No matter how packed it is, everyone is making a diligent effort to ignore each other. (Another reasonable option is your car)

Step 3: Combine steps 1 and 2 and cry your little eyes out.

 
 
It’s like rain for the soul. The greatest thing about this method is that it’s free and you can do it whenever you’d like. I find myself crying daily as I ride in elevators while eating a candy bar and wielding a hammer. I look like a loon, but my stress levels are way down!!


I realize this suggestion was a little bit on the girlie side, but I feel pretty confident in saying that men can also employ this method with the same results. Give it a shot. What have you got to lose? Well, besides your Man Card.



*I hope my ‘How to Cope with Work Stress in a Healthy and Effective Manner’ lessons have been insightful and useful. If nothing else I hope everyone was reminded of how fantastic Kit Kats are… Mmmmm, now I want a kit kat… If you have any suggestions on other “How To’s” you’d like me to explain, I’m a treasure trove of knowledge and wisdom, email me at Savannahrrausch@gmail.com I look forward to writing about something you need to learn 'How To'

Monday, May 16, 2011

The Snooze Championships

Snoozing should be an event in the Olympics. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. At the very least it should be an event in a local decathlon. It could be the first event, and if executed correctly, the athlete would miss all the preceding events. Then that would be the ultimate winner…


And I would be that winner.

Let’s talk about my amazing snoozing skills. First of all, I cannot wake up to a buzzer. It’s too startling and upsetting. I don’t like being jolted awake so I set my phone to play soft, relaxing songs to gently cradle me into awareness.

Next I have to set my snooze for the 5 minute option ,because let’s face it, 9 minutes is WAY too long. In 9 minutes I’ll be fully submerged back into the zombie apocalypse with Hugh Jackman and that thing from Pan’s Labyrinth with eyes in its hands. Even in 5 minutes I’m able to return to the deathlike state that is my asleep, but I’m bit more aware. With 5 minutes, I know I’m dreaming so I convince Hugh to ignore the zombies and get on with the making out before Beyonce starts singing Halo for the fourth time this morning.

FOURTH TIME!! If she is coming at me for the fourth time that means I’ve snoozed for 20 minutes. That is long enough to make me late for whatever reason I set my alarm for in the first place.

Yet still, that wouldn’t even qualify me to compete in the Snooze Olympics. Luckily I’m not an amateur snoozer.

I will sleep in 5 minute intervals and pass my whole morning away, justifying the missing of meetings in my head, sending a random text to whomever I’m supposed to meet with an elaborate excuse as to why I can’t be there, and calling in “subway troubles” to continue my Hugh Jackman adventures. I have also been known to snooze for an hour and then RE-set my alarm for a later time, only to continue snoozing once it ultimately goes off again.

My current record for most times I’ve heard the opening notes for Halo is 36 (I think). I’m not very good at math so anyone that wants to check my work is welcome to do so. What 36 snooze pressings means in my calculations is 3 hours. All simple math aside, I know that I HAVE spent three hours of my morning sleeping in 5 minute intervals on one occasion.

*This was on a work day. On the weekends I will snooze for up to an hour before being honest with myself and turning off my alarm altogether.*

My Junior year Principles of Technology teacher, Mr. Campbell, said that sleeping that extra time doesn’t do anything for your body. Once you wake up, your body has received all the benefits it will get from sleep for the night and snoozing isn’t going to help you to gain any more energy. That isn’t really the point though, is it Mr. Campbell. The point is that I’m way too tired to get up and it feels so good WHILE I’m sleeping, long-term results be damned.

This is a terrible habit to be in! I set my alarm a half an hour early to try and account for my need to snooze, but it’s never enough. I almost wish the snooze button had never been invented. Can you imagine a world where your alarm goes off and you get out of bed? I see it happen in movies. I WISH I could have the power to make myself do it. I need to learn the secret behind getting out of bed, because apparently I don’t have the skills.

In the meantime, I will just take pride in my uncanny ability to continuously fall asleep over and over again in 5 minute intervals.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

A Personal Story Involving My Butt and a Tongue Scrapper

As with all stories about my butt, this one too, starts in my throat.

