Climbing on the Words

2009-06-03T13:40:00.001-07:00

we will see if this works

Growing Pains

2009-05-17T19:40:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I got to catch up with old friends and make some wonderful new ones. When the party ended and the guests were gone, I started thinking about relationships. I have never been good at letting go. I reflect back on the good times shared and expect that there are plenty more to come. But, what if the time and the season have ended? What if my obstinancy to hold on is nothing but an injustice to myself? I love the moments shared and will cherish them, but perhaps it is time to store them away in a precious place and make room for new ones. There are those that will always walk beside me. Kate, she will always be one. She is my heart. There are those that I wish would, but choose not to. So I ache with the pain of letting go, but embrace the new joys that are to come.

2009

2009-01-14T15:02:00.000-08:00

Hello blog. I should reintroduce myself since I fell off the web. I used to pay tremendous attention to you and apologize for my neglect. Let's get reacquainted. That pict is me by the way. Just in case you forgot.

So....I am still in the same relationship. No casualties or dismemberment to report, so that in itself is a miracle. I am still slightly maudlin and melodramatic. Well, so not much has changed.

Une Noveau Moi

2008-09-12T11:30:00.001-07:00

I have been a very bad blogger.

So since it has been many, many moons since I have blogged I will share some updates.

I am officially in a relationship. I know, coronaries can now be had. I have realized that dating doesn't have to involve so much pressure. I don't have to be perfect or have everything together to let someone in my heart. I mean really, like I will ever have it together. I am only giving partial face coverage here. The poor boy is now in for being the topic of endless diatribes. I must do something to protect his identity. Luckily, he does not have the internet or a computer. Thank the Virgin for that one.

I finally enrolled in French and absolutely love it! I am officially on my way to being a certified Francophile! In my other academic pursuits, I finally embraced the dream and am on my way to switching to International Journalism. I have a few prerequisites to take and my focused path will begin.

Sadly, there will be no more Stud B stories. But, there will be more happier blogs. So here we go!

Just Playing

2008-07-02T10:26:00.000-07:00

You would have been 27 today. Six years ago I was standing in the sand handing a carefully chosen gift tied with twine with a blue starfish on the top. It was the most precious thing I could give you. My very favorite book with something special underlined on page 44. I gave you my heart that day. We sat on the jetties and welcomed in the fourth. It was by far my best holiday. Six years. 2,191 days ago.

I'd give up every one of them to be back there.

Holidays with fireworks never work out that well for me. I always end up alone or with my quarreling parents, wondering if a day would come when the lit up sky would be enjoyable. I always tell myself that I will make plans and then the holiday creeps up on me and "ugghhhh" here I am. This year the options came a little late (today) and my melancholy has overshadowed any desire to venture out.

Today is your birthday and I wonder how long I will wish for the past and when will I just enjoy the present.

I was always jealous of those big families that actually acknowledged national holidays. They made plans weeks in advance and invited people over. So fun, those obligatory family functions my friend's complained about, I would have died to go to. I know you are choking on my self-pity. Sorry, but it continues.

Does it ever feel like you are playing at life? Trying on aspects that don't fit you. Perhaps, with the right accessories, it will come together and look like it was made for you. I feel like I have been playing dress up in things that are false.

A little girl wearing size 9 heels stumbling around with an empty martini glass and smeared red lipstick. Something is wrong. Things seem to have gone awry. My version of grown up seemed to match the world's: money, success, a great wardrobe, and tons of fabulous friends to pose in pictures. Really, all those things are just about me. How they look on me or around me. What hole they fill in my soul. I didn't have a section of "giving back" in my dream grownup world. I didn't think that happiness would be absent with the presence of all those things.

Now, in your absence, I think the most precious things are the moments, memories, and people in our lives. The fireworks displays with quarreling families, the phone calls from lost friends, and the love in our hearts.

You fit me and you are gone. So, what now?

I will embrace the truth I find in people and places. Put off false things and start planning the next holiday with fireworks now.

Mix Tape Monday

2008-06-23T20:37:00.001-07:00

I worked at a law office this last week and this is what I did.

Not so texty?

