Paint in My Eyeballs

I've been working and buying and thinking and driving and thinking and buying and working a lot.

None of this has been connected to school.

Guilt has crept under my pores and has started to ooze out.



On a slightly unrelated note.

Have you ever thought about your future? Like, really thought about it?

Imagine yourself twenty years older than you are right now. Really. Try to do it. What will you do with your time? What will you look like? Where will you be? What/who will you love? I don't know what I am supposed to think, and I don't know about you, but that utterly

FREAKS

ME

OUT.

I don't get to "take my DVR with me" when I move. Bummer.

I have slightly disturbing news.

If I wanted to ruin my life a little more, I would probably love Twitter, but that makes me sad.

You know why?

I think in status updates. Seriously, in my pea-little brain, throughout the day, I have thoughts that I would love to "share with the world," and they are simply strange little statements about my life and the world around me.

The same question must be asked though. Who decided that "the world" needed to know all of my thoughts? And, conversely, when did I stop wanting to express myself in paragraphs and start wanting to express myself in quips and sentences? No time for an explanation...here's a little tidbit, world! I don't "have time" to talk to my friends, but I can let them know about the funny moment I had at Speedway! It is a strange transition of my brain, but I am amazed that I can actually dictate how technology has changed my way of thinking. Does that blow anyone else's mind?

So, here are a few of my status updates:
(I can't actually make them my statuses because I am selling Chicken Pox. I also don't want to be one of those people who changes status updates every forty minutes, even though I have a new thought all of the time.)

1. They ran out of Cherry Coke at Speedway. I tried regular Coke and cherry syrup. Not even close.

2. The colors of the leaves against the leaden hue of the sky nearly made me cry this afternoon. Absolutely breathtaking.

3. Every year I wait until the day before Halloween to get my costume together. Maybe this is why my costume is always lame.

4. The mouse in Mrs. Morrow's office was so stinking adorable. Why can't I have the same attitude toward the mouse that has possibly made its home in my apartment?

5. I get the keys to my new house tomorrow. MY house. So surreal.

6. I had a dream about the senior issue of the Focus. Does that mean I am demented?

7. I miss Alie.

8. I don't like candy corn. Never have. Never will.

Snicker Yum-Yum

I graded at Borders today. Man, I love that place. Again, I was seated close to a group of older men who heckled each other and talked for two hours about politics, money, and how much money their wives spend. They seemed like old friends, but I was saddened by them. They were consumed with the economy and with their stocks and gold investments. They had print-outs as to how much money each had gained in the past week. I get worried about money, but I can't imagine that being what I care about the most. It sounds a bit snotty to say it, but I felt sorry for them. Then, I started thinking about all the stuff I worry about that is seemingly pointless as well. The whole time I was there I felt a little depressed, to be honest.

Then Alie brought me my very own serving of Snicker Yum-Yum (self-named), and things got a little better.

About Jim and Pam. (Yes, I am about to write about fictional characters as if they are real, but is that so different than spending time talking about music? It is all about connecting, right?)

Considering all that I believe about fictional romances and how superficial love is made to be on television and the movies, I should get upset at Jim and Pam. The show is, in essence, a comedy of errors, and there is virtually nothing comedic that their storyline gives to the show. They are the perfectly sculpted couple in the midst of a cast of eccentric and ho-hum normies. The writers made a choice, and that choice was that the show would continue to be funny, but the drama around Jim and Pam was not going to give us laughs anymore, nor would we be allowed to pine for the eventual "someday" that we hoped to have. That day has come. They are too perfect. Namely, he is too perfect. He is shockingly sweet and adorably goofy. At every turn, he does something that is quirky and romantic, and for goodness sakes, they ended up together even after she was engaged to be married to another guy. He even went so far as to say "he loved her from the first day he met her." (Gag...right, Alie?)

I should be bothered.
But, I am not.

I should understand that the real world does not offer so perfect a situation, so perfect a guy, so perfect a chemistry. I should be annoyed that my heart has been manipulated for five seasons.

I am not so naive to think that I will find a Jim someday, but is it so wrong to hope? I guess I want to believe that I am worth it. I don't want someone who wouldn't cut his own tie to make me feel better about my ripped veil. I want someone to see me like Jim sees Pam. I want to marry my best friend.

I am not out of touch with reality. I don't actually see this happening (don't actually NEED for this to happen), but I won't settle for anything less.

And that's why it is okay for me to love them.

