Reason #8: Crazy Older Sisters

There are a few things you should know about my sister, the first being that, like the rest of my family, she is absolutely insane. She’s a bit of a tomboy, her clothes never match, and she always has energy to spare. Once, when we were little, she duct taped me to a tree in my grandparents’ yard. We’re total opposites.

But it didn’t take long for us to realize that, with two younger brothers and a house full of Crazies, if we were going to survive, we needed each other. We developed a strong and strange bond throughout our lifetime, and one year after she graduated high school, I followed her to University (Okay, so not intentionally—it was either University with Brittany or community college with the rest of my family).

Looking back, one of my absolute favorite stories between us has everything to do with the bond of sisterhood and everything to do with a potato.

From the time we were in diapers until the day Brittany left for college, we shared a bedroom. It was a renovated attic that split into two separate rooms at the top of the stairs. On the left side of the stairs was our brothers’ bedroom. On the right side was ours. The separate rooms didn’t have doors. We had a curved curtain that acted as a blind to give us some privacy, but that was the only thing that separated us from the two preteen boys whose relation we often denied.

One year, when Brittany was in 7^th grade, she completed a science project in which she measured the electricity or volts in potatoes. When she was finished with the project, instead of throwing out all of the mutilated vegetables, she chose one to keep as a friend. She carried it upstairs and set it on a hope chest beneath the window, where it was bathed in sunlight every day.

It didn’t take long for me to spot the potato and corner Brittany, demanding to know what it was there for.

“It’s my potato,” she’d said. “Leave it alone.”

“It’s my room,” I countered back at her. “And I don’t want a potato in it!”

Needless to say, Brittany was older and stronger, and more defiant, and she often got her way; the potato stayed. It wasn’t long before the thing began to spout buds and eyes that grew long and ugly like twisted brown tentacles, and again I pleaded for it to be thrown out to no avail.

Eventually clothing and papers and knickknacks began to cover the hope chest, and they hid the potato from view. In a short amount of time, we both forgot about it.

It wasn’t until a month and a half later when Brittany decided to clean her hope chest that we found the potato again.

“What is this?” She pondered aloud. I stopped what I was doing to take a peek and immediately began emitting peals of laughter.

“It’s… the… p-potato!” I shouted, unable to stop myself. The thing had grown fuzzy with mold and its tentacle-y arms were a good six inches long. “That’s disgusting! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Brittany gingerly picked it up and examined it as it were the results of an interesting experiment and then proceeded to toss it in the trash without another word.

I’m still not sure why this particular story is still so amusing to me; I feel as if it captures both of our personalities, and the challenges that we each faced in being so different and living together for so long. Insane or otherwise, she’s still my sister, and I wouldn’t change that for the world!

That's Brittany in the green, and me in the reptile-print at jr-sr prom

Courtney

Reason #7: Simplicity

Don’t you love when things go the way they’re supposed to? Yeah, me too.

Being a college kid sometimes seems enough of an excuse in itself to eat quick, unhealthy foods. Some days, I have just enough time to heat up a can of Chef Boyardee and scarf it down before I have to run to class. Some days, I have just ten minutes to cross the entire campus to get to work on time after class ends. Some days, I have to take my unhealthy food with me and eat in public. Other days, I’m just too lazy to walk to the dining hall.

Eating unhealthy food all alone in your dorm room isn’t that bad. What can be tiring sometimes is the lack of variety available in dorm food. My cooking supplies include a minifridge, a microwave, plastic silverware (which I often snag from the college cafeteria because I’m too lazy to use my own silverware, which I’d have to wash after every use), Tupperware containers that do double duty as plates and bowls, and a couple of plastic bins full of non-perishable food. So you see, I’m limited as to what I can create on those days when I choose to chow down in my room.

The options usually consist of the following: Chef Boyardee, canned soup, Ramon Noodles, ham sandwiches, or PB&J. That said, I always try to look for new options when I’m grocery shopping. Last week, I discovered the BumbleBee Lunch-To-Go packs, which are my new favorite.

