I Got Drafted.

Before Tad and I were married, I said that I would join the armed forces on two conditions.

1) That I see some action. None of this getting stationed in the UK for a year, staring at dots on a monitor while my friends are saving civilians and pushing back the insurgence.

2) That I get to wear whatever I want. Or at least get to take my uniforms to a tailor.

Because the second would never happen and the first would be very hard to achieve as a woman, the military has lost a recruit. . .

. . . while the state of Indiana's judicial system obtained one.

I received a sort of preliminary summons yesterday for jury duty.

I'll get called. I've gotten called before. Consequently, I helped save a nice, old man from having to pay a crazy nutcase of a woman hundreds of dollars. See? I saved a civilian while holding off the insurgence.

And I got to wear whatever I wanted.

Jay-Bay

Jay-Bay is my brother. I love him.

Ry-By is my brother too. But he usually looks like this:

So I don't love him as much.

Jay-Bay is different. Maybe it's how we used to have a song that was our song. Or a codename that was our codename. Or maybe it's how he used to guilt me into playing all the way through Turtles in Time when it was 1am and then I'd guilt him into scratching my arms and walking on my back.

Or maybe it's how of all the Heinsch kids, I'm most like Bay and he's most like me.

Happy Birthday, Jared!
P.S. I secretly really like it when you tell/text/facebook message me about what's going on in your personal life.


Shout out to my sister in law, Laura, for the first two pictures. She doesn't know it, but I stole them because they were GREAT.

Amanda's Version of Terminator

***SPOILER ALERT: CEASE READING IF YOU WANT A CERTAIN ASPECT OF TERMINATOR SALVATION TO SURPRISE YOU: SPOILER ALERT***

Also, this post may not be funny unless you've seen the movie.....



As credits for Terminator Salvation rolled across the screen, I turned to Tad.

Me: Want to know something funny that I thought about during the movie and it gave me the gigs (giggles)?
Tad: Sure.
Me: Remember when they're fighting at the end and John Conner is helpless and the Terminator is coming at him?
Tad: Yeah.
Me: Well wouldn't it have been funny if he would have just started "ahhhhh-ing" to stop the monster? Here is where I make a high-pitched noise.
Tad: Like the tone in the movie that stops the terminators??
Me: Yeah, like "ahhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm".
Tad: Like with his mouth?
Me: Yeah, "mmmmmmmahhhhh"
Tad: That wouldn't work.
Me: Yeah it would.
Tad: No. They just explained about how the machines were using that as a decoy to bring the Resistance out of hiding. It never worked to begin with.
Me: Oh.
Tad: That lady explained it on the screen.
Me: Oh, I must have been too busy giggling to notice.
Tad: Yeah.

Phew! Good thing I checked my great idea by Tad before passing it along to Mr. Bale. Avoided the few choice words he may have had for me and my carefree attitude toward film-making.

The 30 (and sometimes 90) Day Window

Is it bad when you're in your closet, searching for something completely unrelated, and then you open a box, wondering what's inside and it turns out to be a pair of shoes you do and don't remember buying? Shoes that appear to have never been worn? Shoes of which your faintest recollection is one maybe two years old?

Is that bad? Cuz it feels kind of bad. It makes me realize I had a problem. Glad those days are over.

Glad I got better about returning things.

The End.

Tad graduated today. And, simultaneously, his alma mater . . . our alma mater closed its doors for the last time.

RIP Taylor University Fort Wayne.

Today, as I listened to Dr. Habecker blah blah blah at the podium, I couldn't help but hear the sigh of relief behind his every word, see the burden lift from his shoulders, and know that in the back of his mind, he was saying, "It's almost over. Just a few more hours and this whole thing is over."

No more dirty glares from students. No more making the 'tough' decisions. No more guilt. Because let's face it. The only reason he had any guilt was because he was forced to face the people he hurt...deal with their problems and determine their fate.

So, here is a bunch of word vomit on why I am struggling with hating mr. habecker and his board of trustees:

I don't believe for a second he and the board of trustees cared for the campus. How could they? They never visited.

I don't believe they wanted us to succeed.

I don't believe money was the only issue. They whined about this 'million dollar defecit' all the time to a point where I was almost on their side, wishing we weren's such a burden. Wishing we didn't take so much of their resources. Then, after they closed TUFW, I found out Upland is looking into a multi-million dollar upgrade of its science facilities. These people aren't hard-up for cash. They never have been.

I don't believe they had anyone in mind but themselves when they closed the campus. I mean, we were always an embarassment, right? Nothing more than a leech? Just a bunch of poor, dumb kids and sub-par academic programs? But not the writing program. No. One too many students were lost to Dr. Hensley and his magic program. Better start lying to the kids at the college fairs...tell them about the JOURNALISM program at UPLAND when they ask about CREATIVE WRITING. Yeah, better aquire that program as fast as possible.

