Dating advice from...Ke$ha?

Hello my lovely followers,

I'm so sorry that it's been at least a month or two since I've last written. I've just been so stinkin' busy I don't know what to do with myself. However, tonight I had some experiences that couldn't go without writing about. So please read on for my version of...Friday Night Live. =)

Addie told me she was going to have a friend stay the night tonight. I liked this particular friend (really I like all of Addie's friends--hilarious), so I was totally cool with it. However, I didn't realize that this Friday night entertainment would be some of the best comedy to ever hit Protection.

Addie's friend, Sorel, is quite the little character. She always has me crackin' up, and she's just downright nice. After have a little heart-to-heart with her about my first year in college, of which she was very curious about, and her soon-to-be middle school aged sister, I decided to go upstairs for the night and leave the two little ones to have some fun.

Not long after I had situated myself on my lovely bed, laptop in hand, I hear the steady increase of giggling and quick steps up our creaky wooden stairs followed. Addie busts through the door and sprints into the room with Sorel on her heals, and on their faces were the most ornery smiles if I had ever seen them. Addie jump on the other bed, and starts blurting out some story about Sorel and her self proclaimed buck teeth and poofy hair (Sorel actually said poofy three times in one sentence--impressive). After watching those girls look at each other and begin to laugh harder with every word, I joined in the excessive laughter. I mean, how could you not, really? Well, here came more info. Addie decided to tell me who Sorel "has a crush on." Ohhhh boy. I was curious as to where this conversation was going because it was quickly taking a turn down a very long and winding road. Of course, Sorel likes one of the cutest, most athletic boys in her class (duh). And here's where it's funny...apparently, they were dating for  a month at one point in time, but Sorel didn't know. Let me tell you, Dis. Tress.

Then, the conversation turned to a different subject of choice--my little sister. Up until this point in time, I swore my little sister saw no difference between girl and boy. But boy (ha), was I wrong. Apparently, she's crushin' on a cute little fella, and he's, of course, crushin' on her. I was informed they even danced together at the dance...helllloooo love. The only sad part of this little story, is I had to practically tear my little sister's limbs off to figure out who it was. Luckily, her dear friend was very willing to fill me in of the information that I had no idea was going on.

I decided to make the conversation a little more serious, so I simply said, "Addie, it's okay that you like boys. Actually, I'm glad you do. It's totally normal. Just don't be dumb, and please, please, PLEASE make sure they treat you right. Otherwise, get them out!" After a few phrases from Sorel about 'kicking them to the curb,' Addie responds with, "Yeahhh, I know. Kind of like that one girl--the singer. She says, 'kick em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger.'"

And that's where I got a little worried. Apparently, my ten-year-old little sister is now taking dating advice from the one and only--Ke$ha. Uhh oh. Needless to say, I about blew a hole in the wall with laughter directly followed with concern, but I quickly finished my discussion on little-school love. I pretty much said that it would be better for her to take dating advice from my abnormally fiesty, wannabe cheetah cat before taking it from our one and only Ke$h.

Luckily, our night of girl talk eased in to less dramatic conversational topics like their bowl of cheese (that my dog so sneakily enjoyed instead of partaking in our lovely talking) that was to be used for 'enchiladas,' also known as quesadillas, and how it's time to quit calling your toes 'piggies,' but instead 'toes' or if they really want to impress people 'phalanges.' To which Sorel responded, "That sounds like enchiladas to me. Why in the world would you EVER call your toes.." wait for it, this is one of the best moments of the night.. "Fill-in-chee-an-nees." Yeah, close, buuut no.

To sum up this entire post, I'm going to warn you. If you decide to stay up with a couple of crazy 9/10-year-olds, be prepared to laugh, cry, etc. They will make you fall in love with that childhood innocence that is so brilliant...so perfect..so stinkin' hilarious. If you are to ever get this chance, I suggest you take it. It may be one of the best spontaneous decisions that has ever been forced upon me. High-five to silliness!

Enjoy the ignorance of others,
the Lone Woolf

Help.

Summer is nearing, my friends. Summer is nearing. And I am becoming more and more excited. Though I'm not finished with classes until the 16 of May, and not finished at my Elementary school until the 24th, I still am realizing that my first year of college is coming to an end. I'm excited to be living back in Protection where I have free laundry, and my keys never leave the ignition. However, I'm a little nervous for how my social life could go from booming to...bombed?

With the summer coming, I need a book list. Why? Because, well, I am a nerd, and I love to read. It's a sick obsession I've had since, well, third grade. It wasn't until about third grade that I realized it was an obsession. Apparently, it's not common to take large AR books home and try to finish them in one night. Who knew?

Anyway, the previously stated information shall remain in the blog, and in the blog only. Truly, it's irrelevant to the topic. Obviously, I've already started thinking about this precious prize to my mind. My current summer must-reads include:

1. Think by John Piper
2. Take One by Karen Kingsbury
3. The Hunger Games Trilogy

However, considering the amount of time I'll spend traveling, relaxing by the pool, and catching some rays, I'm going to need a few more suggestions. So, my faithful followers, this is where you come in. I need a few more suggestions. I am open to all kinds of suggestions. Why? Because I am not picky. When it comes to food, music, and books, I have a vast taste. 

Anyway, please, suggest. My capacity for boredom could be lessened drastically thanks to your suggestions. 

Read for love,

the Lone Woolf

Thank God He can read.

As I've mentioned before, it's been a crazy last few weeks. I've been thrown so many situations to handle--new types, old types, you name it. What do I do? I attempt to handle them..duuhh. Sometimes, it turns out well. Sometimes, I do what I know I need to do. Yet what happens when disappointment, grief, or sorrow throw themselves my way? I seem to grab yet another mask. I hide all upset feelings--simply cover it with my big smile and an "ehh, it's life" comment. I honestly can say that I even mask the joyous situations. Relationships that have been mended, hugs received by hurting children, even those I don't let myself attach to. Why? Because those situations may let you down. Those relationships may end as they have before, and those children may not be here tomorrow. And when I do finally let down those walls that I have so successfully built up over the last few years, I feel weak. It just seems better to not feel at all.

As I sit here thinking about everything that has happened, I realize the emotional roller coaster that I should be experiencing. Yet all I've done is put on my 'tough girl' exterior. With everyone. With myself. Is it possible to work so hard to convince every one else that you're okay, that these situations are just life, that eventually, you even convince yourself? And what happens then when you realize maybe you're not 'okay'? Maybe you don't feel like smiling? YOu'd better hope that the people around you can handle it, right? Because people don't like it when you're real. 

So here's my relief--God has x-ray vision. There are no masks with Him. He even knows what I don't. The thankfulness I have at this point, in regards to Him understanding me better than myself...it's abounding. There will always be someone who doesn't care if I cry. He knows when I'm let down. He knows how hard it is for me to let anyone see me in a vulnerable state. He knows when I hurt. 

"And you, my son Solomon, acknowledge the God of your father, and serve him with wholehearted devotion and with a willing mind, for the Lord searches every heart and understands every motive behind the thoughts. IF you seek him, he will be found by you; but if you forsake him, he will reject you forever." 1 Chronicles 28:9

The bold statement, it's...well, bold. And comforting. And scary. And comforting. God, He can read me like an open book. Praise the Lord (haha, literally) because I usually don't even know what I, myself, want. I can justify any possible want in my head. But really? I honestly have no idea. However, it's scary. He knows what I want, even when I have successfully convinced myself that I do not want that.

And here's what is so disgusting about this whole situation. It takes a massive amount of crappy events for me to even realize this sort of thing. How selfish can I get? How idiotic can I bet? I mean, if this were the first time that a realization like this had occurred, that's one thing, but it happens repetitively. So here's my conclusion: the Lone Woolf still has a lot of growing up to do. And always will. 

Maybe that's an abrupt ending, but let it leave you some time to think. Masks? We all wear 'em. More often than we should. What would happen should we all take them off? Chaos? Reality? 

Truth? 

Confidence in God alone,

the Lone Woolf

P.S. this is not a distraught post. I am not upset. I just feel like more than just I feel this way. . .

A dream worth documentation. . .

Hello all,

Okay, so here's the deal. I like to sleep...a lot. The kind of sleep I particularly enjoy is that deep, uninterrupted, drool-worthy sleep--yeah, it sounds good just typing about it. Dreams? Well, I don't particularly enjoy them, but for this rule, there are some exceptions. This particular dream I am going to explain is one of those. I think you'll see why. It all started after my head hit my pillow.