Coming from a family that eats cheese by the ton, I quickly recognized the off-brand of Easy Mac as a great addition to my list of lunchtime options when I saw it in the store.

The instructions on the packaging read as follows:

1.       Pour Macaroni into 2-cup microwaveable bowl. Add 2/3 cup water.

After asking my roommates and everyone next door if they had a measuring cup, I decided I’d just have to eyeball the water. So I pour out the little macaroni noodles into a small plastic container and add some water.

2.       Microwave, uncovered, on high 3 ½ to 4 minutes or until macaroni is tender. Do not drain. Remaining water will be used to make the cheese sauce.

After pulling my noodles out of the microwave, I had to ask myself, “What water?” It seemed to me that the noodles had absorbed it all. Not knowing what else to do, I added a little extra water and moved on to the next step.

3.       Add cheese sauce mix and stir until smooth. If cheese sauce appears thin do not microwave. Cheese sauce will thicken upon standing.

Then I really had to wonder what was going on. As I attempted to mix in the cheese sauce, I realized that the noodles were glued together in the shape of my bowl, which made mixing extremely difficult. I added more and more water until I could finally stir in the neon-orange powder.

Though it didn’t look great, I told myself it was still edible. Edible, as in, the noodles were a mixture of over-cooked chewiness and under-cooked hard, and the cheese powder was mixed so poorly that it added a nice bitter crunch to the dish. I ate the whole thing.

I’ve tried multiple times to make Easy Mac since then, but it just hasn’t worked. I’ve tried adding more water, pausing the microwave every 30 seconds to give the noodles a stir, adding the cheese mix a little at a time, etc.

In the end, I simply come to the conclusion that sometimes, even Easy Mac is hard.

Courtney

Reason #6: Abs of Steel

Way back in April, approaching senior week was enough motivation for me to begin working out. I would do a cardio workout each day (which usually consisted of walking, jogging, zumba, or Just Dance) along with an ab workout. The ab workout routine worked my upper, lower, and middle abs, and I was increasing the number of reps that I did with each day. Can I just say that I’m still extremely proud of myself for having stuck to my workout routine for so long? By the time it was senior week, I almost had abs. Okay, so not really. But I certainly burned some belly fat.

While I was bragging about my intense workout routine one day, my friend Sarah agreed that she wanted to start working out too. We were going to be beach babes come June. We excitedly started planning our group workouts over lunch when our friend Bri overheard us.

Now let me try to put my friend Bri into words. Bri is this totally crazy, totally awesome, totally buff woman. She grew up in Georgia and moved up here a couple of years ago with her dad. She’s always got energy to spare, she’s a terrific cook and baker, and she’s uber smart. Bri is… Bri. A totally unique and loveable individual.

Bri

So anyway, Sarah and I are discussing the idea of having a workout session together. And Bri chimes in with some awesome advice.

Bri: “Hey guys! You should do the Insanity workouts! You can find some of the videos on youtube.” She then proceeded to tell us how good the workouts were and show us her own abs of steel, at which we poked and prodded and smiled and nodded and agreed that it would be nice to have abs like those.

So Sarah and I set up a time and date for our workout. We met at my house and began with some stretching. We played some Just Dance and went through my ab routine. Then we opened up youtube and embarked on a journey that was far far beyond our years.

We typed in “Insanity Workout Video” and followed along with the ten-minute workout, at the end of which we lay on my carpeted floor in puddles of our own sweat. Craning my head just enough that I could see Sarah laying beside me, I uttered, “Never. Again.” And Sarah nodded in agreement.

When we had recovered enough to sit up, I immediately grabbed my phone and texted Bri. “Are you nuts?!” I asked her. “That killed us!” In a minute, I had a reply from Bri laughing mercilessly at us (I believe her exact words were “lol”) and asking which workout we had chosen. I sent back the title of the video that we had watched and received another round of merciless laughing (this time it was more like “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!! YOU GUYS!!!!”). She then informed us that the workout video that had practically killed us was simply the Insanity WARM UP, rather than the actual WORKOUT!

Needless to say, I never tried Insanity again.