It's okay to love them.

Just let me be a hopeless Romantic for about twenty-four hours. After that, I will come back and talk about why I felt it necessary to post these pictures.

I am so lame.

Hi.

I am lame when it comes to being a blogger. I would have less trouble writing about life if I just wrote about life consistently, but I don't. Just like I don't always pay bills on time or clean my apartment or go grocery shopping.

Ugh.

I just needed to say something new.

I am going to throw something out there. Despite the bubbly sweet goodness of Cream Soda and the unfading glory of Cherry Coke, hot chocolate might just be the world's most perfect drink.

Bagels are Good.

So, I neglected to finish my summer Happy List. Oops.

I could write my thoughts for new (and old) college students, but I am not as eloquent as Miss Davis. Sooooooooooooooo, instead I will write this...

People talk about how much I do, but I actually spend a lot of time neglecting stuff. Sad, really.

About an hour ago, I was actually doing work when I felt the immediate need to eat a snack. It had been a whole five hours since I had last eaten, so obviously, I was famished. Thankfully, I had made a quick run to Kroger after play practice (what do you do when you realize that you are completely out of toilet paper while going to the bathroom?). At Kroger, I decided that I needed to buy bagels. Yum. I had a little leftover cream cheese from bean dip. Double yum.

Bagel toasting and scarfing (I hate seeing that word spelled out...it should not be spelled the same as the item of clothing) ensued.

While I was spreading the cream cheese, I thought to myself...

"Do I like anything more than a bagel and cream cheese?"

I immediately answered...

"Of course. I love tons of food. This is why I am fat."

Thus, the need to pick my Top 10 Favorite Foods arose. A bagel doesn't even make the cut.

In no particular order:

1. Alie's apple snicker yum yum.
2. Bean dip--Thank you, Sarah Kjeldsen. Thank you.
3. Chicken Enchiladas--Is it a Sara Lee recipe? Becky Gearhart?
4. Cheddar Munchies
5. General Tso's Chicken from China Garden (rice included)
6. The Hazelnut Raspberry Chocolate cake from Bone Fish
7. Breyer's Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream
8. Cornbread casserole
9. Guacamole (The best ever? Made fresh by the lovely women in Reynosa...)
10. Chicago's breadsticks with nacho cheese and/or Chicago's barbecue chicken pizza

Honorable Mentions: Either an everything or an asiago cheese bagel (toasted) with cream cheese, Bonefish's Florida Cobb Salad, Max and Erma's tortilla soup, Adrian Orchard's apple cider slushies, steak, baby back ribs, chicken salad, Sara Lee's potato salad, Poo Shingles, watermelon, asparagus, popcorn, and Brie cheese...with pretty much anything...okay...cheese, period.

You try it. It is really hard to choose.
(Especially if you have papers to grade and can make a list such as this to waste as much time as possible.) Instead of sleeping tonight, I will probably try to figure out what I have forgotten. It will plague me.

No, seriously. Respond with your favorites.

Summer, cont.

4. Dancing

This summer has been filled with so much dancing.

We line-danced multiple times.
We danced in celebration of a good meal in Ocean Springs and of our independence on the streets of Birmingham.
We danced when Dana and Zach tied the knot.
And we danced even more when Ben and Hannah said their vows the following weekend.

Dancing and I have not always gotten along, mostly because I can't do it if it isn't choreographed. (This summer, only two years late, I fell in love with the "Cupid Shuffle." I thought it was the "Cuban Shuffle" for a while.) But, and this might sound creepy, I love watching people dance. I love how much laughter it invokes, how much personality. I love that people surprise me with their outlandish moves. I love that, despite it sounding so cliche, it seems to free people as they get lost in the beat of some stupid song.

There have been moments this summer when I felt sick to my stomach because I was laughing so hard while people danced. I LOVE that kind of stomachache.

Why don't we dance more often?

(Insert comment: I am NOT speaking of the kind of dancing that happens at most high school dances. That is called humping, and it is not freeing, fun to watch, or surprising...except when I see students who I respect in the middle of the mass of nastiness.)

Happy List, cont.