All of the sudden it was Christmas, but it wasn't the normal Christmas. I was actually spending this particular Christmas with some random girl who shall remain nameless. Why? Because I have yet to figure out how she got into my dream. Anyway, she was trying to figure out where she was going to go to college. Now, that's what is strange about this dream. Not only does she already go to college, but also her determining college would have no alteration to my life. Weird?

Onward I go. Now, she was trying to determine her future college, but her method was the strange part. Her two colleges of choice were received as Christmas presents--one red, one green, no bows (obviously not my usual Christmas).  So she finally gets to the good part, she opens the presents, and I immediately knew what they were. Present number one, red box, Marshall University. Yes, we are Marshall. Haven't seen the movie since it hit theaters (mostly because I balled like a little baby, and I don't particularly enjoy doing that. Don't get me wrong, great movie).

 I am certain you are all very excited to hear what was in the green box, and I am excited to tell you, for if this was a college, I am certain I would attend. And when she opened that box, my eyes lit up,  and I was overwhelmed with warmth. Here it is: DPU. Never heard of DPU? That's because it doesn't exist. Don's Place University, my friends. The college of good food, and well, Don.

I never got to see what she decided, but I am certain it would have been Don's Place University. First of all, it was close to her home (yes, she lives near my hometown), and second of all, I mean, who wouldn't want to major in deliciousness, right? I know I would. Obviously, I miss that deliciousness more than an understandable amount. So there you have it, as I woke in laughter, I decided I would share.

That's all my friends. Enjoy life, and I will talk to you soon.

Keep your hunger satisfied,
the Lone Woolf

Something joyous happened today. I decided to write about it in verse...

You've been gone too long
I've missed that silent song
But now you're back at my side.

I keep you close
With each insulin dose
I supply you with my blood sugar slide.

You keep all my data
with some of your own strata
But we are like two peas in a pod.

With you gone
I carry on
But with you I'm as cool as a guy with a hot rod.

Shiny, sharp, silver, pointy
Stabbed deep into my own tummy
I trust you don't give me hypertrophy

They try to take you from my grasp
But to you I tightly clasp
For your company is like my trophy.

When the end comes
And they pry you from my stomach and thumbs
I will always remember the diabetic love we've had.

Keep faith, my Dexter,
My continuous diabetic tester,
For at the end of July, we'll be far from disappointed, mad.

The End.

Dexter is back my friends. I have been reunited with my sharp, continuous friend. =)

Love and Diabetic Consistency,
the Lone Woolf

My passion colored pen

Long time no write,

For this above statement, I am truly sorry. HOwever, I haven't been coming up with much to write about lately. Perhaps it's the business of what my life has been possessing? Perhaps it's all of the emotional highs and lows I've been experiencing? The reason, I really have no idea. I just don't have much to say, yet I find myself wanting to tell you so much. So here I go...

The last two weeks of my life have been a whirlwind. I have lost; I have gained; I have both laughed and ached with pain. I have opened up and built new walls. It's as if life is a never ending process of two steps forward one step back. But at least I'm getting somewhere, right? And what a wonderful jaunt it has been.

I'm nearing the end of my first year of college. Weird, right? I'm becoming such a grown lady. Ha, nahhh. Within the last year, I have learned so much about so much. About life, people, and. . . me. Here, allow me to elaborate five of my self revelations learned this year. 

1. I make horrible first impressions. Why? Because I am one of the most awkward people ever. I am loud, and when I get nervous (which happens fairly often), I sometimes get even louder than my natural state. I'm sure you're thinking that's quite impossible, but let me tell you my friends, it's not. And if I don't obnoxiously force myself into your life, I don't talk at all. I just sit there, smiling, as if I have nothing in my cranial cavity. Extremes? Very much so. Extremely strange.

2. I apparently look or sounds like the following: Jenna Fischer, Zooey Deschanel, and...wait for it...Exercise Barbie? I have yet to decide if the latter is an insult of a compliment. My dearest friend, Sar, once told me, "If Jenna Fischer and Barbie had a baby, that'd be you." Really? Hmm. These comparisons all seem to leave me in a haze, but within the last seven months I have gotten more references than ever before in my life. Strange, I know. 

3. Here's the next one, and this one has become blatantly obvious than ever before. I am a horrible, terrible liar. In an attempt to side-swipe a situation today, not even lie--just not tell the whole truth, this self realization became apparent. What happened? My face filled in the rest of the story. My face gets this panic-striken look much like that of a five-year-old caught stealing candy--eyes widen, mouth drops, and stuttering starts. I'm so terrible at doing this, that upon once attempting to play the two truths and a lie game, I accidentally told three truths. I have always known this hasn't been my strongest quality, maybe that's a good thing? Maybe it's a little embarrassing? Oh well. 

4. I'm a wicked dancer--especially in the Sonic parking lot. hahahaha...yeah, this really happened. Let me put it all out there for you, so you may fully comprehend. ONe night, after Christian Challenge, Sarah and I took a little jaunt to Sonic. Upon hearing some music, Sar broke into random dance, and I obviously followed. Then we hear someone yelling from across the way, "Hey, girl, whatchou dancin' to?" Sarah explained that she was just dancing to some music she had heard, and we then learned that it was the yelling woman and her friends that had been bumpin'. After this discovery was made, I did what any sheltered, white-girl in the ghettos would do...I signaled for her to turn it up. She did, and the next 10 minutes was filled with somewhat of a dance-off between their car and ours. The battle was close until I started framing my face while Sar did the robot. After that, they were toast. Yeah...that was one of my cooler moments.

5. Ahh numero cinco. Here we go. I'm a "follow my heart", "gotta have a feeling" kind of girl. Yeah, lammmme, I know. But it's true, and I've realized this more in the last seven months due to the excessive amounts of changes in my what was once so comfortable life. Sometimes, I do things on a 'whim'. And yeah, it's fun for a while. Footloose and fancy free, right? Well, what happens, you see, is I turn into leadfoot and fancy nausea. Not. Worth. It. But this also goes the other way. When I'm excited about something, it's apparent. When I'm passionate, it's an overwhelming passion, and I love this feeling. I often can't sleep when excitement is overtaking me because, well, I'm that ridiculous sometimes. 

One of my favorite writers due to her bluntness much like my own, Beth Moore, gave me a nice little quote that sums up, well, my last paragraph--especially in regards to my writing. "Passion isn't always the best ink. It tends to get splattered and spit instead of scripted thoughtfully and melodiously like notes on a composer's score. . . Things are better said in retrospect, but had I waited, a written message would never have materialized." This quote made my life. Sometimes I don't tell good stories in person, and sometimes my emotions are so thrown up all over this blog that I pity those of you who have to 'clean them up'. By clean them up, I mean read them. Ha. You get the picture? However, like Beth said, it's better said without melody than not at all. And I don't do well about not saying things. I like to talk.

Okay, so this may be one of the most randomly thrown together blogs of all times, but I felt it was time for an update. Now I must make haste, for bed time has come. 

Goodnight my lovelies,

the Lone Woolf

One more added to the clan. . . yesss.

My dearest followers,

How greatly excited I am to tell you about my new for today. Why? Because this one is a little personal, and EXTREMELY unexpected. I'm sick of the lead in...let me begin, for my excitement can be contained no longer!

So here we were, sitting at Don's. By we, I obviously mean, mom, Mitch, Aunt Shelley, Addie, and I. My family combined with my Don's family happens to be one of my favorite combinations...ever. Anyway, we were finishing up our dinner, I some nice shrimp with a side of cottage cheese, complete with a medium pepsi...regular pepsi. Odd combination, I know, but it really was delicious, and my diabetic self doesn't get that regular soda very often. I relished. In the soda. I didn't actually use relish, though I could see where you could get confused. Okay, on to the rest of the story.

We were finishing up, Addie was throwing out her best Justin Bieber impersonation--surprisingly, it was really, really good. Justin Bieber is just a hair more feminine. Ha, okay, sorry. I am getting easily distracted tonight. I just still catch myself laughing at Addie Bieber. Anyway, all of the sudden, someone walks in. I felt the cold breeze come rushing in behind me, and my mom said, "Well, hi! I've been hoping to meet you." WHat? Someone we don't know. That's strange. I didn't know that happened anymore. I mean, that is such a rare, rare occasion in Protection. So as I was trying to figure out who this possibly could be, my mom finished with," I'm glad you're here because I've been wanting Lora to meet you, too." At that moment, I quickly realized whom it was.

