tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44641765280112095712024-02-18T22:31:44.013-08:00Life (and Stuff)Sometimes life seems like a series of humiliating events strung together by trips to Chipotle.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-17214507223021613182019-08-26T07:12:00.000-07:002019-08-26T07:29:23.783-07:00It is Good for TodayGrowing up as a homeschool kid, I never knew my grade. Often I'd be at a different grade level in each subject (Ex: 8th grade reading and kindergarten math) so when adults asked my grade, I'd tell them my age instead, thinking they could figure it out from there. As a result, people never thought I was smart, because smart kids typically know what grade they're in.<br />
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Now, as a fully-fledged human adult, I'm faced with a similar dilemma. I don't know what to tell people when they ask where I live. I'm not sure when exactly it happened, but sometime in the last year I became an official hobo.<br />
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Most of my stuff is in Atlanta, but I'll be there a total of 20 days between September and December. I'll be in Texas quite a bit this fall because I have a number of shows closer to DFW and it's logistically easier to launch from there, but I don't technically live in Texas. In fact, I'll be in close to 30 cities and states in the next few months.<br />
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"Is that a good thing?" a family friend recently asked when I shared my current situation.<br />
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Life lately has been so crazy I hadn't stopped to wonder if this new normal was, in fact, "<i>good</i>." My life is uncommon, yes. But is it <i>good</i>? <br />
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Is a life with no roots and little consistency and different faces and locations every week <i>good</i>? Is a life lived in front of audiences and behind well-manicured social media updates <i>good?</i> Is a life lived out of a suitcase <i>good?</i><br />
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"Yes," I responded. "It's good for today."<br />
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I get to support myself with creativity and goofiness. I get to bring an accordion all over the country. I get to share the stage with incredible speakers and artists I look up to and admire. I look at my life and feel immense gratitude for the gifts I've been given.<br />
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None of these things, however, ultimately make my current life <i>good</i>. <br />
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My situation is good for today because it's where God has me today. My circumstances are good because God uses them to gently shape me, discipline me, and move me toward holiness. I see Him using my travels to strengthen my trust in Him, build long-distance friendships, and grow my compassion for people from all walks of life. My life is <i>only</i> good because He is with me.<br />
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Then, I got a follow up question.<br />
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"Will you keep doing this long-term?"<br />
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Questions about the future are my least favorite questions. They stir up fear in me like nothing else. Will I still be right where I am in 5 years? 10 years? What if all the work dries up? What if I'm so focused on this I miss out on the rest of life? WHAT IF WHAT IF WHAT IF?!<br />
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When I start trying to imagine the future, I completely "what if" myself out of today's joy.<br />
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The past 18 months have brought almost every kind of hurt imaginable. Two years ago I couldn't have predicted my life would look like what I'm living today. I wasn't a full time comedian yet. I hadn't suffered grief and loss and trauma and heartbreak so intensely, so succinctly.<br />
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And yet, through this hurt--hurt I never would've chosen and, if given the choice, would completely undo--came an unexpected gift: peace for today.<br />
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Every couple years I read C.S. Lewis' <i>Screwtape Letters. </i>In the book, the demon Screwtape coaches his nephew on how to tempt and lure people away from God.<br />
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In one section, Screwtape instructs Wormwood (his nephew) to try and get his "patient" to become consumed with anxieties about the future.<br />
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<i>"The duty of planning tomorrow's work is today's duty; though its material is borrowed from the future, the duty, like all duties, is in the Present."</i></h1>
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I will continue planning for tomorrow, because it's wise to do so. I will hone my skills as a comic, book shows, write books, and save money for lean seasons. That is today's work. And then, I'll (do my best to) live in the present and enjoy the graces and mercies the Lord's laid out for me right now. </div>
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God may choose to keep me doing exactly what I'm doing until I die, or He may change my circumstances at a moment's notice. For now, I will celebrate my hobo life. Because it is good for today.<br />
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<a href="http://www.kristinweberonline.com/" target="_blank">www.kristinweberonline.com</a>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-78426412894398757372018-12-29T15:48:00.000-08:002018-12-29T16:56:35.238-08:00Life Sucks, God is Good<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
A couple weeks ago someone asked me how I'd describe the past year. I think 2018 could be summed up in five words: "Life sucks, God is good." (Dibs on turning that into a bumper sticker.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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It's difficult to put into words the simultaneous feelings of hope and despair. They can't be isolated from each other. Like one artery pumping blood into the heart, and another pumping it back out. (And that's the extent of my understanding of human heart anatomy. I should probably just stick to jokes.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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This past year was difficult for a lot of people in my circle. I've had many hard, deep, and raw conversations about life, death, and the goodness of God in the middle of tragedy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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One question that's come up continually is: "I know that I have the hope of heaven, but will things ever get better here on earth?"<o:p></o:p></div>
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I told a friend--a dear human specimen who has patiently sound boarded my unfiltered thoughts and heightened dark sense of humor this past year--when she asked if I was hopeful about 2019: <o:p></o:p></div>
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"I'm hopeful that a lot of good things will happen," I said. "But I'm also aware that sometimes things just keep getting worse and then you die."<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mic drop? <o:p></o:p></div>
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The only confidence I have going into 2019 is that God will sustain me through anything. He will hold on to me when I don't have the strength to hold on to Him. I wish I could promise myself and my hurting friends and loved ones that our trials were over. The reality, however, is that none of us know what's ahead. <o:p></o:p></div>
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With that said, I'm entering 2019 with a peaceful confidence. Hope for the future has managed to sprout up in a bed of sadness and pain. Turns out, manure creates rich soil. (That's the extent of my gardening knowledge. And also probably why our lettuce keeps getting e. coli.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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I know God loves giving good gifts to His children, and as I look back at the horror that was 2018, I see the unmistakable markers of God's presence. He kept me healthy during times of utter exhaustion, brought me more work than I've ever had before, and put incredible people into my path that I wouldn't have known if not for our common experience with tragedy. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So, I'll continue making resolutions and goals. I'll vow to never eat sugar again and have ice cream before sundown January 1st. I'll promise to wake up at 6am every day and go jogging, even though running is my sworn arch nemesis. I'll succeed in some ways and fail in others. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I'll make plans and believe God will prosper them, but at the end of the day I will say, "Your will, not mine, be done."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.kristinweberonline.com/" target="_blank">www.kristinweberonline.com</a></div>
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A few glimpses of 2018 in pictures: </div>
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Hiking in Albuquerque after a show.</div>
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This urinal garden. When I do women's events they often turn the men's bathrooms into women's facilities for the night and the creativity always makes me smile.</div>
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Having lunch with my brother and trying to wrap my mind around this new reality<span style="text-align: center;">. </span><br />
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Going through old shoe boxes and discovering priceless memories of simpler times, when we thought shoving gummies up our noses was a hilarious past time. (That's the extent of what we put up our noses.)</div>
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Visiting my sweet friend Amelia, who went to be with Jesus in July. Her faith continues inspiring me.</div>
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Eating lunch with my 91-year-old grandmother, whose dementia brings with it bittersweet hilarity. (I didn't realize she recently went skydiving with Hillary Clinton!)</div>
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Diving in Costa Rica. This was a few days before someone on the street tried to stab me. </div>
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Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-10308249706589797422018-08-10T18:04:00.000-07:002020-03-10T09:55:50.109-07:00Life on the edge: getting out of a knifepoint mugging<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">So, yesterday I had a unique and terrifying experience. Someone tried to rob me at knifepoint in a suburb of San Jose, Costa Rica. I got away unharmed, and he didn’t take anything. (I wasn’t carrying much anyway. My ATM Card and driver’s license cause I had to go to the bank later, and the US equivalent of $15 in local currency. And also some fresh lychee fruit that took me forever to find.) </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Because of the craziness of this year I decided I wanted a little vacation and decompression time before starting the new semester. So, I cashed in some airline miles and decided to head to Costa Rica for a couple weeks of pacific coast scuba diving and Spanish lessons—two things on my bucket list. I’ve been to south/central America many times and love it there. Usually I travel with other people, but I couldn’t find anyone who could come during the time I had off, so I proceeded with the trip solo. Solo travel is actually pretty relaxing and enjoyable, and you meet plenty of people along the way. For much of this trip I’ve been with groups or new friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Okay, now on to the knifepoint story. </span>I’m decently travel-savvy and fairly street smart, so on the occasions where I walk alone I check my surroundings consistently and stay in crowded areas. <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">While walking the .8 miles to my Spanish school this morning, I reached a point on the typically-crowded road where there was a lull in people and cars. An older-looking man crossed over to my side of the street. Rather than walk past me, he stepped right in front of me and started speaking quietly and intensely in Spanish.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">My spidey-senses immediately went off. Something was not right. And that’s when he pulled the knife from under his shirt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When someone wields a knife on you and you can’t understand what they’re saying, a few things run through your head rapid fire.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Why did this guy step in front of me? What is he saying? Are these Spanish lessons even working at all? What is he pointing to? Why is he pointing with a knife? A KNIFE?! Okay so this is not friendly chatter. Why is the knife so obnoxiously big? Is this his first day as a bad guy? Okay, so he either wants me to come with him to that empty field (no gracias) or give him my tiny bag (also no gracias—getting a stab wound stitched up would be less painful than filing paperwork with the DMV to replace a stolen driver’s license. Also it took me forever to find a market that had lychees and I was really looking forward to eating them for my snack.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">This man might’ve had a knife, but he grossly underestimated the number of Jason Bourne movies I’ve seen. So, I went into a mindset I didn’t know I possessed: action mode. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I very quickly gauged the situation—and I mean, this thought process took place within milliseconds—this man was older (so probably not too fast or agile), had a knife the size of Texas (he was trying too hard to look intimidating so probably he’s in the Kindergarten Criminal program), he seemed a little nervous and didn’t want to attract attention (see previous comment), there’s a crowded intersection <i>just</i> around this corner so if I can get to there I’ll be okay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Also, in that moment, I got incredibly angry. I just buried my brother. One of my dearest friends is dead. I was up all night because I’d had a bad batch of fried plantains. There was no way I was going to let this man take anything from me. I’m aware I look like a grown American Girl Doll and reek of tourist, but I have two things on my side: healthy lungs and long legs. So I used the element of surprise and, pardon my expression, I raised hell. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I immediately dodged him and began running toward the bend in the road. He was just far enough away that I knew he’d have to try really hard to stab me or grab me, and I instinctively knew he didn’t possess that kind of reaction time. However, he started to run after me, so I began yelling at him so loudly and in English and what I could muster in Spanish. I think I said something along the lines of “GET AWAY! NO THEY WILL PLEASE NOT ROB ME TODAY!” (Nonsense, but it worked.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Just as I thought, around the corner were a lot of people. I ran to a group of men who were talking to each other and looked back to see my assailant turn around, put the knife away, and walk in the other direction. Fortunately one of the men in the group spoke some English. I told him what happened and he asked if I was carrying anything valuable, which also struck me as a suspicious question. Probably he was asking if they <i>took </i>anything valuable in his broken English, but I was on level 7,000 alert, so just in case they were working as a group with knife-man, I said no and kept walking, grabbed a cab, and went the remaining .3 miles to school that way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">As the adrenaline rush wore off, the reality of what had happened, and what potentially <i>could </i>have happened hit me. I was incredibly proud of myself for how quickly I reacted. I also knew I’d be taking cabs and Ubers the rest of my time here. (Which, fortunately I leave Sunday. I’m definitely ready to go home.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Lastly, and I’ve debated whether to write anything about this at all, but after thinking about it, I think it may be helpful to address. As I’ve told people what happened, on more than one occasion the initial response has been, “well, you shouldn’t have been walking alone.” You might’ve even thought that as you read this blog. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Here’s the thing: I walk in groups as much as possible. But, when you travel alone, it’s not always possible to be with someone. Even when you travel <i>with </i>people it’s not always possible to be with someone. Sometimes you have to get from point A to point B by yourself. I take cabs or Ubers if I’m not sure about an area. Should I have taken a bus or cab sooner? Maybe. I’d walked this same path several times with other people before walking it on my own. It was safe. I’d been told by several locals, including my Spanish teacher, that it was safe and good path for tourists, even when walking alone. The only difference between this and other times was I was coming to class late because I’d not been feeling well, so the typical morning bustle was less than usual. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Still, this didn’t happen at 3am in some abandoned back alley. This happened in a busy, middle class neighborhood in broad daylight. It was close to schools, churches, and police stations. (In fact, this all happened about 50 meters from a police station.) Is traveling in a group ideal? Sure. Realistic? Not always. Also, unfortunately, I've heard stories of groups getting attacked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I used common sense. I knew my surroundings and I was even aware that there was a strange lacking of people on that part of path. I’ve walked plenty of sketchier places both in the United States and foreign countries alone and been fine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When something like this happens it’s natural to try and find what the victim did “wrong” so we can avoid that same situation. But here’s the unfortunate and harsh truth: these things happen anywhere: in North America, in Central America, in “safe” places, and even to people who are careful. We like to believe that we can completely prevent these things if we do all the right things. I fully believe you can take wise precautions to avoid them, but sometimes they happen anyway, and you need to be ready and vigilant. That’s the reality of the terrible, fallen world we live in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">So feel free to lecture me on walking alone, but do it in your head. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Overall, it’s been a wonderful trip with wonderful diving, people, and experiences. This was a fluke thing that could’ve been way worse, but fortunately is now a crazy story I get to share at dinner parties and maybe even gives me enough street cred to become a rapper. All that said, I’m ready to come home and have Chipotle. </span></div>
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Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-28171942002462336342018-04-07T21:34:00.000-07:002018-04-08T16:36:49.037-07:00Humor and the art of inappropriate grief <div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been a little over three weeks since I got the phone
call telling me that my younger brother had been killed in a helicopter crash
in Iraq. Almost a month has passed since my family earned our lifetime membership into the
bereavement club. (Definition aside, bereavement is a terrible word.) It feels
like it’s been both a minute and a lifetime since hearing the news. When you’re
grieving, the minutes, hours, days and weeks get put into a time blender. There’s
now a date on the calendar where life permanently changed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Tomorrow I head back to Atlanta to get back to “new normal.”