2008-06-20T11:18:00.001-07:00

What is this phenomenon? Has the text surpassed the call? Now let me preface this tirade with an acknowledgement that I am a active participant in Twitter. We have formed a group as a result called "the framily" and consider ourselves a cult on the rise, so consider yourself forewarned. This group is filled with people with whom I have a long standing relationships and consider some of my best friends. So, this being said, I think that the "text" does have its place. I am frustrated by the "get to know you texts" that I have recently observed and encountered.

So let the tirade begin. ...

Okay, boys do you really think a girl will swoon over some carefully chosen sentences like the following "What r u up 2?" You know what? If you cannot take the time to type a two letter word, I don't think I have the time to get to know you. Or perhaps your severe case of number dyslexia disables you? Cannot or will not dial my digits, but can text them?

I am perplexed or pertexted.

Fight Any Day

2008-06-20T07:01:00.000-07:00

"...her heart is violated and the message is driven farther in: you are not desired, you will not be protected; no one will fight for you."

The fear in every woman's heart. It lies in a secret place that she covers with cynacism, bitterness, and at times, independence.

I think really this struggle goes beyond gender to a deeper place, the very core our humanity. Don't we all want to know we are worth it? Worth the effort, worth the time, or even worth the phone call? We walk around with the nagging hope that someone, somewhere will think so. I was talking to a friend last night about the extremes that we go through to make ourselves be appealing or desired by others.

I thought the irony of it all is that once we change who we are to receive the needed acceptance we usually lose it. It is hard to admire a chameleon, their change is entertaining, but hardly worth treasuring.

My fighter is not hard to describe. I think he would know me and accept me for just that. Maybe to wonder what I thought about things, to read the books I read just because I read them, to want to really know me. He wouldn't want anything but the truth and love my truth.

One wonderful boy sent me this and I'll treasure it always.

That's what I'll wait for. Someone prepared for the fight.

So what is involved in your fight? What is the thing that you most need to feel battled for? Tell me what is most important to you.

The Dangers of Men

2008-06-16T07:50:00.000-07:00

A strange phenomenon has occurred the last month in my life. I have been inundated with the "set-up". This is so unusual because 1) I am extremely picky (aka critical) 2) I am somewhat complex (high maintenance) and to most, impossible to manage 3) I am dubious at best 4) Except for those few brilliant people who see my invaluable attributes (love me) no one would intentionally subject their friends to such a case of emotional liabilities...at least, so I thought.

My two most recent suitors have come in the form of the ex-con. They have both served time for drug possession and the subsequent crimes that accompany such things. They are tattooed, tough, and now love Jesus. I wondered briefly if this was to insinuate that I am a girl "only a hardened criminal could love" or perhaps loving me would be like "serving time." I then came to the conclusion that it was my unlimited grace and love for broken, but strong that illuminated me for such a role. (Stop laughing, I need to believe this to preserve my self-esteem.)

I have never been one to tame. I like the danger, the excitement, and the "bad boys" if you must categorize them. I also know that there has to be a balance between the abusive and the doormat. I read this quote from Wild at Heart:

"A stallion is hard to tame. If you want a safer, quieter, animal, there's an easy solution: castrate him. A gelding is much more compliant. You can lead him around by the nose; he'll do what he's told without putting up a fuss. There's only one problem: Gelding's don't give life. They can't come through for you the way a stallion can. A stallion is dangerous all right, but if you want the life he offers, you have to have the danger too. They go together."

The perfect balance I dub thee "Rhett Butler" Here's a guy who sees Scarlett for all she is and thinks I can tame this one. He is up for the challenge. Strong, witty, and incorrigible. He can fight when he needs to, charm when necesary, a doting father, and even handles finances. A war hero when called upon and a lover above all. So Scarlet blew it, but he was her match in every way. So for that he deserves to be an ideal.

I want the strength. If that means stubbornness, tattoos, or a temper...come what may, I'm all in. In today's world, it may take a different form: to change the tire, cut down the tree, and even rescue the beauty from herself.

I am ready for a man to do it.

Not because I am not capable, but because I don't think I am meant to.

My Athens

2008-06-13T19:27:00.003-07:00

Birds of a Feather

2008-05-30T09:17:00.000-07:00

If you have read any of my blogs you will see that birds often times end up being the protagonist. It seems in times of a great crisis the animal kingdom fall from heaven into my lap. Literally.....

Yesterday was no exception.

