Cupid Has a Shotgun

Valentine's Day.
The Holiday of Love.
Singles Awareness Day.
I'm-Buying-You-the-Same-Gift-Every-Other-Guy-Buys-His-Girlfriend-to-Show-How-Much-He-Loves-Her-Day.

Yes, it's that time of year again. Those in love get to increase their public displays of affection, while those of us who are single try to avoid those couples. Chocolate boxes line the check-out counter at every grocery store. Stuffed animals that sing start popping up in commercials. Flowers that used to cost $9.95 only weeks ago are now $29.95.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I hate the thought of Valentine's Day, I've just never really taken part. Of course, when I was in elementary school I passed out little cards to the other students in class, but I've never had anyone to call My Valentine.

 I think it's nice for people to have a day dedicated to making sure that their significant other knows how much they mean to the other person. I really do. Setting aside a day to dote upon your loved ones is not a bad thing in my book. I just think that the affection should be more personal than just handing your boyfriend/girlfriend a card and a stuffed bear that you picked up from the convenience store. Once again, I think that you should examine your relationship, and figure out what makes the other person really smile: whether it's a bouquet of wild flowers, 6 boxes of peach-ring candies, the latest James Bond movie, or a gift card to Lowes so that they can go buy the power tool that they really want, you should pay attention to the other person and show them that you pay attention, and that what they say is important to you. As long as you put a little effort into your gift, and you aren't simply giving a gift because you feel obligated to, then everything should be fine. No reason to flip out over how much to spend, or about getting the biggest teddy bear in the world; just be yourself, show them that you truly care about them, and you're sure to have a good Valentine's Day.

For those of you who are single: Fear not!
I know that Valentine's Day isn't a big thrill for those without a significant other; but there is no reason to completely dread this day. February 14 could be a day for you to show your friends how much you still care about them: get a big bag of candy and share it with everyone (no one wants to be left out on this day of love), make construction paper cards to pass out to people. Start your own Anti-Valentine's Day traditions with other single friends. For the past four years, I've gotten a group of friends together and we've gone out to see the latest action movie. One year it was Taken, Safe House, whatever. It didn't matter, as long as we weren't watching the Romance movie that all the couples were seeing. Our group laughed more than any of the couples we passed that day.
 So don't be depressed because you don't have a Someone Special to share this holiday with. Be happy because you have friends that love you no matter what. Don't believe that just because you are single for this holiday that you will be single for the rest of your life. You'll find the person that you're meant to be with, it might just take a little longer than you would like. But being single is no reason to be miserable. So Perk Up! I've been single for 23 Valentine's Days, and I'm still a Romantic at heart.

While I didn't have my very own Valentine yesterday, I did receive a few sweet Valentine's Day messages (which is way more than I expected!). So I'd like to give a shout out to Ryan, Joshua, Westley, and David. You each had a unique message, but I was very honored that you thought of me. Thank you all, again. 

So, what did you do for Valentine's Day? Were you one of the lucky one's with a date, or did you sit at home and eat a carton of ice cream? Do you agree that this holiday should be more personal, or do you like getting the standard Lovey-Dovey presents? As always, I can't wait to hear what you have to say.

Everyone deserves to get at least one Valentine, so enjoy! (It's Raphael the Ninja Turtle dressed as Humphrey Bogart playing Rick Blaine in Casablanca wishing you a Happy Valentine's Day! What's not to love?!)


                                      

Stuck in the Middle With You

I've been told recently that I'm mediocre. A few people have said that.
My looks, my intelligence, my work ethic, my attitude, my life. Apparently everything about me is mediocre.
But I don't see it that way....

Granted, I'm not the Go-to-Extremes-Gal, but I would hardly say that I am mediocre. I don't have to jump out of an airplane once a week; when I get mad, I don't have to start cussing and fighting with everyone I see just to show how mad I really am. I don't have to get in your face and prove that I'm the best at something, nor do I have to completely tank something for it to be a failure. Now, this may seem like the definition of mediocre, but I see it differently.
I don't need to have the absolute best day ever, nor do I need to have the worst day ever. In this aspect, I see myself as Goldilocks. I like things to be Just Right. Not too cold and not too hot. Not to one extreme or the other, but sitting happily in the middle.

No one is a fan of the really terrible days. No one wants the worst possible scenarios to keep happening to them during the day. On the other hand, a majority of people would love to have extraordinary days every day. They want each day to be spectacular and to top the day before. Most people believe that if they haven't done something astonishing with their day, then the day was wasted. As usual, I'm not with the crowd on this. I think that just because you haven't done something outlandish with your day doesn't mean that your day was wasted. As I mentioned in the post "The Little Things Mean the Most," to me, life isn't about having all of these grand gestures. It's about the little things that add up.

I didn't rescue a kitten out of a tree. I didn't perform high-risk surgery on a patient and have everything turn out perfectly. I didn't write a chart-topping song and win 8 Grammy awards for it. I didn't come up with a cure for baldness. I didn't do any of these things today, but I did compliment a lady on her new hairstyle, and she told me that it made her day for me to notice. Knowing that I made an iota of a positive impact on someone's life means that I had a good day. It might have been a rough day otherwise, but for a moment, I knew that one person appreciated something I had done. It was a good day. So even though it was a rough day and had the potential to become an awful day, putting one positive spin into the mix made it a good day; it wasn't a great day, but it was a good day.

Perhaps I'm not as dramatic as a lot of people: I don't declare that the world is ending because of a snag in my day; I don't break down and cry at the drop of a hat. I have my bad days, but I look for at least one good thing that happened. I look for the cup of sunshine in the basin full of sorrows.


