shout outs

because you each have a little piece of my day, and I love having you in my life, even if you don’t know it!

For ideas on where to take Jesus for dinner, and quarter life crises

For puppy love and fabulous self-deprecation

For lessons in patience & hope

For all-around blogger awesomeness

For yellow dressers

For being my first blog that I fell in love with

For reading hungry

For the comic lover in all of us

mother knows best

I have a bone to pick with mothers in general. More importantly, I have a bone to pick with people that think that their mother did it best. Their mom’s way is the only way to load the dishwasher or make spaghetti. The only way to grill a hamburger or the right way to bleach a sink.

DID YOU NEVER STOP TO THINK FOR A SECOND THAT THE WAY YOUR MOM DID IT MAKES NO SENSE?

Everyone does things differently, and one person’s mom isn’t going to be the best at everything. Sure, she might grow the best tomatoes, but her sense of style sucks. So when you say that you do it that way, because your mom does, know that I am going to be looking for ways to do it better. We like the way our mom’s do things because it is the only way we know how. So don’t get mad at me or assume I am doing it wrong, because my way doesn’t match yours. You can’t annoyed at me or take over, because your mom isn’t here.

I love my mom. She does some things very well. But she isn’t good at everything and I feel like you thinking your mom is, is a smidge naive on your part.

Simple as that. And don’t even get me started on your Dad.

Tailspin

So my girlfriends from college and I post regularly to a website in order to stay in touch, and most of the time I post something I have written here or retell a new story.

Today, said this:

AND I have a boyfriend, I think. Which means I am feeling
CLAUSTROPHOBIC as we speak and contemplate breaking up with him
everyday. Do you have to break up with a guy that you weren’t sure you
were dating? And then my sister friended him on fb and ohmygod CAN YOU
FEEL THE WORLD CLOSING IN ON ME? It is getting dark. Quick. Where is
my secret escape hatch?
How did this happen? How do I stop it? and when did I become such a
freak?

Can I just say that I threw them all into a tailspin even though I was kind of kidding. I am not being smothered, but rather being confronted with the idea of having to let someone care about me again, and over here: THIS IS ME SHAKING IN MY SHOES.

Silently, of course. We hang out all normal and I’m not so scared when Refuses is around. But, holy hell, do I over analyze everything.

It is nice to know I am so cared for by them though. They don’t want to see me hurt, they want to see me flee at the first sign of trouble, but I can’t do that. I am here to test my limits. My limits mean that I need to try. I need to throw myself in it. I need to not be scared or I will be just as scared for every man that comes along.

I am ready to do this. I wish they had just heard my laughing, joking voice through the Interwebs. I was being dramatic.

Oh, and I really liked being single. I was fun and free and loved every little morsel of my own little life.
I am just scared that part of that love will get transferred into loving him and that is not okay with me. I worked hard for that solid, dependable part of me.

Let’s not eff it up!

beautiful people

Have I told you yet that I live in a place FILLED with beautiful people? I’m not talking ho-hum, that one girl is cute and that guy she is with is attractive, but EVERY SINGLE PERSON in this cafe is outstandingly gorgeous. I am talking the girl looks like a disheveled model, and the guy could be a pro surfer. Then the older fellow that just walked in clearly works out and the woman sipping soup has this cute bohemian thing going for her.

I need to come here more often. There are boys to be oogled at.

I hope I am not bringing down the pretty quotient.

Hope

First of all, I had a hot date last night with some nail polish, immediately followed by a hotter date with a half a bag of goldfish. Looking back, I think the goldfish were out to ruin my pretty manicure. I’m guessing they didn’t like the fact that I double-booked. Any idea how to eat goldfish without fingers? Chopsticks?

Oh, my thoughts on hope. It basically boils down to the fact that I have a lot of it. I’m not sure if it is an abnormal amount, or just right, but either way, I have it and it comes by the bushelful.

I hope without even knowing I am putting my wishes out there to be washed away. Let’s take my life as of late, for example’s sake. I hope he calls. That is approximately one ounce of hope.

Now if you remember correctly, I said bushelful. Which means not only do I hope he calls, but I hope EVERYDAY as I walk to my apartment, just before I turn the corner to the door, there will be a vase filled with flowers that says “Let’s start over.” I hope every Tuesday, on my way to kickball, he will just show up at the game and say “I just had to see you.” I hope on Mondays he will call to ask about the kickball game on Tuesday. I hope that as I pull up into my apartment that his car will be there, and he will be waiting, because calling just didn’t seem right.

I hope that he will just show up one day with tickets to a Padre game, and I hope that his tagline after one if his articles will be a secret message to me. I hope I log on to facebook one day and he has challenged me to a friendly game of scrabulous.

I hope that I don’t jinx all of my fantasies by replaying them in my head, but I have been hoping for a long time.

When C. dumped me in an email, I thought I saw him everyday on my home, because everyday, on my way home, I was hoping he would be there to say he was sorry.

Way back when I called Him and broke everything that was already broken, I sat in my driveway for hours hoping he would come down to see me, so we could cry in each other’s arms. Later that same night, I drove to each parking lot we used to make out in, hoping that he would be there too.

I hope in the beginning he will call, I hope in the middle for tireless displays of devotion, in the end I hope for everything short of a miracle.

And every time, when my phone call, my devotion, and my miracles don’t arrive, I am disappointed.

I blame it on the movies.

PS: As a child, I used to hope I would “be discovered” while singing in my driveway. Some things were never meant to be.

I know…

I know. You are thinking there is NO WAY she had a four day weekend and doesn’t have some harebrained story about a Naval Academy guy to share.

You would be right, but I would be working (shocker!), and haven’t had a chance to pull all the details together.

Stay tuned.

Wondering

If I were a bike key, where would I be?

This is not good.

How did this…

Turn into this? (third from the left)

The bare chested Blossom boy turned into a bald How(ie) to Make a Deal look alike. What? I had Masters of Dance (awful) on in the background and only after the second half-hour episode did I realize it was him. And only after he said “Thanks for watching Masters of Dance, I’m Joey Lawrence.”

As I pulled my jaw off the sofa cushion, I simultaneously googled whether or not he was currently undergoing cancer treatment. Turns out that silver-y, metallic suit played no role in deflecting radiation waves for better causes. It was just there for looks.

Amazing, people.

headache, stupid

the mid-hangover run was a bad idea. My shiny new asics did not relieve the pounding in my head. boo.

competing for attention

purge part 3:

so part of the reason for all of the purging is because I was binge reading. I was spending my time with vampires. (some of you may know where I am going with this…)

There, I said it. Vampires.

I spent a good amount of time the last two weeks reading the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t romp around in t-shirts with dragons on them, accented by tapered jeans like a bad episode of MTV’s Made. I do, however, work with a lot of high school students, and these books seemed to be popular (I know, understatement of the century).

OMG. Go get the first book, Twilight, and read it. Don’t question it, just do it. You will thank me later.