Weeks ago my mother had informed me of yet another newly diagnosed diabetic girl. This happens to be the second one in our community/surrounding communities in the last few months. I knew it had to be her. I quickly, turned around and jumped out of my chair. Somehow, I was semi-stuck, so that was mildly embarrassing, but when you're bad with first impressions, you learn to get over it quickly. Anyway, I jumped out of my chair and ran to the little girl, shook her hand, and introduced myself. She informed me of her name, and we quickly jumped to the conversation of diabetes. 

So it's important that you know this. I would never, never, EVER wish this lack of sufficient islet cells upon ANYONE. However, I will be the first person to talk as if it's not a big deal. Yes, people have even told me that I make diabetes sound fun. I'm not exactly sure how that happens because I will also be the first to tell you it's not fun. But you win some and you lose some, and my pancreas happened to lose this one. What better what to handle it than with some light-hearted fun? And what better way to make this fun than with another fellow diabetic?

Anyway, tonight I got to meet a new diabetic, and let her know that it isn't always fun, but it will be  okay. For all of you nons out there who only know my jokes, I'll have you know that at times it is really scary. At times it is so frustrating you cry. And at times...you just want to stab someone with every single used syringe you've ever encountered (this is a very, very high number might I add). And by 'you' I obviously mean me, I, etc. However, it can be fun. I cannot tell you how many times I catch myself rolling at the awkward looks I get when I leave my syringe lying on the table, or when I start popping glucose tabs in class as if they are the God's greatest gift to my tastebuds. Those time, are truly glorious. 

And don't worry fellow campers of mine, this newly diagnosed diabetic and I chatted about Camp Discovery--my home away from home. Most of you may have heard me refer to it as "diabetes camp". Yeah, that place. Let me once again accentuate that it is real. Anyway, I may have converted a new camper...I hope so. Because she was one of the spunkiest little girls I have ever encountered. Hooking her up with some needles and insulin could make her dangerous. So she needs camp. Just kidding...in a sense. 

Tonights new was fun. A fun, exciting way to end my night. The world continues to welcome more and more diabetics. Watch out, nons, we are taking over the world, but an awesome world it will be. =)

Protect those islets,

the Lone Woolf

Haha...a pancreas? I thought it may add a nice touch. Yeah, it does. 

A new...calling?

HEyyy there again,

So, at the end of this post, I will thankfully be caught up on my new things for the week. Congratulations, right? Right. Okay, so here we go. Get pumped, this is one of my favorites.

Today, I did absolutely nothing. Well, I did make some pudding and watch three hours of How I Met Your Mother, Bridget Jones, and some Disney Channel. Did you know in Bridget Jones, she is in love and ultimately ends up with...Mark Darcy. Who play Darcy? Collin Firth. WHy is this hilarious? Well, Collin Firth also plays Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice...the A&E version. It's a solid five hours of sheer loveliness. Yeah, I'm a wee bit obsessed thanks to Senior English. Obsessed with both Pride and Prejudice AND Collin Firth. Anyway, that little bit of information fancied me for most of the day.

I only tell you all of the above information to elaborate on how little I actually accomplished today (the pudding was really good, though). So tonight, after I got home from visiting my gramps at the hospital and eating at Don's, I walked in to see my favorite 10-year-old chillin' in the recliner. I did what any 19-year-old big sister would do--jumped in the chair with her (tight, tight squeeze I might add).

So there we were, sitting, enjoying the Disney Channel, obviously, and just hanging out. I was trying to find a place for my right arm. I needed it to be free, so I could text, and comfortable because, well, I like to be comfortable. Naturally, the right place was across Addie's face.

Upon placement, I realized my little mutant sister was doing some strange, awkward movement with her mouth. Yes, she was trying to BITE my arm--as if it were in her way or something! Rude. Anyway, I, of course, stuck my elbow on her nose, so she couldn't reach my arm. I honestly don't even know why I'm telling you all this. I mean, this is what all normal sisters do. Well, hold tight...this story is about to get boss.

We ended up fighting in the little chair. I finally had her arms wrapped around her head like a stinkin' pretzel, and was slapping her face with HER hand (which will later defend me). All of the sudden, she goes, "WHOA," and throw her arms up. The she puts her hand out right in front of her mouth, and hocks something into it. I look down, and lo, it's a tooth. Not just any tooth, a tooth that has been causing her MUCH trouble for the last...week. I was more than happy to have this little whine-tool out of her mouth. So when she looked at me with big, shocked eyes...tooth in hand, I jumped out of the chair and started cheering.

She ran to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and started...balling. Yeah, not exactly the reaction I was expecting. I thought she was sick of this tooth. Well, her respsonse was, "I liked to play with it when I was bored." Really? You're making me feel this terrible because your source of entertainment is gone? You're mourning the loss of a tooth? Sheesh.

Eventually, after all of the drama had worn off, she tried to bite me again. I wasn't very worried...I mean, she had one less tooth. She was weak sauce now. And we ended the night back in the chair watching a movie. It was a really good night of sister bonding time.

I have never, well, before tonight, removed a tooth from a mouth. I believe I should have considered dentistry more heavily. Maybe a change of majors is due? Nah. I'm sure I'll see enough hole-filled mouths in my current profession of choice. =) Anyway, time to get some sleep.

Watch out for loose toothed ten-year-olds,
the Lone Woolf

The culprit. And the hole. 

Runnin' low.

Hello my lovely followers,

I know I didn't blog my new yesterday, but it was a very busy day, and my new was rather simple. Allos me to inform you.

I went running with my favorite older sister. My blood sugars had been running a wee bit on the lower side all day, but I figured enjoying a very high calorie meal would allow me to run a mere two miles without any trouble. Well, wrong. Nearing the end of the run, I started feeling a little, well, strange.  It kind of felt like my body was in normal running mode, but it seemed that my vertical was increasing. I felt like I was...jump-running. Yes, running and jumping at the same time. bounding.

Weird, right? OKay, well, that's not necessarily the 'new' thing of the day. The new part was that I was very...unprepared. Normally, I am in control of my diabetes. I often feel like a mother when I'm around my other diabetics because I'm the one who checks my blood sugar, or provides them with the necessary supplies to check there's (even if it is the only time they've done it in months) (cough cough...BRYAN). Anyway, at this point in time, I was unprepared and in a very unfamiliar place. SO I finally told my sister, and she said, "do you want me to go knock on that door?"

I said no. I mean, can you imagine how awkward that would be!? "Hi, sir, uhhh...do you have any food my diabetic sister could eat real quick. She's having a hyplogycemic episode."

Yeah, awwwwkkkward.

Megan then responded how any older sister would respond, "Lora, if you fall on the ground, I will be dragging you by your ponytail." She's so...sweet. The story ends quickly. I then realized we were only about two blocks from my sister's house and the end of our run. So there we went, sprinting...I'd say we had a very nice 'kick'. I ripped open the gate, then the door, and very ungracefully the fridge. I chugged a nice Hawaiian PUnch, and then I was fine. Back to normal blood sugar range. Thank goodness. I, my friends, was back in control. And control is exactly where I like to be.

Well, that's all. Coming soon is my new thing of...well, today.

Keep your sugars up,
the Lone Woolf

Driving barefoot

Today, obviously, was day three of something new. I was struggling for a while as to what exactly new I did today. It was one of those days that was pretty packed. I woke up, scrambled some eggs, made some coffee, and sat down to watch tv. So here's new number one: the Wendy Williams show.


Personally, I don't watch too many talk shows, but recently, I am finding that I enjoy them more and more. And today, I especially loved this one. So much, that I may get up by ten, so that I can watch it again tomorrow. HOwever, this isn't the new I was going to tell you about, my friends. My other excitement for the day came a little later.


I got a text message from my lovely cousin, Shelby, asking if I wanted to do an earlier lunch because she was 'hungry'. It was only about 10:45 when I got this, but I managed to throw on some nike shorts, cash a check, and hit the road by 11:05. 


I made it to Coldwater, picked up my cuzz, and off to lunch we went. It was obviously the Kreeme that was suitable for our taste buds on this given day. I walked up to the counter, looked at the menu (though pointless since I get the same thing EVERY time), and ordered a chef salad with chicken, chocolate covered rice krispy cookie, and a large diet dr. pepper. This is like...heaven to my tongue. So Shelb and I sat there, ate, and suddenly, she got a wonderful idea. Golfing.


Shelby and I are two of the most ridiculous people. Taking anything serious has never been one of our strengths--especially golfing. The only time either of us had seen our grandpa get mad was on a golf course. But when you have two teenaged girls, 29 whiffs, and a couple of swings that result in a face plant...of course we're going to giggle...excessively. 