3. Returning Home
There is a little place in Eastern Kentucky called Breathitt County. There is a little road called Morris Fork, where the little brown church on the hill resides. When I am there, I am home. Because life changed in many ways, I had not been there in what seems like a lifetime. Leading up to Bible School, I didn't know if maybe my time as music leader at Morris Fork was over. Something had changed, mostly me, I guess, and my boys have all grown up. Things there have changed so much; yet, maybe they haven't really changed at all. The point? I was more worried about the Habitat trip, and I was feeling quite strange as I traveled on 64 and then the Mountain Parkway. When I hit Booneville, my nerves actually started to awaken. Why the anxiety? Then, I drove through the familiar terrian of 28, and when I drove past the church, I saw the sign. "Welcome Southport. (And Jacqui)." That was Saturday afternoon. By Sunday, Biloxi was a lifetime away. I was home. No, things will not remain the same. Not in Morris Fork or anywhere, but there is simply a part of me that belongs there in the hollers of Eastern Kentucky. I can't really explain it, but I know I was so glad to be home.

(I cannot figure out why this keeps publishing in two different sized fonts. Oh well.)

Summer, Summer, Summertime

I want to bring a classic back.

In order to capture this summer and what it has meant to me, I feel the need to bring back the Happy List.

Summer of 2009 Happy List, part 1

1. Eddie
Eddie was the cook at Camp Victor, the place we stayed on the Habitat Trip. On our first night, we were introduced to him as he was standing behind the glass of the serving line. Next, I saw him walking over to the dish table, parading Jamie around the dining hall with a huge smile on his face. To define Eddie in one word? Exuberant. To add a few more? Joyful. Service-driven. Hilarious. Kind. Humble. For some reason, upon our first meeting (when I insisted that he not give me TONS of red beans and rice when I went back to get seconds), he took to calling me Miss J. He never once called me Jacqui for the rest of the week, and I loved that. I don't know why, but he decided before we ever met that he was going to like me. Actually, that seemed to be the way he worked with everyone. It is a breath of fresh air to meet someone who seeks to serve on a daily basis with thunderous laughter and a knack for remembering names. The team looked forward to getting to spend time with Eddie in the kitchen. He cried when Gabe wrote him a poem. Eddie made a huge impact on me, and I only knew him for a few hours over four days. The power of attitude is extraordinarily strong; I am really thankful to Eddie for that reminder.

2. Gina's Life One of the biggest joys of my life as a teacher is that I get to live (just a bit) vicariously through the creative minds of my students. I am passionate about many things, but I don't have time to "do it all," but I have (or had) students who will embrace something that seems silly and run with it. I love that I often get to be there for the ride. For instance, why not make a movie version of "Gina's Life"? Why not go all out, with DVD cover and premiere party and boom mics held together with tape and paper towels? Why not? It just makes me smile SO MUCH to know there are people like Gabe out there who will actually follow through on something seemingly ridiculous. You know...liking dressing up as the Golden Snitch for the Harry Potter premiere.

More to come...

Last summer was not what I was expecting. My mom got sick, and all other plans changed because of that. I did a lot of grad school work, and each morning, I would wake up trying to figure out what would make for dinner that night that was healthy and without dairy products. I did the dishes after each meal. I didn't really go anywhere, save a bummer-of-a-trip to Turkey Run. Yet, I think I will always remember it fondly. It was the last summer I spent with Nana, and it will forever mark a time in my life when family became more important. Even though I was not always happy, it was meaningful.

This summer has been a bit of a blur. In an effort to "suck the marrow out of life," I have been many places and have stayed busy throughout. I guess I don't know how to have a relaxed summer where I don't feel guilty because the days spent without plans (like today, for instance) have almost always involved sleeping in way too late, eating unhealthy food, and vegging on the couch watching Law and Order: SVU re-runs. I don't know how to function if I am not planning an event or planning for one. Really, I don't. That aspect of who I am freaks me out. How do people who don't have busy lives live on a day-to-day basis? That question might sound condescending, but I am being sincere.

I realize now that these words sound very similar to those I wrote on June 5th. It is now July 19th. Since June 5th, I have gone to camp, led music at VBS, taken a group to Mississippi, spent a day at the lake, tubed at Turkey Run, watched loads of movies, and I had the privilege of being in Dana and Zach's wedding. I have experienced so much, yet here I am, on this random Sunday afternoon, stuck on the same questions. This particular way I am wired tends to bother me a lot, I guess.

The Strange Beast of Summer

As the title mentions, I find summer a strange beast.

I have so much time.

That is both a blessing and a curse.

It is a blessing because I can breathe, take a look around, go places, spend unlimited time with my friends, etc.

