12.26.2011 | By: sanitymochas

A Girl You Should Date

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick.

Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

-nonamerah.wordpress.com-
12.09.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Living and Dying and Breathing and Laughing (all at the same time)

I give up! Life was so much easier when I was 12! Not saying that I want to go back, but wow! Life is even more insane and unpredictable than what everyone said! Here's what I say... Life is a game of chance. Sometimes you win. Most of the time you lose. And when you do lose, you pick yourself up and play again, right? Like any true gambler. I lost, okay? I get that. And here's where my next gamble begins. I want to... Cry? Laugh? Breathe? Shower? Eat Sushi? Bake cupcakes? Read a tearjerker? Hijack a car? Grab a mocha? Disappear for a few days? Laugh again? The fact is, I have no idea. My mind is a mess of thoughts that I've decided don't have to make a lot of sense right now. Long term, though, I need a list! A list of all the things I need and want to do in this world so that everybody knows I was here-- my Bucket List of sorts, except not, because I'm invincible; my would-be Mission Impossible List if I believed in the impossible; I guess it's just going to be called my life.

I'm LivingInFeverishExpectation of:

1. Blogging more
2. Drinking better coffee
3. Learning to snowboard
4. Seeing an actual set of human remains!!
5. Having a book on the Best-Seller list
6. Drinking a Mocha in the Oval Office.
7. Watching the sunset set from under the Eiffel Tower
8. Driving at Nascar
9. Getting a tan in the middle of winter
10. Burying a treasure chest
11. Digging up the treasure chest 50 years later
12. Making love on an airplane
13. Sitting on Abe Lincoln's big toe
14. Walking around town with LOSER stamped on my head
15. Giving birth
16. Meeting the Queen of England
17. Watching the 75th Anniversary of The Phantom of the Opera LIVE with my BFF
18. Eating pizza in Italy
19. Rubbing an authentic Buddha's belly
20. Making sushi in Japan
21. Petting a deer
22. Making friends with a blind person
23. Taking cooking classes in Paris
24. Watching an infant turn into an adult
25. Loving unconditionally
26. Finding someone who makes me feel safe always
27. Getting to the top of the Empire State Building
28. Riding the biggest roller coaster in the world
29. Petting a giraffe
30. Kissing a tiger
31. Taking comfort in knowing the Truth
32. Coming to peace with my past
33. Finding a way to forgive
34. Trusting a stranger
35. Making love in a Starbucks bathroom
36. Kissing a fool
37. And maybe a couple of frogs
38. Finding a prince
39. Learning to give more than I take
40. Taking a picture inside the second O of the HOLLYWOOD sign
41. Swimming in the ocean
42. Ice skating in Central Park
43. Living in the city
44. Going to the Olympics
45. Meeting the most powerful man alive
46. Being Belle in Disneyland for a summer
47. Having a Motown party
48. Giving an advocacy speech for children with Down-Syndrome
49. Learning another language
50. Teaching a whole class of third-graders how to understand long division
51. Being on a game show
52. Writing a letter to the President
53. Being in a movie
54. Making someone happy
55. Touching someone's heart
56. Seeing a crime scene
57. Wishing upon a shooting star
58. Staying at the Palmer House and pretend I'm Rose from Titanic
58. Meeting my Jack.
59. Learning to like melons.
60. Going on a serious spending spree
61. Owning an iPhone
62. Getting kissed at the top of the Statue of Liberty
63. Eating lunch at the top of the Saint Louis Arch
64. Raising a child
65. Doing relief work in a third world country
66. Building a deck
67. Starting a book club
68. Leading a hike
69. Getting to the top of Mount Everest
70. Getting back down from the top of Mount Everest
71. Riding a stallion
72. Writing a poem that rhymes
73. Going sledding behind a horse
74. Never doubting my self-evidence
75. Never looking back
76. Never forgetting the ones who love me
77. Making homemade doughnuts
78. Challenging Martha Stewart to a bake off 
79. Working for Cake Boss
80. Having my own cupcake business
81. Having a giant murder board for plotting the best stuff out
82. Editing a book
83. Managing a store
84. Leading an escapade
85. Understanding the meaning of selfish
86. Spending the night in the desert
87. Meeting a former slave
88. Touring the Underground Railroad
89. Planting a garden
90. Spending a week in silence
91. Learning to drive a cemi-truck
92. Convincing my grandpa that girls can so drive tractors!!!
93. Dreaming bigger
94. Thinking louder
95. Speaking less
96. Listening more
97. Posing for a portrait
98. Running away for three weeks
99. Loving a hero
100. Loving myself


P.S.... There is this video competition sponsored by the Down Syndrome Research and Treatment Foundation, and I entered a piece entitled "Pointing The Reins". I intended to capture my sister's beauty, her potential, her ability to love and to learn, as well as the complexity of our relationship as sisters. (K-Pony's in it too!) There's two awards to be presented: Judges' Choice and Viewers' Choice... If so inspired, please follow this link to my YouTube Channel and press "like"!!!
6.09.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Rainy Morning News

Don't you just love thunderstorms in the morning? The ones with big, black thunderheads and ferocious thunder. They always make me feel as though a mocha frapp, a morning in bed, and a fabulous book is the only thing I'd ever need. Relaxing. But when staying in bed is simply not an option, thunderstorms can be rather irritating, especially when you have ten outside paddocks to muck, especially at 7am. And then you realize a 1600 lb animal knocked out the window in her stall, and her neighbor broke a board in his stall while attempting to m-u-r-d-e-r her. Oh, the joys of horsemanship!

But those things are mere roadblocks in my early-morning-thunderstormish-kind of-day. But have no fear. The sun came out when I went out on a limb and quit my job! This might sound crazy, but I am ecstatic! First of all, because I was brave enough to quit to my boss's face, and secondly, because a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. True, I start my new job in less than a month, but at least it won't include wet mornings, broken windows, or flies. Sigh... Life continues to be full of surprises.

Sidenote: Sanity Mochas has started yet another blog, except this one I swear I will actually write on. It is entitled Inside Adrianna's Books, and it is all about my beautiful little sis, Adrianna Rose. I can't wait to hear what everyone's thoughts are!
4.24.2011 | By: sanitymochas

365 Days Later....

365 days ago... What a powerful set of words. A whole year. That seems like forever when you think of it as 8,760 hours or 525,600 seconds. But I'm not choosing to think about a year as forever. It really is only 12 months, four short seasons. That hardly seems like enough time to accomplish all of the things that "a year" should contain. Happiness. Excitement! Love. Pain. But most of all a year should contain memories. Memories are the bones of a lifetime.

Me, I've made the last year of my life... well, memorable. Not necessarily in a good way, but the year's events have definitely shaped the bones of my figurative being. But, oh the lessons I've learned!

365 days ago I was lying in the bed of our local ER. It was the day before my birthday and my little sister had inadvertently damaged a nerve in my neck, an accident that still presents complications. I remember being transferred from one bed to an x-ray table, back to the bed, then to another x-ray table. Every time my neck moved in the slightest I wanted to scream from the pain, but I did not let the siring electric wires in my neck bubble forth in any other form than silent tears that ran down my cheeks in a steady flow and caused all the nurses to whisper when they thought I couldn't hear. I was mostly crying because of the pain, but also because of a feeling that had grown inside of me for months, fostered by bad, bad, bad association. At the time, I couldn't have told you that feeling meant, but I can now. It was emptiness. I cried over things that I thought I wanted even though I honestly didn't even know what I was asking for.