Anyway, today, despite the nasty wind, we decided to go golfing, and golfing we did. We headed to the course, found a cart (that is another ridiculous story in itself), and hit the course. Since neither of us have much patience, we went for the shortest holes. The first hole resulted in a couple of silly pictures, me losing my ball in a pasture on the second stinkin' shot (the ball matched my shirt. I was a little ticked off), and shelby putting her ball in...like she was playing pool. Like I said, ridiculous.


The next hole, however, we were getting serious. There was a little stream, and somehow, Shelby and I managed to get across it on the first hit. That within itself was a divine situation. On we went to finish up what was already obviously, our hole. That's when shelby asked, "Do you always golf with your shoes off?" This question really threw me for a loop. As far as I knew, I had put shoes on that day, so for a solid two seconds I was really confused. I looked down, and sure enough, there on each foot was a nice lookin' silvery asic. I, indeed, had shoes on. In the next moment, I did what any natural person would do. I said, "No, but I am now." So I ripped my shoes off and finished the hole.


I later drove with my shoes off. No, not my car. That definitely wouldn't be new. I always drive my car with my shoes off. But today, I drove the course...foot loose and fancy free. And boy was it joyous. Until about two minutes later. A stinkin' sticker ruined my five minutes of breezy toes with cold grass running through them. 


So there's my new...driving barefoot. I would recommend this situation to any of you. When all else fails, take your shoes off. Okay, time to get rested for tomorrow. 


Watch out for stickers,
the Lone Woolf

yes, this is me and my three moments of glory. Did I forget to mention the awesome socks? 

A day of a new...tattoo?

Two posts in one day? No, you're not dreaming. This is reality. But as I told you earlier, I have to get started on my days of new. Today, well, it was a pretty basic Sunday...but I did do one thing new.

I wanted to feel something, right? What better way to feel than through a tattoo? Addie and I decided to make it a duo sort of thing. After much trouble, I finally chose a nice pink and black dragonfly. So here we were, Addie and I, in the kitchen...tattooing.

Oh, did I forget to mention these are child friendly tattoos? Because they are.

This fun was great. My little sister stuck a peace sign on her back and some lips on her bicep (the latter was my idea, clever?). However, the best part is that I'm currently convincing an innocent seventh grader that it's real. Yes, she legitimately believes I have a dragonfly permanently mounted on my scapula...oh boy. What are they teaching seventh graders in school these days? Sheesh.

So below, is my new for the day. I know it's silly, and I know it's not very clever, but it was fun and it was new. I've never had a black and pink dragonfly on my shoulder blade before. The silliest part is...i like it. =)

Okay, I will be back tomorrow.

Pain in beauty,
the Lone Woolf

Spring Break

Hello to you all,

I haven't posted in a while due to many different aspects--visiting hospitals, starting new jobs, keeping a social life..you get the picture. 

But now I'm on the lovely spring break. What am I doing for this lovely holiday, you may ask? Well, let me tell you.

Absolutely nothing. 

An entire week of no plans, prior engagements, people to please...it's going to be wonderful. I am chilling in Protection, and nobody will be bothering me. HOwever, I've decided that I should do something fun, so I have something to look forward to everyday. So here's my plan.

I am going to dive into Protection. I'm going to do something new once a day. What the new things will be, I have yet to determine, but I'm going to scope it out. Since I technically got home yesterday, I will start with...yesterday? 

It was Saturday night, and it's March Madness time, folks. This happens to be one of my favorite times of the year. I haven't ever been a sports follower because I don't really see a point. There are too many things that are disappointing in life that I CAN control, so I choose not to waste my time on caring about the things that I CAN'T. Silly, I know. However, I do enjoy walking through the house hearing the sound of basketball games, people yelling random things, etc. It's March Madness, and I've already enjoyed my hearty share. 

But March Madness isn't new. What was, my lovelies, was a super moon. Yes, a SUPER moon. What does that entail? A moon with a cape? A mask? Super powers? Well, no...but yes. The moon shines SUPER bright, and it's SUPER big. This kind of thing doesn't happen very often. 

So last night, I walked out onto my front porch, wrapped myself in a blanket, and sat down on my first step, a place that holds so many memories. The sky was clear, and the town was quiet. So quiet. How long it has been since I've experienced such serenity. 

Not only did I realize how much I value the moon and stars and there wonderful beauty, I also realized how much I've missed this quietness that I never seem to encounter anymore. So there I sat...passing time...admiring. 

Life has been stressful lately. I'm riding a fine line between busy and mentally overloaded. When this happens, I often forget how lovely this planet actually is, and how much I have to love. Really, I forget to feel. I don't allow anything to upset me because, well, I justify it as being a fact of life. Sitting on my porch, staring up directly above me, brought me back to reality.

So, yes, this moon did have super powers. No, not a cape, and no, not a mask, but it definitely had the power to bring me back to earth. back to my roots. back to a life of feeling. And that's my goal for the week--rediscovering a life of feeling. 

That's all I have for now. Today, I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do, but when I do, you'll be the first to know. 

Love to all,

the Lone Woolf

Dreamin'

My lovely, lovely followers,

How delighted I am to bestow this information upon you. I mean, it's fancy information to me, so it must be the same to you, yeah? Haha...just kidding. I'm not that stinkin' selfish...always. Anyway, background information: every once in a while I hear a song, and it truly delights my heart.

I mean, there are many other things that give me this feeling of true bliss...sunsets, nice compliments, good grades, funny jokes, etc. Anyway, as I was listening to my Brooke Fraser pandora radio, this particular song came on...and my heart delighted.

Why? Because it was raw. Raw talent. Raw beauty. Raw emotion. I listened in awe, and when I watched the video, I was even more in awe. One, it sounds absolutely beautiful. Two, she does everything. And three, this is me as a little girl. Running around, playing pretend, falling asleep as I pray. Heck, this is me...now.

Though I am growing up in so many ways, I catch myself seeking that childhood innocence, simplicity that  was once overwhelming me. Yet the other part of me is so excited for my future to come. Tomorrow I begin a job at an elementary school close to campus.

I am overflowing with emotions. Excited. Nervous. Anxious. Deathly, deathly fearful.

Today, I just had a  realization. I am growing up whether I like it or not. Don't get me wrong, I am so excited to step foot into the real world and get only a taste of what is yet to come. I guess I just realized that I will never have that lovely childhood back.

I suppose that is all for you, my friends. Tomorrow is an exciting time, so I'm going to go mentally prepare myself. For hours.

Keep your hearts young and your ears open,
The Lone Woolf

How those islets make me laugh. . .

My loves,

Please, do forgive me for my current blogger's block. It has been treacherous and has caused me much distress. However, I refuse to write without a purpose...without a passion. Without my flowing creativity in the mind, no writing will come, and I shall never force it. I don't want it to be unenjoyable, you know?

But today, something hilarious happened. I believe, if you wish to be enlightened with some diabetic humor, you should read on.

My day was, well, crazy. It kind of seemed things haven't been flowing smoothly lately, and I seem to keep getting busier and busier. But now, this evening, it was time for one of my favorite classes--Music fundamentals for the classroom teacher. Despite the test that I was about to take, I was still ready to enter this interesting classroom filled with maracas, bongos, and my beloved tambourines. It's just fun.

So I walk in, go to the second row, and take a seat in the second chair back. Normally, I sit in the first, but it was test day, and I wasn't feeling quite as confident, so I decided to express my confidence level by where I sat. I sat down, grabbed a pencil from my backpack, and mentally prepared myself for this test I was just about to dominate...hopefully.

The next thing I knew, my teacher was explaining that we needed to get partners for a huge project coming up. Great. Fun fact, I'm rather quiet and shy when I don't know anyone. I know, unbelievable right? Wrong. This hugely dominating voice isn't always...loud. And by shy, I mean I rarely talk in class. Unless I have to. It's really strange, but for me sit in the front row is a HUGE boundary leap. This explains my slump to the second row. Anyway, I immediately started freaking out regarding a...PARTNER. This required socialization. Who in the heck was going to be my partner? The brunette with cool socks right next to me? Or possibly the blonde that is usually my shoulder partner? Sheesh. Stress to the max.

My instructor then asks the most beautiful question that I've ever heard, "Who in hear doesn't have an idea of who their partner will be?" Boom shaka laka. I slyly looked around, and waited for someone to raise their hand. At the first sight of a hand above the head, my arm went flailing. I wasn't going to let someone take that one and only available partner. Success. I was the proud owner of a new, shiny partner. Just kidding, she wasn't shiny...but she was a partner. So, what is the next step in this newly forming partnership you may ask?

