How I Became a One Direction Fan

No one who knows me will really be surprised by this turn of events.  In fact, they'll probably wonder why it's taken me so long to get to this point.  In hindsight, it does seem like it was inevitable.  I have a weakness for boy bands/girl groups as well as for British singers.  (Hence, I also have become a Little Mix fan.)

When 1D first became popular, I was dismissive.  At that point, they were still teens and singing extremely thought-provoking lyrics such as, "the way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed."  I mean, how many guys was I overwhelming on a daily basis with my hair flipping?  Who knew my hair had such power?  Don't get me wrong, I can handle cheesy, but this went too far.

I also resented the fact that they didn't dance.  Did they not know that if you wanted to be the member of a boy band that you needed to do some choreographed dance moves?  My first boy band love, NSYNC, understood this very well.  Their dancing was always on point and sometimes they even wore matching outfits.  I think 1D has probably been wise to stay away from overalls, but hey, look at how much group unity is conveyed in this photograph.

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And ultimately, I just wasn't that into a lot of their singles.  I'll admit, "Best Song Ever" and "Kiss You" are extremely catchy.  However, some of their other big hits ("Night Changes," "Story of My Life," "Little Things") didn't really appeal to me. 

Several years passed and the inconceivable happened: Zayn left the band.  While I love his ex-fiancée Perrie, I was never a huge fan of him personally.  I didn't know too much about him but it seemed like he was involved in a fair number of Twitter feuds which didn't appeal to me.  I wondered if the world's biggest boy band could withstand his departure.  But then a couple of months ago, they released their first single and video without him.  And it was pure pop perfection:

This song is so good that I can no longer deny 1D's appeal.  I totally get it, pre-teen girls of the world; I'm sorry it took me so long.  I can only hope that the rest of their upcoming album will be half as amazing as this song.  And I'll admit, now that I've fallen down this rabbit hole, I've found some other songs from their previous albums that I'm fond of: "Where Do Broken Hearts Go," "Happily," "Strong," "Fireproof," "No Control."

Some may look down on my newfound fandom.  That's fine because "nobody can drag me down (nobody, nobody)."

5 Songs You Need To Hear (Dad music edition)

My dad isn't really what you'd call "flexible" when it comes to his taste in music. I've tried to get him to branch out, many times, to no avail. He's just stuck in the 60s/70s. Ultimately, I've learned to look on his inflexibility with good humor; a necessary thing when he makes horrible faces whenever you're riding in a car and decide to play some of your tunes. Mostly, I just give in and create playlists that both of us like. The good thing is, a lot of this music is new to my generation, so finding good 60s/70s/80s songs is kind of like going to a museum and finding out that people actually wore some cool clothes in 1925. Who knew?

So, in honor of my dad's birthday today, here are some oldies but goodies, lesser known to the Millennials of the world but well-known to the Boomers. This one is for you, you old coot.

#1
Snoopy's Christmas

The Royal Guardsmen 

I think my dad got a kick out of introducing The Royal Guardsmen to my brother and I when we were kids. I mean, we didn't live under a rock; we knew who Snoopy was, and like 80% of their music is about Snoopy. Before you listen to this one, you might want to hope over to YouTube and listen to "Snoopy vs. The Red Baron" first, just to give you some context. My father loves songs that tell stories, and these songs definitely qualify. I chose to list Snoopy's Christmas over Snoopy vs. The Red Baron simply because it was my favorite Royal Guardsmen song. Something about those bells.

#2
I won't Last a Day Without You

Carpenters 

I'm not kidding when I tell you that my parents owned the complete Carpenters collection (2 CDs), and I eventually absconded with it and listened to it on repeat. I think it might be my dad's lifelong dream for me to sing their songs in public. Like with a microphone and an audience. Not sure if that's ever going to happen, but I admit that I DO love their music. Her voice is just so soothing.

