HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT I MISSPELLED SHAMELESS?

I'm horrified.

Shameless Self-promo Saturday

Yes, that is correct. (And yes, from now on I'll be preemptively answering all of your questions. You're welcome) Also, I live my life by the simple rule that anything is acceptable if you alliterate it [SSS, see?]. So, luckily, I have that going for me too. Also, I am sort of copycatting from my blog-crush, Stuff Christians Like. Yes, blogs can have crushes. (Isn't this helpful?)


This little post will be two-fold. One fold will be a commitment that will change your life.  (Or probably it won't, but I just really want you to keep reading.) The other fold will include the aforementioned shamelessness. Off we go.


Part 1: my commitment to you. (and to me.)
For a long time, I didn't tell anyone I had a blog. First, my sneaky cousins found me. Then, some of my super-talented and hot friends had/got blogs, too. But otherwise, it was pretty much a parents-siblings-grandma kind of following. I was ok with that, because I was not ok with being a blogger. Laaaaame.
But now, I've kind of embraced it. I sometimes post it on my facebook. I tell my friends. I am no longer a card-carrying member of Bloggers Anonymous. I accept this about myself. I am a writer who has a blog. I am a blogger! (And gosh-darnit, people like me.)
So the commitment is that I will write more, and I will like it. So there. 


Part 2: what feels to me like shameless, embarrassing self-promo. eek.
I write stuff because I really like to. For me. But the thing is, I like you guys. Yes, you, readers. I like to hear your comments and I like your feedback and it's my favorite when someone tells me they read my blog. Even if they say, "I read your blog, and I hate you," I still get giddy like a school girl. Yes, I know its shocking, but I like validation. Weird. 
I really just like knowing who's reading. Not in an "if-Allison-is-reading-I-can't-blog-about-how-I-think-her-feet-smell" kind of way, or in an "if-my-pastor-is-reading-I-shouldn't-mention-the-job-application-process-for-Shotgun-Willie's" kind of way either. (Yes, crazies, that was a joke.) More like in an "ooh-I-can-mention-Shotgun-Willie's-and-I-know-it-will-make-Kenneth-laugh" and "if-I-say-giddy-like-a-school-girl-Kelly-will-love-it" kind of way. (And no, I will not be pointing out ALL inside jokes from now on. You'll have to pay attention. I'm sneaky.)


Point being - make yourself known! Leave comments. (You too, Mom.) Follow, should you so desire. (You will see to the right the portion that says, "Don't fight it." So... don't.) (Also if you are old and can't figure that out, I can set it up so you get emails when I post. Have your people call my people.) Email me. Whatever you liiiiiiike. (Yes, newbies, sometimes I quote rap lyrics.) Also, if YOU write, I want to know! I enjoy blog-stalking as much (if not more than) as I like blog-writing. Tis true.


Thats all. Pretty simple. And I will never pressure you again.
(Probably I will, about something, sooner or later. Don't hold me to that.)
(And n0, I have no idea why this post is riddled with parenthesis. It just kind of happened.)
all about twentyten, baby -
Meggie

ready or not...

I never liked playing hide-and-go-seek.

Nothing about it sounds appealing to me, even still. You hide; you find some location clever enough that you won't be out first but not so clever you are lost forever in the abyss that is whoever's enormous basement you're hiding in. Of course, the wretched children whom I regularly played hide-and-go-seek with always wanted to play it with the lights off. Basements grow approximately 37 times scarier with the lights off, by the way. That's a fact.

Then there is the counting. But within mere seconds, before you have even adjusted your eyes to the dark and stopped hyperventilating long enough to find somewhere to actually hide your person, you hear the dreaded words - the six words that still to this day send chills up my spine:

READY OR NOT, HERE I COME!!!!!

The yeller is practically peeing their pants with glee, but off in the dark, panic ensues. Hearts beat faster, all of us thinking "we're NOT! we're NOT!!" but knowing that now there was nothing we could do to stop it. All that was left to do was try with all your might to stop yourself from mouth-breathing too loudly in your hysteria and wait your turn to be found.