It is a curse because I find myself getting less and less productive the longer it lasts. Today, I took a "What is your petronus?" quiz. Seriously, world.

I do love how whacked I am because of my schedule after Spring Break. I wonder how many people out there live like that year-round. If it weren't for help from friends and students, I might not have made it this year. I certainly won't make it out of my tenth year teaching alive at this rate. For about six weeks, all I do is think about what I have to do, but I love the stress, save the few moments when I actually feel overwhelmed. I am programmed to work on deadlines. I like the energy of working something until it is finished, despite the hour of the day. I feed off of it, no matter how gross that makes me sound.

And then, like ...gosh...I have just tried to think about a good simile, and after six tries, I will relent to nothing...

And then, bam...summer.
For the first few days, I don't even know how to handle it. I am a bit confused. Graduation parties and room cleaning aside, I turn my attention to the great expanse of time ahead of me. I start reading. I sleep. I spend too much time on the computer, and this summer, I have taken up the strange habit of watching Law and Order: SVU re-runs. Is that show still on? It is pretty good.

After a few days of that, I start to feel restless. I start planning again...I just can't help it.

Maybe it is a good thing. I leave for camp tomorrow morning, and then I am home for six days before being gone for two weeks. It will be busy and amazing, I am sure. At least I won't have time to take the "what wife of Henry VIII are you?" quiz on Facebook.

Even I have my limits.

I really loved that curb.

So, I was going to write a post about the power of quality storytelling in regards to Up (and all Pixar movies, really), but Eric did a fine job of it. Read his.

http://risiblepeople.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-hid-under-your-porch-because-i-love.html

In other news, I am about to do laundry.

Love is Not a Picnic Lunch

Helllllllllllllllooooooooooooooooo...

So, I wrote some essays for This Island Earth, and this was my last-minute addition. It is a compilation of two old blogs as well as some new thoughts. I had very different intentions when I started typing, but this is what I had in the end. :) The spacing is weird--sorry.

Pudge and Chip. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. Ross and Rachel. Noah and Allie. Edward and Bella...

I remember when I first fell in love with a fictional love story. I was in tenth grade, and yes, (cough, cough) I was a cheerleader. We had a sleepover at one of the girl’s houses, and we watched Shag. The movie is set in the 1950s, when a group of four girls goes on a road trip to Myrtle Beach. The story follows their frenzied final week together before venturing off to college and marriage. Pudge, nick-named for her continuous battle with extra poundage, meets Chip, a quirky, cute local, and they become fast friends. By the end of their four-day stay, Pudge is madly in love and hoping for Chip to feel the same. Chip tries to play it cool, but he can’t help that he too has been hit by Cupid’s arrow. The viewer thinks that this perfect couple has missed their golden opportunity, but alas, they are thankfully reunited just in time to win the dance competition for which they had been practicing all week. By the closing credits, we know that his military career will have him only a few miles away from her college. And, yes, for those of you naysayers out there, they will most likely live happily ever after.

Phew. I was worried. Weren’t you?

Yes, I was fifteen, but loved that movie so much I watched it (along with the rest of the squad) for the second time the following morning. I connected with the story because these characters, although not entirely realistic, were real in a way that I liked. They had flaws, and they were not only interested in sex, as so many other love stories seemed to portray. The girl’s name was Pudge, for goodness sakes. They were cute and quirky, and admittedly, I am sure I imagined that I would someday find my very own Chip who would love me for who I was, despite a continuous battle with extra poundage.

Love stories and I have had a tumultuous relationship over the years. So often I try to be the voice of reason, chiming in to explain the inherent falsehoods within each predictable plot, but maybe it has all been a conspiracy, a cover-up to hide the tragic truth. I have all too often fallen for fiction, despite my awareness of its audacity. I have been that girl who claps at a happen ending, and I’ve cried when fate unfairly ripped two lovebirds apart. I have gushed over cheesy lines, and I have hoped for a storybook ending more than once in my own story, foolishly imagining (even if unconsciously) that love was magical, just like in the movies.

Newsflash: Pudge wasn’t fat. Chip wasn’t real.

I am not speaking to you as some jaded, single woman, desperately trying to demolish all of your hope in the power of love simply because I have not been so fortunate. In my vast and glorious wisdom, I have simply stumbled upon a very important question that begs to be answered. Has fiction, whether in the movies or in books, ruined our perception of love? Let me tell it to you straight. We can chat anytime you want, but for now, my podium must be this page.

