Best and Worst of 2k7

Here it is, dear readers: the summary of the year that was (at least in my life). It's time to give out the best and worst awards for the 2007 season. Events: just be honored you were nominated.

Most Interesting Concert:
Awkward Ben Kweller show, August at the Grey Eagle with Katherine
Key: Being some of the oldest people there..and drinking a Nantucket Nectar while being glared at by the under-21 crowd.

Most Fascinating Holiday:
Coon Dog Day, Saluda, NC with Jane, Chris and Caroline
Key: James peeing off the boat house in front of everyone, some sweet G&Ts, literal dancing in the streets, a holiday dedicated to coon dogs. Like ya do.

Best Wedding/Weekend:
Dylan and Amanda, April, HighLAND Forest Tulley, NY.
Key: Bad Idea Girls in action/Taps Week Reunion, Leah Flynn at Taps (“Everyone should get a Paps...I'm just sayin'”), The easter egg hunt in the snowstorm, best bachelor party I've ever been to, duct tape genius flask holders, solid chocolate bunnies, and of course “You thought I was getting married at an ESF biological research station!?”

Most Random Night Out While Vacationing:
HOTARD Bus night, June, DC with Murphy, Jonas, Des, Caroline and Sean
Key: Trivial Pursuit and Schafer at the Pug, The HOTARD bus, the tower of power, throwing a pen in Sean's eye, etc. I mean really. The random nights are the best with that group (I am reminded of “THIS IS HOW THE OTHER HALF LIVES! That is a FAKE FICAS!” from days of yore).

Most Random Night Out While Staying in Town:
Downtown After Five with Yo' Mamma's Big Fat Booty Band morphing into an all night affair involving salsa dancing, G&Ts and bootydancing at a dessert restaurant at 1am, September, Asheville with Jane, Nate, John and cast
Key: I was in carharrts, learning to salsa dance at an Indian restaurant, Dr Dan's cameo, the Steve Winwood shirt, Ending up at Temptations the next night as well. Awesome.

Worst Loss, Inanimate Object (tie):
Doc's Little Gem Diner, September, Syracuse, NY.
Key: It's the frickin' Little Gem. It has never locked its doors since 1955 and it has to close cuz of a fire. Communists are behind it.

Old Dominion Brewing Company, Ashburn, VA
Key: Anheuser-Busch. The bastards killed ODB. No ODB fest, the OBS tastes like poo, no more brewery tours, effectively killing something that was once so pure and unmolested...well, as much as a brewery can be pure and unmolested.

Worst Health Run-in:
Collapsing at the Gillian Welch concert, February, Orange Peel, Asheville, NC
Key: Stupid Hyper-hypo. Katherine turning around saying, “Where did Spooner go?” and finding me in a pile on the floor. “I'm not drunk! I'm not drunk!” the rock star nurse who saved me, stealing Gillian Welch's juice.

Best Voicemail:
Erin Hatcher, Jenny Steele's bachelorette party, June, Virginia Beach, VA
Key: You'd have to hear it, but it does involve a favorite Beach Boys song and yelling “JERK!” at the right moment. I have it saved on my phone and it makes my day every time it comes up.

Worst Holiday:
My birthday, Memorial day weekend, Asheville/Raleigh.
Key: Freshly fired from internship, Seth and I go out way too late the night before, run into Lewis Black, am too hungover to think about giant breakfast, have to drive 4 hours home on hangover, not getting to see family, only friends in town not working that day: 2 (Though Andy and Katherine did make me a very sweet meal). In bed by 10. Here's to you, 26.

Best Pet:
Scape the Goat, Josh Yeatman's yard, July, Black Mountain, NC
Key: An unneutered, 1-year old male goat wearing a bark collar and running on a dog lead who snores, stands on things and once had the cops called on him for incessant screaming. Yup, best/stupidest pet. Not since Goodman and DC got the “potbellied” pig in college has a pet made me scratch my head and laugh like Scape did.

Best New Game:
Rootball, Rootbar #1, Swannaowa, NC
Key: Think bocce mated with horseshoes. Seeing Jane and Emily win a game with a ringer, Katherine and I trash talk Andy and a stranger, “free roast?”, watching Josh get pissed I wasn't taking the game seriously, the gospel/jam band, watching Robin and Liz interact: priceless.

Most Improved Holiday:
St. Patrick's Day, March, DC
Key: Normally this is my worst holiday of the year (God knows I'm not Irish) but this year it was Funterns Take DC and I was in a tiny bar in Adams-Morgan with a crazy herd of SU/ESF people and my roommates and Joyce made T-shirts. Awesome. 'Sanne and Julie's said, “Spooner's Roommate #1 and #2”

Best Reunion:
Adventure Links 10-year Reunion, June, Paris, VA
Key: All-star friends and co-workers: Hillacious D, Elena, Doodle, Dave, Dan, Dave K, Laura, Mario, Scott, Helen, Jess, Emma, Brian, Jason, Anna, Austin and on and on. And no Negativo, Mumbles, Two Cents or Adam and Tiffany. Way too much fun for such a short period of time. Dancing to “Stuck in the Middle With You” with the original 2001 crew really was a highlight.

Best Sidetrip:
Biltmore McDonald's with Kristina
Key: “I heard all about it on the Food Network!”, she was seriously excited, The grand Wulitzer piano, the fireplace. In a McD's. Awesome.

Best Birthday Party (Tie):
Robin's karaoke/wings night, August, Asheville, NC
Key: “The Greatest Love of All” as preformed by Robin, with backing by Caroline, Jane and myself, a truly horrible rendition of “Come Sail Away” by the Harmon Ladies.

Shaunna's hot dogs and 80s night, March, Asheville, NC
Key: Dave Dail's outfit, as well as Shaunna's glamtastic sweater and silver leggings. Josie and Hadley coming in costume. Oh, and hot dogs. And the Coolio card.

Most Entertaining Brush With the Law:
Alana Bullers, April, Shelby NC going 80 in a 55.
Key: Green rented Taurus b/c our cars too janky to drive. Speeding ticket while listening to Wyclef on our way to Charlotte at 11pm. Awesome.

Best Return:
Whitewater kayaking, June, Asheville, NC with Jane mostly
Key: Hadn't paddled in 4 years, just great to be in a boat again. Also Jane's hot dogs on the river.

Best New Tradition:
Quizzo, every Monday, 8-10:30pm, Jack of the Wood, Asheville, NC. Since July.
Key: Revolving cast that makes up our perpetual 6^th place team, fighting over team names, cursing SmartyPants with the Fist of Indignation, a bake-off in a bar, trying unsuccessfully to make Andrew laugh, getting yelled at by Dan for using the calculator on my phone on a question I still got wrong, the night of the “merkin” conversation, and yet another reason to hate Kenny Lofton. Thanks all team members, especially Margarita, Rita, Dan, Doug, Nate, Jane, Caroline, Robin and all the rest who make guest appearances!