As a child, when someone excitedly suggested we play hide-and-go-seek, I'd lie and feign matched joy and delight. Nobody wants to be that kid who doesn't like hide-and-go-seek. I mean, come on. I had a reputation to protect. As an adult, praise the good Lord, no one ever wants to play hide-and-go-seek anymore. But I still fear those words. People aren't yelling them at me anymore, though, mostly because that would be incredibly creepy. Now the person yelling it has to be me. And I find myself saying this a lot: "I'm just not ready." Or sometimes - when life asks, "Ready?" - in a panicky-child-hiding-voice, there's me: "I'm NOT! I'm NOT!!!" Recently, however, something came to my attention: there is no way to actually assign an operational definition to "ready." In fact, what does ready even mean? What is ready, anyway? Tell me! WHAT?!

I'll tell you what I've come up with. The entire concept of ready is a bunch of crap. Yes, crap. There is no pretty word which makes this point as adequately - only uglier ones, and I try to keep things PG around here. Although by current rating standards I believe that under the PG rating I could drop the f-bomb and probably even have a little nudity. But that's neither here nor there.

The point is: I will never be ready. I will never be ready to try for freedom and healing. I will never (ever) be emotionally ready to go on dates with boys. I will never be ready to start taking the terrifying risk that comes with actually seriously trying writing. I will never be quite ready to perform the duet I have been practicing with KK for karaoke at Dubb's. I will never be ready to do most of the things that I think might be the most worthwhile things to be doing. I won't be ready until I am ready. Under this logic, I end up doing a whole lot of nothing. I end up sitting around, reading another book, another blog, listening to another sermon which I think will help me to be ready. I get ready all day long and then I don't DO anything. Which is a little bit ludicrous, is it not?

Although lots of my examples are a little silly, we do this with our faiths too. I'm just not ready. When I have my stuff together, then I'll come to church. When I get back on the right track, I'll start praying again. When I'm worthy, I'll approach Him. And this, my tiny pets, is a lie. In saying these things, we nullify what Jesus did for us. We don't have to be ready (and we won't be - we covered this, keep up) to come. Because: (Hebrews 4:14-16)

Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace when we're ready & when we have all our crap figured out.

OH WAIT! My b. I was quoting from the MPB translation (Megan's Psycho Brain). Try this instead:

"Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need."

Ahh. Good. That sounds way more like Jesus.

So here's what I'm going to do: I'm just going to start doing stuff. I am taking the words, "I'm not ready" out of my vocabulary. If even the Bible says that I can approach the great high priest in my time of need - and with confidence, no less - surely I can face you fools! And so: my new motto for twentyten has become my least favorite combination of 6 words spoken by any human ever. My how the tables have turned.

[whether I'm] ready or not... here I come!

life's candy and the sun's a ball of buttaa

First of all, I woke up with "Don't Rain On My Parade" stuck in my head yesterday. I felt like that had to be a good sign for 2010. But so far, twentyten (thats how I say it - and I think you should too) has been a lot like 2009. Not in a really terrible way so much as in a just-because-we-write-a-different-year-on-our-checks-doesn't-mean-our-lives-are-dramatically-altered, kind of way. I suppose this was to be expected. Weird.

However, I know a LOT of people for whom 2009 was not terribly fun. I realize that yes, there were parts which were not heinous, but a lot of the parts were pretty un-fun. That said, I know that many of us (myself included) are hoping, praying, begging, pleading, for a really fantastic twentyten. That's a lot of pressure to put on a change of date.

Transitions are never good for me. In fact, I think it is fair to say that transitionally speaking, I am legitimately awful. I deal poorly with big change. There are many reasons this is the case, but I think the most pronounced is the fact that at each transition, I am faced with myself: who I am now as opposed to before. What I did last time, how I failed in this span of time, what resolutions I failed to accomplish, how little I have grown, as I see it. I am not particularly nice to myself as it is, but it is at these times that I become particularly hateful. I give myself a once-over and see all the things I didn't get done since last year, since last graduation, or whatever. I am overcome with a sense of the time I have wasted, the things that I still, yes still, struggle with, the many ways in which I have let myself, God, everyone else, down. Harsh? Overly critical? A little ridiculous and irrational? Perhapsicle. But if I told you that anything different was happening in my brain, I would be a big fat liar.

For this reason, I do not believe in New Years resolutions. It's like saying, "Hey, I have an awesome idea - lets make a list of things I probably won't do this year, so that when the year is over, I have an actual, pre-written checklist of reasons I suck. Hooray!" No thank you. I do, however, like the thought of a new year. I also like the thought of a new phase of life in which for the first time ever, I am not a student. I am well on my way to grownup-hood! And I like this. While my instincts tell me to panic doubly over twentyten and graduation, I am resisting (i.e. breathing into a paper bag every few minutes). Here are some things that I am excited about doing/trying in this, the new year.