My Attitude:
While I don't believe the world to be puppies and rainbows, I also believe that not everything in life can be bad. I like to think that I have a realistic view on things: There are going to be good times as well as bad times. But the important part is that there are going to be good times. Odds are that something will go wrong in your life on a daily basis, but you should be sure to remember all the things that have gone right, also. I didn't find the love of my life while trapped in an elevator this afternoon, but the cute fireman who rescued us smiled at me. There's my silver lining.

My Work Ethic:
I happen to believe that I have an outstanding work ethic. I do my best to accomplish every task that I set before myself. My goals may not be as ambitious as other people's but if I plan to finish something, it gets done. As long as I am doing my absolute best on my task, then I am satisfied. I don't have to prove to you that I can do something harder, better, faster, or stronger than you can. If your goal in life is to beat me, then go ahead; however, that has nothing to do with what I want to accomplish, so I won't be participating in your little competition.

My Intelligence:
I know that I'm not the smartest person in the world. Not by a long shot. But I have a killer combination of common sense and book smarts. If I need to know something, but haven't the first clue about it, I will figure it out. I won't settle for not-knowing; I made the Dean's List for six semesters while in college, and earned my Bachelor's degree with honors. I didn't know most of the information taught, but I learned what was necessary to accomplish my goals. It took a lot of work, but I knew what I had to do, and I was able to work my way through it without giving up.

My Appearance:
I am not now, nor have I ever been, a size 0 girl; I am also not morbidly obese. I'm a thick girl, but I'm healthy. I don't always like what I see in the mirror, but I like who I am. I don't usually go out without a little makeup on, but I also don't leave the house looking like a drag queen because I'm so insecure with how I look. I use a few makeup tricks to enhance my looks, but I don't ever try to cover up what I truly look like. I know that I don't look like a supermodel, but I'm not ashamed to show my face out in public. I am happy with how I look. Just because you have to wear 8 pounds of makeup to go grocery shopping doesn't mean that the rest of us should be ashamed of what we look like. (See the post "You Don't Get to Comment on My Body" for more on this topic.)

My Life:
I know that my life seems boring to some people. They mock the fact that I would rather stay home and build a fort to watch movies in than to go downtown and party the night away. But the truth is, I like my life. I like staying at home in my comfy pants and having a bowl of ice cream. I like talking to my kids about how school was for them that day. I'd rather go to church on New Year's Eve than go bar-hopping. Sure, it's nice to get dressed up and go out every once in a while, but I'm content sitting at home talking to my best friend. It's my life. I don't need your approval, but I do require your respect.


Maybe you see my life as mediocre. And if you do, I suppose there is nothing I can do to change your mind. But I see my life through Goldilocks eyes. It's just right for me. I have my good stories. I have my bad stories. And then I have my awkward stories. But all of these combined are what have made me who I am. I don't go bungee jumping, I don't look for the next big thing to do. But I also don't sit around wondering why my life sucks. I like my life. I enjoy being able to sit around the dinner table telling stories about work, and then smiling because of something one of my kids said in response. I like knowing that I worked my hardest on a project, even if you think the project wasn't worth working on to begin with.

Maybe you see my life as mediocre. I wouldn't have it any other way. It's just right. What do you think? Do you think I am just mediocre? Do you think I have an odd perspective about things? Do you think I should want to be more ambitious with my life, or do you think there is nothing wrong with my system? Like I said, I know I'm the best (nor the worst) at anything. But I generally like where I am in life. As always, I look forward to hearing what you have to say.

Apparently I Have a Temper...

It has come to my attention that I have a bit of a temper...Who knew?!
But I don't just lose my cool at the drop of a hat. As with most things in my life, I have a unique sort of temper.

Normally, I'm the nicest person you will ever meet. I greet everyone with a smile and a friendly "Hi, how are you?" I genuinely care about other people and their lives. I'm light-hearted and good-humored. Even when people make off-color jokes about me, or give me left-handed compliments, I generally take them with a grain of salt and go on with my day. I try to believe the best in people, no matter what.

While I forgive these minor indiscretions, I do not forget them.I keep a mental tally of how many times and what type of follies you have committed against me. They simmer in the back of my mind until I either forget about them, or until you push me past my boiling point. It does take quite a while for me to the point where I blow my lid, but once I get to that point I don't calm down easily.I'm riled up and flooded with the thoughts of everything you've ever done to make me mad, and my anger only intensifies. As I mentioned before, it usually takes me a long time to get to this point of anger, but when I finally do, I erupt.

Even as a kid, this was my anger-style. Take, for example, a typical argument between me and my sister: when we would fight, it took me quite a bit longer to get mad than it did her. She got mad at the drop of a hat. Naturally, with her anger-style, I escalated and got mad quicker with her yelling at me; therefore, once one of us was good and mad, it didn't take too much longer for the other one to get mad and for the fight to get really interesting. As usually happens with sisters fighting, neither of us would want to compromise our stance, and we would eventually have to walk away from the fight. Here's where the difference occurs: a half hour after we ended the fight, my sister was calmed down, ready to talk to me as if nothing had happened. I, on the other hand, was still fired up hours after the argument. I didn't want to talk to her, I didn't want to look at her, I didn't want to be in the same room as her. Nothing. I was still too mad to deal with being around her. It's not because she had done anything since the fight to make me mad again, it's just that I was still mad about whatever caused the fight to begin with.
This trend continues into my adult fighting style: little things will irk me, something will dig at me, or somebody will do something to make me clench my jaw. But I keep all of it bottled up inside until I absolutely can't stand it anymore. I don't say anything about the little infractions, but once I've reached my limit I'm done. My face gets red, my voice gets loud and my tone is pointed, and I do the stereotypical black-girl head bob. Trust me when I say that it's not a pretty sight. Ava Gardner said it best: “When I lose my temper, honey, you can't find it any place.”

