I am almost done with my first week of graduate school, I’ve finally moved out of the ghetto (though I somehow seemed to have brought the ghetto with me), and I’m about to begin the hardest and most surprising church calling of my life.
And with all this I’ve decided to stop writing in this blog. Before I brought up how my family was becoming a little over involved in aspects of my life through reading my blog. Like adding people I had dated without having met them (or even asking me), or making unwarranted comments about my modesty openly on Facebook. And I say unwarranted because even my own mother agrees the comments were unnecessary and unfounded. If my mom says you’re wrong then you are really wrong.
I tried to tell them how uncomfortable their involvement made me but they didn’t listen. I really have never minded if family or anyone read my blog before, I usually enjoyed it, but the way my family members were acting as a result of reading minorproblems just sucked the fun out of writing. Now I don’t even feel comfortable talking to these family members at all, which is too bad.
I will continue writing about my life but no longer on this blog. Maybe at a different point in life I will return to minorproblems, but not anytime soon.
So if you’ve ever followed or read minorproblems, thank you. This blog has been fun and a great way to look back and see how I’ve grown. Finding out that my adventures made people laugh has been one of my greatest joys. Now it’s just time for me to write my adventures elsewhere.
Until next time, stay classy and email me if you ever need help posting bail in Nebraska!
Do you ever feel like there is an equilibrium to happiness? Like things cannot exceed a certain amount of good without an amount of bad to even out the balance? For example, it is your first day off in 34 days but your computer’s motherboard just crashed…
Regardless of this paradox of the equilibrium of happiness I have a more important story to tell. A story of intrigue, ailments, and tarantulas. I went to institute class hoping for spiritual fulfillment, not a near death experience.
Brother Petty was teaching the class. Brother Petty has been picking on me for years and that night was no different. There was a point in class where he talked about looking back in our journals of life. He even said, “Lauren’s will probably say, ‘Loser boyfriend, loser boyfriend, loser boyfriends.” The class was very amused to hear that summation of my life. Can’t say I completely disagreed with his summarization, but hopefully there will be ‘husband’ or more likely ‘nice pet cat’ in my life journal at some point.
At the end of class Brother Petty began to grin. I should’ve known that grin was a bad sign. He reached behind his podium and pulled out Elvira. Elvira is his lovely pet tarantula.
I am a grown woman. I work several jobs, pay bills, and I’m about to start graduate school. But in that moment when Elvira was out of her cage I began to scream like a little girl. I screamed like something was about to kill me because thats what I thought Elvira was going to do.
As I was screaming my head off I reached for my purse. But my hands were shaking so much I had to leave my purse and just take my keys and run out of the building and into my car. I locked myself in and waited until I stopped hyperventilating enough to go back inside and collect my things. No joke, I even used my inhaler twice to try and calm myself down.
After several people texted me saying the teacher promised not to harm me I went back inside for my things. I couldn’t go within 6 feet of Elvira unless I had my pepper spray out and ready. I wish I could say I overcame my fear and held her, but this is not that post.
Once I left, nerves shot, body shaking, and even queazier than when I came to class (which is saying something because I was already sick from an unfortunate Red Cross incident earlier that day) I met up with Tall Guy for our movie. He was sweet enough to get me candy I liked for the movie. It just happened to be candy that made me think of spiders. It seems as if every time a guy is nice to me either food poisoning or spiders ruin the night. This is why the best thing in my life journal will be, “owned a nice cat.”
I meant to write this for my 250th post but of course I didn’t keep track. Anyways I know talking about my life progress may be a little over done at this point but if I get through this then it will be over and I can get back to posts about what my family texts me.
I don’t think I’ve written a progress report since my last break up. It’s weird to think it’s been 3 months, feels like it’s been even longer than that. People still ask me, “Are you still dating that one guy?” I politely say no and try to leave it at that. Though people often have either tacked on, “Do you still talk to him?” or, “So you seeing anyone else?”
