What's in a name?

What’s in a name?

I’ve never really given it a whole lot of thought because after doing some internet research on the meaning of my name, all I found was “small shrub with poisonous berries”.

Not far from the truth.

Then my mom found this baby name book from like, the 70’s or something, and apparently the true meaning of “Holly” is actually “good luck”. My guess is, when my parents adopted me they weren’t quite sure what they were doing. They needed all the luck they could get because, let’s face it. I’m a handful….so they named me “good luck”.

Now, me and my little brother have always had a funny relationship. He….well….he doesn’t “act” like the youngest. He has none of their quirks. He acts like the oldest. He tells me what to do, and I do it, or ignore him. And like the mischievous younger sibling, I usually weasel my way out of everything by confusing people into agreeing with me.

                                                                                             ….Probably shouldn’t have said that.

The funny thing is, my brother’s name is James which is a derivative of Jacob which means, “Supplanter”.  Now, think back to Jacob in the Bible. He’s the one who stole his brother’s birthright. He became like THE OLDEST.

So I’ve decided that my twerpy little brother has supplanted. He took away my role of being the dreaded oldest.

Now I’ve been thinking about other names and how they suit the people I know, like, every Deborah that I’ve ever known has been strong, audacious, and occasionally cheeky!

And then there’re others, like “Bonnie” which means “sweet and good”. I know a lady named Bonnie, and she is one of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever met!

My dear friends’ mom’s name is Ann which means “full of grace, mercy and prayer”. She has to have grace, mercy, and prayer to put up with me hanging around the house all the time! I love you Mrs. Duran!!!!

Then there’s “Bridget” which means “mighty and strong”. My doctor’s name is Bridget. She’s as mighty and strong as summer days are long.

                                                                                       

That rhymed.

                 [Kind of.]

                               You’re welcome.

Also…I have this theory about guys named Steve….

                                                    ….but we’ll save that for another blog.

Anyways, all these people and their names have got me thinking…I have GOT to give my children good names.

So far, I’ve come up with “Zelda Adele” which basically means “the heroine, noble and kind of spirit” and “Wylie” which means “beguiling and charming”.  A few others I love are, “Zane” a derivative of John which means “gift of God”, “Zelig” which means “blessed”, “Leo” meaning “brave”, and “Birdie” (Yes it’s a [girl’s] name!) which means “sweet little bird”.

Yeah, I like that.                                                                                                                                                              

So how about your name/ name meaning? Does it suit your personality?

B-b-b-back and forth like Vertigo =/

I remember when I was little and had that foreign feeling of…oh what’s it called? Ah, that’s right…ENERGY! Yeah, when I had energy back in the day, I remember my sweet mother trying to calm me down and relax. When all her ideas would fail to catch my interest, she would smile slyly to herself and say, “Hey Holly Girl, I have a game for you!” Me being the psycho six year old that I was, I ran over all excited (I’ve learned over the years that when mom says that she has an “idea” or a “game” it usually involves cleaning something) and asked what the game was. Momma leaned in and almost whispered like it was a secret, “Here’s how you play” she smiled (evilly…bwuahaha) “You look up at the ceiling like this…” she looked up and I copied her, “…and then you spin around and around like this!” and she spun. Then after a few seconds she lay down on the floor and said, “The walls are spinning!”

Now let’s pause here for a second. You’re probably thinking, “Holy cow, Hol’s mom is a weirdo.”  Well let me tell you this dear reader….

                                                                            ……….She is.

She’s always enjoyed weird things like getting her teeth cleaned at the dentist and walking barefoot in the dirt. Personally, I think it’s funny. I love my mom’s weird quirks. It’s what makes her my mom.

Back to the spinny game.

I imitated my mum and I spun and spun with the exuberance of a little girl. Then I crashed to the floor and giggled as the walls spun around and around. I did this over and over and over, never tiring of the feeling of being dizzy.

Now, ten or so years later, I sit here thinking, “…Wow.”

See, Tuesday started out like any other week day. I heard my mom’s voice dancing through the hallway and into my ears, ‘Holly! Get up!’

