I think my family jeweler is a pawn shop

Everyone, I came to a harsh realization.

So for work, I sit on this planning committee for an event. A lot of the other people on this committee are well-off members of this small town’s “society.” We were collecting items to raise money and one lady said she would talk to her jeweler about donating a piece. Another lady said she’d approach her jeweler too.

So, I’m thinking, “Ok, no big deal. I’m 23. I don’t own any fine jewels, so it makes sense that I do not have a jeweler. Someday, I might have a jeweler of my own.”

Naturally, I put off finding a jeweler and starting my collection of precious jewels for a few months. Then I have a conversation with a friend who will remain nameless.

My friend was talking about proposing to his girlfriend. He told me about what she wanted and talking to her family jeweler. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m PUMPED for this friend, the ring and their engagement.

But, hold up. People have family jewelers?

My family does not regularly patronize any shop.  Actually, my mom has some nice jewelry (way to go dad!), but I could not tell you where it came from if you paid me.

This summer when Julie’s finger swelled up like a sausage and she had to have her class ring cut off (long, long story), my mom took it to a pawn shop. The same pawn shop where she had my Tinkerbell watch fixed. Perhaps the same pawn shop she sold some silver that we never use. And, this  pawn shop is on the Eastside. That’s right, Illinois.

That’s when it dawned on me. Maybe my family jeweler is a pawn shop?!?

Maybe we’re the kind of people who buy things that used to belong to other people (we are). I don’t know if any of us own jewelry that was purchased there, I think it’s mainly fixes. I think…

Quick, Macklemore, write a song about pawnshops and make this cool!

What does this say about me? What does this say about my family? Should Will and Dad work on growing out beards so we can have our own hoosier reality show?

All hail the ponytail

This is not a secret. I LOVE my ponytail. I always have.

GIFSoup

It’s like my secret powers come out when my hair is off my shoulders. The little frizzy animal that lives on my head knows who’s boss when I reach for the elastic on my wrist.

Erin and I dancing in our ponytails after the Black and Gold Run.

First thing in the morning, as I wash my face, I need a ponytail. Last thing at night, as I brush my teeth, it’ back. I sleep with my hair wild and free though.

Before I eat a messy meal, hair goes up. Is that embarrassing? Yeah, totally.

My work days generally start with my hair down, by the end of the day it’s almost always back up where it belongs. I really have no patience for those sorts of things. By “those sorts of things” I mean hair in my face.

I also shed like a golden retriever. There always seems to be hair on my sweaters, in my car, on my office chair, on my bathroom floor, on my pillows, in my shower, everywhere. It falls out in clumps. Gross.

If my hair is up, it’s not falling out all over the place leaving tiny traces of my DNA all over potential crime scenes. Those hairs could lead to me being a prime suspect in a murder case of a famous person. That would for sure spoil my reputation forever.

Have you ever seen the Lifetime movie based on William and Kate, strategically called “William and Kate“?  Well there is a particularly disturbing scene towards the beginning where Kate, the athletic girl next door, goes for a run with a friend. I buy that. She’s a trim lady, she’s clearly doing something for her fitness. Why not running?

Bey showing off the power pony.

What really bothers me about that scene is that she is running with her hair down. Looking beautiful, not sweating or huffing and puffing. Uhhhh, who runs without a ponytail, really?

I can’t do a stretch without ponying up. I know “pony up” means something else but roll with me here. A run? An entire Pilates class? With hair up in my grill? Not me.

My dad’s to blame on this one. He has always been my soccer coach and his rule was if you showed up to a practice or game without a ponytail in, he would put one in for you. It was not pretty. Being the coach’s daughter, I knew better.

If a bad person was chasing me down the street to beat me up and steal my lunch money, I would stop. Calmly put in my ponytail and then speed away before he/she knew what happened.

When I get my haircut, I always make it extra clear that I would like to go short, but not past ponytail length. Then the lady at Great Clips usually tells me, that’s not very short. Whatever you say, just don’t rob me of my powers.

I’ve made it clear I think ponytails play a special role in relationships.

Get cable, for the kids!

I’m about to let you in on a secret. I did not have cable television while growing up. We also had zero video games in my house until my senior year of high school. You are wondering, how did I make it? How did I avoid turning out like a child home-schooled in the Appalachians? Well, I have no idea.