- Learn to play the Ukelele, and get really good at it.

- Get a library card. Allison and I say pretty much every day, "we really need to go get library cards." Then we don't. So now this is my life goal for 2010.

- Write more... but seriously. Now that I'm out of school forever, this feels like something I want to do more. So I will. Boom, roasted.

- Do more things I like a whole lot. This list might or might not include: wearing blue nail polish; hanging out with people who make me laugh ALL THE TIME; as of last night, playing Rock Band goes on this list... I will sing my heart out with reckless abandon; also, along the same lines - I will sing more karaoke, I think; I'll wear things I like without wondering if other people will; I will be freer, generally speaking.

-OH! And most importantly, we decided that high-fiving is SO 2009. In twentyten, we face-kiss. So, for those of you for whom physical touch is not your love language - prepare to be wildly uncomfortable.

Generally speaking, I want to do more of these things: enjoy, love, laugh, do, play, sing, appreciate, listen, tell the truth, affirm, comfort, hug, face-kiss, challenge, be challenged, create, write, pray. Among other things. I will be a busy girl in twentyten.

The moral of the story is that I want to not make changes out of the place that says: you need to fix/change/get better, generally speaking - but from a place that is exciting, new, full of new, cool stuff.

and in closing:

get ready for me love, cause I'm a comer

I simply gotta march, my heart's a drummer!

nobody, no, nobody is gonnaaaaa rain on my paraaaaaaaaaaade

things I am anti

People have different ways they say this - for me, it is things I am anti. Such as, I am anti- fill-in-the-blank. For my friend Beckie Vicky (I think she's going to love that shout out), it's a list of Life Rules (for example, as a rule, Beckie V does not eat ketchup or play volleyball). On SNL it's "REALLY????" with Seth and Amy. After discussing Beckie's life rules the other day, and after making several "no, sorry, I'm anti-whatever" statements lately, I decided that it would be a good decision to compile a list.

I am anti: encased meats.
Sausage, hot dogs, bratwurst (oooh especially bratwurst) are on my list of things I cannot make myself eat. Once in a very blue moon I will eat a hot dog - but bratwurst and sausage really gross me out. Then recently I discovered that there are actual factories which produce casings for these meats. Meat that's encased. GROSSSSSSSSSS. I think now I will just embrace this about me and never eat encased meats ever again. I am highly and vehemently anti encased meats.

I am anti: paying for airport transportation/airport parking.
This is why we have friends, people. When I meet someone, I think to myself, "I better be nice, because someday, I might need a ride to or from the airport, and this person might be the only one not in class/at work/washing their hair when I need to go." It angers me when people pay for taxis or super shuttles or, even worse, God forbid - for PARKING at the airport. I mean really. Have we spoken/hung out more than once? Are we Facebook friends? Good enough for me. I'll take you. Buy me a drink sometime and we'll call it even.

I am anti: processing fees and charges when purchasing online.
Literally, there are few things that get me AS worked up as ticket charges and processing fees. Yesterday I bought a ticket to a concert online that was $13.00. When all was said and done, I was paying nearly TWENTY FIVE dollars for that damn ticket. Here's the thing. If they said, "this ticket costs $25," I wouldn't care. I would pay with a smile on my face and be thrilled for that concert. I'd never know the difference. But just the fact that I start at $13 and end up over $10 higher in the end infuriates me! I try whenever I can to purchase the tickets AT the theater, thus avoiding these charges, but in order to keep Ticketmaster in business, the theaters' available times for ticket purchases are something like every third Wednesday from 3:45-3:46 AM, or when the temperature is precisely at 21.5 degrees, or whenever there's a full moon. Thanks, theater. That's helpful.

