Why I'm Indebted to That University

If you know me well, you know I'm not the biggest fan of the university where I received my MA in Secondary Education. However, I must say that the last couple of days have made me happy I have my MA.

After some good ol' fashioned girl talk with my undergrad gal pals this weekend, I started thinking more and more about marriage. We joked that in 10 years we'd get together and still not be married -- we're all so far from that point in our life right now.

Today I found out that our joke may not be that far off of what our future holds. According to a recent Newsweek article the average age for a woman's first marriage is almost 26. I have to admit I felt a little relief when I read that. I realized I'm not completely behind on the game...then I saw the average age for women with their master's or a professional degree -- that age is 30 years old. Four of the five of us MU girls either have a master's degree or are working on it. The other is considering it. So, if statistics hold true, there's a good chance none of us will get married in the next five years (although 10 years is probably pushing it).

Other interesting tidbits from the article include the fact that women with BAs are now more likely to marry (which wasn't the case a few decades ago) and that the divorce rate has gone down for college-educated women in the last couple of decades and gone up for those who didn't go to college.

Sidenote: All this made me think back to my human sexuality psych course in college. One of the few things I remember from that class is that the more advanced degree a person (especially a woman) has, the more likely they'll orgasm. I wonder if that's why the divorce rate is down for college grads?

Whatever the reason, I'm glad to know that it's not that weird for me to not to want to be married right now.

PS: The weekend with my girls has provided many topics for the blog. However the "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas" school of thought will prohibit me from revealing all that should be revealed. Well, at least some of it...more tk.

This Stinks!!!

Yuck! Last night a group of us hung out in Hermosa Beach. Upon returning, we smelled someone's burnt garlic or onions on a BBQ grill. The smell was WRETCHED! After suffering for 10 minutes, we investigated...it was actually a skunk in our courtyard, and apparently, we all walked through the spray.

My beautiful white jeans now emanate a lovely skunk scent. And they've got yellow oil spots all over the legs. Um, I think those will have to hit the trash can.

Quesadilla, Grant Me Serenity

One evening this weekend, I was driving home, and I was bursting with anticipation. On the floor of the passenger seat was a cheese quesadilla with guacamole from Chano's. As I chugged along the freeway, I kept thinking of those first few moments I'd experience once I opened up the styrofoam box, dipped a torn piece into the red or green salsa and slipped it in my mouth. Those moments are sheer unadultered, unbothered contentment. My mind is perfectly clear, and I am happy -- not excited or overflowing with joy, just perfectly content. With about 10 miles left between me and my house, I started thinking about other moments that gave me that same feeling of perfect contentment. My list was varied, and maybe even a bit humorous...
1. slurping up the chocolate- and caramel-covered tip of a turtle sundae from Andy's
2. taking the first bite of a pre-made veggie slice from Shakespeare's Pizza
3. staring at the water from the beach and feeling the ocean's rhythm after hours on a surfboard
4. lying back as someone washes my hair during a hair cut
5. having a door opened for me or holding a door open for someone coming in or out
6. hugging someone in that slim timeframe before I begin pondering if the hug has lasted too long
7. finding myself "in the nook" after a guy slips an arm around me out of habit
8. drifting off to sleep and being only slightly aware of my surroundings
9. waking up but realizing I can take as much time as I want to get out of bed
10. inhaling a whiff of a just-opened can of tennis balls
11. hearing the first few notes of DJ Sammy's remake of "Heaven"
12. and gazing out over a baseball stadium for my first time

Mo Day and Week

Because I was only home for a day and a half at Christmas, I'd been itching to get back to Missouri. Using my frequent-flier miles, I was able to do just that...and decided to go home in May -- which coincidentally was the same time as Mother's Day and my sister's birthday.

Going home for the annual maternal holiday made me acutely aware that I couldn't get my mom flowers this year (as I had for every year since high school graduation). What to do? I forced the whole family to go to the (only) local photo studio, and we had family portraits made -- the first time in at least a decade, maybe a decade and a half. My mom and grandma seemed to really like their gifts.

And the best part is that come Mother's Day next year, they'll have a picture of me, so they can pretend I'm home.

Are You for Real-ity?

This is not a good year for me and reality TV. First Moana, now Chris? The only solace I have in all this is that maybe Chris will actually be able to make a CD that I'd want to buy. The long arm of American Idol kept Ruben and Fantasia from having too much artistic freedom, and I wouldn't want to buy any of their albums...and both had airplay drop off after their first single...let's hope that won't happen to Chris.