I have several comedy shows and speaking gigs this week, and today I spent most
of the day distracting myself by writing an accordion parody about IKEA. You
know, typical grief coping stuff. (I did have a line about being found
shriveled up in a living room display three years after following the wrong
arrows, but I came to my senses and replaced it with a less gruesome jab at
Swedish Meatballs.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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As a comedian, laughter—and what causes it—has always
fascinated me. Some of the best comics I know have trauma and loss in their
past. As I’ve learned in recent days, death and tragedy alter your perspective
on life and change the lenses you use to observe the rest of the world. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Before experiencing it on a personal level, I had a vague
idea of how grief would look and feel. One thing I believed about tragedy and
sudden loss was that laughter would be very slow to return. I was absolutely wrong.
Everyone processes tragedy and loss differently, but for our family, laughter happened
pretty much immediately. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Here’s what I’ve discovered about grief humor: it’s wildly
inappropriate, morbid, and was--and continues to be--absolutely necessary for
us to process Mark’s sudden and tragic death. We laughed at the strangest,
darkest things in those first few days. </div>
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Grief and lack of sleep absolutely
destroyed my filters for the first week (and I admittedly don’t have the best
filters to begin with), and some very blunt and dark observational humor
regarding our circumstances escaped my mouth unchecked. (A/N: My deepest
condolences to anyone outside my immediate family who was on the receiving end
of my dark sense of humor during this time. I don’t remember a lot of what I
said, but from what people have told me, much of it was intense. I’ve been told
there’s no wrong way to grieve, but I may have pushed the limits on that belief,
and someday may write a book for people who “inappropriately” process grief through
sarcasm and dark humor.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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However “inappropriate” this form of grief, I know laughter helped
us survive our tragedy. Anyone on the outside probably thought my family needed
to be sent immediately to the nearest asylum, but our closest friends and
family bonded and processed our sadness through the random thoughts, memories,
and ironies about our situation we collectively found hilarious. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A couple days after the crash I began thinking ahead to the comedy
shows I have on my calendar. Despite sarcasm and humor being my grief-handling
buddies, I knew telling jokes on a stage in front of strangers would be
different, especially since I have several jokes in my act about Mark. My
opening joke right now is about moving to the south and getting matched with my
brother on E-harmony. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m not sure yet what I’ll do with those jokes. Mark was
always lobbying to have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">more</i> jokes
about him in my act. He came to a show last October—the last he’d attend before
his deployment—and his one criticism was that I didn’t have enough material
about him in my set. He had a very absurd, goofy, and random sense of humor and
I know he’d love it if I made large groups of people slightly uncomfortable
joking about him posthumously. Long term I’ll probably keep the jokes that include him (and
who knows, maybe add more, but not to the point of making audiences feel weird
about laughing) but right now I may shelve them. Most likely I’ll decide once
I’m on stage. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve heard people say randomly over the years how much they
needed to laugh. How they were glad for a chance to take their mind off of the trials
of life. I know what they mean now. I’ve consumed a LOT of comedy these past
few weeks and I have a new appreciation for laughter as medicine. I’m a fan of
comedy anyway, but I watched and listened to more comedy in the past three
weeks than I typically do in two years. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Despite being horribly sad about my brother, I do not have
the market cornered on grief, loss, and tragedy. Many of you reading this have
known incredible loss, and many out there are suffering similarly. I know
comedy and laughter heals. I took it for granted before, but I’ve experienced deeply
the power laughter has to give us hope. Hope that death doesn’t win in the end. Grief is such a heaven burden, laughter lifts the weight temporarily so we don't get crushed. At the very least, venting emotion through laughter provides a nice break from crying.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I will never stop missing my brother. Grief will always be
here, but Lord willing, so will laughter. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So now, I move forward and use the gifts and time God has
given me to provide a little bit of healing to an increasingly hurting world. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
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Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-67510091464811725962017-11-15T19:09:00.001-08:002017-11-16T09:40:29.796-08:00Surviving your 20s in the 21st Century. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6YXwRqynkmZBGEmbSbB9UZIXjth9OuOnxnlVTxqjhlHjkFj00h_mMDIY24eu29emZDdyOEdoM6nflPfap2z89AJy87ZWZk752HwYndRfriyI_DG7gOjRkaLGkmG1J3vnhFaLgabINxMM/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6YXwRqynkmZBGEmbSbB9UZIXjth9OuOnxnlVTxqjhlHjkFj00h_mMDIY24eu29emZDdyOEdoM6nflPfap2z89AJy87ZWZk752HwYndRfriyI_DG7gOjRkaLGkmG1J3vnhFaLgabINxMM/s1600/images-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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Recently, after a show, I spoke to a young woman in her early 20s. She was in school, working, and on a forward trajectory in life...she was also lonely, depressed, and feeling completely hopeless about everything.<br />
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"I'm sorry you're going through that," I said. "But just so you know, it does get much better. I don't know if this is encouraging or not, but what you're going through is totally normal for your age."<br />
<br />
"It is?" she said. "I feel like I'm the only one."<br />
<br />
"Not at all," I assured her. "I went through it, and almost everyone I talk to in their 20s seems to be dealing with some sort of quarter-life crisis."<br />
<br />
"How come nobody talks about it?" she asked. "Everyone just acts like they have it all together and I feel like I'm the only one who can't figure life out."<br />
<br />
So, in case there are other 20-somethings out there struggling to get their footing, please allow me to lay before you what is "normal" at this stage of life and share some survival tips. I'm not sure how helpful it will be, but at the very least perhaps you'll feel a little less alone as you figure things out.<br />
<br />
<b>First</b>, <u>it's normal for life to be hard</u>.<br />
<br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;">Surviving this norm: </i>I'm not sure the particulars of your childhood, but many of us grew up in homes where a lot was done for us. Things like making appointments, bringing cars in for repairs, arranging insurance, paying bills, etc. were all done through our teenage (and even sometimes through college) years by adults who loved us and had our best interest at heart. However, at a certain point we have to take over the daily operation of our own lives, and in our culture this seems to be happening in our early-to-mid 20s. It feels overwhelming to suddenly "adult" and figure out insurance plans, find honest car mechanics, dentists, jobs, loan payment schedules, and whatever else comes with being a fully-fledged grown up.<br />
<br />
So, you need to recognize that this is a normal, good, and healthy transition to independence. To put it simply, you're now living in the "real" world. You learn by trial and error, and sometimes you lose money by making a poor choice on where to get your car tuned up. You're toughening up and wising up, and learning how to live with the consequences of your decisions and actions. The alternative to this transition is living a sugarcoated existence where your parents continue doing everything for you. So, while it may be a <i>hard </i>thing, keep in mind that it is a <i>good</i> thing and a <i>normal</i> thing. "Hard" does not necessarily mean "bad."<br />
<br />
<b>Second</b>, <u>it's normal to feel like you made all the wrong decisions.</u><br />
<br />
<b><i>Surviving this norm: </i></b>Everyone second guesses whether they made the right choices.<b><i> </i></b>Roads look smoother from a distance; it's only when you get up close that you see the potholes. If you'd gone down a different path you'd be second guessing that one because you'd see the potholes. You may need to do some course-correcting if you made a really bad decision, but don't waste time and energy wishing you could undo the past. Focus forward and know that every class, menial job, and decision played a role in getting you where you are now, even if it was teaching you how to be a kinder or giving you a better idea of what you're good at.<br />
<br />
<b>Third</b>,<u> it's normal to feel lonely and depressed.</u><br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-weight: bold;">Surviving this norm:</i> I'm so sad this has become the norm, but most people I've spoken with experience this on some level. Many of us experienced depression and loneliness in high school and had high hopes of this changing in college and beyond. Or, perhaps you were fortunate to have had wonderful community in high school and college, but now marriage, parenthood, work, relocation, or all of the above have made you feel isolated.<br />
<br />
Making good friends and feeling like you're a valued part of a community can be difficult in our constantly changing, online-driven society. Friends are a gift we often don't appreciate until we don't have them. So, be <i>proactive </i>about making new face-to-face friends. Try new meet up groups or a new small group at church. Introduce yourself. Say hello to your neighbors. Bring them cookies. Look for ways to serve those around you. Keep your eyes open for others who may be lonely and without community. Think of friendship as something to <i>give </i>rather than something to <i>get. </i>By giving, you will automatically get, but this mindset will keep you from a place where you constantly feel slighted by other people. Also, keep in mind that you don't have to "click" with everyone you meet in order to be their friend. Lastly, pray that God will bring you some good friends. I'm not sure why we go through seasons where the friendship well runs dry, but keep praying and seeking, and you'll find some! <br />
<br />
Finally, if you find yourself struggling with depression and anxiety, try to establish some good habits to help you with life. Exercise, eat well, get outside, volunteer somewhere, read new books, join a recreational whiffle ball league, etc. All these things will help your mind cope with the the stresses of life. It takes some action to get moving in the right direction, and the hardest thing is to take the first step out of a rut<i>.</i> <i>However</i>, if depression is a chronic problem that these things don't significantly help fix, or your thoughts turn very dark all the time, there is absolutely no shame in seeing a counselor or professional to help you heal your mind.<br />
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<b>Fourth</b>, <u>it's normal not to feel fulfilled one hundred percent of the time.</u><br />
<br />
<b><i>Surviving this norm: </i></b>We're fed this idea that our work and life are only worth something if we feel fulfilled, but that's simply not reality. No one can feel fulfilled 100% of the time. I've certainly never felt overwhelmed with fulfillment while teaching students scales and making sure their technique is correct, but I do it because it's how you create great musicians and singers. However, I <i>do</i> feel fulfillment when my students perform, land parts, and grow as artists and humans. The knowledge that I'm laying the foundation for this keeps me going when the fulfillment isn't there.<br />
<br />
Fulfillment is something that is earned through commitment and hard work. It will come, but right now you're laying the foundation for a fulfilling life. No one likes watching cement dry, but it's needed in order to create a strong foundation for the rest of the home. Ultimately, sometimes the fulfillment of a job or task is in knowing you're being a responsible adult.<br />
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<b>Fifth,</b> <u>it's normal to have your expectations challenged.</u><br />
<br />
<b><i>Surviving this norm: </i></b>I've often joked that adulthood is 80 percent managing expectations, 20 percent looking for a pen, and 100 percent finding a pen and realizing it's out of ink and having to search all over again. Life isn't going to go as expected. Sometimes it will be better than you expect, sometimes it will be worse. You're learning how to "go with the flow" and appreciate today for what it is, not what it might lead to tomorrow. No matter how many inspirational memes you may read each day on Instagram, these are lessons that can only be learned by living.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Some final thoughts...</i></b><br />
<br />
<b>First, </b><u>don't</u><u> compare your life with others.</u> You've probably heard this one before, but it's worth mentioning again because it's such an easy trap to fall into. Life will be hard for different people in different ways and it will be easy for people in different ways. Some people will be born with the ability to sing four octaves, some will barely be able to hold a tune. Some people can handle huge amounts of stress, while others need a significant amount of calm to function. Remember, social media only shows you one part of the story. You're not in a competition with the rest of the world to see who can have the best life. It's not a race, there is no prize. Take a breath. Put down the phone. (After you finish reading this blog, of course.) Eat a cookie. Carry on.<br />
<br />
<b>Second, </b><u>train yourself to focus on eternal things, not immediate things.</u> It's so easy to lose sight of <i>why </i>we're doing what we're doing. I don't care if you're parenting, working, or just pursuing hobbies, you need to remember <i>why </i>any of it matters. Ultimately, what you're doing brings glory to God. You are made in His image, and you were created to love and serve Him. One way you do that is by cultivating the earth and make it an organized, functional, and beautiful place. We serve a God of order and creativity and by doing anything that contributes to those two things we're reflecting His image. Unloading the dishwasher? Order. Writing a novel? Creativity. Changing a diaper? Order. (And sometimes creativity if you're on a plane.)<br />
