Doing nothing is rather hard to do

Unemployment.

It's awkward, let's be real.
Interesting things happen when you're by yourself with not much going on and apparently no purpose in life.

Thankfully, orientation starts on Monday and I will happily depart the world of the jobless with scraps of my sanity still intact, but before I do, I wanted to leave behind this list of reasons why unemployment is the worst. Read it, and be encouraged that no matter what happens to you, at least you don't talk to strangers about cheese.

The Unemployment Effect:

#1. The Facebook Background
     I think I set world records for how many times a person can check Facebook in one hour. If someone had changed my desktop background to a screenshot of the Facebook homepage, it wouldn’t have increased how many times I saw it every day. With my homepage constantly on standby in the background of my life, I would jump on each new notification like a female college freshman on a jar of Nutella, then impatiently sit and stare at the screen, waiting for a socially acceptable amount of time to pass before responding. After all, it simply wouldn’t do to be answering all queries with 10 seconds of the time they were posted… people might get suspicious.

#2. Loose Connections
     Spending a lot of time at home by myself led to some interesting consequences. In addition to a decline of passable social skills and inability to sustain a decent conversation, my thoughts started leaking their way out into my words. Normally this wouldn’t be too much of an issue, but my thoughts are rarely complete, coherent sentences. They run more along the lines of, “So that’s why this but the door was oh but it doesn’t matter because well it’s not too important anyway and the dog needs the internet for the next couple hours.”

#3. The Cheese Factor
     I mentioned that decline of passable social skills, right? I denied this particular side effect for a long time, but even I had to admit things were going downhill after a conversation I had two weeks ago, when the
words “I love cheese” escaped my lips. Not simply “I like cheese” or even “cheese adds a certain taste palette to various foods which I find rather enjoyable.” No. With enthusiasm, I proclaimed my undying love for cheese and proceeded to discuss with a near-stranger how each type is just as good as the others.
Needless to say, I was horrified later when I realized this person probably now knows me as “that cheese girl.”

#4. Siren Sweatpants
     I’m pretty sure that in the beginning, when God declared it was not good for man to be alone, he also muttered under his breath that it is not good for April Ether to wear sweatpants all day long. Moses just didn’t catch that part, I guess. The siren call from those heavenly garments of flexibility and sweet-baby-angel kissed soft fabric may be almost irresistible, but to quote Admiral Akbar, “IT’S A TRAP.” When it became necessary to leave the house (and actually look somewhat like a normally functioning human being), my body protested against the relative torture and confinement of even a pair of jeans. “These are not clothes! This is madness, who came up with this preposterous idea?”
Along that thought, sweatpants quickly become the only pair of pants that fit when a lot of free time and a fully stocked fridge get together and produce the type of food baby which doesn’t go away in a few hours, but crashes on your couch to stay for a month or two.

April Problems

Sometimes, I can be a pretty oblivious person.

Even though I’ve been posting words on the interwebs for public consumption ever since I started this blog, it never quite clicked in my mind that people were actually reading what I wrote. Occasionally, I would receive a comment on a post, or a friend would tell me in person, “Hey, I read your blog last night,” but I would simply think “Oh, that’s nice” and move on with my life.

However, the massive response to my last post caught me completely by surprise. Within a day, my page view counter shot into the thousands and people I had never met before at my school were approaching me to say how much they loved my blog.

Oh! Ummm….thank you! I mean…yeah.

Wait, what is this? People are reading what I write? And they like it?

While it was nice for a while, the inevitable happened. As I sit here this morning, the view counter on my blog homepage displays an indelible mark, a spike that vaguely resembles the Eiffel tower or the Washington monument. The more I stare at it, the bigger it gets. This spike has taunted me every time I’ve sat down to write for the past two and a half weeks, and my mind was paralyzed by this pressure to measure up to my previous standard.

There is this awareness that people are actually interested in what I have to say, and I feel compelled to meet their expectations.

Be funny. Do it, April. People want you to be funny.

