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Monthly Archives: May 2013

My favorite parts of North Carolina

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Sometimes, it takes some time away from a place to truly appreciate what it was and what you enjoyed about it.  When I left Fremont, I longed for the place that I came from, and I still look at it with a nostalgic eye.  When I left Ashland, the nostalgia set in immediately and I looked upon my college years fondly, even though they were mere hours behind me.

But Wilmington, NC–I loathed it while I was there, and for about three years (OMG it’s been 3 years since I finished my Master’s), I couldn’t see why anyone wanted to go back.  I think I hated Wilmington so much because I didn’t like why I was there.  I hated grad school and I didn’t get on well with the people around me.  I felt so different than everyone else–and I really was.  I am Midwestern and fairly conservative (but socially liberal), and I thought they were all a bunch of crazy hippies.  There were maybe 5 students I connected with, and I only made about 4 true friends down there.  And that’s good enough for me.

But now one of my coworkers is on a cross-country road trip, and mentioned on his blog that he was on his way to Wilmington, NC.  I immediately had the urge to tell him where to go.  It was then that I realized a small SMALL part of me missed CERTAIN PARTS of North Carolina.

So to those of you who are going to Wilmington, NC, here are my Midwestern suggestions:

You MUST eat at Flaming Amy’s Burrito Barn (on Oleander).  You must big the Big Jerk or the Thai Me Up.  And you must must must try every salsa, especially, the pineapple jalapeno.

Go to the Battleship North Carolina.

Go downtown and walk the streets (mainly Front, Market, and Water).  

Go to the Barbary Coast on Front St. It’s the oldest bar in Wilmington.

If you make your way to Carolina Beach, go to The Fat Pelican. Just walk to the back of the bar and into the cooler and pick whatever beer you want. Pay at the register and then wander around the bar and look at the walls. You’ll ALWAYS find something new. And if you see a black lab, his name is Atta Boy and he loves Cheez-Its.

And if you’re really feeling adventurous, go a little further south to Fort Fisher–old war monument. The trees are gorgeous, and if you look hard enough, you can find the bunker of the Fort Fisher Hermit

 

Proof that I didn’t hate Wilmington as much as I thought. 🙂

 

 
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Posted by on May 13, 2013 in Daily Happenings

 

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On Raising Nuggets

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The other day, Mike and I were walking around Lake Medina and he said, “Do you know what you’re supposed to do if a baby drops a pacifier?”

I thought back to what my parents did.  Immediately, I said, “Probably stick it in my own mouth and then give it back to the baby.”  I felt gross for saying it, but Mike laughed a little.  Earlier in the day, he’d read this study about what to do if a pacifier falls onto the ground.  It turns out that my answer, mouth cleaning it, is best for baby.

Why?

It reduces a baby’s risk of developing allergies–among other benefits.  Immediately, I thought, “Well, I’m sure it helps build immunity.”  And then I began to think about my conspiracy theories about hand sanitizer and sunscreen–oddly enough which I’ve never wrote about here.

I am an avid disbeliever in hand sanitizer.  We got along just fine for a lot of years without putting an alcohol mixture on our hands every 15 minutes.  I think it, like a super clean paci, weakens the immune system.  If your body is never exposed to germs, it can’t learn to fight against them.  There’s nothing wrong with soap…once in awhile…not compulsively.  And there’s nothing wrong with eating a little dirt.  I ate dirt up into my 20s when I sat at the Fremont Speedway eating track dust.  Not trying to curse myself, but I don’t get flu shots, and I haven’t been sick in years.

Powerhouse immune system.

And sunscreen?  Who thought it was a good idea to block sunlight and the production of Vitamin D–necessities for the human body?  Sure, you should limit your exposure to the sun, but not block it out completely!  My grandparents were farmers that worked in the fields for hours a day and never wore sunscreen, and I rarely hear of any older person having skin cancer.  It’s because they built up a tolerance to it.