Anyway, after the hospital staff finally determined that strong pain killers would mask the pain long enough for the muscles in my neck to stop going into uncontrollable spasms, me and my mother drove around for hours trying to find a 24 hour pharmacy. You'd be surprised just how many pharmacies close at ten. However, we finally did find one, and I spent the next few days, including my birthday, floating in and out of extreme laxness and unconsciousness.

You know, I don't really think I ever came out of that laxness. I became lax about my friends, my attitude, my morals. But 365 days later, I can tell you that I am very much concious. Neither does my neck hurt, nor do tears are fall from my eyes. The drugs have finally worn off. Finally!

Now, for that which I really wanted to tell you. I accomplished something today! Something that seems like the best, most satisfying thing in the entire world. Are you ready for this?

With the patient and loving assistance of my fabulous big sis, I perfected the art of parallel parking! What can I say? I'm a complete and total geek! (Not a dork...;) But having something to be proud of, no matter how small, seems like the only thing I could possibly ask for.

Could it be that the only thing I really need to find is an accomplishment in every day? Hmm.. Interesting. Now I'm intrigued. What did you accomplish today? How about tomorrow?

I would love to tell you that for the next 365 days I will write to you everyday and tell you what I've accomplished in life, but I can't. The only thing I can guarantee is that the 525,600 seconds of my life are going to be filled with contentment. It's a word that means being satisfied with having nothing more exciting to blog about than parallel parking. It's a word that means trying hard to keep your life simple, to the point, purposeful. It's a word that leads to true happiness.

Contentment means taking each day for what it's worth.

With that said, tomorrow is going to be a great day. I get to visit my ponies, and I get to hang out with my lovely grandmother. Life is good.   :)
4.14.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Yesterday

Yesterday was the first day she took Thunder out on trails alone. Yesterday she found out what it is to experience true pain.

Yesterday my stomach muscles got a thorough workout as I strained against the back-and-forth motion of my Grandma's rusty lawn mower. Yesterday I was kissed by the sun.

Yesterday she felt her adrenaline beating through the ends of her toes. 

Yesterday was a good day, for me.

But for her, it was the start of never ending ride, whose haunting eyes will follow her always.

The wind was blowing the strands of her salt and pepper hair in swirls that had escaped the confines of her helmet and pony tail. She smiled as the the sun hit her face. She knew in this fresh light the freckles she had tried to conceal in her younger days would be more prominent than ever, and she didn't care. The only souls to care about her blemishes were herself and of course, Thunder, who was walking languidly after their hour long lesson.

The first truly warm day of the season. She might have even classified it as hot if it weren't for the gentle breeze that moved the delicate branches of the newly budding trees. Thunder had been ornery today. The warm weather had molded his usually patient attitude into on of something like defiance. Not the the vicious kind, but the intolerant kind. He didn't want to work, and he had let her know by spooking, jumping, and bolting past everything he could discern outside of the area walls. But that was over now. They had ended the lesson on a good note. Not great, but good.

Now they walked around in the luscious front pasture. The instructor had left. The other boarders had left. Alone at last. Her cell phone, which was sure to be buzzing incessantly, had been abandoned in the right cup-holder of her car. The world had been left behind, and it felt wonderful! The constant rustle of grass under Thunder's hooves were the perfect rhythm to extinguish the last of her concerns, at least for the moment.

But then something was wrong. Instead of a comforting rhythm, Thunder's hooves produced a sporadic, unsettling beat, and ever so slightly he heaved underneath of her. He was obvious trying to get the point across that strolling in the pasture all alone was not his idea of relaxing. Nevertheless, she kicked him on, but she couldn't help the nervous feeling in her stomach growing into what felt like a baseball. She felt her shoulders fall forward as he no longer danced underneath of her, but leaped in the air, a motion that curved sideways, forward, and toward the sky all at once. Her confidence was most definitely shaken, and she took his hint. She turned his head towards the barn, and the rest of his body followed in tune. But instead of settling him, it only made him fight the bit even more. He tried to run through her hands, but she wouldn't let him. 

From a bystanders perspective, she probably looked like the typical beginner. Sky high heels, slumped shoulders, weakened core, and too tight and too high hands. A disaster in the making. 

Thunder, on the other hand, gave the persona of a pro. He was going back to the barn, even if that meant loosing a hundred pounds or so off the sway of his back.

He picked up a jog that fell more like a stationary bounce. "Easy," she said, but the nervousness in her seat did anything but calm Thunder. "WHOAH!" she yelled this time, her voice cracking with fear. The reins in her hands jerked against what was obviously Thunder's teeth, and he retaliated by lunging into a full blown buck. Her balance was immediately thrown off kilter and she desperately grabbed for something, anything that would save her fall. Thunder utilized every ounce of power underneath his monstrous body to project into another buck, even more massive than before. Unbeknown to him, he would have only had to sidestep in the opposite direction, and she would have liberated him to his own devices. All the same, she fell. A very short fall. She didn't even have time to realize she was falling really, until she hit the ground. She felt her ankles give way beneath her, and she tipped forward only to find the world go green beneath her. Grass. Thunder was already half way to the barn, showing no signs of coming back. There was only one thing to do. Get up! She tried, but her feet weren't there! But that was impossible. Of course they were there! Then she saw the blood, and she began to doubt her certainty.

This story is non-fiction, embellished by my own imagination, but it is fact. The only problem is, I can't begin to imagine the rest, but I can tell you the plain facts.

Finding no other way to recieve help, this woman drug herself on all fours across the pasture, which is easily the size of a football field; down the barn isle and into the lounge, where she attempted to use the emergency cell phone. But rather than dialing "911," she accidentally dialed "911*911," which of course did not go through. Instead of trying again, she drug herself to her saddle bag where her keys lay, and back down the barn isle, across the gravel, and into the parking lot where her car sat undisturbed. It is truly a miracle that she did not bleed to death along the way. Either that or pass out from the pain. She called the barn manager, who was on her way home but unable to answer, and her husband, who was an hour away. Then she collapsed in a heap, her knees in the gravel, her head descending below it.

By the time the ambulance arrived, it was obvious both of her legs had been broken. Her left leg was in pieces, most of which were visible through the tattered mess of flesh surrounding them. She has spent the last twenty-four hours in intensive care.

I tell you this story, Dear Reader, with only one intention in mind: to remind you of the dangers of our beloved sport. Horses are horses. We love them, but they will do stupid things. It is spring time! They have been cooped up in the barn all winter and are undoubtedly slightly heard bound. Ride with someone the first few times you go out on trails! And never, ever ride without a cell phone.

No one ever thinks anything bad is going to happen to them. She didn't. I don't. Remind those you love by linking this story to your Twitter, Facebook, or Blog. Remind them that we shouldn't take our life for granted. We only have one.
4.08.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Baby Doll

I have big news. Something happened less than forty eight hours ago that simply doesn't happen everyday. A new creature was brought into this world, a baby girl. She's an absolute doll, which is how she came to be called Dollie, and she's already too big for me to hold in my arms. She has beautiful red hair, an admirable feature, and kind brown eyes that scream for attention. If she would just stand still, I'm sure you would think she was plastic. She's the perfect baby doll!