Now, I've explained my style and how long it takes me lose my cool. But that only applies when people are directing things towards me. So, if you're bad-mouthing me, putting me down, and pushing my buttons, personally, it will take a little while before I reach my breaking point; however, if I see people picking on others, in any way, that makes my temper flare up immediately. I can't stand to see a person being picked on because they are deemed "weaker" than those around them.  I've never been able to handle just standing by while a group of "stronger people" terrorize someone. That sets me off quicker than anything else. When I see someone being picked on, my defensive mode kicks on. I stand up for the victim, protect them, and do my best to put the bullies in their place. As long as it takes me to get fighting mad when dealing with my own problems, it's just a matter of seconds for my temper to get going on someone else's behalf.

At one of my jobs, I've been struggling to keep my temper in check concerning both of these issues.
I work in a very difficult job. I won't get into the details here, but it is one of the hardest jobs I could ever find. Everyone I know tried talking me out of taking this job because it is so demanding and frustrating. Despite their pleas, I took this distressing job; yes, I knew what I was getting into, and yes, I knew it would be beyond hard, but I also knew that I had bills to pay and that I couldn't afford to be picky about a job. So I took this very stressful job. And normally I can keep my cool. There are some days, however, that put my patience to the test. I am being personally attacked, and I see other people that are being hurt and picked on. Normally, I know how to handle both of these situations. But this sort combination doesn't make matters any better. I can still defend those who need help, but not to the same degree that I would outside of work. I can't just let me temper fly and not worry about what the bystanders will think or say. I have to maintain a professional status. This conflict between doing what I want to do, and what I am able to do while at work is causing my blood pressure to rise. I can literally feel myself tensing up, my jaw tightens and stays clenched the rest of the day. I deal with these rough situations the best I can while still maintaining a sense of tact. But I'm not happy about it; I don't feel like I've done enough to help the situation and make it better. Maybe this sort of thing doesn't bother other people, but it drives me up the wall. I have an innate need to help, and to protect (maybe it's my "Momma" tendencies).
I feel like I'm talking in circles, but that's basically how I feel: like I'm going in circles and I can't do enough to make everything better. I just get frustrated and flustered, and then I realize that I haven't changed anything, and then I become despondent.

There isn't a happy ending to this particular post. I know that I have a temper, and normally I can deal with it just fine (in my own way, of course). But I haven't been able to deal with a lot of the situations that I've been thrown into lately. Normally, I get sassy, I embody my grandma and my great-granny (hence my family calling me "Little Wyonetta Dale") and I give them "Down the Road" like a true Southern woman. But I haven't been able to become "Little Highfly" recently, and I just don't know what to do with myself.

What do you think? Is it weird for me to keep my emotions bottled up until I explode? Should I find an outlet for my temper, something more productive maybe? How do you react when you get angry? What would you do if you became this angry while at work? How would you react? As always, I look forward to what you have to say.

They Call Me "Momma Katelyn"

I'm 23 years old and have more than 150 kids. 
Okay, so none of these kids are biologically mine. What's your point? If I have ever called you "one of my kids," that means that I love you, want to protect you, care what happens to you, will support you, and will always be there for you no matter what. If I have called you "one of my kids" I love you as if you were biologically my child.

There have been a significant number of people asking me what I am going to do with the rest of my life, lately. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I tell them that I'm working to pay off my student loans right now. After that, I'm not exactly sure what I will be doing. (But I know that I don't want to stay in my current job long term. Eek!) With a quizzical look on their faces, these people then ask me what my long term career goals are. Knowing that they will not like (and usually not approve of) my answer, I reluctantly answer that I do not have any career goals. The only thing I've ever wanted was to be a Momma. I just want to have children and take care of them. Whether I adopt or have children of my own, I just want to be a Mom.

I've always felt this way. As long as I can remember, I have always wanted to be a Momma and take care of kids. I started taking care of my little brother when he was born, and things just sort of took off from there. He was my Bubba, and I felt like it was my job to take care of him. I consider him one of my kids. I didn't call him that until we were both older, but he was my first kid.

You know how elementary schools have career day where students are allowed to dress up in a costume that represents their career of choice? Well, one year I dressed up in my version of a Mom costume: my hair was covered with a bandana, I was wearing overalls with a hammer hanging out of one pocket and a roll of duct tape in the other, I carried around a hamper of dirty clothes, and had a babydoll on my hips with her favorite storybook. That seemed like the best job ever!

I got a little older (middle and high school aged) and realized that I didn't have any real friends my age; there were students a few years younger than me that would talk to me, and solicited advice. I did my best to help them with their problems, I stood up for them, I cared for them when everyone else had abandoned them. On a field trip my sophomore year of high school, one of my kids stated that I was a better Momma than her own mother. She then started calling me Momma Katelyn (Momma K for short), and the name has stuck! Dozens of high schools kids and college students have called me Momma K and come to me for support when it seemed like their world was crumbling at their feet. In my personal Momma style, I gave them a hug and a juicebox when one was available (because who doesn't feel better after drinking a juicebox?!); I listened to them vent, offered pointers of what I might do in a similar situation, but more than anything, I was there when they really needed me. No matter what was happening in my life, or what sort of catastrophe they had going on, they knew that I would always be there for them.