Courtney

Reason #5: Dream Interpretation

I have crazy dreams. Bizarre dreams. Over-the-top-I-must-be-on-drugs dreams. I am sure that this won’t be the only dream that I blog about because, the truth is, my brain just knows how to put on a really good show while I’m asleep.

So a few nights ago I have this dream that I’m at a farming and agricultural show (again, I live in a hick town – farming conventions are common occurrences). At the event, there was a hedgehog table. I don’t know about you, but I think hedgehogs are the darned-cutest things in the world.

Darned Cute

 There were two hedgehogs that people were allowed to pick up and play with and race on this awesome little hedgehog racetrack there. Unable to resist, I picked up both and played with the adorable things.

When I was done, I went to the bathroom to wash my hands. Glancing at the mirror above the sink, I noticed that my cheeks were abnormally large. Not only that, but so were my lips. And my ears. My whole face was swelling at an alarming rate! My family, when I showed them, found the whole thing hilarious. “You must be allergic to the hedgehogs!” my brother howled.

And it was there that my dream ended. Upon waking, I immediately posted my dream on facebook as more of a reminder to myself to look up what it supposedly meant. Wouldn’t you be curious if you dreamt you were allergic to something as cute as a hedgehog?

 Later that day, I went on DreamMoods.com and looked up the words “allergy” and “hedgehog”.

DreamMoods so kindly informed me that, “To dream that you have allergies signify your sensitively to some situation. You may feel that you are physically or emotionally restrained from doing something.” It also told me, “To see a hedgehog in your dream suggests that you are being overly sensitive. You are taking everything too personally. Alternatively, it refers to losing your soul.”

I kid you not.

Sooo… basically, I am overly-sensitive to sensitivity. Oh, and I’m going to lose my soul. Great. Thank you, DreamMoods, for putting a smile on my face.

What bizarre dream interpretations have you had? I'd love to hear about them!

Courtney

Reason #4: Sweet Salamanders and Other Pets

The Story and Untimely Death of French Fry

When I was younger, I used to go with my grandparents to a campground a couple of miles from their house. They kept a trailer there and used it as a place to hang out on weekends and summers, a place for friends and family and fires and barbeques. One time, I went with my grandparents and my cousin, Sam, to spend the evening at the campground.

My cousin was a year younger than me then and probably could have been my identical twin. We decided to go out exploring through the woods and came upon a creek that flowed through the campground. With the brilliant idea of catching “fishes,” we traipsed back to the trailer to get a bucket to put them in. We couldn’t find a bucket, so instead we got plastic cups, which turned out to be a good thing because we needed something to catch the fishes with. We decided that the best technique was to scoop up random cupfuls of water and hope that we would catch something.

After only a few minutes of scooping, we actually did catch something, but it wasn’t a fish. It was a beautiful orange salamander! We showed it to our grandmother and kept it in the shade until it was time to go, at which point we snuck it into the car.

When we got home, we realized that we needed a place to keep it so we asked our grandmother for a bucket. Sighing, she dug through her cupboards in search of a big enough Tupperware container for our poor creature. We put it gingerly inside of the plastic dish and added some water and grass, named it “French Fry”, and walked away.

Sure enough, when we came back a few hours later, sweet old French Fry was belly-up. So we buried him in the middle of my grandma’s garden. RIP French Fry.

The Story and Untimely Death of “Birdie”

Playing in our backyard one day, my sister and I found a poor baby bird that had been knocked out of his nest and was lying on the ground. It took us quite a while to realize he was no longer breathing.

However, after we had made this discovery, we decided that “Birdie” needed a proper burial. So we grabbed a shovel and headed for the woods. Two feet off of our property line, we dug a hole and placed the small bird inside of it. After covering him with dirt, we realized that what he needed now was a headstone.

We poked around a bit and eventually found an old cinderblock, which we dragged on top of his grave. My sister painted the name “Birdie” upside down in green paint on the top of the block and we both said a few words about the bird’s life. I realized many years down the road, when my dad found the gravesite and asked what it was, that the letters e and d in Birdie’s inscription were backward. You were a good friend, Birdie. We’ll miss you dearly.