Best Drinking Game (Tie):
Schlong game, pretty much everywhere, all year.
Key: As taught by Jenny Steele, this old stalwart made strong showings after the Taps-That-Ass-A-Thon on Good Friday, The first night of Doppelganger Doug and Dr. Dan at Jack of the Wood, The Beer tour when Jess and Helen came to visit, Camping at Plunge in August, etc. Best ones: “White Man Can't Schlong”, “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Schlong”, “Schlong Me if You Can”

The Two-Year Presidential Election Drinking Tournament/Game, all over the country
Key: That's exactly it: Started in January of 2007 and will go til November of 2008. It's like the NCAA basketball bracket, but it's with Presidential candidates, and instead of brackets there are categories (“Most likely to drop out first”, “Most likely to drop out due to scandal”, “Most likely to win Iowa”, “Most likely to be endorsed by Chuck Norris” etc) basically it's an excuse for my nerd friends to send out links to news articles with the word “DRINK!” in the same email. Well done to the founders (here's to us, Murphy).

Friend of the Year:
Caroline McGlade.
Key: She let me move in with her and Chris with about two hours notice and let me stay for three weeks and found me a roommmate. That's a good friend. “Aww look...wings...and beer...again,”, Yatzee night, rap sung as opera, “Knick knack paddy wack lock you in the mango room.”, songs about Homer, etc.

Biggest Surprise:
Sudden boyfriend, July, Asheville.
Key: it's me--that doesn't happen often. I'm picky and impatient. Brief, brilliant, thanks for coming, enjoy the veal. See? I told you I wasn't asexual. Truly was unexpected.

Best Waste of a Day:
Robin and Spooner kill and entire day “unpacking” Robin's new house, Swannaowa, October
Key: Super Nintendo All Stars, Pecan Pocket Pies from the “drawer”, PBR in a can, a “ghost in the house”, uncontrollable giggles, “Shut up and tell me another funny story,” getting very little done and loving it. And then there was the 3D Seamonsters/Sonic day...Robin is the best Loafing partner EVER.

Best Visitor:
I love any and all visitors. You should be one too, but there is a winner: Liz Watkins.
Key: Harry Potter books at Midnight, drum circle, rootball, eating while not talking, getting to see my BFF after a year and a half, Nashville in half a day, watching Robin and Liz interact. Seriously, it's astounding.

Best Care Package:
Leslie's assignment care package, lovingly prepared by Robin and Spooner, July
Key: Glass Jesus candle, potted meat, Misty cigarettes, 4 bottles o' fun, BFF socks, absolutely nothing useful. And she opened it in front of summer staffers. Suckas.

Most Random Daytrip:
Driving to Clemson with Robin to surprise her brother on his 21^st birthday, November
Key: We didn't know how to get to Clemson or where he lived once we got there (“You actually own an ATLAS!?”), $3.75 pitcher of Yuengling, the Brandt phone call, the carbomb race, the dorito crushing fight, being on our way home by 8:15. Awesome. Happy 21^st Ben.

Best Text Message:
Leslie's lesson the morning after the Swanky Holiday Party, December, Asheville
Key: “Thank you all for reminding me I should never drink liquor again.” a sentiment echoed by many, many others. And she meant every word.

Best Kings Rule/Category:
Katherine's rule making all the boys fashion hats out of aluminum foil that had to be sexual in nature that they had to wear the rest of the night, August, Plunge camping trip.
Key: Ian made his a pope hat and argued successfully for it's phallic undertones, watching Nate wear aluminum foil boobs on his head.

Worst Oversight:
Not being able to see Hatcher enough this year to have her be on this list as much as previous years.
Key: I last saw her in March. But I got great texts about Homeowner Steve at the Waterford Fair. And I heard her Pecan Pie won 3^rd place at the LoCo fair. It's a darn good pie my friends. Darn good.

Best “Celebrity” Run-in:
The firemen on Lexington, 'Sanne's Birthday, March, Asheville, NC
Key: Julie being convinced we were going to get arrested for “interfering with an officer in the line of duty”, the police officers volunteering to take the photos, the really hot firemen giving 'Sanne props to hold, the best introduction to 26 that I can think of.

Best Moment While Working in Maintenance for Three Months:
Re-building the shed around Well B at Windy Gap, August.
Key: Dan (middle-aged, bald, rotund local) is holding a wall up from the outside while the rest of us try to bolt it to the floor. It's about 97 degrees out and he is sweating profusely. Suddenly, out of the hole in the wall that is inches from his face, a snake appears. It sticks its head out of the hole and just stares Dan in the eye, while he is screaming “GET THE SNAKE! GET THE SNAKE!” and he can't move or the wall will fall on him. It really was quite hilarious. And it was a pretty big snake.

Best “What!?” Afternoon (Tie):
The attempted kayaking trip to the Tuck with Jane and Josh, July, somewhere west of Asheville.
Key: Navy woody wagoneer breaks down 40 miles outside of Asheville and only 5 miles from river at Annie's, a convenience store/cafe/biker bar where we are stranded for 4 hours before the most uncomfortable tow truck ride ever. Quote, “Well...I'm getting a beer.” --Josh, 11am.

Borrowing Nathan's Jeep, March, Purcellville, VA
Key: having the Jeep die on the exit ramp at Rt 7/287 in VA, getting gently rammed to the side of the road by a state trooper who didn't want to push me because it was raining and he didn't want to get dirty, having a tow truck guy I've known since kindergarten, having to hug his mom once we got back to the station, remembering I grew up in a SMALL town.

Best Social Gathering:
The Swanky holiday party at the Harmon House, December, Asheville, NC
Key: 50-some friends in various stages of swank converge to drink too many martinis, eat schweaty balls, beagle dicks and other inappropriately named appetizers, dance, mingle and stay up to ridiculous hours of the night. Nate wins as the most swanky (the velvet smoking jacket, ascot and mistletoe hat really put it over the edge) but the bling pops that Doug brought the girls were priceless. And all the text messages the next day really summed it up well. Most started with “I don't really remember but...”

Catch phrases and notable quotes of 2007:
“It's too hot for pants.” --Jane
“This salad is Bigots!” (and the subsequent “Eat your salad, Rosa Parks!”) --Murphy
The Chad DeVoe T-shirts—Joyce, Murphy, et al.
“And Jesus said, 'Zacheus, puff puff give, man!'” --Doug
“Oh sorry...bible joke.” -Me (to Robin)
“Give a shout out....TO JESUS!” --Leah
“I think he's talking about her jugs.” --'Sanne
“I've got a peeping tom and I'm going to have nightmares about zombies. I'm fucked.”--Rita

Also should be noted that 2007 brought my first trip to Dollywood, my first experience with both fried pickles and moonshine, no new nieces and nephews, a new official hometown, my first experience getting robbed, my first experience not quite getting fired, two months of unemployment, my first experience getting dumped, six weddings, two new jobs and tons of new friends. All in all, a great year. Here's to 2007 and I can't wait for '08!

Aged, Old, Classic, Bold

My father got a cool little gadget that scans old slides and can make them into .jpegs, which is one of the better little gadgets I've seen in quite a while. Being on holiday here, I hooked the gizmo up to my lappy 9000 and scanned in a few...from 1981 to 1983. Thought I'd share 'em. The problem is for Christmas I took a bunch of old slides and had them printed and framed for both my parents, then I get home and discover my father can basically do it himself. Oh well.
The first photo is my mom with my older sister, and she's about 7 months pregnant with me at the time. I love it. She was so hippie-tastic.
This is my Boppa and my namesake on our annual Canadian camping trip in 1983. I've always thought he very much looked the part of a grandfather, pipe and all.