<div>
<br />
<b>Third, </b><u>it will not always be this hard.</u> Sometimes it will be, but not always. Right now you're setting a track record. You're plowing the field and planting the seeds for your life. You're figuring out an education, job, relationships, friendships, marriage, babies, and whatever else comes with being a new adult. Things will be difficult, but you'll pull through and then the next time you go through something difficult you'll remember that you've done it before, and that'll give you the confidence that you can do it again. (Even if you really don't want to.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
In my 20s I had about $48,000 in debt, numerous low-paying part-time jobs that I didn't enjoy, no clear picture of what I wanted from a career, no discernible natural talent, and my personal trend was to quit or ghost when things got hard or uncomfortable. But, it was in my 20s that I learned how to work hard, develop skills, fall and get back up, navigate insurance deals, (That never stops being frustrating. You're welcome.) eat cheaply, shop at thrift stores, make friends, let things go, forgive, and stay in touch with people. I learned many of these lessons the hard way, through gut wrenching humiliation and sleepless nights. I survived, and I'm stronger and wiser for it.<br />
<br />
I'm 33 now. I have no debt, too many wonderful friendships to count, and I not only love my job teaching music, but I'm good at it, it pays fairly, and it's work I find meaningful. On top of that, I frequently get to travel the country telling jokes and speaking. I couldn't have planned this life in my 20s when I was , but everything I did in my 20s prepared me for it without my knowing what it was going toward. Life isn't perfect, but it's nowhere near the anxiety and pressure I felt in my 20s. I wouldn't trade the wisdom I gained in my 20s for any amount of youth, no matter how much our society worships it.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div>
If I have to leave you with one final piece of encouragement, it's this: <b><i>God is already in the future, and things will be much less scarier when you're actually there. You is smart, you is kind, you is important. Now, get out there and live. </i></b></div>
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<a href="http://kristinweberonline.com/" target="_blank">www.kristinweberonline.com</a>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-59964145294093644242017-07-10T06:57:00.001-07:002017-07-13T07:01:39.974-07:00God's Will Is...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Yesterday I returned from almost two weeks in Lima, Peru with <a href="http://neverthesamemissions.org/" target="_blank">Big World Ventures</a>. (Next year they're going to Guatemala. Right now my plan is to be there, and you should definitely consider sending your teen or coming as a family. It is truly an incredible ministry that changes the lives of teens, and brings a lot of encouragement to the communities in the countries they visit.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> While in Peru I spoke about the will of God to our group. I've noticed most high school and college students stress about whether or not the choices they're making at this stage are "God's will" for their life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> The evening before I </span>gave my talk our group attended a church outside of Lima. I sat in the back of the church (I'm a back row sitter in every culture) with my bilingual friend Dave, asking occasionally for a translation of what they were saying, and reviewing my notes for the talk. In this warehouse in the middle of Villa el Salvador, where rows of plastic red chairs were set up, motorcycles parked behind seats, and cats roamed freely among the congregants, I watched cultures collide and kneel before the God that created them both. It was loud and chaotic and occasionally a wad of toilet paper would be passed down a row to someone who hadn't brought any. (Most bathrooms in Peru don't have toilet paper so people supply it themselves.) Worship lasted almost an hour, sermons and testimonies were given both in Spanish and English, friends were made through short conversations of remembered high-school Spanish, Facebook requests sent, and the whole 3-hour service ended with a clean-up dance party.<br />
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During the service I wrote this short reflection on God's will and shared it at the end of my talk. <br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><u><b>What is God's Will? </b></u></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i> God’s will is every act of mercy you show, every chore you
do obediently, every kind word you say.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>God’s will
is walking away from gossip, sitting in silence with a hurting friend, putting
your head on your pillow at night and thanking God for the day.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>God’s will
is getting up at 5am to make it to your job on time. It is loving your spouse
through good times and bad. It is saying, “I’m hurting and I don’t understand,”
and continuing to serve anyway, trusting your Heavenly Father will work even
this for your good.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>God’s will
is opening orphanages and bringing clean water to impoverished countries. It is
handing out bulletins and greeting new faces at the church you’ve attended
since you were a small child. It is organizing the church potluck and making
sure the best casseroles aren’t all brought out at once, so that everyone gets
some and not just those whose spiritual gift is being first in line.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>God’s will
is writing a best selling novel. It is being president of a company and leading
it with integrity. It is bringing people their food and tipping out when you go
home at the end of the day.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>God’s will
is celebrating birthdays, anniversaries and graduations. It is mourning the
death of a spouse, child, or friend. It is saying, “Lord, I don’t know how I
can get through this,” and waking up every day to God’s new mercies. It is
realizing that when you weren’t strong enough to hold on to God, He held on to
you.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>God’s will
is being single and childless. It is taking what the world tells you is a
deficiency and watching God turn it into a beautiful story. It is going when
called, witnessing miracle after miracle, and living each day knowing Christ is
enough. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-66223142712888443562017-01-16T13:47:00.000-08:002017-01-19T21:45:57.923-08:00Anatomy of a Kindergarten Music Class<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCTz15V7AquUhztlm3KTGhKknSLmtUwVr6EJhMK1oBmZD2Gqe9NBbxuqKPJDrm4MX59Z7DJd2mrPPjh69eCw6iGjrFHEh8XMkozu9yvD7W3rjr1746tdhItPpjh1a4_-ot2Bz_nyGfgg/s1600/IMG_2405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCTz15V7AquUhztlm3KTGhKknSLmtUwVr6EJhMK1oBmZD2Gqe9NBbxuqKPJDrm4MX59Z7DJd2mrPPjh69eCw6iGjrFHEh8XMkozu9yvD7W3rjr1746tdhItPpjh1a4_-ot2Bz_nyGfgg/s320/IMG_2405.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">My kindergarten music class the first week of school. </span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">What I said: "Listen close because the music is very soft!"</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">What they heard: "Please dog pile by the speaker."</span></i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
I've taught music, mostly private lessons, off and on for my entire adult life.<br />
<br />
This past year I decided to try something new. I took a job teaching music classes at a small elementary school here in Colorado Springs.<br />
<br />
This job has pitched me one of the biggest learning curves I've experienced in a long time. This learning curve happens weekly on Tuesdays at 1:45pm, when sixteen kindergarteners walk, run, bound, roll, pout, hug, twirl, and ninja-chop their way into my classroom.<br />
<br />
In all my years of teaching I've never had a kindergarten class. They're much, much different than older grades. They're fidgety, wiggly and squirrelly. They have the same filters as drunk people. I often feel less like a music teacher and more like a judge that specializes in cases on line cutting. Also, I get end-of-the-day kindergartners, so by the time they come to me they're in dire need of some protein and a nap.<br />
<br />
Let me give you a sample of a typical kindergarten music class:<br />
<br />
<b>1:45--</b>Kindergarteners arrive at the music room. I tell them to line up quietly so they can get the entrance code. (A short rhythm or melody they repeat back to me to gain entrance into the room).<br />
Amy and Mindy completely ignore me and continue talking loudly, Adam does donkey-kick-spins on the hallway floor, and Veronica shouts that Collin cutted in line. Collin claims he didn't cutted in line, he just really wanted to be in that spot. I tell Collin it's not nice to line jump, and instruct him to apologize and go behind Veronica. I ask Adam, who is now punching the wall, to join the line. He complies with a ninja move into the line and accidentally hits Sarah in the arm, who begins to cry. I tell Adam to apologize and put his hands in his pockets, then comfort Sarah and examine her owe-y. It's determined she will live.<br />
<br />
<b>1:47--</b>I try to get everyone's attention by spouting off a "1-2-3 eyes on me!" This has never worked in the history of me using it (which is approximately 100,000 times), but I try again anyway because so many teachers I know swear by it. It doesn't work. Then I sing "class class!" and about 90% of them respond with the appropriate "yes yes!" Close enough. They get their entrance code and are instructed to go into the room and sit in a circle.<br />
<br />
<b>1:48--</b>They begin walking into the room. Sascha, who always comes to class pretending to be a cat, meows at me as she enters. Three of the kids stop to hug me on the way in. Collin offers me a booger, and I tell him to go get a tissue. He departs the line and heads next door to the bathroom.<br />
<br />
<b>1:50--</b>Half of the children sit quietly in a circle as instructed. Adam is swinging across the coat hooks like monkey bars, Annie hides behind the desk, and Amy and Mindy sit off to the side talking. Sascha climbs on a chair and meows loudly. A couple of the boys roughhouse on the other side of the room.<br />
<br />
<b>1:52--</b>I loudly praise the children who are sitting obediently. This gets the attention of the delinquents and they join the rest of the class. As soon as everyone is in the same area they begin rearranging their spots in the circle. Veronica wants to sit by Amy, but Amy wants to sit by Mindy, but Mindy wants to sit by Sascha, but Sascha is between Ben and Liam cleaning her paws. No one wants to sit by Adam because he keeps saying "pooooooop" under his breath. Tucker, Sarah, and Eli all want to sit in my lap and fight to push each other out of the way. (It's the most flattered I feel all week.) Wyatt sits in his spot and loudly says, "teacher look at me! I'm sitting the goodest! Teacher! Aren't I sitting the goodest?"<br />
<br />
I acknowledge that Wyatt is sitting like a champ, as are Jake, Tanya, Liam, Ben and Annie. I tell the rest of the kids that they have until I count down from three to find a spot and be quiet. It's amazing how this works. They all feel the pressure of the countdown. By the time I reach "one," we're in a circle. The first big task of the day has been accomplished.<br />
<br />
<b>1:56--</b>We sing our "rules song" and do a rhythm game. Everything is going smoothly until I realize Collin never came back to the room after going to get a tissue. I panic and tell the kids to sit quietly in their circle while I step outside. I check the hall and the bathroom. No Collin. Uh oh. I go across to the art room to see if he wandered into that class. Nope. On my way back to the music room I spot Collin in the lunchroom, sprawled out under a table eating crumbs off the floor. I instruct him to come along back to class. He puts one more crumb in his mouth and follows.<br />
<br />
<b>2:09--</b>Collin and I go back to the music room. The orderly circle I left has turned into a tiny human dog pile. Collin doesn't miss a beat and hurls himself on the top of his classmates. I'm not sure if this is characteristic of all kindergarten classes, but we tend to have at least one dog-pile per class. I make a mental note to ask their classroom teacher if this is normal behavior for this age.<br />
<br />
<b>2:14--</b>I break up the dog pile and we gather around the keyboard to do the Do-Re-Mi song. Adam and Walt detach from the group and try to scale the radiator. (Our building is more than 50 years old. If the kids don't kill me, the asbestos probably will.) They get a warning and return to the group. We continue learning movements to the Do-Re-Mi song, but I look up to see Adam back on the radiator. I send him to the time-out corner and return to the song.<br />
<br />
<b>2:21--</b>Adam comes out of time out. We're about to move on to a game of Freeze Dance when Eli screams, "Emergency! The shoes on my feet are not mine!" I ask him where his shoes are. Apparently he traded shoes with a first grader during recess. I tell him to stop by the 1st grade classroom after music and trade his shoes back.<br />
<br />
We play Freeze Dance, and then a game I invented called Musical Meerkats. Amy, Veronica, and Mindy get separated for talking. Amy argues that she wasn't talking, only answering, and there's a difference. She throws her two "best friends" under the bus and suggests they get punished instead of her. Mindy and Veronica declare they're no longer her friends and Amy starts pouting.<br />
<br />
I look over to see Adam sitting on the top shelf of the music cabinet. He goes back to the timeout corner.<br />
<br />
<b>2:34--</b>I decide we've had enough games for the day and decide it's time to move on. This week is Beethoven week, and I have a book to read them about the composer. They sit on their lines as I get the book. Ben complains loudly that he can't see the pictures. I assure him it's because I haven't opened the book yet.<br />
<br />
I start by telling them that we were going to learn about Beethoven, who was a famous song writer and musician. Collin immediately interrupts me and informs me that he knows I'm lying, because dogs can't write music. I tell him that the dog in the movie Beethoven is named after the Beethoven we're going to learn about. This answer satisfies him.<br />
<br />
We get about halfway through the book with little drama. Adam gets released from his second timeout. When I get to the part that talks about Beethoven's performance in Germany, Sarah blurts out, "your mom goes to Germany!" I tell her to sit quietly and not to make jokes about other people's moms. Tanya says, "She was talking to me. My mom's in Germany!"<br />
<br />
My bad.<br />
<br />