When I was young, we joked that we had Amish TV. Sorry to my Amish readership, I have no hard feelings against your culture. We really just had the six basic channels. We did have a VCR though! And a cool separate contraption that rewound our VHS tapes at lightening speed. I’m not sure what it was called, but we called it the rewinder.

Remember these bad boys?

We watched PBS in the mornings as toddlers, and later Wishbone and Arthur after school. All those shows are great and all, but something was missing.

My friends at school would talk about All That and Rugrats. I had seen an episode or two at a friend’s house so I sorta knew what was going on. Mostly I just smiled and focused on tracing images off my Lisa Frank folder or getting the scuffs off my sketchers.

I thought Rugrats was such an annoying show. Samesies for Hey Arnold. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I just only saw about three episodes tops, so I never got attached.

Praise the lawd I discovered YouTube in high school. Before then the only time I had seen music videos was for country songs on Saturday nights during line dancing. Don’t judge, the Whitney’s know how to throw down on Saturdays!

My parents really wanted us to not park in front of the TV. They wanted their kids to play outside and have an imagination and stuff. They’re hippies, they were so into reading and workbooks.

My siblings and I still watched a lot of Disney movies, just no Disney channel. It’s not like we weren’t allowed to watch cable, we just didn’t have it. The neighbors did.

Well mom and dad, you’re probably the reason I get a little bored with TV shows. You’re also the reason I can’t sing the Saved by the Bell Theme (I know, Kristen, I know) or answer any trivia question about Salute Your Shorts or Bug Juice (never seen either).

Not only did I miss a generation of TV references, I also missed my parents’ generation of TV references. Kids my age watched Nick at Nite so they knew about things from their time. The other day Josh was talking about the Bob Newhart Show. I had never heard of him.

This guys doesn’t even look familiar. Thank heavens for Google.

So all you other current and future parents out there. Get your kids cable. Or they turn out like me. If you know of a good therapist who specializes in culture shock, get at me.

2012 by the numbers

There’s something about this time of year that I love. Besides the fudge and Christmas carols, I love to look back at the year and figure out what the heck I’ve been doing for the last 365 days.  I saw this info graphic-inspired Christmas card on Pinterest, so I thought I’d give it a try.

I’d say it was a pretty good year. Hopefully some of numbers will grow and others will shrink in 2013. Want to share some of your numbers with me? Am I a freak for not having any sick days?

Christmas Parodies of Pop Songs

Since Josh graduates today and he thinks it would help my readership if I wrote more about him, I’m going to do him one better. I’ll let him sing and play for the loyal Call Me Shannon readers.

So congrats Josh, you’re finally done with school after 6.5 years and two degrees. Way to go, champ.

If you didn’t already know, Josh is a pretty talented musician. He plays the piano and the guitar and probably 19 other instruments (violin and harmonica confirmed). Right now he’s really into playing Tom Petty and that Lumineers song on the guitar. When we saw the Rashida Jones and Jimmy Fallon Christmas parody, Josh started his own.

So, Merry Christmas and/or Happy Hanukkah to all of you lovely people. I think it’s kosher to celebrate both because holidays are great.

This is from a holiday party with our friends.

This one is from the Jesse Hall Holiday Party.

Pretty great? Feel free to leave comments. Tell me your favorite one! Doesn’t it look like Josh only owns green shirts? Want to see more Josh videos? Jealous that  I get to see this all the time? Thought so.

Tights around my ankles

When I put my tights on earlier, I had already started a little hole on the side. It was pretty high up on my leg and my skirt comes down to my knees, so I felt safe.

Two hours later, as I was walking from my test (boo) to work, I was chatting on the phone with my mom. I was on College Ave, which is a pretty busy road as I felt my tights start to feel a little saggy in the crotch department. If you’ve ever worn tights, you know what I mean.

I was all, “It’s not so bad, I’ll fix them when I get to work.” Well things got serious. They must have been some really old tights because the elastic was totes shot. Before I could get to a less crowded street they were literally around my knees. Like, people driving and walking by could see the issue.

Though laughs, I told my mom what was going on. I tried to describe the predicament to her, but I was also carrying my tea, my bag and trying to walk. I’m not sure I did the situation justice.

With all of the grace and dignity I could muster, I waddled to the side street and bent down and took them off. It may sound drastic, but it was beyond the “pull it up and live with it” stage.

