Giving Up

It used to be that I would finish a book, no matter how painful.  I’d watch a movie to its ending or forge ahead with seasons of TV shows that I once loved but now was uncertain about.  I saw things through.  I labored until the end, not because I wanted to, but because I felt like I had to. 

One of the podcasts that I listen to every Friday is NPR’s Pop Culture Hour.  They’ve introduced me to some interesting new things, like Sylvan Esso (I’m seeing them at the Majestic in September thanks to NPR’s heads up!)


H.S.K.T (my personal favorite)

So, when one of the podcasters (is that a word?) started talking about Garth Nix and his book Sabriel I was intrigued by the name and the general summary of the book.  Chick warrior on a hero’s journey to find her father.  Cool, right?  Plus, she had a cool name.  Sabriel.  I may or may not have posed the name as a future girl baby Turner to Kris.  photo

I read a little bit of the book and stopped reading it.  It wasn’t my cup of tea.  The plot advanced and the world was built but there was no inner monologue of the character, no reflection on what she was doing.  The emotion was missing.  The action was there, but the character was some sort of machine going through the motions.  I added finishing the book to my to-do list.  I would read it anyway.  After all, I went to the trouble of remembering the title, requesting it from the library, and I was even 50 pages in to the 270 pages.

I made it to page 100 and I gave up.

I flipped the switch, though.  I loved the TV show Dexter, as I’m sure a lot of people did.  However, it’s no secret the last few seasons became a joke.  Kris watched the last season and invited me to join him.  I watched a couple of episodes, but ultimately gave it up.  I had made it through 7 seasons to give up on the last season.  After watching bad plots and comical twists unfold, I had enough.

When is it okay to walk away?  I’m encouraging myself, especially in the consumption of pop culture, to be more willing to stop wasting time.  There is plenty of good, consumable pop culture that I want to read/watch/listen to.  Time is so short.  Read what you want, not what you think you should.   If it isn’t making your pulse beat a little faster, you have the right to walk away.  Watching a TV series to its finale when it lost its place three seasons ago is pointless.  You spend hours waiting for the good five minutes.  And you can’t get that time back.  And you could’ve been listening to Sylvan Esso during that time.






Thrifting Haul

Since I had to work on Saturday and I had some birthday cash burning a hole in my pocket, I definitely deserved some thrifting.  I hit up all four Goodwills in my town and had some success.

The first Goodwill offered up this Express dress.  The print is a little loud, but this might be perfect for the wedding we’re going to in Ecuador or for some other summer events down the line.  The draping is super flattering and it’s very comfortable.


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The other Goodwill that yielded good results is one that I’ve only been to once before.  It’s newer and on the southwest side of town.  I scored a nice Merona lace dress here last time, and this time I hit the top jackpot.

photo 5 photo 4 photo 3 photo 2Tops totaled $18.  Pretty good finds to freshen up the ol’ wardrobe.  

Sadly, I didn’t find much at my favorite Goodwill.  But looking is half the fun.  Now I have to go find four tops to donate from my own closet…which is overflowing.  Happy thrifting!


I Became a Different Person on My Birthday

I started my bday at work, which is less than awesome place to be on your “special” day, but it turned out pretty okay.  My co-workers decorated my desk with all sorts of 30 signs and made an ooey gooey chocolate cake, and, added bonus, my boss was gone for the day!  I had a half-day, and was long gone when this came out, but I got a text about it:

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Sadly, 7/11/24 is on a Thursday.  

After getting out of work, I drove to the Social Security Administration office.  I could think of better things to do with a half-day, but the SSA office has great hours like 9:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. and they are about 35 minutes from my house, so it made sense to just take care of biznass.  

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I dumped every identifying document I have on the counter along with my name change form.  They don’t mess around!  I even needed both my parents’ social security numbers.   I will officially be Richanda Grant Turner in two weeks.  My middle name, Leigh, got the bump.  Doing the name change stirred up some serious feelings.  I guess when you go by your name for 30 years, you get kinda attached.  And the things that need to be changed—passport, credit cards, drivers license, my notary stamp, my banking stuff—are overwhelming.  But I did want to change my name, and the choice was, after all, mine.  I guess it was a good reminder that a name change isn’t always a given, and whatever a woman wants to do after marriage is totally fine.  If Kris had a bizarro last name, I probably wouldn’t have changed my name.  I can only handle one weird name! 

After the SSA office, I went to the post office and was called “young lady” twice by the post office dude.  That was nice.

I came home to my shiny, new present:

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We ditched our small, stinky 20 year-old fridge.  It felt good to exorcise the fridge demon from our house.  The old lady that lived here before apparently enjoyed hoarding expired food and the fridge smelled like sausage when we moved in.

To end the day, we went to La Taguara.  It’s a Venezuelan/Latin American restaurant in our old neighborhood.  It used to be a sketchy gyro restaurant, but they opened La Taguara just when we moved away.  I thought it might another sketchy restaurant, but I was very wrong and read some great Yelp reviews.  

La Taguara

I got cheesy corn pancakes with pork.  It made a good breakfast and dinner today, too.

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So good!  

Thank you everyone for all the calls, presents, cards, texts, emails and Facebook activity.  It was a great birthday and I look forward to many more with my new identity.  



Last Day of My Twenties

Today is the last day of my 20s.  Going from 19 to 20 didn’t feel very momentous, probably because I was waiting to turn 21.  This feels a little different.  I’ll be…older.  I was the youngest in my family, and the youngest out of my closest friends.  For a long time I was the youngest in the office (any office).   Giving up that bright shiny spot is sometimes difficult.  I’m not young anymore. But then again…younger isn’t always better. Exhibit #1, picture of me at 13:


(PS-thank you family and friends for loving me through puberty and beyond.) I was unsure and self-conscious in my teens.  For most of my 20s, I struggled to find my place in my family and my friends, but felt out of place.  I was single for a long time and I went to grad school, two things that set me on a separate course of experiences.  I was depressed and, more rarely, not depressed.  I was thinner, then fatter, then thinner.  I let my looks define my self worth.  I was quiet because I worried if I spoke up I could say the wrong thing or look dumb.  I was stuck in love and belonging for the longest time. 1280px-Maslow%27s_hierarchy_of_needs svg There were tons of bright spots in my 20s, of course.  I met so many interesting people.  I gained lots of work experience and traveled for fun and got my masters degree and learned to live by myself.  I hung out a lot (but not nearly enough) with these beautiful people: 10502152_10103261873900437_7299021935757420405_n I met this guy: 10259848_10103261872119007_3101361501161234588_n And he even wanted to marry me. And this furball moved to Green Bay, Mankato, and then Madison with me.  He didn’t judge me, even when I drank lots of wine and spent hours on YouTube. 996568_10102425144752357_1186745518_n I’m happy to take what I learned and move on.  I’m going to keep on moving up the pyramid. One of my favorite quotes is this:  Do not regret getting older.  It is a privilege denied to many. I’ll take my privilege and run with it and be grateful for 30 years.