The Story and Untimely Death of the Little Red Fishies

My sister at one point owned her own fish tank, where she kept a zebra fish on one side, and another type of small red fish on the other side, separated by a plastic divider with extremely tiny holes in it. The small red fish was pregnant when my sister bought it. Eventually, the babies hatched. We all ogled at the teeny tiny baby fishies that morning. Then we went to school.

When we returned home that evening, the zebra fish had eaten all but one of the little baby fishes (which it finished off the next day). Who knew that zebra fish even ate other fish?! When, some time later, we did remove the plastic divider between the two fish, the zebra fish ate the momma red fish as well.  Good luck in the afterlife, little fishies.

I also unfortunately suffered the loss of a long-time family pet, a beautifully demented sheltie named Lady, who died earlier this summer of cancer. She was the best friend a gal could ask for. Comment and tell me about "the story and untimely death" of a pet you once owned, and don't forget to share about your truly loyal and loving pets too!



Lady and myself



Courtney

Reason #3: Trying New Foods

It was a weekend when my little brothers were all busy and my older sister was away. My dad told my mother and me that he was taking us out for dinner. We pulled up to a little tin building and got out of the car. The outside sported a simple wooden plaque that announced the name of the grange and a coat of arms. The inside smelled deliciously of ham and potatoes.

We stopped just inside the door to pay for what was advertised as that night’s dinner - “Dandelion greens served with baked ham, mashed potatoes, applesauce, devilled eggs, and dessert”. I was a little disgusted at the thought of eating dandelions, but not at all surprised that people here actually cooked them up and ate them; I grew up in an area where the name of our county was more commonly used as an adjective than a noun. Simply put, we were hicks, we were rednecks, we stood outside our houses amidst our Christmas lights in July and watched our toddlers streak naked across the yard, we were uneducated (and those of us who got an education never came back to stay), and we were way more familiar with the smell of cow and the putt-putt of a tractor than that of roses and the almost unnoticeable hum of a hybrid car.

Dandelion greens, it turns out, can be fixed in multiple ways. Ours were boiled, I believe, with a thin dressing and bacon tossed on them. Feeling braver than my usual self, I did try them that night. As I crunched and munched on the first forkful that I had shoved in my mouth, I thought, ‘These aren’t so bad’. They did, after all, taste like bacon. However, by the time that I had finished chewing, the bitterness of the weed seeped into my mouth, and it was all that I could do to swallow that one bite. My thoughts on the food quickly changed to ‘Eeech. Who eats these things?’ After that, I stuck to ham and mashed potatoes the rest of the night.

Just in case you get the itch to give dandelion greens a try someday, here's the recipe to "Dandelion Salad with Warm Bacon Dressing from epicurious.com.

Courtney

Feel free to comment and tell me about the most interesting food you’ve ever tried! Happy living!

Reason #2: Looong Days at Work

I worked three out of my four years of high school at an equine stable as a stable hand. My responsibilities mostly included cleaning stalls (that is, shoveling horse crap), feeding, throwing hay, taking general care of the horses and cat, and moving the horses from the barn to the pasture and back in again. ‘What a fun job!’ you say, ‘How on earth did you find such a lovely job at such an early age in your life?’ Well, let me tell you.

Since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted a horse. I took riding lessons for about five years and even showed (once) and won (second place). However, it was hard to continue my lessons knowing that I would not be able to put them to good use, seeing as I didn’t have a horse to show with or even to just ride for fun. Seeing that the lessons were going nowhere, my parents and I made an executive decision to quit the lessons (which also saved my parents a butt-load of money).

But don’t think I was deterred from my goal! I still asked constantly for the horse. And my parents still said no.

One fine summer day, our family was enjoying a pool party at the house of the brother of my dad’s boss (stick with me here), who’s wife owned a barn and horses. Seizing the opportunity, my father introduced me and declared that I was ready to work. He somehow seemed to think that working at a horse barn would quench my desire to own a horse. It did not.