I was sitting on my patio in the chair I never sit in (there are two), when something suddenly hits my leg. I have recently been the honoree of a very angry mother bird's excrement, so I am hesitant to look down and see what remains. Much to my surprise and dismay it is a baby bird of said angry mother bird. I think to myself "What are the odds?" But, then quickly wrap baby bird in a paper towel and research via Google what I should do. Well, of course return it to the nest. So I get a ladder, climb up (Cirque de Soleil- style)

onto the drain pipe and replace the bird.

I felt very satisfied with myself at this point and feel nature has been restored to its proper balance. I go inside, do menial tasks, and then return to my chair. A few moments pass and again, there is a bird on my lap. I decided that this particular baby was either 1) ready to break out on its own 2) suicidal 3) just plain rebellious 4) thought I was super cool and wanted to hang out on my upper thigh a bit longer.

So I wrap it up again, take it inside, and begin to google bird care. Well, at this time in my life a dead baby bird is not something I can take responsibility for, so I change my tactics. I feed it, and then return it to the nest, blocking the hole to the drain pipe. (This way baby won't escape again, but mom can easily enter.)

I awoke this morning, took a look around, and no baby bird in sight! I hear the squawking of baby birds and feel quite content.

Then (sitting in opposite patio chair) I saw it. Underneath the other chair, the baby bird had fallen, and was dead.

I cried of course.

I realized that this particular bird refused to be helped. I (reading meaning into everything) thought of myself and cried even more. After gaining my composure, writing an eulogy for the bird, and planning a Viking funeral on the river,

I sat down and thought, "It is what it is." This quote is constantly used by one of my free-spirited friends and sometimes really pisses me off, but today I added my own interpretation.

I think despite all our best efforts in life some things just have to die. I am not just speaking physically, but emotionally and spiritually as well. I realize that I am at times stubborn, but also full of grace and apologetic. I cannot and will not change the course of my life to please others, only God. I have to make peace with all my decisions, actions, and words, no matter how good or horrible they are. My friend Kate says this should be my credo or disclaimer, so I included it.

You can't navigate me. I may do mean things, and I may hurt you, and I may run away without your permission, and you may hate me forever, and I know that it scares the living shit outta you 'cause you know I'm the only real thing you got.

I also know that the people that truly love me will know my heart and that those actions are not always the most accurate depiction of it. I said once in "the great Kate" that she loves me for who I am, who I am want to be, and who I was. That to me is real love, it is not conditional, and keeps no record of wrongs.

So I make peace with the fact that very few people can really love like that. I will continue to work on being better, but for now, "It is what it is." "I am what I am" (who knew I would ever quote Popeye, yikes.) Love me or hate me, I cannot apologize for my identity. I have worked much too hard to get here.

So relationships will thrive and some will die. I can fight until my hands are raw, but really the choice is not up to me. So, to quote the same cheesy movie

There's no point to any of this. It's all just a... a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know... a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle... and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.

Suit of Armor

2008-05-28T20:57:00.000-07:00

A friend quoted to me "sometimes we hold onto our pain because it is the only thing that we feel is ours." He had no idea but it affected me and has stayed with me since. I realized that I wear mine. It is my protection, my solace, and at times a defining aspect of my personality. In recent blogs I have been processing through the idea that my life is not just my own nor my pain. It affects, destroys, strengthens, and even at times encourages those I encounter. This last week it destroyed.

I was cruel (to say the least) to a friend and used it as a weapon of mass destruction. I sit now replaying the conversation and know that the words I spoke weren't even about him. I spoke to ghosts, I spoke to me, and I spoke to all things I hate. He, is none of these. He is a home I always return to, a safe place, and a heart that always loves even when it is not deserved. I could crawl out of my skin knowing that at a difficult time in his life that I fought him, pushed him, and may have lost him.

I am cold, metallic, and spiteful when I wear it. I'll lay it down and leave it for him. I have to lay it down for me as well. The lessons come late, but still come. Words come quickly and sharply to me, I just wish sensibility did also.

So l lay my weapons down and surrender. This is not a battle to be fought, for there are truly no winners.

The Grands

2008-05-23T15:57:00.000-07:00

The completion of the spring semester means I return to my hometown. I will spend most of my time catching up with my beloved grandparents, who, to say the least, are never boring. Today was no different. After several rings of the doorbell and knocks on the door I decided that they had retired for their daily afternoon siesta and turned to leave, when suddenly the door swung open and their stood my Pal-Pal, shirtless, and in overalls. He said "hey girl" and turnes quickly back to the living room. I went in and to saw that he and my grandmother had decided to try and groom their dogs themselves. There was dog hair everywhere, including large chunks stuck to my grandmothers cheeks and on the back of my grandfather's damp neck.

