Since then, companies have really taken the naming of scented products to a whole new level. I’d like to share some of my favorite examples of utter ridiculousness.

Let’s start with Febreeze. Febreeze has a scent called Spring & Renewal. That’s right. Not just Spring, but also Renewal. Spring alone I can get behind. Spring smells like flowers and rain. But renewal? Since when is renewal a scent? And do I want my fabrics to smell like renewal? I mean honestly. They might as well have named this product Porcelain Dolls & Promises. Because that’s just about as absurd.

Next, let’s move along to things that smell like angels. I had a lot to choose from in this category, but I narrowed it down to two. Which do you prefer - Sparkling Angel or Angel Whispers?

You’re right. Angel Whispers is obviously the winner.

BUT WHAT DOES AN ANGEL WHISPER SMELL LIKE?????

Nobody knows. At least, nobody who doesn’t own this particular Glade candle.

Ooh, here’s a good one. You know those tree air fresheners that you hang from your rearview mirror? Did you know that they have a whole host of scents? It’s not just pine anymore, people. Now, your tree can smell like none other than Passion.

Passion! A pine tree that smells like passion. A passionate pine. Let’s just go ahead and rename this one Coors Light & Rebound Man.

Since we’re talking about passion, I believe our next product should be this here candle that smells like a Jungle Kiss.

Have y’all been to the jungle? I have. And if anyone were to kiss me whilst in the jungle, I can pretty much guarantee they would smell bug repellent and sweat. So go ahead, buy this candle. If you want your house to smell like bug repellent and sweat, that is.

The next one is an example of being far too specific.

“Hey hon, can you pick up a coconut scented candle for me at the store?”

“Sure sweet cheeks! Was there a specific coconut scent you had in mind?”

“Hmmmm…yeah, I think Serene Coconut Breeze. Be a dear and see if they carry that at Target.”

“What if they only have Moderately Intense Coconut Breeze, or Serene Coconut Tornados?”

“Then I’ll just take Jungle Kiss.”

Although I could probably keep going for many more paragraphs, we have come to our last silly scents. Although I love me a Yankee Candle, I have got to call them out on two scents in particular – Fluffy Towels and Soft Blankets.

These scents present us with a conundrum. Why do fluffy towels and soft blankets smell good? If you use scented fabric softener. And it just so happens that Downy makes a fabric softener that contains none other than Spring & Renewal by Febreeze!

So don’t fret, folks. You can make your fluffy towels and soft blankets smell like spring & renewal. Or porcelain dolls & promises.

The strangest thing happened to me recently. I woke up one morning with the intense desire to unplug. To free myself from the distractions that constantly surround me and focus on discovering who God created me to be. I think I’ve spent the majority of my adult life seeking happiness from fleeting external sources. The truth is, I don’t think I’ll find happiness – no, contentment – unless I allow God to show me who I am and what my purpose is.

So I unplugged. I temporarily disabled my Facebook and my Twitter accounts, and this is the last blog post I’ll be writing. For now. I’ll be back in January, but for the rest of the year I am going to intentionally quiet the noise around me and hopefully learn some important truths. And I’m so excited about it.

Those of you who know me for realsies, you can always call, text, or email. I’m not unplugging like a cavewoman or anything. I’m still around.

If you want to understand a little more about what I’m doing and why I’m doing it, listen to this interview. Start the file at 18:36. I’m reading the book that is mentioned, 10 Conversations You Need To Have With Yourself. I talk to myself anyway, so might as well have an outline for my text 10 topics, right? The interview is about 15 minutes long, but it’s a 15 minutes well spent. Trust me.

Here is the link to the interview. It will download an mp3 file to your computer. I would have embedded it, but I’m too cheap to pay the $19.97 per year to embed audio files. Click here for Rabbi Shmuley interview

I think we all have core strengths and talents that God has blessed us with and that no one can ever take away. But if we allow the chaos and the noise of life interfere, these gifts can be lost, and with that we lose our identities.

Goodbye, distractions. Hello, Heidi. Let’s chat.

I said goodbye to my twenties.

