a broken home

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure (or tragedy rather)...

I was walking through Michaels on one of my many craft binges and found a scrap booking accessory. It was the word family spelled out in all lowercase letters. The sparkly light green word looked so pretty that I imagined what it would look in a book of memories. Only I couldn't think of what picture I would put on the page with it. Growing up I have many memories of the ill-defined term 'family'. It doesn't necessarily mean the people I am biologically related to, but the ones that matter the most in my life. In 21 years I cannot recall as much change within our family as I have seen in the last year. While this has enabled me to accomplish the most growth as a person I can ever remember, it has also left me feeling empty and alone.

When did the time arrive that I no longer wished to live with my parents but, to only see them on some Sundays and traditional holidays? The individual choices of the people I share genetic matter with have affected the relationships between every person in my immediate family. As a result a chain reaction has occurred forcing me to forge different friendships and comfort levels with people I have known for my entire life and those I have just met. It is more common to find a broken family than one that has stuck out the hard times together. I always liked to think of myself as one that strung her broken family together. That despite the divorce, we could still love and appreciate one another. Now I don't know if I will ever be able to bring our tattered family together again.

Playing the role of "the rock" for most of my life, I have always put the duty of keeping my family together in the face of grief, anger, and fear above all else. My instincts toward my little sisters are maternal as opposed to being a big sister. I have been the go-between for our parents through four years of divorce. Despite receiving grey hair (I honestly hope is a result of genetics), an ulcer, late nights and early mornings I could always look forward to sitting down at the dinner table with all the people I love on Thanksgiving, or under the tree on Christmas. These days I can hardly make it through a phone conversation. I constantly wonder if this is merely a selfish act on my part, or if for the first time in my life things are beyond my control and my worst fear is confirmed: my family is falling apart.

For many, this is an irrelevant topic. Plenty of families are never the same after divorce. The sad thing is, is that ours was. We made it over the hill and through the woods, only to find out we left all of our rock climbing equipment at home. And boy do we have a mountain in front of us.

I've always hated the cliche saying "sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me". The third grader uttering the foolish phrase obviously never felt the daggers pierce their skin after a sideways comment from someone whom they loved. I constantly wonder if this feeling is normal. Is feeling out of control and homeless simply a rite of passage into adulthood? Or am I finally coming into touch with the way things have been for awhile?

I have a reoccurring dream that varies in detail, but always ends the same way. My littlest sister Abbey is constantly in the face of death all the while I panic and spend every waking moment I can with her, the rest of our family hardly notices her worsening condition or my exasperation. Each time the dream ends with her dying in my arms. With tears, wailing, or eerie silence I can never grasp the attention of my father long enough for him to see that he has lost his youngest daughter. The irony of this situation is that it would take death for him to see what he no longer has. Becoming wrapped up in new found interests and a second family has left his first one shocked, alone, and fatherless. What is to become of the letters that once spelled out our family is unknown. What I do know is that they probably aren't green, and certainly do not sparkle anymore.

here to stay

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...

I must admit a terrible secret. Despite being the gung-ho, over zealous leader of the Parks and Recreation Student Association I've had this inkling that failure is in my future. I've felt that the PRSA will face the inevitable come May, that we will have to disband our student club and I will let the SCRD staff down. But as if someone could read my mind, an angel was sent to me. His name is Michael, a representative from the Arizona Student Association and as he informed me at Starbucks today he is going to help the PRSA. I don't know much about this charming student advocate, but if he can do half the things he says he can our little student club will live on. Not only will our officers be able to attend leadership trainings and recruitment workshops, but we will learn how to effectively market our purpose to the incoming student body. So baby, with a little hard work, fresh perspective, and blessings from the ASA the PRSA is here to stay.

the wingman

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...

When one is out at a bar, or in any social setting you can always pick them out- the pair of guys working the room. One is putting the moves on a girl and the other is usually hanging in the background keeping her friend preoccupied. This individual is normally referred to as 'the wingman'. He is along for the ride, for better for worse. He can help you rope in the hotties and keep any unwanted company at bay. In some situations the said "wingman" will even take the fall and look like a complete jackass if it means his friend will get ahead with the girl.

I believe that the Coors Light people frame the responsibilities of the wingman perfectly upon release of this commercial.



There is little acknowledgment of the female wingman in the media so I would like to bring to your attention the importance and responsibility of these fearless (and stupid) women. Of course this story involves none other than myself :).

It was fairly early for a Saturday night when my close friend and I returned home from dinner at La Boca (DELICIOUS!!!). Exhausted from the long day we flipped on the TV in her Vista apartment and started to drift to sleep. Around midnight our third musketeer came bursting in from dinner. She had a lovely time, but she wasn't ready to call it quits. She had agreed to meet a cute boy on Mill Avenue (the hot spot for college kids in the Tempe area). Just as quickly as she had blown in, she re-powdered her nose and was off to hail a cab. In a matter of seconds I had made the decision not to send my tireless friend alone in a cab to meet Mr. Right Now, but that I was going with. In this act I had willingly made myself the wingman. Shortly thereafter we arrived at our first bar, I was still half asleep and my vivacious (let's call her Viv!) friend was starting to get nervous. Slowly we mingled our way into the bar and met the group. Mr. Right Now was looking quite cute in a polo shirt, while I started to feel self-conscious about my messy hair, glasses, and sober demeanor.