Information exchange. This is where it starts to get funny...so hold out. There is a point to this story.

We exchange folders, so we can write our names in each others...blah blah blah, I know. Be patient.  She hands me hers as I'm reaching in my backpack for a pen. I was semi-hurrying, so she didn't have to stress herself holding that folder out. I didn't want her to think I was oblivious or incompetent by not grabbing what she was so politely giving me. I grabbed the first thing my hand found and ripped the lid off.

Oh snap. I looked down at the pen-like object in my hand. Yes, it was a pen...an insulin pen.

So there I was, exposed needle in hand, and  I got that look that could make any person feel awkward. Not just from my new partner, but from everyone around me. The "I don't know what that is, but it's lookin' pretty sketch" look. What do I do?

Shove the lid back on as quickly as possible. Congratulations, partner! You have a creepy partner who finds humor in showing off their needles. sheesh. Insulin stinks...literally.

Really, it didn't hurt me too badly in regards to pride. I actually laughed about it...through the entire test (which only took 12 minutes, so it wasn't a big deal). Randomly. Hysterically. Awkwardly. Awesomely. And this was also creepy-like. No one understands this life that I live. This is what I came up with: a life equation.

An awkward person + an awesome disease = blatant comedy.

Well, that's all.

Keep your needles capped in public,
The Lone Woolf

See? Anyone could get this mixed up. It's truly inevitable...right?

A lesson learned from a second grader.

So here I am, sitting at home, on my lovely couch. My sister, nieces, and nephew are slumbering away upstairs, Addie and Mitch are enjoying a nice book in the back, and here I sit. Don't worry, I'm not alone, my sweet puppy, Ralph, is curled up right next to me. He's so cuddly. Some bull riding is on TV, but I'm not one much for watching that for more than, well, two minutes, so what better thing to do than blog?


Yesterday evening, after watching Addie perform a nice dance routine (she's half thug I swear), my older sister, Megan, her kiddos, and I came home. HOwever, when in the town of Protection, it is absolutely necessary to enjoy Don's cuisine at any possible moment. Praise the Lord for to-go orders. I, now at the kitchen table with Don's in hand, could not wait to bestow this deliciousness upon my tongue. Nikole, my bright, seven-year-old niece, sat down right next to me at the kitchen table, and we immediately dug in to our little white boxes.


About four bites in, I decided it was time to crack open that little head next to me. First, you must know this. Nikole is one of the most creative, imaginative, bright, beautiful second graders I know. HIlarious. You know those young children who are timid because they aren't exactly sure who they are yet? Yeah, she's about as far from that as possible. I love her to death.


Enough bragging. Here we are, digging in, and I finish chewing one bite of my chef salad with chicken, and ask something that I feel like I should already know. "Nikole, what exactly do you want to be when you grow up? Do you know?"


Her eyes lit up as she nodded and smiled that little gapped smile of hers. She definitely knew.


Her response amazed me. "Well, I want to be vet, doctor, nurse, a picture drawer, and a hiker. I want to be a hiker." Holy over achiever! How does one even respond to this? I mean, a hiker? Is that even such a thing? As I was trying to figure this out, she kept going, "Oh yeah, and I want to be a gardener, so I can grow green. (misunderstanding to 'going green' haha) Did you know that people kill trees? I'll stop that, too." Hahahaha, I swallowed my laughter, and replied, "Yeah, but we have to cut down trees to have paper. How are you going to solve the lack of paper? And this is where I nearly lost it. "Well, when I become President, I'll figure that out, too."


Okay, so by 'nearly', I  mean I lost it. I laughed, all over that black table cloth covering the lovely kitchen table.


But what was funny about this whole situation was the innocence and honesty behind each one of these statements. She legitimately thinks she is going to be all of these things, and from her, I feel like I can learn so much.


Do you remember those days? The days when you honestly believed in yourself? That you could be absolutely anything you wanted to be. I mean, I do. I was going to be a scientist. A paleontologist to be exact. And on the side, I was going to play basketball. I was a boss. Doing it all, no problem. 


Then one day, life hits, and everyone throws their dreams aside. Why? Because you're not smart enough. You're not tall enough. You're not athletic enough. You're too diabetic (ha, jk). You're not pretty enough. And the lists of insecurities go on and on. 


Yes, I do believe that some people need to understand they just won't be a famous singer because they cannot stay on pitch for their life. However, I also think that people throw their dreams away too easily. I know sometimes life shoots other dreams your way as well. Those dreams morph and become your reality. Yet so many people settle for something less. 


I don't want to settle.


No, my dream is no longer to be a paleontologist nor a basketball player. I realized I despise science and history, and high school basketball made me want to vomit more than smile. My dreams have changed. 


I feel like I can learn so much from young children. I can? I do. Addie, my little sister, has taught me more about compassion and selflessness in the last month than I have learned in a lifetime. Nikole, last night, successfully taught me that dreaming big is something to be cherished, remembered, and treasured. 


So my new goal is to dream like a seven-year-old. Though they may have small bodies, they have huge imaginations and very high hopes.


Love to all,
the Lone Woolf 

Addie, me, and the lovely Nikole. =) Love these girls. 

My first. . .gulp. . .kiss.

Prepare yourselves,

The other evening, in between shoveling rather bland food down my throat, Emily, Sarah, and I got to talkin'...and laughing...and talking...annnnd laughing. It's kind of what we do. So, somehow we got to the girl talk, and the story of my first kiss popped into my head. Since Valentine's Day is nearing, and I have no better way to spend it than to reminisce, here we go. Let me waste no more of your time. We shall begin.

Go back in time...there I was, on the floor, staring straight into those beautiful blue eyes of my, yes, yes, LOVE...or so I thought at that time. There my "love" and I stayed, hiding behind a small table--wooden top, metal legs. My heart began to flutter, I closed my eyes, and leaned in.

Yes, I leaned in, and then quickly drew back. I looked to my left, and my best friend was right next to me. Not only was that a problem, the teacher's desk was in plain sight.

Okay, it's time for a side note: it was nap time. No, no, no. I'm not telling you a scandalous story, though you may be wondering at this point. It was literally, "nap time." Yes, I was a whopping five years old, but I definitely tried to act at least ten. Double digits were not out of the question in my mind. Okay, now where was I? Oh right, my creepin' best friend.

I looked at her, my kindergarten bestie, and said this, "Hey, Chris, would you mind holding up your matt. You know, so we could have a little privacy?" After a little more convincing, I was quite the little manipulator in grade school, she finally agreed. Up went her matt, and in I leaned again. We were head to head. I closed my eyes so tightly that the wrinkles on my forehead appeared. Finally, it happened. My first kiss.

I must have seen stars. The next day I drew a picture of a person with stars in their eyes, and I named him, "Tim." (that was the name of my suitor). Maybe I really liked this kid...or maybe that was just the only name I knew how to spell? Three letters was awesome. I don't know the answer to that question. However, a year later, he was still my "boyfriend"--if you can even call them that at six. Obviously, I had another one along with Tim, but they didn't mind. I kept em in the know. One for Monday and Wednesday, and one for Tuesday Thrusday. I believe I was single on Friday-Sunday.

Well, that's really all there is to it.  It was magical, memorable, and mine. Now, I have shared it with you. Feel privileged, for I wouldn't do this with just anyone. But I think you and I are on a secret sharing level, so that's what I'm doing. Sharing my secret.

Well, geography is calling my name. I hope you have a wonderful time, and beware of boys during nap time. They'll getcha. =)

Over and out,
The Lone Woolf

The peeves. . .

Hiya faithful readers,

I'm currently sitting here at the "security desk" with my besties, Em and Sar. The weather is exceedingly cold outside, and for this, I am truly annoyed. The icy cold air is seeping in through the doors that are about  10 feet from me. The man standing here waiting for the elevator put it ever so simply, "it's rather cold outside." Yes, yes, it is. My delicate little fingers are really having trouble typing because they are THAT cold. This cold annoyance, however, lead to my new inspiration: things that "peeve" me. Yeah, like really just anger me, frustrate me, etc. And I've decided to put it into a list because, well, I love them. So, read on, loves, read on.