I chuckled to myself and my grandmother quickly went to retreive the vacuum. She began the task of cleaning up when the vacuum suddenly made a horrendous noise. My grandfather took it apart, discovered the problem, and then returned it to my grandmother saying, "Suck up the rest of this dog hair."

She looked at him with pure disdain and stubbornly said, "No, you suck it."
He retorted, "No, you suck it."
She, "No, you suck it."

I was beyond words at this point hearing my Southern Baptist grandparents use such language. If only they knew.

I'll file this one under dialogue you never want to hear from any one over the age of 10.

Thursday Thirteen

2008-05-22T20:08:00.000-07:00

13 Things That Changed Today...

13. I found my new favorite song "You really got a hold on me" covered by She and Him.

12. After four years, and almost complete loss of hope, something was whole.

11. I traded my worn, black, Issac Mizrahi purse for a brand new, shiny, deconstructed hobo.

10. I made peace with the fact that I may never have feeling in my right index finger again.

9. I decided that Jen Lancaster's books are not chic lit., but rather a memoir of a fashion genius trapped by the constraints of our monetary system.

8. "I think I want a baby. " If words involved in the female reproductive process make you cringe, you are probably not ready to reproduce.

7. I chose black accessories over orange. I have truly grown up.

6. I went to the doctor without fear.

5. I laughed at what would have been a painstakedly awkward situation that would normally have driven me to tears.

4. I didn't watch Lost. Sad face.

3. I didn't argue with my mother.

2. I drove through my hometown and appreciated it, humidity and all.

1. I didn't get to talk to my best guy multiples of times. This will be different tomorrow! Love you D!

The Allure of Hope

2008-05-09T19:34:00.000-07:00

It still amazes me how you stumble upon a book at the perfect time that you need it. The Allure of Hope couldn't have come to me at a better time.

"She was finding all kinds of things wrong with her so she could concentrate on fixing them. As she realized what she was doing, she said, At least I know how to clean myself up. I don't know how to fix my sorrow right now. This is why self-contempt is the path of least resistance when our hearts are bruised. If we can find something about ourselves to get to work on, we are in control. This is why hope calls us away from mocking ourselves, and why it calls us into a deep place of trust."

I think that so often we try to get our "ducks in a row" as a excuse for avoiding intimacy. I mean really, we will never have everything together. I mean all there is are excuses...I have to lose 30 pounds, I have to finish school, I have let life settle down. I suppose when you get to the truth of the matter it isn't about any of those things, as much as it is about being fearful to hope again.

My hope has been sparse for years now. I realize that maybe putting too much importance on the "right time" may make something the wrong time. I am tired of worrying about the right or wrong time. I think maybe you should just hope in all things and enjoy the triumph in that. I am too exhausted for complex emotional struggles or constantly worrying about the image I portray. I was seeking affirmation from a friend the other day and he said, "Jess, you don't need me to tell you you're great." I thought, he is right. There is no need to waste time worrying, if someone likes you then they are brilliant, if they don't...well, screw them. You don't want to end up twisting yourself into someone that you are not.

I would not sacrifice myself for anyone. Self, is a difficult person to know and once you find it you must not compromise.

I heard this quote the other day and thought, now that's it. "Commiting to nothing, that's suicide"

No dying here, it is all about living in faith and maintaining your hope. That is something I can always commit to.

A Comet Appears

2008-05-08T08:58:00.000-07:00

I have nothing to blog, honest to blog. So today is song of the day. The Shins could only warrant their own blog.

One hand on this wily comet,
Take a drink just to give me some weight,
Some uber-man I'd make,
I'm barely a vapor

They shone a chlorine light on,
A host of individual sins,
Let's carve my aging face off,
Fetch us a knife,
Start with my eyes,
Down so the lines,
Form a grimacing smile,

Close your eyes to corral a virtue,
Is this fooling anyone else?
Never worked so long and hard,
To cement a failure,

We can blow on our thumbs and posture,
But the lonely is such delicate things,
The wind from a wasp could blow them,
Into the sea,
With stones on their feet,
Lost to the light and the loving we need,

Still to come,
The worst part and you know it,
There is a numbness,
In your heart and it's growing,

With burnt sage and a forest of bygones,
I click my heels,
Get the devils in line,
A list of things I could lay the blame on,
Might give me a way out,

But with each turn,
It's this front and center,
Like a dart stuck square in your eye,
Every post you can hitch your faith on,
Is a pie in the sky,
Chock full of lies,
A tool we devise,
To make sinking stones fly,

And still to come,
The worst part and you know it,
There is a numbness,
In your heart and it's growing.