Two bars, one Silvermine sandwich, and three hours later I laid on a couch in Hayden Square wondering how my night had gotten so random so quickly. In accompanying my adventurous friend I had chosen to act at her mercy. Besides, I could not have let her hit Mill alone with no one to listen for the code word, or hold a ponytail of hair in the case of vomiting (a rare occurrence, I assure you). In essence, the female wingman is a socially accepted way of enacting the buddy system, something my parents adamantly preach about. With the help of a buddy, it is believed that creepy boys will be warded off and everyone will get home safe and sound.

In my case I had done the ultimate duty. I stuck by my co-pilot all night, never leaving her side. I backed up her white lies, and joked about my insecurities. I kept the other group members entertained, allowing Mr. Right Now and Viv to flirt shamelessly through the night. In the end it may seem that I was the one to get the short end of the stick, but I slept soundly knowing that in the big, scary, uncertain world there exists two other musketeers that will always be there for me.

So here's to you and your friends; whether it be yourself or another playing the leading role in your next adventure make sure to stay safe and never fly without your wingman.

i want to hold your hand

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...

As I write this my little sister is four buildings down across Orange Street meeting her advisor for the first time. Haleigh is being cleared to register for classes at ASU for her freshman year. A million thoughts race through my mind as this is happening. For one I am taken back to my freshman year advising appointment, where I felt inadequate for not yet knowing what my major would be. I felt left out for being the only freshman in my orientation room not moving on campus, instead I stayed home to help my little sisters (I have three) adjust to our parents' divorce. I think of how different my ASU experience would have been had I lived on campus. All I can do is thank God and all other higher powers that my parents finalized their divorce in early August of 2005. Had it not been for that act of fate I would've moved on campus, made completely different friends, and maybe never have found the parks and recreation program.

As I am counting my blessings, I am also living vicariously (and shamelessly) through my little sister. My parents never moved me onto campus when I finally made the transition. I didn't have anyone on campus to help me figure out which buildings my classes belonged in and I certainly had no one to guide me on my journey through the Greek system. I know for this I am stronger, but like parents and their offspring I want better for Haleigh. This is why I have done everything I can to help her get paperwork in to move onto campus, register for classes, and of course rush a sorority. I can't wait for her to go to all the football games, find the major that is right for her, and have her "ASU moment".

While extremely excited for Haleigh's life changing transition, I am also nervous and a little sad. Our entire lives I have paved the way for my little sister making sure everything is safe before allowing her to try it. I have managed to do this for possibly the last time in convincing her to spend the next four years of her life at Arizona State. As the summer treks on, I realize that while I'll only be a half mile away on the other side of campus I will not be able to be alongside her for every decision she will have to make. I will not be able to hold her hand on the way to class and drop her off (which I have done all through elementary, junior high, and some days in high school). My baby sister is growing into a breath taking young woman before my eyes and I am going to have to start letting her go to live her own journey.

There is an upside to this seemingly sad, empty nest story. For the next two years (I am hoping to get into the grad program) Haleigh and I will be on the same campus; grocery shopping, meeting for coffee, and late night studying together will become a staple item in my life. I cannot wait to share the Greek life experience with her (as of now I have convinced her to rush!) and show her all of my favorite nook and cranny spaces on campus.

It's ironic that this coming of age tale for one girl is also the same story for another. Letting her go her own way will allow me to grow into mine. I couldn't be more excited and queasy for freshman move-in this year. And if she wants me to, I will hold her hand.

missing: my bike

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...
(or what I would classify as another disaster)

Just 13 days ago I decided to have a productive Friday and forced myself out of bed around 10:00am to go downtown to work on a presentation project rather than lay in my bathing suit acquiring skin cancer. I hopped on my white beach cruiser (with really neat-o pink accents) and cycled down to the light rail stop. After multiple attempts on my life by oblivious drivers I decided to cut through campus and lock my bike up on one of racks, as there are a plethora at the Rural and University light rail stop (and I have been banned from bringing my bike on the light rail).

I took the train downtown where I had a semi-productive day of working on my presentation while distracting my colleague and wonderful confidant Kellen from his home work, and annoying Dr. Ariel Rodriguez. Luckily for them my partner in crime and fellow blogger Candi was in her office just down the hall. We took an hour and a half lunch break and walked down to Baja Fresh where I purchased a ridiculously large cup and filled it to the brim with fountain Coca-Cola, my favorite drink. When we got back from lunch we pretended to work while we chatted about Candi's secret love and Dirty Dancing II: Havana Nights via ASU Google email chat. When I was no longer bearable Dr. Rodriguez shut his door and Kellen pretended he had a meeting to attend. Candi and I decided to head back to Tempe, as we were exhausted from lunch and gossiping. After swinging by Mojo (we really deserved frozen yogurt) I was dropped off at the light rail stop because I didn't want to leave my bike all alone overnight on the bike racks.