About a year and a half ago I was getting sick every two weeks. I would literally just be recovering from a serious cold when another one would begin. At this time I was working with teenagers in an Independent Living program and let’s just say it may have been a bit more independent on their part than they bargained for.

After lying around on the couch and feeling like death for the better part of 3 months I decided to finally go to the Doctor. He took one look down my throat and almost vomited. I’m sure of it. An appointment was made immediately for my tonsils to be removed.

Quick Tangent: I get incredibly nervous about having any procedures done. I’m not quite sure why I’m such a weenie. When I was 12 I was supposed to get my appendix taken out but just hours before my surgery I pretended I was miraculously recovered and convinced the doctor I did not need the operation. Luckily I was fine! I would have hated having an appendix explosion and imminent death. Two days in the hospital and an intrusive anus fingering later, it was just gas.

The morning of my tonsillectomy I was a nervous wreck. My trusty sidekick came along so she could drive me home but ended up coddling me like a baby all morning. I think she secretly liked seeing me so pathetic.

As in all situations, I tried to make the best of it. We were cracking jokes and being bizarre when my stern-faced nurse made her appearance. This was a serious matter and we needed to act as such. Crap, this lady was going to make an unpleasant situation even more miserable.

While at the scale checking on my weight and height, I was cracking a few jokes. She wasn’t having it. Bolstered by the courage that comes from being terrified, I placed my hand on her shoulder (no joke) and said, “Listen, this day is going to be awful but it will be a whole lot worse if we don’t have fun.”

Stone Cold.

Fine.

Back in my “room” we began to sober up a bit. Obviously this lady wasn’t messing around and I didn’t want her to be harsh with me again about quieting down. So we looked around for things to steal.

Nurse Stern-Face came back in to ask me questions.

“How old are you?”

“27.”

“How are you feeling right now?”

“Just fine.”

“What did you have for dinner last night?”

“Just a Caesar salad”

“Wait! What? You had a salad? Didn’t they tell you not to eat any leafy greens the day before your surgery?”

“NO! What?!!” I was panicked.

“Oh, no, this isn’t good. Who did you speak to on the phone that gave you the surgery instructions?”

“I don’t know” My voice was getting shrill

“It was probably Elizabeth. This is the 3rd time this week she has forgotten to give people the proper instructions before they come in. The problem is that leafy greens create a lining in the large intestine that have the possibility to combine with the anesthesia and be fatal.”

“WHAT!!”

“It’s ok, we've run into this before. We’ll just have to give you an enema. How many bags of saline solution do you think you will be able to hold at one time? One or two?”

“WHAT!!!!”

“Will you need to lean over a table or do you think you could just bend over and support yourself?”

“WHAT?!!”

“We’ll also have to scrape out the lining of your anus. Have you seen those tongue scrappers that people use when they brush their teeth? It’s kind of like that.”

My friend was in a fit of hysterical laughter and I was imagining myself bent over a table holding two bags of warm saline solution in my butt while this demented nurse went at me with a tongue scrapper.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m very serious. Do you think you will be able to do this or shall we reschedule your appointment?”

I knew I couldn’t reschedule. It was hard to get this appointment and I had already mustered up the courage to have the procedure this time, I couldn’t do it again later.

“Ok, yes, I can do it.” I could! I could do anything. I’m tough.

“Ok, I’ll go get the supplies.” She stood to leave and as she pulled the curtain back she turned around and pointing to my friend who was literally on the floor laughing said, “She told me to do It.” and then left.

I didn’t understand what was going on until my darling, but soon to be dead, friend said, “I did NOT tell her to do that! She did it on her own, but I can’t believe you fell for it.”

“So I don’t have to have an enema?”

“No you idiot, she was messing with you the whole time.”

To my credit, I was highly stressed from the surgery and didn't know what to expect. Besides, I'm very trusting (not gulible). I believe people when they tell me things because I don’t see why they would lie. And when it’s coming from a NURSE, Nurse Stern-Face to be exact, why would I think they would mess with me.

She became my favorite lady that day. I actually sent her a Thank You card after the anesthesia wore off.

I LOVE when people don’t take themselves too seriously… And when they seek revenge on their bratty patients for telling them to loosen up.



Has anyone else run into absolutely amazing bedside service or had a fun experience with someone that didn’t take themselves too seriously?

