Thursday, August 11, 2011

American Muscle

I don't have the spark for writing anymore, at least not in documenting my everyday life. Lately I've been excited and consumed with the project I took on in purchasing Stella. I'd like to document the progress I make regarding that, as this will probably endure through years/decades of my adult life. If any who happen upon this blog are interested, you can read about that here: American Muscle. If that's not your thing, no hard feelings. :) Writing a blog consistently over the last several years has been challenging, and as I've discovered, it's easier to have a topic. A theme, if you will. With pharmacy school gone that 'purpose' Love and the Logical served is gone. We'll see where she goes from here.

Thanks for reading!!

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Real Fast

What does real fast feel like? Well, there are two kinds: significantly-over-the-speed-limit fast and triple-digits fast.

Triple digits fast has its own kind of sound setting it apart, so that when you reach that point you know you've been there without ever having looked at the speedometer. Part of that sound is created by the wind, which seems to come from every direction and pushes you flush into your seat, leaving your hands gripping for a door handle. The other part of the sound comes from the roar of the engine, which takes on a sort of wuuurrr and whoooooosh. The engine sound seems effortless and natural, as if by going so fast you've finally achieved what it had been engineered for. You realize you're going a scary sort of fast that has your legs tingling and your heart racing. A part of you begs to slow down, but you don't, and you can't help but laugh because you've never felt like this before. The wind peels the sound away from you lips before it even has a chance to be heard.

It's like flying.

You slow back down within seconds since you began goosing the accelerator, breathless and wide-eyed, looking around to see if anyone witnessed such a thing other than you.

I've had the pleasure of going triple-digits fast in Stella two or three times, and although they catch right back up to me later, for those brief moments all my problems are left in her dust and burnt rubber.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011


"The only thing that can save me is the sound of your voice
You cut out all the noise"

--Maroon Five

Tuesday, June 28, 2011


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The first time I ever saw her was on a beautiful early summer afternoon, not a cloud in the sky, the way it seems so many fateful days are. We were driving down a busy street in the country, one we had never driven down before, wistfully jumping between peaceful neighborhoods looking at houses. We weren't exactly close to the point when we could purchase a house, but it was fun nevertheless to dream. I had the day off of work and not a care in the world. We had gone to a delicious Mom 'n Pop breakfast joint that morning and then we just drove--me with my flip flops kicked off--not caring how much gas we were wasting. I loved doing that. Just driving around the way we were. There was something soothing about that constant feeling of motion and staring out at the rolling landscapes that enticed me so much and so often.

I remember I'd been looking out my husband's side window when he suddenly asked, "Amanda, did you just see that car?" His voice was excited and a little shocked. Of course, I'd been looking the wrong direction and told him I hadn't. "We have to go back then. You have to see this car." He said this absolutely, as if there was simply no other choice.

He did a quick turn around and we passed it going the other way. I only got a quick glimpse, but one glance was all it took. I recognized it immediately as an old Corvette Stingray, definitely 1970's, for the Stingray era produced some of the most radical, outrageous looking body types I can ever remember seeing, Corvettes or otherwise. It was the look European cars might have but you'd pay a lot more money for.

We turned around again so that we were facing our original direction and I wistfully requested that he pull over so that I could 'take a picture.' Mike pulled our car onto the gravel shoulder of the road without complaint. He immediately hopped out on his side, startling me, for I had planned on simply rolling down my window, snapping a picture with my phone, and then taking back off again. But fate had a firm hold on this particular moment in my life, I know that now, and I was meant to get out of the car. I was meant to get out and look closer.

She was parked in the tall, uncut and weedy grass of what appeared to be an abandoned house-turned small junkyard. Mike would tell me later that there were many oddities scattered across the property, but I honestly remember none of them except the car. It was captivating. Perhaps the only case of that mythical love at first sight that I had (or would) ever experienced.