#3
Timberline

Timberline

This one is a bit obscure. This band was more of a localized music sensation, I think, because as far as I can tell, there isn't any video or recording anywhere of the original version of this song, except the snippet I've posted below. In any case, when I was a kid, we would go on trips as a family and (not even joking) would sing along to it in the car as a family. Before you go judging us, I should tell you that we also played trivia games and listened to books on tape...wait. That doesn't make us sound any less geeky, does it? You know what, I DON'T CARE. Take your judgement elsewhere. But first, listen to this song.

Click Here for a snippet 

#4
I'm Into Something Good

Herman's Hermits

Herman's Hermits was another of those random bands to which my brother and I were introduced as children. And, like the Royal Guardsmen and Timberline, we DEFINITELY rocked out to this stuff. HARD. Even more so than the others, I think. I mean, who can listen to any of the Hermits' music and be like, "I have no desire to bob my head up and down?" No one. That's who.

 #5
Leader of the Band

Dan Fogelberg

Oh, Dan Fogelberg. What a chill voice. What a storyteller. My dad isn't a crier, but if he was, I think this song would make him weepy. I mean, I can't even listen to the song without crying. So touching. Feel free to ugly cry if you have a father and/or a soul.

I keep thinking about all of this music, and all that is happening is I'm coming up with more ideas for more dad versions of this series. Maybe I'll have him pick 5 songs of his own and post it sometime. I'm sure he'd really dig that (Notice my use of old person slang there).

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TUMNUS!

Not Everything is a Chalkboard...and that's okay.

I'll be the first person to tell you that I LOVE Pinterest. I spend all kinds of time pinning pins, some of which I'll use, but most of which will ultimately be relegated to that vague place in my memory where ideas go to fester and die.

But even if I DID accomplish half the things on my Pinterest list, there are still some lines I just absolutely refuse to cross. One of those things involves the chalkboardization of everyday objects. Wine glasses. Crockpots. Book covers. Storage containers. Globes. Trash cans. Mason jars. Recycled bottles. I've seen about half a million chalkboard projects on that site and I'm sorry, but I have to say this (you people need to hear it): NOT EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE MADE INTO A CHALKBOARD.

First of all, chalkboards imply temporary labeling. In this day and age, we have all kinds of permanent ink, so don't try to tell me that that storage container labeled "Christmas Lights" simply MUST be done with a tiny wooden chalkboard (probably hanging from the handle by sisal twine). Use a damn sharpie. You're never going to put anything but Christmas lights into that box and you know it. The words will probably just get wiped off in the closet anyway and then where will you be? You'll be looking into the container to see what's in it anyway, in which case, the LABEL WAS POINTLESS.

Second of all, chalk handwriting really only looks good when someone freakishly artistic does it. It definitely took said person about an hour to complete a seven word saying on that mirror-cum-chalkboard, because they made sure the lines were parallel and they sharpened their damn chalk. Before embarking on a chalk project, you need to be honest with yourself about whether or not YOU are this kind of person. If you are, that is wonderful. I'm so happy for you. If--like the other 99% of the world, you are NOT that person, it's time to acknowledge that dipping/painting every random item you own in chalkboard paint is just an excuse to put your mediocre-to-terrible handwriting on display, 24/7. Half the time, it's probably not even legible. Especially on the wine glasses, because you know you didn't write "Amy" on that sucker when you were sober.

And while we're on the subject, who the heck wants to drink wine while having to worry that their name will wipe off and then Jeff will drink their wine accidentally when they're not looking? Not Amy, that's for sure. To be fair, chalkboard paint varies in its ability to hold chalk. Sometimes it wipes right off, and yet other times it stays there. Forever. BUT THIS NEGATES THE TEMPORARY NATURE OF THE PROJECT IN THE FIRST PLACE.If the chalk was just going to stick for eternity to the surface of the crockpot, why not just give up the ghost and write "Hawaiian Meatballs" on the outside in sharpie? SAME EFFECT.