I am anti: poor grammar, misspelling names, and most text/internet abbreves.
1. Try as I may, I cannot send an email until I know all of the punctuation is in the right place, the wording is ideal for the point I'm trying to make, and everything grammatically makes sense. 2. I can't handle it when people send me emails/facebook messages and spell my name wrong. My name is right there. Spelled correctly. In my email address. Which you had to type in correctly to get this email to me. So why, then, did you begin with, "Hey Meeaghane!" 3. I also have a very low tolerance for these phrases: LOL (and anything else that falls under the I'm-laughing-so-hard-I-can't-even-type-out-all-the-words umbrella); 1 letter substitues for real words; Luv as a substitute for Love. Now let me be clear - it doesn't really bother me when other people do this (ok sometimes it does - but not very often, so don't get a complex about it like I did about using emoticons when BV told me she hated them), I just can't do it. I've tried, too - I've typed texts with those things in them, but I can never press send. If I did, I think I would immediately have to send a retraction text. "wtf was that txt b4? R U serious? IDK wut i was thnking. LOLOMG."

I am anti: abiding by any kind of schedule.
Some people call this disorganized or scattered or irresponsible - I call this that I am just a whole other breed of control freak. Bear with me here: I make a schedule, or I have a general plan for my day. On my way to whatever I'm doing, I'll start shifting things around (this usually happens in the car) and making a new plan. "Well, I'm supposed to see kid A at 11. But if I saw kid B at 10 then I could be writing a treatment plan for kid C by 11 and then see kid A on Thursday because I have that hour of free time anyway... yes, that is a far better plan." Nonsensical? Yes. At the end of the week, the same things have been accomplished. But it always makes me feel really cool and powerful, like I'm bartering on what I will or won't get done in a given day. Only in the end, I'm bartering with myself, which isn't all that exciting and doesn't make me very powerful at all. And still it remains: I am anti schedule.

I am anti: men wearing sleeveless shirts.
I just think it's wrong. And gross. The ONLY time it is moderately acceptable is in some kind of sports/gym situation, and even here it's a grey area, and you probably still look like a tool.

I am anti: texting as a form of legitimate communication.
This is starting to have to change - because the world is now operating in such a way where texting is a legitimate method of communicating. Before, it was a way to say funny things or maybe send a reminder every now and then. Now I'm getting babysitting jobs where our only communication is a few texts before I show up to watch their children. I'm having important, meaningful conversations in 160 characters or less. Boys are asking girls on dates in TEXTS! Close friends send birthday wishes in a teeny tiny (and unsatisfying) text. Entire relationships begin and end with a few nonchalant text messages. And do not even get me started on sexting. Whereas before a text was an easy, breezy, beautiful (yes) way to say something, now it takes 20 minutes to formulate a clever, witty response that appears breezy because a text is just as valid as a face-to-face interaction. You have to wait a certain amount of time so you appear aloof and moderately busy and important. Nothing is easy anymore. That's the moral of this story.

I'm sure there are more. Let me know if you think I missed anything crucial.

oh, NOW I get it.

"If it's great reverence you're looking for, or earnest expressions of gratitude -

well, then, you don't work with kids." - Curtis Sittenfeld

clear as day.

when unprayed prayers are answered

Somewhere along the line, I think I became a writer.

I went for a walk this morning because it was so pretty outside and I realized that we don't have many mornings like that left. As I walked, I felt like everything was a story. I know that sounds impossibly cheesy - I can't actually believe I wrote it - but it's kind of true. I found myself at each turn writing what was going on around me - putting it into words over and over until I finally found a way I liked. It was a nearly unconscious process; but then suddenly, I realized what I was doing, and I realized that this has become a part of the way I think. I've been writing on airplanes, and in airport terminals; while driving, walking, riding, talking, listening, observing, sitting, standing. On the elliptical and at family gatherings. I want to describe Christmas lights, and the bells of the church across the street from my house. People are stories to be told; words are like those tiny pieces of glass that people who are crazy talented use to make those incredibly intricate mosaics.

I've never really felt like a writer until this morning. And it was there, on Gaylord Street, Annie Lennox on my iPod, that the smells of Christmas candles and omelets and coffee and dog poo made me suddenly want to write a story about what it was like to walk down Gaylord St., listening to Annie Lennox, smelling candles and omelets and coffee and yes, even dog poo. It's poetry, people, I'm telling you...