<b>2:45 </b>We finish the Beethoven book and it's time to line up. I tell them Liam is the line leader. I catch Collin trying to cut in front of Liam to claim the spot as line leader, and I send him to the back of the line. We sing "following the leader" as I escort them to their next teacher. As they exit, they bombard me with hugs, and Veronica tells me she loves me, and they run off to PE.<br />
<br />
As I walk in silence back to my classroom to await the arrival of my 2nd graders, I am exhausted and overstimulated, but for some reason I can't wait until next Tuesday at 1:45 when I get to do it all over again. They may be sticky and crazy and loud, but they have a way of worming their way into your heart.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.kristinweberonline.com/" target="_blank">www.kristinweberonline.com</a><br />
<br />Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-79039787688638014452016-10-09T12:02:00.001-07:002016-10-09T15:01:40.822-07:00"You're drinking water again? You need to live a little."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOZTvFhszEmPOh28q-JRiVoPatC9nclN4C3SwLecwNcKuZjOiLA9Ek8Kk7AfZ6nbEqgdXn2C-MPm_og3A73gEUEP8YrluNegmDLUYd9Sd5ySTKq3cPqkx5xfzKN_QZ_Ho_LVtFgGP4R0/s1600/glasses-ice-water-stock-today-tease-151019_85bd2770d65967aa124b756c6d4efb62.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOZTvFhszEmPOh28q-JRiVoPatC9nclN4C3SwLecwNcKuZjOiLA9Ek8Kk7AfZ6nbEqgdXn2C-MPm_og3A73gEUEP8YrluNegmDLUYd9Sd5ySTKq3cPqkx5xfzKN_QZ_Ho_LVtFgGP4R0/s320/glasses-ice-water-stock-today-tease-151019_85bd2770d65967aa124b756c6d4efb62.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Water is my preferred beverage. With the exception of a cup or two of coffee in the morning, I typically go to water. I like it. It's my favorite. Both my doctor and the Internet say it's good for me.<br />
<br />
I've learned that in social settings, however, consistently requesting water puts a target on your back for comments, questions, and assumptions.<br />
<br />
...why don't you drink?<br />
...are you against alcohol?<br />
...you just need to find a drink that you like.<br />
<br />
And my personal favorite...<br />
<br />
...don't worry, it's safe to drink here. We're not <i>those</i> kind of Christians.<br />
<br />
I don't care what kind of Christians you are, but I do find it a little ironic that you're judging me for assuming that by drinking water I'm judging you. I'm not trying to make a statement. <i>I just prefer water. </i><br />
<br />
I do drink other things besides water, including alcohol, but it's not my norm. I don't care for the texture of carbonated drinks and I find most other beverages too sweet. I've sampled dozens of beers and mixed drinks and have yet to find an alcoholic beverage that I truly enjoy. Furthermore, I have a long list of things to accomplish in life that take priority over "acquiring a taste" for alcohol.<br />
<br />
For a while I'd order a non-water beverage simply so people would leave me alone. I'd sip it slowly, secretly pining for the cool, clear familiarity of water. Recently, though, I decided I was getting too old for that nonsense. If people can't see past my bottle of water, those people probably aren't my friends.<br />
<br />
I finally decided to stand up to the water-bullying when someone told me the following:<br />
<br />
"You're getting water again? You need to live a little."<br />
<br />
Excuse me? I need to <i>live a little? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
You want to play the "live a little" card?<br />
<br />
Fine. Let me give you a little glimpse at my hand.<br />
<br />
<i>I've jumped out of a plane. (WITH a toothless, smelly hippie strapped to my back).</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>I just want water. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>I've gone scuba diving in the ocean. At night. With an Israeli soldier. </i><br />
<br />
<b>A simple water, please. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>I've experienced the rush of wind and adrenaline peeing above tree line while hiking up a 14er. </i><br />
<br />
<b>A flat water, thank you. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>I bartered passage on a supply boat to get to a small island off the coast of Honduras. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Water, no lemon. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>I got parasites eating at a roadside restaurant while in Honduras. </i><br />
<br />
<b>Water, extra lemon. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>I've told jokes in big cities, small towns, prisons, Canada, bowling alleys and taco shops. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>I'll take a water, please.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>I've bombed jokes in front of hundreds of people. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Water takes the edge off life. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>I've killed it telling jokes in front of hundreds of people. </i><br />
<br />
<b>Water can be a celebratory beverage if you make it one. </b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I've made friends with strangers on airplanes, at bus stops, in grocery stores, at comedy clubs, bars, in churches, and on the sides of mountains.</i><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Please just let me have water. </b><br />
<br />
<i>I've failed big, succeeded big, and had my heart broken big. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Yes, I'd like a water. </b><br />
<br />
<i>I've written books, mentored teens, written for popular blogs, deflected trolls, taught countless children how to play musical instruments, and produced music shows and comedy nights.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Show me the water!</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>I've traveled to nine other countries (not including Texas), rafted down rivers, hiked up volcanos, and found amazing hole-in-the-wall diners, pubs, and food trucks. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Agua, por favor.</b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> I've run marathons, completed triathlons, swam in the Mediterranean, eaten an entire pizza by myself in one sitting, and consumed a record number of Chipotle burritos. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>If it's not too much trouble, I'll just have water. </b><br />
<br />
If you drink, I'm not judging you. (Although watching drunk people doesn't necessarily make me regret my decision to stay sober.)<br />
<br />
I won't give you a hard time for drinking a fluorescent blue drink if you won't give me a hard time for drinking something naturally found covering the majority of the earth.<br />
<br />
If you see drinking alcohol as the only way to "live a little," then I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree on what it truly means to live.<br />
<br />
This rant is over. You are free to carry on with your day.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://kristinweberonline.com/" target="_blank">kristinweberonline.com</a>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-60671138021682278792015-12-13T17:10:00.001-08:002015-12-15T08:40:14.595-08:00Hitting Life's Big MilestonesSix months ago I packed up everything I owned and moved to Colorado Springs.<br />
<br />
Since then I've reached several significant milestones.<br />
<br />
First, I've driven in snow. This was my biggest fear moving to a colder climate, but I'm adjusting to not always being entirely in control of my car. Last night we had a snowstorm and this morning I slipped and slid my way to church. While making a turn I skidded slightly and managed to recover without panicking, at which point I yelled "did you see that?!" to my accordion, which was in the passenger's seat. (He's old enough to sit up front now.)<br />
<br />
The key to driving in snow is to go slow. Not only does this prevent accidents, it gives you time to laugh at the sports cars, which aren't nearly as cool when they're fishtailing on a sheet of ice. <br />
<br />
The second milestone is I'm playing accordion in my church's praise and worship team. The stage is a little small so they have me play in a portable building on the other side of the parking lot, but I'm loving it!<br />
<br />
The biggest milestone happened in August, when I purchased my first piece of furniture. This was a bittersweet moment, and one that required a good amount of thought and prayer. I've always been able to fit everything own into my car, and purchasing this furniture piece meant giving up the freedom and independence that comes with not owning large things. Now if I want to move anywhere I'm going to have to bribe a truck owner with pizza to come transport my IKEA bed frame. (Fortunately I can deflate and easily transport the air mattress that I have on the bed frame. Baby steps.)<br />
<br />
Or, I could just cut my losses and buy another $99 bed frame when I make it to my final destination. (This is assuming I'll move again, which right now I have no plans of ever leaving Colorado Springs.)<br />
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<br /></div>
Life in Colorado has been beautiful. This new season has been calm, and I'm grateful. I've spent time sitting with friends over coffee, hiking mountains with my sister, making late-night Wal Mart runs with roommates, reading books, and mentally rejuvenating. I moved here worn out and jobless, and God's provided both rest and work. (Lovely irony.) I don't know what's up next, but I'm trying not to take this peace for granted.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUjHOYjTVdgWZuVj64Kuzyj4YZwvWdL15GISdoUETW9RUiJuFSS1atahnBpT00ypdweqmZmeaTo0TFXAVZ9VLTSqTPQXVz20jllcyKbCP_lL5jHsI5leVj_prBJO9_TsMD9FSxMc6bCI/s1600/IMG_1124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUjHOYjTVdgWZuVj64Kuzyj4YZwvWdL15GISdoUETW9RUiJuFSS1atahnBpT00ypdweqmZmeaTo0TFXAVZ9VLTSqTPQXVz20jllcyKbCP_lL5jHsI5leVj_prBJO9_TsMD9FSxMc6bCI/s320/IMG_1124.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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In a Winter Wonderland.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_PIFe2JCoE4jJ8ARn_G1MsK4Mu5tje1yJwQRzQQT9iemR_ea4R6wA02btCJlBjAytJbFvQLUUDE0e3U7Lk5VgO-odV8LukiPXU5LGVAz7u56ILBVztO477Vmxut8knjLI1RZ7j6YojA/s1600/IMG_1184+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_PIFe2JCoE4jJ8ARn_G1MsK4Mu5tje1yJwQRzQQT9iemR_ea4R6wA02btCJlBjAytJbFvQLUUDE0e3U7Lk5VgO-odV8LukiPXU5LGVAz7u56ILBVztO477Vmxut8knjLI1RZ7j6YojA/s320/IMG_1184+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26136D5eS9X6KIzZyr9TiH36cXfmNB1HNDOL_whnufqXslmhS2D5kV8nsAAQfgmvnvHxWmisDlPLrJbgQmvL1OUInFaSexAaWZKy7fsAklAouPzFcZZ7tvh-DyMfK-NBvFnr5_6Rgzi4/s1600/IMG_1206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj26136D5eS9X6KIzZyr9TiH36cXfmNB1HNDOL_whnufqXslmhS2D5kV8nsAAQfgmvnvHxWmisDlPLrJbgQmvL1OUInFaSexAaWZKy7fsAklAouPzFcZZ7tvh-DyMfK-NBvFnr5_6Rgzi4/s320/IMG_1206.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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My youngest sister Leah at Lake Powell (left) and The Grand Canyon (right): Two of the stops on our Thanksgiving Road Trip Spectacular.</div>
<br />
<br />
Tonight I'll turn in the final draft for my next book, tomorrow I'll play Simon Cowell at callbacks for a show I'm music directing in the new year, and then Tuesday and Wednesday I'll be speaking at a school here in Colorado Springs. Wednesday evening I'll log out of my social media, shut down my computer, put on my sweats, and head out on a "Christmas Family Tour," where I'll visit my parents and siblings in their various states.<br />
<br />
Merry Christmas, friends, and may 2016 bless you in ways you didn't believe possible.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://kristinweberonline.com/">Kristinweberonline.com</a><br />
<br />Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-21854300536897940572015-10-12T19:59:00.001-07:002016-03-05T13:52:21.994-08:00The Man Who Insulted Everyone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kpQNwlsRdBCEL4nR4SAdYBLsg4972QhFfp0SmIv97iwq0yz7rJL_Jc3VomD3_L6qTZNkxBR5y8-vfWT1Gc68Z7o8JUH2GEjxrEIYbzjHwquIeVd76w1V4YX1XPzE7SjCmIThBEx8nUA/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kpQNwlsRdBCEL4nR4SAdYBLsg4972QhFfp0SmIv97iwq0yz7rJL_Jc3VomD3_L6qTZNkxBR5y8-vfWT1Gc68Z7o8JUH2GEjxrEIYbzjHwquIeVd76w1V4YX1XPzE7SjCmIThBEx8nUA/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m used to bizarre conversations. Something about my face
says to strangers: “Please say awkward, weird things to me.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Occasionally those conversations revolve around my
singleness. Most of the time they go something like this: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stranger: “Why are you
still single?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Me: “Probably because
I play the accordion.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stranger: “Well, are
you putting yourself out there and looking?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Me: “Yes, I’m holding
auditions next week.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stranger: “Maybe your
standards are too high.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Me: “Are you saying I
shouldn’t wait for Robert Downey, Jr.?!?!”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stranger: “Well, it’ll
probably happen one day.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Me: “Did I mention I
play the accordion?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
I don’t mind these questions. They’re a little
cliché, but sometimes they pave the way for deeper conversations.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
Every now and then, though, a conversation with a stranger
leaves me speechless. These are the exchanges I blog about.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Recently I spoke at a conference and, while reviewing my notes
in the lounge a few minutes before my talk, a man helping with the
conference came up and sat down near me. He was probably mid-50s and I’d
spoken to him briefly throughout the day. With one short conversation he
managed to insult me, his wife, all women, all men, and the partridge in the
pear tree.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“So, are you in a
relationship?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Not right now.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Yeah—it’s gonna be
hard for you.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
(Point for insulting me.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Guys want a girl
who needs them.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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(I actually do need a guy, if for no other reason than to
get into buildings. I’ve always had a hard time with doors due to undiagnosed
push/pull dyslexia.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I don’t think all
guys want needy girls.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“That’s you as a
girl speaking. Guys need girls to need them.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
(Point for insulting all guys.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Is that how it was
when you married your wife?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Yes, actually.