Media Naranja

2008-05-08T08:16:00.000-07:00

I am spending the week in my hometown and decided to visit some of my favorite places.

Mr. C. Dell Bates is one of my favorite artists and he finally opened up a studio in Naranja.

The Shangrala Garden

6 Things

2008-05-05T12:23:00.000-07:00

Okay let's see...

6. Today, at the gas station a man began speaking to me in espanol and I realized he had mistaken me for someone of Hispanic heritage when he said, "bonita Mexicana". I was both pleased and flattered because I assume it is because of my lovely tan. My poor accent and limited spanish vocab quickly corrected his assumptions.
*Side note: My neighbor asked me yesterday when Cinco de Mayo was and with all the composure I could muster I replied, "Monday." I did not want to know if she really didn't know. So Happy Cinco kids!

5. Every two days or so I write a letter to someone and then proceed to throw it away. I think it is either too much of the following: sad, mushy, or serious. So if you are ever curious about getting some good scoop, you should so dumpster dive at my apartment.

4. I have begun talking to my dog much more frequently and am disturbed by this. "Zoe, should I drop out of school? Zoe, do you think I should wear this?" You see the problem here?

3. I have to drink coffee everyday and resemble the following without it.....

2. I have a hair appointment for the first time in six months on Wednesday. Yes, gasps of horror can now be had.

1. I don't like mayonaise and don't understand why it is the default condiment on all sandwiches. This angers me daily.

I tag... Danielle,Dan, Jas, and Sol.

Both Sides of the Window

2008-05-03T09:13:00.000-07:00

"You have to clean both sides." Well, yes of course you do.

There is a huge patio door in my living room made of all glass. It is filthy and probably hasn't been cleaned since I moved in. So I windexed it. It amazes me how looking through it now is so much clearer. The trees are greener and life is altogether sunnier. Sometimes our one-sided view distorts the image. Sometimes you just have to view things fresh from both sides.

My Mom and I have been arguing over choice. She says that I choose what I will be each day. Will I be happy, will I be melancholy, or will I be angry? I feel like I should sing Doris Day's version of "Que sera, sera" right here. Oh well, I suppose I felt like a passive passenger floating along the river of life. I haven't been choosing my currents. I just let them take me where they wanted. She had a completely different view of my life, from the outside in.

My life is very good. How easily I forget this. She, looking in at me, reminded me of this and just how fortunate I really am. I have a apartment to live in, clothes to wear, and people that love me. My cup runneth over and I seem to be able to complain about it spilling. Is it my American sense of entitlement or just pure selfishness that causes me to doubt the goodness of this life? Probably, a little bit of both.

So I look from both sides and thank God for my life. A very, very good life. I see that perspective really is everything. People wait their whole lives to move to our country to live this life that I call "mediocre". The American dream.

Windex should hire me as their spokeswoman. I could make window cleaning philosophical....

Hell is Other People

2008-05-01T12:52:00.000-07:00

According to Jean-Paul Sartre. If you asked around I think there would be many who agree. Sartre spent much of his time alone, pondering his own existence, and tormenting Simone de Beauvoir. He seemed perplexed by humanity and from his writings obviously injured by their very presence. He writes of his solitude...

I live alone, entirely alone. I never speak to anyone, never; I receive nothing, I give nothing… When you live alone you no longer know what it is to tell something: the plausible disappears at the same time as the fiends. You let events flow past; suddenly you see people pop up who speak and who go away, you plunge into stories without beginning or end: you make a terrible witness. But in compensation, one misses nothing, no improbability or, story too tall to be believed in cafes.

I wonder how much his isolation shaped his inability to relate to others? I have spent most of my life alone. I am the only child, grandchild, niece, and the last of my family line. I have never minded being alone. I am a writer and you need some silence to
translate all the demons on paper. In recent weeks as I recess deeper and deeper into my hermit-hood, I wonder...."Have I discounted community?"