Part of me wonders why now; but then another part of me tells that part of me to shut it and just enjoy it. Now don't get me wrong - I have a LONG way to go and a lot more to learn about writing and living and loving and the like. I'm nowhere near finished. But I'm starting to feel awake, and I don't think I've always been. I wouldn't call it happy - although it makes me that way, sometimes - because that's not what it is. Openness to feeling runs the whole gamut; which has to include pain and grief and suffering. No, it's not happiness - it's freedom to live authentically, I think. I will be vulnerable because it is far less scary than it is not to be. I care what you people think - I don't know that I can get rid of that entirely. I am, however, less worried about the inevitable catastrophe that is rejection, because really, it's ok. I'll be ok. And the truth is I'm better when I'm not worrying than when I am. Some people like me and (GASP) some people won't. I don't think I've ever been ok with that before in my whole tiny life. I may never craft a poem as eloquently as e.e. cummings, and maybe the only people who will ever read what I write will be my 15ish followers (most of whom are in my immediate family). But it doesn't matter, because I am a writer, and I will write because I love it and I am free to do so. TAKE THAT!

Why now? I don't know. I didn't ask for it. But I do know this: "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will." [Romans 8:26-27]

I didn't know what I needed. I hadn't a clue that this was what I longed for.

[thank You]

An open letter to individuals who utilize air travel

Don't get me wrong, I like people. I do. But there is something about planes that make adults lose all of their social skills and all of the things they learned about manners in kindergarten and makes babies & small children immediately behave crazily. Must be something about being up at however many thousand feet, I guess. I don't know what it is, but I feel like everyone on planes is ridiculous.

On my flight from TX a few weeks ago, I sat next to a person whom I'm 99% sure was certifiably, probably qualified for some kind of institution situation crazy. (I'm a mental health professional so I can say stuff like this.) She continually, throughout the flight, swore (the worst words on the spectrum, too) under her breath. Several times she placed her leather jacket on my lap so she could do something or other - and she repeatedly made a noise that sounded like a combo of some kind of animal mating call and hocking a loogie. [That is a gross phrase to write out. I don't think I'll do it again.] At one point I had a tiny arm spasm and touched her arm - she elbowed me back. Hard. She also clipped her fingernails mid flight - that's not a joke - the lady on the other side of her ended up leaving at this point. Don't know where she went, but I wish she had taken me with her. On the way off the plane I saw a team of security people who I'm pretty sure were coming for her. Several people on the way off the plane gave me empathetic glances or said something to the effect of, "well that must have been fun for you." If by fun you mean terrifying, then yes. I literally pretended to be asleep the entire 2 hour flight because I was so scared of Sybil. (That's what I named her.) I practically ran off the plane, and even after it was over, I was jumpy for the next 48 hours or so.

Here are my thoughts from tonight:

To the insanely tall college women's basketball player sitting next to me: please stop angling your body in such a way that our hips and practically our butts are touching. I don't even know you. You're making me uncomfortable.

To the mother of the child sitting behind me: I have to be honest, I'm not terribly concerned with the fact that snapping her seatbelt buckle might pinch her fingers, like you keep reminding her. I'm more interested in the fact that the repeated noise of metal on metal is making my ears bleed.

To the chorus of babies all directly behind me: was that a new harmony you guys were working on? Was this some kind of baby-screaming rehearsal you planned for during our flight? I mean really, well done. I especially liked how when one of you stopped the other one started so it was never ever not for one second silent. That was a pretty sweet technique.

To the girl sitting on my left: please, I beg you, stop talking. This guy who is apparently interested in the inane things you are saying is probably just being polite. Stop flipping your hair and waving your arms and saying weird things. Oh, and when you talk about "cocaine," maybe consider lowering your voice a little. Just a little constructive criticism.

To the guys in front of me: yes, I know I went to high school with one of you and that I know you, other guy, from somewhere in Denver, but I can't remember either of your names, so I am not planning on meeting the eye contact you are attempting so we can have the awkward "oh hey weird meeting you here how do we know each other when did I see you last and what is your name again?" conversation. I'm sorry. I just don't have it in me. The chorus of babies and the metal on metal in addition to psycho girl over here have taken every bit of energy I previously possessed for stupid airplane small talk.

Ok, ok, I'm half kidding. The other half, though, not so much.