Still that way.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
(Point for insulting your wife.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Interesting.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Well, you’re a
pretty enough girl. The happiest guys, though, are the ones whose wife stays at
home.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I’m not necessarily
opposed to that.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“It’s one thing if
you’re really bad at your job—then it’s fine to stay at home. The thing is
you’re good at what you do. Problem is no guy’s going to want that.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
(10 points for insulting all women who
choose to stay at home, minus a few points for kind-of-sort-of complimenting me,
10 more points for assuming all guys can’t handle women who do things
successfully.)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“I know a lot of men
with gifted wives, and they live as partners both at home and in their work.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Yeah—well, good
luck with that. Just make sure you’re running with those circles.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
(You mean hang out with people who are the exact opposite
of you? Yeah, I’m on it.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Well, thank you for
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
And thank you for the new material. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
This conversation wins second place, with first place still belonging to <a href="http://kristinweber.blogspot.com/2012/01/theres-man-in-my-pants.html" target="_blank">this awkward singleness conversation. </a></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <a href="http://www.kristinweberonline.com/" target="_blank">www.kristinweberonline.com</a></span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-23912938454382057772015-09-21T17:56:00.001-07:002015-09-21T18:02:54.812-07:00I'm getting a divorce. (And I've never been married!)*<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrOgmdtSZDD8FpPdajt4Ifi6umKc5UakH1TGNCrNNCZoaBNhRMN5Yv2t0OBXGKAfFOSaHTMI6Q4cBJlZdODzjR15xam70tgVL9b_NS0Zkd-ZPpdbvkkbD9-QQCnPA2EANwzvOrKRLH1M/s1600/IMG_0360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrOgmdtSZDD8FpPdajt4Ifi6umKc5UakH1TGNCrNNCZoaBNhRMN5Yv2t0OBXGKAfFOSaHTMI6Q4cBJlZdODzjR15xam70tgVL9b_NS0Zkd-ZPpdbvkkbD9-QQCnPA2EANwzvOrKRLH1M/s320/IMG_0360.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When I had my significant other for lunch. This was 6 months ago. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not a week goes by where I don't get multiple posts, memes, messages, and texts about Chipotle. Anyone who's known me longer than 10 minutes knows I have an unhealthy obsession. My tag line for this blog is even Chipotle related.<br />
<br />
I've eaten Chipotle so much that our relationship probably falls under common law marriage. I was even excited about moving to Colorado Springs because the original Chipotle is in Denver and I could finally visit the burrito bowl Mecca.<br />
<br />
They say confession is good for the soul, and it is with great sadness that I must confess I've been cheating on Chipotle. With Thai food.<br />
<br />
As with most wayward behavior, it began innocently. Shortly after moving in my roommates said, "there's this really good Thai place less than a mile from our house." I'd never eaten Thai food before, and as Colorado Springs is known for its authentic Thai food,** I tried it. It started with Drunken Noodles. Then Massaman Curry. Then Green Curry. And before I knew what was happening it'd been three weeks since I'd eaten, or even thought of, Chipotle. Even more sad? There's a Chipotle less than 5 minutes from my house and I don't even care.<br />
<br />
I've had Chipotle 4 times since moving to Colorado Springs almost three months ago. ONLY FOUR. I feel terrible. (Mentally. Physically I think I'm a little slimmer and I'm pretty sure my blood pressure's gone down a few points.)<br />
<br />
I don't know how long this will go on. All I know is that I think about Green Curry constantly. I've barely thought about Chipotle, except when someone posts to my Facebook wall about it. Even then, those thoughts are guilt ridden, which leads me to the worst part of this whole thing: I've been lying to everyone, pretending things were okay between me and Chipotle. I've continued making jokes about my obsession and letting friends make comments and tease me about our relationship.<br />
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They say relationships have their ups and downs, and maybe Chipotle and I just need a break to sort things out. Maybe we should see a relationship counselor. I don't know. This is unfamiliar territory for me. All I know is that right now I don't want a burrito, and I don't know what to do with that feeling.<br />
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Have you ever experienced anything like this? Is restaurant polygamy a terrible social offense? PLEASE, INTERNET, TELL ME WHAT TO DO!<br />
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*I'm practicing writing headlines for Faithit.<br />
**It's not known for its authentic Thai food.<br />
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<a href="http://www.kristinweberonline.com/" target="_blank">www.kristinweberonline.com</a>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-11621922952409093332015-07-10T10:32:00.002-07:002015-09-30T18:47:28.618-07:00"Hi, my name is High." Part one: Therapy DogWell, it's been a week since I rolled into Colorado. I've been hiking every day, I have a beautiful panoramic view of the mountains from my porch, Monday I start my first piano student, and I'm preparing to teach music at a few schools this fall. I've encountered many pleasant surprises with my transition.<br />
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I've also encountered more high people in one week than in my entire life combined. (And this includes spending a good amount of time in LA comedy clubs.)<br />
<br />
The morning after I moved in my neighbor from across the street came outside while I unloaded my car.<br />
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"Did you meet my dog?" she asked.<br />
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I looked around to see if she was talking to me, since I hadn't ever even met her, much less her dog.<br />
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She walked over and shoved a tiny, shivering dog into my arms.<br />
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"He's my therapy dog. He's helping me with my panic attacks and anxiety," she told me.<br />
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I looked down at the shaking micro-dog in my arms, who was now nervously clawing at my jacket.<br />
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"I think your therapy dog needs a therapy dog," I thought to myself.<br />
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"My last therapy dog got stolen out of my hotel room. I was so traumatized. I moved to Colorado for the medical marijuana."<br />
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I was so confused. Were those two separate thoughts? Did she move because the abduction of her therapy dog distressed her so much she needed powerful opiates to get over it? I don't know. She kept talking while I ran through my mental inventory of responses for high people but I didn't have many because I don't speak Highnese. Fortunately, I didn't have to think of anything because she changed the subject.<br />
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"The doctor prescribed me opiate drops, you know."<br />
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"Nice," I replied, trying to hand her back her dog, which for some inexplicable reason I was still holding.<br />
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"No, <i>not </i>nice!" she exclaimed. She pulled a red bottle out of her purse. "One drop too many and these will <i>kill</i> you!"<br />
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Nothing makes you feel more like an ignorant, over sheltered homeschooler than getting reprimanded by your high neighbor about your lack of opiate knowledge.<br />
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"Wow, that's crazy." I said. "Well, I've got to go finish unloading this stuff from my car. It was nice to meet you and your dog!"<br />
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I gave her back her dog. She cuddled him close.<br />
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"He's my therapy dog. I love him."<br />
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"I know," I said in a Hans-Soloish tone and walked away.<br />
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To be continued, I'm sure...Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-38178121654069817522015-02-08T21:01:00.001-08:002015-02-08T21:26:14.976-08:0050 Shades of Awkward<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Over the past week my Facebook feed has literally exploded with blogs condemning 50 Shades of Grey. The violence degrades women, the poor writing degrades art, it paints an unhealthy picture of romance, encourages fantasizing, and is an all around disturbing trend.<br />
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I'd like to contribute my gripe into the pool: 50 Shades doesn't accurately present one of the most un-talked about aspects of relationships: the awkwardness. Well, I'm guessing it doesn't address it. I haven't actually read the book or seen the movie. Cards on the table? I'm using the 50 Shades outrage/hype to generate more blog traffic. Tacky? Yes. But hopefully the genius kind of tacky.<br />
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With the exception of a few romantic comedies, Hollywood tends to gloss over the fact that dating and romantic relationships are incredibly awkward. I don't know about your life, but I don't have a team of writers making sure every ridiculous thing that comes out of my mouth (and believe me, it's a lot) gets a cute, quirky, heartwarming redemption. Usually it's me trying to back track and a guy stammering and not knowing how to respond.<br />
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I remember as a little girl looking forward to the day when I'd be allowed to date. (Or court/dourt depending on how homeschooled you are.) Actually, now that I think about it, I may still not be allowed to date. Our family never really established any parameters on that. We just avoided the topic. Because it was awkward.<br />
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First, there's the awkwardness of liking someone. Crushes are a horrific curse, and an unrequited crush can kill a piece of your soul from the inside out. You suddenly become hyper aware of everything you do around that person, get teased if anyone finds out, and it puts you in a portion of your head that was never supposed to be accessed. Once while talking to a guy I liked I became very aware of how much I was blinking. Do I normally blink this much? Are my contacts dry? Does he think I'm the worst flirt ever? Should I only wear glasses from now on around potentials? (In general, a good blink algorithm is 1 blink every 5-6 seconds. If your eyes start feeling dry you can increase it to 1 blink every 3-4 seconds.)<br />
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Second, there's the actual dating process. If you're dating someone you don't know well (or at all, i.e. online or blind date), just multiply the awkwardness of a typical date with someone you know by 10,000.<br />
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A good Christian first date should follow these general guidelines:<br />
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<i>Testimonies get shared during appetizers.</i><br />
<i>Spiritual gifts and love languages are discussed over entrees.</i><br />
<i>Intentions and boundaries established over desserts. (No matter how well the date goes if he doesn't pay for it with cash from a Financial Peace envelope, it's over. Standards, ladies.)</i><br />
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Finally, there's the awkwardness of a relationship not working out.<br />
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Before you date it's a good idea to lay ground rules for a break up. A pre-pre-nup, if you will. If you're dating someone at your church, you need to decide which one of you is going to switch churches if it doesn't work out. (Or switch services/sit on the other side of the megaplex if you go to a mega church.) Even if you guys can handle breaking up like responsible adults, people around you will continue bringing it up, digging for detail worms, and asking for your reasons and feelings behind the relationship's demise. I'd rather discuss the branding techniques of microprocessing chips than talk about my breakup feelings with people who only take interest in me when my love life has some drama.<br />
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Still, despite all the awkwardness, people still somehow manage to fall in love and get married. And then the <i>real</i> awkwardness starts.<br />
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Well, as much as I'd love to continue this little rant, I have to run. My mom texted earlier to ask me what 50 Shades of Grey is and I told her it was the sequel to Little House on the Prairie. I should probably call her back and make sure she knows I was joking before she dies of multiple heart attacks.<br />
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<i>Kristin Weber is a writer, music teacher, stand up comic, and boasts an honorary, self-given degree in sarcasm. She's single, lives with her parents, and just recently traded in her flip phone for an iPhone 5c, so obviously she's qualified to comment on all things relationship. You should <a href="http://www.inspirationcruises.com/christian-cruises/2015-comedy-cruise-caribbean" target="_blank">join her this summer for a comedy cruise to the Caribbean</a>. Tim Hawkins is on the roster, which is the real reason you should come. </i></b><br />
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<b><i><a href="http://www.kristinweberonline.com/" target="_blank">www.kristinweberonline.com</a></i></b>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-40324987470444843062014-10-24T18:11:00.000-07:002014-10-27T13:15:58.288-07:00Who wants to be a reality television star?<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It's been a weird week. (More of a weird year, but that's another blog.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Last week I received an email from a TV producer who found some of my writing online and was interested in developing it into a reality television show. I was flattered, as anyone would be when a TV network deems their life worthy of exploitation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My first reaction was "thanks but no thanks," as being in a reality show falls just above getting a root canal on my fun-things-to-do list. But s</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ince it's not every day you get the chance to join the ranks of TV greats like Snookie and Kate Gosselin, I ran the idea past a few people. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They all said the same thing: be careful, but it doesn't hurt to listen and discuss ideas. Plus, this would further my ultimate goal of being on Dancing with the Stars. I'm past the point of being able to participate on the show as a professional ballroom dancer, so I'm gonna have to get famous somehow and be one of the stars. This could be that chance. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I called and I listened to the ideas, and </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm going to try and explain my experience without giving away the show premise. The network, which was at one time known for playing music on television,** wanted to take an "authentic" look into certain aspects of Christian culture. We could use people already in my life, they said, or if the people close to me weren't interested in doing a reality show, they could cast those people. Cause as we know, most authentic relationships begin with a casting call. (I mean, I guess that's essentially what online dating is? A two-way audition? Actually, that sounds like all dating.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I asked a lot of questions, and to the producer's credit, he was very patient with them and answered honestly. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The most eye-opening moment of our conversation, though, was during a follow up phone call. I asked about how much control I'd have over casting, story lines, and final editing. He went through a very long response that essentially said the network retains all control. Then, he confessed he wasn't used to answering these kinds of questions. Usually, he said, people are so eager for their slice of fame they just sign a contract. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It saddens and frustrates me that so many people are willing to exploit their life for the sake of cheap entertainment. Not all reality shows are like that (some portray things honestly and have redeeming elements), but most exploit lifestyles via fabricated drama. Our culture is so obsessed with celebrity that we'll sign up to do anything without considering the consequences. Or maybe we do consider the consequences and don't care. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In this particular case, I think it'd be better to develop a script and do something creative, but that's expensive and takes more effort, and networks have figured out that they don't need to go through that much trouble. People will both participate in and watch the cheap programming. (I'm not guiltless. I'm a Toddlers and Tiaras addict, to the point that I've been invited to visit them on location and watch them film.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I gave it some serious thought. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I ran my pros and cons list past several more people--people who understood the industry, had no stake in the outcome, and who would shoot straight. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the end, I went with my initial instinct and turned it down. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There's a small chance it would've turned out alright.</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I don't know. But </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm a writer. I tell jokes in front of people because it's the only way to see if what I've written is funny. I don't want to be a reality star. (Unless we could call the show "Not Sixteen and Not Pregnant," where we follow the lives of people who, you guessed it, aren't sixteen and aren't pregnant.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I wasn't comfortable having this aspect of my life, and the lives of others close to me, splattered on reality TV. If they wanted to do a show where I "borrow" other people's kids and enter them into pageants, (they'd get to go home if they won, but if they lost they'd be sent to an orphanage in Tibet) I'd be 100% on board with that. We could call it Ultimate Grand Hostage or something equally dark and cheesy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I also offered to help them develop a scripted series on the topic, but whatever the length of a standard long shot is, this is probably a hundred times that distance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, it is with a heavy heart that I say you will not get to see me on a reality show any time soon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I could go on, but I have to stop blogging and go figure out how to make a steak costume for a costume party. A group of us are going as the ingredients of a burrito and are bringing a blanket to wrap around all of us. On second thought...maybe I </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">should</i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> have a camera crew following me around.</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What is your favorite reality show and do you think they exploit the lives of those involved? On what terms would you do a reality show?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">**If your first guess was Country Music Television then we're probably not friends. </span></div>
