Susieboldt's Blog

Random Comments from a Dreamer

Instability a Good Thing?

Everything is changing for me…yet again.

I wrote my first novel, the first draft anyways. I’ve now handed it out to people who will give me their much needed opinion. Today was the first day that I wasn’t staring at my lap top for six hours. I pretty much didn’t know what to do with myself. Also, school starts tomorrow; the very first year that I will be attempting to take five courses instead of four, and hold down, a so far non-existent, part-time job. I’ve also just ended my youth leader duties for the church I attend, because of school, and my baseball season is finished. Although, not only are physical obligations ending and beginning; I also feel as though I have changed on the inside as well. I won’t try to describe these changes, as I don’t know how to even put those changes in words, but what I can tell you, is that everything is up in the air for me.

My life feels up-rooted and unstable. I’m wondering whether this instability is a good or bad thing.

When life is perfectly planned and everything is stagnant, growth is un-achievable. In fact, most comfortable people, as in comfortable in their lives, don’t think about growth when they’re in this position. Comfort and stability seems to make a person forget about growth, whether that be spiritual growth, relational growth, or any kind of growth for that matter. When a person is comfortable in their stability, stability is all that matters to them.

Instability, on the other hand, literally forces a person to grow. It forces a person to make decisions, and most of the time those decisions are the ones that would have never been options, had it not been for instability.

I am now in the position of change and growth. I’m thinking about options that I would have never even considered a few months ago. I could tutor for free with a volunteer organization. I could join an outreach committee that specializes in large youth functions. I could volunteer with a Christian school board. These are all options that I am considering all because my life has been, for the moment, up-rooted.

Instability has even forced me to take a good long look at my spiritual life. Where can I do better? What are my weaknesses, and are they holding me back from something potentially life changing? What can I do for my community? Where can I better be spiritually fed? These are all questions that I’ve had to answer, all because my stagnant life suddenly became changed.

I’ve decided that instability is not just a good thing, instability is a great thing, unwelcome as it is; it is needed for me to grow. And if I am not growing each and every day, then I am useless to humanity. Sitting in my house, watching my TV shows, staring out my front window; it’s all very useless, and the recent instability in my life has become some much needed chaos.

Image from:


September 8, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 2 Comments

I Hate Flip Flops

Flip flops are useless; let me explain why…

  • Flip flops are horrible for your feet. They have no arch support whatsoever. Why would you want to subject yourself to wearing shoes that are obviously bad for your feet, posture, and joints? It just doesn’t add up.
  • Flip flops are dangerous. Imagine for a moment that you are being chased by a mugger. He wants your purse and he’ll stop at nothing to get it. Clearly, you have no chance at out-running this mugger. He’s wearing running shoes and you…well, you’re wearing flip flops. He catches up to you easily, grabs your purse and then hits you over the head with your own bag. You then slump to the ground, hit your head, and start bleeding. All this because you were wearing flip flops.
  • Not only are flip flops dangerous because of muggers; they are also dangerous when it comes to driving. I heard that it was illegal to drive while wearing flip flops, probably because they can get stuck on the gas or brake pedals. It’s just a bad combination – flip flops and brake pedals….a combination that should not be messed with.
  • Flip flops are bad for camping. You are more subject to getting sun burns and mosquito bites on your feet. You are also subjecting yourself to getting campfire burns. Those campfires can be dangerous things. Depending on the type of wood that is chosen to burn, the campfire could produce burning ash and debris. This is more common than you think.
  • Flip flops do not make you look cool. What makes you look cool is wearing something other than the norm. Flip flops are a dime a dozen, and in turn, they take away your uniqueness as a woman. I get the impression that when people are wearing flip flops, they think they’re cooler than everyone else who isn’t wearing them. Well let me tell you something, when I’m the only one in a group of girlfriends who is not wearing flip flops, I’m the one who feels cool.
  • Flip flops are noisy, and occasionally make farting sounds. It’s embarrassing, not only for the wearer, but also for the unfortunate people around them.
  • Flip flips are inconvenient. Don’t ask me to feel sorry for you when you get a rock imbedded in your heal. I’ll be wearing my runners and walking over that rock that just made you cry.
  • Flip flops force you to colour your toe nails. Before you leave the house you need to check your toenails and make sure they’re painted; if not you’ll have to postpone your plans and dig out the nail polish. Tsk tsk. Let’s say you’re going to a birthday party and you’re just about to head out the door when you notice your toenails are un-painted! You run back inside and quickly cover them with colour. Well, the running shoe people will arrive first at that party and eat all the cake, so by the time you arrive with your brightly coloured toenails, all the cake will have been eaten.