I must say that I the hour I had allowed to groom, tack, and ride T-Pony this morning before I left for a long weekend in a suburb of Chicago was not entirely spent on riding. In fact, most of that time I spent on the floor of a stall, stroking Dollie's neck as she fell asleep on her mother's hay.

Lovely Ladies

Isn't she the cutest, littlest, sweetest thing you've ever seen? The very fact that she literally fell asleep in my arms is enough to melt my heart.

For those of you who don't know horses, it is NOT normal for a two-day-old filly to be so comfortable with humans as to fall asleep in their arms. Dollie is the exception to the rule, and I love it!

So dear readers, you see... You are never too old to fall asleep dreaming of your baby doll!
3.28.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Spring Fever

Don't you just love springtime in Illinois? All of these hot/cold weather teasers to keep us on our toes.

But I have to be honest. Springtime has never been my favorite season. I'm a fall-time kind of girl. I love the cool nights that come as a relief after the scorching summer heat, the smell of diesel as the combines and semis kick into full gear, the late night campfires, the colors of the changing leaves. It's a truly magical time of year.

Is it possible that I've never loved Spring because I've never had the opportunity to be outside and enjoy it? For the last X-amount of years, I've been stuck inside, slaving away after my studies. I do believe this is the first time in my life I have been literally forced into the elements, way before my mental alarm clock begins to ring.

Ahh.... Hormonal mares, knee-high mud, spring shots, studdy yearlings... the joys of "horsehood" in March. It's a beautiful thing.

I can handle hormonal mares. They'll soon be somewhat back to normal and bring another amazing creature into existence.

The mud proves to be an ongoing nuisance, but then again, isn't that why God invented muck-boots?

Studdy yearlings... Let's just say that they've settled dramatically since their brain surgery.

You'd think I could handle all of the glitches of springtime.

But I must say, this spring shot thing has me stumped. Mandatory vaccinations include West Nile, 5-Way, and Strangles. Done. I understand. These are real viruses that effect horses locally.

Then there is such a thing as a "preference shot." These include Rabies and the Potomac Horse Fever.

Honestly, when was the last occurrence of a horse infected with Rabies? I've been around the horse world for over 1/2 my life and have NEVER heard of such a thing. On the flip side, if my horse is the first to be infected to my knowledge, he will die. There is no cure, no treatment. D-E-A-D. That's just all there is to it.  So what to do? Take the chance that K-pony will be the first? Or take the chance that no rabid raccoons will come bounding out of the woods, determined to take a chunk out of my horse?

I'm a risk-taker, but my horse's life is one thing that I've never taken lightly. Therefore, I have always, always vaccinated for rabies. It's never been an issue for me.

Today was spring-shot-day. K-pony was injected with mandatory+rabies vaccines. Then the attending vet suggested very strongly that everyone vaccinate for the Potomac Horse Fever. But it is, after all, a preference shot. Believe it or not, this is one decision I've never before run across.

The way I understand it, the virus is transmitted by May flies laying eggs in your horse's water. I don't know if you've noticed, but Illinois is filled to the brim with May flies in May. However, the vaccine does not prevent the virus. It merely reduces the severity of the case, given your horse is even infected in the first place. The disease can be deadly, but not always. There is treatment, but it is not 100% effective. Also, there has not been many cases of Potomac reported in the area... but IT'S ON THE RISE!!!! (Isn't it always something?)

Correct me if I'm wrong, but couldn't "less severe" still be deadly? And wouldn't you notice if your horse broke out in a high, high fever?  You would think so, but what a toss up!

Would you risk it with someone or something you loved?

I did. I risked it. I did not vaccinate for the Potomac Horse Fever. If I made the wrong choice, I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself, but I honestly don't think I did. Given the precautions that have already been implemented at my stable, I've made the mental choice to assume things will be fine, and not think about the "what-ifs" in the situation.

Whew! It's hard to imagine that a simple day in March would bring such a weighty decision.

Random side note: As you all have probably already deduced by now, I would advocate from here to the moon and back for my baby sister, who has Down Syndrome. Do you know what's more encouraging than anything else? To see another sibling of a child with disabilities sticking up for what's right and appreciating their true beauty.

Check out this incredible video.



I hope Sarah Grace and all other children with Downs will someday realize how fortunate they are to have people around them who will always be there to love them, support them, and (in Sarah Grace's case) make great music for them.
3.27.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Bubbly

You know what's really sad? Smelling like Orbit Bubblemint.

Yep, the gum.

Why, you might ask, do I smell like Bubblemint?

Because, I tell you, the new Catwalk shampoo, which is supposed to be incredibly moisturizing for curly hair, smells like Bubblemint.

You know what's even more sad? Smelling, if only faintly, of horse 24/7.

For the last eight years, I have kept a strict rule that when I come home from the barn, I shower immediately. I love the smell of a horse... in a barn. Not so much while I'm lounging around in sweat pants or sipping my Toffee Mocha. This rule has not changed, but for some reason the pungent smell of hay bales and sawdust have decided to lodge  themselves between my fingernails, at the very roots of my hair, and deep within the callouses of my hands.

Note that this is NOT a complaint. I love being at the barn everyday. I love hearing twenty horses munching happily at their breakfasts before I have my own. I love the simple pleasures in my life, the things that make me smile, the things that never change.

I love to cook. I love to bake even more. It is another thing that will never change. No matter what, if you follow the recipe, something delicious is bound to result.   

I HATE chocolate chips cookies. I do believe in the cookie monster. It's the thing that comes and flattens my chocolate chip cookies every stink'n time! It's the thing that interprets my cookies as pancakes instead.

Anywho, I think over the course of the last four months, I have baked/cooked almost everything imaginable. Baking has always proved to be highly therapeutic for me. It is when I do my best thinking.

But wouldn't you think I could have been programed to think while running? Or while engaging in some sort of exercise?

Having fresh produce, freshly baked goods, and at least one delicious meal constantly before my eyes has had a surprisingly undesirable affect on my lovely lady lumps. So I've decided. Only one batch of baked goods every week. That's a good place to start. But that darn raspberry truffle cake is calling my name... SILENCE!

Sigh. 

You know your life is officially dull when the voices in your head happen to be food items.
3.07.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Learn

My extensive research into Hitler's regime has blossomed into a full twelve page research paper. More specifically, I looked into the pathology of Hitler; how he went from innocent baby to fascist dictator. It turned out to be quite an interesting topic. So interesting, in fact, that I feel the need to share my paper with all of you dear readers. 

Learn and enjoy!