Oh, and let's not forget the fact that the act of writing on a chalkboard is nausea-inducing. You know the expression "like nails on a chalkboard?" I think it should probably have been "like chalk on a chalkboard." And who wants to spend the next four hours trying to overcome a bout of nausea, just so they can write a cutesy quote on an old globe? That's a sort of dedication I just don't have.

Now that I've taken your dreams behind the woodshed and shot them, allow me a moment of generosity. You can make SOME things into chalkboards. Preferably flat surfaces that can be used as...chalkboards. I get the idea of chalkboard walls for kids to draw on. I understand chalkboards on cabinets for lists. Heck, I have two rolls of chalkboard vinyl just sitting upstairs waiting to be used for that purpose. I should also tell you that I recently revamped a mirror into a chalkboard. It's delightful. And I freely admit my own hypocrisy. But what you will not find in my house is a person who feels the need to craft the shit out of everything I own.

Yes, I spray paint stuff. Yes I've been known to tear an odd pallet apart for a project. But this chalkboard obsession seems to indicate to me a sort of desperation. It's a special brand of anxiety specific to sites like Pinterest. There's this idea that if we have just ONE more cutesy detail in our house, just ONE more adorable little craft project that's just a LITTLE more clever than the ones our friends have, that we have somehow won at the Nesting Game.

I'm here to tell you to chill the f*** out. You will NEVER beat the Martha Stewarts of the world at their own game. That's like challenging Bo Pelini to a yelling contest (sorry, that's a Nebraska joke). You will not, no matter how hard you try, remember to assemble homemade gifts for your neighbors at Christmastime. Your attempts at homemade soap making will look like sagging bricks of despair. And the flowers will always refuse to grow on the shady side of your house.

But fear not, brave soldier. You are loved beyond any words you may find in any "inspirational quotes" pinboard. Even though you suck at making homemade macarons, and even though the last time you tried to make a melted crayon painting you set the carpet on fire. Your next door neighbor might look down her nose at the fact there are dust bunnies in LITERALLY EVERY CORNER OF YOUR HOUSE, but you know what? She's probably just nauseous from that chalkboard she was writing on all morning, and everyone is crabby when they feel like they're going to vom. Just smile at her and remind yourself that the race you are running is one you created for yourself. You can stop any time, and no one (important) will think any less of you. Honestly, if I walk into your house to find a mess, I'll probably just be relieved that I'm not the only one. You and I are kindred spirits. I mean, I'm basically talking to myself here.

It's okay.

You're going to be fine.

Do the things you love because you love them. They'll be good enough. You'll be good enough.

But please, for the love of all things holy, STOP with the chalkboard projects.

Pilates is hard...

Whenever you see pictures of people doing Pilates, they look something like this:

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While I'd like to delude myself into thinking that I look that elegant, my gym's group fitness rooms have mirrors so I know better.  It usually looks more like this (except way less toned):

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Because here's the thing: Pilates is not easy.  If you've ever watched someone do Pilates, you may have been fooled into thinking that it's a cinch.  I mean, there are rarely any weights involved, no running or plyometrics, how hard can it be?  And yet it is, although a different kind of difficult.

Your core is the focal point, and let me tell you, your abs get tired.  Thankfully, it's not that noticeable if you take a short break since you're usually already sitting or lying on your mat...  But then get right back to it, because as Miguel said, "Pilates and milk did that body so good."

Tales of Survival

When I was a kid, it occurred to me that I didn’t like it when animals got hurt. But, being from a rural area where animals are regularly raised for meat, sometimes animal death is unavoidable. But just because it was unavoidable didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try to save as many innocent baby animal lives as possible.

Like when I ran over a toad with a lawnmower. The poor guy was all cut open and I could literally see his organs. But did that stop me from believing in toady miracles? No. I put him in a container next to some water, hoping that stitches were an optional part of his healing process, since my knowledge of sewing came from my hours working on 4-H projects, and I doubted somehow that the ability to match my seams up in the middle would translate into the miracle this toad was looking for. Unfortunately, this first attempt was a failure.