These are my arguments against flip flops. I challenge anyone to out-argue me.

Image from:

September 7, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 28 Comments

Big Burgers

I tried a new restaurant the other day and ordered myself a beef burger. What a mistake.

The beef inside the burger was at least two inches thick. Let me say that again: two inches thick, and that was only the beef.  I want you to imagine eating a two inch thick patty. Go on, try to open your mouth two inches wide. It doesn’t work, does it?

This is the problem with two inch thick beef; most people cannot open their mouths this wide. I’d rather not half to dislocate my jaw to eat a burger.

Not only are these types of burgers impossible to eat, but two inch thick patties do not work in a bun. The meat pushes everything else out of the way. By the time you’re a quarter a way into the burger, everything else has fallen onto your plate. Your tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, everything, it’s all gone. All you’re eating is meat and bread. Who wants to eat just meat and bread? Okay, I know a few people who would love just eating meat and bread, but those people are boring.

Why would I want to pay money to eat a pound of ground beef? It just doesn’t make sense.  I’ve been to Gilligan’s the restaurant and even their huge patties are not as big as the one I had. Just looking at the two inch thick patty burger made me sick. I couldn’t even imagine all that beef inside my stomach.

Are there people out there who like this? Who like not being able to eat their burger properly because the beef has become so dominant it’s actually pushed everything else out?

It would have been more productive for me to cut this burger with a fork and knife. At least that way I’d have a sliver of a chance to also get some tomato or lettuce.  But let’s face it, that’s just embarrassing. It’s understandable for people to eat pizza with a knife and a fork, if it’s thick enough. But when people eat their burgers with knives and forks, well that’s just wrong on many levels.

I just don’t understand why restaurants think this is a good thing. “Come to our restaurant! We have burgers so thick you won’t physically be able to eat them!” It bothers me to no end why society believes that the thicker it is, the better. Who started this horrible monstrosity, creating burgers that are impossible to eat? If anyone ever finds out, let me know please. I’d like to blame someone for the pain I feel in my jaw ever since attempting to bite into the two-inch-thick-patty-burger.

Disclaimer– I don’t actually think meat and bread eaters are boring. Their burger choices are boring, not the eaters themselves. Do not come at me with pitchforks and torches, this will get you arrested for acting crazy.

Picture from:

September 1, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Working on a Sunday

This last Sunday I was working at the vegetable stand. Now, as most of you blog readers know, I am a Christian; and Christians are not supposed to work Sunday’s. Sundays are our Sabbath, our day of rest.

Obviously, I knew this when I decided to take the vegetable stand job, but considering I hadn’t been able to find a job for three months beforehand, I couldn’t possibly turn down my first job offer.

So here I was, working on a Sunday when along comes a familiar face. She looks at me and says, “Working on a Sunday…tsk, tsk, tsk.”

Now I have multiple problems with this statement coming from another Christian.

First of all, what was I supposed to do, turn down my first and perhaps only job offer after three months of looking, all because I was expected to work every other Sunday for two months? I do not think so.

Second of all, who is she to “tsk” me when she’s the one giving me the job? She is in fact enabling me to work Sundays since she’s the one buying produce from me. What’s worse, to enable someone to work Sundays, or work Sundays yourself?

Third of all, some of us do not have the luxurious opportunity of running our own home-based businesses. Some of us actually have to venture out of our homes and actively look for work. We are not all so lucky and skilled as to be able to work from home and set our own hours.