Ah, I could go on. And maybe I will...when I'm not so bitter....which could very well be never.

Thanks TUFW, for doing so much for me. No thanks, Upland, for taking that away.

I guess the bright side is I never have to feel pressured to donate money ever again.

And when I'm famous and they ask me to speak in chapel or guest lecture, I'll say, "I'm sorry, did you think that you were going to fire me, take away something that was very precious and still be able to exploit me? Should have thought that one through."

***************

If you are an Upland student or alum, please, don't take this post personally. My feelings aren't against you. You had nothing to do with this. And, to be fair, my feelings aren't solely directed at Habecker. Because in the end, he has to do what the group of old men tell him to do.

Please, if you have any comments or thoughts or arguements, feel free to share them. Because unlike Habecker, I'm willing to say what I really think and feel and, in turn, be okay if others don't agree.

Cassie O.reo

Whereas Cassie admits defeat and has ceased any form of health-related activity until the 13th of September that she may fit into a bridesmaid dress, and whereas Amanda warns Cassie that ceasing such activities may have an adverse effect on the situation thereby making Cassie too large for the dress as opposed to too small, and whereas Cassie assures Amanda that the suggestion is possible but unlikely, I present the subsequent text message conversation having taken place 50 minutes later:

Amanda: Just ran 4 miles on the treadmill
Cassie: I just ate an oreo lol
Amanda: Haha
Cassie: My calories are vicariously leaving through you

Oreo caloric content here. Calorie calculator here.

Energize!

My attempt to move from one point to another, 4 miles away.

At .3 miles: I am interrupted briefly by a phone call

At 1.0 miles: Feeling good. I'm sure I could try for 8 if I wanted.

At 2.0 miles: I begin to experience stabbing pains in my side, due to improper breath support. I quickly correct my breathing.

At 2.5 miles: An invisible man is tying my abdominal muscles in knots. The pain is excruciating.

At 3.0 miles: I am feeling pain all over my body, specifically in my knee where my Femur is jabbing into my Fibula. The rest of me feels somewhat liquified.

At 3.5 miles: The stabbing pains return, this time due to exhaustion. My thigh itches. I touch it and am surprised by the lack of feeling in my legs. I liken it to a dead fish. . .I know I can finish.

At 4.0 miles: Teleportation was successful. I am relieved. My time is 42.58.

And so was the log of when I decided to run 4 miles after having gone 8 weeks of running no further than 2. That's right. Before the wedding I was a running guru. Now, I'm a running wimp.

I keep thinking that magically, and without any effort, I'll realize "oh, I ran 3 miles today!" or "oh! I just went for 4!". But that never seems to happen until you make it happen. So, today was that day.

The pain, however, made me want to die.

Two Trailer Park Girls . . .

For the past five-ish years, I've been haunted by a particularly white trash photo. Meet my Illinois driver's license:


Can't you see it? The double-wide in the background? The hair scrunchie around my wrist? The endless addiction to nicotine? Children named Stone and Alexis? Rusted out Corsica?

If only eminem would include me in a song about his childhood....or COPS do a special on when my man, Rat-a-tat, got busted for some illegal substance. Seriously, this trailer girl picture has been my bane for too long.

Today was my chance to change that.

It's funny how life has a way of turning bad things to worse, because now, instead of looking like a strung out, overweight, bleach-blonde girl from the wrong side of the tracks, I look like a dude. And not just any dude...the type of dude that you hire to paint your deck. The type of dude that drives a van with ladders on the top. The type of dude who sells ice cream in the summer. The type of dude whose hair is stuck in the 90's while his 'cool' is holding on to Motley Crue. Meet my Indiana driver's license (and don't say I didn't warn you):


Ick.

And the whole Indiana thing? Totally bothers me. But that's another post for another time.

So what do these pictures remind you of?

Paper Dolls

Tad's new hobby: paper craft.

On a completely unrelated note, my new Social Security card arrived in the mail today, and I think I had a slight freak out moment. Mostly because it didn't look right. Also because part of me was like "that's not right."

I still think of myself as Amanda Heinsch. All. The. Time. Even when I remember that I'm not. There's this voice that's like: "but you totally are."

It's funny. Arguing with myself about my identity.

Blah the Way, I tried to say...

Today has been one of those days. You know, the type of day in which the only thing that pulls you out of bed in the morning is the thought of wearing a green sweater.


The type of day that is so blah that you can't even hold the camera steady enough to capture a cute moment in said sweater...even with James Dean's help.

The type of day where you find yourself embarrassingly grateful that By the Way by the Red Hot Chili Peppers came on the radio.