Me: (opens my eyes, groans, stretches, closes my eyes, rolls over, tries to go back to sleep)

Mom: (being persistent) “….Now.”

Me: (wondering why I feel really weak and tired and wondering if I should tell mom….eventually, deciding that I’m probably just being a wimp, I get out of bed)

(Insert reggae music here as I go about my business doing my taxes [last minute….I know] and doing school and getting ready for work)

So I go to work right? And it’s all good. I was going about my business when all of the sudden, I started to fall over. I caught myself though and I was fine. I moved on. And then the room started spinning like in that game that me and mom used to play. Eventually it got so bad that I gave in and went home. Driving while the world was spinning was pretty interesting. Thankfully, I only ran off the road once.

When I got home, I ate salt (thinking it would get my blood pressure up, if that was the problem) and went straight to bed. The smurf blue walls in my bedroom were spinning and I sighed as I wondered what could be wrong with me. After a few hours of this, I had this brilliant idea to get out my “Nutritional Healing” book and I looked up Vertigo (because my mom said that she thought that’s what was wrong with me). After reading the symptoms, I thought that’s what it was. However, today I went to the doctor’s and she said that it’s some strange virus that’s going around and giving people false "heart attack" alarms and stuff. Weird. So anyways, I have my meds and I’m not contagious and therefore I’m good to go (Praise God!).

In the meantime though, I’m sitting here reminiscing on the days when I would actually MAKE myself dizzy, and laughing at my mom. I mean really, who tells their kids to play games that make them dizzy? I guess I would. But me and my mom are alike that way. We both have relatively warped senses of humor.

The Trash Can Game and The Magic Exploding Latte...

So you know how in my last post I mentioned that ‘I love my job but I really wanted to be trained to be a barista?

Well…..today I was trained as a barista.

Coolest. Thing. EVER.                                                                          

Yeah, I can make lattes and caramel macchiatos and stuff. And I got to smell coffee ALL DAY. Not so say that I was inhaling espresso or anything, it was just the coffee smell in the air, you know?

I always looked at baristas in awe, like they had some amazing talent that I could never in my wildest dreams posses. Like, they were in touch with coffee. It spoke to them. And it does speak to us. We are in touch with it. And it does take talent and by gosh I do posses it! (Victory dance)

Anyhow, the first order of the day was just a plain latte. Simple. I was so excited. My heart pounded within me as my coworker, Natasha, lead me over to the espresso machine and showed me what to do. On the next order, she had me make the latte. So I made the espresso, and then I started to steam the milk. Before I knew what happened, the steaming hot milk exploded all over everything including me and Natasha. It was SO embarrassing. And so funny. I have this strange tendency to laugh at myself when I do something really stupid. What else can you do? Everyone else is laughing at you, so you might as well laugh too because getting mad is getting nowhere. Like earlier this week at youth group we played this game where we all stood in a circle and held hands and sang Kumbaya there was a trash can in the middle. The goal was this: we all had to try to pull other people into or over the trash can. Now, keep in mind I had a little summer dress on therefore I wasn’t too thrilled about this game and figured that being the absolute klutz that I am, I’d probably fall over…in my dress…awwwwwwkwarrrdddd. Nevertheless, I forced myself to stay in. I tried to think optimistic thoughts. So as I stood hand in hand with the two guys beside me, ShinDong (who makes really legit origami frogs) and Jake (the next American Idol) my optimistic thoughts began to fade. I almost wished that I was in between two girls because, let’s face it, we girls are dumb and not competitive and lose just so we don’t have to play (okay, not all girls, but a lot). However, it was too late to take such action and so I stuck it out. I’m pretty sure that Jake and ShinDong were thinking the exact opposite thing during this game because they kept running in the opposite direction and therefore I was being pulled left and right. Yet somehow, I managed to stay in and in the end it was just me and ShinDong left. Then we played another round and it had the same ending, which I thought was hysterical considering that I’m the least athletic person ever. So anyways, it was: Me. The Boy. And the trash can.

I was dead meat.