I’ll be honest though, I feel guilt every time I have to work on the Sabbath. It’s not as if I don’t care, I most certainly do; I just see no way around it.

Short of starting up our own businesses, Christians are expected to work Sundays. How many times has a Christian walked into a job interview with the mindset that they are not going to work on the Sabbath, and ended up not getting hired? Hmm, being realistic? 98% of the time.

I feel as though I cannot get a job unless I’m willing to work Sundays. Is this the truth though? Or are we Christians supposed to be steadfast and vehement about not working Sundays; and God seeing our devotion, will provide us the job, or another where we don’t have to work Sundays? It’s a very tricky subject and one that could be explored from numerous angles. Now, I could venture into all those differing angles and write you a neat little essay. But that’s not the purpose of this blog. The purpose of this blog is to have a venting outlet and a place where I can hear your opinions.

So, let me have it, give me some feedback. What do you think?

August 25, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 6 Comments

My Neighbour: Part Two

As you may recall, a few months back I wrote about my awkward position towards my neighbour.

I had been friends with this neighbour in high school, and when she moved in next to me I recognized her immediately. Awkwardly though, she had no idea I lived beside her. You see, my husband and I are hermits. We like the indoors and prefer to sit on our couches rather than on our plastic front porch chairs. Instead of going outside, I just look out my window. It gives me the same experience. One day while looking through my window, I saw my new neighbours moving in. I recognized them instantly, only they had no idea they were being watched, and in turn had no idea I was living beside them.

I wanted to knock on her door and say, “Surprise! I’m your neighbour!” But unfortunately so much time passed in which laziness overrode all other impulses that I feared I would instead be saying, “Surprise! I’ve actually been your neighbour for five months now!” It would just be too awkward.

What made it even more awkward was the fact that this neighbour had a baby and I had bought this baby a present. That present, which just happened to be a Winnie the Pooh Bear blanket, sat in my front room for a good five weeks, and the more it sat there, the more tempted I was to cuddle up with it and use it for myself.

But the day did come. I was outside unpacking groceries and when I looked over, she was unpacking her baby from its car seat. I noticed her glance my way, and before I could hide or duck, or use my mysterious vanishing powder, she had seen me. I gathered strength, and prayed that if God would take away my social awkwardness, I would be a better person. I strode her way and recognition kicked in,

“Susie?! Is that you?”

“Yup. I’ve been here all this time, crazy, eh?”

“Come inside, we can catch up!”

“..o..ok…hold on though, I have something for the baby. It’s in my house. I’ll go get it.” This is about the time an inner battle began in my head. The left side of my brain was telling me to stay in the house and never come out again, and the right side was calling me a chicken.

I picked up the gift bag and hurried back outside before the left side could win. She was inside the house, so I rang the doorbell and she let me in. A humongous dog greeted me with a sniff to the crotch. Great….not only was it huge, it also had a shedding problem. I sat on her couch and held her adorable baby. We talked, we laughed, we looked awkwardly at one another; it was exactly how I pictured our reunion. After I left I told her I’d come back soon so we could talk some more.

Yeah…that was six months ago. I’ve never been back, and every time we pull into our separate driveways simultaneously I stay in my car until she’s gone inside the house. It’s just gotten to that point where if I went back now, it would just be weird.

I don’t plan these things out, they just happen. One day turns into six months, and before I know it, I’ve reverted back into my avoidance ways.

I wave to them sometimes, when I’m caught carrying groceries to my house, and can’t hide fast enough. That’s about the extent of our neighbourly relationship.

Neighbours are a tricky business. They’re not exactly friends, but they’re not acquaintances either. They’re somewhere in between, and I’ve yet to learn proper neighbour etiquette.

August 22, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 6 Comments

A Growing Fear of Mine

I have this fear about motherhood. Probably it’s this same fear that’s keeping me from wanting babies anytime soon.

It’s the fear of insanity.

All new mothers have lots to say about motherhood. What these new mothers sometimes don’t realize is that they’re scaring the crap out of non-mothers.

I’ve heard a lot of “You better….” phrases.