Honestly, this is just not my favorite birthday. It should be an exciting milestone, but alls I can think about is how at this rate, I’m probably going to be a very old mom and have a bunch of Down’s Syndrome babies. (All of whom I will love and adore, so you can stop giving me that look.) But instead of thinking about my rapidly dwindling childbearing years, I am going to force myself to focus on all of the wonderful things I’ve been able to do in my 30 years on planet Earth.

In no particular order…

• Traveled to 23 US states
• Traveled to Mexico, Canada, the Caribbean, England, France, Monaco
• Earned a BA (with honors) and an MA
• Wrote and published a book (that has sold close to 10,000 copies!)
• Only had 1 of 2 prom dates turn out to be gay
• Been on 3 fabulous cruises
• Never been unemployed
• Seen countless amazing stage shows in New York, LA, and Vegas
• Owned the 4 pillars of Apple – laptop, iPod, iPhone, iPad
• Won “Best Swimmer” in 1st grade. I have a plaque to prove it.
• Won the talent competition in the Miss Appleblossom pageant in 8th grade for my stunning tap dance to “Singin’ in the Rain” in a black leotard and pink sequined skirt
• Stood on top of the Eiffel Tower, the Empire State Building, the Space Needle, and Half Dome
• Had the good fortune to never be hospitalized. Yet.
• Sang on a Travis Cottrell album
• Worked at Disneyland
• Hired to write drama for Word Music Publishing
• Saw Mount Rushmore, the Grand Canyon, and Niagra Falls
• Have danced at many beautiful weddings and held many sweet babies.
• Was saved by the loving, merciful, faithful, and strong God

I think that’s a pretty good list. I have a lot to be thankful for. I will also be thankful for the Bloomin’ Onion I will eat tonight at dinner, because calories don’t count on your birthday.

I can’t possibly be thirty. Let’s just go with Heidi, version 3.0.

I know. It’s a shock to all of you. Someone who seems to be perfect in every possible way must be hot, right?

Nope. Not hot.

I mean, I’m not atrocious or anything. I have good hygiene. I don’t scare animals or small children. (Wait, bad example. They can smell my fear.) But I do not walk around in tight velour sweatsuits with words like “Juicy” and “Pink” bejeweled across my posterior. I do not have that, how you say, “boom boom pow.” My milkshake does not bring all the boys to the yard. (My apple dumplings, however, do bring the boys to my kitchen. But they are there for the dumplings, not for the boom boom pow. Just to be clear.)

No, most days you’ll find me in slacks and a cardigan. Perhaps some heels and eyeliner if I’m feeling sassy. But I never, ever, look like a lady of the night. Not even on Halloween. So why do I keep getting propositioned??!?!?! The funny part is, because I am not hot, I never know I’m getting propositioned until it’s over. So I don’t even get a chance to get offended and give a speech about respecting women because I don’t know what’s happening. It’s really quite unfair. I’m almost tempted to ask my propositioners to recreate the scene with me so I can get in a good slap and look of disgust before I stomp off. Almost.

But, blog readers, I do have a treat for you. For your reading pleasure: Tales From the Arco Station in Southeast Fresno….

There I was. Pumping my gas; minding my own business. Fully covered in black slacks and a teal cardigan and the prayers of a godly mother that I would always be a good girl. Suddenly, a young man in an SUV drives up. Music pumpin’, rims shining.

“Hey!” he calls out the window. “Hey sexy!”

Well, I think to myself, these aren’t my sexy slacks, so he can’t possibly be talking to me. In fact, when I put these slacks on this morning, I thought “Oh good, my chastity belt pants. I like these.” I like them because of the material, and not because of the fact that they have about 178 buttons, hooks, and zippers. So I ignore him.

“Hey! You’re the sexiest thing out here!” Wait. Is he talking to me? Maybe he has astigmatism or something.

“Um…are you talking to me?”

“You bet I am sunshine. How you doin’ today, you fine lookin’ thing?”

I look around at the other 7 people pumping gas as they observe the scene. None of them appear to be coming to my rescue. That’s ok, I think. I can handle this. “Look, I’m just here to get gas.”