I looked up at ShinDong standing across from me; I was probably squeezing the life out of his hands, as I mouthed “Please don’t make me fall….please”. So then our youth leader, Matt (…his middle name is awesome…), started counting to three, I braced myself. On three Matt ran up and pushed ShinDong, thinking that maybe it’d spare me the humiliation of falling (my guess), but somehow (I have NO IDEA how since I didn’t see it coming) I toppled over. Or more like, I flew backwards and tried to land somewhat gracefully.

My first thought was, “Oh my gosh this is awful. How embarrassing.”

My second thought was, “….It happens…now laugh before they realize how embarrassed you are!!!”

So I laughed.

Sorry, that was a really long rabbit trail.

Anyways, back to the coffee. Or milk rather. It flew everywhere and all the old guys at the coffee bar were cracking up. So I cracked up with them and grabbed a rag and started to clean up. Thankfully this was my only major mishap of the day. Everything else went pretty smooth and I love my job even more. Even though I had to wake up at 4:30am to get to work on time, it was worth it.

Oh and another thing, my co-workers and my boss, are amazing! I feel so blessed to once again be working amongst super nice, funny people.

Tomorrow I work again, being St. Patty’s Day (and being like, 1/16^th Irish myself) I have to find something green to wear. I hope we don’t sell green bagels…

Paper Cuts and the Lame Guy at Starbucks...

Oh the agony of sitting down at a computer on a lovely day like this...

Unfortunately, my conscience has been nagging at me to “get back in the blogging business” and stop “deserting my precious readers”. Not that I really have any readers, and that’s all the better because sometimes I think it’d be better if the world didn’t get a glimpse into my personal thoughts like this. But then, it could be a good thing seeing as you may actually somewhat kind of possibly almost understand me a teensy bit after going through my blog. I don’t know.

…The caffeine is talking again.

                                                         …..Shhhh…..

Anyways…you might know from my last post that I quit my job, and well…in that time I’ve found a new one. All I did was print up a bunch of resumes and drive in to town and start looking. I started out at Payless Shoe Store where they told me that I had to be eighteen to work there. What. The. Heck. I mean, really, it’s not like I’m selling knives or lighters or alcohol! They’re SHOES for crying out loud!

Yeah…

So after that, I walked over to the Hallmark store and they told me the same thing. Probably because selling overpriced cards and books is super dangerous. Paper cuts you know…

Then I went to Starbucks. Oh loverly Starbucks. I walked in and as soon as I saw the guy working, I pretty much knew that he wouldn’t know whether or not they were hiring. He kind of smiled and said, “Heyyyy how can I help you?”

I asked if they were hiring by any amazing chance.

“Ummm……er…….ehhh…..ahhhh….I’m not sure…..you could check online?”

Yeah…that’s what he said.

So I thanked him and left.

Then I saw a Big Apple Bagels across the parking lot (All these businesses were kind of located in a strip mall type of thing) and I thought, “Why not?” I drove over there and to my great delight I saw a gargantuan “HIRING” sign on the door. So I straightened my dress, put my shoulders back (I have a nasty habit of slouching), slapped a hopeful smile on my face and walked on in. I had no idea what they did at Big Apple Bagels…. (Although I was guessing it had something to do with bagels, I mean come on…I’m not that dumb…) but I knew I needed a job. Opening the door, I caught a delightful whiff of fresh bagels and coffee! Oh it was so nice and toasty in there, I smiled to myself and walked swiftly (without tripping oh sweet surprise) over to the lady at the counter (who I later found out was the manager) and told her that I noticed they had a HIRING sign out front and that I was interested in working here if they’d have me (although I said it much less eloquently [not that that was at all eloquent or anything] and I’m pretty sure I stuttered….a lot). So the lady handed me an application containing questions such as, “Have you committed a felony in the last five years?” and “Why do you want to work here?” and blah blah blah. I filled it out and brought it back to her, she looked it over and asked me if I’d come in Wednesday at 7:30am for a working interview. I just about squealed in excitement and told her that I’d most definitely be there.

