Dear Adele

Dear Adele,

I love your music. And your raspy voice. And your cat eye makeup and fake eyelashes. I wish I had cat eye makeup and fake lashes. Then people would look at me and say things like, "my, she is exotic!"

But alas, this does not happen. And even if I were to have cat eye makeup and false lashes, people would probably say, "what's she doing in Indiana?"

I would also like to say that you inspire me. You're so young and accomplished. And you're proud of this! Instead of apologizing for your youth, you shout it from the rooftops. For example (I'm not quite sure why I'm providing you with this example, considering you're well aware ...), you title your albums after whatever age you happen to be while envisioning/writing/working on them. Your first album, 19, released when you were the very same age. And your second album, 21, released this past February. No doubt a nod to the truth that much of its conception happened in your twenty-first year.

But I worry, dear Adele, that you have not seen the big picture.

Because thirty years from now, do you really want to have an album titled 53?

Or perhaps I'm seeing this all wrong. Perhaps you'll be just as content with who you are even when your hair is less glossy, your skin less smooth and a simple smile produces wrinkles that mar your wonderful cat eyes.
If only we could all find such self-acceptance.

Best wishes,
Amanda Luedeke

P.s. If you would like to do a book, I just so happen to be in the market for a famous singer/songwriter.

teavana

Enough about my ailments. And freakishness. And mutations. I could totally keep going and share about how my eye has a dry spot in it now. Right smack dab in the middle of the cornea. So saith the eye guy. Or I could discuss my growing astigmatism. Or the fact that I have to use Sensodyne. Or the reality that my ears aren’t perfectly parallel.

But I’ll spare you. Because I care. And because I’d like to have some friends as I go through this change into nerd-hood. Hah, that’s a thought! Instead of aging at a normal rate, I’m staying perpetually young as I slowly morph into the form of a complete and unsightly nerd.

Sigh.

So instead, let’s talk about tea!

My tea obsession started a month or so ago whilst on a business trip. We all went shopping together (as most do when they’re out of the office and have time to burn), and happened upon this enchanting store called Teavana.

And we’ve been in a figurative Teavana ever since.

They have the craziest teas and all you do is stand there as they waft the scents in your direction. Then, you buy it by the ounce. The ounce! And before you know it, you’re walking out of there with $40 worth of dried leaves.

Which is totally worth it, because it’s supposed to curb appetite and boost health and assist in the growth of wings so that you can fly.

But very soon after purchasing, you become absolutely paranoid of oversteeping or doing something that will prevent the leaves from going through their agony. (Yes, this is real). You freak out and overthink things and measure and test the water on your wrist and the whole nine yards … until you do the math and realize each cup is like .50.

So then begins the phase of steeping and resteeping and re-resteeping the leaves.

And in the back of your mind you think about spreading the grounds out on the sidewalk so they can dry and be reused.

And you tell yourself you’re done. That you’re just going to go back to Celestial Seasonings. But then your coworkers announce they’re putting in another order and you cannot help yourself. You order more. Different flavors. Flavors that you probably won’t even like.

But you don’t pay for it. Because you haven’t yet paid for your previous order.

And suddenly you understand what crack addicts go through.

Can I get an amen?

iFreak

So you've heard all about my teeth woes. But what if I told you that I also have freakish eyes?

Every time I go to a new eye doctor (which is every year, because I just like to keep life interesting like that), they do their little 1 or 2, 3 or 4 thing and then they start talking about wanting to take pictures of my eyes.

Which for two seconds makes me feel kind of awesome, because the only logical explanation is that my eyes are super attractive or something like that.

But then I remember that these are doctors we're talking about, and doctors are only phased by one thing.Weirdness. Freakishness. Abnormalityishness.

Apparently, I am at a .6 on the glaucoma alert scale. The scale runs from like .5 to 1.5 or something like that, and because I'm .1 over the lowest mark, I must BE ON THE ALERT FOR GLAUCOMA.

But who cares, right? People get glaucoma all the time. Well here's where it gets interesting  ...

I'm a freak to these doctors, because they think that I might have been born with eyes that make it look like I have glaucoma when in fact it's just the way I am. They think this, because of how symmetrical the freakish parts of my eyes are. They also think this because of my age.

So long story short, I always have to get these pictures taken of my eyes so that they can gaze at my freakishness. And so that we can catch glaucoma early ... just in case it happens to show up.

At which point the eye nurse/glaucoma expert looked at me and said:

"It's just a preventative measure, really," she said. "It's like cancerous cells. You keep an eye on them to make sure they don't turn into cancer. And, well, this is just like that."

Yes. Glaucoma is just like cancer. Thank you for turning this freak into a paranoid one.

And we all know paranoid freaks are the worst.

nubbin' : living a life with nubs

Imagine how much you enjoy and/or tolerate talking to me.

Now imagine how much worse that experience could be if I had little nubs for teeth.

Ladies and gentlemen, that is the fate we all may face if my teeth do not start cooperating.

Almost a year ago, I had some cavities filled. Shortly after, I realized that one of the teeth that had been worked on hurt every time I bit down. I went back to the dentist, and he said that it wasn’t anything alarming. My bite just needed to be adjusted.

No prob, right? Wrong.

I’ve been back THREE times in the past year TO GET MY TOOTH FILED. Yes, filed like a fingernail.

And each time I go, I swear I come out of there with what can only be described as a phantom tooth -- a tooth that I imagine is larger than it really is (because it has in fact been whittled down). Three times this has happened. Which means THRICE my tooth has shrunken in size. And this time was the worst of them all ... I swear I'm beginning to feel an opening where my teeth aren't even pressing together anymore. The nub is on its way.