“Oh I see, you married? Where’s your man at?”

“Nope, not married, just getting gas.” You idiot!?! Why didn’t you just say you were married?

“Well why don’t we get to know each other better then, sexy?”

“No thanks. Have a nice day.” Why is no one rescuing me?

“Do you have a sweet tooth? Would you like some chocolate?” Wait, is he referring to his skin tone, or does he really have chocolate? Because I could go for a Kit Kat…Heidi, no. He doesn’t have a Kit Kat.

“Have a nice afternoon.” And so I get in my car and leave, still kind of wishing I had a Kit Kat.

Why do men do things like that? How is that ok? And why did I tell him to have a nice afternoon? I want him to have an un-nice afternoon of getting yelled at by his mother for treating women like that. Also, why didn’t I have some amazing comeback to put him in his place? Why didn’t I make up a fictional husband (George Clooney-esque, of course) who could be there in 2 seconds with his collection of Civil War bayonets? Oh, I know. Because when put on the spot the first thing that comes to my mind, instead of a .22, is a COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR BAYONETS.

Oh well. No harm done. I just wanted him to go away, and he did. But come ON, men of the world. Let both the hot and the un-hot pump our gas in peace!

Tuesdays are my Life Group night. We get together at someone’s house, have some snacks, share our highs and lows from the week, and talk about our Bible study from the week (which maaaaaaybe sometimes I do several days at a time in the parking lot of Chick Fil A on Tuesday night before group?). Oh, and we recite our memory verse from the week. This week I was all ready to go. I completed my week’s worth of Bible study (Lord, Give Me A Heart For You by Kay Arthur. Good but…meaty.) AND I memorized my verse. “For momentary, light afflictions are producing in us…glory…think not on which things are seen…think on which things are not seen, for they are eternal” ??? I promise I had it memorized earlier today. But after the night I had, I forgot it, ok?

Our life group decided to serve at the church tonight for date night. Parents drop their kids off for free childcare and they go out on a date, which I think is fabulous. The email I got asked if I would be willing to serve pizza to some kids. Sure, I can do that. No problem. But I showed up, and was immediately rushed to the 1-2 year old room for childcare.

JESUS, I’M FAIRLY CERTAIN I JUST SAID I DIDN’T WANT TO WORK IN THE NURSERY.

I wish you all could have been there. I stood there like an idiot for awhile, admitted to the girls in my life group that children terrify me, and tried my best to be helpful. Okay, tried 12% to be helpful. There was screaming. There was crying. Kids were falling down. Kids were pooping. Cheerios were flying. And I. Was there. For two. And a half. Long. Hours.

By the end of the night most of the kids were starting to have total meltdowns. They were tired, poor little darlings. I picked up one little boy named Luke and rocked him in the rocking chair for a few minutes. He stopped crying, so I put him down. Hello, how can I play Angry Birds while I’m holding a child? But he started crying the moment I put him down, so I picked him back up. And I rocked him while he sat quietly for at least 30 minutes.

And my heart started to melt a little bit. As much as children terrify me, there are times when I get a small glimpse into how beautiful children really are. They just want to be loved, and held, and rocked, and comforted. I think we all want that in one way or another. Not in like, a creepy fetish way where a grown man wears a diaper and a bonnet, but in an emotional, depths of our souls way.

So even though I’m exhausted beyond belief and probably have Purell poisoning, I’m glad I went. I’m glad I was able to serve in a way that took me out of my comfort zone, and I’m glad that I’m now in my quiet bedroom where there are no screaming children.

“Be sure to marry a plumber, an electrician, or a mechanic.”

I think that’s excellent advice. Think about many of life’s unexpected and tragically expensive surprises. The wiring in your house goes wonky. A pipe breaks. Your car needs work.

Sadly, I have not found a man from any or all of these categories to call my very own, so I continue to fend for myself, a single lady in a cruel world of broken things that I don’t understand.