Ugh, they're even worse live than I expected. Perhaps knowing that will bring my day up a few notches?

Spock Talk

One of the unspoken agreements between Tad and I before we got married was that I was still going to appreciate Zachary Quinto....and accompany him to the Star Trek premiere:


It was a wonderful time, only momentarily ruined when the Priceline Negotiator decided to hang around a bit for a chat. Seriously . . . I had to excuse myself and ended up in a most excellent conversation with Leonard Nimoy.

Needless to say, I was exceptionally excited to actually go see Star Trek with Tad last night. And I really enjoyed it. Truly. I'm nowhere near a Trekkie. Quinto was the only reason I even thought about seeing the film, but it was the very opportunity Tad needed to inundate me with old tv episodes and movies. I soon developed a fondness for Spock...not because of Quinto, but because he's hands down the best character on the show.

1) No one likes the way Kirk talks.
2) No one likes how Kirk totally pudges out as the movies progress.
3) No one likes Chekov's horrible attempt at a Soviet accent.
4) No one is excited when Sulu pushes a button and acts as though he saves the day.
5) No one really cares when Scotty opens his mouth except to hear his accent.
6) Some people find Uhura interesting because she's the prettiest, but her bluetooth gets annoying.
6) A few may enjoy Dr. McCoy's (not to be confused with Hank McCoy) jokes and pessimism, but let's face it...

Nothing is as good as Spock's hilarious comebacks, his appreciation for girl talk (Ex: when Bones totally had like an amazon woman girlfriend and at the end Spock and Kirk were like "so...you have anything to tell us?"), and the fact that he towers above eveyone on the ship.

Or perhaps I just like him because of all the characters, his ways most remind me of Tad.

I don't like how Spock has few if any synonyms for "logical".

40 reasons I can't sleep at night

Is there anything more terrifying? Here.

Particularly, numbers 9,11,12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 25, 26, 29, 32, and 39.

Oh, and the Montauk Monster has struck again!

I'm so glad I'm landlocked (and nowhere near an actual lake).

Found: Biore Pore Unclogging Scrub

After a long, excruciating work-out when city water is beating down upon your salt-crusted skin and your pores scream for cleansing, do not....I repeat....do not reach for Biore's Pore Unclogging Scrub. It smells like vomit.
One of my girlfriends left this unsuspecting stink bug in my shower after my bachelorette party. So, I tried it (wouldn't you?). The smell made me tear up.

Today, I tried it again, thinking that perhaps I had been imagining the wretched stench. This time I actually cried.

Would the owner of this tube of torture please step forward and reclaim your possession? Please? Before I think that I was imagining things again and land myself in some sort of institution with padded walls and a profile that reads "Inconsolable hysteria"?

Though I'm beginning to think it was left behind on purpose.

After I Made a Really Funny Comment About Guns or Movies or Pig Voice . . .

Tad: Why you gotta be like that?
Amanda: Like what?
Tad: Make fun of me.
Amanda: You make fun of me.
Tad: When?
Amanda: Whenever we're in the music aisle. You keep suggesting that I buy cd's based on how they look.
Tad: It had a girl in a funny dress on a big couch! How is that NOT something you'd buy?!


Ok, you CAN almost pick out a cd I'd like based on album art. Almost.

Lamong Lament

I've been away too long and I'm sorry. But it wasn't my fault.

I was lost on Lamong Road.

The rules of city driving are simple:
1) If the street you want to turn on is a One Way going the WRONG way, simply wait for the next street. It's sure to be a One Way going YOUR way. Then, it's just a matter of knowing how to drive around the block.
2) If ever in doubt of your location, simply look to the many large and helpful landmarks as guideposts. In Denver, they use the mountains. In Chicago, the John Hancock. And so on.
3) If you miss your turn or exit FEAR NOT! Correcting your mistake can be accomplished by simply turning around or taking the next exit a mere fraction of a mile away.
4) Road signs will be well-posted.
5) Fellow travelers are familiar with TURN SIGNALS, and will happily let you into the lane if given fair warning.
6) Merging does not mean COME TO A COMPLETE STOP.
7) If streets are numeric and counting down as you travel, this means you are approaching the city.

These rules of thumb are useless when driving in the country, and, as depicted Friday evening, I find myself lost as a dog every time.

This time, it was on a patch of Lamong Road that was miles away from the patch of Lamong Road that we were supposed to be on. Please view my masterfully crafted map:
40 minutes of aimless wandering up and down this piece of forsaken land wedged between 296th and 261th (yes, 261th) streets resulted in Tad and I being 40 minutes late to a wedding rehearsal. It also resulted in the worst direction-giving I've ever witnessed. Our plea for help was handed off to the bride, handed off to the father of the bride, and handed off to the mother of the bride who said "Keep going East! You'll cross 31 and then see a big white church!"