YOU HAVE TO BE FUNNY RIGHT NOW.

But…but…but…

And so, you have gotten no words from me for the past two weeks.

However, today I am choosing to get over myself and remember that, contrary to what I may think, the world will not end if some random stranger reads my blog and says, “Well, that was stupid.”

I know, right? Life-changing revelation right there. They should just induct me into the World Changers Hall of Fame already. I’d love to have my bronzed, eerily detached and floating head enshrined on a pedestal next to John, oops, David Green and the two-headed Gaither monster.

I thought I learned this lesson once before, but I guess it didn’t stick.

So. Moving on.

This is the fourth month of the year. A very special thirty day period in which I feel like a schizophrenic because my name gets tossed around everywhere. The month of April. It is all my own, my precious.

Contrary to popular opinion, no I was not born in April and therefore my parents did not name me such because of my birth month. Honestly, if my parents had been so dull and uncreative, I would be a little miffed at them. Also, you are not the first person to think that. Sorry to break it to you.

I’m curious as to why people find it so interesting, though. Yes, my name is a month of the year. But think about it. Other people are named after birds. Or plants. Or Biblical ideals.

I’m not complaining. It is a rather unique name, and I’ve never really had to share it with anyone else.

I am a tall person. I tend to tower over my classmates on a normal day.

However, I am also a woman, and I love high heels.

This can be an unfortunate combination.

Here is a diagram to illustrate:

Normal Day

High Heels!!

3 out of the past 4 days, I have worn 4 inch heels. This results in a grand total of approximately 6 feet 2 inches. One of the most entertaining things in the world is watching people’s facial expressions when they turn around and crane their necks to stare up at me, blocking the sun with my head.

It’s the simple joys in life.

Confessions of your friendly neighborhood barista

I just love people.

Watching people, that is. 

Have you ever thought about how funny people are? One of my favorite things to do (although admittedly very creepy) is just sit and watch the behavior of those around me. My job as a barista at our campus coffee shop affords me the perfect opportunity to observe human behavior in my customers.

After 4 semesters behind the bar at McConn, I've watched a lot of people. The funny thing about people is, they tend to fit into groups. If you've ever been a barista or worked in some kind of service industry, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Every waiter, cashier, barista, or lunch lady subconsciously (or even consciously) sorts their customers into specific categories.

I can laugh at these groups.

I'm allowed to laugh at these funny people.

Why?

Because I have been all of them at one point or another. I was a customer before I was a barista, and I continue to be a customer in several other areas of life. You have been all of these people, too, if you're honest with yourself. So, it's not a malicious kind of laughter. It's enjoyment of the general quirks and idiosyncrasies in everyone that make life so interesting.

Here we go.

The Barista Confessions, part 1

"The Timepiece"

     These customers are so dependable, you could time your shift around them. They grace your coffee shop with their presence at the same time every day, with the same order, and generally the same attitude. They are more predictable than Indiana weather or the quality of Baldwin's food and nearly as consistent as Dr. Lo calling the student body "Dear Ones" in chapel. Depending on who the person is, they might be the highlight of your day or the thing you dread most about coming in to work.

When you see a Timepiece approaching the register, you already had their order entered in to the system 10 seconds ago, because it never changes and it never will.

If it ever does....well, let's not consider that situation. The world just might fragment into shatters of reality.

"The Stiff Arm"

     With their no-nonsense attitude, these customers charge the register with an apparent lack of working elbow joints as they hold out their student ID for me to swipe before they've even uttered one syllable. My introductory greeting is overrun by their directly delivered and well-rehearsed order. When you know how the system works and you know what you want, common pleasantries are inconsequential. 

I like to think that the Stiff Armers are losing an internal battle against the need to purchase caffeine - they need to order fast before they can reason themselves out of the decision, and I am the enabler, fueling the legally addictive habits of the students populating our campus.

