The Five Dollah T-Shirt

I attended a team manger meeting for our company softball team back in May. The meeting was rather dull overall. However, there was one epic moment. 

The directors of the league were reminding everyone to have good sportsmanship. They used a non-example from a previous season, where a player apparently decked another player and the police were called and it was a hot mess. They then said, "And what is this all for? A five dollah t-shirt! Because that is all the winner of the entire league gets!"

Work BFF, who was also in attendance, and I just laughed and laugh {out loud, mind you}. Because that player who decked someone, with the police called and that hot mess? Yeah, he was ours. 

But that is beside the point.

The point is this ... that coveted five dollah t-shirt.

Yeah, it's ours. 

NBD, right?

Actually, it is a big deal. Because that season when our player who decked a guy, where the police were called and it was a hot mess, we only won one game that season.

And merely two seasons later?


Given, it was two sizes too large for me and three sizes too big for most of our other female players.


We got the five-dollah t-shirt and that's all that matters! P.S. Yes, even brother-in-law Shtev got the five dollah t-shirt. I am sure the rest of our family is uber jealous.

Until next season, softball. Until next season ...


To live would be an awfully big adventure ...

This is a post I didn't want to write. 

But I am going to do it. And you will see why I didn't want to by the next two words I type.

Robin Williams.

This isn't a post about him. Yet, it is a post entirely about him.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, has given their two cents on this heart shattering event. And I am going to be honest ... I hate it. 

I hate it because most of what I read is from people who have no idea what they are talking about. But in our world of social media, we all have to talk. We all have to say something. Because heaven forbid if we let an "opportunity" to participate in the buzz topic of the week slide. 

One of the only articles I didn't hate was this one. I think everyone should read it. Because it teaches, "Suicide is an act that makes perfect, terrifying sense if you're suicidal, and no sense at all if you're not. If you don't understand why someone would kill themselves, I am happy for you, and I hope you never do."

And let's clarify before we get any further. I have never suffered from depression. And I am not suicidal. Yet, for someone who has not suffered from depression and is not suicidal, I sure know a lot about it. I am not an expert by no means, but I know more about it than I'd ever care to know, but in the same sense am so grateful I do.

I am tired of people calling it selfish.

I am tired of people calling it courageous. 

I am tired of people declaring what is and isn't okay to say about it.

I want people to live. I want them to want to live. I would hope with all of my heart that was an action and the desire everyone wanted every moment of every day. But it's not. And if through their depression or through their despair they cannot find that desire and do make the action not to live,  I do hope they find the peace for which they are so eagerly searching, the peace that they were unable to, for whatever reasons, receive on this earth. 

And if that is wrong of me to say, so be it. There are more troubled and aching souls than I think we would allow ourselves to realize. How dare I judge their ache? How dare I judge their actions? Because we just don't know their heart, their sorrow, their ache, their pain. We just don't know what dialogue repeats in their minds.

To those of you that feel no desire to live, I don't fully understand, but know there are people who are trying to understand. And know that there are people who have that desire for you to live, even when you don't. Please, please keep  living, even if that desire is not there inside of you. It is inside of so many people who love you. Live off of their desire for you for the time being. And please, please know, there is always help.


Danger in the ghetto!

Heeeeey, ohhhhhh.

Fact: I finish my last grad school paper on SATURDAY.

Classes aren't finished until Tuesday, so in keep you entertaining during a time that I thought I was going to be busy, I invited the wonderful Lauren to come entertain you.

While I am FINISHED with grad school, she is still here to entertain you. Enjoy! :)


Hi everyone!  I'm Lauren from Lot 48 and I am so excited to be guest posting on Mindy's blog today!  Today I am going to tell you an embarrassing/terrifying story that happened to me while I was interning at a production company in LA.

You have all seen The Devil Wear Prada, right?  Well, all the errands Anne Hathaway runs in the movie wouldn't actually be run by an assistant, they would be run by an intern, so that is what I did.  I ran a lot  of errands.  One particular errand that I did frequently was to walk one block over to Target to withdraw money from a producer's account.  There was the option to see the account balance on the ATM, and man was I tempted, but I never did. 

But every time I was asked to do this, I would be given the pin number along with the debit card.  I was usually asked to withdraw a few thousand dollars at a time.  So imagine me walking around Culver City (the.....not best/safest part of LA) with thousands of dollars of cash on me.