At least I've still got the Amazing Race.

This Person Is Under Construction

I am not the writer I want to be. I don't have clever lines, I rarely evoke emotions, and I need to better organize my thoughts. This is what I have realized in the last three months. But as self-deprecating as that sounds, I'm OK with that. Because in the last month, I've realized there are few writers who are "born writers." Most writers, and especially those whose work I enjoy reading, honed their craft. Few great works of the 20th century and beyond have been produced by writers under the age of 25. So, as I write, I have to remember that I should constantly work at improving my writing, and my writing will improve. My writing, and my career, is a work in progress.

As is the rest of my life. If I were the girl who could make every wonderful guy fall for her, I would be married now. Or I would be constantly breaking guys' hearts. And I want neither of those. Instead, I must realize that my relationship skills and my ever-so-charming personality are works in progress.

And if I were the amazing, completely life-directed Christian I want to be, I'd probably be in Heaven and dead.

But I'm alive. Wonderfully alive. And OK with who I am, but working to be better.

Hate, Date; They Rhyme for a Reason

I wish I enjoyed dating. I wish I could be the girl who got giddy every time a date became a possibility. I wish I loved talking to a guy after a date happened. I wish that I only pretended to hate the chase but really enjoyed the uncertainties of crushes and early relationships. But I don't. And I don't understand girls who do.

I loathe dating. I've gotten butterflies preparing for a date maybe once or twice in my life. Other than the recent pseudo-dating thing, I've dreaded answering the phone after the first date. And I hate it when I think I like someone more than he likes me; and I hate it when I think he likes me more than I like him. I really hate dating.

That's why for so long I thought there was something wrong with me. And maybe there is. I can't truly articulate what it is I'm looking for in a guy, but I just know when I don't find it. So, I figure why waste my (and his) time? It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the guy -- let's face it; I'm so vain that I won't even go out on a date (unless it's blind) with a guy unless I find him attractive. And he won't make it date number two unless he's super charming. But even if a guy is those two things, I still may not like him.

Apparently, though, my roommates (both in college and now) think I like guys that most others don't...so you'd think it wouldn't be that hard for me to find someone. But it is. And even though my dreams tell me I want someone in my life, I hate trying to find that someone. I wish I were a nun.

Look at Me! Look at Me!

The money shot! This is a photo of a game I created for the South Bay: everyone puts in two dollars, and the first person to find someone from their home state wins the pot.

You can see this picture and more from a night out in the South Bay to celebrate Stephanie, Stephanie and Katie's visit. There's also photos of Heather and me taking over Meghan's room, Vegas, Vince's birthday and the LA Times Festival of Books here.

The Cat's Out of the Bag -- and the Dream

The Dream: I was in a white room with a girl from work and her cat. At first this wasn't odd to me -- I had recently spoken with her about pet-sitting (her dogs). But then...I started to realize that she had on a blue, orange, and green sweater...and the cat's fur was blue, orange, and green as well. The cat came and played with me, and even though cats can often be indifferent, this cat really seemed to like me. It rested in my lap as I petted it's blue fur (the orange was stripes outlined in thin lines of green). I was really starting to like it.

When my coworker left (and I was supposed to take care of the cat) the blue kitty followed her out the door. I told her about it, but she didn't seem to care. She shrugged it off -- like the "it'll be back home eventually" shrug we gave when our childhood pets ran out the front door.

I waited and waited. The cat never came back. And I couldn't forget it's blue and orange fur -- this cat was obviously unique, and I didn't think I would ever find another like it. I finally got in my car and drove around for hours and hours looking for it. I wanted to find it SO badly. I don't think I ever did.

Trusty dream dictionary symbolism interpretations: The blues represented negative feelings, orange respresented balance of emotion and intellect or religious feelings or insight, and the green represented healing or positive change. And the cat? It represents physical contact and affection and the need to be cared for and to have warm affection.

The Rundown: Even though I knew it wasn't mine to keep, I was given a little physical contact and affection. When it left, others told me I'd get it again. And even though I have negative feelings about love and affection, I am truly hoping to find someone who could give me that affection while also sharing intelligence and religious feelings with me. Perhaps I'm looking for it and hoping it will bring me some positive change...whatever the reason, I want it more than I realize.

Can I Get Any More L.A.?