According to Natural News, deficiency or insufficiency of natural sunlight and vitamin D has been associated with the following conditions:

  • * adrenal insufficiency
  • * Alzheimer’s
  • * allergies
  • * autoimmune disorders including multiple sclerosis and rheumatoid arthritis
  • * cancers of the colon, breast, skin and prostate
  • * depression, seasonal affective disorder (SAD)
  • * diabetes, Type 1 and 2
  • * gluten intolerance, lectin intolerance
  • * heart disease, hypertension, Syndrome X
  • * infertility, sexual dysfunction
  • * learning and behavior disorders
  • * misaligned teeth and cavities
  • * obesity
  • * osteopenia, osteoporosis, osteomalacia (adult rickets)
  • * Parkinson’s
  • * PMS
  • * psoriasis

Now, I’m not some damn hippie who believes in all natural remedies.  I think scientific medicine is fantastic and I use it–not overuse it, but use it–but come on!  Get your asses in the sun.  Maybe it’ll make people less asshole-y.

 
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Posted by on May 9, 2013 in Raising My Youngins

 

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Little Moments: Diet Pepsi

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In the corner of my grandfather’s carry-out, I sat on a ripped, green vinyl chair.  I could feel the cotton stuffing coming through the cracked vinyl on the back of my thighs and the cold metal of the legs left cool ghosts on my calves.  Fans buzzed and turned back and forth tirelessly and the ding of the cars coming through the drive-thru was constant.  Sticky yellow flystrips dangled from the ceiling, speckled with victims and swaying with the fans as I watched my grandfather and my mother move busily behind the counter, scanning lottery tickets, passing 12-packs through customer’s car windows, and packing their cigarettes.

It was summer in Ohio in the 1990s, and the fields were green, the sun was hot, and my shoulders were freckled.  Inside the fluorescent lights of the store, my skin looked even darker as I picked at my knee.  I spun the vinyl chair back and forth waiting for my mother to come with the acid.  That summer, warts decided to pop up all over my right knee.  I was horrified.  I spent afternoons on the picnic table with my cousins finding ways to cover my knee and spent days at the pool with towels draped over my legs.

When we went to the doctor, he said, “Typical.  Only way to get rid of them is to kill the mother.  Kill the mother and you’ll kill them all.”

“Which is the mother,” we asked.

“You won’t know until you kill her,” he replied.

So we bought liquid acid in a small glass jar, stuff that dried in hard white caps, and put it over each wart on my knee.  We liked to guess which one was the mother and and my mom would cuss as she put the acid onto my skin, “Damn you, mother wart.”  Mom made jokes, her permed hair brushing my arm as she bent down to look at my leg.  I watched her dip the wand into the brown bottle and lean down close.  I cringed through the burning sensation that came with each dab of the brush.  Mom blew onto the clear liquid, turning it white as it dried.

Once she covered them all, she stood up and twisted the top off of a glass bottle of Diet Pepsi.  “Do you want the first swig?  It’s my favorite, but I’ll let you have it,” she smiled.  Her eyes twinkled and I looked at her hands as she extended the bottle to me.  Her skin was the same color as my shoulders and her knuckles were large between slim finger bones.

“Sure,” I said, taking it from her with both of my hands.  I looked up at her as I tipped the bottle back and leaned into the vinyl.  Mom lit a cigarette – a Misty Menthol – and took a long draw while I admired the rainbow on the square package sticking out of her jeans pocket.  She wiggled her eyebrows at me and I handed her back the bottle with my stubby fingers.  I was always envious of her long sturdy digits and the strength in her hands.

She took the Diet Pepsi from me and tilted her head back.  She drank it like Cindy Crawford did in the commercials, lips relaxed so that I could see the pop passing from the bottle into her mouth.  She handed it back to me and I greedily took a sip.  It was so different from that first sip, now tainted with smoke and menthol – and I loved it.  But she was right.  Nothing beat that first drink from a bottle of Diet Pepsi.

I felt her hand, cool and wet from the bottle, on my shoulder as she pushed me off the vinyl chair.  The rough edges of the cracks scratched my skin and the concrete floor felt cool against my bare feet.  “Now get back outside,” Mom said.  She took one more drink of the pop and handed me what was left of the bottle and sent me back across the blacktop to my grandparents’ farm house.