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Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-83613611158294300842014-08-26T20:06:00.000-07:002014-08-26T20:10:43.682-07:00Budgeting my juror check Dave Ramsey style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Earlier this month I got extorted by my local government into showing up for jury duty. My lack of luck at getting drawn for things finally had a positive side and I didn't get picked for a jury. Today I received this beautiful souvenir in the mail commemorating the time I spent sitting in a room full of people holding my breath. </div>
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Even though $6 is mere pittance in this economy, I decided I should still steward it well. So I ran my good citizen earnings through a Dave Ramsey budget recommendation pie chart. This is how I'll be spending my $6. <br />
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$1.8 will go toward my housing. My parents will really appreciate getting rent from me this month.</div>
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$1.2 will go directly to food. I will enjoy feasting on one child size Chipotle taco. </div>
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$.60 will go toward my car. Pretty sure I can get a couple tablespoons of gas. </div>
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$.60 will go to getting clothes, but if I shop at Goodwill that's an entire outfit. </div>
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$.30 will go to my medical bills. Finally get a bandaid and protect this nasty hangnail from tearing.</div>
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$.18 will go toward insurance. Or in this case, reassuring me that I will never be fully assured of insurance. </div>
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$.06 to further my education. Perhaps I'll buy a Laffy Taffy and study the joke on it. </div>
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$.60 to my credit cards and loans. Sally Mae will be so proud.</div>
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$.18 into my savings account, aka the toilet shaped mug sitting on my desk. </div>
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$.18 will go toward entertainment. I'll probably just get 18 pennies and look for one with my birth year on it. That was fun as a kid. </div>
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$.30 will go to charity. I need to pray about which one I should bless with my abundance.</div>
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The good news is I'm off the hook for jury duty for three more years, and I can go get a Smashburger. (But just the burger. If I want cheese and the other trimmings I gotta wait until I get jury duty again.)</div>
Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-37945815891220585312014-08-08T20:27:00.000-07:002014-08-26T18:32:02.163-07:00Scuba Diving and the Art of Ego Maintenance<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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Humans cannot breathe underwater.<br />
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But humans are not deterred by such physical limitations. We will go to outer space. We will push that oversized bag into the overhead bin to avoid paying $25 extra dollars. And we will find a way to breathe underwater.<br />
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During my junior year of college I took an open water scuba certification class as one of my electives. My chubby, socially awkward self thought it looked adventurous.<br />
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I went to school in Dallas. If you look at a map you'll quickly realize it's not a popular dive destination. We're landlocked with a handful of muddy man-made lakes scattered about. My "adventurous" dive training equated to sitting in at the bottom of the campus pool in full scuba gear and then rushing to logic class dripping wet. Our scuba certification dives were completed in a glorified pond created specifically for diver training. The only marine life were two catfish that swam around us. But if you squinted they kind of looked like small, sad sharks.<br />
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Last year I went diving for the first time in the ocean while on a Caribbean cruise. It was like entering an alternate universe. I don't know why Ariel would ever leave that world to be part of ours. Singing fool. Aside from some buoyancy issues, jelly fish encounters, and the general fear I'd lose my group if I turned around to look at some coral, it was great.<br />
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This year two of my sisters and I decided to take a couple weeks and go to Honduras to further our dive training. Already advanced divers, my sisters went on to complete a rescue diver course, and I went off all by myself to an advanced course.<br />
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Most of our time was spent on Utila, the smallest bay island off the coast of Honduras. Utila is unlike anywhere else in the world. This 7x2.5 mile island marches to a rhythm all its own, and I absolutely loved the culture and vibrancy.<br />
<br />
I met people from at least ten different countries. My dive instructor was from Spain. (I really wanted to ask her or her husband to say "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." But my siblings said that was racist. I don't think it's racist. Incredibly tacky, yes. But not racist.)<br />
I talked with a lady whose great grandmother was one of the original Islanders. She herself grew up there and left only a handful of times.<br />
One of my dive buddies was a former Israeli solder. (My brilliant plan for us in case of a shark attack: I'd distract it with a joke and he could take it out with Krav Maga.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0EFPqNyMiFihavAQ5GDEfMPiXg8GJdJz3ee1bW0l8IN9H7dWK13mLGE9dtQB_-W_Nj5_sI1CXSuN5yACye5SQzijwZzb5RPDqpS-lJOK_uGS8uygFPvU5tUoP4p3jf7AHP_psGQnHjZg/s1600/IMG_2125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0EFPqNyMiFihavAQ5GDEfMPiXg8GJdJz3ee1bW0l8IN9H7dWK13mLGE9dtQB_-W_Nj5_sI1CXSuN5yACye5SQzijwZzb5RPDqpS-lJOK_uGS8uygFPvU5tUoP4p3jf7AHP_psGQnHjZg/s1600/IMG_2125.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate and Leah heading from Utila back to Roatan. We were taller than our plane. I've never been taller than our plane before.</td></tr>
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It had been almost ten full years since I'd had any dive training and I had a lot to learn. I'm naturally gifted at nothing and while I eventually catch on, it just takes me a little longer and makes my pride a little sore. What I lack in natural capability, though, I make up for in resilience and sheer determination.<br />
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(A/N: I'm about to launch into scuba jargon. I will try and explain as I go, but you really should go get scuba certified so you can <i>a)</i> understand the language and<i> b)</i> know what raw happiness feels like.)<br />
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A few things I learned during my advanced course:<br />
<br />
<b><u>Nitrogen narcosis:</u></b> At deeper depths some divers can experience a thing called "nitrogen narcosis," where the nitrogen and pressure give a narcotic/drunken effect. I'm a little slow as it is, so that didn't change much. My nitrogen narcosis manifested in the form of feeling very happy. I could've been dismembered by a shark at 100 feet and felt nothing but joy and exhilaration.<br />
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<b><u>Metric:</u></b> Apparently everywhere except the U.S. adheres to the metric system. Meters, kilometers, centigrade, I had no idea what was happening. My brain hurt from converting constantly. (Okay, fine. It wasn't that bad. I'm just lazy and bad at math.)<br />
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">Night dives: </u> This was by far my toughest dive. I had two diving fears: night dives and diving in enclosed spaces. I was determined to conquer them. My shining moment of the trip came during our pre-dive briefing. Our instructor told us we'd have flashlights. I was nervous and distracted and I <i>meant</i> to ask how big and bright the flashlights would be. What came out was: "will we be able to see with the flashlights<i>?" </i>Everyone at our table just stared, and that's when I coined the term "surface narcosis"--being stupid without the help of anything at all.<br />
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Diving is addicting. Really, really addicting. I can understand why the diving community in North Texas dug a hole specifically for diving. I'm already planning my next trip. I may even take our relationship to the next level and invest in a mask. And perhaps go back and become a rescue diver. And who knows, maybe I'll even become a divemaster one day.<br />
<br />
I'll have to work on my navigational skills, though. Cause right now if I led a dive we'd start in Honduras and end in Thailand.<br />
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<u><i>If you made it this far, please enjoy these pictures:</i></u><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our friend Mika. He let us be part of his pod.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister Kate in her scuba selfie.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Group photo at the "Airport Caves"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look how tan my legs are. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the Roatan reefs from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang<br />
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<a href="http://www.kristinweberonline.com/" target="_blank">www.kristinweberonline.com</a></td></tr>
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Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-47994354525544216932014-06-21T21:41:00.000-07:002014-08-04T20:57:20.371-07:00Tres Decades<br />
<img class="irc_mi" height="360" src="http://export.wienerberger.com/images/db/srref/KORAMIC_30_years_guarantee___1073896830889.jpg" style="margin-top: 17px;" width="358" /><br />
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In just over a month I'll hit 3 decades of life outside my mom's stomach. To commemorate, I'm generously and selflessly giving the world a "what I've learned" blog. No need to thank me. It's for the people.<br />
<br />
So, what I've learned about life so far:<br />
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<i><b><u>Time is the most important currency. (Chipotle a close second.)</u></b></i><br />
I used to try and do everything. Now I'm using words like "prioritize" and "focus." I'm doing less, but spending more time trying to do the things I say "yes" to well. It's weird, but necessary since my aging body needs close to 12 hours of sleep a night. <br />
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<b><i><u>When taking road trips, take time to visit the weird little stops along the way.</u></i></b><br />
I mean, come one. You haven't lived until you've seen the barbed wire exhibit at the Window on the Plains museum in Dumas, Texas.<br />
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<i><b><u>"No regrets" doesn't exist.</u></b></i><br />
No matter what you choose, you <i>will</i> regret things. Making a choice means you're giving up an infinite number of other choices you could've made. We'll always know the hard things in the path we've chosen. We tend to regret the decisions we passed up based on the best case scenario had we gone down that path. Choose to see the fun, random, quirky things that are in the life you're living.<br />
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<i><b><u>Your heart is going to break. Probably multiple times over your lifetime. Pray it heals in a way that is tender, not bitter.</u></b></i><br />
The first time I experienced betrayal was at six when Timmy, my pet turtle, bit a piece of skin off my finger and ate it. And that was just the beginning. Your heart will break, sprain, get stubbed, and shatter at various points throughout your lifetime. As C.S. Lewis says, the only way to keep your heart intact is to avoid all attachment all together.<br />
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In those moments where you're lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if your heart will go on, (Celine reference absolutely intended) and fighting the urge pull a Howard Hughes and permanently hole yourself up in a room and grow out your fingernails, take a deep breath and pray. Pray that God heals your heart in a way that is tender and compassionate, not angry and bitter. It feels like a fight sometimes, but it's a battle worth fighting.<br />
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<i><u><b>Stop worrying about what people are saying and thinking.</b></u></i><br />
Seriously, quit it. They're not living your life. You are.<br />
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Also, if you find the "off" switch for worrying about the opinions of others, please let me know where it's located. I've yet to discover it, so it's mostly just frequetly asking God to help me focus on honoring and glorifying Him.<br />
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<i><u><b>Listen more than you talk. </b></u></i><br />
One of the greatest acts of selflessness is surrendering what you want to say so others can say what's on their heart. People are fascinating. Give 'em a listen.<br />
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<i><b><u>Be quick to apologize and make amends.</u></b></i><br />
My initial reaction when confronted, corrected, or accused is defense--especially when a situation has been misread or misinterpreted. The truth will come out. Sometimes I've knowingly wronged others, sometimes I've unknowingly done it. Both require humility and repentance. It never stops being tough. And scene.<br />
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<i><b><u>Eat healthy and take care of yourself, but don't obsess about it.</u></b></i><br />
If I ate all organic food I'd spend the extra years of my life paying off the credit cards I used to buy my pesticide free food. Make healthy choices within your means. Take care of yourself, don't be lazy about your health, but don't obsess over every molecule you do or don't inhale.<br />
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<i><b><u>Jesus really, truly, is enough.</u></b></i><br />
At the end of my life God's not going to look at my resume, ask whether I "lived the dream," or gauge how fulfilled I felt on earth. He's going to see the blood of Jesus and say "well done, my good and faithful servant." What a relief.<br />
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Let's go, 30s. I'm ready for you.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-21006435259318345732014-06-11T20:42:00.001-07:002014-11-28T21:06:59.845-08:00Please join me in getting this phrase removed from the Christianese dictionary.If you're in the church any length of time you'll begin picking up on a jargon known as "Christianese." We've all seen sketches and blogs addressing this linguistic phenomenon. (The best one I've seen is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Dxo0Yjno3I" target="_blank">Shoot Christians Say</a> by Tripp and Tyler.)<br />
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"Wrecked by grace," "wrestling with," "just trying to seek God's will," and "praying for open doors" are some of the phrases we repeat because we know most Christians will understand what we're saying. Clichés are the fast food of words. We can quickly express what we're trying to express without putting in too much time or effort.<br />
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There's one phrase, however, that I think we need quit cold turkey. It is my personal opinion that the phrase "love on" <i>must</i> be permanently expunged from our Christianese phrase book. Every time I hear it I think to myself in an Inigo Montoya voice, "You keep using that phrase. I do not think it means what you think it means."<br />
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I know what we're trying to say. I <i>know. </i>But it's just a bizarre expression that sounds...not like we want it to sound. I received confirmation of this a couple weeks ago when the following conversation happened during a Bible study I have with 6th graders:<br />
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<b>Me: </b>"Let's stay focused. I have to leave on time today cause I'm watching my friend's daughter and need to make sure she got home from school okay and feed her dinner."<br />
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<b>6th grade girl:</b> "How old is she? Should you have left her by herself?"<br />
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<b>Me: </b>"She's okay alone for a little bit--she's in 7th grade."<br />
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<i>6th grade girl pulls out her phone--which is discouraged during our meeting time. She notices me notice the phone. </i><br />
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<b>6th grade girl: </b>"Sorry--I'm just texting to tell my dad to pick me up a little early cause you have to go home and love on a teenager."<br />