My sister and I brushing our teeth during a rainy day in Canada. My sister's hair is so short she looks like a boy. And if you look closely, you'll see my yellow raincoat's hood is duct-taped smaller to fit my head. Thanks parents. I love this shot.Same rainy day, Bubby and I sitting next to the kitchen tent, cold metal mugs in hand. Also a funny shot. I guess my dad was having fun with the camera that day. I only vaguely remember parts of the trip. Like what my bathing suit looked like (navy blue with a giant red crab on it), and that little blue hoodie I'm wearing, and that I was sick and on antibiotics and it was very cold.
Napping in the tent. That rabbit that's sitting on top of me? That's Hop-Hop. My oldest sister gave him to me on my 1st birthday. As I write this that very same rabbit is sitting on my bed in my house in Asheville, as I still sleep with him somewhere near me. And I think I still sleep like this. Guess my sleep pattern peaked at age 3.

My two older sisters and me and my Boppa relax on a bench my dad had built and my Uncle Pete had covered in sheep skins from Chile. When we go to Canada we go for weeks at a time, so the family sorta moves into the place. Build shelves, furniture, etc. All out of dead wood of course.

Seriously, I was a cute kid. Who liked rocks and fire. Some things never change. And there in the background is my Boppa, whom I miss terribly. He died five years ago.

Keep 'Em in My Pocket

If you don't think these are some of the cutest kids you've ever seen...well...check yo'self. My nieces and nephews, complete with their firehats (can you tell which one is an only child? Yeah.) Meet Lilia Grace, Luc, Olivia and Thud (Gabriel). Such a madhouse with all of them running around. Whew. Merry Christmas, loyal reader!

Hidden Words

When Paul W. got married last year, my dear friend Brandt was the best man. We were sitting at the bar at the reception and a group of us decided to give Brandt a list of words that he had to incorporate into his best man speech, without it being obvious. Each person contributed one word (couldn't be dirty) and they included:
Encyclopedia
Lumberjack
Nimble
Delicious
Barracuda
and a few others...but you get the point. Funniest best man speech I have ever heard. I was literally crying I was laughing so hard. Well, last week Brandt got engaged. And Paul is going to be his best man. Seth (the four of us have been friends for over a decade) just sent me his list of potential words, which are:

• Hierarchical
• Entrepreneurial
• Conshohocken
• Hamburgerler
• Panini
• Buxom
• Cavalier
• Prance
• Ye

I read the email and burst out laughing in the middle of the coffee shop. My suggestions are all from the unromantic dictionary, but I feel strongly that Seth's list is quite complete.
Splay
Cockroach
Mermaid
Amalgamate

What else do ya'll suggest? Remember, these are going into a best man speech. It's fun to have the list and check them off as he uses them. Hilarious.

Junk, Stuff, Other

So our Quizzo team came in 2^nd place Monday night. That is the highest we've ever scored, and we won $20 in gift certificates. Go us. Though Jane and I have decided we should call it Quizz-O 210 (like 90210 only more Ashevillian) because of the drama that seems to occur with the group of regulars we have. And unfortunately by drama I mean it is usually concerning me. Crap.

Yet another thing I learned from the party on Saturday: “Loose lips sink ships” and if that's true there's an admiral out there who is pissed off at me for sinking his entire fleet. I have no filter about myself. Not good. So if I told you something on Saturday that sounds like it may be one of my own personal secrets, zip it friend. Thanks. Yup, never running for public office or joining the FBI. Whew.

Another song to never play at a wedding: “Nasty” by Janet Jackson

The other night I had a dream in which Ronald McDonald was sitting on top of a refrigerator in a tiny basement apartment playing the pan flute while I sang “Forever in Blue Jeans” by Neil Diamond. I can assure you I was neither on drugs or drunk when I had this dream. Something may be seriously wrong with my subconscious.

Yesterday my mom excitedly called me to tell me she had big news about two of my friends getting engaged. I told her I knew, that I'd actually helped with some of the planning of the proposal; that they'd called me the next morning. She seemed very disappointed that she couldn't provide gossip about my own friends, both of whom she doesn't actually know. Well done Mom, well done.

So all five of the kids are going to be together right before Christmas. This hasn't happened since 2001 and has only ever happened twice. For good reason. I'm bringing the following: (A) a helmet. (B) flask. (C) iPod. (D) camera. And not only will there be the five of us, but one in-law, four small children and my mother. Wow. Callin' Maury Povich, see if he makes house calls.

It's official: I am finally working at J.Crew. Only took a month and a half. Literally. You'd think I was trying to go be professor or a secret agent, but no, just a retail lackey at a clearance store. Start on Thursday.

“The glorious message of Scripture is that we do not have to be perfect for our Maker to love us. All through the great stories, heavenly love is lavished on visibly imperfect people. Scripture asks us to look at Jacob as he really is, to look at ourselves as we really are, and then realize that this is who God loves.” --Madeline L'Engle. I posted this one when she died back in October, but I find it so applicable to my present. There are days when my imperfections and missteps are more glaring and those days have been frequent as of late. It's good to be reminded that even as I am at those moments, I am loved.

Ain't No Party Like A Harmon St. Party

Ok, so here are some photos from the night. Everyone was nothing but classy. That I recall at least. First: Margarita and I dance up the kitchen. In a classy way. Nate, the winner of the most swanky award. I mean, that's swanky. And Becca looks so focused at the table of magic/bad decisions.
Nate, Leslie Doug and I are probably discussing the situation in Darfur. Or Obama and Oprah.
Dan is always swave with the smart Quizzo ladies like Jane and Margarita.
Dear Robin: Thank you for capturing in one photo the awkwardness of my night. I can't imagine this being more clear. Just...wow. You are gifted friend, totally gifted.

A Recap (From What I Can Tell)

Holy Crap.

Now THAT was a weekend.

Saturday night was the Swanky Martini Christmas Party and here is what you need to know about it:

1. Just because people are dressed up doesn't mean they won't make asses of themselves

2. We are a generation who has no idea how to drink/handle liquor. We know beer and wine but liquor? Enigma. Whoa.

3. Parties may start out classy but inevitably it will distill down to booty dancing to something by Fergie or loud sing-a-longs to old Whitney.

4. We had appetizers that were called beagle dicks and schweaty balls. And we said these with straight faces. While drinking something classy and dainty.

5. That was more quadrangle (thank you Liz) drama than I wanted or needed. Thank you, Swanky Christmas Party for reminding me that I'm much better off single.

And there is much more but I'll wait to post pictures of that. Cuz pictures are needed. Or not needed actually, but help with the story. Cuz it's a little fuzzy for part of it.