Tights in the trash// bare legs at work

So I spent the rest of the day at work with bare legs, although I know it is way too late in the season for that. Also, I may not have exactly shaved my legs because I had no idea this would happen. Oops.

This is what I mean when I say post-grad life is sometimes hard and weird.

One ponytail per realtionship

Now, I’m not one to give love and relationship advice. If anything, I should be the one asking for it. A lot of my friends have types. Actually, most women think they have the same type: someone who’s smart, funny, attractive, charming, great with kids, drives a nice (but not too nice car), loves his mother, got/gets good grades, played/plays sports and is employed. Did I just describe your perfect man? Well sister (or brother), I just described everyone’s perfect man.

I do have one rule that I live by, well date by, at least: One ponytail per relationship.

With cheese being the only exception, there can be too much of a good thing. Ponytails definitely qualify as a good thing. I wear a ponytail at least part of everyday. Two ponytails is just too many. I’m not talking about pigtails, those are acceptable under the age of 10 and other special circumstances, like wearing a cowboy hat, french braids and staring as Hedi in a play.

I am talking about relationships. One ponytail per relationship, that is a strict rule.

Everyone take a second and grab you hair with both of your hands. Pull it to the back of your head. Can you make a ponytail? Yes. Then hopefully your significant other has the opposite response to that question. Please see chart below for clarification.

A ponytail is very powerful. A lot of men can’t handle the regalness of an updo. It says I have things to do and my long, wonderful hair could get in the way of curing cancer or typing many words per minute or eating breakfast. If you’ve never had a ponytail you probably just rolled your eyes. If you have, you just copied and pasted that sentence as your gchat staus or something.

I am not saying there can only be one powerful person in a relationship. I do not believe that at all. You know I’m a feminist. I’ll all over equality. I’m just clarifying one ponytail is just right. Two gets weird.

Two ponytails means a lot of hair in the shower drain. It means sharing ponytail holders and brushes and curl gel. That’s twice as many bobby pins and the chance of a repeat updo. Everyone knows when you’re trying to leave the house, one person needs to work on his/her hair as the other makes sure we have the present or check the directions or feed the cat. Two ponytails could mean a disaster.

All of these things could lead to a lot of tension in a relationship. This is why two ponytail mates can’t stay together.

Just ask Katy and Russell.

I’m not trying to exclude homosexual couples, Ellen and Portia figured it out!

Looks like it’s time for you and your significant other to sit down and have the ponytail talk. Who needs that ponytail? (In every relationship I’ve ever been in it’s me. My hair would resemble Cory Matthews if I cut it too short. Half of me wants to use Face in a Hole to put my photo on Cory’s face, but I won’t.) Let’s be civil and fair and think of all the investments we’ve made in products and time on our manes over the years. Let’s work together to come to a conclusion. You can do it.

This one’s for you, Barbie!

Barbie takes a lot of flack for being “unrealistic” and giving girls bad body image. If I hear one more time about some grad student somewhere did a study and knows Barbie’s measurements if she were a real lady, I’ll pummel someone.

This is one of the two gymnast Barbies I owned.

Being a girl raised in a Barbie world (that song is about my sister Julie and I, actually), I know Barbie has some unrealistic boobs for her frame. It was hard not to notice. Her dimensions have changed quite a bit over the years too. When my mom deemed us old enough, she gave us her own childhood Barbies. Julie and I thought Barbies from the 1960’s were a little ugly (what? They were), but they did have some great clothes. Too bad Barbies of the mid 1990’s were a little to, shall we say, chesty for mom’s Barbie clothes. This happened to us in real life when Julie and I tried to wear mom’s old vintage clothes from yesteryear, but couldn’t, uh, fit in some departments, if you know what I mean.

I don’t remember a time in my life where I thought, “Gee, I hope when I grow up my body looks like Barbie’s!”

I do remember thinking things like,”I wish I was as flexible as this Barbie,” and “I wish I had a pet dolphin like Barbie,” or “This Barbie camper is the coolest! I hope I get a real camper someday.” Now that I’m a (partially) adjusted 22 year old, I know my waist will never be a small as Barbie’s and my legs will never be that long or tan, I do still want a pet dolphin.

My parents and other influential adults in my life-like my grandparents and Mr. Rogers reaffirmed my self-esteem. They also encouraged me to play sports and play outside when I could pull myself away from Skipper and Stacie long enough to get some Vitamin D. All of the other adult women I knew (mostly my friends’ moms), did not look like Barbie’s. Surprisingly, very few of them even drove pink convertibles or lived in Fold ‘n Fun Houses.