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<b>Me: </b>"Can you maybe reword that text?"<br />
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<b>6th grade girl: </b>"Why? That's what people say."<br />
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<b>Other 6th grade girl: </b>"'Love on' just sounds really...creepy."<br />
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I rest my case.<br />
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<b>I don't want to leave anyone short an expression, so here are some suggested less creepy alternative phrases for "love on":</b><br />
Care for<br />
Help out<br />
Show hospitality to<br />
Exhibit brotherly kindness<br />
Concern thyself with another's well being<br />
Vigilantly include<br />
Affectionately attend to the material needs of<br />
Plant seeds of joy in their soul<br />
Richly supply fellowship to<br />
Tenderly cultivate into biblical community<br />
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Am I the only person who has a pet peeve with this phrase? What other suggestions do you have to replace it?<br />
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<a href="http://www.kristinweberonline.com/" target="_blank">www.kristinweberonline.com</a>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-2021076301837692152014-02-26T23:27:00.000-08:002014-03-03T17:39:01.903-08:00The Bonding Power of Free Food<br />
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There's little in this world that makes you feel more special than receiving free food.<br />
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About five years ago two of my sisters and I took a trip to Europe.<br />
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All three of us on severe budgets, we alternated days of eating. One day we'd eat one "good" meal (meaning, we'd pay more than $5 for it), the next we'd chow down on granola bars or get a McDonald's burger for a pound, if we could find one.<br />
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We traveled to Scotland on a non-eating day.<br />
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We explored London in the morning and caught an afternoon train at King's Cross Station, arriving in Edinburgh around 7:30pm. We dumped our bags at our Travelodge and set out, tired and hungry, in the cold rain (another way to travel cheap is to go when the weather is terrible) to find a place that offered free internet and/or cheap food.<br />
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We passed a little cafe called Chocolate Soup. When the words "chocolate" and "soup" are put together to form the name of a restaurant, you <i>have </i>to go in and at least look.<br />
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It was small inside. I don't recall there even being tables or chairs. Just a wall of piping hot, delicious smelling soups, and a counter filled with sandwiches and some pastries. We looked at the soups and prices. Pretty cheap.<br />
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"Hello ladies," said a black guy from behind the counter in what sounded like a Jamaican accent. "How can I be helping you today?"<br />
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"I'm guessing you're not from Scotland," I said.<br />
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"No, man, Jamaica!"<br />
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Of course. Cause why wouldn't there be a Jamaican dude working at a cafe called Chocolate Soup in Scotland? You go, world. <br />
<br />
He came around from the counter and stood by me as I very Americanly lifted each soup lid to see what was inside. I picked up the smallest cup and got something that looked chowderish.<br />
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We chatted about America, the countries we'd been too, and he made a not very subtle comment about getting lost in my eyes. (Points to the Jamaican for smoothness.)<br />
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As I pulled out my bag to get money, my hands shook. A combination of cold, travel exhaustion, and low blood sugar.<br />
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"Why your hands shaking so bad?" the Jamaican in Scotland asked. Then he grabbed my hands in his. (Awkward. So very, very awkward.)<br />
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"We've been traveling all day and this is a non-eating day!" I said, my skin burning from human touch.<br />
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"That's bad, man!" he said, letting go of my hands.<br />
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Then he went to the deli counter and pulled out a roast beef cream cheese sandwich and handed it to me.<br />
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"For your hands to stop shaking," he said. "For free."<br />
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I was touched. I've never forgotten his kindness. His awkward, smooth, genuine Jamaican-in-Scotland kindness.<br />
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One afternoon, about a year or so after our epic Europe trip, I headed to Chipotle to grab lunch before work. (I still lived in LA at the time.)<br />
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If you've known me for any length of time, you'll know that I'm addicted to Chipotle. I swear they smuggle some of the ingredients over the border.<br />
<br />
As I walked up to Chipotle there was a homeless man (at least I assumed he was homeless) outside asking people going in if they could get him some food.<br />
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People just ignored him or shook their heads, as I'd often done when I passed someone who begged. I got a little sad.<br />
<br />
The "do unto others as you would have them do unto you..." flashed through my memory lobe. (Not sure it's called that.) Because if I were down on my luck and out of money, I'd want someone to get me Chipotle. This guy wasn't asking for money to most certainly use on drugs and alcohol. (Unless you count Chipotle as a drug.) He wanted what deep down every person wants: a burrito.<br />
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"Excuse me," he said as I approached the door. "Could you possibly get me some food?"<br />
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"What do you want?" I asked.<br />
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"Oh, just a bowl. Maybe some steak or chicken?" he said.<br />
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"Do you want to just come in and order it?" I asked before I had time to overthink it. I didn't typically do these sorts of things.<br />
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"Yes! That would be great!"<br />
<br />
He grabbed the door for me and opened it right on my toe, scraping a little bit of the skin. I bit my lip and said thank you, glancing down just in time to watch a little blood trickle onto my flip flop. "This is going well," I thought.<br />
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We stood in line, my toe stinging, and stood awkwardly. The Chipotle line moves really slow sometimes.<br />
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How do you strike up a conversation with a homeless (again, was he even homeless? I still hadn't asked.) person you're standing in line with at your favorite restaurant?<br />
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"So...you're out of work?" Well done, Kristin. Start right off with pouring salt in the wound.<br />
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Fortunately he was neither annoyed nor offended.<br />
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"Yes. Construction. Terrible business right now. They just don't have any work. No one's building in this economy."<br />
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I asked about his family. His boys were both grown, he said. That was that.<br />
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We talked about some other things. The city. Jesus. Show business. I invited him to one of my comedy shows that was close by. He said he'd try and make it.<br />
<br />
He got a bowl with rice, steak, and "three big scoops of sour cream, please."<br />
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I paid for our food, he thanked me, we shook hands.<br />
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I went to my car and watched as he clutched his bag and crossed the street. I stayed there till he was out of sight. I instantly regretted that I hadn't asked if he wanted to sit down and eat inside.<br />
<br />
Because through everything, in my nervousness of stepping out of my comfort zone and trying not to say the "wrong" thing, I forgot to ask him if he was homeless.<br />
<br />
-----<br />
I'm not sure the moral of these stories, except to appreciate free food when you receive it, and to give free food to someone you otherwise wouldn't have anything in common with.<br />
<br />
Because at the end of the day, we all need to eat. Why not make it a little special?Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-42887697606695853902013-11-08T21:03:00.001-08:002013-12-18T00:34:17.098-08:00New Stand Up Video Basically, clean rap is a bunch of angry men talking about their mothers.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/9tRlQkxFAJc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1643233127"><br /></a>
<a href="http://www.kristinweberonline.com/">www.kristinweberonline.com</a><br />
<a href="http://twitter.com/kristinweb" target="_blank">@Kristinweb</a>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-1444400177030167022013-06-12T21:27:00.002-07:002013-06-12T21:46:00.416-07:00Prison Comedy, Take 1<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> God redeems every situation, no
matter how uncomfortable. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This morning I did stand up in front
of a bunch of naked guys in a prison. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You probably need more of the story.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Earlier
this week I was in Nashville for a Christian comedy conference. This morning, before </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">returning home, a bunch of comedians, including myself, joined up with an
organization to go do comedy and ministry for the inmates at a local prison.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After
arriving at the prison and going through the intense security (which was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">still </i>not as bad as TSA), we sat through
a briefing of things to do and not to do. We received a packet of papers and verses, and each got a pen to write down
things related to the ministry materials. We weren’t under <i>any</i> circumstances
allowed to let inmates keep these pens, because they can be used as weapons. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
my team began to go to our wing of the prison, the coordinator said to our leader, “you’re
taking them to the guys in B.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A pit formed in my stomach. I realized I was going to be in front of the male inmates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’d
assumed up to that point that I’d be put in a group performing for female
inmates. But you know what they say about people who assume:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They
end up having naked convicts in their audience. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
performed in the common area of a cellblock. Tables were set up around the
large room, there were showers to the right and left with inmates showering, (they
were blocked with hip-high barriers, but still…), and clear floor-to-ceiling
glass partitions revealing the barracks, where men were sleeping, hanging out,
and getting dressed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Uncomfortable
doesn’t begin to describe what I felt. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Lord,”
I prayed. “I don’t know when you plan on returning, but now is a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really </i>good time for me!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
team leader introduced me and I took the mic. I wasn’t even thinking about
comedy. I was thinking about where I should look. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
didn’t want to look at the showers, so I looked straight back. Nope. People
changing. I focused instead on a few of the inmates sitting at the front tables
who actually looked like they wanted to laugh at comedy. I appreciated these
guys. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
did a really short set and I don’t remember most of it. They laughed some. I
think. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After
the second comedian finished we spread out to talk with the inmates. Being the
only girl in the group I was going to try and sit with one of the men
teammates, but as I tried to non-awkwardly find a place, I saw an inmate waving
me over to a seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Com’ere
homeschool! I got questions for you!” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
prayed quickly for boldness. And I checked to make sure my pen was secure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Two
other guys sat down at the table with us. One wouldn’t make eye contact with me
and the other was an older man who looked kind. I felt oddly
comfortable at the table. I looked around the rest of the room and a man with
hair like the serial killer in Silence of the Lambs gave me a creepy smile and once-over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
decided to stay focused on my table. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
introduced ourselves and I asked them a little bit about their families, how
long they’d been in prison, and other details about their lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> After we finished our introductions, t</span>he
inmate that had waved me over, who I’m going to call Jay, got to business. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
got questions, and I think you’ll know the answers,” Jay said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fire
away,” I said. Probably a poor choice of words, but whatever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
proceeded to ask me a series of questions about apologetics. He wanted to know
how he could tell his inmate friend that Christianity is true. He wanted to
know if men are born wicked, or if society corrupts them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There
was no degrading tone, no hint of wanting to give me a hard time for being a
girl in his territory. This was a man who wanted answers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Those
who know me know there are two subjects I will <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always </i>want to talk about: comedy and apologetics. If you manage to
combine the two into one conversation my head explodes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jay
and I began a deep discussion about grace, apologetics, Jesus as the ultimate
truth, and how we know the gospel is true. As we spoke, the inmates to my right
and left came alive. The man to the left still wouldn’t speak, but he smiled
slightly. The man to my right engaged in the conversation. We went through and
discussed the verses on the sheet the ministry gave me. The man to my right
mentioned wanting to make things right with his family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At
the end of the conversation, Jay looked up at me and said, “I been praying for
answers, and I knew the minute you walked in, Homeschool, that you’d be the one
to give them to me!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
heart about broke. There, in the midst of feeling helpless and scared, God used
me. I had the answers Jay needed because I’d had his same questions as a
sheltered homeschool girl ten years prior. I prayed with them. I prayed that God
would redeem these years and give them a passion to see His kingdom spread. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After
getting their names and ID numbers (my silent friend even spoke up to give me
his!) so the prison chaplain could follow up, I got up to rejoin our team. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right before we left another inmate came up to and asked
how you walk the Christian walk when everyone around are hypocrites.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Like
today,” he said. “My boys say they trying to do right by women. But then you
come in here and they immediately start talking about how they gone mess you
up. And they make me start thinking that way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
was slightly startled by his bluntness, but he said it so honestly and sincerely that I didn’t
feel like it was a threat or a put-down. We talked a little about James 1:23,
where it differentiates between hearers and doers of the word. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then
it was time to go. And I'm not going to lie. I was ready to get out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
walked down the hall trying to process everything. I’m still processing. God used me in an
incredibly uncomfortable situation. But He was there. I had answers and spoke
with a courage I didn’t know I had. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
despite overwhelming odds, I successfully managed to not see too much of the
male anatomy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
never felt like I was going to be harmed or be held at pen-point. A few times I
felt like a piece of raw meat in a lions den, but hey, that also happens when
you ride public transportation or go up at certain comedy rooms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
I contemplated the day, I thought about all the crazy opportunities stand up
has afforded me. When I started stand up I decided to never NOT do anything out
of fear. I can’t help feeling it sometimes, but I try not to let it dictate my
actions. Today was another testament to God working fear out of my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve been up since 3:15am, it’s
been a long day of travel and trying not to see things I don’t want to see. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
will be praying for Jay. I think when I get to heaven I’m going to find out
that he went on to do great things for the Kingdom of God. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if you’re from CCA reading this, thank you
for a wonderful three days! I treasure and value the encouragement,
friendships, advice, and critiques I’ve received from each of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Goodnight.