Needless to say, I am so ready for this madness to end ... for all of our sakes. 

Because I'm pretty sure we'd all prefer that I NOT look like Gollum in the near future. 

P.S. If this post title results in a ton of search engine hits I'm going to laugh so very hard it just may re-set my bite.

P.P.S.S. Points to the person who can come up with the best vampire joke!

hot shots

Tad and I are watching season 1 of this reality show called Top Shot. It's where some of the nation's best marksmen compete to be the best shot in the west.

Well this one particular episode was about trick shooting. They had to shoot a bottle behind them by placing the gun on their shoulder and using a mirror. They also had to throw a cabbage in the air (not too high, mind you) and shoot it before it hit the ground.

After watching this, I had one thought, "Big freaking deal."

To prove my point, I had Tad pull out his Nerf guns and we rigged up a few household items to see whether we had what it takes. And let me tell you, we are awesome. So awesome, that we should go on tour and Pop Tarts should sponsor us.

Here's the recap:

Amanda started out with the cabbage toss (which soon became the pop tarts box toss). Please ignore the mess in the background, because that's just not important. What you SHOULD notice, is the pop tart box, floating in the air, waiting to be shot dead.

And will Amanda shoot it? Well, the picture tells us that she didn't make it THIS time, but by the fifth try, Amanda was consistently hitting the Pop Tart box.

Notice the dart in mid-air! And what concentration Amanda brings to the sport!! AND THAT STANCE! Mo Vaughn would be so jealous.

To achieve the behind-the-back shot, Tad rigged up a stand of boxes (probably boxes from the hallway that you saw in the previous picture). Then, the unfortunate Pop Tarts box was placed on top. Using a L'oreal compact, Tad was able to successfully spot the box and blow it off its stand. Amanda achieved this as well.

Thanks for tuning in to this episode of Tad and Amanda Show Big Shots that Their Shots Aren't As Big as They May Think. Join us next time when they walk on burning coals!

unstoppaBULL

Growing up in the Chicago suburbs, basketball was always a very happy thing. Michael Jordan was in his prime (when was he NOT in his prime?). And I watched with my family as our Bulls secured two three-peats and the best record ever in NBA history. 72-10. I even have the t-shirt to prove it.

I don't remember ever feeling scared or anxious or worrisome. It wasn't a matter of whether they would win ... it was just a matter of when. They never let us down. Ever. Well, except when they would retire and then un-retire ... but even that was as though they were undoing whatever they had previously done to lose our trust.

It was an epic time of victory and awesomeness.

But since moving to Indiana, I realize that not everyone feels the same way.

Here, I introduce you to a disgruntled Pacers fan.

His name is Josh. I've featured him here before.

You see, Josh is sad, because his whole life he rooted for the Pacers. And every time they had a shot at the championship, those darned Bulls knocked them out of the running.

Needless to say, Josh is a bit bitter. But he's not the only one. I have another friend ... a Cavs fan, who also shares in the hatred. Apparently, it's a serious problem for NBA fans across the nation.

When I first heard of this Bull-hatred, I really couldn't believe it. I seriously had gone through my entire life, assuming that everyone was in love with the Bulls. I mean, who could hate them?! But of course that wasn't the case. Many people hated them and were wishing them to die, while I was praying that not only would they rule the world, but that Michael Jordan would actually grow wings and fly.

Bottom line ... While my childhood memories were full of wins and beat-downs and great moments, theirs were full of losses and beatings and embarrassing moments.

It's not fair. It's not right. But that's the way it is.

And that's why we're here, 15 years later. 2011 NBA Playoffs. And the Bulls and Pacers are at it again.

Apr 16 @ Bulls		Q1	Q2	Q3	Q4									TOTAL
	Pacers	27	28	24	20									99
	Bulls	23	28	20	33									104

Sorry, Josh. Looks like some dreams just aren't meant to come true.

lady of the night

My parents used to tell me that I'd become a morning person once I grew up. That one day, a love for the damp, coldness that is the world right after sunrise would hit me like cupid's arrow and I'd never go back to my late-night ways.

Well, it's 12:05am, and I'm sitting in a hotel room in Columbus, Ohio, wide awake.

You'd think after years of battling the night owl disease, I'd have a strategy of sorts. But I don't. Not really, anyway. I mean there's the obvious reading strategy. And the tv strategy. And the lay perfectly still and relax one body part at a time strategy. But their success rates are sketchy at best, and I'm in no mood to try the sampler platter of drug-free narcotics.

So, in the meantime, I've put together my thoughts on how the world would look if night-lovers ruled over the morning peeps.

And it sounds like a great place.

Work hours would run from:
8pm to 5am
People would generally sleep from:
11am to 6:30pm

1. All work would be done in the darktime hours, leaving small pieces of daytime hours for fun and play. 
2. No one would ever get sunburn. Except for the crazy day birds who would insist on staying out at all hours of the day.
3. You could wear evening makeup to work without feeling too dressed up.
4. No one would ever pressure you to be happy right after you woke up, because the world would be ruled by generally sluggish people such as yourself. More importantly, roommates wouldn't sing at you after you rolled out of bed.
5. You would also never ever have meetings first thing in the evening (which would be your morning). Furthermore, no one would talk to you until after you've had a few hours to acclimate.
6. The hottest part of the day would take place while you're asleep!!!

Well, that's about all I can come up with. It's 12:26 and I'm a bit more tired. I'm having trouble forming cohereent thoughts, which is a good sign.

Guess I'll go read for a bit. Read and hope for the day when I'll be chipper in the morning and sluggish at night and all grown up.