Do you know what is dangerous? Giving your heart away.

Recently, I have been noticing how many high school students (and middle school and college and post-college…) carelessly get involved in romantic relationships without ever thinking about the lasting consequences. I watch as couples become so dependent on each other that they cease to exist as individuals. People who are too young to drive are having sex, and people who hardly know who they are begin to define themselves by another person. REAL love is hard, and it takes a great deal of selflessness, yet people get involved in relationships thinking that everything will be peachy, that it is all about that special feeling you get inside your gut, and that this person, whoever he or she may be, can do no wrong. I watch as people walk through the halls attached to each other, regardless of whether or not they are happy. I watch as people jump from relationship to relationship seemingly unable to walk alone. Why? Who told us to do this? Who said that foolishly throwing our hearts at anyone who might catch them is a good idea?

When you define your life by someone else, you begin to disappear. What happens if this relationship doesn’t work out? What happens if this person doesn’t turn out to be who you thought? Your world might crumble. When you build your life upon an unstable foundation, it is very easy to crash and burn. I have news for you; almost all high school relationships will not last, so why do you make decisions and give your heart away over and over again? Why do you live like you are married far before you are ready? Why do you not realize that your heart is fragile, that physical intimacy has far-lasting consequences on all levels, and that a boyfriend or girlfriend will NEVER satisfy all your desires. Regardless of what Tom Cruise once said, no person can truly complete you. And, there is no such thing as love from the word “hello.”

I am not trying to be a downer by any means. I love that God created us as relational beings, but I also believe that He had a perfect formula in mind, and every time we forget His way, we set ourselves up for a great deal of pain. And, I am not saying that high school students can’t do relationships intelligently, but sadly, more often than not, it just isn’t the case. We are selfish by nature; we want to please ourselves right now. It takes a lot of maturity, self-discipline, and trust to understand that NOW is not always the right time.

Love is not a feeling. Love is unconditional. Love is selfless. Love is a sacrifice. Love is more than the moment. Love is not about you. Love is a choice. Love is a verb. Love is not making out in the hallway. (And it never will be, so if you are one of those couples, please cease making the rest of us vomit.) Love is a commitment. Love takes time. Love is not always easy, or happy, or understandable. Love is not talking on the phone for hours. Love is not getting flowers. Love is not poetry. Love is not a song, a dance, or a conversation. Love is not a picnic lunch or a perfect evening out on the town. Love is important. Love is painful. Love is a risk. Love is trust. Love is exciting but not in the way you might guess. Love is from God because God is love. And, oh yeah, love never fails.

Love is rarely found in the movies, but I am shocked as to how many people (maybe I am speaking more to girls here) go searching for it there. The REAL thing--love, that is--is so much better than the movies, but it isn’t so easy. Yet, I wonder how many of us spend our time hoping for the surface type of love that we clap for in the movies. We keep waiting for the beautiful guy to come in and miraculously fall in love with our charm. We keep waiting for him to say the right thing, as if he were working from a script. We wait for the flowers, the duet in the bar, the feeling to be just right, the good girl to win…always. We wait for fiction to become reality. Even if we don’t admit it, we do.

In the meantime, as we are growing up and trying to figure out who we are, we play a game of catch with our hearts. We make decisions that have lasting consequences and then blame someone else when we have to deal with the burdens of our own decisions. We get trapped when we think we are gaining freedom. When I was fifteen, I wanted to be Pudge. I didn’t know who she was, really, but I knew that she ended up with Chip. It took me a long time to realize that true love is rarely written in the movies; reality doesn’t seem to sell as many tickets. We are made to love. ‘Tis true. But, maybe our definition of what love is shouldn’t come from Hollywood. It is a dangerous place to invest your dreams.

The storybook ending rarely comes true. Neither does the beginning.
Sex has consequences. HUGE consequences. (And I am not talking about babies or STDs alone.)
Guys’ eyes are rarely that blue.
Sometimes, there is no knight in shining armor who even cares.
Edward and Bella aren’t real.
Be careful what you do with your heart as you search for what is.

April 23, 2006

I have great stories to write, but I am so tired. Writing is such work to me, and I feel the stress of it pile on top of my already-burdened shoulders before I even begin typing. Why is that? Why does it have to be so hard for me to do?

Tonight, after spending most of the day at school working on the literary magazine, I went up north to that lovely theater (I forget its name) to watch a movie. That's the short of it. Here's the long.