Then, a few years later, I was swathing hay at one of our fields and I noticed that there were a lot of pheasant nests in the alfalfa. I was pained as I ran over nest after nest. Finally, I got out to look at one. Most of the eggs had survived! I was ecstatic. So I found a random plastic zip lock bag and took some shop towels and placed the seven eggs gently in the bag. When I got home and started to create a makeshift pheasant incubator, I went to my dad to ask if we had a flood lamp. If he thought that the madness had taken hold of me, he didn’t show it on his face. Not that day, anyway. He just told me where to find it. So I hooked everything up in the laundry room, away from the reach of our family cat, and laid in wait for my pheasant babies to hatch, wondering to myself if it was like geese and other birds that, upon hatching, believe the first thing they see to be their mother. I contemplated my life as a mother to a bouquet of pheasants. I have to say, the idea intrigued me.

So when they began to hatch, one by one, it was like witnessing the culmination of my life’s work. I was about to be a parent. A teenage mom, as it were. But sadly, my pheasant babies didn’t seem to care who I was.  My parents found pheasant food, but it only came in 50 lb bags. But, I thought to myself, that was okay. Because these pheasant babies would be living with us for a long time. How wrong I was. One of the eggs never even hatched. Another died shortly after hatching.  A third kicked the proverbial bucket after being smothered to death by its siblings. Then, one by one, they all died. One was pecked to death. The rest of them succumbed to their water tray, in which they took turns unceremoniously drowning themselves. And that is the story of how I came to be the possessor of forty-nine pounds of pheasant food.

Then I began the kitten-rescuing phase of my life. One day my dad found three tiny kittens scattered around our farm yard. He brought them home to me to care for, not realizing at the time that this was far from the last time his home would be invaded by tiny, motherless cats. So I fed these babies with one of those bottles you get from the vet’s office, and some cat milk formula. When the bottle proved too large for their kitten mouths, my mom procured these tiny toy bottles, and we fed them that way. But, once again, one by one, the kittens left this world for the catnip field in the sky. I was, of course, upset at what I perceived to be my own failure, even though those kittens were likely too small to survive without their mother. Perhaps my father even brought them to me to teach me this life lesson, not realizing that, instead of discouraging my animal rescue habits, he only strengthened my resolve.

Then came Bingley. He was found in our farm building around where we parked our trucks. He was a chubby little guy, with fluffy gray fur and a waddle.  I knew he was alone in this world, and I couldn’t leave him to be crushed by a truck, so I brought him home. When I fed him his bottles, his ears waggled in a rhythm, like Sloth in the Goonies. And so, Bingley became my cat. Our family cat, Shiver, was far from impressed, hissing and spitting and even going on what we lovingly referred to as a hunger strike. When I was away at college, Bingley, tragically, departed this world. Shiver somehow inherited his tendencies, behaving in ways she had never behaved in the 12 or so years we had had her. And so, Bingley’s spirit lived on in his nemesis, who we affectionately dubbed “Shingley.”

RIP Bingley

Helen Pixiefidget came into my life after college, when a neighbor brought over four kittens to the farm to introduce some new blood into our incestuous pool of cats. For protection, we put them in an old apartment in our farm building. But the next day, one of the kittens was missing. The apartment was messy, so we figured it was just hiding. Then the day after that, a second one went missing. I started to wonder if maybe the apartment wasn’t as safe as we thought it was when, on the third day, the third kitten disappeared. It came to our attention that raccoons were invading the apartment at night and absconding with the kittens.  Fun fact: Raccoons wash their food before eating it. When I found this out, I both laughed and cringed a little. By this time, the only remaining kitten was a tiny gray striped thing with the cutest face on the planet. I couldn’t leave her there to be picked off like her siblings. My heart just couldn’t take it. So I brought her home, where she slept in a Rubbermaid container (the lid was propped open for air), and she mewed her way into my heart. When I finally moved out of my parents’ house a few years ago, Pixie came with me, along with another rescue I nicknamed Butters (his full name is quite unwieldy). 