I honestly don’t understand why anyone would ask if you talk to your ex after breaking up? Pretty sure that defeats the whole purpose of a break up. And when it’s the latter question I answer “no” even if that’s a gray answer.
I never realized how weird it would be going on a date(s) right after getting out of a relationship. But by now it’s not weird anymore. It’s just life back to normal. Back to the normal ambiguity of where things are at, taking things supper-supper slow, and trying to keep it hidden from the ward lol
Guess the point of all this is that relationships and adventures are fun but life goes on after they’re over. I should know, I have over 200 posts to prove that :)
I live in the ghetto of Omaha. There is no other way to put it. The house I live in would bare ghosts if we just had a few more rooms. On second thought, the basement probably has a few.
Recently I’ve been trying to move. I’m surprised it’s taken me this long to try to move, but I blame my optimism for this. Case and point:
When I learned that we couldn’t run the shower, laundry machine, or dishwasher at the same time I learned to stop multi-tasking my chores. I figured this was a good thing since society complains so much about our need to multi-task with technology and unimportant things. But don’t worry, showering always stayed a priority.
Police blocking off part of my street became a usual occurrence, so I just started telling myself it was pleasant to occasionally take a different route home and not to watch the news that night.
The front door knob popping off happened twice and each time I successfully body-slammed the door open. I believe I asserted my dominance in the ghetto when my neighbors watched me break open the door.
And finally, today my roommate texted me that our garage was broken into (again). That makes 3 break ins that I know of. I wasn’t even phased. I actually thought, “Oh good, maybe they took some of my things this time so I won’t have to clean out the garage.”
As much as I think my optimism is a strength it may not lead to my survival. At least my friends and family think so. Alas, we shall see if I actually move. Knowing how my life goes I probably will only move to a more ghetto-y part of town (if that’s possible). But on the bright side, there tends to be more opportunities to give rides in the more socioeconomically unfriendly parts of town.
This week sucks. It’s been a week of 12 hour workdays (largely unpaid because it’s grad school job training), looking without success for a new place to live, and the inability to find time to do laundry and grocery shopping. Luckily the 50 lbs of shrimp I acquired months ago is still useful after a 9 month stay in my freezer. Well it’s useful but I’m not sure I’d also say it’s ‘safe’ but until any overly concerning side effects of the shrimp come up I will continue to eat it until I can make it to Aldi’s before it closes.
What’s really hard about this is how I constantly feel out of my league. But I find that as much as adulthood is dragging me down I shall go kicking and screaming.
I was in Goodwill Monday to help someone new to church pick out some things to wear. I was trying to play the role as an adult whilst having stomach pains most likely caused by the shrimp. Carly was trying on something as I retreated to a far away aisle to fight my stomach demons. I tried to hold in the devil inside, I told myself that I was to be an example and I shouldn’t unleash this unholy smell (it was one of those that you just know will need a gas mask to get through). I stood there wrestling with what I should do. Adults don’t purposefully let out farts, especially when an investigator could be negatively affected!
But then I channeled every inspiring quote I’ve ever pinned from pinterest and the quote, “Adulthood is about responsibility more than it is about maturity,” crossed my mind. I realized I am a responsible adult- and I don’t have to be mature all the time just yet. And with that, I let it go. I really let it go.
It was the silent but deadly type. I even had 2 people suddenly leave the aisle and I can only assume by the look of confusion and disgust on their faces that my gas of adulthood had something to do with it. My father would be proud if he could’ve seen (or smelled) what I’d done.
As I began to walk away, head held high, my friend Buffy began to walk my way. I screamed “Stop!” and told her not to come any closer. I may have been proud of my fart but I didn’t want to subject a dear friend to it. I simply told her I farted and the smell was lingering. I think she was a little scared by my honesty (and pride) about my fart.
I gathered my friends and left Goodwill leaving there a happier “adult” than when I entered. And one with considerably less stomach issues. Well, that was until we found pizza at Institute but thats another story. Anyways- I’m worn out and tired but thats okay. I’m getting through it and learning with every immature fart I pass.
