Go Pluck Yourself!

I've often asked my friends if truly odd things happen to me or if it's just my impression of the world that makes everything seem so odd. Most of them say it's just me and my view.

I'm not sure I agree.

Because seriously weird shit happens to me. Routinely. 

I don't consider myself a runner.  But, staggerer doesn't sound that great... I don't love running. I don't hate it either. What I do love is alone time. With music. That I like. This morning there was a break in the weather. Almost 50 degrees, no rain. I'm headed out.

Gear on, headphones in, Nike running app started.

Stretch in the driveway, head up Cedar St. 

Nike voice says, "beginning workout". "Running with the Devil" by Van Halen starts. Oh yeah. 

What the Hell? Coming toward me like a little gang - three chickens and a turkey. 

Run! Run for freedom!

First thought. Run little guys! Run for freedom! Five days to Thanksgiving and they've escaped. I'd like to think they tunneled out using some truly complicated plan while whistling the theme from 'The Great Escape'. But, really, I don't want them to get run over. After an awesome escape it would be a big bummer to get flattened by a car.

I put my hands out and got in my 'get the calves in the pen' stance.

Pausing work out.

The turkey comes toward me.

Come on guys, get out of the street. 

The chickens started first. Moving faster than you'd expect.

Hey man, be cool. 

The turkey charged and grabbed my shoelace. Okay, this is funny. 

Dude, I'm a vegetarian. Be cool, man.

I juked to the side to get away.

Resuming workout. 

This turkey is crazy. He opens his wings a bit and speeds up as I back away.

Hey man, where do you live? Come on, I'll help you.

He lunged again. This time at my knee cap. It's not that it's painful, but it's not pleasant either. I'm more worried that he'll damage my running tights. Nike, of course.

Pausing workout.

Listen asshole. I'm trying to help you. (Oh my God. I just called a turkey an asshole. On Cedar Street.)

He continues to peck at my knees. I pushed him back. And that's when he went for my hand. Chomping and trying to shake it - like a dog. The chickens are now wound up and running in circles, loudly cheering on their turkey friend, who I've now determined is some sort of 'roided up Foster Farms escapee.

Forget it man. I turn and leave them on their own. 

Resuming workout.

Come at me! This time I have a car!

Halfway down the block I turn and look back. They are right behind me. Barely off my ankles. They're lucky that I'm more Aileen Henley than Dorothy Henley. Dorothy would have rung some necks and planned a delicious meal. 

Hours after my run, shower and lunch they're still roaming around about a block away. He's tasted how delicious a vegetarian is and wants more.

I'm pretty sure.

Adventures with Hillary

This adventure started off like so many others...

With a text from Michelle.

Her: Hillary Clinton is in town on Wednesday.

Me: Details. I need details!

Her: U of W bookstore. I'll call and find out more.

Me: I'm in. Just figure it out. I'm in.

Now, here's the thing. I don't write political blogs. Oh, I have opinions. Lots of them. But, it just seems like a rats nest. And a way for a lot of people that I am related to to like me even less. Let's just say, when it comes to politics, this apple fell FAR from the tree(s).

But, to meet and shake hands and get an autographed book from a woman who could be the next president. Seriously? I'm in. And I'm gonna tell everyone.

We made plans. I'd leave the office a little early on Tuesday. Go to Michelle's house in Olympia, we'll hang out and then head out to the bookstore late at night or early in the morning. We had to be in line and wrist banded and security checked.

Well, most of those things happened in that order...

Solid night. Lost track of time.

Turns out that Olympia is like the Bermuda Triangle - I had no idea! I did go to her house. I did even sleep there. For a couple hours. And, I did wake up so hung over I thought I was going to die. Or maybe wishing. I can tell you waking up even slightly hung over underneath a skylight is a very unpleasant experience.

I think our plan was to go out for a couple hours.

I forgot the plan right around the 5th G & T. But, who's counting?

Interviewed while hungover - winning!

We made it out of the house blurry eyed but awake. The line wasn't too long - yet. Made the coffee run. It was Seattle, after all. And then. Well, then, we waited. And waited. And waited. We did get interviewed by the Seattle-Times - where I gave a very funny line about Bill Clinton needing hobbies once Hillary is in office. Because, seriously, I love him but he needs to be kept busy. It didn't translate well into print. Without tone and inflection, I'm not that funny.

At 9AM the line started to move. Slowly. It snaked through the bookstore. We were wrist banded and charged for the book. Which is genius, pretty much guarantees you'll return to get it and holds you to only one book.