For some reason, today really took a toll on me. I was proofreading essays for most of the day, and my eyes ached as well as my neck and back when all was said and done. I got home around 5:30, and I had about an hour and a half before Dan and Carly were supposed to come. I ate dinner, fast-food AGAIN, and waited for their arrival by speeding through some DVR'd television. I have this giant jar of sourdough pretzels that I bought at Wal-Mart. They aren't really that good, to be honest. They are dry, but I eat them when I am grading or bored, and it gives me something to do. Well, tonight, right as Dan arrived, I decided that I was going to try dipping them in peanut butter to see if it was a good combo. I grabbed the peanut butter out of my cabinet, took the giant jug of pretzels, and we headed up to Carmel.

When I stuck the pretzel in the peanut butter, I noticed that the texture was a little off. It was a bit more like clay than the normal gooey peanut-buttery goodness I have come to love. Nevertheless, I stupidly persevered. When the pretzel hit my mouth, an explosion of rank went off in my mouth like nothing I have ever tasted. Literally, I didn't know what to do. I was eating toxic waste, and I felt like my mouth was twisting over itself. As I choked and whined with a mouth full of half-chewed pretzel, Carly and Dan laughed hysterically at my convulsions. Dan rolled down the window, so that I could spit out the food, but the weight of it was so dense, seemingly doubling with every second, making it nearly impossible for me to successfully spit it out of the car. I tried. Most of the chunks landed between my shoulder and the door; I removed them by hand. I am sure this gesture has resulted in numerous animal deaths since 7pm as they have unknowingly crawled across Meridian, excited to find some tasty nuggets along their way, only to be surprised by the metallic slices of wool and cardboard all wrapped up in a sulfuric bow hiding themselves as chewed pretzel and peanut-butter.

Dan gave me gum. I drank some bitter lemonade. I looked at the date on the peanut butter jar.

Sell by April 23, 2006.

Whoops.

(PS. There is more to this story because I really want to talk about the movie we saw, but I am super tired, and if I write more, I am afraid I will just ramble incoherently. Well, more so than normal.)

Spring Breakin' It

Soooooooo, I was thinking about all that has to happen over this Spring Break in order for it to be deemed a productive and successful week. Here goes nothing...

1. Clean my apartment. (Clean bedroom? Check.)
2. Do my laundry. (I put it into bags to take to the laundromat today. There are nine of them.)
3. Clean my car.
4. Go through mail/pay bills/fill out forms for the bank.
5. Reserve two vans for the trip. Calculate mileage and cost.
6. Do my part for the completion of TIE--which means having everything finished as far as art files, IDEA poetry, the Our Story essays, and pics of the school.
7. Grade: IDEA writing prompts, IDEA novel projects, 9CP papers, 9CP writing prompts, 11CP novel papers.

Finishing this would be a miracle, but miracles happen everyday, right?

Rollin' Back Prices

I was told I should write something.

I have been writing for This Island Earth, so I didn't want to unveil those golden tickets before May. Hmph.

Here is a little tidbit.

Tonight, I went to Borders and Wal-Mart. Now, you must understand that I basically slept for three days straight and felt too weak to walk from one room to the other, so the desire to go to the store made me feel alive. But, once I got to Wal-Mart, I had an insatiable desire to buy everything I saw.

I almost walked out of the store with:

A hula hoop.
A game called "In a Pickle" (or something like that).
A new bedspread.
One of those giant circle things that you use to blow giant bubbles.
A Frappuccino.
Some new shampoo.
Step Up: 2
PS. I Love You.
Uncle Buck.
and a "Team Edward" purse.

(That last one was a joke, but the rest were for real.)

Instead, I walked out with a giant plastic jar of pretzel bites, some kleenex, and two boxes of envelopes for the walk-a-thon.

Self-restraint, eh?

I thought so.

PS. Borders has changed its hours of operation to try to "make it over this economic hump" as the salesperson told me. They are opening an hour later and closing an hour earlier. For some reason, that made me really sad.

Happy V-Day!

Tonight, in honor of Valentine's Day (and completely different than last week when we saw a cheesy chick-flick), Aubs, Carly, Anya, and I went to the movies to watch a cheesy chick-flick. When we got to the theater, it was PACKED. (Isn't going to the movies kind of a lame date for Valentine's? These were not all single women in line, I promise you.) Anyway, it was like we were standing in line for the Millennium Force. We decided to test our luck and stand in the credit card machine line, since it seemed much shorter. Boy, were we wrong. Who knew that pushing the little buttons on the computer screen could take people so much time? So, after eight hours of waiting, (slight exaggeration...slight) we are two away from the front of the line. At this point, Anya had already volunteered to buy all four tickets at once, and there was one couple in front of us.