• Surprise attacks by the mattress--yes, SURPRISE ATTACKS! Somehow, in the middle of the night, my sheets are ripped off and out pops the wretched BLUE MATTRESS! I hate it. Why? Because it's cold, probably germy, and a giant plastic mystery! 
• Blankets that are too short--Apparently, it is a foreign concept to some that the shoulder AND feet area could be cold AT THE SAME TIME! What? NO way! Yes, way, sheesh. I have been known to wake up in the middle of the night, desperately try to cuddle up in a blanket. When it doesn't work, I throw a little fit. You know, like start kicking my legs and flailing my arms. This frustration could be solved easily--more fabric, duh. Sure, I could just wear socks or slippers to sleep in, but no...because my next frustration is...
• Sleeping in socks--Let's see, how can I put this? I have claustrophobic feet. They don't like to be trapped in little fabric containers of emotion. I hope some of you get that reference. 
• Silence--nothing makes me feel more awkward than that silence between two people, where you are looking side to side, but you really don't know what to say. Yeah, that's near death to me. As is having the radio off in cars. That silence is absolutely unbearable, and I'm not kidding. 
• Religious emails--I'm sorry, but I'm not going to go to hell because I didn't send an email. The internet obviously has a different Bible than I. 
• Missing the sunset by a mere few minutes--ugh, I don't feel like this requires much explanation. Watching the sunset is almost as enjoyable to me as watching a movie. When I just barely miss it, my heart breaks. 
• Eating food with my hands--please, don't get the wrong impression. I am by no means one of those girly girls who refuses to get their hands dirty. I love mud, the nasty dirt left in your softball glove that sticks to your hand, finger painting, etc. But my friends, I love forks, spoons, knives, sporks. They were created for divine use, and divine use they shall have.
• Grinding fabric between your teeth--idk, it just sends chills up my spine.
• Flashing Lights--obviously, I don't like cop cars. But I was actually initially referring to the blinking red light that my phone shows. I mean, it's really a nice concept, but sometimes, I just want to smash it with my fist.
• One word texts--I love words, so shouldn't every other person? Just kidding. But they do make me feel like I'm only bothering the person texting. Insecure? Maybe a little.
• Plan making--okay, so I actually LOVE to make plans. I like lists, itineraries, schedules, etc. BUT I hate it when people say, "Let's do something." I agree, and the next question is, "What should we do?" Ugh, soooo muuuucchh PRESSURE! Yet, for some reason, people do this to me ALL of the time. Oh well, I'm large and in charge. 

So there you have it. You all should feel awfully privileged because you now know the frustrations of my soul. Now I must go. Despite the inclement weather, WSU still has stinking school. Ugh. 

Disappointed in my choice of college,

the Lone Woolf

Let the music come alive. . .

Hello my wonderfuls,


Music. This small, five letter word seems to inspire some of the greatest feelings inside of man, inside of me. Really, there isn't much that can change my emotion, remind me of a memory, or truly speak to me more than music. It moves me to so many emotions--laughter, tears, anger--all come from a simple four minutes of fluctuations of chords, voices, etc.I love music; I always have. However, nights like tonight remind me of the power of music. So let me explain to you the two types of musical power.


First type, emotion. So here I was, at Christian Challenge. Looking at the words appear on the screen, standing there, soaking up the words. The Desert Song by Hillsong (attaching it) was what was coming out of my vocal chords. And these words came up, "All of my life, in every season, You are still God. I have a reason to sing. I have a reason to worship." As I repeated these words, I couldn't help but smile. Like, honestly, I couldn't STOP smiling. And here's why:


I'm a singer. Am I good at it? Not so much. But nothing pulls me out of an emotional slump better than blasting some music, and singing my heart out. Often, when I'm really upset, I find myself chilling in my car (whether it be driving or just sitting), blaring the radio, and singing my heart out. So when I sang the line, "I have a reason to sing." I developed a great joy. God is my reason to sing. Say what? Well, my friends, this was such a simple realization, yet it really brought me great joy. Why? Because now, when I'm singing my heart out (in my car or in my hall), I will not allow anyone to quiet me. Because you can't quiet God. That would be silly. So, I will continue to sing my heart out, which is literally what I do. I felt like my bff, Jesus, was saying, "Lora, girl, sing that presh heart out for me." (Yes, sometimes I think Jesus shortens words for fun, too.)So you know what, I will. Music is power, lesson one.  


Second type, memory. Okay, I'm sure we all have that song that reminds us of that time, event, or person. Runaway Love by Ludacris still reminds me of the summer after 8th grade when I spent most of my time riding around in my sister's car, with her, feeling fly. Trading My Sorrows still reminds me of the first time I learned that Christians can act a fool. Every Rose Has It's Thorn by Poison reminds me of my first dance at diabetes camp with my camp crush. You see, music triggers vivid memories.This can be great, yet I have recently found, it can also bring great frustration. There are recent purchased songs on my iTunes list that I truly enjoy, but I WILL not listen to. Why? Because they scream those memories that I wish would just flee from this interesting brain of mine. However, this goes the other way as well. I love to replay those songs that make me feel happy, revived, restored. And by replay, I mean play them over and over and over and over again. It's what I do. It's how I feel, express. 


So there you have it folks, the top two reasons why I believe music has power. Moral of the story: don't ride in my car with me unless you don't mind loud vocals. That's all. =) 


Keep Singing, 
The Lone Woolf

Lora gets real.

Hola Amigos,

I'm sitting here in my dorm room, by myself, in the dark. I was about to begin a nice nap, when I was inspired. I reflect...a lot. Events of my life, possible events of the future, I think about it all. Often I assess what I did, if I should have acted differently, etc. So here I was, reflecting, reminiscing if you will the last, ehhh, we'll go with year, life, etc.

This is what I've realized. I don't get mad. Honestly, I cannot really think of too many times when I have experienced that fiery hot emotion so many people discuss. You know, anger? I don't really feel it. However, I do experience a different. Hurt. If I am betrayed, I don't get angry. I get hurt. If someone breaks my trust, I don't get angry. I get hurt. If I am insulted, I don't get angry. I get hurt. If someone crushes my heart, I don't get angry at them. I get hurt. Actually, we're going to go deep within my...heart, so I can better explain this to you.

I would honestly, HONESTLY encourage you to quit reading if you don't want to see me, in an emotional sense, poured out on your computer screen. And so I begin. I haven't heard from my dad in quite some time. Things with that side of the family have always been, well, shaky. Most people who experience this go through a stage of anger or frustration. I haven't. Maybe it's too fresh, though I don't think that's the case. I mean, a year is long enough for an emotional process to take place, right? A process it's been. Yet through this process, I haven't once "hated" my dad or been angry. I couldn't dream it. I've mentally punched him before, but my dad's a big guy, so that was a fail (plus, it wasn't real). But when I think of the tough times going on, I also think of the amazing memories I've experienced with my father. We've built bird houses, cracked jokes, rode four wheelers, went diving (with an oxygen tank) in our nasty family pond, etc. And my humor, yeah, it comes from him. Therefore, if my dad were to ever show up on my door step, I can honestly say I'd open the door for him to barge right back into my life.

After reading this, don't get me wrong, please. I wouldn't change these events, and I am by no means "emotionally distressed." I handle problems. Actually, no. I really don't. God does. Thank goodness, too. If I handled them, I'd just crawl into a little hole and never come out. But no.  God gives me the strength, knowledge, and courage to handle these dramatic problems every day. Do I have scars? Heck yeah. You're a lucky person if you get through my walls. I set 'em firm and high. However, I don't believe in allowing scars or past circumstances to allow us the right to label ourselves as victims. I'm not saying I'm perfect and handle this whole situation with ease. Far, far from it, my friends. I still catch myself tearing up. I mean, what girl doesn't want a lap to crawl up onto when life keeps pushing her down? This is when I wish God was, well, a person. I have recently tried sitting on my Bible. DON'T JUDGE. I make my relationship VERY personal. HOwever, sitting on the Bible really doesn't have the same effect. Actually, it's quite uncomfortable. And my heart continues to break every time I send a text message or phone call and get no reply. I don't think I will ever be "okay" with the situation. Never will it be handled with "ease."

However, I can honestly say I wouldn't be...well...me...if it weren't for these trials. I've been formed and molded into who I am, and for that I am beyond thankful. So instead of asking Why Me? I have challenged myself to thank God for these trying situations. Thank Him that I had wonderful times with my dad building, exploring, etc (and who knows, maybe there will be more in the future). Thank Him that I've learned the value of joy--smiling when all I want to do is ball my eyes out. Thank Him that I've found the friends who will allow me to ball my eyes when needed. Because despite this rocky past, I've experienced an amazing, amazing life. God has blessed me in ways I never would have dreamed possible. I mean, He allowed the creation of insulin, which always reiterates the fact that I must have a purpose. OKay, that was dumb. I know. But true!