This was the Barbie dolphin I had, yes if made noise.

Somehow, somewhere, at some point in my life it clicked: Barbie is just a toy. Whaaa? Although she does a lot of cool stuff, like babysit, own a supermarket, drive a camper, have 15 pets and swim, all of these things resembling things that real people do in real life, she’s not actually a lot like a real person. First of all, she lives without any parents in a tiny house in my toy room. She has out of control long hair like a religious person who doesn’t cut it, but I know she doesn’t go to church. I think the real giveaway for me was the pink. I like pink a lot, don’t get me wrong. It was just suspicious that EVERYTHING in Barbie’s world was pink.  I mean pink cars, pink uneven bars (I had gymnastics Stacie), pink jet skis, pink bedrooms, pink kitchen appliances, even a pink grocery store. I’ve been going to Schnucks my whole life, that whole place is not pink.

My young, yet very sharp little brain put two and two together and realized that Barbie was a toy who lived in an awesome, very pink, yet very unrealistic world. So I stand behind the point of this whole post, Barbie did not make me crazy vain or give me superhuman expectations on my figure.

She was just a toy, along with my other toys that did not translate well to real life. I probably figured that about the time I learned dinosaurs didn’t talk and sing and make crafts with kids in preschool.

Let me real with you. If my generation of young women has been poisoned by beautiful, yet innocent Barbie, the girls of today are gong to be RUINED by Bratz.

To begin, Bratz are telling your daughters, nieces, granddaughters, neighbors and other impressionable young children of the world to be a brat. That’s just what the world needs, one more brat. Couldn’t we have chosen a less selfish name, like the “Kind Kids” or “Women of Integrity” (holler CJA!)??  No, let’s just call this little dolls “Snotty,” “Rude” and “Entitled.”

I do think the “z” in Bratz is cool though.

Besides being poorly named, they also have the weirdest heads ever. Weirder than Cabbage Patch Kids and Hey Arnold put together, that’s weird, people. They are just so big. I don’t want the girls of today thinking they need bigger heads, imagine the emotional damage!

If Barbie’s outfits were scandalous, Bratz outfits should be rated XXX. These dolls have the tiniest skirts and high boots. Is that sending our youth the right message?

I know I’m probably a little biased thanks to being born in 1989, but really, I think I turned out ok in spite of all my exposure to Barbies.  Will my future daughters someday play with Barbies? Of course! Someday I will give them my old Barbies and try not to be mad when they break them (thanks mom) and make fun of their 90’s chic faces.

Don’t even get this lady started on Disney Princesses!

This one’s for the moms

Happy Mothers Day to all of the moms out there. It’s your special day, so I hope you get some peace and quiet. That’s what my mom asked for on every birthday and mothers day. I thought I’d take a moment to celebrate someone very special in my post today: my mom!

If you don’t know my mom, it’s probably easiest to paint the picture of her as the ultimate mom. If she drank coffee, I’d get her a #1 MOM mug, but she know’s coffee’s bad for you. She drives a minivan, cuts coupons, walks the dog and sometimes still wears mom jeans. She was at all of my sports games, dance recitals and school assemblies taking pictures like an AP photog. She loves ABBA and Katy Perry and  The Big Bang Theory (against my better judgement). She’s danced with me at a Backstreet Boys concert and grounded me for breaking curfew.

In third grade she walked all over the neighborhood with me so I could sell 100 boxes of girl scout cookies and earn a great prize of drumroll… a toiletries set. The whole time I’m sure she knew that we could have purchased one at the dollar store, but she still supported my business endeavors. She really is the best.

My mom is a part-time nurse and has shown me the importance of work/life balance. We used to ask her if she was working tomorrow and she would always say, “I’m a mom, I work everyday.”  She really does. She likes working at the hospital and I think she’s a great nurse, but she’s more in her element when she’s helping with homework, cooking dinner and watching Oprah all at the same time.  I never felt like she didn’t have time to help me with whatever I was working on in school. Through college her and my dad often drove two hours to watch an awards ceremony or go to a football game with me and my siblings.