Helen Pixiefidget

And I feel as if I have finally succeeded. I have successfully rescued not one, but two cats, which has, in some way, dulled my need to take care of every motherless animal I come across. So dad, you’ll be happy to hear, we won’t need to house any more litters of kittens in yours and mom’s bathtub. Not for a while, anyway. But I make no promises for the future. 

The Right Honourable Professor Basil Butterick, Esq.

Kiwi, Why Not?

I was fortunate to spend a long weekend in the Vancouver area recently.  And not only that, but I got to hang out with two of my friends who call the Pacific Northwest home: DeVi and Cathy.

We took a day trip to Whistler, which has skiing although very little snow when we were there.  We spent our time at the Olympic Sliding Centre and the spa.  As I've mentioned previously and as any of my friends could tell you, I'm a huge Olympics fan.  It is one of my biggest dreams to be in the Olympics but I know that like my dream of being a member of a pop girl group, it will never be realized as I just don't have the talent.  This doesn't stop me from loving both the Olympics and pop music ardently.

We discovered that we couldn't walk to the Sliding Centre from the village so stopped to ask for a taxi at a hotel.  While there, Cathy was telling the valets how we would like to do bobsled but there were only three of us so we'd need another person to join our team.  One of the valets asked for her name so she said "3 + 1."  This was a pretty good bobsled team name to come up with on the spot but he was actually asking for her name so he could call a taxi for her.

When we got to the Sliding Centre, we discovered you have to make reservations ahead of time.  Blast!  However, we got there in time to watch others do the skeleton which was still quite entertaining.  You pay 169 CAD, and get to do two runs on the skeleton.  Each run takes 32-33 seconds and most of the people get up to around 100 km/h.  Somehow, only two people screamed when they were sliding down; the rest were silent.  You know I would have made it three if I had been part of the group.

While watching the sliders, we made a couple of friends.  There was Scott, who had bought the experience for his wife, Christine, for her birthday.  He liked how we cheered on the sliders and asked us to cheer really loudly for her.  He even took a video of us cheering her on.  He told us while skeleton looks scarier than luge, it's actually easier.  He said when he tried the luge, he fell off the sled and then the sled ricocheted back and tried to get him again.

Then there was Graham who was photographing the sliders for work.  He evidently (you know I have to use that word C!) has superhuman patience because Cathy and I can be a lot to take in.  Basically, take me at my most energetic and crazy and multiply it by about 3.5 when we're together.  He mostly seemed entertained by us though as he laughed a lot.

We (Cathy & I, DeVi left the poor man alone) were peppering him with questions.  We couldn't place his accent, so he had us guess.  My response was, "Kiwi, why not?"  While this amused him, it was incorrect.  Turns out, he's from the UK.  And not only that, but London.  I don't know why this was so hard for us to guess.  Downton Abbey has clearly ruined my ability to pick up a London accent.

Other things that made him laugh...
He said he photographed extreme sports, so I said he should tell people he photographed "the X Games, you know."
We asked him if he liked Bastille (Cathy's plan was to ask him if he has Dan Smith's hair since his was under a hat) and he said he wasn't sure; he'd have to hear 3 songs.  I played him 3 songs and he said they were average.  We were a bit shocked and I said maybe they're average for the UK, but for us Americans, they're elevated.
Since he was British, we decided his last name was Shakespeare, of those Shakespeares.  Now you see how annoying we can be and still he didn't ask us to leave him alone so he could do his job in peace.

And finally, I met another Nebraskan!  I was wearing a Creighton shirt so he asked me if I was from Omaha.  He's from northeastern Nebraska but lives in Houston now.  The state has less than 2 million people but I meet Nebraskans nearly everywhere I go.

5 (more) Songs You Need To Hear

#1 

Bad Guy

Mindy Smith

For some reason, this song reminds me of my college boyfriend. Basically, Mindy Smith is singing in my language. Plus it's a weirdly cheery song for such depressing subject matter. I'm all about contradictions, so here you go...