I’ve had to take my car in to the dealer a few times in the past couple of months to get some things fixed. What did I get fixed, you ask? I have no idea. Things, ok? And as I sat on the beat up sofa in the waiting room, I began to think of how lovely it would be if there was a mechanic for ladies. Someplace where I felt comfortable.

Here are my ideas for the Mechanic for Ladies:

• Vibrant colors. I’m not saying you have to decorate with hot pink furniture, slick white floors, and shiny black chandeliers, but let’s make the place a little fun. Let’s take down the posters of a clean oil valve compared with a dirty oil valve. (Is an oil valve a real thing? Does it get dirty? Don’t know. Don’t care.) Let’s see some photographs of tulips, swingsets in meadows, and George Clooney.
• Easy-to-understand diagnostic results. When you come at me saying that my CV boot joint is cracked, (I know that’s a real thing. Boo yah.) I don’t know what that means! I don’t know if it’s important to get it fixed! Maybe you can put it in relationship terms for me. Make up a short story about dating couple Ryan and Kim, and tell me what will happen to their love if their cracked CV boot joint is left unattended. Then I will happily hand over the $467 for you to fix it. I’ll do anything for love.
• Free cappuccino. And can you teach the barista to make little hearts in the foam? Because I like that.
• Things for me to do while I wait. If I’m going to be sitting at the dealership for 5 hours, I need more to do than stare at the pictures of tulips, swingsets, and George that you’re going to put up. How about I get a mani-pedi and an eyebrow wax? How about your organize a Friends trivia contest starting every hour on the hour? How about a nice chair massage?
• Hot shirtless mechanics. Not that I don’t totally appreciate the 4’10 Filipino man who fixes my Kia, but throw me a bone, ok?

I’m just saying is all. If I’m really going to pay $786.50 cents for you to repair my catalytic spark axle socket, then let’s make it an enjoyable experience.

I’m telling you. Mechanic for Ladies. It’s totally gonna be a thing.

God has wasted no time getting to work on me. It’s what I asked him to do, and unfortunately, he listened. Oh sure, now you’re going to listen and respond, God? Where were you when I was little and I was shut my eyes real tight and pray that when I opened my eyes, my room would be magically clean and tidy? Or when I was in college and I prayed and prayed for the cute boy down the hall to finally confess his undying love for me? Hmmmmmmm??

I would say I’m being pruned, but that implies having a lot of excess to trim off. I don’t have excess. I’m down to the bare minimum, surviving on faith, hanging on to any sliver of good in my life. I think I’ve been led to a place where I am to solely rely on God and see what he has in store for me. Aaaaand it’s terrifying.

I’ve been learning a lot, though. Learning about myself, about my issues, and about God. I actually learned rather a scary truth about myself recently, and I wonder if anyone else has ever felt the same way?

I think I try to punish God. I look at all the bad in my life and all the bad around me and I lose hope. I put myself in positions to make it nearly impossible for God to bless me. I’m like a stubborn child, standing with my arms crossed and a defiant look in my eyes. “You want to bless me, God? Go ahead and try. I won’t let you. I’ve seen what happened with that marriage. With that relationship. With that family. With that job. I don’t want something that’s just going to fall apart. So don’t you dare come near me.”

Folks, that’s dangerous. It’s stupid and hurtful and reckless…and I’m living it.

Today, on Easter of all days, I look for a new beginning. The God who died a horrible death on the cross for me…and for you…and then rose from the dead to take away all of our sins and give us life eternal…this is not a God who plays with our lives. Who is spiteful or cruel. This is a God who has promised good things for our lives, and who will never leave us or abandon us.

I suppose if I was to be led to a place where I had to rely only on one person, at least that person is God.

Draw near to his promises this Easter. And allow him to bless you. And maybe one day, I’ll learn to allow him to bless me too.

(By the way, the airport code for Fresno is FAT. Really, Fresno? Really?)

Aaron, if you read this before you pick me up at the airport tonight, you are taking me to Cafe Rio to get some dinner. I checked, and they’re open until 10:30. Oh, the anticipation I feel in my soul for the delicious Mexican salad bowl that awaits me……

It’s been almost a month since I moved home. I can hardly believe it! And somehow, I still have a LOT of unpacking to do. Um…sorry, Mom. I’ll get to it. I promise. I’m learning a lot…some significant things and some not so significant things, so I thought I’d share them with you. From both categories.