So, after hanging out with my friend Janette, who is a yoga instructor, yesterday, I've decided to take up the SoCal yogi's pasttime.

I bought a yoga mat at lunch, and I went to a class this evening. I kind of hate myself for becoming so L.A. But then I think about my mat...instead of buying the plain blue one, I got the kids' version, which has Scooby Doo on it! Maybe I'm not so L.A. after all.

Three, Oh, Yeah

It's the magic number of my life as of late...

1. It's the number of MAGGIES (magazine awards given annually by the Western Publications Association) the magazine I work for won on Friday night.

2. It's how expensive gas is here. I remember when I first moved here in 2003 and it was only $1.50!

3. The number of weeks I've been working out on a regular basis. OK...I was really reaching to come up with a third one...but the picture is kind of funny -- at least to me.

"No One's Gonna Drag You up, to Get Into The Light..."

I see the signs, people.

One of the four cute guys at my job recently put in his notice that he's leaving. What other job has tempted him away? Oh, it's not another job. It's a trip. A continent-hopping venture that's left open-ended. Sound familiar?

And in another twist of fate, today I got an e-mail addressed to his ex (who I replaced at work) from STA Travel about around-the-world trips.

"...and it opened up my mind..."

God Burns Me Up

How is it that I go to the Easter service at the Hollywood Bowl (an outdoor amphitheatre) with a bunch of white people...and I'm the only one who gets sunburnt? So confused. Really.

Just Because...

I posted this on a friend's myspace page...but I had to share it with as many people as possible...

A Totally Normal (Yet Special) Day

Today was just like any other. Which is good. After having my heart broken, I had days, (weeks, really) when I didn't feel like myself. My mind had been elsewhere. It was like a long-term out-of-body experience. It was like when I've found out someone is dead, or when I quit a job. Everything was numb, and daily activities only happened out of a reaction. I went through the motions without thought or effort.

But not today. It's been a slow road here, but I'm finally back to Jayna pre, pre-well, whatever it was I was attempting this fall/winter. It's nice to be normal again.

A Working Girl

News from the job front:
-the managing editor at my publication put in her notice
-the magazine has hired a senior editor to replace her
-I received a raise this week
-I was given the opportunity to change some of my editorial duties
-I got complimented on my toes' polish job today at church

And that's what's new at work.

Hangin' On

It's hangin' on...but does anyone know where to take a bag to get the lining cleaned?

They're All Dead

My phone. My pink Coach bag. My purple business card holder that I just made. Dead.

In a tragic series of events at lunch today, a lemonade poured into my purse, a water fell all over me, and red enchilada sauce plopped itself on my jeans and sweater. Thus, many things went wrong.

I threw away the card holder. I'm trying to dry out my bag. If my phone doesn't work by tomorrow, I'll most likely be e-mailing you asking for your digits.

My Inner Date Book

What's happened to me over the past four days [and what I learned]...
Saturday:
-Woke up in Vegas [even leaving L.A. at 8 p.m. still makes one hit traffic en route to Sin City]
-Heard Fiscus say great quotes like "He created the non-fiction novel. What more could you want from life?" and "They thought about talking to us for two hours and could only muster seven minutes of conversation. What was wrong with them?" [Truman Capote and Harper Lee were childhood friends, and guys from Minnesota love to talk about Kirby Puckett...but that's about it]
-Ate at a steakhouse in the Venetian [asking a waiter what is vegeterian but then ordering a salad with bacon will make him laugh]
-Heard a stranger say a great quote: "He was cute, not foreign...and you totally blew it with him." [I'm not the only one who now has issues with "foreign" guys]

Sunday:
-Went shopping at the outlet mall in Vegas [be aware of the shelves at Calvin Klein; they'll jump at you out of nowhere]

Monday:
-Heard from a (barely) acquaintance via friendster a month (or maybe even longer) after I sent him a message [everyone likes to hear from people over friendster]
-Rearranged my bedroom [change is good, and we need it to grow, forget and get out of ruts]

Today:
-Heard from some students on MySpace and the student blog [they really DO miss me; I love feeling loved]
-Stumbled on a hot guy from my freshman-year dorm on MySpace and found out he lives about 15 miles away from me [the world is a small, small place]

What does it mean to you?

FOB has come to mean three things in my life:
1. the little key tag that swipes me in at work
2. front-of-the-book, as in, the pieces I'm trying to pitch to all the magazines
3. fresh off the boat