Wednesday morning I was so siked that I practically leapt out of bed and I started singing the theme song from Happy Days!

Wednesday morning, like every morning, I slapped my alarm clock thing repeatedly until it turned off, and almost fell back to sleep. I dreamt about my mom bringing me coffee in bed and I actually considered posting that on facebook hoping that she’d see it and bring me the elixir of life itself, but then I realized that I would have to sit up to drink it so I might as well just get up. Gosh, I thoroughly despise mornings. A lot. Though nevertheless, I survived and I made it to my working interview on time. Like, RIGHT on time. The manager, being the joyful extrovert that she is, was really excited (or acted like it) to see me and we started training right away. That day was focused on sandwich building and smearing cream cheese on massive bagels. It was actually pretty fun, I learned fast and once I got over my fear of the knife I could whip up a triple decker sandwich in almost no time at all! Still, the whole time I was making food, I wished inwardly that I was making coffee. One of the reasons that I wanted the job was so I could (make money for college and…) learn how to make lattes and frappuccinos and such because…well, I love coffee.

Near one o’clock I got the news that I was hired. I was ecstatic as I skipped out of the building and into my car. Of course the first thing I did was post it on facebook. Something to the effect of, “I GOT THE JOBBBB!!!!”

So yeah. Now I have an amazing job. Thank you Jesus!

Mr. (almost) Tall, (totally) Dark, and (insanely) Handsome...

You know how sometimes when you do stupid stuff, you stub your toe? That would ALWAYS happen to me. I’d be like, grumbling inwardly about something and BOOM. Toe meets pain. I’d always know that I was making (or had made) a mistake when I stubbed my toe on something. It’s like God was telling me, “Um, hey you. You’re being a moron, ‘kay? Wake up.” Although since I’ve finally convinced myself that I don’t make mistakes (...not), now I only stub my toe out of pure clumsiness (may or may not be a bold faced lie). Which I must admit, is quite often. Like for instance, you know how “normal” people stub their toes on stuff like an entertainment center or a chair etc? Well usually when I stub my toe…this is how it goes:

Me: Just walking along innocently (enough) and then all the sudden KA-POW! My toe somehow gets in the hem of my pant leg (which is strange and seemingly impossible since I’m usually in “skinny” jeans) and I trip/stub my toe. Like…I trip…over…my…pants. I STUB MY TOE ON MY OWN PANTS!! HOW is that even POSSIBLE?!?!

Anyways, I’m not talking about toe stubbing. I’m talking about real life toe stubbing. Like, when you do something dumb and you have to pay the toll for taking a trip down Idiot Turnpike.

Today, I totally stubbed my toe. No, not literally! Stay with me now. Consequences, right? Okay, so my mom and I were in town today and she had to run into the Post Office. Well she wanted me to run in for her, however, I was being (as Tim rightly calls me) a complete “butt-head” and refused (in a totally respectful way?). So mom went in and I sat in the car. Two minutes after mom went in, this TOTALLY cute guy walked out. I’m talkin’ Mister (almost) Tall, (totally) Dark, and (insanely) Handsome. He came out of the place that I should have been (the post office). I was mortified by my missed opportunity. Not that I could have won him over with a hair flip and a smile, besides the fact that guys like that already have girlfriends. It’s just a known fact. A very…sad…known fact.

Ahem…err, anyways…I should have gone into the post office for my mom so I could meet the cute guy and accidentally have dropped a piece of paper with my phone number on the floor right in front of him where he would have picked it up and called me and then we could live happily ever after some place like Africa where it doesn’t snow.

I should have gone into the post office for my mom so she could have stayed in the warm car while I braved the freezing winter wind and snow just because I love my mother and love to do things for her because I’m just awesome like that. And because she’s just awesome like that.

BUT, I didn’t because I’m a terrible useless child who’s selfish and didn’t feel like getting out of the car. So I stubbed my toe. By stubbing my toe I of course mean, I missed the cute guy. Not a big deal, but…a big deal. I guess it just made me think that I should do more nice things for people. God knows, I might see Mr. (almost) Tall, (totally) Dark, and (insanely) Handsome again.