"The Live-In"

     I am entirely convinced that there are students on this campus who do not actually go to this school. Either that or they simply skip their classes all of the time. How else do you explain a person who comes to a coffee shop before it opens in the morning and stays until closing time at night? One of these days, I would like to conduct surveillance on the student center overnight and catch one of these creatures sneaking a mattress behind the bar to sleep.

Now, there are two different breeds of the Live-In.

The first is the Hibernator. This sub-species of the Live-In remains in one chair at one table for hours at a time. On occasion, I will surreptitiously pass by the table of a Hibernator to ensure that they are still breathing. It would, of course, reflect poorly on my company if a customer were to expire in our dining area without anyone noticing.

The second is the Migrator. This type of Live-In is unsatisfied to remain in one spot for too long, but floats from table to table, taking advantage of the many relationships they have established in order to secure a permanent residence in the area.

"The Jesus-Gazer"

     You can spot this one a mile away. 

Almost literally a mile away, because they hover a significant distance away from the register. Just close enough to make you aware of their presence, but far enough away that it's not yet socially acceptable to engage them in casual conversation or, worst of all fates, ask them "What can I get for you?" before they have fully decided.

Even after deliberating for several minutes, they cautiously approach the register and stand wide-eyed and open-mouthed in front of the counter, staring at the menu screens mounted from the ceiling as if Jesus had just ascended from behind me and currently occupies the space above my head. They stay that way long enough that they just might experience the second coming. 

The Jesus-Gazer is faced with a dilemma - to order the safe, pedestrian sounding, and familiar White Mocha, which is unlikely to disappoint or present with any surprises, or to be bold and order the more esoteric and mysterious London Fog or Midnight Grae, which, despite one's mention of foreign cities and the other's eccentric spelling, give you absolutely no hint as to what will actually be inside of your drink. 

What inevitably follows is one of my favorite questions: "Can you tell me what I want?"

While your friendly neighborhood barista has many unique talents that could potentially pass as super-powers, reading minds is not one of them. 

I do, however, have the ability to control minds it seems. Whatever drink I ultimately recommend is almost invariably their final coffee decision.

With great power comes great responsibility, Peter Parker.

     

Snow White knows what's up

There are so many thoughts in my head right now, all squirming in their seats like a classroom full of preschool children with hands raised in the air, bursting with impatience and energy as they clamor for attention saying, "Pick me! PICK ME!"

This semester, I have been attempting to take seriously the commandment about the Sabbath – taking a period of rest every week to refresh, recharge, and refocus. These past few days, I've been thinking and planning in anticipation of today’s “Sabbath Sunday.” What would I do during my day of rest? I finally decided to write another blog post; it’s been far too long since my last one and so much life has happened in-between then and now.

A little too much life, actually. Sitting here on my couch, scanning the imaginary preschool classroom of my brain, I can’t quite decide on which thought should be selected and developed. At the break-neck pace of my last semester in college, there simply hasn't been time for me to fully think through all of the things that I want to say. With that being said, this post might be a little chaotic, but, after all, who doesn't love a little chaos?

Well, me, actually. I don’t love chaos. Neither do most other people I know.

Okay, never mind.

Have you ever noticed that life seems to come in themes?

Like a chapter in a book or a scene in a movie, each stage or season of life seems to focus on one central issue or point in the plot.

If my story were recorded on the big screen in the pages of a book (psych. Always a book. Books are so much better), well first of all, that would be a really boring book and would probably only be used to prop up the short leg on the kitchen stool. Secondly, it would have the theme of anticipation.

As I think back on all of the conversations with friends, journal entries, and thoughts I've had in the past 3 months, they have all revolved around this anticipation of the future. I'm constantly looking ahead, looking forward, thinking about what is to come.

Going to the Dominican Republic

         My sister's wedding

                  GRADUATION

We all watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarves when we were kids, right? Who else couldn't sleep at night after watching the scene where Snow White is lost in the woods and all the trees become monsters with glowing eyes and gaping mouths, tearing at her skirts with their skeletal branch-hands? 

