Ooh Chloe

Growing up I spent a lot of time at my grandma's house. Most mornings she helped me master the art of making pancakes. I learned how to look at the edges and the bubbles on top to gauge when each pancake was done. I learned how to pick the best spatula for flipping and the importance of NEVER over-mixing the batter. Of all the culinary techniques I learned all of those mornings over the stove, the one that means the most to is this: the first pancake is the tester. I can't count how many first pancakes I botched. It's on this pancake you adjust the skillet temperature and, if you're me, you warm up your pancake flipping abilities. After this first pancake falls to the deadly forces of overheated skillets and poor flipping techniques, the rest usually turn out great. But I always expect the first on to be a little burnt and to have an edge folded under. Well, folks. That's life. Expect the first attempt to be bad. Expect to be burned. Whether it's in rela

I am, by no means, an expert on football. This is only my second season of watching. I will say that I know much more now than I did a year ago today. I have grown to love watching it, and, just this year, have decided that I will even cheer at games. Especially when my favorite player makes a tackle. Admittedly, I still get confused about almost every penalty. The only one I really understand is a face mask, but even then, I never notice while I'm watching because I'm too busy concentrating on who has the ball and where they are going. I may not know the positions of the players by looking at the field, but I can tell whether things are going good or bad. I know that when my team has the ball, "1st and goal," is good, and "4th and long," is bad. When I hear the announcer say that, my stomach tightens, my heart goes a little fast, I clasp my hands, and wait in anticipation to see what will happen. As I watch, there is not one thing I can do to make t

*Contains strong language and mature content* Yesterday was quite the day. I woke up, everything was fine. I had myself a delicious cup of coffee, everything was more than fine. I went to my first class, took an exam, it was still fine. I went to my second class, and began to take notes. Fine. My professor started a documentary on drug use and its effects. I wasn't surprised as I am a behavioral science major, and the class is "Intro to Addictive Behavior." I usually become slightly emotional as we watch these films that show how people wreck their lives with a little bit of powder, or a bottle of pills. I knew this particular chapter and video would hit close to home because of my childhood. I thought I was prepared for it. After all, it has been fifteen years, I've been to therapy, I have a loving family, and I always thought I behaved like a "normal" person. A few minutes into the hour long film, the screen was filled with faces of those who had abuse

Do you ever see that person? The one that doesn't even have to look at you, just being in your line of vision is enough of an offense for you to want to flip the table. Everything can be going fine, even great! You could be having the time of your life, but the moment you see them, all signs of joy are gone and it's just you left with your bitterness. I have one of these people. Or a few. Oddly enough, I somehow think that I can blame them for "killing my vibe." As soon as all the negative feelings hit me, my first thought is, "b****, don't kill my vibe." (Y'all, I know. It's awful. I felt convicted. That's why I'm writing this post.) This past month I have realized how destructive this behavior pattern is. First of all, it doesn't hurt anyone but me. Second, that is not the attitude Christ has toward me, so I shouldn't have it towards others. Third, no one has the power to kill my vibe. If anyone is killing it, it's me. I