In college, I was never a Resident Assistant (RA), but there were a lot of students who came to me when they were having problems. Whether it was relationship issues, they couldn't find time to study (or just couldn't understand the material), financial trouble, how to get along with their roommate, medical troubles, or something as simple as which professor to take for a certain class, these college kids came to me for help with their problems. They even called me Momma K. (There were people who didn't know my real name because I had been introduced to them as Momma K. haha.) Students from other residence halls would come see me while I was at work because they felt more comfortable talking to me than they did talking with their own RA. They only major thing I can tell you that I did was care: I showed each one of them that I genuinely cared about their problems and what was going on in their lives.

This past summer, I had the wonderful opportunity to work for a terrific program, Upward Bound. (For more information, feel free to visit http://www.upwardbound.eku.edu/) In this program, I had my own designated family (the girls I was supposed to chaperone), but 90% of the students ended up calling me Momma. Even though I wasn't the head of their family, they all knew that I would help them with anything they needed: homework, boy/girl problems, having a hard time fitting in. It didn't matter. I was always there for them. I loved each and every one of them. I was really humbled when at the Awards Banquet at the end of the year, the students gave me the "Number One Mom Award." A lot of you might scoff at this award, but this is one of the most touching moments of recognition I've ever had. To have a group of 100 high school aged students decide I was a positive influence on their lives, and to realize that I love them like a mother would her own children is a major deal to me. To have a group of students who come from broken homes where they aren't able to see their own mother for one reason or another, and for them to tell me that I was "a better mother than they could have ever dreamed of" only cemented the fact that I want to be a momma. I want kids, all kids, to know that there is someone out there who loves them and is willing to put in the effort to take care of them. I want to be that person.

Over the years, I've had to explain to family members why people kept calling me Momma K. I told them I look out for them, I help them out, I take care of them, and I generally act like a Momma (or at least a Big Sister.) Some people just laugh this away; others look at me with the squinty-eyed "Okay....." look. There are even a few who have mocked me for being called Momma K and for "trying to save the planet one kid at a time." While it hurts that they don't understand (or more simply just don't support) that I want to be a Momma, I know that it is what I'm meant to do. Being a Momma is the only thing I have ever been really good at. I made excellent grades in high school and through college, and I earned my Bachelor's degree in four years, but I worked really hard for both of those. In the post "I'm Gonna Keep on Singing My Song" I told about all of my musical experiences and talents; however, I spent years working on each of those before I was good. But I don't have to work at caring for people. I don't have to try to love these kids. I don't struggle  to make a positive impact on the lives of these students. I don't have to work at being a Momma.


 Maybe this post is just me being touchy about other people's opinions. Maybe I'm just trying to justify my life choices to myself. Maybe I'm just fed up with people looking on down on me when I tell them that I simply want to be a Momma. That I ENJOY being a Momma. (Of course, it doesn't help my case when I tell people that I don't yet have children of my own.) When I imagine my life 10 years, 20 years, 30 years down the road, I picture myself with lots of children. Massive family reunions, great big holiday get-togethers, birthday parties with the entire family. I see playing with my kids in the snow, teaching them how to swim without arm floaties, raking leaves into piles and jumping into them, helping them learn to drive a car, hugging them through their first heartbreak (and second, and third, and fourth heartbreak), graduation, weddings. The whole nine yards. I want it all. I want the whole messy, loud, chaotic, surprising, silly, beautiful, giggly, wonderful experience of having children and being a Momma. That's all I want.

As always, give me a shout and let me know what you think of my Momma-to-be dreams.


This is a picture of me and a few of my girls. I love them to death! (If you'll notice the sign at the left, it says, "Help the quail chick find its mother!" Coincidence? I don't think so....)
“Being a mother is an attitude, not a biological relation.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, Have Space Suit—Will Travel

I'm Gonna Keep on Singing my Song

I've had a few requests to write a post about music and its impact on my life.
I'll give it my best shot, but music is such a big part of my life that I'm not sure I can really do it justice. But like I said, I'll try.


Growing up, Mom always had the radio on. Whether it was the Oldies station, or an Elvis record. Fleetwood Mac or Reba McEntire. Ray Charles or The Beach Boys. It didn't matter. If we were up, there was music going. We danced around the house, singing along with the tunes as we cleaned; we were soothed to sleep as lullabies played in the background. Sing-Along tapes were played on the way to swim lessons, and 8-tracks were pushed into the tape deck when we went on road-trips. From the very beginning, music has been part of my life.


When I was 6 years old, I started asking my parents for piano lessons. I had only seen a few people play piano, so I don't know what made me want to play so badly, but there was something about the piano that I was drawn to. After asking for a year, I was finally allowed to start taking lessons. We bought an old piano from a friend of the family, and signed up for lessons from a lady we knew from church. My piano teacher, Ramona, was truly one of a kind. She was an older woman who believed in always looking your best: she bleached her hair platinum blonde, wore fake eyelashes, always had her acrylic nails painted a bright color. She was always dressed to impress. I actually remember one lesson where she told me to always have my nails painted a pretty color. "Never let your nails go naked," she said, "Always have them done up pretty so that people have something to watch when you are playing for them." Ramona was a self-sufficient woman who took care of things the way that she saw fit, and she did it with flair. She always encouraged me to be an individual and to do things in my own unique way. Whether it was to play my gospel songs with a jazzy flair, to drink Diet Rite out of the two-liter bottle, or to wear my 5-inch heels to the Christmas concert, she was always encouraging me to show my fun side instead of being so reserved all the time. I took piano lessons from Ramona for 8 years until she passed away. I had a few teachers after her, but none were as good as Ramona; they didn't have the enthusiasm she did, they didn't like that I put my twist on some of the classical pieces, and I was too advanced for them to be able to actually teach me anything. I started learning from the best, and there was no one that I could go to anyone else and be satisfied with the results. Overall, I took piano lessons for 10 years, but Ramona was one-of-a-kind. Unique. The Best. I still play piano, and think that Ramona would be proud of me. Thanks to her amazing teaching, I'm able to sight-read pieces and have them pretty close to perfect (with a little bit of my flair thrown in for good measure!) 