I like ole Sartre, but I think he got a little looney toward those last years. I mean we get it you exist, so does everybody else Jean-Paul!

I thought in the past all the great artists, writers, and composers were certifiable. So my anti-social tendencies were all for the sake of my art (I know such the matyr, right?). But, maybe crazy doesn't have to live with creativity. I guess I can stop the terrific Amy Winehouse impression and try to pull the nails out of the front door....Hmmmm......On second thought..........

Nah.........

Climbing on the Words

2008-04-24T07:41:00.001-07:00

There was not a more fitting title for a blog about my life than this. When I ran across it in my book of Dylan Thomas' poems I knew it was perfect. I have spent my life looking for just the right words. I wanted to hear them, say them, and ultimately write them. Despite all my searching I realize now that they are there and have always been within my grasp.

It was the same for the picture of the girl, ill-equipped and inappropriately dressed to climb this wall. She has no harness, no net, and totally the wrong apparel for such a venture. She had only the bravado and reckless abandon to pursue such a course without thought of repercussions. I thought nothing was more true of myself.

I have lived my life without much consideration for those around me. I have lived my life as it were my own and believed my actions would not affect others. My sense of entitlement has often injured others. I thought my life did not touch against others, but somehow stood apart; alone. I see that I was wrong.

I see now that I have been my own worst enemy. My own worst critic. My friend and I were talking and I said "Sometimes I wish I could crawl out of my own head." He nodded and said he "wanted out of his own skin." He told me the following story from his son's book...

"…I couldn't undress because I hadn't any clothes on when I suddenly
thought that dragons are snaky sort of things and snakes can cast off their skins. Oh, of
course, thought I, that's what the Lion means. So I started scratching myself and my scales began coming
off all over the place. And then I scratched a little deeper and, instead of just scales
coming off here and there, my whole skin started peeling off beautifully, like it does after an illness, or as if I were a banana. So I started to go down into the well for my bath. But just as I was going
to put my feet into the water I looked down and saw that they were hard and rough and wrinkled and
scaly just as they had been before. So I scratched and tore again and this underskin peeled
off beautifully and out I
stepped and left it lying beside the other one and went down to the well….
…the same thing happened again. And I thought to myself, oh dear, how
ever many skins have I
got to take off? So I scratched away for the third time… but as soon
as I looked at myself in the
water I knew it had been no good.

Then the Lion said… 'You will have to let me undress you.' I was
afraid of his claws, I can tell
you, but I was pretty desperate now. So I just lay flat on my back and
let him do it. The very first
tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my
heart. And when he began
pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt. The
only thing that made me able to
bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off.
Then he caught hold of me—I didn't like that much for I was very
tender underneath now that I'd
no skin on—and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but
only for a moment. After
that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming
and splashing I found that…
I'd turned into a boy again. After a bit the Lion took me out and dressed me."

I know that every person at one time or another wants to get out from beneath their sins, struggles, and their self. We battle, scratch, and scrape. But maybe we need others to pull us through ourselves. They come from far away states, cities, and places to encircle us. Friends that wrap their arms around us and take us back to the truth. Their words bring comfort and light to our own darkness. I know that we must fight the darkness inside ourselves, but also accept it. We travel with it till it leaves.

We have to fight, climb, and never give up. So I will continue climbing on the words, though with bloodied hands, I won't give up. There is a safety net of love and support always waiting underneath if I fall.

Thank you friends, family, and framily for always catching me. I love you.

I Got Da' Boot

2008-04-15T12:34:00.000-07:00

It was the worst of times; it was the worser of times. So my grammar sucks along with my day, whatever. If you are a feminist you should probably not read this post because I will horrify you with my wishes. So be fore-warned.

Today after my verbal assault or more accurately 'rape' by my male classmates I walked solemnly back to my car, head down in defeat. I looked up at the bright sun and thanked it for giving me a little bit of light on this dark day. My mood began to lift as I approached my car and saw a bright yellow note attached. I felt giddy like a school girl, hoping some sweet friend had left me a lovely note. As I drew closer I noticed that someone had also attached a bright, orange object to my car's tire. Uh-oh. This was not the remnants of a secret admirer or friend. Rather, the not so kind dispatches from the parking nazis. I looked around quickly to my left and right, the parking lot was almost empty.