______________________________

One night toward late summer, I climbed into bed and pulled my knees to my chest.  When I looked down, the warts were gone.  I yelled for my mom and she came bounding in to rejoice.  We’d killed the mother.

I have never slept as good as I did that night.  Each time my mother let’s me take the first swig of a Diet Pepsi we’re sharing, I remember the smell of vinyl and summer and victory.

 
 

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The Unidentifiable Craving

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Here’s what gets me, Chris.

There are certain times when I’m just going about my life being a stupid 28 year old when I think, “I want something, but I don’t know what.”

This could be something as simple wanting something salty or something sweet.  Wanting a drink–alcoholic or non.  And most of the time I talk myself out of it because I don’t know what I want, and then I just end up sitting on the couch with a furrowed brow watching repeats of Roseanne or Parenthood and wondering why they always seem to know what they want.

Other times, it’s bigger–like wanting desperately to be doing something outside.  And while there’s plenty that I could go outside and do, I can’t pick an activity and end up just sitting in a lawn chair and thinking, “My ass is getting bigger just sitting here.  I should run.  But my knee is bruised.  What kind of excuse is that, Erica?  Fuck it.”  Commence brow furrow.

Don’t get me wrong–I’m incredibly happy.  I have nothing to complain about.  I’m just being cranky. 🙂

But lately, the thing that gets me most is music. I can’t figure out what the eff kind of music I want to listen to anymore.  It’s the worst when I’m at work or driving in the car.  I think I’ve talked about this before.  Yep, I have.  Here it is.  But anyway, in high school, I listened to 80s rock.  Done.  All the time.  Nonstop.  Bon Jovi.  College, I got my twang on and listened to nothing but country…and occasionally the pop station so I could sing with my girls in the showers at Ashland.

In grad school, I listened to whatever mix CD Mike gave me last because I was clinging to something I couldn’t touch at that moment.  Now, I can’t get myself in the mood to listen to anything.

It’s only fun to listen to NSync and the Backstreet Boys with my roommate from Ashland–KAY!  Mike has pointed out how cheesy 80s rock is, and while I still enjoy it–I’m starting to agree with him.  So then I need to find something that’s fast enough to make me happy and keep me going at work or while I’m driving, something with some substance.  And I have to understand what the heck words they’re saying.

It’s just been a really long time since the music has moved me.

 

 
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Posted by on May 3, 2013 in Daily Happenings

 

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I’d Rather Be In Ohio…

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Damn Chris and Becky for being creative and making me want to get back into blogging.  DAMN YOU.

So for my birthday, my wonderful Mike bought me foundation and a pore refiner that I asked for, and this:

Courtesy of Alison Rose on Etsy.com

I am excited.  I think I’m so excited because this shirt says how I’ve always felt.  I’ve never really wanted to be anywhere but Ohio.  As I told Chris this morning, even the word Ohio looks like a comfy couch – all wonderful and overstuffed and with a dotted ‘i” pillow.

But Ohio is more than just a word.  If you’ll remember back to this post, you’ll see why I didn’t fit in North Carolina.  And as much as I loved the beauty of Pennsylvania, all those hills make me incredibly carsick.

No matter where I’ve been, or where I’ll go,
I’d rather be in Ohio.

Why?  Why why why?  

  • Because the people here are normal, level-headed people (for the most part).
  • Because in Ohio, there are no hurricanes, we’re only on the edge of Tornado Alley, I’ll never have to worry about a monsoon or a tidal wave, and snow, I can deal with.
  • Because flatland is beautiful.
  • Because of Cedar Point.
  • Because of the Big C’s (Cleveland, Columbus, Cincinnati), all of which are fantastic cities.
  • Because of Rock and Roll.
  • Because of the love of football.
  • Because of Amish Country.
  • Because of Lake Erie.
  • Because of the Lake Erie Islands:  Put-In-Bay and Kelleys in particular.  
  • Because of the sprint car races.
  • Because of the cornfields.

There’s so much more.  So much.

 

 
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Posted by on May 2, 2013 in Daily Happenings

 

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