Close up she was small and aggressive-looking. Sitting low to the ground, she seemed almost to be stalking prey in that un kept grass. Her body was free of blemishes and the color of a bright red apple, complete with a black racing stripe starting at her pointed nose, following down her hood, and ending over her license plate. A shockingly low price was written in white across her windshield and O.B.O. across her driver's side window. Less than 60K miles. Her tires were those ass-kicking chrome jobs so popular for sports cars of her era. They looked mean and huge, a focal point on a car that was meant to go real fast real fast. The body seemed to be melted around them.

I walked around her in circles, taking in the mint exterior and the 'Stingray' emblem displayed boldly just in front of each door. She had a 1976 historic license plate decorating the nose, leading me to believe that '76 was the year she rolled off onto her first road. Thirty-five years ago--ten years before I was even born. My father hadn't yet met my mother or even graduated from college. Her interior was worn and in need of refurbishing from decades of butts sitting in her leather seats. As I stared in at her dusty dashboard and dirty steering wheel (adorned with the crossed double flags of the Corvette), I could envision what she had once looked like. What she could look like again with love and attention.

Her body was in amazing condition for her age and her mileage was impossibly low. I stared at a the asking price scribbled across her windshield. We have the money, a whispery voice said from somewhere deep inside me. Certainly not in any 'Old Corvette Savings Fund,' for I meticulously planned a future for every dollar I made, but we had the money nevertheless. In a house fund.

My husband stood somewhere nearby, grinning at me stupidly and taunting me with phrases such as, "Imagine what it would be like to pull into the driveway in this!" As if all the things I could do with this car, and all the fun I could have in her, hadn't already flown across my mind a million times. He knew this was my dream car, far more than any brand new, shiny sports car could be. This was the experience I always wanted to have but always believed was truly out of my reach.

I gave her another appreciative, longing look before resigning myself to returning to our own car. A car that was nice, that we loved, but was only a car. Something to get us around, to move our things from one place to another, and to get us to work and back. I realized in that moment the true difference between a vehicle and a car like that Corvette. A difference that I'd never really thought of before.

We drove away. Inside our car was quieter than before, lacking the earlier chattiness of an afternoon drive. I stared out the window and day dreamed, the same way I had about becoming a pharmacist or the way I would look in my wedding dress. I thought about the car.

I had learned over my young life to listen to my heart. You see, my heart doesn't speak to me very often, but I know right away when it does. It spoke to me when I met my husband, and for years after that regarding him, as we struggled through years of vast change and growing together. It spoke to me one sunny day on my college campus when it told me to give up my childhood dream of becoming a veterinarian and pursue pharmacy instead. It spoke to me the day I walked across the stage and held in my hand my Doctorate degree for the very first time.

It spoke to me now. As we drove away from that little Corvette I felt as if I had left part of my soul with it. Little did I realize that exactly one week later I would be driving around in it.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Some Honesty

I love my mom. I want to say that first and foremost, because not only is it true now, but it will always be true, no matter what happens between us. It's also important for me to say that she has done absolutely nothing recently that has made me think ill of her (as I guess I'm probably thinking now). In fact, since moving out, my relationship with her has improved tremendously.

That being said, it's come to my attention numerous times over the last several months that I have somewhat of an inhibiting fear of my mother's opinion of me. I thought this fear would go away with time as I entered the adult world and I spent less and less time under her influence, but it simply hasn't. Most alarming, I recently came across an opportunity to do something very important to me, something I've wanted to do for a long time, and I almost didn't do it because I was worried she would resent me. And although I don't want her to resent me, I also don't want to rein myself in--to not experience life to its fullest--simply thinking that she might.

I don't think this is very normal. Is this the kind of thing people speak to their therapists about? Is this the kind of thing all children deal with as they become adults and cut the umbilical cord? I guess I don't know.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011


I changed my blog. !! I've also been married to Mike for over a year and we're both still alive!! Success! :D I'll write something noteworthy when I don't have to get up in six hours.

Sunday, June 05, 2011


"Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of"

The last few months have taught me new things about myself which I never knew before. Too many things to describe them all here. Some too personal to describe here. But most importantly of all, I've realized the strength of the heart and the depth of forgiveness. I've underestimated myself--I didn't know myself until now.

"Each time you get up and get back in the race
One more small piece of you starts to fall into place."

--Rascal Flatts