So, mostly out of pride and embarrassment, I began my trek across Interstate 35 and many a street to the administrative building. As though fate hadn't had enough laughs at my predicament, I had decided to break in my new shoes this day. I had blisters and blood on the back of my heels. So I pull my feet out of shoes and walk on the heel. I resembled a homeless, ex-ballerina trying to regain old glories by seeing how far she could walk on her tippy-toes. Long story short I tripped over shoes and fell on my face in the middle of Interstate 35. Unfortunately, I survived, pride crushed somewhere beneath the Mac truck that almost hit me.

I make it to the administrative office, making special efforts to not take my anger out on underpaid employees. I played the part of the ditsy co-ed that "like had a orange shoe on my car." They laughed sweetly at me as I plopped my leg on the counter and said, "I like so shouldn't have tried to break new shoes in today." This is ridiculous behavior and stooping very low, but this always works. So the nice lady waved two of my parking ticket fees (for all my trouble and hurting tootsies) and arranged for me a ride back to my car. Shameless, I know.

So I joke and giggle with "da' boot man" because I sense his fear and don't feel like making any one feel as low as I do today. I smile, I flirt, I feel my soul abandoning my body in utter disgust. I take a picture of da' boot and he says "I am the nicest Ba*lor girl he has ever met." I wink at him, thank him for removing the boot, and wish him a "like, a wonderful day."

Finally, back in the solace of my overheated car I sit. This is the moment where I just am too tired to pretend. So, I play the "I wish" game. So feminists, cast aspersions here...

I WISH:

There was someone,
Whose arms I could go home to and curl up in.
There was someone to leave flowers on my door, when they knew my day was bad.
To buy me a Red Stripe and drown my frustrations away.
To call to come pick me up, so I wouldn't have to face-plant on the interstate.
To love me, and really care that my day was bad.
To kiss me on the forehead, and say "everything will be alright."
To punch those Sem boys in the face.
Someone "to look after me" because I don't know how much longer I can do it alone.

So there, I don't care what you think. Da' boot or not, I still wish they were true.

Oh, and that I hadn't decided to break in my new shoes today.

Kate the Great

2008-04-13T13:19:00.000-07:00

She walks into a room with the kind of confidence other women only dream about. Quiet and unassuming, but beautiful beyond her own comprehension. She laughs and my heart fills. She knows who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. She never ridicules my abandonment of old ideals and sudden adoption of new ones. She believes in me. She is honest in a way that is always kind.

She is my friend, my love, and part of my soul carried in another.

When we meet we just "knew" we would be friends. I saw her driving around campus in her orange jeep, carefree, and light. I knew that we would click and we did. She shares my dreams, she knows my heart and I, hers.

She is able to remain a free spirit though married and with two kids. She is grounded, but still able to fly.

She's the yin to my yang.

I cry everytime we leave each other. I have barely a day with her left and my chest tightens as I write this. Too many states lay between us.

She is my dear friend, my soul, and my heart embodied in a taller, blonder version. I love you K.E.A.

Thursday Thirteen

2008-04-10T10:17:00.000-07:00

Top 13 Reasons I am considering joining a nunnery.

WARNING: This is a bitter diatribe brought about from endless harrassment from the boys in my graduate program. Females are the minority and I feel as though some sort of hazing has been established by "the man" to break the gentler sex down. I have many wonderful male friends who treat me with the upmost respect so this is aimed at a certain group of ridiculous boys. Only take offense if they ring true.

13. I speak, a boy repeats what I said and thus it becomes "a brilliant comment."

Apparently my octave does not register in male ears. Or perhaps my voice is so angelic they think this was a message direct from God's flying servants.

12. Boys think it is all about them.

If one more person assumes I am in seminary to land a husband I will say without flinching, "No, to find a wife."

11. The misconception of being single seems to be thought accidental rather than a choice.

"Why won't you go out with me? It's not like you have a boyfriend!" he asked. "Isn't I don't want to reason enough?" I retorted. Apparently not in his reality.

10. They are chivalrous only as long as they want something.

They open doors, pick up your pen, and smile kindly until you turn them down. Then you catch a door in the face and endure endless verbal torture for the remainder of the semester.

9. They always assume they are smarter than you, even if they steal your ideas.

See number 13.

8. They think if you like something it is because of them and not that perhaps you discovered something on your own without their assistance.