You better get lots of sleep now, because when the baby comes, you won’t even remember what sleep feels like.

You better get your date nights in now, because when the baby comes your spouse becomes irrelevant.

When you finally get a chance to get in the shower, you better make a choice between either washing your hair or shaving your legs, because you sure won’t have time to do both with a newborn in the house.

You better read as many books as you can now, because once you have a baby, books become impossible to enjoy.

You better hire a maid, because you won’t be able to clean, and if you can’t afford a maid, you had better coax that last iota of energy into cleaning the entire house yourself.

You better not attempt to do anything for yourself, at all, until the baby’s at least three years old.

You better not take your eyes off that baby, not once, or else life as you know it will come to an end.

That might as well be what new mothers tell others because that’s how I take it. So…when you have a baby, you turn into an insane zombie who can’t sleep, shower, go to the bathroom, or even read? Oh, that really motivates me to have one. Not.

Why can’t new mothers explain motherhood differently, rather than just trying to scare the crap out of the rest of us?

If I had to endure this, a life without sleep, showers, and reading, I’ll go insane. There’s really no getting around that. Insanity is inevitable. In my mind, insanity is attached to motherhood. And I think that this is absolutely ridiculous! I should not think this, and I blame a lot of people for this belief. For once, I’d like a new mother to say positive things about motherhood. Is this really too much to ask for?

Is it possible that we don’t have to give everything of ourselves to a baby? Is it possible that there will still be time for yourself, whether that be to read, take a bath, or even just sit silently in a room all by yourself without having to do anything at all?

I really, really hope so.

August 15, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 9 Comments

My Sweet Elixer Called Sugar

I’m addicted to sugar, and am currently crashing.

You see, I’m trying this new thing where I cut back on my daily sugar intake. It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be. Actually that’s a lie; I knew it would be incredibly hard.

My main problem is Pepsi. Pepsi is invigorating, fizzy, refreshing, and absolutely sugar-filled. I heard that if a person consumes too much sugar their life expectancy lowers by at least a decade. I have no idea if this is true; I figure it must be true since sugar is so bad for you.

Apparently a single Pepsi can has ten teaspoons of sugar in it! Ten! I googled this and found out that Pepsi uses high fructose corn syrup instead of sugar in their drink. I guess this corn syrup equals 41 grams of sugar.

So this is pretty much what I’m drinking every time I drink a Pepsi…

Yummm. Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating. But think about it, 41 grams….that’s a lot of sugar!

Some people drink a soda every day. I couldn’t even imagine the sugar crashes they must go through. Imagine if these people ever tried to stop drinking sugar, I mean, soda. Bad things would happen. The sugar crashers might go crazy and rob convenience stores. Of course the store owners wouldn’t have to worry considering the sugar crashers would bypass the money and head straight for the snickers bars.

When I’m crashing I’m reminded of zombies. I feel shaky, moody, and very weak. I walk around thinking only of sugar and how I can get my hands on sugar, and that’s only a small sugar crash. I start to wonder ridiculous questions, like: if I baked a cake now, when would I be able to eat it? Or: How bad would I be if I scratched the whole cake idea and ate directly from the chocolate icing container? Yes, it’s true. I have eaten directly from chocolate icing containers…multiple times.

I call Pepsi my sweet elixir of death. Because with 41 grams of sugar, it really is like drinking to an early grave. This is why I’ve decided to consume less sugar. I say “less” because there’s no way I could stop consuming sugar altogether. That would be impossible. Anybody who tries this and succeeds is not human, they are robots, and they should not be eating food anyways.

I will admit though, that I am a weak willed person. Sugar is a must in my life, only if I don’t stop consuming as much as I have been, I might go to an early grave. Will this stop me from ever drinking Pepsi again?

Nope, it probably won’t. Pepsi’s good and I’m addicted.

August 9, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Some Things I’ve Learned While Working at a Vegetable Stand

For the past month I’ve been working at a vegetable stand. This is a busy stand and my book reading and novel writing is constantly interrupted by customers. I’ve come to learn a few things since starting this job and would love to pass on my knowledge to you. Use it if you ever get a job working a stand.