Besides being #1 and a nurse, my mom has a lot of “extracurriculars” or whatever you call them. She volunteers as a librarian, lunch lady and recess mom even though all of her kids are done with grade school. When I was younger she sold entertainment books and organized book fairs. While we were in high school she helped with mailings, set up auctions and anything else. She was and is my role model for involvement.

Loving that purple dress!

Mom sometimes says, “If you want something done, ask a busy person to do it.” She of course knew this from direct experience. She always has a full plate. As her daughter, I also got to be involved with her, like that time I was “volunteered” to dress up as Mrs. Frizzle and greet people after church saying, “Book fair today, book fair right this way.”

One invaluable life skill my mom has gifted me and my siblings with is cooking. She’s an adventurous, healthy cook. She’s always ripping recipes out of the newspaper and magazines and sometimes she even uses them! Cooking is a family process for us, so everyone helps, whether it’s stirring the chili, peeling carrots, washing salad or pouring drinks. Thanks to her I can cook some things and I’m not afraid to try to cook other things.

Something that might surprise you about my mom is how much cookie dough and brownie batter she eats. If you’ve met her you’ve noticed she’s 5’1″ and weighs 105lbs soaking wet. Naturally petite with surprisingly muscular arms (and happily married to my father, thank you), she’s a small person, but when we make cookies, we only end up with 3/4 of the recipe’s yield. It’s because we all love cookie dough, mom leading the charge, licking the beater.

Most of the rest of the time she’s super healthy. Remember this is a lady who loves kale and flax (I bet some of you don’t know what either of those are, Google them). We eat lean meat and drink skim milk, but if there is chocolate involved you better believe my mom will be there and maybe even on time! She’s all about moderation. Eat healthy most of the time, and indulge as a treat.

Mom is the ultimate vacationer. Her and my dad took us to a lot of cool places on family vacations. All of them are documented in thousands of photos which can be found in the Whitney family archives (the basement). My mom’s vacation speed can be compared to a person gathering all of their worldly belongings as their home is set on fire mixed with a boot camp drill Sargent with a hint of  Anne Geddes (we take a lot of photos). Even though we don’t sit down or relax too much, we do see and do everything possible in that destination. I’m grateful for all of those memories, and yes, all of those pictures.

Probably the coolest and most terrifying thing about my mom is that she is slowly turning into her mother, my Grandma Rose. As much as I think my mom is the perfect mom, my grandma is the perfect grandma. This means that she is going to be an awesome grandma someday. It also means that I am someday going to morph into my mom and then my grandma. Look out coupons, here I come!

Also a holler to some of my other favorite moms out there: Beyonce, Amy Pohler, Michelle Obama, Abby O’Neil, Heidi Klum and Kourtney Kardashian.

On vacation in Florida!

I did it!

I did it! I did it! I accomplished my goal for April: running 100 miles.

Let me begin by saying I was an idiot. I thought for some reason that April 30th was on Tuesday, not Monday. When I woke up on Monday and looked at the calendar, I realized I needed to run 11 miles instead of a 5 one day and a 6 the next. Eleven miles? Shannon are you crazy? Crazy is probably the only word to describe it.

Because I am a crazy woman, I did it. Honestly, I ran 11 miles because I challenged myself to do it. Although it rained all morning, I ran on the trail after work. My shoes and socks were so muddy when I got home, but I needed a hill-less, easy to count 11 miles, so the trail was a no-brainer.

If no one was around when I passed a mile-marker, I usually did my running dance. I was glad to be alone for almost two hours (I finished in 1:54) so no one could see my struggs. The longest run I’d ever done before yesterday was 8 miles, so on miles 9, 10 and 11, so I got more and more excited. When I finally stopped running my hips were pretty sore and the muscles above my knees felt like rocks. Not in a sexy way. My toes also feel very tender.

I walked like a solider coming home from ‘Nam and I couldn’t stop talking for the rest of the night. Runner’s high? Maybe.

Today, I actually feel pretty good. A little stiff, but not as bad as I expected. I feel really proud that I did that.

I am so grateful and amazed by my body. I kissed both of my knee caps while laying in bed last night and thanked them for being so awesome and running 11 miles with me. I mean, that’s pretty cool that I was able to do that, or at least I think so. Now I think I could probably run a half marathon, not fast or anything, but I think I could finish without dying.

In two weeks, I’m running in a 5k, which will hopefully feel like a piece of chocolate cake.

In case you want to buy me a gift for competing my challenge, I’ve had my eye on this for a while… and it is on sale.