Inner Workings of Adolf Hitler


Some have seen him as an opportunist entirely without principal, barren of all ideas save one - the further extension of his own power and that of the nation with which he had identified himself. Others have seen him as a type of political conman, hypnotizing and bewitching the German people. Then there are those who would say he was demonic, a lunatic or just plain mad.” (Adolf Hitler Changes Europe)

 

Adolf Hitler: dictator, lunatic, mass murderer. There are countless words in the English language that are frequently used to describe Adolf Hitler. Perhaps you’ve noticed, though, that his actions during World War II are hardly ever referred to as humane. In fact, most people would sum up Hitler’s actions during the genocide against the Jews in one simple word: insane. In an attempt to exterminate all Jews and other small groups, such as Jehovah’s Witnesses and gypsies, Hitler ordered the deaths of over 46,000,000 Europeans, most of whom were tortured at Concentration Camps before being brutally put to death (“Adolf Hitler Killer”). Shamelessly accepting full responsibility, Hitler said, “I believe that I am acting in accordance with the will of the Almighty Creator: by defending myself against the Jew, I am fighting for the work of the Lord." (Mein Kampf 46)

               It is clear from research of Hitler's early and mid-life history that he learned to be cold and heartless early on from the people that surrounded him. In this essay, I will provide a brief overview of two key periods in Hitler's life that may have led to his lunacy during the holocaust and his role as leader of the Nazi Regime

               Through careful examination of the multiple theories that exist concerning what drove Hitler to his role as a fascist dictator, it is clear that his movements during World War II were not completely without cause. Though there can be no possible excuse for the some 46,000,000 murders that were committed under his rule, it is clear that the years of internal conflict preceding his role as dictator may have been behind much of Hitler's evil pathology.

               Perhaps the first example of non-solicited violence Hitler encountered in his personal life came from his own father. The brutality was maliciously directed towards young Adolf; his younger sister, Paula; and his mother, Klara, whom he loved dearly. After coping with his father's alcohol-driven physical abuse for many years, Hitler advanced into his teenage years as a troubled individual. He spent most of his time in fantasy, dreaming about becoming a famous painter and architect but neglecting his formal educational duties as a student. His French teacher, Dr. Huemer, testified at Hitler's trial in 1924 saying of Adolf:
He was decidedly gifted, if one-sided, but had difficulty controlling his temper. He was considered intractable and willful, always had to be right and easily flew off the handle, and he clearly found it difficult to accommodate himself to the limits of a school. He demanded unconditional subordination from his schoolmates. ("Adolf Hitler: Biography" 2)
               Clearly by the time Hitler was expected to maintain composure within any type of social setting, his vies of other people and their position in regards himself had already been broken to an unfixable gradation.
               Also, because of Hitler's inability to focus on the importance of formal education, he dropped out of school at age eighteen and convinced his mother to finance his attempt to study art in Vienna; however, he failed the entrance exam twice, and his dreams of becoming an artist were crushed ("Adolf Hitler: Biography" 3). Shortly after this major disappointment, his mother, possibly the only woman he ever truly loved, died, and Hitler sunk into a deep depression. He took to living on the streets of Vienna, which was the most anti-Semitic city in the world ("Adolf Hiter:Biography" 6).
               It was no doubt while living among the troubled people of the streets that Hitler's contempt for Jews fermented into hatred. By age 24 Hitler was unemployed, uneducated, friendless, loveless, and prospect-less. He had become an embittered loner ("Adolf Hitler: Biography" 5). Against all odds, this seemingly powerless man transformed into the most well known dictator in the world within merely four years and was clearly capable of misleading an entire nation with only his alluring words to his advantage.

.                       .                       .

I owe it to that period of time that I grew hard. In this period there took shape within me a word picture and a philosophy, which becomes the granite foundation of all my acts. In addition to what I then created, I have had to learn little, and I have had to alter nothing. Vienna was and remained for me the hardest, but also the most thorough school of my life. (Mein Kampf)

The kind of resentment Adolf Hitler displayed in exterminating the Jews was no doubt a long-festered desire, built upon rage and desperation, which could no longer be contained within a single person. It is obvious that Hitler found an inappropriate release by means of manipulating people by fear.  What, though, started Hitler’s misguided mind on the path towards the World War II genocide against the Jews?
Throughout Hitler’s lifetime, his violent thoughts were conditioned by many instances of fear and, at least in his mind, unfair treatment. At age 18, Hitler had finally exhausted his mother’s insistence upon his formal education, and he independently made the decision to leave his hometown of Linz and move Vienna, a popular art-oriented city. Although Hitler found education to be a waste of time, he enjoyed using his creative mind to design works of art that he hoped would support him.
Hitler dreamed of becoming a famous architect; he even dreamed of redesigning the entire city of Vienna (“Rise of Hitler”). Unfortunately for him, he was rejected from the only school at which he had ever cared to study, the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts. At the time Hitler took his rejection as a personal blow to his ego, and suddenly he found himself looking from the outside in on Vienna’s artistic community.
In contrast, Hitler’s only close friend, his roommate, August Kubizek, was readily accepted into the Vienna Conservatory to study music. Kuibzek had grown up in the same town as Hitler and had therefore grown accustomed to his absolute need to be first in everything he attempted. According to “Adolf Hitler: Biography and Character,” “August was highly impressionable; Adolf was on the lookout for someone to impress. It was the perfect partnership.” Unfortunately, when Kubizek was accepted into the Conservatory, that dynamic changed, and suddenly August was the one who was making his impression on the world, rather than Hitler.
After Hitler received the rejection, he launched into a tirade in which “his face was livid, the mouth quite small, the lips almost white. But the eyes glittered. There was something sinister about them. As if all the hate of which he was capable lay in those glowing eyes…” reports Kubizek himself (“Once Adolf”).
            Kubizek then left the apartment they had shared to attend military training for just over two months. When he returned, he found no trace of Hitler; he had obviously moved out, leaving no forwarding address for the mail that had accumulated on Kubizek’s doorstep.
            Finally Hitler had succeeded in completely isolating himself from everyone who had ever shown compassion for him. Having nowhere else to go, Hitler lived on the streets for several years. He was constantly in and out of homeless shelters, surrounded by the cold, heartless world. In his personal biography, Mein Kampf, Hitler actually describes this homeless period of his life,
“…I exalt it for tearing me away from the hollowness of comfortable life; for drawing the mother’s darling out of his soft downy bed and giving him ‘Dame Care’ for a new mother; for hurling me, despite all resistance, into a world of misery and poverty, thus making me acquainted with those for whom I was later to fight.”
While Hitler was homeless, he struggled to acquire enough funds to buy simply bread and water. Although being rejected from art school deterred Hitler from becoming a famous architect, it did not stop him from selling his paintings along the streets of Vienna. For years, this was his only means of income.
It was no doubt while struggling among the people of Vienna that Hitler’s most apparent reasons for hating the Jews started to emerge in the midst of his despair. However, it was not just among the lost and degraded people of Vienna that Anti-Semitism ran rampant.
“Among the middle class in Vienna, anti-Semitism was considered rather fashionable, the mayor, Karl Lueger, a noted anti-Semite, was a member of the Christian Social Party which included anti-Semitism in its political platform. There were also anti-Semitic tabloids and pamphlets available at the newsstands and at local coffee shops.” (“Rise of Hitler”)
It could have been mere desire to fit in among people in higher positions that drove Hitler to start actively demonstrating his hatred against Jews, succumbing to the “peer pressure effect.” Even more likely is it that the seed of contempt against Jews was planted many years before. It was planted where it could never be uprooted, a place that should have rightfully been sheltered from the cruelties of the world: his home.
.                       .                       .
These people must not be allowed to find out who I am. They must not know where I came from and who my family is. – Adolf Hitler, 1931