In elementary school, I was in the choir groups available, and I even played the piano as the featured accompanist a few times. In fifth grade I joined beginning band. Of course, being the independent chick I am, I couldn't pick a traditionally female instrument like the flute or the clarinet. Nope. I chose to play the trombone. (Save the sex jokes, I promise I've heard them all.) That's right, I chose a "male instrument." I was the only female in the low brass section (which consists of 3 different instruments) for at least 4 years. But don't feel bad for me. I was the only girl, but I was still the best player. Lyrics from the James Brown song "It's a Man's World" feel appropriate here: This is a man's world/ but it wouldn't be nothing/ without a woman or a girl! I was in chorus and band throughout middle school. I sat in the back row with the guys in my section, and I eventually became one of the guys. I was more comfortable just hanging out with the guys than I was sitting with the girls during choir practice.

I continued my musical career into high school. I was in concert band, jazz band, marching band, honors bands, I was taking piano and trombone lessons as well as giving lessons to other students; I was also in concert choir, East Side Singers, and giving voice lessons on the side. All of this was in addition to a full class load and maintaining my 4.0 GPA. I spent my afternoons and weekends in the band room at school because of one practice or another. I spent so much of my time in the band room that I kept a change of clothes, toothbrush, mascara and a blanket there because I knew that I would need them sooner or later. I saw my band director more than I saw my parents, if that tells you anything. My participation in these organizations strengthened my work-ethic, organization skills, prioritizing abilities, determination and independence in one way or another. Don't get me wrong, I still had tough times with these groups: I lost sleep, I lost friends and I worried a lot, but what I gained made everything worth it. 

I had originally planned on going to college to get a degree in music. Either Music Education, Music Performance or something along those lines. I had planned on music being my career.  Senior year of high school, however, I had to have a few lung surgeries. After going through that sort of pain, I decided that I didn't want to risk my health and opted out of the music degree.I still attended the university with the great music program, and I still played and sang, but not as part of any class. In fact, when I needed to escape from my regular classes, I would sneak down to the music building, slip into one of the piano practice rooms, and just play for hours. I even played the trombone for Homecoming festivities a few years. And my senior year of college I joined a female a capella group, The Treble-Makers.(Even when I wasn't in Treble-Makers, my neighbors could hear me belting out songs from my room at all hours of the day. Sorry Clarissa, Katie, Bryce, Amber, and Chrissy!) So even though I didn't pursue a music degree, I still had music in my life, and I still performed. Giving a performance was always my favorite part!

I've mentioned that music is a major part of my life, but I haven't given specific details on the type of music that shapes my life. There is a simple reason for this: I don't like just one type of music. I listen to everything from Gospel to Rap. No joke. The Jewell Family, Simon & Garfunkel, Dr. Dre, Johnny Cash, Etta James, P!nk, Five Finger Death Punch, Il Divo, Linkin Park, Jeannie C. Riley, Luciano Pavarotti, Mumford and Sons, Paul Anka, Trapt, Pat Benetar, Sam Cooke, Eminem,The Temptations, Trans-Siberian Orchestra, The Turtles, Rachmaninoff, Mary J. Blige, Ozzy Osbourne, and Conway Twitty are just a few of the artists that I listen to. Now, this isn't a complete list by any means, but it does a decent job of showcasing my eclectic taste in music.
Whenever I try to explain my musical taste to someone, I give a short list of people I think they might recognize. Lately, I've dropped names like Adele, P!nk, Miranda Lambert, Alicia Keys, Aretha Franklin, Reba McEntire, Christina Aguilera, and Etta James. Only recently have I noticed that this is a list of "I Won't Put Up with Your Crap" female artists. Once again, I'm drawn to assertive women. Those of you who know me (and even those of you who don't really know me, but read most of my posts) know that I am a strong woman. I have a mind of my own, I'm not easily swayed, and I stand up for myself and what I believe in. All of these artists do the same thing; granted, I don't agree with everything that all of these women endorse, but I totally respect that they are standing up for themselves. Get it girl! 

We all know that your mood influences the music you listen to, but music can also influence your mood (or at least it does for me). If I'm in a good mood, I want upbeat and peppy music. If I'm feeling blue, I listen to sad songs. Normally, this suits me just fine. But every now and again I'll be in a funk; I'll be upset about something but want to feel better and just can't. So instead of listening to sad music, I blast The Beach Boys or The Beatles (or something akin) to lift my spirits. Even though I'm having a tough time, their songs and their music puts me in a better frame of mind. Along the same lines, I can be in a decent mood and one of my "angry songs" will play, and then I'm in the mood to fight. Music definitely has an impact on my mood. 
On a related note: I've already established that I have unique taste in music. I know that not everyone will like all of what I listen to (heck, most people don't like the majority of what I listen to), but that doesn't mean that you are able to tell me how to classify my music. Recently, I told a friend (*ahem Josh ahem*) that I had listened to my "Happy Music" playlist while driving. I then proceeded to give a few examples of what was on that list: Hermans Hermits, Mumford and Sons, Ashton Shepherd, Theory of a Deadman, Adele....
He stops me when I say the name Adele. He makes sure that we are talking about the same person.
Him: "The same woman who sings "Someone Like You" and "Chasing Pavements"? That Adele?"
Me: Yeah, that Adele...
Him: She doesn't have Happy Music. That's a "Heartbroken" album, not a happy one. Even the ones with a good beat talk about how "he's cheating on me, but I still love him" and whatnot. Geez Katelyn!