1) I don’t hate my commute. When people find out where I’m driving from, they contort their faces and look at me like I’m nuts. I might as well be commuting from Mars. It takes me a good hour to get to and from work. Add ten minutes to that if I’m stopping for coffee. (And please, we all know I’m stopping for coffee.) Most days, I don’t listen to any music on my drive. I enjoy the silence and the scenery, and I let myself just be. (Just be speedin’, that is.) It’s very calming and peaceful, and I like it.

2) I’m sorry, but Fresno kind of sucks. It’s so crowded! Who are all these people? Where did they come from? Why are they here??? I feel like it takes me so long to get anywhere once I’m in the city. And everything is crowded. It’s not that there isn’t good stuff in Fresno – there totally is. I think there’s just not enough good stuff to go around, so everyone flocks in the locations of the good stuff. Yet another reason why it’s nice to retreat to the mountains every night. Ain’t nobody a-flocking to Coarsegold.

3) Family is everything. I don’t care if it’s actual family or made up family, but being in community with people is the way to be. I love coming home to my family. In the past, when I came home from work in a bad mood, I would retreat to my room and stay there all night. I would wallow in my bitterness. When I get home now, I spend time with my family. We eat meals together. We talk about our days. It helps me to feel not so alone, and it is really melting my hardened heart.

4) Clothes are not just for fashion. Oh my gosh, y’all. I have two entire closets full of clothes and shoes. And yet, I had to buy new shoes and a new jacket last week. Why? Because there is weather here! I think my feet have been frozen for about 3 weeks solid now. And out of my plethora of jackets, none of them are for, you know, warmth. So the new Heidi has shoes that can be worn with socks, and a jacket that isn’t at all cute, but it keeps me warm and dry. And I’m ok with that.

5) Having less free time is actually a good thing. I’m so busy! How did I get so busy? Besides my long drive, I’m involved in a new church, I’m taking a thrilling community college class, I’m going to the gym, I’m cooking, I’m losing Trivial Pursuit to my mom, I’m losing Jeopardy to my mom…and my free time is quite limited! For the first time in so long, I don’t have time to watch all my TV shows on the same night that they air. I feel as though I am spending my time in more significant ways, and I like it.

I’m excited for all the lessons I learn as this adventure continues to unfold! And now, a very full flight to Vegas with people who are all about gettin’ crunk and hittin’ da clubs. Talk about an adventure. *eyeroll*

What? It’s research. I need to have a constant education in romance. Even if it’s what NOT to do, like go on The Bachelor.

My mom and I used to watch the show together even though I lived far away. We’d sit there for 2 hours on the phone, watch the show, and provide witty commentary. Well, now that I’m home we can watch it together for real!

One of our favorite things is pointing out overused phrases in the show. Here are a few of our favorites:
I really put myself out there.
Take it to the next level.
This is such an amazing journey.
I really put myself out there to the next level on this amazing journey.

My stepdad watches it with us too. He loves it. It’s hilarious, because he’s very much a guys guy. You can usually find him working on cars, building something, shooting target practice on broken appliances in the yard (yes, that happened), or watching the History Channel. But once a week, he just can’t wait to sit down with the ladies and watch The Bachelor. Last night, he took the remote away from my mom and was fast forwarding through the commercials. My mom said, and I quote: “No! I don’t like it when you do the fast forwarding! You always go too far and make me miss part of my stories!”

I really enjoy mocking the women vying for the Bachelor’s heart. Since I’m single, it gives me great joy to judge how other people behave in relationships and point out everything that they are doing wrong. Hey, if I’m going to be lonely, I might as well get a sense of superiority out of it, right? But then there was Emily.

Emily is this sweet southern girl who is now in the final four. Mark my words, Brad will pick her at the end. And although everything in me wants to hate Emily, I just can’t. I actually really respect her. And let me tell you why.