We returned to Oly and napped, showered and got ready and then returned. Most people had just stayed there and thus had a pretty good position in line. We did not.

Instructions were given. Summed up to this: Keep the line moving, if someone tells you to do something, do it. And, no matter what, don't touch her.

Photos weren't allowed within three feet. Bummer because I was going to selfie the shit out of that deal. It's all good though, I'll do the walking away selfie with her in the background.

The tiny bit of turquoise back there? Hillary!

We started the security process. Started with friendly guys in khakis and polos. But, at the top of the stairs there was a line of what looked like former NFLers in suits. They were not friendly and they did not smile. At all.

We got a little freaked out when they took a guy down. Okay, we can handle this, we just do what they say.

At the top of the rope line people started taking pictures. The line was moving fast. People were violating the rules. And getting yelled at by large men in suits and guns. Do what they say! Please!? Crazy lady! They're going to take you down! Honestly, some of the people were so annoying that I would have been fine had the been taken down. But it would have probably slowed the line down. Ain't nobody got time for that.

In the end, we got our books signed. I did get that hand shake in - double handed - Bill Clinton style.


An awesome selfie with a future president? That didn't go so well. But, we can laugh about it now. Maybe.

I'll do the Matt selfie. With Hillary in the background. Shit.

20 Years, really?

Oh, good Lord. It's been twenty years. A little over, actually. We've been out of high school since June 10th, 1994.

A lot has changed. And, then again, not that much.

The class of ’94 was pretty cool. Still pretty cool. I moved there in ‘87. In 6th grade. I didn’t have the advantage of hanging out with the same kids from kindergarten that some of the others had. I went to Gubser – Whiteaker – McNary. Like a huge percentage of kids from Keizer. Education, decent. Neighborhood, good. Nothing more to report there.

I had the pretty regular old high school experience. Decent grades most of the time. Good grades when I put out effort. Played sports. Volunteered. Went to dances. Got my heart broken. The teenage angst. All the things.

I’ve got some good friends from then that I still have today. I take it as a compliment that they tell me that I act the same. It’s really a compliment when they say I look the same! I’d say I look and feel my age but I don’t really know what ‘my age’ feels or looks like. I don’t ‘feel’ any different than I did when I was 18. I just move slower. And everything hurts more.

When news that the reunion was being planned came out, I got a little excited and a little nervous. 

To prepare for the actual event, I hit the hairdresser a few days in advance and dug my letterman jacket out of the closet. Now, as I’ve said, I don’t really look or feel ‘my age’. But, that’s only really because I spend a fair amount of money having my hair colored. It’s white. Literally. Honestly. I don’t even really remember its original color. It betrayed me in my early twenties.

But, what can you do?

I can tell you what I can’t do – I can’t run around town with old lady hair.

I’d love to write some hilarious blog about the reunion. It was fun. I laughed a lot, caught up with some friends. Really enjoyed myself. I may write about it another time.

But, what’s really coming to me is what I’ve learned since 1994. And, in my advanced age, it’s my responsibility to share my 'wisdom'.

So, here goes - 20 things I’ve learned in 20 years.

1. At least half of what you’re learning in high school is useless fluff. Maybe even more than half. Just listen and turn in the work. It’s your job for right now.

2. Odds are, you won’t use physics or algebra in your day to day. I work with a lot of engineers. Really, really smart people. They aren’t using it either. (When in doubt, see #1)

3. You will use English, Speech and Econ. Pay attention in those classes. Really. Pay. Attention.

The following are not words: afterwards, backwards, towards.

NOT WORDS.

The correct words are: afterward, backward, toward. Thank you Mrs. Buchanan.

And, yes, users of the incorrect words – I am judging you.

4. Chances are that you're going to get dumped. You'll survive. And be the better for it. Sounds stupid and cheesy but it's true.

5. Just be. Spend time alone. To paraphrase Deepak Chopra, the truth is in the silence. 

6. You can get pretty far in life by just showing up. On time. Work. Appointments. Dates. Just be on time. Call if you’ll be late.

7. Don’t do stupid stuff. Pretty simple. It might seem like a good idea to pull a Chinese Fire Drill in front of Roth’s in your Dairy Queen uniform – but don’t. You may be hit by an automobile. It will be painful. Same goes for pretty much any idiot move. Just don’t do it.