Not only did I intern for this production company, but I also interned for another production company three days a week.  The day after I had done my errand of running to Target to withdraw funds, I was at my other internship when I got a call from that producer's assistant (let's call him JP to make things simpler.  Oh wait.  That is his name.  He produced Leap Year, Butterly Effect, The Hangover movies and other things).  Anyway, I knew something was up when JP's assistant called me on a day when I wasn't working there.  What happened next caused my heart to drop all the way to the floor.

Click here to read the rest of the story on the blog!


Jamming your finger ... and then your entire body.

At company softball Tuesday night I jammed my finger {and bent my thumb nail backwards - hello, blood!}. I could immediately feel it begin to swell and be limited in movement. 

Later that night, after a pity dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings for losing two games in one night, I came home and tried to get into my pajamas. It was uber hard because that darn finger did not want to participate in the disrobing of softball clothes to prepare for ... PAJAMAS.

In that moment I had a realization ... the way my jammed finger felt was exactly how my entire body felt back in March. Until that moment, I never knew how to explain the extreme pain I felt ... but now I do!

Have you ever jammed your finger and then bent it backwards while swollen and discolored?

THAT, my friends, is how every move felt with my body. And, eventually, how every spot that touched anything while sitting or laying down felt too. 

Autoimmune failure = jamming your entire body. 

Thank you, company softball for assisting me in being able to describe autoimmune failure to the world!

I would try to be a good blogger and insert a photograph ... but based on toady's content you would get a photo of my jammed finger and that ugly. Although, let's not kid ourselves, that hasn't stopped me before. If you search this blog for "finger" you will see exactly what I mean. And searching for finger will produce you with far more pleasing outcomes than if you search "ankle + horror". Any of you that do, I wish you luck. ;)

Happy weekend, people! 


The dangers of softball ...

Every summer, for reasons unbeknownst to myself, I organize a company softball team.

This year? I organized two.

I die. But that is beside the point.

It's a lot of work ... mostly dealing with people who want to play specific positions. This is why being a cross country/track coach would be thee best because there is no discussion. Fastest runners get to run in the elite races and that's that.

But that is beside the point.

The point is this. We played two games Tuesday evening. In a torrential downpour and lightening.  The ironic thing? One of the games was a makeup game for when it was "rained out" earlier on in the season. I use quotation marks because on that day, there was no rain. But it got canceled due to rain. And we made up the fake "rained out" game in a torrential downpour and lightening! LIGHTENING, PEOPLE. DANGER.

In between our two dangerous games, we hid in the dugout for protection.

Metal roof + lightening = protection ... Right?

Oddly enough, you cannot tell from the photo that it is a torrential downpour ... BUT IT IS. Err ... WAS.


The regular season is finally over. It's now tournament time. And do you know what we get if we win the entire tournament? A five-dollah t-shirt. Totally worth all of it, right? Ha!

Have you ever played company sport? How has that gone for ya? Even better, have you ever won a five-dollah t-shirt? And what are the chances I can have it? 

P.S. Return tomorrow to hear more dangers of softball!


Master of ALL the things

I should be doing grad school homework.

I graduate in six days and have a paper and a half to finish, plus some very menial tasks. 

You are then free to call me Master Mindy.

I joked about that with someone the other day and they said, "Oh, please! Don't become that person!" Uhhh ... do you know anyone with a graduate degree that actually makes you call them master?

I am never getting my Ph.D., but if I did, I would make you call me doctor. Because anyone who is insane enough to get a Ph.D. deserves to be called doctor. 

Come to think of it, I cannot recall who begged me not to make them call me Master Mindy. 

Don't they know that it is an alliteration and that makes it fun?

Do you know what else I am a master of? 

The Lucky Charms.

I showed those darn mateys who was boss.

P.S. After Tuesday, I cannot imagine ever needing to blog about grad school again.

What on this green earth are you going to do with your lives without me complaining about grad school?

Somehow, we will all have to manage to survive the universe careening out of control.

Careening is a great word. You should look it up if you don't know what it means.

Meanwhile, I am going to continue avoiding doing any more homework tonight {if you can call turning in assignments I completed on other days as homework} and go eat me some Lucky Charms without those darn mateys!! 

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