I took a break, I’m sure you’re probably tired of me referring to it. I just have one last thing about that and it will be another adventure that has come and gone. But I keep thinking about how I wrote that I was going to take the time to improve myself and grow up, change a little. I can’t really say I’ve changed in any big ways yet but there were a few things I learned that I feel like I only learned because I was really trying. So here it is, what the break taught me:
First off I came to the realization that it is true that we were not sent to this life to fail but sometimes we are meant to temporarily fail to learn and grow. Do you know what happened to me this year? I failed a class. Me, the one who prides herself in all the schooling she’s mastered and all the tasks she takes on failed at something. Because I failed I’m taking a summer class that hangs the balance of my bachelor degrees and my chances at graduate school. Not to mention I have faculty that I once admired and thought I was close to expressing how they don’t think I’m cut out for graduate school because of this failure. Can’t say I blame their hesitation but it still hurts. BUT this whole thing taught me that a temporary fail doesn’t make me a failure. That was hard to grasp but I think I’ve finally come around.
Second, you can’t always change who you are but you can adjust. I recently had an old friend move back to Omaha. It’s been nearly 4 years since she left but she was one of my first friends I made in Omaha. I was at her Mary Kay party and she point-blank said, “I’ve always felt like you were one of those people that puts too much on themselves.” I cringed as she said that because I’ve had that brought up a lot lately. What hurt worse was this meant this was how she also remembered me 4 years ago when we hung out more. Guess some things don’t change. So maybe I will always be one of those people who does too much (I’d like to change that but if I haven’t improved much in 4 years then it is probably going to take a very Very long time to change) BUT maybe I can try to make it too much of the good things. There is a difference between doing too much playing and doing too much service.
Third, you have to live with the fact that people aren’t as strong as you want them to be and you can’t always be strong for them. You think that if you make yourself an example, stay strong in times you didn’t want to be, that they’ll learn and be even better. But sometimes those people make bad choices simply because they refuse to be strong. It hurts. It sucks. There are a lot more colorful ways I can put that sentiment but I’ll leave it at that.
Fourth, and finally, there are good people everywhere. When people important to you disappoint it’s easy to feel everyone is going to disappoint. I can’t stand the fact that nobody is black or white, just shades of gray. Secretly, I’ve always wished that when you meet someone new that you could learn their worst attributes right off the bat. That way you can tell if the good will outweigh and when those bad parts come out I’d be like, “Oh well, I knew what I was getting into when I signed up to be your friend.” I figure you’d be a lot less disappointed in people this way. BUT in the time I was most disgruntled with the human race random people popped up that just made me happy. The Branson YSA branch and this Presbyterian church I ended up at taught me that.
There you have it. My little break did do me some good. Each of these lessons are ones I hope I’ll always keep in mind. But what’s most important about these lessons is each of them made me think more about Christ’s atonement. I had someone once read through my blog and notice how in the beginning I talked more about my faith and he was curious if I was still that type of person. I was taken back by his question because if anything I’ve only grown in my faith since I started this blog but along the way I stopped sharing on here. I’m trying to change that, but I’m still mostly be the goofball I am meant to be on here. I mean come on, I may be growing up but I’m still pulling shenanigans like this
Most people avoid stalkers, but I on the other hand praise them in a blog post.
Amanda and Emma hail from a family of weird people. Their dad is most famous for trying to kill me with their family’s pet tarantula and their mother has wanted to kill me for improper building reserving practices for FHE. With parents like this I feel they are genetically predisposed to being obsessed with me. But luckily this seems to be a healthy obsession and not like plotting-to-kill-you-and-feed-you-to-the-spider kind.
Wherever I go, whatever I do, I always know that one of them is waiting- watching to snap chat. It’s like my life is a constant Police song and Sting aka the Petty sisters are waiting in my curtains. I would be concerned over their obsession of me but then again I got one of them to stuff themselves inside a duffle bag. That deserves a free pass to stalk me as much as you want, as long as I don’t end up dead.