For a man like Adolf Hitler, who became so powerful, so self-righteous, so prejudiced, the heritage of his family should have been something to have been proud of, possibly even flaunted among the lower class. However, that was the exact opposite of Hitler’s reality. He took extreme measures to conceal the origins of his family, in particular, the origins of his paternal grandfather, who is often referred to as the “Phantom Jew” (Hitler: The Pathology 12).
According to scholars, Alois Hitler, Adolf’s father, was conceived while his Aryan mother was working as a maid for a Jewish family (Victor 14). Hitler’s grandfather was believed to be the son of the Jewish family, making Hitler one-fourth Jewish. This was a fact that Hitler tried to conceal as if it were worse than death itself. Surely after using the Jews’ race as an excuse for exterminating them, it would have been catastrophic should his origins have been made public. To prevent that from happening, one of Hitler’s first priorities as ruler of Germany was to destroy the village his grandmother was working in at the time of her impregnation (“Adolf Hitler: Biography” 1).
            The realization that Hitler was very likely one-fourth Jewish questions his true motivation for slaughtering the Jews. His reasoning could never make sense to the logical mind without the knowledge of what Hitler had to endure as a child within his family.
            His father, Alois Hitler, was an alcoholic who made no pretenses towards being a faithful mate to his wife, Klara. He left her to care for not only Adolf and his younger sister but also for his deceased wife’s two children. Alone, Klara kept busy raising four children, dreading the time when her husband would come home. Along with severe physical abuse, Alois inflicted deep wounds on his wife’s emotional being. Klara seemed to be incapable of doing anything well enough to please Alois. At one point, he even criticized her for not producing more healthy children (Victor 23). Because of this
“Klara believed Adolf had a weak constitution and never stopped believing it. Because she was his caretaker, her perception affected him strongly… She overprotected and overindulged him and favored him over her children born after him… It would also foster the hypochondria he would suffer from throughout his adult life.” (Victor 24)
Up until his death, Hitler would foster the belief that he was somehow chronically ill and would regularly use many drugs and in large doses, which associates said finally ruled his health (Victor24).
            Although he did not appreciate reading, writing, and arithmetic, Hitler was not a unintelligent child. He was incredibly perceptive and understood perfectly well that a man, such as his father, physically abusing his wife and children was not morally sound. By age ten Hitler had decided to follow his older stepbrother’s example and run away from Alois and his abuse; however, Hitler’s ploy did not go unnoticed and was stopped before he could carry out his idea (Victor29). Alois beat him so severely that Hitler slipped into a coma for several days. Eventually he made a full physical recovery, but his mental attitude towards power was forever altered. This could have contributed to his disrespect in the classroom and other settings, as well as his insensitivity to death as an adult, being as he had come close to experiencing the black lace of death himself.
Like so many abused children, Hitler did not have the strength or the resources to stop his father from harming the members of his family. He did, however, become unusually attached to his mother, attempting to be her savior (Victor 21). This need to be a hero of sorts would carry into his adulthood.
.                       .                       .
“His good intentions, perverted by demons, ruled Germany.” (Victor 7)

            Connecting Hitler’s early life to the vehemence he demonstrated towards the Jews further sheds light on what created the a fascist dictator known as Adolf Hitler. The prohibitions that he single handedly enacted, the Nuremberg Laws, banned the Jews from marrying or engaging in sex with Aryans. This was clearly meant to prevent someone like his father from being born ever again. The obscure prohibition against Jews employing Aryan maids during their childbearing years covered the exact situation in which his father had been conceived, as Hitler understood it (Victor 18). Hitler was, in theory, trying to save all Aryan women from all Jewish men (Victor 29). However, as George Victor argues, “the phantom Jew may never have existed,” but in Adolf’s mind he was a powerful figure, standing behind the morbid obsession that drove him to bleed himself with leeches and, after he identified himself with Germany, to bleed the nation (20).
            It is no doubt that Hitler’s startling abilities as a leader and persuader continue to be the most untraditional that the world has ever seen. Despite the fact that he had no formal training as a speaker and very little basic academic knowledge, he was able to impress audiences with his charisma and stage presence alone. His speaking appealed more to his audiences’ hearts than to their minds but contained enough logic to be concluded as plausible by even scholarly minds (“Goebbels on Hitler”). He commanded respect by his façade of wealth and prestige and was able to unite the entire nation of Germany, which was already on unsteady ground after World War I, under a common enemy. “To put it simply his power was not institutional but charismatic. This power was wholly dependent on the readiness of others to see ‘heroic’ qualities in him. Unfortunately they did see those qualities and possibly even before Hitler himself saw and believed in them.” (Adolf Hitler Changes Europe) Being raised in an abusive setting, Hitler was no doubt used to feeling crushed and defeated. Having one person show true interest in his abilities would have done nothing but bolster his confidence. Suddenly Hitler was overwhelmed by a whole nation believing in his ideals, which only made him more dangerous to those whom he opposed.
.                       .                       .
“A man does not die for something in which he himself does not believe in.”
(Mein Kamf 47)

Winston Churchill once said that Hitler was “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma (“Adolf Hitler Changes”).” How true those words remain! Even with the wealth of theories and speculations that skilled researchers have produced concerning the inner workings of Adolf Hitler, the true reasons for Hitler’s insanity will remain forever buried, deeper than the countless tragedies that he wrought upon the world.
It is easy to view Hitler as a fascist dictator, a lunatic, and a mass murderer; it is easy to despise his very existence. It is not, however, as natural to view the man as just that: a human, who had feelings and was once a little boy sleeping peacefully in his mothers arms, a teenager with great prospects as an architect, a ragged artist on the streets of Vienna, a terribly unhappy specimen of life. Yes, it’s the things that lie deeper within the man that turned Hitler’s mind into a mess of thoughts and feelings that existed in another world in which no one felt anymore, a world governed by Hitler’s own ideologies alone.  
            I do not support or excuse Hitler’s principles or his vile actions. Rather, I intend to provide a clear interpretation of Hitler’s background so that more can understand what originally sent Hitler down the path of fascist dictator instead of famous designer, with the realization that not all abused, unfortunate people become “Hitlers.”
            Take for example the first lady of talk shows, Oprah Winfrey. She too grew up in an abusive, unfortunate situation, having to deal with many feelings of abandonment and discontent (“Oprah Winfrey Biography”). Yet, she is known as one of the world’s most generous people, not as a fascist dictator. Therefore, obviously something more than just adverse circumstances in his past led Hitler to cause such tragedy in the era of the twentieth century.
Nearly sixty years later the world has made a recovery from the atrocities of Hitler’s regime. But like the way Hitler recovered from his father’s beatings, the world will never recuperate emotionally. His ideologies are still remembered with disdain, and have left a mark on the world that remain indefinitely.