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-15804817750583777102013-05-18T20:40:00.000-07:002013-05-18T20:57:14.283-07:00Comedy and the art of Fear MaintenanceSomeone after my show today told me they love comedy, but weren't brave enough to try it.<br />
<br />
"Neither am I," I thought.<br />
<br />
I have a myriad of fears related to comedy and writing. They include, but are not limited to, the following:<br />
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<ul>
<li><i>That I don’t have enough talent.</i></li>
<li><i>That I won't be universally loved. </i></li>
<li><i>That I'll be "funny for a girl."</i></li>
<li><i>That the pay off won’t be worth the time and effort I put
in.</i></li>
<li><i>That the constant travel will make me lonely and detached and social
media (which I'm failing at, see my last blog) will become my main outlet to meaningful relationships.</i></li>
<li><i>That people will steal my material.</i></li>
<li><i><i>That I’ll accidentally think of things other people are already doing and it’ll look like I’m the one stealing material. </i></i></li>
<li><i>That the frequency of flying will increase my chances of dying in a plane crash. (Although I hear in the case of most plane crashes the cabin depressurizes and you just fall asleep. In that case, I'd actually achieve two of my life goals: sky diving and dying in my sleep.)</i></li>
<li><i>That I won't be able to think of a perfect punchline. </i></li>
<li><i>That I'll think of the perfect punchline at 3am, convince myself I'll remember it in the morning, go back to sleep, and then wake up having forgotten it.</i></li>
<li><i>That I'll bomb when the guy I like is in the audience.</i></li>
<li><i>That I'll bomb when anyone I know is in the audience.</i></li>
<li><i>That I'll fail entirely. Whatever that even means. </i></li>
</ul>
I've heard people give huge spiels about how they got over their fears and live free of any hesitation or trepidation. (Always remember that as Christians, all our struggles <i>must</i> be past tense. We're not allowed to have any <i>current</i> ones...at least not if we're reading our Bibles and having TWTL on a daily basis. Apparently.) So I must be doing something wrong if I'm still afraid and I'm doing the very thing I'm afraid of. Wait, does that even make sense?<br />
<br />
I continue doing comedy, not because I'm terribly gifted, but because I love it. I love it even when I'm not the one doing it. I love watching comedy, reading comedy, reading about comedy (yes, those are two different things), talking about the philosophy behind comedy, and being around funny people. Writing and performing comedy seemed the logical next step in my obsession with laughter. I'm privileged to get to do it on any level, and still can't believe some of the opportunities I've been given through my "out of control hobby."<br />
<br />
Success looks different for everyone. (And yes, I'm aware that's probably what people say when they're failing.) I figure as long as I'm having fun and people are laughing, I must be succeeding. So, my fears and I will continue on with this incredibly random, sometimes sleep depriving journey. With that, I'm going to bed.<br />
<br />
If you're reading this, it means I mustered up the courage to press the "Publish" button.<br />
<br />
So, am I the only one who struggles with fear in what they're already doing? Bueller? Bueller?Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-36118878883131082592013-05-15T21:32:00.001-07:002013-05-15T21:32:59.287-07:00I'm Flunking Social MediaI've been a little silent on blogs lately, mostly because I've been working on a book that's due at the end of this month. What's that you say? A book?! Yes, I think I can finally announce that I signed a publishing contract with Barbour Publishing. (It feels surreal to even type that.) Anyhow, because of the whole book-publishing process I've been evaluating my social media status, as authors are expected to maintain an "online presence."<br />
<br />
The conclusion? I'm failing.<br />
<br />
There are several reasons for this:<br />
<br />
<i><b>1. I am lazy. (It's okay to confess struggles online, right? People are pretty understanding and supportive when you put anonymity and free speech into their hands? Great.)</b></i><br />
Figuring out each site takes time. And it's time I'd prefer to spend rotting my brai<span style="text-align: center;">n on Hulu or playing outside with my ducks. (Oh, yeah. I had a momentary lapse in will power and got pet ducks. More on that another time.)</span><br />
<br />
I also know that if I <i>did</i> get on all these sites, I'd be hopelessly addicted and waste even more time. So in this case I feel like my tendencies toward laziness and addiction are canceling each other out. It's your classic case of two negatives equaling a positive. I think that's how that math concept worked...<br />
<br />
<i><b>2. I am technologically stupid.</b></i><br />
The only social media outlet I'm decent at navigating is Facebook (@Kristin.weber1) and I recently learned that it's no longer cool cause we're all switching to snappier sites that require even less of an attention span.<br />
<br />
I'm on Twitter (@Kristinweb), but we're not doing so great. I don't know how to add emojis, I <i>just </i>today figured out what a hashtag actually does, and I really want to know how I can get two pictures next to each other so I can participate in things like Transformation Tuesday. (Although mostly I think we're just making up excuses to post pictures of ourselves in ways that don't seem too narcissistic.)<br />
<b><br /></b>
<i><b> 3. I don't have the hardware for it.</b></i><br />
iStill don't have an iPhone, which is part of the problem. Although I did recently upgrade from a flip-phone to a slide-out phone, so when people start getting cell chips implanted in their brains for communication, I'll probably be ready to try an iPhone 3 or something. A random stranger in the airport asked if I was trying to make a statement with my flip phone. The statement is simple: I can't afford it. I gotta keep my debt snowball moving. (Dave Ramsey reference, FTW!) <br />
<br />
I am making <i>some</i> progress. I got iPad recently and with it, Instagram. (@writerkristin, though just as a heads up I've mostly posted an obnoxious amount of pictures of my ducks.) I've really enjoyed seeing the endless stream of selfies, pictures of legs outstretched with a book, and gourmet dinners. Maybe someday someone will invite me over to share one of those meals, but until then, I get to live vicariously and look at their photo while eating a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich for the 15th night in a row.<br />
<br />
I'll make a great old person, but until then, I'll just have to accept that I'm a little behind the times.<br />
<br />
<i>How do you keep up with social media? Do you have any tips for me?</i><br />
<br />
Oh, and here's a picture of Frances the Duck. (Yes, his hair is natural.)<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSwGKSxQtN885bCopTR7-PsWgoIGKmeiYF4tTm5bF7AgFYUH-afWIuVWoYZ9KTH-MWuLdRf0Wli4HMJSvcDRJDZQL9BM0vNC2LTmCw8uGwbEiObaFBA2wkS0CZiDVtFfCdYF38efm2JE/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUSwGKSxQtN885bCopTR7-PsWgoIGKmeiYF4tTm5bF7AgFYUH-afWIuVWoYZ9KTH-MWuLdRf0Wli4HMJSvcDRJDZQL9BM0vNC2LTmCw8uGwbEiObaFBA2wkS0CZiDVtFfCdYF38efm2JE/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.kristinweberonline.com/" target="_blank">kristinweberonline.com</a>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-74116373343158302792013-02-24T18:47:00.002-08:002013-02-24T18:50:52.515-08:00The Truth about Church Youth <i> In Christ alone my worth is found, all other ground is sinking sand. </i><br />
<img height="212" id="irc_mi" src="http://www.earthgauge.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/ocean2.jpg" style="margin-top: 39px;" width="320" /><br />
<br />
I just got back from my church's annual youth retreat, which means I'm spiritually energized, a little mentally and emotionally spent, and in desperate need of a nap and some green vegetables.<br />
<br />
For the past two years I've led a homegroup through my church for a group of girls at a local high school. I started with these girls when they were juniors, and this year I get to watch them graduate and go off to college.<br />
<br />
Recently I read a statistic that 70% of church-going youth will walk away from their faith during their first year of college. Some studies show that number as higher. That means, statistically speaking, only five of the approximately fifteen girls who come each week will still claim to be Christian by this time next year. That number breaks my heart, but it doesn't surprise me.<br />
<br />
I've talked to students who've praised with their hands in the air, followed along in their Bibles, and even dropped a Facebook status here and there about how God is their "main man," but when asked if they know Jesus and are confident in their salvation, respond with a hesitant, "I'm not sure" or "I really just want to experience life before I make that decision." They know how to play the game, not grasping that winning this particular game means losing your soul.<br />
<br />
In the effort to make Christianity "attractive" to teens, churches have left out the most alluring component: Jesus Christ Himself. We've told them things not to do, taught them how to make good choices, and failed to mention that apart from Christ, all of these things are like filthy rags.<br />
<br />
I'm blessed to be at a church who realizes this, and is more interested in discipling students than entertaining them. I love my church for that.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity." 1 Timothy 4:12</i></span></span><br />
<br />
I think we underestimate youth. They are capable of dealing with hard truths way more than we give them credit. For the past few years I've met weekly with one of my teens to simply read and study the Bible. While reading through Romans, we got stuck discussing the difficulty of Romans 9. Go read that chapter for yourself. It's a tough one. After reading and me attempting to explain, she looked me straight in the face and said, "knowing this makes me not want to believe."<br />
<br />
In that moment, I wished we'd picked a different book. We kept reading, praying, and discussing. At the end of Romans (which brought up many more challenging and deep conversations) I asked her if she still believed. She did.<br />
<br />
In fact, I've seen this young lady's faith grow and in turn, she is now discipling younger students. Over the past 18 months we've read at least half a dozen books of the Bible together, and our little group of two has grown and a few other girls join us before school one morning a week to read and discuss the Bible. Getting to witness these girl's growth has truly been one of the most amazing experiences in my life. They still voice doubts and questions, but they love the Lord and with each doubt addressed they grow in faith and knowledge.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"So too at the present time there is a remnant, chosen by grace." Romans 11:5</i></span></span><br />
<br />
Teenagers come to Christ the same way adults do: through the movement of the Holy Spirit and knowing what Jesus did for them on the cross. Teens are saved in small town, no-frills baptist churches. Teens are saved through high-octane youth retreats. Teens are saved sitting next to random strangers on long airplane rides. Grace is the common denominator behind every conversion.<br />
<br />
God doesn't need our laser shows, our trendy music, or hip youth group names. God can, and does, absolutely use those tools. But they are just that: Tools. I do not have the power to change anyone's heart. I can only speak the truth, love and disciple them as best I can, and pray (and sometimes beg) that God will be mighty to save.<br />
<br />
And on that Hope, young and old, we stand. Because all other ground truly is sinking sand.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4464176528011209571.post-4183627980284684922012-08-27T20:55:00.002-07:002012-08-27T21:00:52.915-07:00A Right Brainer's Guide to Organization<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.google.com/search?tbs=sbi:AMhZZiuau8a54_17iRXvFXfNOJi5DnwNnXMJ_1KH64cQqn83e0UI_1dktrmPnz9oSQwzwldw9p8Xkv4-ee77Cb8CrIXc8kJBnLaHCBPSVmPafh5EeJIFUK2UoFmGK39A7VCIq1D3RBwc9QVSTEegZSa9DOs-m4zUuH8CQ6obmYmBC7oKg9-rbXgyg5x419qY3gCFdVbA2J6Jdk-KYwZ0H1EAvhWvLJmJWjuw5WitQF06pG-lJz2YUw8cQmdrnzByIyo-WHh0Kk4Vs9FvK_10UdCN_1Vf_1WaMCYaibNnS6yMY2ceAAGtXjc0-bPcFXrrieb4cTg1zMkDhp9gPB9m84A03B6GTyA9hv2mOUpZ1dZtgsJWaQU7BHR80LBSfRijt3fNBN6aBKXJu67T6nvUBCc6IqHvOT-icySTjWYtVPBclUshNp8caFdkGhbmavtGppR0AKSa1aTvVMIMEOLXLAmMAuTc4EOKquLNmumni4rAa7UURICRFTnXReBp4rrpYbfIlOfBVQafcm4iXkplDwxTcYtBt43Wf7792C0IDpZ3K3pvZv-dgrsXZkESkSSSKubR-bDtPPC5w7SkMipscvXAErs8nhmgz1ICv_1hN3vcKIXqGUSkyWVYX_1Rdlf29XN4arAkLWF0CRxqdNd5LJIe8KFSiT2P9XKniNP1cKTIRF9efeW_1aHyoIUdA8_1e9-Qa9_1jeF1fhHUfleQOKY8tyYfZorPsdfnUilZnmDIM4we0eX-G2ms8hx8XLwFcwvn_1kn1a-p08m11g_1ouUICZxma37utkVPWbfsPWgZ1r77DujmngQs7RNqanvXI-TUWkPltF4ygTJF3Mn3Oqbu4uS405l0GHPNHKBtoSZqeRFArs_1K62pra8s-yaHe1zCtWVSJrRGWp7OFPtFkmHBepjIczDT5woXANMaibOrJTgaazW5ef1NAEcKogsO3YcfxVnOjqUwxX4GpR04gG6JAcHsd4Z1pbvniAetc57vNcrkDze8peZXi2OVC7JYXO1pOfba-f0LcN_1-w0btQFQtJZ2DHWpnnB4ndqmSaRVg357IC43w72LyBs_1IaiJzuVUk1G14qW6VksKFlKzbbXT9FzXKxQylbA1mzZ0Fp2L1w8FsBpdhcE_1ajDpfaTzSvV1yVhnl-ZvS0-qzB0OyjbyzZENkW4mIaTMPvu2kYeJXE0ZbGhFH5IMxarm_17KhIqQLa0UWCtnnMbjhzwnzGfF_18nTNkAGnuFvscDYD-zoZUBB4Q&btnG=Search&hl=en&biw=1158&bih=590#"></a><a href="https://www.google.com/search?hl=en&sa=G&q=left+brain+right+brain&tbm=isch&tbs=simg:CAQSWxpZCxCo1NgEGgIICQwLELCMpwgaMgowCAESCt0G3AbTBtIG3wcaIOlLjWb7lylmiFz09MKJNFjYc7RHC5ummMdlQZd2ZgYaDAsQjq7-CBoKCggIARIEVLwQwQw&ei=3js8UL-uCsyoqQGlhoHoBw&ved=0CCgQwg4&biw=1158&bih=590#"></a><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am 100% right brained. I love bright colors. I hate keeping track of details. In coffee shops I like to sit facing the door so I can see people come and go. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I have to do math my vision gets fuzzy and my blood pressure rises. I get distracted easily. I'm usually reading 7 books at a time. I will probably finish none of them. I work better with noise in the background. One minute I'm e-mailing a music client and the next I'm googling how to raise a peahen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My brain is a pretty fun place, but sometimes it's frustratingly disorganized.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If I saw a doctor I'd probably be diagnosed with some sort of adult ADD. I think that God gave me a very eclectic, creative brain, but the downside is that it's always going, and rarely stays focused on one thing. Rather than medicate I've decided to recognize the pitfalls and instill some discipline. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here are a few things I do to maintain some semblance of organization and sanity. Some may be obvious, but hopefully they can help my fellow right-brainers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>1.</b> Keep a small notebook and pen handy at all times. Jot down things as you think of them, because despite how important or great an idea it is, you won't remember it later. As a bonus, it makes you feel like Steve from Blues Clues.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>2.</b> Have a morning routine, even if it's just one or two steps. I try to make my bed and drink some water. (Cause making the bed can be dehydrating...plus the Internet told me drinking a glass of water in the morning helps my internal organs function optimally.) </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>3.</b> Make to-do lists. Before I go to bed I "draft" my next day. I'll put a "morning," "afternoon" and "evening" block and write generally what needs to get done in those times. If I have cookies on hand, I'll eat one. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>4.</b> Keep up with general good health habits. Exercise, take vitamins, limit coffee, sugar, etc. I do terrible with this 50% of the time, but when I stay on top of basic health habits, I focus better.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>5.</b> Create an organization system that works for you so you don't end up on hoarders. I don't know how to organize...so I keep designated "piles" for things: comedy material pile, important document pile, music pile, etc. I don't have a filing cabinet, color coded or alphabetized system. If someone starts an organization system for me, I can keep it up, but I'm lousy at coming up with them. (hint, hint) </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>6. </b>Write down everything important in one place. I keep a paper calendar (not an electronic one) with writing deadlines, appointments, and comedy show info w/ all flight/hotel information written on it. Otherwise I will lose everything. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>7.</b> When all six of the cup holders in your car have old drinks in them, clean it out. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>8. </b>Accept that your life will always be a little cluttered. It's a small sacrifice for the fun and spontaneity that saturates a right-brainer's life. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Are you a right brainer? How do you keep organized?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> <a href="http://www.funnykristin.com/media/media-html.html" target="_blank">www.funnykristin.com</a></span>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05197968878175141109noreply@blogger.com3