That "unemployed" feeling...

So…it’s been awhile. I must admit that I’ve been avoiding the blogging scene as of late because, I’ve been really depressed and I didn’t want all my posts to consist of, “My life sucks and I hate my job and blah blah blah.” I mean, who wants to read that? Besides, my life does NOT suck; and I don’t HAVE a job anymore!

See, a month ago I got a job at a bridal shop. I thought it would be fun helping girls find their dream dress. I went into this whole thing with the, “Okay God, if this isn’t what I’m s’posed to do then don’t let it work out” mindset. I figured that because I did end up getting the job, that it was what I was meant to do. So I started training. And I tell you what dearest reader, the first warning flag that went off should have been enough to make me realize that I am NOT cut out for working with brides.

 It was like this: my boss was with a bride at the front desk and I was hanging around the area fixing dresses and such. The bride was there with a honey dew melon colored chiffon swatch, she was holding it up against (God forbid) a WHITE CAMO groomsmen jacket! She was asking my boss “Does this match?” and my boss told her that it was her wedding and she could do what she wanted. Then the worst of my nightmares came true…the woman looked over at me and she said, “Hey…what do you think?”

What I wanted to say: “ARE YOU BLOODY INSANE?!?! Why would you do this to yourself?!? Twenty years from now you’re going to look through your wedding pictures and scream ‘WHY?’ White camo (unless you’re in to hunting and stuff) is TACKY and NOT for weddings. Moron.”

What I actually said: “Erm…well honestly…no. It doesn’t match. If I were you, I’d go with this.” And I selected a more olive green-ish color.

THEN, after she ASKED my opinion, she turned back to my boss. She smiled, tucked her hair behind her ears and said, “Are you SURE this doesn’t match?” My boss smiled back at her and told her that it did match. It was good. She could totally pull it off.

For the rest of the day, all I could think about was that Liar Liar movie with Jim Carey.

The next time I worked, I had a girl that was looking for a prom dress. She tried on every tiny “painted on” dress in the store. Too low and too short. Thank God she never asked my opinion on anything. That is all I have to say about her.

Day after day these brides would come in and my gosh, they’d be like size 30 and trying on strapless mermaid dresses. I would just smile and think to myself, “Girl, you look like sausage bursting out of its casing.” All the while saying positive things like, “Oh, the beading on this one is so pretty!” and stuff like that. I couldn’t bring myself to lie. If it doesn’t look good on you, it doesn’t look good on you.

I had this one lady that came in; she actually comes in every week, to try her dress on. She told me that she gained a bunch of weight and she was worried about the dress being too tight. So I got her in the dress and started trying to pull up the zipper. It wouldn’t budge. So I had one of my co-workers come in hold the dress together so I could zip it. Then the lady started fishing for complements. Oh my goodness was she ever fishing. It was so awkward. However I told her she looked great, because she didn’t look terrible.

So people came and went, I usually couldn’t help anyone because the shop had no legitimate training program. It was a sink or swim job, and I was sinking. I only ever had one customer that I enjoyed, she was a mother of the bride and she was sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong (you know, obsessing over all the wedding details that weren’t for her to decide). It was quite entertaining.

 Still, I was questioning whether I actually belonged there. Whenever my friends would ask me how I liked my job, I never really knew what to say. Truth was I didn’t like it at all. The only enjoyable part was that I got to work with my friend Autie.

Another thing I didn’t like (that I thought I would like) is that there was this huge pressure (that may or may not have been self inflicted) to look absolutely picture perfect. It took me FOREVER to get ready for work in the morning.

-Figuring out what the heck to wear: 15 minutes (I’m indecisive okay?)

-Ironing whatever the heck I found to wear: 30 minutes (I suck at ironing)

-Shower: 15 minutes

-Getting my hair to behave: 35 minutes

-Makeup: 10 minutes

That’s a grand total of 105 minutes. It should not take me THAT long to get ready for work. Besides, I felt like every time I walked out my door that I didn’t look like me. I wasn’t that goofy awkward verging on nerdy Holly that my friends all know. I was a cool, calm, collected, solemn girl just trying to be “perfect” and going to the “perfect” job and having “perfect” control over everything. So not me.