           Works Cited
"Adolf Hitler: Biography and Character." Web. <www.suu.edu/faculty/ping/
pdf/hitlerbiography.pdf>.
"Adolf Hitler Changes Europe: The Personality and Power of the Man Who Ruled Germany 1933-1945." Suite101.com: Online Magazine and Writers' Network. Web. 09 Feb. 2011. <http://www.suite101.com/content/the-power-of-adolf-hitler-a49312>.
"Adolf Hitler Killer File." Moreorless - Heroes and Killers of the 20th Century. Web. 01 Mar. 2011. <http://www.moreorless.au.com/killers/hitler.html>.
"Goebbels on Hitler as a Speaker." Calvin College - Loving God with Heart, Soul, Mind and Strength. Web. 07 Feb. 2011. <http://www.calvin.edu/academic/
cas/gpa/ahspeak.htm>.
Hitler, Adolf. Mein Kampf. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2001. Print.
"Once Adolf Hitler Was a Nice Sensible Person." Tech-Archive.net: The Source for Usenet News. Web. 28 Feb. 2011. <http://sci.tech-archive.net/
Archive/sci.med.diseases.lyme/2008-01/msg00286.html>.
"Oprah Winfrey Biography - Life, Family, Childhood, Parents, Name, Story, History, School, Mother, Young." Encyclopedia of World Biography. Web. 01 Mar. 2011. <http://www.notablebiographies.com/We-Z/
Winfrey-Oprah.html>.
"Rise of Hitler: Hitler Is Homeless in Vienna." The History Place. Web. 07 Feb. 2011. <http://www.historyplace.com/worldwar2/riseofhitler/
homeless.htm>.
Victor, George. Hitler: the Pathology of Evil. New York: Bristol Park, 2010. Print.
3.02.2011 | By: sanitymochas

SA(S)S

The time has come... Sanity Mochas is expanding! As of right now my new blog, SA(S)S, is open for viewing. Let me start by telling you what SA(S)S stands for.

Stranded
At
Starbucks

As you have probably already guessed, the second 'S' in SA(S)S stands for absolutely nothing; but hey! An extra 's' never hurt anybody and everybody could use a little SA(S)S in their day!

SA(S)S is a blog devoted completely to my love of reading. I will be reviewing as many books as possible as the school year draws to a finish. Brave New World and The Great Gatsby have already been reviewed and are patiently awaiting readers. I hope to conduct meaningful literary discussions by means of SA(S)S, so please feel free to leave comments!

There is also a new feature of Sanity Mochas, a box entitled "SA(S)S." In this box will be upcoming titles of books that will soon be reviewed. There will also be a link to the page so that it will never be lost. Look for it on the right of your screen.

Come visit me soon!
2.24.2011 | By: sanitymochas

From You


Attention male-readers of all ages!

In your heart of hearts, picture this scene:

You see a young woman, your age. She’s beautiful. Tall, shapely, dark hair, dark eyes that immediately establish a connection with your inner longing. Your eyes meet but only for a moment, before she smiles and looks away coyly. You would love to talk to her, meet her, learn her name. Your moment of opportunity is slipping away with every tick of the clock. Without thinking you muster up everything inside of you and…?

What? What would you do?

Believe it or not, that scene plays out time and again across the world, except the ending is always different. Every guy has there own way of handling such a situation, and some have become well oiled machines, designed to catch all that look their way.

But most guys would rather suppress all of the attraction they felt for the above said beautiful young woman. They would simply walk away. And we’ve all seen the young men that do nothing but stare quite obviously at every young woman until it no longer is cute; it’s just annoying. The elite few geniuses in the academic world, they’re the ones that say things like, “Your hair looks a rainstorm. I mean a rainbow! I mean like the sun after a rainbow! Yeah…” But then again, I think most women would rather talk to someone who stutters over his words than one who is altogether too bold and will say something like, “Yo, Baby! Hit me up. (555) 444-3333 (wink, wink).”

Then again, those are the common folk, the ones we all see day after day.

Something you don’t see everyday is a senior citizen approach a fifteen-year old in the middle of Sam’s Club. He’s not threatening; rather, he looks as though he belongs in the cab of a John Deere. She would hate to admit it, but she hadn’t seen him at all until he touched her arm and said, “I didn’t mean to stare, but you’re really beautiful. Are you spoken for?” She thanks him for the compliment, but is confused as to how to answer his question. Yes? No? She doesn’t know anymore.

Even more rare is the sighting of the perfect ending to a perfect opportunity.

You see the perfect girl. You start to say something when she shoots you a smile that makes you weak at the knees. She asks simply, “Are you going to be there later?” You answer yes. Short. Sweet. But you’ve made the first step in establishing the perfect relationship that will maybe last a lifetime.

As you can tell, I’ve been observing. I’ve watched man approach woman, woman approach man. And in every situation I find myself wondering what you would do if the eyes that look back into mine were yours. Maybe that’s a question to which we’ll never know the answer. 
2.16.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Dumb Dog

5:28am—Alarm goes off.  
5:34am—Realize the alarm is going off.
5:45am—Drag self out of bed with great difficulty and a surprising amount of determination.
5:55am—Down a cup of strong coffee. Plug loud music into my dull mind.
6:00am—Throw hair in ponytail and place fuzzy headband thing on my head. Forget the makeup. Head for car.
6:05am—Ready for work, in car, heading down driveway.

See! I do have a routine, and I stick to it meticulously. My exactness of time is purely involuntary. At five thirty in the morning, my mind follows my body, not the other way around. For almost three weeks I have survived the early mornings, and without anymore difficulty than you would expect a teenager to have getting up before nine. I enjoy my job. It’s what makes me happy, most days.

My routine isn’t the only thing that never varies. For the last few weeks everything has been the same on the way down to the stables where I work. The journey is relatively short; the road winds and curves unpredictably; there are only three houses with lights on; and I go through two valleys that are notorious for being inhabited with animals that are highly unwanted in the grill of your car, especially in the grill of mine. At dawn, these animals, such as deer, opposums, raccoons, and the occasional squirrel or coyote, are especially bad about running into or in front of passing cars. Only yesterday, my mother almost hit a dozen deer, who were just standing in the middle of the road, hanging out. She was obviously the one who was intruding upon their territory.

Despite these animals unmistakable presence, I have never hit one nor have I ever come close… until this morning.

I was driving along, going less than 45 mph down one of the two curvy hills. I am not usually a Driving Ms. Daisy at all, but when I saw those beady little eyes peaking out from behind the yellow sideline of the road, I instinctively tapped the brakes, but continued on the beaten path. I was merely hoping that the unidentified animal would stay put for another two seconds, and I would be out of its way. But that would be too convenient. Out the critter dodged, and from the light of my brights, I identified those beady little eyes as being a raccoon’s. Thump, clump, thump. Silence. Oops.

For the next half a mile or so I had a pit in my stomach thinking that I had killed something, a living thing. I didn’t know I was capable of murder! It was highly depressing until I realized that it was, after all, just a stupid raccoon. I hate raccoons! I have sworn since I was in third grade that there was a whole pack of rabid raccoons living in the hayloft of the abandoned barn at my house. If I had eliminated one of those critters, ba-bye!

Okay, so I’m not that heartless, but by the time I pulled into the driveway of the stables, the issue was no longer on the forefront of my mind.

After running over a raccoon, I thought I was completely awake. As it turns out, I was only 50% awake. The other 50% of my mind became active after my barn manager said, “Have you seen Frank?” Frank is a small black and white female Border Collie, who is older and has a tendency to run off without Sue, the lively male Border Collie.”

“No,” I answered, unalarmed but curious.

Before I could ask a further question, the barn manager filled me in. “She ran down the driveway in the dark, and the last time I saw her, she was headed for the highway.”

You mean the highway I just came from??? Ummm…..