8. People are important. Be kind.

9. Real true hard work pays off. It does.

10. Be friendly. Introduce yourself to people. Networking matters. The world is small. And getting smaller.  A good connection or two can get you places.

11. Worry less. Worrying about something doesn’t change the outcome. It just makes you miserable during the process.

12. At certain times in your life, nothing will be as important as your credit score. Don’t squander it.

13. Tell people you love them. You might suck at it. You might have to look at the floor. But, do it and mean it. I haven’t mastered this one. Yet. But, I'm trying.

I don't know that I'd listen to any advice from this kid.

14. There is a big difference between confidence and cockiness. Figure it out as soon as you can.

15. Be the hero. Sometimes you have to speak up.

16. Your parents aren’t total idiots. Trust me. One day they'll be the first call you want to make. And someday they might be the first call you have to make.

17. The internet is forever. Forever. Don’t post things to any site, any where that may some day embarrass you or the other folks in the picture.

18. Have fun. Giggle. Laugh so hard you pee a little. Streak the capital. All worth it. (I have photographic evidence. See #17)

19. Move. Stay active. It's a lot easier to stay in shape than get back into shape.

20. I've got nothing. I was kind of a slacker in high school.

The Divine Miss M, First Grader

Well, here we are. Five weeks into first grade.

The girl loves school. She loves reading and music and math and writing and art and lunch and recess and PE and EVERYTHING.

She's already been sick with a cold and had to miss a day - which she referred to as a 'tragedy'.

I've been walking her in in the mornings. Despite her quick wit and excellent vocabulary that poor girl can't navigate a two hallway one story building to save her little life. She can find Russia and Japan on a map but find her classroom in the morning? No way.

The weather has been so lovely so far this school year. A little fall chill in the air and with a sunny day after. The doors have been propped open in the morning. I assume to get some fresh air in and clear out the smell of little beasts. Oh, it should be noted that at 39 pounds, the doors on the front of the school are heavier than she is and if they're closed, there is essentially no way she could open them alone.

When we walk in, we hold hands in the parking lot and then once in the building I try to stay behind her while she, by herself, navigates herself to the before school program without help. She's getting better. She can make it in, turn right and then left.

So, now with the weather still so nice and the doors open, I've started asking her if she'd just like to walk herself in. She can get into the building and make it to the room.



Her response has been, 'no' so far. And then, this morning, I had a terrible thought.



One of these mornings, she's going to say yes.

Tattoos and Self Adoration

Time for a blog rename! It's been time - for a long time. I never really intended on the 'Staci's Random Rants' name. Ever. But, when it came to starting a blog, I couldn't think of anything. Anything at all. I tend to rant. A lot. But, it turns out that when I sit down to write, I don't rant. Oh, some posts are angry. And, some are sappy. And, yet some, I hope, are funny. My favorite posts are written quickly. Post Bourbon. I'll never tell.

But, until today, I still hadn't been able to think of a new name. I had sort of given up. But then...



In a conversation today, my friend, Tracey, described the 21st century as 'tattoos and self adoration' -  in response to my NEED of the new iPhone. It has a better front facing camera for selfies.

Awesome selfie. Bad t-shirt choice for visiting Denver.

Here's the thing about selfies... I've been taking them forever. I was awesome at it with a camera. Real one. You know, the kind that use film? And, I was pretty good at it when phones just had one camera. But, it was like they were speaking directly to me when they added the front facing camera a few years ago. They said something about video conferencing in the sales pitch - but, we all know they're for selfies.

Because, me.

I wouldn't say I'm a total narcissist. In fact, I think that word gets thrown around a little too much. It's losing its true meaning. Like literally. Literally. But, I'm a medium narcissist, if there is a measurement. So, yes, I'm a fan of myself. I adore myself. I'm adorable for crying out loud! And, if you don't agree, it's just because you don't know me well enough. Or, I don't like you. I'll never tell.

Then on to the tattoo front. Well, there is an awesome story there. Stars the same good friend. Plus my other favorite cast of characters. But, that's for another post.

Anchor on the achilles. Ouch.

Once you get one, you can't stop. It's something in the ink.

So, I'll keep on adoring myself and getting inked.

(Did you hear that? It was my mother screaming.)

And, I'll try to write an occasional post under the new blog name. Most likely staring me.

Title IX

I'm a post Title IX kid. Thankfully. Quite honestly, I love sport. Playing. I prefer watching in person over television but would rather be playing than watching - any day. I was lucky that I had a mom who wanted to play sports but couldn't (pre-title IX) and as a result signed me up for everything. Soccer, basketball, softball, swimming and track. There's a year of dance in there too but I can't even write about that… Yet.