Kindest & Most Sincere Regards,

Dreaming in Denver... of a peaceful flight & maybe a nice little nap, that is.

today, I am free

to wear what I want
----- & not wonder if you don't think my purple cords & boots are as kick-a as I do
to sing like a rockstar
----- & to like how I sound

---------- (in my car, anyway)

to say no

to write what I think

to say what I feel

to ask for what I need

to voice my desire

to not worry about the reactions I'll get

----- to my feelings, needs, desires

to recover

to do something different

to be fine

to not be fine

to paint my nails blue, if it feels right

----- (it does)

to be funny, if I want

to not be funny, if I don't

to say yes

to be heard

to be a little bit crazy

to listen to christmas music

----- even though it's not yet thanksgiving

to love who I love

to like what I like

to laugh like a dork

----- (and snort if its funny enough)

to be who I am

to like who I am

to love who I am

to desire freedom

-- & to be free

to look at this list & realize these things have not always been true
but also to realize that that's ok

because today, they are
today, I am free

and I like that

& I'm free to like that to my tiny heart's content

eatdrinkread.wordpress.com

OFFICIAL PLUG for the BOOK CLUB BLOG:

eatdrinkread.wordpress.com

It was my month to host and post... so my blogging genius went into the November report. I'm not posting it here so as to encourage you to visit the Book Club blog! Also you can see our upcoming book selections and steal them as ideas for you to read yourself. I'd suggest doing so. We have excellent taste.

peace, love, & literature: Megan

love is a battlefield

As you may or may not have heard, I am very smart and/or intellectual. So I've been thinking about C.S. Lewis lately:

"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket of your selfishness. But in that casket -- safe, dark, motionless, airless -- it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."

Well... shoot. The decision to be vulnerable. I think about my life and all the things/people I love, have loved, will love, and I have recently come to the startling realization that loving is hard. You love, and you risk. I love, and I get hurt sometimes. It's just what happens. But I mean, Pat Benetar warned us, did she not? Love is a battlefield. (How much do you love that I quoted C.S. Lewis and Pat Benetar all at once? Epic.)

Risky business though it is, it seems to me that it is far scarier to not love than it is to risk, love, and maybe occasionally be hurt. And losing love and being hurt is really freaking hard. In loving we risk loss, we risk disappointment, we risk rejection, we risk the heart-wrenching feeling of watching another person suffer and being helpless to assist. It is occasionally an appealing thought that I could just, if I wanted, say no. I could choose not to invest, not to care, not to do any of it. I could say, "You are scary. I will not love you even though it's what my heart wants, because you terrify me. You could hurt me, but I won't let you. HA! Suckaaaa!" If I don't do it, I'm safe. I'm unhurtable. I'm 100% unvulnerable. Unwringable and unbreakable. And since vulnerability scares the hey-ho out of me, that sounds kind of awesome 85% of the time.

But I don't want that, really. So I try on love. And to love means to risk the awfulness when something bad happens. It means to risk the hurt that comes with my not being able to protect another person from hurt. It means to hurt and be hurt and forgive and be forgiven because I love them too much not to. It means to sometimes cry in a counseling session with a kid even thought it's maybe not the most professional option. It means to cry sometimes just because I know what you're all going through. It means to hurt and grieve right alongside people and hold their hands even when I might need someone to hold mine, too. It sometimes means to let someone do these things for and with me, even when it seems like letting them is the actual scariest thing in the world.

I talked to a friend the other night whose heart is broken and wrenched right now. I have felt the same way, all too recently, and I had very little to offer my friend in the way of comfort or good advice. And in spite of the fact that I hardly know what to say when the people I love get to this place, I love them. They love, I love, and we are wrenched, and I have to believe at the end of the day, it's worth it. That loving each other is a great, wonderful privilege - something we just cannot let ourselves give up no matter how appealing the option looks in the thick of despair.

It's kind of exciting, if you think about it. I mean, exciting in an I-might-pee-my-pants-at-any-given-moment kind of way, but exciting, nonetheless.

"heartache to heartache, we stand..." Preach it, Pat.

ALERT THE MEDIA I'M HAVING AN AWESOME DAY

I don't like extremes, I think. I'm self-conscious about being overly negative, but today, I'm self-conscious about being overly positive. Maybe I should stop being self-conscious? Or learn to live in some kind of middle ground. But that sounds kind of boring. And so not my style. So, here we are.

I do not know why I woke up this way this morning, I really don't. I mean, today hasn't even been that great. I'm having a terrible hair day, for one thing (it's in a side braid. why? I couldn't begin to tell you), and for another, I messed up the coffee-to-water ratio AGAIN this morning so I was uncomfortably jittery until about noon. But it's kind of like the Negative Nancy who lives in my brain was murdered in the night and replaced by someone awesome and sickly positive who tells me only good things. Either that or someone has medicated me against my knowledge. Those are the only logical options, I think.