I can agree that Adele's latest album is not regarded as traditionally happy. That's true. A lot of her songs talk about heartache and lost love. That does not change the fact that some of her songs are on my Happy Music playlist and, indeed, make me happy. When I'm already in a good mood, "Rolling in the Deep," and "Rumor Has It" only inflate my mood. I don't tell you what to listen to or how to classify your music, so don't try to tell me about my music choices. Dean Winchester once charmingly said, "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cake-hole!" I'm usually driving in my car alone. I listen to what I want, and you can't change that. If you are riding with me then you can request to listen to (or to skip) a certain song, and if I like you I"ll consider it, but for the most part I'm going to listen to what I want. No hard feelings.

I feel like I've rambled and gone on a lot of tangents with this post. But I've tried showing where I got my musical start, what I like, how it has impacted my life and even helped shape my personality. I hope some of you can relate to my music tastes, but if not that's okay too. Mostly I hope that I've answered the questions of those people who requested I make this post. If I haven't, leave a comment and let me know. I'll try to answer the best I can. Even if you don't have a question, feel free to comment. And just because it's cute, here is a picture of me when I first started playing the piano!

I'm Not Jessie's Girl

I've had to tell this story to a few people recently, and thought that it would be a good time to share it with the rest of the world. Brace yourselves! This is one of those "Only Katelyn" stories: it will have you laughing, feel creeped out, and wondering what goes through some people's minds.
This explains why I'm not Jessie's girl.

This tale starts my senior year of high school.
I went to my friend, Cassie's graduation party. It was nothing out of the ordinary; there were kids from school, her family, banners with "Congratulations Graduate!" all over the place, and a cake to match. I had stayed at the party for a decent amount of time, but was getting ready to leave when Cassie says that there is someone she wants me to meet. I assume that it is another family member, and therefore, agree to go with her to meet this person. Cassie motions for her boyfriend, Evan, to walk over, and Evan brings a friend. (I can't believe it. Even at another person's graduation party I have people trying to set me up on a date!) Evan introduces the new guy as his cousin, Jessie. I shake his hand and make small talk. Admittedly, he was kind of cute, but that didn't change the fact that I had to leave the party. I tell Cassie bye, and Jessie that it was nice meeting him, but then I get in my car and leave.
I don't get a chance to talk to Cassie until almost 3 months later, but when we do talk she doesn't mention anything about Jessie. In my mind I knew that she thought it was a lost cause. There was no way for me to go off to college and try to start a long-distance relationship with someone I had just met. Cool. End of the line, right? (Here's a clue: if that were the end of the story, it wouldn't be nearly as interesting...)

Flash Forward Two Years
I'm now in my fourth semester of college. I have a good life in a new town, a brand new roommate who is amazing, I'm on the Dean's List, and I'm feeling good about life.
One day, while I'm trying to finish some homework, my room phone rings. Thinking it is a desk worker wanting me to cover her shift, I answer.
Me: Hello, this is Katelyn.
Caller: Yeah, hey. Is this Katelyn Vinson?
Me: Yes it is. How may I help you?
Caller: You might not remember me, but my name is Jessie. We met a couple years ago at Cassie's graduation party.
Me: ...Okay....
Jessie: I really felt a connection between us when we met. So I rented a car and drove down from Washington D.C. to visit you for the week. I'm in front of your dorm right now.
Me: ...Wait....What?!
Jessie: Yeah, I talked to Cassie and she gave me some of your information so I could find you and surprise you. But I'm out front. You should come down to see me.

My first thought is, "I'm going to pulverize Cassie.Plain and simple." Then I couldn't do anything but stop, stare blankly at the wall, and try to figure out how to deal with this situation. I couldn't avoid him the entire week; I couldn't let him live in his car, and he couldn't crash in my building's lobby (my boss would have killed me!), but there was ABSOLUTELY NO WAY that he was staying with me. Nope. Not happening.

While I try to think of the best solution for this awkward situation, I take my roommate downstairs with me to meet him. (There was no way I was meeting him alone: he found me after two years of no contact, and then drove more than 500 miles to see me. There had to be something wrong with this guy!) We eventually check him into the building because neither my roommate nor I know what else to do. We both have homework to finish, but we can't exactly leave this guy wandering the residence hall. We let him sit in our room while we do homework, but our door stays open so that everyone walking by can see what's going on, and then stop in to talk to us and give us a distraction from this weird invader. Eventually my roommate and I get tired and really want to kick Jessie out. But I felt guilty just telling him to get out, so I showed him to a hotel just off the interstate. We talk a little, and I try to convince him that he really shouldn't have taken a week off from work just to come down to see me. I say that we can talk on the phone and get to know each other a little better before driving 500 miles for a date. He really should go home, take back his hours at work, and we'll start slow. But he wouldn't have any of it. He was bound and determined to stay the full week.