Every morning I pile corn onto the huge table, two piles for two different varieties. I’ve learned that the bigger your corn-pile, the more people will stop and buy.

Now as you read on, remember that these are valuable life lessons; you should probably be writing these down. Keep them at arm’s length throughout your entire existence in the working world.

Asians will pick their own corn out of the corn-pile…always. Don’t even try to assist; they WILL push your hand away. In fact, they’ll walk right over to your supply of corn instead of taking it from the table like all other customers. Let them be. They have their own ways of doing things and you would just get in the way.

Some people will spend a total of six minutes listening to the sounds watermelons make when you hit them. Listen with them; periodically tilt your head from side to side to let them know you care. Of course, after these six minutes of wasted time has passed, they’ll more than likely decide that none are worthy of their three dollars and fifty cents. Let them go. Don’t yell or punch anything. Allow yourself to calm down, and maybe take up a mantra.

You will get asked questions like: “Is this corn good?” And “Did you pick this corn yourself, this morning? Is it fresh?” And you will be expected to answer. I usually answer, “Yes, it’s good, and no I did not personally pick this corn this morning, the workers did.” But in my head I’m shouting: “What do you think, I eat the corn in the morning to test its overall goodness? And why in the world would you assume I picked this corn? Does it look like I’m the owner of this stand?  Could it be possible that I’m just here to take your money and make sure no one steals product?! And no this corn is not fresh. In fact, I think it’s our leftovers from last season…what do you think? JUST BUY THE STUPID CORN AND LEAVE! LEAVE, I TELL YOU! LEAVE!”

You must possess a certain amount of patience; quite possibly you must have more patience than what was thought to be humanly possible. You may find it helpful to let a higher power guide you through this.

People will ask, “Is it hot enough for you?” And, “How ya handling this heat?” And you will be expected to respond. I usually just feel like carjacking their vehicles and soaking in as much AC as I can before I get arrested. It would be worth the jail time.

People will buy two dollars and fifty cents worth of veggies, and hand you a fifty, minutes after opening. Do you think I could possibly break a fifty?! What do I look like, a bank!?

People will also expect you to do the math in your head when change is needed. Instead I use my handy dandy calculator and accept such insults as, “You can’t do the math in your head?” “You owe me $17.50, you should know that.” “Really? A calculator?” YES A CALCULATOR! YES I USE A MACHINE TO DO MY COMPUTING FOR ME! IF THAT’S SO ODD THAN YOU CAN TAKE YOUR CORN AND LEAVE!”

Wow, was I meant to deal with people, or what? Thankfully, I evoke my serene patience at these moments and just smile and nod.

August 4, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 5 Comments

I’m a Soldier

I’m currently in a war.

I didn’t sign up or take an oath to serve and protect, rather I was enlisted through no fault of my own.

I’m in a war against earwigs.

Yes, earwigs; those horribly ugly bugs with pinchers sticking out of their butts. I’ve defeated many in battle and yet still fear for my life.

The other day as I was getting ready for bed I noticed my cat running around our laminate floor as if on a catnip induced high. I followed her gaze and watched as an earwig raced across the floor, feigning invisibility.

I was faced with two options.

One: I could wake my sleeping husband and command him to man up and kill this earwig.

Two: I could kill it myself before it got away.

Being the brave solider that I am, I opted for option two. I grabbed a Kleenex and smushed it against the floor. Now this is saying a lot for me, considering a few months ago, I couldn’t kill a thing, not even a spider! Here I was, killing earwigs. I was mighty proud of myself. I looked over to my cat and scoffed. Some killer it was.

I then went off to brush my teeth. When I got into the bathroom, my cat was clawing at some tiny creature with tiny little legs. I figured it was another earwig, since apparently our house had become their breeding ground. It must not have liked my cat’s playful clawing, because it crawled under my vanity.

Only, it couldn’t get very far, two of its legs were sticking out. My cat took a stance in front of the vanity and clawed at the legs, unable to fit its big fat paw in such a tiny space. I figured I was okay to stand in front of the sink and brush my teeth without the bug leaving its safety net.