Girl, I feel ya. No matter where I go, it seems like I can't escape that one question everyone just loves to ask.

"What are you going to do after you graduate?"

I know that no one means any harm by it, and I appreciate the fact that they are genuinely interested in my life, but sometimes I feel like pulling a Snow White - screaming and falling to the floor of the Student Center in a dead faint.

Not really. Although potentially hilarious, that would be excessively dramatic.

The problem is that I'm not really sure what is going to happen at this point. I have ideas. I have dreams. But no feasible, concrete plan of action to get where I want to go. Where do I even start? In 21st century America, the land of options and opportunities, you can get lost before you even begin looking. There are pressures on me from every side, and none of them I need nor want. 

My professors have expectations. They've been developing me and investing in me for the past four years, and I know that they want me to go far and achieve much.

I want to make my parents proud. I'm pretty sure they would still be proud of me if I moved to Southern Arkansas and lived in a hut eating Ramen noodles and wearing burlap sacks for the rest of my life, but still. 

I want to follow God's will. How can I ensure that the plans I am following are what he desires for me to accomplish and not just my own selfish ambitions?

So much to think about. So much to decide.

Wouldn't it be nice if we only had to wrestle with one worry at a time? But no, it doesn't work like that.

In the midst of this graduation fiasco, another nagging little devil has reared its ugly head.

I love my school. It's great. 

However, with a "relationship" chapel every other service, an engagement or two every weekend, and the majority of my friends either taken or "talking", it can be rough place for a chronically single girl to live. I'm pretty sure my flaming ginger locks spring straight from my feisty and fiercely independent personality. Most [if not all] days, I am just fine without a man on my arm. Every so often, though, a wayward lonely thought will pierce my heart and begin a string of questions that I cannot sufficiently answer.

I have a friend who is very similar to me, in both physical appearance and personality. Not only do we have the same taste in guys, but we also have the same level of experience and expertise when it comes to dealing with men. (Read that as: No freaking clue what we're doing) Whenever I would have these wayward thoughts, I would think of her and say to myself, 

"Look at this tall, confident, beautiful young woman who has never dated a man before. There's nothing wrong with her and she's been single her whole life, so there probably isn't anything wrong with me."

Wouldn't you know it, this friend up and found herself a man in the most romantic and fairy-tale way possible. I won't go into details, but there were strangers and coffee shops and serendipitous run-ins involved. While I am beyond happy for her, I can't help but feel slightly envious. It leaves me wondering and questioning what I'm doing wrong. Is there something wrong with me? Do I have some fundamental flaw?

It's not an uncommon question for a woman to have. Put your hands up if you're surprised that a girl is questioning her self-worth based on the attentions, or in this case in-attentions, of a male figure. wow. look at all of those hands.

My struggle right now is how to move beyond that to a place where my identity is so deeply rooted in Christ that the presence or absence of a man in my life does not affect me emotionally. Maybe I will have a relationship some day. Maybe I won't.

Maybe that's not a bad thing.

In any case, I've got a lot to think about and ponder and anticipate in these next few months. I don't know where this life is going, but I guess I'll find out soon, and I'll keep you posted.

Camo, Cold, and Caribou Coffee

Thanksgiving. A time most people associate with family and going home.

Unless, of course, you're me. Like any reasonable person would do, I forsook the relative warmth and manageable travel distance of my home in Michigan for the frozen, barren wasteland of Minnesota to celebrate the customary giving of thanks with my housemate, Emily. After setbacks from standstill traffic in Illinois, crawling along through dense fog at 4:00 in the morning, and spending 12 hours folded like a pretzel in the backseat of our crowded SUV, I had a revelation.

I have serious issues.

Puling into her driveway at 5:30 am on Wednesday, we were worn out and exhausted, but so happy to be there and excited for the five days we had ahead of us. Our weekend would be devoted to eating, baking, decorating, and making every effort to forget for a time that we are senior college students with finals right around the corner. Challenge accepted.