“No, I haven’t seen her,” I said without flinching, but inside I felt like I had swallowed a quart of butterflies. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that it might not have killed a raccoon after all. “I might be a dog murderer,” I thought and couldn’t keep quiet. “Does she kind of look like a raccoon in the dark?” I asked probably more quietly than I should have.

The barn manager looked surprised and said, “Yeah! I’ve almost missed her a couple of times in the woods because she looked so much like a raccoon.” That was the worst possible thing she could have said until she continued, “It was definitely her if she was up on the highway. There aren’t any raccoons up there because the coyotes are so thick this year.”

At that moment I wanted more than anything to disintegrate into thin air. But rather than come clean and send the barn manager into a panic over the death of her “babydog,” I kept quiet. Maybe I hadn’t killed her; maybe I just knocked her over. But such rational conclusions were quickly replaced by thoughts such as, OMG! I killed a “she” instead of an “it!”

I could not stop thinking about how this sweet, old, innocent dog that I had petted less than twenty-four hours ago was dead, and I was the cause. Her epitaph would read:
Frankie Lynn
The best dog a barn could have until SHE ran over her.
Died February 16, 2011.

With this and several other morbid notions running through my mind, I decided not to say anything about seeing the dumb dog, thinking that it would be the path of least resistance.

More than an hour later, I was well on my way to being done with chores.  I must admit that I had the music on my iPod turned up just a little too loud, and the sounds of the outside world were tuned out, but my sixth sense was far from eliminated, and I trusted it to tell me should someone have needed me.

Side note: I am terrible with latches on gates. They are horrible creation if you ask me. Somebody should invent latches that are magnetic.

It was while I was fiddling around with a stupid latch that I sensed a presence. I looked up and around. There was nobody in front of me. I turned around. Sitting directly, and I mean directly, behind me was Frank, the dead dog! Except she wasn’t dead! Her ears were perked up and before I could even find the words to commend her or congratulate her for being alive, she was off in the direction of the barn where she knew I would be heading to retrieve another horse. As she ran she would look back to make sure that I was well in tow.

And here I was thinking I was going to have to check murder off my “List of Nevers.”

Dumb dog!
2.14.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Valentine's Day

Isn't the weather nice? I know that is a totally lame way to start this blog entry, but it's true! In my lifetime, the month of February has always held notoriously awful events. For some reason the dreary weather always seems to get me down one way or another. But... If all twenty eight days of February felt like today did, I think I could survive it year after year. Even though the highs were in the low forties, the sun is shining! Therefore, anything is possible.

And on this sunny February day, I worked up a sweat mucking stalls, working tirelessly on my research paper, and realized that it's Valentine's Day! I'm not sure exactly how I escaped noticing all of the gaudy heart decorations and chocolates, but somehow I did. Of course I knew the day when all the romantics in the world shamelessly surface was coming up but had no idea it was today until Wal-Mart happened. There was one and only one purpose for me being in America's superstore, and that was to get enough red food coloring for a few more red velvet cakes. But as you know, my experiences rarely turn out to be that simple.

As I was walking towards the back of the store, I passed the clothing section. You know, when you go to Wal-Mart, don't you expect the scenery to be mostly G-rated? Well.. Apparently that expectation is excused on Valentine's Day!

I was walking along, focused as could be, when I looked to my left. Bold, printed, floral lingerie. My eyes widened, not in a good way. Ew. I shook the mental thought and then continued on down the white-plastic-road. About four steps later, I happened to look to my left again. You probably have already caught onto the way this "left-looking" was going, only this time, it was worse than I ever could have imagined. There was PLUS-SIZED CHEETAH lingerie. I'm sorry, but EWW!!! I'm all about expressing your sexuality, but do we really have to do it on the end rows of Wal-mart?

I feel much better now that this information is out in cyber-world.

And now that everyone is surely interested in my Valentine's Day experiences, let me continue.

About an hour later, I was faithfully reading People Magazine while waiting to pick my little sister up from speech. Who's with who and who's not has not ever really interested me, and neither has Justin Bieber for that matter. But since it's Valentine's Day, both topics are on nearly every page. Skimming, skimming, skimming, "5 Things I Learned About Justin Bieber." Hmmm... The corresponding pictures were exactly what you would expect out of the pop-phenomenon. Sixteen year old with a big ego. Just for kicks, I decided to go along with this Bieber Fever thing and learn five things about him.

1. He's not a picky eater. He grabs a doughnut from the trash and eats pepperoni, pineapple and bacon pizza with friends.

Ok.. so you're a teenage boy.

2. He grew up around wild animals: His beloved grandfather has a taxidermied fox and wolf in his house in Canada. (Thanks to Justin and his pals, the fox now has a detached leg.)

Don't care.

3. He shaves! "I need a razor," the 16-year-old proclaims before a scene of him grooming his (seemingly) whiskerless face.

Really?

4. He's still a kid at heart. His bedding themes: the Toronto Maple Leafs (in his grandparents' home) and Spider-Man (on his tour bus).

I'll come back to this.

5. Bieber downs a green drink he calls "dinosaur pee." (Usher encouraged it.)

Usher? Where?

Ok. Now you know what I know about Justin Bieber. Except I have something to say. Take another look at number four. The boy has Spider-Man on his sheets!!! Now take a look at this picture.

Justin Bieber with Selena Gomez
Does this look like a boy who sleeps with Spider-Man on his sheets? I wonder where he would take her if they got bored with the boat... The Spider-Man sheets!!?? Sexy, Bieber...

I guess what I'm trying to say is there is a part of the male brain that never really matures past age twelve. It's just like the old man at my barn who laughs hysterically every time he refers to his horse as "CrapperBrains." Long story short, all guys possess some part of their twelve-year-old-self. It says a lot about who they used to be and still secretly are, which is not a bad thing.

Unfortunately, that is all the talk of Bieber Fever that I can handle, but I do have one last thing I would like to share with all of you.

I am an avid fan of the local radio stations. In fact, I cannot do without my music. Today, mixed in with all of the big hits were a few older love songs, no doubt for the benefit of those heartless romantics in the mood for a sappy love song. I am a big Lonestar fan. I think their music is touching, but I also think they are often overlooked. Here is the video that corresponds with not only the best song I heard all day, but a piece of art that everyone deserves to hear.



On that note, I leave you to go perfect the art of baking a flawless red velvet cake, and I hope each and every one of you dear readers has a great end to your February 14th.
2.12.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Catching Up

I wish I had some fabulously romantic reason for neglecting my duties as a blogger; unfortunately I do not. In fact, I might have an even duller reason for not checking in with you more often than you might expect. The true reason for my non-blogging is inexplicable. The only hint of an excuse I can come up with is it seems as though the exact same twenty four hour day I've been living my entire life has simply become an insufficient period of time in which to accomplish all the tasks that need to be tended to. And although the last few weeks have been highly unproductive, I will tell you that several almost life changing things have occurred. 

#1--My barn owner/manager/glue-that-holds-the-place-together was riding her four year old palomino reining prospect when something still yet to be determined set him off, and he flipped over backwards on top of her. To make matters worse, he then decided to roll off and then back on top of her in attempt to get back on his feet. Yeah... She has a broken pelvis, four broken ribs, and several hematomas in her stomach. I can guarantee that whoever said riding horses wasn't a sport had never experienced it for themselves.

#2--I offered to help the same barn owner/manage/glue-that-holds-the-place-together's husband, who is not a horseman, keep things in order while she was in remission. She's an invalid for goodness sake! 