Well, folks, there you have it. Below I have inserted a verse that pretty much screams the last paragraph. Enjoy, loves. Talk to you soon.

Keep it real,
the Lone Woolf

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, when you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish it's work, so you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4

Home, Sweet, Home. . .

Hola Amigos,

As I sit here at my dinner table delighting in some delicious hummus and a diet coke, I can't get over how great it is to be home. There really isn't much I enjoy more than my family, and since my brother and sister-in-law are home, it's truly blissful. We are by no means the picture perfect family, but the trials we've conquered, relationships  we've built, and meals we've eaten have only brought us closer. This is where I feel comfortable. No one here cares that I tell ridiculously terrible jokes, they laugh when I laugh (more so because I'm laughing. Some would say my chuckle is contagious). I also receive the most criticism here. I happen to be probably the least smart in my family, and I am blonde. They don't let me forget this, but I take it in humor. So may I please allow you to experience them as I do, in a sense.

Today, after my last class, I jumped in my car, picked up some tahini paste for my vegan family members (NOT me, for I LOVE meat), and flew across town to pick up my brother and SIL from the airport. Then, we were on our way home. After 2.5 hours of good brother, SIL, Lora bonding time, we were located in good old P-town. My amazing grandma (by amazing, I mean offered to do a bungee jumping thing with me while she was at the age of 70) who is in town from Memphis, TN came driving up, honked thirty times, and was located in the driveway. I hugged Barbar (my grandma), unloaded my dirty laundry from my car, and sprinted inside to see the bright shining face that I find myself missing ever so frequently. Addie. She obviously runs down the stairs, and give me a tight squeeze. This little girl happens to be one of the coolest little 10-year-olds I know, and I'm not exaggerating. She helped me haul my bags upstairs, and showed me her new fish. They are beautiful, her fish.

Minutes later, up my front porch walks my best friend and number one fan, momma dearest. =) Giant hug number two. Let me tell you one very important thing. I really like to hug people. It actually runs in our family. In-laws have, in fact, referred to my entire mom's side of the family as "the hugging family". Haha, and it's a well deserved title. We all made our way up to Addie's room to check out her new fish and catch up. Obviously, I sat on my momma's lap. I've realized, it really doesn't matter how old I am, I'm never going to outgrow my mom's lap. I don't feel more loved anywhere else, really.

We decided to make a family jaunt to the wonderful three aisle grocery store two blocks down the road. Addie, fortunately, downloaded a truth or dare app on her iPod, and this was our entertainment for the next hour. By the end of the trip, I was looking to the left of everyone's head and saying "would you like fries with that?" anytime someone asked me to do something. For example, Mom said, "Lora, will you go get 8 cans of garbanzo beans." I simply replied, "Sure madre, would you like fries with that?" Her blunt response, "Lora, I don't know what you're doing, but go get the beans." She actually does enjoy my humor, but the beans were urgent. However, this doesn't compare to Addie's dare. Her iPod dared her to "go tell an adult you have to go number 2." HAHAHAHA. She did it. See? Coolest 10-year-old EVER.

On the way home, Addie and I enjoyed the nice jar of pickles we had just purchased a mere two minutes earlier and good race (yes, pickles were in hand). Because of our love of dill, this jar didn't make it very far. Yum.

Since then, I've enjoyed a nice game of Disney Sing It, hung out on my kitchen floor (my favorite spot in the house), been blockaded by the kitchen table chairs (thank you, brother), and ate some delicious grub. Well, minus the vegan food. My family is the bomb dot com. Sometimes, I selfishly catch myselft praying I marry an orphan man, so I don't have to give up holidays. hahahaha..joking. But that's how I feel about my family. I can't imagine a better one.

Well, low blood sugar is calling for my complete and undivided attention.

Over and out,
The Lone Woolf

The scary story called "My Life"

Hello, hello,

This blog is going to get crazy, so prepare yourself. You may need a hand to hold, a blanket to cuddle, or a person to hug because it's about to get scary. Let me begin.

So,  here I am on a Saturday night. Sitting in my black, cushioned, computer chair with my legs crossed (indian style), slightly spinning back and forth as I do. My hands and mind are ever so delightfully occupied with my latest read So Long Insecurity by Beth Moore, and Chris Tomlin is playing in the background. THis, my friends, is true bliss. The perfect way to end what has already been a wonderful evening.

All of the sudden, I hear what sounds like a gun shot. I nearly jump 10 feet into the air, let out a piercing shriek, and land on my feet in warrior woman mode. Then I hear it again. By this time, I of course run to the bathroom door, which is only about two feet from me, and start banging on it as loudly as possible to get my beloved roommate out of the shower in time to clothe and get away from the murderer. "SOMEONE IS SHOOTING PEOPLE IN THE DORMS!" This is exactly what is going through this crazy mind of mine. Now, I'm devising an escape plan. First, I will tie some sheets to my bed. Yeah, that will work. Then, I'll begin climbing. "SARAH, SARAH!" I scream as I'm practically beating down the bathroom door with my fists. Then the sounds occurs one last time. It hits me. No, not a bullet, don't be silly. If that were the case, I wouldn't be writing this. My stupidity hits me. I look over to where I thought I the muffled gun shot sound was coming from. It wasn't a murderer at all, it was actually Sarah's little white refrigerator with a drawn picture of Jesus on it thanks to Emily. My mind is racing, as I'm realizing what exactly has happened, when I hear Sarah, "LORA, Lora! What's going on?" Do I inform her, so she doesn't worry? No. Of course not. I simply begin to laugh, and laugh, and laugh...excessively. Through my laughter I am trying to explain to Sarah that her fridge is so cold it is exploding her pops, but all that really comes out is laughter. And more laughter. Why? Because when I get nervous, I laugh uncontrollably. And this is what was happening.

This was, in fact, what just happened a bit ago. Moral of the story: have a better escape route planned in case of a murderer.

Alive and Well,

the Lone Woolf

The gun shots. 

Yeaaahh....

Shutdown, SHerese, Shun...my day alliterated.

Cut the intro,

So, normally I wouldn't blog so close together. The more frequent something happens, the less desired it is. I wouldn't want my blog to become, well, less desired. However, this was another day that is in deep need of being explained. My day can be simplified into three words all beginning with 'sh'--shutdown, Sherese, and shun. All new experiences, so I shall hesitate no longer. This introduction is by all means dragging on.

First word: shutdown. Within 11 minutes of my previous blog of my newest beloved addition, Dexter ceased communication with the needle stuck in my six-pack (ha, yeah right). As he was alarming me with an ever so pleasant vibrate, I was moderately freaking out due to the lack of knowledge about Dex. After working so diligently to resuscitate my dear friend, I had to throw in the towel. I h   Don't worry, I went back in today, and Dex is working like the bomb dot com thanks to my wonderful study leader whom I love. 

Second word: Sherese. For any of you who know me, I am an absolute, no hiding, terrible liar. If the lie I am telling is funny, I will laugh. If it's sad, I'll start sobbing (I once tried to lie to my mom in 6th grade about dating a boy, it didn't go over well). However, today, this all turned around. There is this pest of a guy who always bothers my dear roommate, and best friend, Sarah Thompson. We shall call him R. Anyway, I went to visit Sar at the information desk where she works. Well, R kept bugging her, then me, and well, you get the picture. He, too, works for housing (the same place sarah works), so he looked at me and said, "What's your name and id?" I simply looked at him and said, "Boy, shush, you don't deserve my id." Ha, so sometimes I get sassy. Unintentional, but I think it was necessary. In the next three minutes he asked me my name at least seven times, so I finally looked at him and said, "Sherese." Obviously, he didn't believe me, but to reassure him he wanted me to spell it. "S-H-E-R-E-S-E. Sherese." Wow, that came flying out of my mouth like a speeding bullet. Not just a normal bullet, a speeding one. As a child, I quit the spelling bee due to two years of public humiliation upon misspelling piece and perfume. But this quick response of the name made me reconsider my bowing out. The best part of this story is the end. He slowly got up to leave, reached out his hand, and said (in a completely serious voice), "It was nice to meet you, Sherese." Yes. Epic win. 