 

#2 

C'est L'amour

Rosie Golan

"When I saw him, I felt the room divide into pieces. All the lights danced around us just like stars in the sky. One night in Paris with a man I barely knew. Lost in a moment, c'est la vie, c'est la chance, c'est l'amour." How cute? Bonus points for including some actual French.

#3 

Pitter Pat

Erin McCarley

This one is kind of a downer, but sometimes you need to listen to a downer. Because why not?

#4 

Afire Love

Ed Sheeran

What's that? You haven't cried yet today? Allow me to fix that for you. Normally Ed Sheeran doesn't really do it for me, but this song had me getting really weepy while I was harvesting sugar pea greens one day, so I had to include it. Any song that brings me to tears and isn't a country song about someone dying gets an automatic 5 stars from this girl. Wait, this song is sort of about someone dying. Whoops. Spoiler alert. Favorite lyric? "And my father and all of my family rise from their seats to sing 'Hallelujah'" The kicker? They're at a funeral. Aaaaaand now my eyes are leaking.

#5 

Talk About Love

My Friend the Chocolate Cake

Now that your eyes are good and lubricated, here's one of my all-time faves. Weirdly touching. Not what you'd call a "normal" song, but with a band name like that, you didn't think it would be, did you?

Perfectly Capable

I'm an anomaly.

I grew  up around and working on a farm. My full time job today? Farming. Where did I spend my day today? On a farm. And I'm a girl. Hence the anomaly.

I get it. "Female empowerment, girls can do anything boys can," etc etc. You don't have to tell me. It's the other farmers' daughters who didn't get the memo. I can count on one hand the number of women who serve as more than seasonal labor on their farms. Growing up, we were supposed to be impressed when one of the girls drove the pipe trailer when it was time to lay out irrigation pipe. I, like many of my peers, learned how to drive the pipe trailer around age 5. That's how we roll in rural Nebraska. But the difference between me and the other girls is that I graduated from driving the pipe trailer to bigger things. I mean that literally. When I was 12, my dad decided that I needed something to occupy my time during summer vacation. So, like any loving father, he put me on an open tractor with a rake behind it, and I spent days at a time raking alfalfa hay on a Farmall Super M.

Source

Interesting fact #1, when you sing at the top of your lungs on a tractor like my Super M, people can literally hear you for about a mile around. Interesting fact #2, no one will tell you this until years after you've stopped using that tractor.

But I digress.

I learned how to operate a machine. Like one with a clutch. And a throttle. And hydraulic...bits. I'm still not good with terminology. The point is, I kept being "promoted" to bigger and more powerful machines. It was terrifying. But I did it. Because whenever I said, "I can't," my dad replied, "You're perfectly capable." Turns out he was right. That doesn't mean I was happy about it.

Because, you see, I was raised in a world where the damsel in distress is still the ideal. Women "need" men to reach high shelves, open stuck jar lids, and lift heavy things. We're supposed to be like that, because that means we don't disrupt the natural order of things, wherein men are strong and capable and burly and brawny...like this stud:

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And women are weak and helpless. Except during harvest, when women are inexplicably acknowledged as being capable of operating the MANchines that are "too scary" or "too big" for the remaining 10 months of the year.

So here I was, a girl of all things, doing men's work. [Collective gasp] And I basically knew what I was doing (I just didn't know what to call it...terminology again). I mean, I had my share of problems. I ran into a bale with the rake once when I was about 13. That was awkward and fun to explain to my dad. But by and large, I figured stuff out. And if I broke something, I was expected to at least make an effort to fix it. And the weird thing is, I DID. I COULD. I WAS CAPABLE, just like my dad told me. It was really annoying. Because it is SO MUCH EASIER to be helpless in some ways.

What happened, more and more, was I was forced to, you know, do things. Instead of standing by and watching, or bringing the menfolk a jug of cold iced tea like all the girls do in country songs, I was forced to become an active participant.