Monday, May 9, 2011

Random Shit #8

You may call it mental disabilities that allow me to think of the weird things I do.


But I like to call it creativity.

I think it takes brilliance to consider your options differently than the norm.

When you see water running down a rock, it’s as good as a waterslide right?


I was painfully wrong…

So when faced with a task, I like to go about it creatively. I set myself little goals and games to complete the task. One challenge I placed before myself was playing a game of scrabble… Using only sexy time words… Success…

Thursday, May 5, 2011

How to Cope with Work Stress in a Healthy and Effective Manner (If the sugar coma is not enough)

Option 2: Snow Globe Therapy


As I’ve mentioned before I feel a lot of stress from my job. I began to get concerned about gray hair and ulcers; however, I felt too young for either of these ailments so I devised some coping mechanisms.

I’ve made it my profession to teach youth various skills and life lessons. One of the things I spend my time doing is showing them how to handle their feelings when they become overwhelmed, angry or frustrated. I teach them strategies such as deep breathing, finding a relaxing hobby, or listening to music.

I do not make it a habit to take my own advice. The following strategy is not my professional opinion, merely what works for me… It may work for you…

Step One: Buy a shiny, cheerful snow globe.


Step Two: Shake it up and watch the snow twirl around whimsically.




Step Three: Smile

Step Four: Pull out a hammer and smash it to pieces.




Tip: You my combine with Option 1 and eat your kit kat while laughing menacingly as you crush the blissful wonderland.



Advice from a Qualified “Professional”: If you have eaten three or more candy bars and destroyed at least one snow globe and still feel on the verge of a)committing a crime of passion b) flinging yourself off of a building or c) throwing your phone through a solid object, proceed to option 3.

Monday, May 2, 2011

The Thieving Post Office

When I moved to New York I brought my life with me in a Toyota Corolla. It was a crowded ride and there wasn’t room to bring luxury items. I liked the feeling of simplifying my life into such mobility; however, there were many possessions that I couldn’t part with. Mostly books, but also my painting supplies, movies, games, and notebooks (I still have a cedar chest and my old Barbie dolls tucked away in loved one’s garages, but this story isn’t about those items)


I left 4 boxes at my friend’s house for her to mail to me once I was settled into my apartment. I settled. She mailed. (I miss the days of the flat rate shipping for books and movies because a box full of books is EXPENSIVE!)

The last package she sent me was shipped over Christmas season. I opened the package excited for all of my books only to find a gift along with a few of my notebooks. You’d think I would be delighted to receive a gift from my friend for Christmas, but selfishly, I was not. I wanted my books. I kind of geek out for books and I really wanted to put them on my new bookcase and display my awesome collection.

I pulled myself together and decided to appreciate the thought she put into sending me a package, on used wrapping paper, written to someone named Alma. But I put it aside as I went out of town for Cmas. I called her to thank her for the gift and she was befuddled, “Um, your gift is here in my bag. Why would I mail it to you when I’m coming out to see you on the 27th?” Very funny. “No, seriously, I did not send you a present.”

As soon as I got home I ripped open the package and found more confusion. Enclosed were some  weird ass letters to Alma and party food. I was perplexed and a little frightened. Where did this package come from? Where did my stuff go? And who the hell is Alma?

That’s not even the creepiest part. It’s not like my package was missing and I received this one instead. My notebooks and scrapbooks made it to me, but this bizarre gift was in place of my burning can (more on this later) and my painting supplies. How could I only be missing SOME of my belongings?

I will now summarize what I and Lorraine-from-the-post-office assume must have happened.

My sweet friend, in an effort to secure my package, loaded it up with tape. The post office takes heavily taped packages as a sign that the contents within the package must be suspicious. Why else would the culprit have gone to so much trouble to make it impenetrable? The U.S. Postal Service opens all suspicious packages. Mine and Alma’s packages must have been suspicious at the same time. On the same table. After they were both opened and the contents removed, the well intentioned, yet inadequate, package searchers were unsure as to whose property belonged in which box. They put the items back helter skelter and now I no longer count painting as one of my hobbies.



Either that or this is a huge practical joke in which case I want my painting supplies back!!