I go to work the next morning, and there is Jessie, sitting in the chair opposite my desk. He brings me a coffee and donuts, and while I was thankful for food, I was also a little hesitant: I don't know this guy, I don't trust him, I don't know what he could have done to my food. I waited for him to eat a few donuts out of the box and then watched him drink his coffee, and decided to take a chance and eat the food he brought for me.This sort of routine keeps happening throughout the week: he follows me to class, he waits for me at work, he goes to programs around campus because he knows that I'll be there. I keep thinking that I'll get used to him, but I don't.
As the week progresses, Jessie makes several attempts to show me how devoted he is to me. He tries to hold my hand, put his arm around me while we walk; he hugged me bye, but held the hug for way too long and I become uncomfortable; he tried to kiss me. A lot. I didn't really know this guy, I didn't want him touching me, and I REALLY didn't want him kissing me. Blegh! But even with me turning him down every time he made a pass at me, he was persistent, I'll give him that.

By the end of the week, I'm more than ready for Jessie to leave. I was annoyed, I felt like I had stalker that I had to be nice to, and I just wanted to get back to my normal schedule. But once again, Jessie was waiting for me when I got to work that morning. He talked while I worked and tried not to roll my eyes at everything he said. He mentioned me coming back to Washington D.C. with him, but I repeatedly declined. When my shift finally ends, I tell Jessie that I have to get ready for classes, and he agrees that he should probably get back to D.C. We say goodbye, he leaves my building and I go back upstairs.
Approximately ten minutes after returning to my room I hear someone yelling my name from outside my window. This isn't anything too unusual because my room was right next to the main pathway on campus, but I didn't recognize the voice. I ease my way over to the window and look down onto the sidewalk, seeing only Jessie. Not knowing what else to do, I yell out to him.
Me: Jessie? What are you doing here? I thought you left...
Jessie: I did leave. I got on the interstate and had to turn around. I can't leave here without telling you...
Me: *blank stare*
Jessie: I love you!
Me: *Completely baffled face*
Jessie: I love you! Will you marry me?
Me: ...Are you kidding?! You can't be serious!
Jessie: I'm completely serious. I even have a ring. Come down and look at it. Marry me, Katelyn.
Me: *face-palm*

I grab my backpack and race downstairs and outside to meet him. At this point, I'm fuming. You can almost see the smoke coming out of my ears I'm so mad. I don't understand how he can say those words to me, and ask me such a serious question. There is no way that this guy actually love me! I don't give Jessie a chance to speak first, as I'm already going on this rant. I know that I had to be turning colors from being so outraged, I was yelling, my hands were flying. I was giving him the riot act: No I would not marry him. I don't love him, I don't even know him! He dropped into my life unexpectedly and unwanted, and I tolerated him the best I could, with as much civility as I could. But I, in absolutely no way, felt romantic feelings towards him. Not in any way, shape, or form.
I pause halfway through my rant to take a quick breath and Jessie interrupts me. He tells me that he does love me, and he knows that I would be a great mom. He really wants to marry me, and for me to move to New Orleans to help him take care of his 3 year old daughter.
With that sentence I had a moment of clarity. The entire situation made more sense than it had for a week. Jessie didn't love me and he didn't want to marry me; he wanted someone to clean up his mess. He wanted a girl who would look good in front of a judge and help him get custody of his daughter back, and then she would take care of his pre-formed family. He thought I could fix it all. Granted, he had done his research: he knew I liked kids and worked well with them; he knew that I wasn't into any kind of trouble (like drugs, or problems with the police), and my friend Cassie had told him that the only goal I had in life was to be a Momma and take care of my kids. While I understood all of that, I was still torqued. I continue my rant and leave the scene by telling him that I don't love him, I won't love him, and I will never marry him. As I huff off to my class, I hear him yell after me, "So....you'll think about it..?" 

Now, I've had my fair share of creepers, but Jessie drove the farthest and definitely had a plan. Now, it wasn't a GOOD plan, but it was still a plan. Have you ever had a person that you barely knew show up and surprise you like that? Has anyone asked you to marry them under false pretenses? Am I the only person that things like this happen to?! What do you think about Jessie and his antics? Do you think I should have handled things differently? Like always, I look forward to hearing what you have to say about my unusual experiences.

Man Up!

You know what I hate?
I hate being blown off. I hate when I make plans with a friend, and then he ditches me at the last minute because something better came along. I hate getting all dolled up and ready to go out only to sit at home alone.
Don't get me wrong, there are times when I love just sitting at home in my comfy pants while watching television. But when I thought that I was going out with friends to have a good time, sitting at home is a let-down. I feel dejected. I feel like a pariah. And eventually I just get mad. Lately, I've been mad a lot.

It drives me crazy that people don't seem to keep their word. More than that, it baffles me that people aren't bothered that they aren't keeping their word. The majority of people keep their word when it comes to the deal-breakers, but the littlest of things seem to slip through the cracks. For those of you who have read my post "The Little Things Mean the Most" you already know that the little things add up quick for me. To put it simply, I believe that people should keep their word. Granted, there are times when life takes us on a roller coaster, and then we aren't able to follow through with what we had said; however, most of the time, people are too self-obsessed and just simply don't follow through. They don't feel like it, so they aren't going to do it.

That is so stupid it makes my eye twitch! 

I'm from an area where if you look a man in the eyes and shake his hands, you are giving your word. You mean what you say, and are willing to prove yourself. That means something. Keeping your word shows what kind of man you are. Not keeping your word means a loss of respect. You don't have enough backbone to do what you originally said you would, you don't have enough drive to complete something that you started. If you don't keep your word, then you aren't a real Man to me.