#3--The same barn owner/manager/glue-that-holds-the-place-together offered me a full time job permanently, since apparently she appreciates my work ethic. This entails being up, shining, and ready to start chores at 4:40AM and back again at 4:00PM to feed, muck, etc, etc all over again. Call me crazy, but I did the happy dance when she offered me the position. Not only do I need the job, I love the job. Okay, the 4:40AM part is not ideal, but I'm a Walker; I can take it!  (Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood )

#4--In order to keep my sanity, I drink mochas, right??? Here's the sad thing: mochas are not really in the budget right now, so I have resurrected my old sanity keeping method, baking. You know, there is something truly fabulous about working hard at something complicated for a really long time and then be able to see immediate benefits of your effort. Hence, the high I recieved after spending hours baking and icing my red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. Or how about my angel food cake with seven-minute frosting? Or those delicious strawberry cupcakes with strawberry meringue butter cream icing? Okay, so I'm admitting my best friend is right for once... I am a domestic goddess.

#5--I've decided to forgo the novel writing business for now. There has been some people that have said that my foregoing is just a substitute word for quitting. They're wrong. I just have decided writing without inspiration is worse than not writing at all. 

#6--I have realized just how obsessive compulsive I really am. For instance, I wrote 85,000 words in less than two months. Now I don't write at all. I read twelve novels in one month. Now I'm half way through three. I'm baking up a storm, when a month ago I saw that hobby as an aspect of the past. The only thing that has held my undivided love and attention for years and years is my passion for horses. It is my belief that I inherited this compulsiveness from my mother's mother. Thanks, Grandma.

Summary: I have a job, am baking, not writing, and have realized I'm a compulsive freak :) I love my life.

And you'll just have to wait for number seven, as it hasn't happened yet. But, it will. Did you know the number seven is a sign of completeness? So see, something, yes something, is still missing.
1.24.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Eat Up

You know your life has degraded to a new level of pathetic when the highlight of your week is a trip to Walmart. As all of the other highlights from my life have been relatively interesting, you might assume that something amazing happened today at Walmart. But it didn't. Nothing about Walmart has, or will ever, change. It's universally... blue

The only truly blog-worthy aspect of the trip was that instead of there being simply small, medium, and large marshmallows like I remember as a kid, there are about a million kinds, varying in size, color and texture. But the small, white, jet-puffed ones, perfect for popping in your mouth ten at a time, were nowhere to be found. There were, however, plenty of the Great Value brand, but I must point out that the generic ones don't melt; they sort of, well, wilt. (I have in fact experimented with this over a live fire, so don't tell me I'm wrong.) When I was asked to pick up the little, white, jet-puffed marshmallows, I thought I'd really got off easy! Clearly not! Sigh.... And it didn't help that the remainders of a sinus infection from hell still have a death grip on my head. My only words upon finally escaping through those shiny automated doors were, "I think I need a nap." Just not cool.

And here so ends all rational statements. I have nothing else to say, so if you want to hear something devastatingly witty and equally as charming, you had better stop reading. But if you're brave and would like to know the insides of my sick mind, listen up. 

Here's what I learned during the worst of my sinus infection, while staring at the ceiling, trying not to stop breathing:

#1) Two HotHands over the eyes does more for a throbbing head than any heated towel.
#2) The Bears losing to the Packers does not seem morally right.
#3) Emergen-C is tolerable if mixed with apple juice and water.
#4) Meghan Martin is not nearly as mean as Lindsey Lohan.
#5) Just watch the video...


Ok... You can't tell me that wasn't the best 32 seconds of your entire day! Eat both squares?!? Love it!

Personally I've never tasted anything better than a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup, except for maybe a Snickers Bar. Why not combine them??? I've been saying since the beginning of time that somebody a heck of a lot more powerful than me should stumble across the idea, and finally, he did. Maybe "Snickers Big Square" is not as good "Sneeses" or "Rickers," but it's still works. Whoever came up with the idea.... You are a sweet and savory genius, and I love you!

So I suppose there are some good things that come out of being sick for almost a week. I get the chance to see commercials, implying that I had time to watch TV. That's a luxury only reserved for those not writing novels, finishing school, and trying to maintain a hint of a social life. You know what else is perfectly fitted to the busy student???? I'll give you three hints:

1) It's scientifically proven to reduce stress.
2) Is excruciatingly pleasurable to experience.
3) It's something everybody wants from age 12 up.
 
Click here.

Eat up, Reader.
1.18.2011 | By: sanitymochas

Overachieving a Perfectionist

Some say being a perfectionist is a good thing. Some swear that there is nothing worse. I personally feel that it all has to do with how your brain is wired; whether you are or are not inclined towards perfection. Up until now, I’ve truly been indifferent. Being an overachieving perfectionist like myself, I just do what I do best, achieving and perfecting, and let the rest fall into place.

This syndrome that we perfectionists have only presents a problem when you’re suddenly not able to do what you see as being perfect. In a perfect world I would not have a blinding, pounding, thundering headache right now. Nor would I be scheduled to give a talk in less than twenty-four hours.  Nor would I need to write thousands of words yet tonight. Nor would I feel like I’m incapable of these feats

Yes, in my perfect would I would not be faced with the choice of what I want and what I need. What I really want is to feel better, to write, to give my talk, and to come home to my love’s voice. To me, that doesn’t sound like a very high request, but none of those things are even remotely possible.

Stupid head. It picked that absolute wrong time to be obstinate. By officially admitting that I’m invalid enough to temporarily give up one of my favorite things, public speaking, I feel like I am admitting defeat. It is so unlike me to not come through on something that I’ve been asked to do. And so by canceling the entire day tomorrow and taking a sick day in bed, I will have spent almost forty-eight hours indoors and will risk the onset of perpetual blues.

What I really need to do is write until my fingers go numb, get up in the morning, and just do it! A couple months ago, that’s exactly what I would have done. I was fresher then; I was more me, but part of who I am disappeared, carried in someone else’s heart. Maybe I just cried that part of me out of my system with all of the other emotions. Who knows? Who cares?

So, the ultimate question: Should I a) get up, get going, and just do it, or b) resign into bed feeling quite pitiful?

In light of these current thoughts, I have decided I hate being an overachieving perfectionist. It means that you can’t be happy with your best, especially when you’re at your worst. You become your own worst enemy. You begin to feel like you could or should be better than you are, get higher grades than you do, write more proficiently than you have been. 

And that’s when you tell that stupid little voice in your head to shut up. You tell her that you are no different than you were two months ago, that you’re just as proficient as you were then. You face yourself in the mirror, your biggest fear. You become determined to overachieve your inner perfectionist. You get up, you admit defeat, you cancel your talk, you write until your fingers go numb, and you go to sleep dreaming of a dark and swarthy Mocha Frapp. Then you wake up, drag your pounding head out of bed, drive to Starbucks, and order yourself a Mocha Frappuccino. At least there is the one thing that will always be perfect.

Those are the thoughts of a true overachieving perfectionist. 

p.s….. I really, really need to know what your favorite drink at Starbucks is. I’m not talking a temporary liking. I mean the real deal that will be waiting for you, yummy and delicious as always. Ryan needs to know. Don’t ask. It’s for the book.