I should have never figured anything. Instead, I should have run away screaming. That would have resulted in a far better outcome.

I was brushing my teeth and half way through I looked down. No legs. Where were the legs?! WHERE WERE THE LEGS!? My cat was no longer taking a stance in front of the vanity, but rather was now staring tenaciously at my pant legs. Oh boy.

I flailed my legs about as if I was in River dance, ultimately launching the bug out of my pant leg. It hit the wall, fell to the floor, and came scrambling back to the vanity, searching for its safe place.

To my horror, it was no earwig. It was a spider; and it was no daddy-long-leg if you know what I mean. This sucker was fat and hairy.

Apparently, now I was in a war against earwigs and spiders. Perfect. That’s exactly what I’ve always wanted.

With my toothbrush half in my mouth I grabbed a wad of toilet paper and killed it. It was gross and fear-inducing. But I was a soldier and soldiers killed spiders.

It took an hour to finally stop visualizing what could have been, before I was able to fall asleep. The next morning when I awoke I slipped my feet into my cozy pink slippers like any other morning. How was I to know that this particular morning was not like any other morning?

I walked around and ate my breakfast. I checked my facebook and hotmail. I opened up a book and read a few pages and then I got up to start a load of laundry. That’s when I felt something picky in my slipper. I had a moment of nauseating fear before I pulled my feet out of the soft cotton. It was nothing, just a sliver that’s all, at least that’s what I kept telling myself as I looked down into the slippers.

Turns out I was sharing my slippers with an earwig! AN EARWIG! Just in case you aren’t following me:  THERE WAS AN EARWIG IN MY SLIPPER! I gathered my much needed courage and coaxed it out onto the floor, and then I mashed it against the carpet. I threw it in the garbage and smiled with grim satisfaction.

As I walked back to get my slippers my cat was once again pawing at something. I bent over for further examination. It was the head-half of the earwig. Yes, I had torn the body in two, and now the head-half was attempting to find safety. In other words, the head-half was moving. I killed it once again, and was left a disturbed individual.

I can say for certain though, that I am winning this battle, but just barely, and not easily.

August 1, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 4 Comments

A Lack of Maturity

I don’t feel like a twenty-three year old.

Okay, let me rephrase that. I don’t feel like an adult.

I look at people the same age as me and some just seem…more mature.

Some twenty-three year-olds dress so sophisticated that I can’t help but stare and wonder where I went wrong. I mean, I have absolutely no sense of style, nor do I desire one. I dress in jeans and tee-shirts and wear ugly Adidas running shoes. I’m into the comfy style, not the stylish style.

Some twenty-three year olds have a child, or multiple children. They care for another life, feed it, change it, and comfort it. I don’t even understand how this works. I look at young mothers and marvel at their ability to raise another human being. I can’t even see myself mature enough to take care of someone else’s child, yet alone one of my own!

Some twenty-three year olds read adult novels with adult themes. They read Jane Austen and Margaret Atwood. I read Stephanie Meyer and Gordon Kormen: teenager and young adult novels. I know I should probably be reading university level novels, considering I’m in university, but I just can’t imagine myself doing that. I also like to write for kids and teenagers.

 It’s a weird feeling, feeling like I’m still immature.

It feels like I’m being left behind.

Many of the women my age are thinking about starting families. Families! I’m petrified at the mere thought. I feel like I’ll be last in this race.

I don’t even understand how this happens. How are some people my own age so much more mature than me?

I was driving around the other day and I saw some graffiti in the shape of male genitalia. Now most mature people would scoff at such a blatant display of disrespect for public property. I, on the other hand, pointed and laughed. As much as it’s just wrong to paint genitalia on…well, anything…I couldn’t help but find it funny. Why? Because I’m immature. This is the only explanation I can come up with.

I feel like I’m still seventeen. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe I should relish in my immaturity and enjoy it.

What is the boundary between maturity and immaturity? What makes someone mature, or immature? I just don’t know anymore. I’m still mulling it over.

July 28, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | 3 Comments