Come Away From It

There is something frustratingly powerless and ultimately futile about loving someone who doesn't love themselves, or who loves in a self-destructive and narcissistic way, the way a snake loves the mouse that shares its cage. But each time the best of you wants to believe they will change, that this time is different, that this is the moment the truth is out; that they've finally reached rock bottom. Each time you dutifully take the words and promises like communion. And each time they prove you wrong, they let you down and they leave nothing but destruction in their path. They tornado through the very people who love them. They wring out the very best of your intentions and leave you broken and exhausted, but somehow leave just enough hope for the next time they come around. They are easy to like and impossibly hard to love. They are addicts, manics, pathological liars and sometimes, all three. You don't know whether to hug them and cry or punch them in the face and walk out. Is it possible to do both?

I'm so tired and frustrated and there is nothing I want less than that person anywhere near the people I love, even as I love that person wholeheartedly. I don't want to literally drive into that tornado in a few weeks. Where are the boundaries with a person who has no regard for them? Where do you say, “enough is enough” when life without them is impossible, when there aren't ties that can be cut? How do you love them as Christ loves them and yet not be consumed? This is something I have openly run from and yet here it is again, same person, same situation, different year. Ugh.

Fill a Cup

So I had to go take a drug test today for the potential J.Crew job. "Pee in a cup? Sure. No problem." Right?
Wrong.
So I go to the drug place on McDowell/Asheland around noon. I didn't have coffee this morning because I knew I had a drug test and didn't want to taint it. So I get there and...
I can't pee.
Can't. Nothin' going.
And I can't drink a ton of water or I will dilute it.
So I sit there for about 20 minutes, trying to talk myself into having to alleviate some bladder pressure and I think I'm ready to go.
I try.
Not enough.
Back to the waiting room.
FOR ALMOST TWO HOURS.
I read Consumer Reports, Star, two different US News and World Reports and part of a Ladies Home Journal. And I talked to the nice nurse about college pricing and she told me I wouldn't have this problem if I had kids. So THAT's what I need to do next time I need to take a drug test. Have a kid first. Super, that's good advice. Why didn't they have that in Ladies Home Journal? Coulda saved me a ton of time.

Forever in Blue Jeans

The “Choose Cheesy” mix is a little over a year old (Thank you to Erin Hatcher for inspiring the mix and then saying, “Yeah you say these songs are cheesy...I don't. I say AMAZING.”) and I have to say, it has only gotten better with time (and it's expanded). It is a uniter, and I have yet to find a song that is more fun to sing loudly (with dramatic hand motions) while driving alone as “The Greatest Love of All” by Whitney “Crack is Whack” Houston. I mean really...it is so much fun it should be banned. I've given out multiple copies of the “Choose Cheesy” mix because it works so well in so many situations. I decided if I ever get married several of the songs from the Choose Cheesy mix will be incorporated into the reception playlist for three reasons:

1. Sheer Awesomeness.

2. Getting everyone onto the dance floor to sing them loudly. Like Romano and I will most certainly do our duet version of “Don't Go Breakin' My Heart”, and pretty much everyone I have ever known EVER will be out there to sing “Eternal Flame” and “I Think We're Alone Now” complete with dramatic hand motions, as most Cheesy songs dictate (And “Nothin's Gonna Stop Us Now” will be a solo performance by Liz)

3. Because when people all end up out on a dance floor, drinking and singing loudly, it breaks down barriers, creates strong memories and unites a group and I want a wedding that is a community event, not little separate groups. Music can be a very powerful tool, even if it is “Glory of Love” that is doing it. And dammit it's my fictional wedding, I plan to lose my voice from singing and pull all sorts of muscles dancing...not that kind of dancing you dirty dirty person.

All that to say: Cheesy songs have a great worth in uniting by agreement; pretty much everyone can say “Karma Chameleon” is cheesy, but that fact makes singing it all the more silly and fun. Actually knowing the words to the song is both an admission and a call to community. See? Now you can say knowing all the words to “Time After Time” has a higher altruistic purpose. Look at you, community builder. Hey, if you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting.

(sidebar: Ever notice that Jennifer Warnes sang both “Up Where We Belong” and “I've Had the Time of My Life”? How did this woman get on two of the most amazing cheesy songs of the 80s? Who is she? Does Jennifer Warnes have a superhero power of “Cheesy Yet Iconic Motion Picture Soundtrack Duets”? I wonder if in the 90s she embarked on a solo career and changed her name to Celine Dion in order to sing “My Heart Will Go On”. Probably.)

Being a Better Mousetrap

One of the things I was most excited about when I got into Syracuse was the opportunity to go to a school where no one knew me. I could start afresh. I could be whomever I chose. To a girl who graduated from high school with the very same people she met the first day of kindergarten, this notion of reinvention was mythical and fantastic. I had great visions of who I'd be.

I got to Syracuse and began my reinvention. I spent the next three years trying to undo the damage the new me had caused. Not all of my reinvention was detrimental, some of it I have happily kept. But much too much of it was me in costume, a fascade of a person who didn't exactly exist. I was so caught up in being the better mousetrap that I forgot what I really was at my core. The people I befriended knew the part I was playing, they didn't know me. I have never felt so lonely. My Morma (Swedish grandmother) used to say, “Never forget who you are and what you stand for.” Sometimes we get so caught up in what we could be, in the winds of our potential, that we forget to have any sort of anchor. Potential is a delicious and dangerous treat, no?

Since that reinvention of almost a decade ago I like to believe I've stayed fairly honest about who I am, to both others and myself. I more or less learned my lesson. I think it's important to try to be a better person, to take those clean slates as the opportunities that they are and use them to change what needs to change, but in an intentional and tempered manner. What is so bad about us that we feel the need to play someone else?

OPP

So I think I finally have a job (or two?) but I am tempering my excitement until I actually hear someone say, "You've got the job." It just looks really good from here. Big interview on monday! Being unemployed this long I have been afforded a lot of time to myself and I have to say: I'm going to miss it. I really like being by myself; being alone and yet I am not in the least bit lonely. I like my social time too, but I've throughly enjoyed taking my time through my day, spending time writing, reading, guitar, doing little tasks, etc. I like my own company. I'm thinking that eventually I'd like to get my own place, live alone for a while, see how I do. I've never had the chance to decorate my own apartment or house, I've always lived in other people's places (a very different kind of OPP, yeah you know me) and I would like to try my hand at it. Have my own space and a sense of permanence. (Don't get me wrong: love my roommates, love my current house, just thinking down the road. Don't freak out Jane...). Though if I do get a chance to work as a writer and I live alone I am in great danger of never leaving my house and becoming a complete recluse. You may not think this is possible but I'm here to assure you, oh, it is. I'm a closeted recluse...I just play a socialite on TV.
I guess the first step is secure a job, then think about the What Next when it's the time to.

What!?

So Sean Taylor, one of my favorite Redskins players, died this morning after sustaining a gunshot wound to his thigh during an attempted robbery at his home yesterday. Taylor was the anchor of the defense, the guy that would alter offensive schemes because he was in the game. It's a surprise and a crushing blow--I mean the guy just got engaged and had a 1-year-old daughter...he just got his life together, it seemed to just be starting. He was sort of the face of the franchise. So senseless. It does feel like I've lost a friend of sorts, someone I cheered for every week for the past 4 years. So weird to take it hard.