A few weeks ago, I was supposed to meet my friend, Sam, to hang out and watch Christmas movies. Nothing life changing, but we had made definite plans. Just before I leave the house to meet him I receive a text from him. He told me that he went out with friends and wouldn't be home. No apology, no plans to make it up at a later time. Just Sam saying that he found a better deal. Needless to say, I was mad. I came home and watched James Bond all night (because James Bond never stands me up!) and that made things a bit better, but I was still mad.
Time passed and I invited Sam to hang out again. I told him in advance that these were not going to be wild and crazy plans, but they beat him sitting at home alone all night. He enthusiastically agreed. He said that he was excited, couldn't wait to see me and just have a nice night out. Because I'm a student of History and know that Sam is kind of a flake, I sent him a text making sure that we were still on. He replies with, "I forgot to tell you...I made other plans." Once again, no apology, no other explain, no plans to get together at a later time. Just another "No...that's not happening" moment. 

I just don't understand this mindset. I don't know how someone can say that they will do something, and then skip away at the first chance. I'm just not hardwired that way. I took one of those extensive personality tests ("Strengths Finder 2.0" by Tom Rath) and one of my top 5 personality characteristics is Responsibility. The following is the description of Responsibility: "Your Responsibility forces you to take psychological ownership for anything you commit to, and whether large or small, you feel emotionally bound to follow it through to completion. Your good name depends on it. If for some reason you cannot deliver, you automatically start to look for ways to make it up to the other person. Apologies are not enough. Excuses and rationalizations are totally unacceptable. You will not quite be able to live with yourself until you have made restitution. This conscientiousness, this near obsession for doing things right, and your impeccable ethics, combine to create your reputation: utterly dependable. When assigning new responsibilities, people will look to you first because they know it will get done."
I am a Man of my word. If I tell you that I have done something, then I have done it. If I say that I will do something, you can bet that I will do everything in my power to get it done. I don't take things lightly; I make promises that I keep, or I don't make promises at all.

Another facet of this that I can't stand is the "maybe" answer.

For example:
Boy 1: Hey, a bunch of us are going out to play laser tag on Saturday. Do you want to come with us?
Boy 2: Umm...Maybe...

Perhaps if you used that "maybe" in a complete sentence I wouldn't be making this face at you. Perhaps if you gave me a reason that you are hesitant to answer my question I would be able to give you more information to help you make a decision. The above conversation could easily be fixed.

Boy 1: Hey, a bunch of us are going out to play laser tag on Saturday. Do you want to come with us?
Boy 2: Umm...Maybe...That sounds like a lot of fun, and I would like to go with you, but I have plans for Saturday night. What time are you guys going?

Situations like the example I gave above are usually just instances of non-communication. People assume that others know what they are thinking, and there is no need to explain the reasoning behind their response; however, I have encountered far too many people who use "maybe" as an escape route. They tell you "maybe" so that they don't have to give a definite answer, and can therefore back out of plans with you once they have found something better to do. To me, this is being a coward and letting other people down. I think people who use this escape tactic need to Man Up!

One of my ex-boyfriends was THE WORST about giving "maybe" answers. I asked if he was still coming to my house for Thanksgiving to meet my family. "Maybe." I asked if he wanted me to come to the airport to see him off. "Maybe." Were we going out for New Years Eve? "Maybe." You're coming home for a few days?! That's great! Will I get to see you? "Maybe."  If there had been a follow-up response with his "maybe" answers then that would be one thing. But when I asked probing questions (like "What does it depend on?") he would answer with something akin to "I don't know. It just depends..." He was using "Maybe" as an escape: He hadn't committed to doing any of these things so that he was able to blow me off and go with the better alternative. (Notice: he is an ex-boyfriend for a reason!) I would much rather you tell me flat out that you don't want to do what I've asked as opposed to saying maybe, me getting my hopes up and then being disappointed and mad later. I'm a big girl and can take care of myself. It won't hurt my feelings if you just tell me the truth. I promise. It will hurt my feelings if I feel like I'm your back-up plan and not worth your time. That will tick me off, actually. But I would rather you tell me "No" to any question (even the ones listed above that I asked of my then-boyfriend) so I know definitely what is going on. I won't be expecting you to show up, I can go out and have my own fun without worrying that I didn't wait long enough for you to show up. I can be with those people who do care enough to hang out with me when they say that they are going to. Just Be A Man and tell me what you're doing. One way or another. I don't care, I just need to know for sure.


Now, obviously I'm using the phrases "Be a Man" and "Man Up" loosely. I'm not only talking about men. This is a generalized statement. Men, women, boys, girls, transgender people, and anyone else. It doesn't matter to me. As long as you are true to your word then you have proven yourself. In the Disney movie "Mulan,"  the title character (who is in fact a female but cross-dresses as a man during a war) is more of a man than some of the other characters who are male. Yes, this is a Disney example, but it also has roots in real life. Just because you are male doesn't mean that you are a Man. And on the contrary, just because you are female doesn't mean that you are not a Man. I know that my explanation can get a little convoluted, but the point is that it takes a person of real character and strength to do what is right and follow through with their actions. Do what you have said that you will, be honest about it, and you're a person of character; you are a Man. (Once again, I know that people are only human: we are going to make mistakes, we are going to do the wrong thing every now and again. I'm talking about more than the random instances, though; I mean consistently finding yourself going back on your word.)

I know that I've gone on a rant with this post, and I fully expect to get a lot of negative comments. But as usual, let me know what you think.