Emily is not chasing Brad. The rest of the girls are really putting themselves out there (ahem) and just drooling over Brad. They’re telling him they’re falling in love with him that they can see a life together, blah blah blah. But Emily is more reserved. She avoids the emotional vomit. She’s making him work. And as a result, he is totally falling for her…and I think wants to take to the next level. On this amazing journey.

But the thing is, she’s not playing games with him. I am anti-games. (Unless you mean Settlers of Catan or Mexican Train or something cool like that.) She is legitimately guarding her heart (ooh, that’s another Bachelor-ism…although they haven’t really said it much this season) and is taking her time to get to know him. She’s not falling all over him in desperation, and he finds that totally attractive.

Let this be a lesson to all of us! I admit, I totally suffer from the aggressive addiction. I believe what it all boils down to is faith. Emily trusts that if it’s right, things will fall into place. She doesn’t have to force them into place. I, and I’m sure many of you, think that things will work out if I bend over backwards putting in effort. I’m not saying effort isn’t important. But faith is more important. May we all get an extra helping of it today, and next time we’re on a date.

Now can Brad send home the funeral director and the dentist already?

Every year, I have to force myself to love Valentine’s Day.

It’s not that I’m bitter. In fact, I love love. Heck, I’m a romance writer. It’s in my blood. I think it’s fantastic that we have in our culture a day set apart to make people feel special and loved. But when you’re single on Valentine’s Day, as I almost always am, you have to make a conscious choice to not be a miserable spinster on February 14.

I employ a variety of anti-spinster initiatives. For example, on Valentine’s Day I will put on a pretty pink shirt instead of wearing my typical black. Yes, I will forgo the magically slimming qualities of a black garment just to prove that I support love and those who have it. One year, I made chocolate covered pretzels and strawberries sprinkled with tiny heart shaped candies and brought them to work to share. A bitter woman wouldn’t do that, right? And as a rule, I never, EVER, refer to Valentine’s Day as “Singleness Awareness Day”.

But even with all of my efforts, I am always bombarded with reasons to feel sorry for myself. I’ll be working hard in my office (ok fine, I’ll be online shopping in my office) and I’ll hear the squeal of a coworker down the hall as she receives roses from her loving and thoughtful husband. Or I’ll walk to the break room to get a cup of water, only to encounter another coworker talking about the restaurant her boyfriend is taking her to tonight and what she’s going to wear and how she thinks it’s about time for him to pop the question, but it couldn’t possibly be tonight because he’s not that cliché. And as I hide my grimace, I think about how my plans for the evening consist of a cheap bottle of white wine, a block a cheese, and a movie that I know will most definitely torture me, like Sabrina or Notting Hill or When Harry Met Sally.

The other day I saw a Hallmark commercial. It followed couples doing various fun couple-y things, like cheering at a hockey game, watching TV, holding hands while taking the dog for a walk, and going bowling. The tagline is something like “Valentine’s Day isn’t about saying I love you – it’s about saying I love us.” When I saw this commercial, I cursed at my television.

Then I saw another Hallmark commercial that made me have a completely different reaction. It follows a mom as she creeps around her house early in the morning while her daughters are still sleeping. She sets a little Valentine’s gift beside each of their beds, and it just makes you think about how when these girls wake up, the first thought they are going to have is that they are loved. And…I started crying.

Talk about bipolar.

So here’s my choice – I can choose to curse at the happy couples, or I can celebrate the love that I am blessed with. We all have an us. Lots of us-es, actually. I love the us of my Game Night group crying with laughter over a game of Catch Phrase. I love the us of my mother sending me a card to say she loves me just because. I love the us of going out to eat with a dear friend and having a deep and vulnerable conversation. I have so much to love, and I am loved so much, and I choose to delight in those truths.

So this year on Valentine’s Day, I’ll put on a cheerful color. I’ll make some tasty treats. I’ll probably still go home, drink my cheap wine, eat my block of cheese, and shed a tear at a romantic movie. But, at the very core, I will be so thankful for every “us” I have in my life.

I’ll probably still curse at the TV if I see that commercial again, though. It’s just annoying.