Notes

This is what happens when a dachshund dives into a pumpkin pie. Awesome.

My two most prized possessions are handmade for me by people I love dearly. Every day I look at them and I am thankful. One is a two-sided, stuffed corduroy quilt my grandmother made for me for Christmas in 1993, the other is a 250-year-old two paned window my dad refurbished and made into a mirror and gave to me for my birthday in 1995. I would run into a burning building to save these two things. They remind me I'm loved.

The other night I made myself a dirty, dry martini and drank it while taking a bubble bath. It was even better than it sounds. Best idea EVER.

Getting married doesn't make you a “grown up”. Having kids doesn't make you a grown up; neither does owning your own home. Cooking your own Thanksgiving dinner for guests: grown up. Way to reach adulthood, Leslie.

Things I've grown to appreciate as I've gotten older: olives, tempaeh, The New Yorker, dominoes, well-tailored clothing, binoculars, good bourbon, NPR, punctuality, slippers (or shoes like them), Lowes.

If food coma is an American art form, I am DaVinci.

Since I was robbed I've cleaned out my car a few times. Thanksgiving Day I was putting something in my back seat and, looking down, found my camera. It was behind my passenger seat the whole time. Next to the stolen piggy bank. But it was never spotted by the jerks. Thank you Lord.

I talked to my dad for 18 minutes the other day. Normally an 18 minute conversation with someone isn't something to note, but if you consider that with my dad, conversations typically average about 58 seconds then with a complicated mathematical equation that I don't know or care about you will see that an 18 minute conversation with my dad is equal to talking to someone else for about 4.57 years. Straight.

Surefire cure when you are feeling down and out: The Best of Sam Cooke.

Pumpkin Pie: easiest thing to make. Ever. 2008: the year of the pies.

I desperately need to go home for Christmas and see my family. It's been too long and I feel like I've hurt them being away for so much time. And I just really want to sit out in the mud room with my dad, drink coffee and discuss something.

Song of the fall: “This is Not Your Year” by the Weepies.

Dear Middle School,
Is there any way you could give the right side of my face back? It really doesn't go with the whole adult theme the rest of my face is into. Pimples aren't yet retro, Middle School. If you could clear out by that big Christmas party, I'd appreciate it.

Mojo Kickstart

Jen and Kyle's wedding on Saturday night was even more fun than I expected. I volunteered to CO ropes at Windy Gap and free time was supposed to be done by 4:45, so ropes should have been done by 3:45. Nope. Try 5pm. Wedding starts at 6:30. Half-hour drive home, half-hour drive to wedding. Go. Holy shit. I did it, but just barely. I don't think my heart stopped beating wildly until they were pronounced. There is something that is so much fun about getting really dressed up every now and then; getting to see people who are normally in jeans and fleeces in heels and pearls. It was a whole night of dress up, and it had people in great spirits. I had a great dress (thank you, you three) and really needed a night of feeling pretty; a mojo kickstart in a way. Everyone partied sufficiently if I do say so myself. After the wedding a bunch of us headed to Barley's for an after party. I got home at close to 2am. That's way too many hours in heels if you ask me, but wow was it fun. Next up: The martini Christmas party! The event of December! Anyway, I started this list quite a while ago and thought I'd post it—again, every list is incomplete and it's up to you to complete it. Here's one befitting this weekend.

SONGS TO NOT PLAY AT A WEDDING

Love the One You're With--CSNY
I'm in Love with a Stripper--T-Pain
P-I-M-P—50 Cent
You Give Love a Bad Name—Bon Jovi
Little Miss Can't be Wrong—Spin Doctors
I Kissed a Girl—Jill Sobule
Big Pimpin'--Jay-Z
The Waiting Is The Hardest Part—Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
She's Not the Cheatin' Kind—Brooks and Dunn
D-I-V-O-R-C-E—Tammy Wynette
White Trash Wedding—Dixie Chicks
Thunder Rolls—Garth Brooks
Girls--Beastie Boys
Momma's Got a Girlfriend Now—Ben Harper
Irreplaceable—Beyonce
Where Were You On Our Wedding Day—Billy Joel
Born to Run—Bruce Springsteen
Ready to Run—Dixie Chicks
Maneater—Hall and Oates
(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction—Rolling Stones
Careless Whisper—Wham!
Get Your Hands Off Of My Woman, Motherf-er—The Darkness
Strawberry Wine—Deana Carter
Tell Me Lies—Fleetwood Mac
99 Problems—Jay-Z
Angel of The Morning—Juice Newton
Gold Digger—Kayne West
Since U Been Gone—Kelly Clarkson
She's No Lady (She's My Wife)--Lyle Lovett
Papa Don't Preach—Madonna
Paradise By the Dashboard Light—Meatloaf
Billie Jean—Michael Jackson
U+Ur Hand—Pink
Love is a Battlefield—Pat Benatar
Break Free—Queen
You Can't Always Get What You Want—Rolling Stones
My Favorite Mistake—Sheryl Crow
What's Love Gotta Do With It—Tina Turner
Wake me Up Before You Go-Go—Wham!

Meat n' Potatoes

'Children are our model because they have no claim on heaven. If they are close to God, it is because they are incompetent, not because they are innocent. If they receive anything it can only be as a gift.” -Brennan Manning, Ragamuffin Gospel

Stewing on that these past two days. Lessons are like magic eye drawings. The situation is a blur, a mess of color and incongruity until suddenly order and purpose burst forth (though lessons usually aren't in the shape of dolphins or a pirate ship) and an “Aha!” escapes. This whole year has been a lesson in accepting love, not in a form that I am typically comfortable with but in the messiness of imperfect life. I like love when I feel like I don't need it; like love to be a nice bottle of wine brought to a dinner party, rather than bread and potatoes given to a starving stomach. Because unearned love has no paybacks, doesn't have a running tally of “first you, then me, then you” fairness and that scares me, makes me feel very self-conscious and naked. Looking back on literally all of 2007 I see situation after situation were love was given freely in ways in which I am least comfortable. I think my removal from the intern program and yet staying on at Windy Gap is the greatest example. It was a hard realization to discover that that staff loved me enough to make a tough call, and in hindsight it was truly for the best. They loved me enough to say no.

And then there has been this business of this Fall. This is probably the closest I've been to a starving stomach since high school and there are people whom I love dearly loving on me in the ways I desperately need but can't fully express. I have been loved so well through all of this. What I receive is nothing I have earned; it is given. And what a gift it is.

(And Robin, there are things I'm not good at. I made a list earlier this year—it's right here)

(Yesterday was also my weird day. I think everyone has at least one a year, a date that is too full of memory. I creep around, pausing at every creak and sigh. There is much to think about)

Favorite Things

So that last post was about as fun as a pencil in the eye. I know that and I'm sorry. I decided to do something a little more fun: post some of my favorite photos that I have and why they are favorites. It made me laugh just putting it together. Enjoy.

Notes on this photo: #1 Liz is wearing an Asian style beanie and plastic yellow fisherman's waders. #2 Beth is actually crying and trying to hide that fact. Love this photo so much. Summer staff, 2004.