Thanksgiving day was absolutely perfect. Starting with coffee and sugar-coated cinnamon rolls and ending with parlor games in the living room, the day in-between was filled with family, football, and food, parades, powder snow, and lawn golf, topped off and tied together with the best that life has to offer: laughter and love. Some people are blessed with the gift of hospitality, and Emily's family overflows with a triple portion of this quality. As Em's baby niece cooed with happiness and her brother and dad joked back and forth at the dinner table, I leaned back in my chair, belly full of food and heart full of joy, feeling completely welcomed, content, and enveloped by a sense of acceptance and security. Scientific fact: Minnesota is a frozen tundra because all of the warmth is tucked away in the hearts and homes of its inhabitants.

 

I am a Christmas purist. Firmly set in my belief that Christmas should not be celebrated until after the fourth Thursday in November, I Grinchishly scorn all Christmas food, music, and decorations until that blessed day. After that? Ho, buddy, you better watch out and better not cry because the crazy Christmas lady is bout to bust out her moves.
With all of this seasonal fervor, it's rather surprising that I have never been to a tree farm. (Shocking, I know. Don't judge.) So you can imagine my excitement when, the day after Thanksgiving, Emily and I trekked out in the Minnesotan wilderness with her dad to hunt down that perfect coniferous symbol of peace and goodwill toward men.

There was just one thing I didn't take into account: Minnesota is cold. Very cold. Like, make you want to die cold. According to my dear friend, it's okay because there are different kinds of cold. (Quoting her, "at least it's not a bitter cold. This is more of a numbing cold.") People be crazy. Cold is cold, and all of it is bad. My enthusiasm for our hunt was slightly dampened when the frigid air ate through my boots and gloves, setting my digits on fire, but it was quickly renewed when we bagged the biggest, fattest tree I have ever seen in. my. life. We carted it off to the barn, where it took five men to get this monstrosity through the tree-wrapper. I don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation. Putting it in perspective - they grow their boys big in Minnesota. We're talking strapping, muscular, quintessential males that sport camo and Cabela's. So when I say that it took five of them, you can start to imagine the enormity of this tree.
While they were up to said endeavors, I ventured into the tree farm store to thaw my frozen body. My breath caught in my throat the instant I walked through the door - it looked as though Christmas had exploded all over the inside of the room, the shining, glittering guts dripping down the walls in an epitomized array of every kind of happiness and cheer. Plopping myself down next to the old wood-burning stove, I sipped a cup of hot apple cider in perfect bliss.

Once we got the tree home, Emily and I set out on a mission to make the tree as perfect as possible. Five hours later, I was covered in glitter and had come to the conclusion that Christmas tree lights are quite possibly an invention of the devil himself. HOWEVER, our efforts paid off, because the tree looked absolutely phenomenal.

Every girl needs a night out on the town every once in a while, and the twin cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul offer the perfect opportunity. Our decorating ventures finally accomplished, Emily and I made a night of it. Dressed up like total babes, we attended a comedy show playing in the downtown Music Box theatre and ate appetizers afterwards. Good laughter, good food, and good conversation with a great friend always make any day a success.

Em's mom spent the day with Em and I on Saturday, the three of us baking a variety of delectably delicious combinations of butter, sugar, peanuts, and chocolate - otherwise known as Christmas cookies. One of the most fascinating things I've ever made is toffee. If you like toffee or have a desire to like toffee in the future, don't read this. Literally two ingredients (butter and sugar), toffee goes through several stages as it cures on the stove, the last of which resembles, quite realistically, a simmering, shiny tan brain stewing on your stovetop. Once you've got a toffee brain in your pot, you pour the blob out on a pan to solidify.

Mmmmmm, brains.

Just think, next time you eat toffee you can pretend to be a zombie. It might even taste the same.

In this season of gratefulness and appreciation, I am most thankful for the relationships God has graciously given to me. I am so, so blessed. Blessed beyond measure to know some of the most incredible people - in Indiana, Minnesota, and beyond.