My poor, unsuspecting self hopped out of the car and shimmied (I was listening to Pandora on my phone, officially the coolest thing EVER) across the bus station to where I had parked my bike. I got a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach when I started getting close to the seemingly empty bike racks. I looked left, and I looked right. I turned all the way around, but I still could not find my glorious hunk of white and pink medal that I so shakily had ridden to the exact spot earlier in the day. I continued to look about the scene as my eyes started to tear.



The bus stop weirdo's stared at me like I was the odd one, and one man even tried to help me locate the bus I was looking for. But it wasn't public transportation I was looking for, it was my bike which now appeared to be stolen. At a loss for words and with watery eyes I started the long walk home.

Despite a love struck Jack Johnson serenading my ears I could not shake the feeling of a broken heart. The fifteen minute walk seemed to go on for 15 years as I watched other ASU comrades fly by me on skateboards, scooters, and most painful of all: bicycles. I thought of my fellow PRSA officer Mark, who had his bike stolen just a few weeks before (however his loss was greater than mine, as he is actually good at riding bikes). He consoled me by suggesting our bikes found each other in bike heaven somewhere, or where ever it is that bike thieves take our precious pieces of finely crafted machinery.

I must admit that when passing by a beach cruiser on or near campus I perform a double take hoping that one day justice will be served and my ridiculously heavy and poorly ridden bike will come back to me. In the mean time this cruel act has left me with but one mission. I must find another bike to dodge death upon, spill my coffee on, and take on the light rail (maybe) so next semester I can sleep for ten more minutes before starting yet another adventure.

reading day bliss

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...



Today was an epic day, academically speaking. Reading day is normally celebrated with heavy partying the Tuesday before and an impossible amount of studying and writing to do during the day (usually performed hungover). Despite deep concentration and extensive rehabilitation by many students on campus, around 8:30pm life can be spotted. Creeping out of residence halls and libraries ASU students flock to one of the three all-you-care-to-eat dining facilities on the Tempe campus. We stand in line for a half hour while being mocked by a man in a pancake costume surrounded by others complaining about the amount of studying left to do, all for one purpose- finals breakfast. The tradition started in 2003 (as stated by the staff shirts) when ASU decided to serve a free meal to the student population as a way to help prepare us for what lay ahead.

Finals.

Of course I happen to love this Arizona State tradition and have attended almost every finals breakfast since freshman year, always with a smile. Whether I am stressed out about last minute studying, or completely relaxed with nothing to do I can always be found dragging my neighbors, friends, and roommate out of our rooms and towards one of the dining halls. Tonight I was especially impressed with the accompanying activities the meal had to offer. While waiting in line, I was given the option to create a priceless craft in literally a matter of seconds. After carefully choosing my fill-in-the-blank, circle shaped piece of paper I wrote something clever and handed it a woman in a finals t-shirt. Thirty seconds later my piece of paper was encased with a pin on the back and hanging off of my shirt.



Recently becoming the President Elect of the Parks and Recreation Student Association (yes, there will be more to come on this later) I decided to take advantage of this light hearted craft, and creat my first promotional piece for our student organization. Despite being tacky and homemade I feel extremely accomplished (especially in comparison to how productive I was today).

So boys and girls, the moral of the story is that despite how much crunching you still have to do or how many more pages need to be written, you should always make time for the little things in life because you never know when the chance to make your own custom button will come around. Until I figure out how to mass produce these things you'll just have to mask your jealousy when you see me running around campus with it stuck to various articles of clothing.

The only thing left to do is pop an aspirin (incase you're still fighting off a headache), chug a redbull, and get into the spirit of finals.

bored and hungry

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure...

As I was sitting in my usual spot on the fifth floor today I was approached by Dr. Ariel Rodriguez. He came bearing a certificate for a free salad from McDonald's. I soon found out that I was not the only recipient of this free southwest salad, but my partner in StAR crime Candi also had received one of these stellar passes. While we were attempting to work on our TDM 350 paper an uncontrollable hunger swept over us, and we took the opportunity to cash in our certificates for a savory snack.



After locating the closest McDonald's we threw on our spectacular shades and headed north on the light rail (as you can see, it was a rather blustery day). We exited the train at the Indian School stop and made our way to the establishment handing out free lunch.

















I must say, for a salad at McDonald's I was quite impressed. The chicken was extremely tasty and crunchy tortilla strips complimented the southwestern dressing. For a free lunch it was darn good. After enjoying our salads we grabbed a vanilla cone (an essential when visiting any McDonald's establishment) and headed back to where the magic happens- the sixth floor of the UCENT building.


I got to thinking about our free meal and exactly how healthy it was for us. I visited McDonald's website (in yet another attempt to procrastinate writing my tourism marketing paper) and found that our free salad actually cost our love handles 430 calories with another 100 calories including the dressing. This didn't really strike me until I realized that for an additional ten calories I could have consumed a big mac. Here I thought Candi and I were being clever in our eating habits when really we did nothing to deserve the low fat vanilla ice cream cones (which weigh in at about 150 calories).


This should come to no surprise, but I felt betrayed by the fast food industry. I guess there is no such thing as a free lunch.