It's been over 40 years since Title IX became a law. Signed in by Richard Nixon. (That makes me giggle just a little bit…)

You'd think we'd be past all the sexism in sports and all the rest but we aren't. How is it that we're in the 'modern world' and yet when I run through town I get honked, whistled and yelled at. Some teenagers recently yelled out, 'NICE ASS!' as they passed me in a car.

My thoughts on that - A) I don't have an 'ass'. My back goes right into my legs. It's a miracle I can even sit. B) If these teenage boys think I do in fact have a nice ass, the quality of the porn they are accessing is poor. Very, very poor. Do they not know how to use the internet? C) Do they think that this is flattering? Or are they just little assholes?

I mean, really, is this where we are in 2014?

More girls are playing sports than ever before. When I was a kid I was the only girl on the co-ed team. I'm pretty sure I was the only girl in the league. I love seeing all the little kids signed up for U6 soccer now - it's almost even between boys and girls at that age - quite different than the 80's - in North Idaho at least.

Girls who play sports get better grades, are less likely to become a teen parent and have a lower chance of getting cancer. Not to mention the health benefits of just getting out and playing. Plus teamwork, camaraderie and all that goes with it.

So with all this data, with more financial equality in sports than ever before, with more girls getting out on the court, pitch, track and field…

Well, just imagine my surprise when I read a recent soccer scholarship request.

Most scholarship requests are filled out by parents. Due to a layoff or other family hardship they request a discount. In return, we ask for volunteer hours. Painting lines on fields, sorting forms, delivering registration forms to schools, etc. This particular form was filled out by what was clearly a teenage girl. Bubble printed letters.

I asked the usual questions to the other board members at the meeting - does the family have an outstanding balance, how many years have they played for us, how many family members are in our club?

My friend and fellow board member shifted in her seat.

"They've played with us for years. The balance on the other kids in the family is paid in full."

"Okay. What's the situation now?"

"The dad thinks that this is too much to pay. For a girl."

We all exchanged looks. And then the rage came.

Now, this wouldn't be the first board meeting that has had me me in a twist or the first (and certainly won't be the last) where I haven't been able to contain the profanity. Sometimes it just comes out. I'll spare you all (mostly my mom) the actual transcript of what I said. Rest assured that my favorite word was used. Repeatedly.

But, really? Seriously? 42 years after Title IX? 58% of medals in the last Olympics to female athletes?

There will always be jerks in the world. No amount of anything will stop that.

So, all we can do is get out there and play.

Dear Madison

Dear Madi, Madison Aileen, MadiBig, Little Miss ~

It's sneaking up on us, Little Miss. The first day of first grade. Supplies are purchased and organized. 'Perfect' first day school dress is ready to go. We will get up and make pancakes and take your picture on the front porch - posed with your book bag. You will have a big smile. You won't be nervous. School is your thing. You, my little girl, are wicked smart. And confident. And Every Thing. 

You make this former first grader very proud.

First grade was my favorite. Mrs. Evans. She looked like one of Charlie's Angels. She did the single most important thing in my life - she taught me how to read. When I was a kid, the first word we learned to read was 'Look!'. There weren't a million learning shows, my parents didn't have a computer with access to learn-to-read websites. It was Mrs. Evans. You will enter first grade with a big advantage. 

I laugh every time you read a couple dozen words, don't know one and flip out that you 'don't know how to read!' I try to patiently explain that you read 25 words before you found one that you didn't know. But, I don't really do 'patient' and neither do you. We'll get through this reading thing. I promise.

You need to do me a favor though MadiBig - you need to keep your head up. Take it from me, Dick and Jane and Mrs. Evans - Look. Look around. Be curious. Keep your silly sense of humor. Ignore me any time I tell you 'not to be silly'. At some point I'll probably tell you to 'act your age' too. I'm sorry. Oh God, am I sorry - in advance. I will do my best to support your growth and your childhood. You have to do your best not to grow up too fast.

When the doctor said, "It's a girl!" I couldn't have been more surprised. I expected two boys. Figured it would be easier. Girls. Girls are tricky business. And, it's not that you're a girl. It's that you're a girl. You're the damnedest thing I've ever seen - running around in your soccer uniform plus tutu.

You're yourself. And, I love that. And, I love you.

Love, 

Mom