The result? I know how to do things. When I needed to switch the direction that my dryer door opened, I didn't call my dad. I just did it. Me and my screwdriver. And when I had to patch a hole in my drywall, I looked up a tutorial and made that shit happen. Because I knew I could. Because I am capable. Because I was told I was.

My dad comes from a proud tradition of feminist male farmers. Lol. J/k. He would probably shake his head if I said that to his face. But I'm being real with you here. My great great grandfather amassed a significant amount of land in the time he farmed in this country (he came over from Germany when he was young). When he died, he had 4 half sections (that's basically 2 square miles) of farm ground. So he split it equally between his four children, THREE OF WHOM WERE WOMEN. No misogyny here, kids. Just a whole lot of equality.

My great grandfather married a woman who wasn't afraid of a wrench. Need proof?

Just because you're doing dirty work doesn't mean you can't look cute doing it.

So who was my dad to fight the flow of women's lib? No one, that's who.

The problem is that most people haven't been informed that farming doesn't require one to have cajones, as it were.

For instance, whenever a mechanic comes out to work on a tractor, my dad sends me to "help" said mechanic. Which is basically like giving me a break from work, because--almost without exception--when I ask if I can help, they always say "no." I don't really mind, because if they want to make their job harder, far be it from me to tell them that they're being silly. Plus I can catch up on my facebooking.

Other examples, and some of my faves, involve truckers. Now, truckers are a different breed of cat. Not bad, necessarily. Just different. Part of my job is to load out grain from our bins into trucks to be transported to places like chicken farms. This involves putting a sweep auger into the bin towards the end and shoveling/sweeping as it goes around.

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So one day, I get to the bin, and get ready to start, and the trucker says to me, "All the hired men are busy today, eh?"

So, naturally, I mentally kicked him in the nuts and went about my job.

Once when I had to trade out with my brother and leave in the middle of a load, a trucker told me that he was bummed because "I don't usually get to see girls do this kind of thing." I realize that trucking can be a lonely job, but I am not your entertainment. This is not a show. Stop staring at me while I shovel corn. It's weird.

Then there was the time a trucker took the grain vac I was using from my hand to "show me how it was done." I let him. I disagreed with his methods, what with my having a basic knowledge of how vacuums work and all, but I let him do his thing. After all, the "guys who did this back on [some random farm somewhere else]" probably DO know better. They are, after all, male. After he was done, the trucker says to me, "Can I give you a compliment?"

I say, "Sure."

"You don't see many women doing this kind of work. Most farmers' daughters stay at home with their mothers."

I nodded at him. What I was thinking was this: "That was not a compliment. That was a statement of fact. And my mom works on the farm, too, so I'll be sure to tell her she's also abnormal."

Dang. I really do love truckers. I mean that. They are delightful. And usually nice guys. Except the ones who touch my sweep auger. I mean it, truckers, if you're reading this. You may use the broom if you must participate. But the sweep auger is mine. I know what I'm doing. I am perfectly capable.

I am a woman. I am a farmer. I paint my toenails and I love dangly earrings and sparkly things and lace. I also know the correct way to put a tire back on after it's been repaired. And if you ask me to put the clevis on the 8110, I know what to do and how to do it. I am an anomaly. But I am also perfectly capable.

But then again, dear ladies of the world, so are you.

Once Upon a Time: The Unsolved Mysteries

**Spoilers ahead for anyone (cough cough, MOM) who isn't up to speed on OUAT**

1. Where is Nova?

Remember when Dreamy (later Grumpy) hooked up with a fairy and planned to sail around the world but the Blue Fairy and Bossy dwarf talked him out of it? Let's set aside the gross injustice of the situation and ask ourselves this: After the curse was broken, what happened to Nova aka Sister Astrid? WHY ARE THEY NOT MARRIED WITH AT LEAST ONE half dwarf/half fairy BABY? I mean, besides the fact that she's a nun in this world...Which really shouldn't count since she never technically took holy orders or whatever you call them. Plus he's, well, Grumpy, so he could use a little cheer in his life.