My niece and my bosses' daughter...can you guess which one has more relaxed parents? Olivia's sunglasses are on upside down too. Best part: Those are actual Mardi Gras beads. I...um... “won” them at an “Anything For Beads” party my freshman year of college. What, is that weird to then put them on kids? At “CRABFEST!” 2k5.

So this kid I went to college with, Martin, made stickers and sold them. One day he was in the Student Activities Office and gave me a couple, including this one. It spawned a very awkward conversation about my breasts. Very awkward. Seth took this photo in the mud room of my parents house while we were drinking 40s and calling Romano, summer 2003.

The only picture I took the entire time I worked in the Brooks Brothers outside of Rochester. Steve bore an uncanny resemblance to the photo on the wall and he liked to stand next to it just to freak out customers. Oh what we do for fun. Spring 2005.

So in early 2005 I drove out to Jersey to spend time with Seth, Caroline and Brandt. Seth and Caroline get into a “cleavage” contest and right before I took the photo I managed to say something that offended Caroline and this is what I got. Look at the concentration on Seth's face. Amazing.

Give Up

Ok, I give up. Hands where you can see 'em, towel thrown in. I'm so tired I'm done. I haven't had a job in almost two months and currently my bank account practically shouts that fact. Since I've been unemployed I've been robbed, gotten very “whooping cough: the return” sick, applied for 20-some jobs and now my check engine light has come on. And right before that I got dumped, so yeah that's fun. I haven't slept through a night in practically a month and really do think I've developed an ulcer. Awesome. I'm considering skipping the wedding on saturday to wrangle at Windy Gap for the cash. It's practically nothing but it's more than I currently have. I really can't handle anything else. I am so frustrated and stressed and distraught and at my wits end—I feel like I am barely holding on. I'm sorry to dump this on my blog, where I try to put things in a funny perspective most of the time, but I'm too tired to do it anymore. And I'm not asking for money or sympathy, but dammit it's my blog I can vent if I want to. It just all hit me yesterday harder than it has previously. I need something to look up. This fall has been one gut kick after another; I can't believe how the bottom just keeps getting lower. I know God has the best in store for me but he needs to hurry up and fuckin' pull that shit out quick before I run out of alcohol and start drinking Scope. Or antifreeze.

You Know What Would Make the Day Better? Some Rejection. Or Grilled Cheese.

Today is my mom's birthday. She doesn't read my blog but it's nice to wish her the best anyway. I talked to her for a while on Monday and she has a convoluted way of encouraging. My mom really wants me to be a professional writer; has wanted this for me since I was in elementary school. Mom isn't someone who will totally encourage our endeavors unless she really believes we can do them, so the fact that she wants this so strongly for and from me is an honor. If I wanted to be a, say, mathematician I wouldn't be getting the parental backing I have now so I know she really does think I have what it takes. I have always loved writing even before I knew of her desire about my future and I'm not entirely opposed to it; if I could be a professional writer I'd do it in a heartbeat. But being a “professional” writer means selling myself and dealing with slugs of rejection from all sides, two things I've never been keen about. She thinks this ridiculously long trek through the land of unemployment is a sign from the heavens that I should be writing; I told her its a sign that I need to get a damn job and write once the car payment is in. But she is my mother, so now my brain can't stop thinking about it, about getting the courage to go for it, about what I would submit and to whom.

Other thought: I was watching “Rent” last night (don't judge me, I love that musical. This is why I can't keep a relationship, because I'm borderline uncool nerdy. Next thing you know I'll be playing world of warcraft and talking about how Bilbo Baggins is “sexy”) and I realized a line in a song I'd never picked up before. It's “...where all the scars of the nevers and maybes die...”

I'm mulling over that. It is a fascinating truth, the scars of nevers and maybes.

Not-So-Good...

So yesterday I had a bunch of time on my hands (as the Redskins blew what should have been a decisive win...WTF) and I started making random lists. These are two of them. Not saying they are hysterical, just entertaining. I got nuthin' goin', why not work on lists. Add to 'em if you want to.

Not-So-Good The Next Morning:
reheated Indian food
reheated rice
Tattoos
Haircuts
Rob Schneider movies
That wrestling match
Most anything that starts with “Hey! Watch THIS!”
Last night's high kick contest
Twister marathons
Blue glittery eyeshadow
5" Stripper Boots
Almost anything involving tequila

Probably Not So Good to Have Straight and Narrow:
race tracks
mazes
GLAAD presidents
lazy rivers
bras
Fun straws
small intestine

Dis is Me

I'm thinking about disparity. That's it, that's the whole blog. Catch that pearl while it falls from my lips, kids. I write insight in fortune cookie sizes now. Ok, sarcasm aside. I remember years ago coming to the realization that there is vast difference between believing in one's ability to do things and the belief in who one is at their core. That it is possible to have great faith in what I can do, but very little value in who I am. Does that distinction make sense? I don't think I struggle with this today to the severity I have in previous years, but it is still a disparity I wish I didn't have. I'm frankly amazed how many women are afflicted with this—the ability to be extremely successful and seemingly brave and yet so fragile and frightened, with an insatiable need for affirmation or attention to give value to who they are. Some people put their whole worth into what they do and yet some do so much but don't realize they have value to place (and then there are the hypothetical healthy ones, who place worth in who they are and what they do is simply a reflection of a worth rooted elsewhere. We call these people “liars”). I think this whole month and a half job search thing has me doubting my ability to do anything; I don't know what I would do if I could do anything, how can I even have an inkling now? Any idea I have is vague and amorphous, a world seen without definition or reason. Without confidence in what I can do my worth bounces like it's in its own game of Breakout: from Christ, to friendships, to future, to faith, to crisis. I was tired of bouncing two weeks ago. But with each bounce the disparity between what is concrete and what is sand becomes clearer and for that I am thankful.

Songs We All Know

When I was went to visit Lizzie in the UK last year we made a list of songs that people our age know all the words to; those songs that can be played in confidence that people who were in high school in the 90s probably know all or part of. This is not a complete list, feel free to add more. It's just funny to think about. And Leslie wanted to know what we came up with, so really this is just for her.

Runaway Train—Soul Asylum
No Rain—Blind Melon
Shine—Collective Soul
Basket Case—Green Day
Closing Time—Semisonic
Undone (Sweater Song)--Weezer
Daughter—Pearl Jam
One—U2
The Freshman—Verve Pipe
Only Wanna Be With You—Hootie and the Blowfish
Smells Like Teen Spirit—Nirvana
Possum Kingdom—Toadies
Santa Monica—Everclear
You Outta Know—Alanis Morrisette
Under the Bridge—Red Hot Chili Peppers
Cumbersome—Seven Mary Three
Two Princes—Spin Doctors
Blister in the Sun—Violent Femmes
Stay—Lisa Loeb
Santeria—Sublime
Run-Around—Blues Traveler
Wonderwall—Oasis
Mr. Jones—Counting Crows
Ants Marching—DMB
Interstate Love Song—STP
Spiderwebs—No Doubt
Hey Jealousy—Gin Blossoms
Lightening Crashes—Live
Today—Smashing Pumpkins
What's Up—4 Non Blondes
Only Happy When it Rains—Garbage
Glycerine—Bush
Dreams—Cranberries
Losing My Religion—REM
All I Wanna Do—Sheryl Crow
These Are Days—10,000 Maniacs
Lovefool—Cardigans

In addition to this mix there is also the Mid-90s chick mix, which was made in college and includes songs by Paula Cole, Meredith Brooks. Poe, Sarah McLachlan, Jewel, etc. It's a funny flashback as well.