Third and final word: SHun. Okay, so here's the scoop. Until Monday night, I am facebook fasting. Why? Because I'm, well, addicted. Yeah, judge all you want, but I was just working to control another flaw of mine. I needed to get some books read and priorities in line, soooooo I had to eliminate the devil of productivity--facebook. Anyway, most people have been rather helpful and encouraging throughout this short journey. However, the actions of one specific gentleman proved differently. After giving him the most delightful compliment man could ever ask for (I simply related him to Jim from the office), I was notified I should check something on facebook that he so kindly tagged me in. Upon informing him of my facebook fast and asking that he just tell me what it said, he spoke words that would forever haunt a facebook addict (mind you I'm also very curious person), "I know this is super mean BUT i'm gonna make you wait." So what did I do? I pulled out the oldest trick in the book. So, not the oldest, but fairly old. It actually originated in eastern Asia during the 13th century when the world was forced not to talk to the pagans. I shunned him. Well deserved. 

Don't worry, I forgive easily. So everything is resolved (and I figured out what the status said via a mutual friend, so the curiosity was killed). 

That's all, my friends. I am now going to jump into my bed and hit the snooze button on my brain. 

Love in unshunment,

The Lone Woolf

Introducing my newest addition to my body--Dexter.

Hellllooooo Faithful Followers,

Today, was a day to be documented in history for a multiple reason. So, may I make you wait no longer. God speed.

First of all, I had my first class regarding teaching today. HELLLLLOOOO FUTURE! It was amazing, I laughed some, I learned some, joyous, joyous day. My instructor, I learned within the first 4 minutes, loves knocking on the window of the classroom, loudly I might add, and yelling at the people who look at him. Pretty hilarious. I kind of wanted to get up and do it, too. Anyway, at one point, he brought in another instructor, and she taught us this extremely valuable lesson beginning with this quote, "I got measles from a third grader." Yes, this is what she said. Why? Because apparently, it's very, VERY important that teachers be completely up to date on immunizations. What a well learned lesson. Okay, forgive some of the sarcasm. I really am beginning to fall more deeply in love with my chosen profession with one class. Yesss...=)

Now, let me explain to you the most exciting thing I have experienced in diabetic history.

Background knowledge: I'm currently participating in a study at my local doctor's office. Therefore, I seem like a bit of a blood sugar control freak at this current point in my 16 year walk with this deficient pancreas of mine. Anyway, for part of this study, I get to use a...wait for it....wait for it...CONTINUOUS GLUCOSE MONITOR (CGM)! For those of you who have no idea what that is, and trust me, you're probably in the majority, it is a little needle permanently injected in my abdomen that is calibrated with a little machine that must be within at least five feet of my body (pictured below). Whew! This little machine then monitors my blood sugar levels...ALL OF THE TIME! So cool, my friends.

However, this is the part where I disappoint you. Or mostly me, I suppose, since I doubt this truly bothers you. This study is a blind study, so I don't get the glory of knowing what the CGM actually reads. The people running the study are constantly monitoring it, but I am simply left in the dark, unknowing presence. When I was informed of this little detail, I politely stood up, picked up the chair I had previously been sitting in, and threw it across the 4ft by 4ft room I was sitting in. Joke. Well, joke about throwing the chair, not the little room. However, I was so very disappointed. Why? Yes, I get to keep the monitor eventually, and I could potentially use this little leach of a machine if I so choose. However, this you need to know: I'm pretty far from patient. It's definitely my number character flaw, and I know. I do work to control this one small flaw (definitely a joke), but it doesn't change the fact that I want this stinkin' thing to be used to my benefit. Shove it to the back of my mind, yeah? NO. It will forever be within five feet of me. By forever, I mean a few months with the feeling of forever. To make this more enjoyable, I simply named it--Dexter (the brand is Dexcome, so Dexter was just appropriate). THough I was caught between extreme joy and depression due to this little event, I was quickly snapped out of it.

On my way out of the doctor's office, I was given some diabetic supplies for free: test strips, lantus pens, and a giant box of beautiful, sharp syringes. Of course these objects of my body's surviving affection had  no storage bag because that would be unnecessary, so into the dorms I walked, supplies in hand. No problem. I walk in past those two doors, push the elevator, and immediately step on...and two others join me. I politely asked them what floor, pushed the buttons, and slumped back against the wall as I always do. Then I noticed the girl next to me glance over at my box. Her expression immediately went from nice and polite to shocked and...frightened as she read "syringes". Not only did she look frightened once, but this girl took a triple take. Yes, a triple take. As I stepped off the elevator, a sly smile came over my face, and I began to laugh. Out loud. This is the moral of this story: Diabetic intimidation is priceless.

So there was my joyous, tragic, hilarious day in a nutshell.

Love and insulin to all,
The Lone Woolf

 Dexter and the site. Forgive the immodesty, I just wanted to get you in on the wholeness of how awesome Dex is.

Yes, this is what I was carrying on the elevator. On the front, the box reads, "syringes." hahah

Introducing my newest addition to my body--Dexter.

Hellllooooo Faithful Followers,

Today, was a day to be documented in history for a multiple reason. So, may I make you wait no longer. God speed.

First of all, I had my first class regarding teaching today. HELLLLLOOOO FUTURE! It was amazing, I laughed some, I learned some, joyous, joyous day. My instructor, I learned within the first 4 minutes, loves knocking on the window of the classroom, loudly I might add, and yelling at the people who look at him. Pretty hilarious. I kind of wanted to get up and do it, too. Anyway, at one point, he brought in another instructor, and she taught us this extremely valuable lesson beginning with this quote, "I got measles from a third grader." Yes, this is what she said. Why? Because apparently, it's very, VERY important that teachers be completely up to date on immunizations. What a well learned lesson. Okay, forgive some of the sarcasm. I really am beginning to fall more deeply in love with my chosen profession with one class. Yesss...=)

Now, let me explain to you the most exciting thing I have experienced in diabetic history.

Background knowledge: I'm currently participating in a study at my local doctor's office. Therefore, I seem like a bit of a blood sugar control freak at this current point in my 16 year walk with this deficient pancreas of mine. Anyway, for part of this study, I get to use a...wait for it....wait for it...CONTINUOUS GLUCOSE MONITOR (CGM)! For those of you who have no idea what that is, and trust me, you're probably in the majority, it is a little needle permanently injected in my abdomen that is calibrated with a little machine that must be within at least five feet of my body (pictured below). Whew! This little machine then monitors my blood sugar levels...ALL OF THE TIME! So cool, my friends.

However, this is the part where I disappoint you. Or mostly me, I suppose, since I doubt this truly bothers you. This study is a blind study, so I don't get the glory of knowing what the CGM actually reads. The people running the study are constantly monitoring it, but I am simply left in the dark, unknowing presence. When I was informed of this little detail, I politely stood up, picked up the chair I had previously been sitting in, and threw it across the 4ft by 4ft room I was sitting in. Joke. Well, joke about throwing the chair, not the little room. However, I was so very disappointed. Why? Yes, I get to keep the monitor eventually, and I could potentially use this little leach of a machine if I so choose. However, this you need to know: I'm pretty far from patient. It's definitely my number character flaw, and I know. I do work to control this one small flaw (definitely a joke), but it doesn't change the fact that I want this stinkin' thing to be used to my benefit. Shove it to the back of my mind, yeah? NO. It will forever be within five feet of me. By forever, I mean a few months with the feeling of forever. To make this more enjoyable, I simply named it--Dexter (the brand is Dexcome, so Dexter was just appropriate). THough I was caught between extreme joy and depression due to this little event, I was quickly snapped out of it.

On my way out of the doctor's office, I was given some diabetic supplies for free: test strips, lantus pens, and a giant box of beautiful, sharp syringes. Of course these objects of my body's surviving affection had  no storage bag because that would be unnecessary, so into the dorms I walked, supplies in hand. No problem. I walk in past those two doors, push the elevator, and immediately step on...and two others join me. I politely asked them what floor, pushed the buttons, and slumped back against the wall as I always do. Then I noticed the girl next to me glance over at my box. Her expression immediately went from nice and polite to shocked and...frightened as she read "syringes". Not only did she look frightened once, but this girl took a triple take. Yes, a triple take. As I stepped off the elevator, a sly smile came over my face, and I began to laugh. Out loud. This is the moral of this story: Diabetic intimidation is priceless.

So there was my joyous, tragic, hilarious day in a nutshell.

Love and insulin to all,
The Lone Woolf

 Dexter and the site. Forgive the immodesty, I just wanted to get you in on the wholeness of how awesome Dex is.

Yes, this is what I was carrying on the elevator. On the front, the box reads, "syringes." hahah