2. What's up with Henry's education?

Here's what we know: Time doesn't move forward in Storybrook for any of the people Regina brought over in the curse, or it didn't until Emma broke the curse. But Henry, who was born in our world, ages normally. At what point did he fail to notice that he was getting older and moving up a grade each year and all the other kids were staying the same? Or are we supposed to believe that Regina just wiped his memory every year?

3.Why couldn't Hook and Baelfire stay too?

When Pan cursed Storybrooke and Regina did her little bit where she sort of fixed it except for the part where everyone had to go back to the EF and could never see Henry again, Emma and Henry went to live in New York with their new memories. But I still haven't figured out why Bae and Hook couldn't have stayed. After all, they weren't there as a result of the curse. And, come to think of it, neither was Tiny the giant. Nor was Tinkerbell. Nor was Ariel (who can travel between realms because, you know, she's a mermaid and everything). I realize they were all under a lot of stress, but I can think of a number of ways this whole thing could have worked out better. Most of those people probably would prefer to go back to the Enchanted Forest (as if Ariel was going to leave Eric), but surely Hook or at the very least Bae would have preferred to be with Emma and Henry. Just saying.

4. Speaking of which, what happened to the Lost Boys??

Some of them were probably from the EF, but some of them might have been from our world. Seeing as how Emma promised them a home and families on their return to Storybrook, it would suck pretty hard if they didn't all make the journey back to the EF and ended up living in the woods where Storybrook used to be.

5. Why doesn't anyone seem to notice all the prisoners in the hospital basement?

I get why no one knew Belle was there. After all, she was there during the curse. But afterward? Really? NO one thought it was a little strange that Sidney Glass was relegated to a padded room after he falsely confessed to framing Snow?  Shouldn't he have been in the jail?? And what is up with that Nurse Ratched character? Fo real.

In other news, I'm looking forward to the return of season 4 on March 1st. Because maybe I'll find the answers I'm looking for (please come back, Nova).

Songs I Never Get Tired of Hearing - Pop & Rock Edition

"Let Go for Tonight” 

Foxes

I bought Foxes’ Glorious album as an import from the UK before a US release date had been set because I COULD NOT LIVE without this song in my life.  Repetitive listening has not cured me of my love for it.  This song hooks me from the very beginning.  The bridge is perfection, the chorus is so much fun to sing along to.  Everything works.  Honorable mentions go out to other Foxes songs “Holding Onto Heaven” and “Glorious."

“Before the Worst”

The Script

I love lead singer Danny O'Donoghue’s voice.  He’s one of my favorites and I love his flow in this song.  Plus I like the lyrics.  I realize I’ve given the impression that I don’t care about lyrics.  But I do to a point.  My thing is, if I find the music boring, I don’t care how clever you’re being.  If you’re giving me something I like the sound of, I will listen to it even if the lyrics are mindless.  However, if you give me something sonically pleasing and the lyrics are deep/emotional/witty/inspiring, then so much the better.

“Edge of Seventeen” 

Stevie Nicks

I feel like my first experience with this song may have been hearing Lindsay Lohan perform it on the AMA's back in 2005.  Thankfully, I heard Stevie's version later.  I of course already knew the riff since "Bootylicious" sampled it.  Anyway, it's one of those rare songs which is over five minutes long but holds my attention throughout.  

“Young and Beautiful"

Lana Del Rey

I heard this song in The Great Gatsby trailer, proceeded to listen to it obsessively on YouTube, and finally bought it online.  I was actually distracted from what was going on in the movie when the song came on because I was so entranced by it.  It perfectly captures the tone of the movie but is amazing in its own right.  “Summertime Sadness” is a close runnerup in the best LDR song contest.  Please note, I mean the original version, not that techno one they insisted on playing on the radio.

“Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)” 

Journey

Another five minute long (if you listen to the album version) 80's hit that I love from the very first note.  Steve Perry's voice is obviously magic and such a great melody.  I of course also "Don't Stop Believin'" but I feel like everyone focuses on that song and forgets the others.