And then I decided to quit. I don’t belong in a bridal shop. I belong somewhere that I can be me…so maybe, a coffee shop atmosphere. I don’t know yet. But I know I’ll find out. When I find a place that I can wear my favorite jeans and I can joke with customers and enjoy myself…then I know I’ve found the place.

You wanna know something strange? Remember how I said I was depressed and stuff? Well ever since I quit, I've been so happy! Like, almost giddy. Strange right?

So meanwhile, I sit here unemployed. I’m thinking that Monday I’ll print up a few (like ten) resumes and hand ‘em out. I know God will put me where I’m supposed to be.

If you're single and you know it (now) clap your hands....Happy Val Day.

Well, it’s here. Single’s Awareness Day is here. And I’m sitting at the computer again, in my glow-in-the-dark pajama pants listening to Foster The People, wondering if it will ever get better. By “it” I mean this wretched “holiday” of course.

Funny, you know how in my last post I was whining about today? Well something kind of ironic happened yesterday…I got a TON of valentines. I’m a “stage right” manager for a drama group that my little brother and some of my friends are in, and they all made valentines for each other and that included me. I tried not to roll my eyes when I found this out. I drove home with the cards and whatnot, sitting in the seat next to me. Then I went home and sat on my bed reading them all. A few of them were from a few of my favorite little kiddos and one of them from one of the older girls, Sarah, almost made me cry. Which is strange because I NEVER cry, but you know, I’ve just been a bucket of emotions lately. It’s terrible. Like, the other day I watched Captain America with my family and I almost cried at the end when he’s standing in Times square and he’s like, “…nothing…I just…I had a date.” That’s usually when I fight the urge to yell out, “I’ll go dancing with you Steve!!!!” Yep, I’m pathetic.

Anyways, back to me venting about Valentine’s Day Single’s Awareness Day. Yesterday my little brother wanted me to pick up a box of candy to give to his friend’s mom, so I went into Meijer and went over to that part of the store with all the red and pink stuff and found a nice little red heart-shaped box of chocolate. I felt so dumb as I checked out, I actually used the Self-Scan thing because there’s no way in Narnia that I’M gonna be caught dead with a heart-shaped box of chocolate. No sir. So I checked out and walked speedily out of the store, so speedily that um…I may or may not have run into the automatic door. Hah…uh, yeah.

I donno if any of you watch Fox News or not, but the other day there was this story about a Valentine’s Day card being taken off the shelves in Target because it was “offensive”. All it said was,

 “Stalker is a harsh word…

(Inside)…I prefer Valentine.”

I thought that it was genius. Hysterical. I burst out laughing. That’s my kind of card. However, people said that it was inappropriate (which is funny considering some of the, ahem, OTHER cards that I’ve seen) and offensive to people that have actually been stalked. This kind of ticked me off because, I’ve actually HAD a legitimate stalker who ended up in JAIL and I am far from offended by this harmless card. The fact that people were in such an uproar about this, made me want to go buy 100 of the cards and send them to my friends. Boom. Take that.

I just don’t get it, if 5 people are offended by one little harmless card then the store just takes it off the shelves like that? I mean, I could find tons of cards that are dumb or offensive and make a big deal out of it, but I don’t. Someone else might think they’re funny and if they do, than fine. I don’t have to look at/buy them. And if I want to buy a card about a stalker then I will, darn it.

On a different note, this year I had thought about dressing up on Val Day and taking myself out for a cup of coffee. Or more like…I would just sit there all depressed and down one shot glass of espresso after another until they cut me off. But wouldn’t you know it, last week (or was it the week before that?) I came down with Strep and uh, yeah I’m still getting over it. So now I’m just drinking my coffee at home. Alone. With my dog. And my Bailey’s flavored coffee. And my family.

So…not alone.

Happy Single’s Awareness Day Everybody!

 Love, Hol