East? Pretty sure Lamong runs North and South.

Cross 31? I really don't know what to say about that bit of advice.

Thankfully, we were able to use #7 of my rules of city driving to deduce that her directions were ridiculous. And to make a super long story just a little shorter, the groom, who wasn't from the area, guided us back using his atlas.

Sigh. I hate the country.

Sidenote: two other cars full of people were also lost on Lamong Road due to poor Facebook directions. Unfortunately, their case resulted in them either being horribly late or missing the ceremony altogether.

Sidenote Sidenote: We almost got lost again on the way to the reception.

Sidenote Sidenote Sidenote: It's pointless to say "the white church" when every single barn, house, and church building is white.

Livin' In Beverly Hills

On Wednesday night I was bored out of my mind. So bored that I turned to television.

And I'm so glad, because I caught the second half of 90210 where Navid and Adrianna decided to call their wedding off because:

1) they're only 16,
2) she just got out of rehab, and
3) she realized she wasn't ready to take care of their unborn child.

Like, seriously?

Sidenote: Becky from full house is totally on the show.

Honeymoon's Over: Day 18

Early morning. Little sleep.

Husband's alarm went off as wife dressed for work. Sweet and unimposing So Sorry by Feist. Husband shuffled under the sheets for a bit, then rolled over.

Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Twenty-nine seconds.

Wife stomped over and turned the sweetness off. Mornings were not times for frivolous happiness and sounds. They were for silence and anger.

Husband's eyes shot open: "I was listening to that."
Wife said: "Oh, I'm sorry."

But she wasn't.

Medic! Medic!

I am being literal when I say this:

Tad spent ALL of yesterday running around the woods with 30 grown men (and boys). We're talking between the ages of 15 and 55. Running. Frolicking. Playing.

Did I mention they were dressed up? Did I mention some of them carried AK-47s? M-16s? Did I mention they were imagining their 3 acres in Bloomington, Indiana were actually Vietnamese swamps? French farmlands? Iraqi cities? The dirty south (no offense)? Did I mention this shin-dig was organized? Did I mention it's especially popular in California? In Japan?

Tad should be grateful that not only am I okay with this strange hobby, but he's one of the few players who's married. Very grateful. But I digress... Tad has so thoughtfully shared a link should anyone be interested in learning more.

He also allowed me to photo-document this epic journey from man to machine
















(Top from Left to Right: All of the crap Tad carried on his person while airsoft-ing, Tad getting suited up in a flash. Left: A solo shot of his gun stuff. Below: The final product)


And what did I do on Sunday? I went shopping.

When Cars Get Sick: a.k.a. The Swine Flu Threatens Mary Jane

Dreary morning. Drove to work as happy as expected for a Friday. Pulled into the lot. Took a sip of coffee. Put Mary Jane, my VW Jetta, in park, turned the key and pulled it out....I said, I pulled it out.

It was stuck.

Oh, no. This can't be happening. Maybe I just did it wrong. Maybe I turned it off too far . . .

Tug, tug. Pull, pull. Nothing.

Okay, don't panic. Remain calm. Remain calm...

Tug, tug. Jiggle, Jiggle.
UGH! Does this even happen? What kind of sickness is this? Okay, try again.

Turn the car on. Turn back off. Immovable.
What is it? The starter? How much are starters? One thousand? Two thousand? No, it can't be the starter. It's this metal key-insert thing. It's got a death grip on my key! It HAS to be the insert thing. I don't have that kind of money! Argh....

Jiggle, jiggle. Pull harder. Pull softer.

YOU STUPID, EVIL KRAUT OF AN AUTOMOBILE! YOU NEVER WORK! NEVER!! HOW MUCH MONEY HAVE I THROWN AT YOUR UNGRATEFUL FRAME? TOO MUCH! YOUR PATHETIC EXISTENCE ISN'T WORTH MY HAPPINESS. THIS IS IT. MARY JANE, WE'RE DONE....can I leave the key in the ignition? Would someone mess with it?

Glance at my purse on the passenger seat.

Tad. Should I call him? Would he know what to do? No, I can do this. I'm smarter than my car.

Jiggle, jiggle.
Not smart enough. Okay, what's different? What did I do this morning that caused this?

Thinking.
The papers on the hand brake? Would they cause...THE COFFEE! The coffee...

I removed the thermos from where it was wedged between the center dash that holds the radio and the shifter. The shifter clicked into place. The keys came out as usual.

Sit back. Exhale. Smile.

Oh, Mary Jane, my German princess....I knew you'd come through. I had your back the whole time.