Go Sho'ty

Today is my blog's 5th birthday. Happy birthday, blog. I'm gonna buy you a pony.
And by pony I mean those tiny bottles of Rolling Rock beer.
Way to exist before blogs were cool!
Way to document the past five years exclusively through my eyes!
Way to survive something like 5 name changes!
Way to only post 34 times in all of 2003! That was a good year to skip!
Remember that fun weekend we had, blog? Of course you do, you have documented it for me!
You sure do deserve that pony, blog.
Or at the very least, a silly hat.

CRUSTY CRAB!

I wrote a post about my weekend, (which was original and amazing), but written down it was just sort of boring so I tossed it. I'm feeling repetitive and unoriginal. It's like when your father tells you the same story for the 4^th time; looses its freshness. I went out with friends! Martinis! Adventure! Redskins! Woohoo! That was it. Sometimes brevity peaks out and gives the world a raspberry before it goes back into the chest where verbosity normally keeps it locked up. See? Back to too many words.

So I realized my digital camera was also in my car when it was broken into, so if you thought I didn't post enough photos before...well, now I got nuthin'. Maybe I'll start depicting everything with little dot drawings like they have in the NYT. Or draw events like they do with courtroom painters. Maybe I'll do fingerpainting, Mfers. Oh well, camera was a graduation gift from my father—I needed a new camera, but it had great sentimental value to me. Of course I'm a packrat, everything has sentimental value in my sick sick mind.

Quizzo on Monday: Amazing. Possibly the best team ever. First off I won a shout out question (correct answer: “CRUSTY CRAB!”) so I got a Jack of the Wood t-shirt. THEN by the end of the second round we were in the top 3 teams. After the speed round (we kicked ASS on that one) we were one point from first place. Final round we tied for third—just two points from the winner. For this I blame the following: Kenny Lofton, Ethopia, Friday, Blake Edwards, Road to Rio, James Earl Carter, and all the other answers we got wrong. But that is the highest we've ever finished; go us. Thanks to all who made appearances. Remember: everyone is invited to Quizzo...unless you dated one of us. I've got standards.

I finally finished Mrs. Dalloway. Only took me a good six months to get around to finishing a book that is less than 200 pages, but now I feel like I need to go back and read it quickly; to make it all make sense. That was a dense read. Recommended if one has the time to give attention to every word or phrase as if it stood alone. And really, people were surprised that Virginia Woolf committed suicide? Really? Did they bother to read it? It's like people being shocked that Sylvia Plath killed herself—did ya read The Bell Jar? That's a new list right there: Obnoxiously Obvious Holy Shits. Holy shit George Michael is GAY? Clark Kent is Superman!? Bruce Willis is dead in “The Sixth Sense”!? RuPaul is a MAN!?

Other Side of Wherever

On my way home from the dripalator the other day I got stopped by the train. We have several different sets of tracks here on the east side of town so inevitably ones path will be blocked by at traversing train which is a pain in the butt in a way. But hearing the night's distant whistle is soothing to me so I don't mind really. I love trains. Love 'em. Before my parents divorced my dad had a model train track set up on a piece of particle board in the basement; little buildings, a mountain, etc. I just liked to stare at it. My neighbor had a huge one, filling up at least one large room in his basement; it had different towns and different trains (you totally can't believe you are friends with me right now, can you). In college I used Amtrak for almost any visit elsewhere; countless trips home, to Boston, to NYC. I loved taking the train because it was so low stress: show up (virtually no security), get on board, find a seat, fall asleep, wake up, do some homework, get a beer, fall back asleep. Trains are so quiet and couple that with the rocking motion its like taking an Ambien with a chaser of vodka. I loved seeing the other side of towns and places, not the good face they put on for airports and interstates. And the train from Syracuse to NYC to DC goes through some of the less than prettier parts of the eastern seaboard (here's to you Baltimore and Philly). I mean, wow.

I've met some strange characters on trains, one of whom I kept up with for almost two years, one who was a roadie for the hairband "Warrant". One day I'd like to travel across the country by train, stopping off in cities for a few days to sight see and then hopping back on to what lies ahead. The thing I hate about planes is there is no time for adjustment; all too quickly you find yourself on the other side of wherever without a whole lot of understanding behind how you got there. Trains at least let me see my progress. Sometimes knowing just how I got to where I am is worth infinitely more than the time I save taking a short cut.

Current Listen: Guggenheim Grotto's “I Think I Love You”.

Not a Mite Would I Withhold

So I got robbed last night. That's fun.

My little car was broken into through a cracked window while it was parked on Coxe Ave while I was at Quizzo. Took my 60G video iPod, my portable CD player, a $20 cigar and about $80 in spare change that I kept in a piggy bank for parking meters—all in all a little less than $500 (interestingly enough left my $120 Petzel climbing harness and my $400 Moonstone jacket as well as my bible, my EZ Pass and my “Lookin' Good For Jesus Lip Balm.” apparently not outdoorsy or into the Jesus...or drive the Thruway much). It's probably the last thing in the world I needed right now. I feel like I'm barely holding on anyway, this just made it a bit harder, like someone stepping on my fingers while I'm dangling from the ledge. That iPod has been my best friend since the day I got it (anyone who worked with me at Windy Gap knows this—it's the only reason I kept my sanity all those hours working alone) and now it sort of feels like my situation is being mocked—a “if you think that was bad, wait for THIS,” game the heavens seem to be playing these past few months. My heart and my confidence are completely shot. There is a lesson in all of this; something I am supposed to come to know. I truly believe God loves me and wants the best for me—deeply I believe this. It aches how much I believe this, even as nothing in my present situation testifies so. It is in my core that this is a Truth. There are blessings in store for me because I am loved. I have to keep telling myself that over and over, keep telling myself He will be faithful to supply all of my needs when my needs keep getting bigger by the day, get more complex and personal, get more savage and carnal. If ever there was a time for God's loving blessing to be poured it would be now. I'm ready to leave all this wreckage behind me.

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and everyday have sorrow in my heart?....
Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes or I will sleep in death...
But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation,
I will sing to the Lord
for he has been good to me.” --Psalm 13

(the title of this post is taken from the hymn “Take My Life and Let it Be”...the line is 'take my silver and my gold/not a mite would I withhold/take my intellect and use/every power as you choose.' Ouch.)

Song Lyrics I Really Don't Believe

"Can't forget to stay real...to me it's like breathing." --Jennifer Lopez
(memo to J.Lo: breathing must be very, very difficult for you if staying real is something you have to be reminded to do. I sure hope you insure your lungs for the same amount you insured your legs. But thank God that's really you on Oprah. And here I thought it was just a roboJLo)

"I'm never gonna dance again. Guilty feet have got not rhythm." --George Michael
(I don't know...I mean OJ is a pretty good dancer and we all know how guilty he is)

"Never gonna give you up, let you down, run around and desert you."--Rick Ainsley
(Rick...oh Rick. You are just too ambitious. You make your girl sound like she's a dodgeball.)