It was a madhouse in the place, yes, but what I am about to tell you is not an exaggeration.

A young girl walks up past us and looks to be standing in line for the credit card machine. Anya cheerfully says, "This is the front of the line; it starts back there." (Christmas Story, anyone?) The girl whips her face toward Anya (She is standing behind Aubry; Carly and I are behind them.) and says with an attitude, "I know. (Imagine the head swivel.) I am using the credit card machine. Thank you."

Understandable, right? She thought the huge mass of people was one line, rather than two. The attitude was completely unnecessary, but it seemed to ooze out of her eyes naturally. Aubry thought it would be a good idea to explain the situation.

Aubry chimes in with a VERY polite tone, "There are two lines. This is the credit card machine line, and the other line is next to us." From the looks of the back of her head, I assume that Anya put a smile on her face at this point that had a slight tinge of "See? I told you" to it. I can imagine that there was a bit of smugness in her smirk. But, really, they were just trying to make sure everything was fair. No harm intended.

Girl: "If you look at me like that again, I will rip your f'in teeth out."

Aubry almost wet her pants. I started laughing hysterically.

Seriously? You wanna fight? Over the movie theater line? Winner gets the Mega-Bucket of popcorn.

February 14th is coming...

What shall I do to honor the day of love this week?

Hmmm...

Maybe I will write an ode.
Maybe I will kiss a toad.
Maybe I will dance a jig.
Maybe I will buy a wig.
Maybe I will eat some candy.
Maybe I will find Jim Dandy.
Maybe I will moan and whine.
Maybe I will waste some time.
Maybe I will give a speech.
Maybe I will grill a peach.
Maybe I will throw a kiss.
Maybe I will pick up sticks.
Maybe I will hold a hand.
Maybe I will join a band.
Maybe I will never know
until I learn to let love go.



(Spontaneous poem production. You read it first.)

I am currently sitting in the "business office" at the Hilton Garden Inn at Riverside. Long Island is lovely, really. There is this weird juxtaposition of being right by the ocean and the bay and pretty close to Manhattan. I don't know. Each house has a personality, and there is still a good deal of farmland.

I have been here since Thursday for Nana's funeral.

That was a shock.

I can't really describe the gammut of emotions that I have felt over the past two weeks. A lot has happened in a very short amount of time, and it is hard for me to comprehend. The reality of Nana's death hasn't truly sunk in yet. I have said my goodbyes, but the day-to-day reality of it hasn't even begun, I don't think, especially for my mom.

It is so strange. Over the past five years, as Nana has slowly shed the skin of her younger, more elegant self, I have reached the excesses of my patience, and I have tasted true anger, pity, sorrow, and helplessness. This was not easy, but it became my life. She became my life to some degree. And, a week and a half ago (is that all?), when she fell, I am not sure I could have been more angry at the world. I feel ashamed now for that, but that will pass. Oops. I digressed. Considering all of the complications, her death was actually quite simple. She drifted off to eternal rest quite peacefully with my mom by her side. Her struggle only lasted a few hours.

All this weekend, I have heard stories from my extensive extended family about the "Aunt Lee" they knew. She was full of life and elegance and grace and style and glamour. I didn't want to spoil their vision. Toward the end, it was hard for her to get out of her robe each day, and I guess God knew that her struggle need not last any longer. We didn't have to see her lose her mind entirely, and we got to eat at Bonefish two nights in a row, where she got decked out, fur coat and all. I got to cook Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners for her, and she had the chance to see Andrew dance one last time. Three weeks ago, she saw her sister and her entire family at a wedding, and although it was tough, I believe that was even a greater gift for them.

She was special.

Each part of this weekend, the viewing, the funeral service, the meals together, the flowers, the kind words...everything was so special. Everything had a beauty to it that I could not deny. I cried fewer tears than my family, and for the most part, I smiled knowing that Nana is enjoying heaven, knowing that Nana enjoyed life.

There is something truly comforting about eating elbow macaroni with only a little butter.

My Apologies

That last post was a little outlandish. I mean, it was true, but I don't think I needed to post it. :)