I mean why would you think for yourself? Ex: "I heard you quote Henri Nouwen. Did you see me reading that book?" Me: "Uh, no. My friend gave me some Nouwen books six years ago." Him: "Yeah, I bet." Me: thinking...."Bastard."

7. They don't listen.

6. They are lazy and don't want to put forth anymore effort than absolutely necessary.

"Can I borrow your notes?" he asked. "Sure, I didn't notice you missed class." I said. "Oh, I didn't I just don't like to take notes. Can you make a copy for me?" he added.

5. They always assume girls don't like sports.

No example worth mentioning, it just bugs me.

4. They are like infants, anything bright and shiny attracts their attention.

3. If you express your opinion you are one of the following: bitch, lesbian, and or feminist.

Maybe I am smart and have something to contribute despite my lack of male genitalia. Just a thought.

2. If they say it, it is gospel.

1. They don't listen.

Yeah, see number 7. I just thought for the Sem boys I would repeat this one.

And they wonder why we switch teams....

I am so never getting married. LOL

Jimmy Thing

2008-04-08T12:18:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, was a beautifully hot Central Texas day. I had a whole list of things to accomplish and was in the utmost of good moods. First stop, go buy a plethora of bottled water so I would not have to drink the Wacko water.
So I went to a wholesale store that I will not mention and got 90 bottles. I did not plan out the carrying of said water bottles up two flights of stairs but refused to be discouraged. So I loaded the bottles in the trunk and shut it with a sigh of satisfaction. I went to pull the keys out of the trunk and there were none. Uh oh. I patted myself down like I had committed a felony, dug through my purse, and looked back at the trunk. Knowing full well where they were. Uh oh.

Let it be said that my spare keys are five hours away. My only house key is on that ring and I have no clue what to do next. So I go back into the wholesale store and talk to my friends in automotive department. I have spent numerous hours in this store developing relationships with the boys in automotive due to previous vehicular troubles. Trent recommended that I call pop-a-lock. Cheap, fast, and easy.

I told him I would think about it, but decided to try my hand at being MacGuyver with my earring and then a flat head screw driver. No luck. So after inserting a few other foreign objects into my trunk's key hole I gave in.

So I called Pop-a-lock and a sweet young man with a face splashed with freckles began to plot his break-in into my car. He had several tools that looked like doorstops from my church but still I had faith in him. He struggled and was quite nervous. Twenty minutes passed and he looked at me all the while, smiling nervously while I tried to bolster his confidence with banal conversation about "what a silly girl I was" and "how one time when I had my other car I....". While he is struggling his home office kept calling and making sexual references about his inability to "pop the lock." I tried to act like I didn't hear his walkie. So twenty more minutes passed and I decided I would make a suggestion.

Now, this I know about the roles of men and women:

1. Never give your opinion about man matters.
2. Never interfere while a man is working on something.
3. Never tell a man he is doing something wrong, even if you have done it before.
4. Never tell a man anything about a car, this is supposedly their territory.

Things this boy doesn't know about me:

1. I have changed my own alternator.
2. I have a shady past that does include breaking-and-entering.
3. My grandfather has taught me an exceptional amount of information about mechanics.
4. My uncle owns a body shop and I almost worked there.

So, trying hard to maintain archaic societal roles I held my peace for as long as I could. I suggested that he move it down and try the other unlock button. He hemmed and hawed, passively ignoring me. Twenty more minutes passed, all the while this boy's self-esteem is draining. His boss says over the walkie, "what's wrong son, can't get it up?" laughing loudly. Freckles blushes as he glances at me. My patience and tolerance of sexual undertones has come to a end.

"That's it," I think.

I say with more forcefulness that I intended, "give me the tool."

I take it, move it down to the other button (the one I suggested he tryearlier), pushed it, and in one easy motion lifted the handle. I would like to say with a look of sheer humility I smiled at him and opened the door, but that would be a lie. A prideful smile spread across my face and I handed him the tool. He, with a look of incredulity said, "How did you do that?" I, gleeful, at the opportunity to use this movie line said "the benefits of a misspent youth." He lookes amazed, cowers and slips away, gathering his tools as he goes. He gets in his truck and just sits there. I pulled up and he is obviously contemplating how he will explain this to his boss. I, make sure he is not weeping and drive away.

Gender roles be damned, I am woman.