There is a part of me, I have to confess, that wants to feel guilty for having a good day - like my grief and my sadness isn't serious enough if I could still have such a good day. But the fact is, I thought about Audrie today just like I always do. I missed her, just like I always do. It still wasn't right that she isn't here. None of that changed because I had a good day. Being happy today didn't mean that I wasn't honoring my sister.

And I'm not going to say much more about it, because sometimes, things are so nice and so simple that they do not need a bunch of words to explain just how nice and simple they are.

I have been quoting ee cummings lately like its my j-o-b, I know, but ending with this just seems apropos.* Interesting that this particular poem is coming up again, by the way...

i thank you God for this most amazing day:

for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

i who have died am alive again today,

and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth

day of life and love and wings:and of the gay

great happening illimitably earth

how should tasting touching hearing seeing

breathing any-lifted from the no

of all nothing-human merely being

doubt unimaginably you?

(now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

and even if tomorrow sucks, it will be fine. I think baby steps, for now, are enough.

*I can't begin to tell you how pleased I am with myself for using this word. Just throwing that out there.

today

(now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

I think I'm going to like November

who are you,little i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window;at the gold

of November sunset

(and feeling:that if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

[ee cummings]

there were so many people in my house last night.

I have two new favorite things. Fake eyelashes & Sparkle Spray.among those in attendance at 1403 HP 2k9 were:

+ 3 Rainbow Brites. I know. Like my worst nightmare come true. But don't worry - mine was the best.

- Allison Wonderland (see what I did there? It was Allison... as AliceIN wonderland)

! Danny, Sandy, & Frenchie from Grease... Chelsea did a bang-up job with Sandy and Troy was a great Danny, he even had some lines down which Chelsea forbade him to continue sharing because she was embarrassed. I thought he was pretty good. And Frenchie, Chelsea's little sister Hannah, was way cute too, that beauty school drop out...

# So many CELEBS! Lindsay Lohan, her lesbie lovaaaah Samantha Ronson, Hannah Montana, Kanye West...

$ a car wash

^ Mister Rogers in a women's sweater...

* Romy & Michelle! "if you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting... time after time" so beautiful.

() the Blockheads from Gumby - their costume was ridiculously good. Also ridiculously large.

% Goldilocks & the 3 Bears - Goldilocks was played by an insanely tall man with a beard, which made it funnier I think.

AND SO MANY MORE GOOD COSTUMES!!!! I mean, people really went all out... I was impressed. I loved it. also in attendance was my sort of creepy but also endearing old man neighbor, the guy I lived next door to 2 years ago and haven't seen or spoken to since moving out, two of my favorite Sigmas from Trinity, Carla and Whitney, & a bunch of my JCrew friends (below)!!

My sweet friends Susan and Chris came (as Dairy Queen and Burger King) and they are ENGAGED!!!!!! I just think they are the cutest... couldn't be happier for those two! That makes all 3 of my former roommates with big fat diamonds on their fingers. This house must be magical! Either that or I am. I'm hoping it's the house.

It was an all-star cast. And even though my house was trizzashed (that's ghetto for trashed) this morning, it was worth it to have all of our friends in our house and see everyone have so much fun dancing and singing and being hilariously funny and creative and wonderful. I heard there was a friend of a friend who attended who said something to the effect of, "wow, you guys have GREAT friends!" It's kind of fun in situations like last night where I realize how freaking awesome the people I get to hang out with are.

KCi & Jo Jo "all my life" came on - and I got asked to dance - which was pretty sweet. We later went on to bring the night home with a lot of karaoke duets. They included "my favorite things" from sound of music, "linger" by the cranberries, "you're the one that I want" from Grease, as well as "summer nights." We're real good.

Around 2 am, the karaoke got really hoppin. We pretty much did that until 4. Well, 3 because it was daylight savings... but still. This part was maybe the most fun.

It's always kind of sad when really fun things are over. We've been excited about this party since... well... November 1st of last year. It's the best when ridiculously high expectations are absolutely surpassed. I have such fun friends, such a lovely house, and roomies who support throwing massive parties.

Spent the day lying in bed, looking at everyone's pictures, reminiscing the night with different people... typical day-after-party stuff. Tomorrow... back to real life. No more snow days or parties! But on Friday I am finally, after much anticipation, SAN ANTONIO BOUND!!!!! Trinity Alumni Weekend... here I come...

peace, love, & sparkle spray,

Rainbow Brite