It did, however, get me three years of demanding physical labor and a lot of good stories (most of which involve torture that the horses have inflicted on me). It was a long three years. ‘Tell me one of those stories!’ you say, and I will, of course, oblige you.

At the barn, we have multiply outdoor pastures along with a nice stable (which is not air-conditioned or heated, and makes for crappy working conditions year-round because it’s either super toasty, or I’m-wearing-seven-pairs-of-pants cold), which we move the horses in and out of with the weather. As I arrived at work on this particular summer day, the horses were all out in the pasture, and I was supposed to bring them in for the night.

I went out to the front field first, which held two newer horses that I had not had a lot of experience with yet. I grabbed the younger one first, a two-year-old named Amir*, figuring that the older gelding would wait patiently. Unfortunately, I was wrong. When I swung open the gate, the gelding, Estevan*, bolted out and took off. Cool as usual, I simply stood there and called his name until he came back… NOT.

“CODE RED, CODE RED!” My brain flashed. Trying to move quickly but without freaking him out, I decided that the best thing I could do would be to get Amir into the barn first and then chase after Estevan. As I was making my way towards the barn, I saw that Estevan had run off the property and was now trudging steadily though the neighbors sprouting cornfield. I whipped out my phone and clicked through my contacts as fast as I could, all the while still trying to hurry back to the barn with Amir.

I found my boss’s name and punch the Call button.

Stranger on phone: “Hello?”

Me: “Estevangotout!AndIhaveAmirandIcan’tchaseEstevanuntilIgetAmirinside!”

Stranger on phone: “… … …Who is Estevan?”

Me: “What?! Estevan! He got loose! He’s running down the hill!”

Stranger on phone: “I… what?!”

Me: “Ohmygod! Wrong number! Sorry!”

I quickly hung up and scrolled through my contacts again, not bothering to check who I had just called on accident. When I reached my boss, I relayed the same message. She calmly told me that she would be right down.

I reached the barn with Amir and threw him into his stall as quickly as I could and ran back outside to meet my boss. “Where’d he go?” she asked. “He’s right over—“But when I turned to point to the field that Estevan had been frolicking in moments before, I saw that it was empty. I looked left. I looked right. My boss followed my gaze as my breathing became deeper and more panicky, and I started thinking things like “Oh shit, oh shit!” and “I’m going to have to buy my boss a new horse!”

We both continued to stare at the field where Estevan had been. My boss muttered that I should calm down, but I couldn’t. I spun in circles, noticing how melancholy the horse behind me looked. He was hanging out the large Dutch window, bobbing his head as he watched me. I did a double-take and then gave a feeble laugh. My boss turned too, and we stared, dumb-founded, at each other as the scene unfolded before us. “He must have snuck into the barn while you were with Amir.” my boss stated. In response, I gave another feeble laugh and marched back into the barn to close the door to the stall that Estevan stood in.

Thankfully, my boss is a good-humored woman and seemed to think the situation was more funny than anything else. Before she went in, she even helped bring in the rest of the horses as the clouds overhead darkened and the wind grew steadier. I had just shut the barn doors when it began to downpour, and I finally allowed myself to smile.

I laughed. I even started to dance. What a ridiculous day! All of that panic over a horse that had been safe in the barn the whole time! And now, I had escaped the rain in just the nick of time! Ha!

And then I got a text message from my boss. It stated simply,

“If rain is coming in Dutch windows, please close them.”

Sure enough, the rain was coming in sheets through the windows, and the only way to close them was from the outside. I ran around the outside of the barn, slamming window after window until they were all closed, gulping for air through the pounding rain. It took me less than thirty seconds, yet by the time I was back inside, I was soaked. My shirt was three pounds heavier and my boots were squishing with two inches of water.



Me, after the rain



Just when I had thought I’d outsmarted the universe, I was proven wrong. The whole situation does make for a wonderful story though. What’s your worst-day-of-work story? I’d love to hear about it!

Courtney

P.S. I later checked to see who I had called the first time I was attempting to reach my boss. It turned out to be my friend Mary, who thought my phone call was extremely funny.

*Indicates that names have been changed to protect the identity of the horse/horses