"I'll make love to you like you want me to."--Boys II Men
(Well...what if I don't to make love? Did you think about that Shawn? Huh? No you didn't.)

"I'm all out of love"--Air Supply
(Dear Air Supply: love isn't like ice cream; you can't just run out of it. Also: love doesn't give you gas the way ice cream does if you are lactose intolerant)

"I was born in the back of a greyhound bus goin' down highway 41."--Allman Brothers Band
(Somehow I think your greyhound bus driver would kick your momma's ass off that bus long before you was ever born. Maybe you were born on the side of highway 41 after your mom was kicked off the bus, but on the bus? Nope. Side of the road is probably cleaner anyway.)

"If I had a million dollars I'd buy you a green dress."--Barenaked Ladies
(If all you bought me was a green dress with your millions...well let's just say you better HOPE you were lying. Maybe a green dress and some cows for the Heifer Project.)

"I still go to Taco Bell."--Fergie
(No you don't. You probably eat gold plated tacos.)

McSweeny's Clip of the Day

I read these a while ago and think they are hilarious. This is why I love McSweeny's.

Pros and Cons of Top Twenty Republican Candidates

Pros and Cons of the Top Twenty Democratic Candidates

I mean really. Wonderful. Remember kids, only 454 days til the inauguration of the robotic superbees. Or Stephen Colbert.

Bla Bla Bla

Isn't it funny how different we become based on our circumstance?

When I am settled, when I am provided for, when I am secure in where I am, I am more inclined to be secure in who I am. They all seem intricately connected unfortunately. I don't question my worth the same way, I don't struggle with bouts of doubts or worthlessness. It is much easier to be when being is fairly mundane and straightforward.

It is when I am so dirty in the process of living, when nothing I have (or don't have) is of any mention, when money is stretched so tightly it sings—it is then that the whispers of doubt become shouts. I hate the truth in that statement. Everything about me is called to testify and is found wanton through some court of private scorn and public image. And I hate that is happens over and over again, a lesson I am missing along the way somehow. I seem to only believe my worth when it is empirically obvious.

Sidebar: got a splinter under my fingernail on Saturday. I can't get it out without cutting my fingernail all the way down, and I really like my fingernail. But that shit hurts.

Nepotisim-ish

For some reason I'm thinking about photography, and I feel the need to plug two people who are not only amazing people and friends, but talented photographers. Seriously, check 'em out. They amaze me.

First is Emily Johnston. I know Emily because she moved to my hometown from Paris for one year of high school and we became friends and have sort of flirted with communication ever since. She is one of the most original and alive people I've ever met. A fascinating soul (and she's my friend who smuggled my first Cuban cigar to me in a french tampon wrapper. That's a funny story) and so gifted..and newly married! Check her out.

The second is dear old MakeJoeFamous, as we (The Bad Idea Girls) liked to call him. Joe and I went on several dates in summer of '06 but we both knew it was going absolutely nowhere. His talent blows me away, astounds me. His photos from Kristina and Joe's wedding were great and then he shot Rachel and Chris' wedding and I was SOLD. Check him out—just talent, emotion, everything. He also works for XM radio. When we were “dating” we'd ask how each other's day went. “Mine went pretty good,” I'd say. “I sold a few suits and had to yell at my associates to finish the damn shirt wall.” He'd say, “Wow, that does sound busy. I met Janet Jackson.” And I'd immediately hate him.

Anyway, some great photography from some great people.

While I am talking about friends, Stephanie (Schlosser) Chapman has songs recently covered by Tricia Yearwood and Bonnie Raitt. Earlier this year I was in Ingles and heard Bonnie Raitt singing her song and I got so excited I cheered loudly right in the canned foods aisle. Wanna talk about a great songwriter/great person—she's the answer. Love this girl. She's also an old high school friend/guitar buddy, incidentally she's good friends with Emily as well.

And can't forget Katherine McGinn and Andy Farkas, my friends that I am currently housesitting for here in Asheville (and, incidentally, I just realized I've been friends with Katherine for over a decade. She also went to my high school. As did Andy. That's a damn talented school if you ask me). Katherine currently has a gallery exhibit of her printmaking work in Richmond (they are BEAUTIFUL pieces, I saw them) and Andy has a few books out. My favorite of his books, Four Stories, is amazing. The squirrel story is my pick, you can read it and see his wood block prints here. I can't believe those pictures are hand-carved. You know when the people you care about are talented and you are so excited for them? My favorite part is watching other people who don't personally know them discover and appreciate their talents.

Go Skins

So my dear friend Brandt got drunk in a bar last night in Ashburn, VA. Ashburn is where most of the Redskins players live, so you see them around fairly often. I got a voice mail from Brandt telling me the Skins were in the bar with him and he was playing darts with Andre Carter...big #99 and was winning. Then this morning I get a message that Brandt gave my phone number to Jason Campbell, our star quarterback, and tried to set us up. He thinks we would be a great match.
I am perfectly ok with that.

Self-starter

Feeling pretty low about the whole job thing today. Frustrated, stressed, discouraged--you know, the whole gamut. Job options just seem to get smaller and smaller--stuff I want to do less and less. And I'm less and less motivated to look; I want to hide under the covers and cry. I want to believe there is a plan and a purpose to all of this and I do, but today I'm needing a little more than simple assurance. I'm needing an effing job.

Bah.

So I learned this year that I am allergic to cats and I'm housesitting for Katherine and Andy and they have three cats (and two dogs) and I can't breathe out my nose and my eyes itch. This sucks. I sneeze every few minutes. I hate being sick.

Friends (for now)

So this friendship thing with guys has me thinking. I have a problem with close opposite-gender friendships and this is why: they can work fabulously until one of the friends finds someone else they want to date and/or marry. Then the friendship is doomed. If I ever get married/am in a serious relationship, I don't want my husband/boyfriend to still be confiding in a girl friend of his, just as I don't want to be confiding in a guy friend of mine. If I'm married, I expect me to be my husband's best friend and vice versa and I don't want to be seeking that companionship elsewhere. I don't think it's good for any relationship, for trust, for building a life together. Close friends of the opposite sex become obsolete. So what is the point in being in a close friendship with someone of the opposite sex (whom you know you will never date) when from the start it will be a transient relationship? It's planned obsolesce! If someone can explain it to me I'd be more than happy to listen, I just can't see the point of being close friends with someone you will just lose to another. I want friendships that don't have such a shelf-life. I love having guy friends, don't get me wrong. I mean many of my friends are guys--great to hang out, have a few laughs, make fun of each other, etc. It's those really close, BFF type of friendships I don't see as rational. That's where the trouble lies. I mean unless he's gay, that close friendship is ending three ways:

1. You both fall for each other. Yippie!.

2. One of you falls/pines for the other. Rejected. Ouch.

3. One of you falls for someone else, ergo dumping friend. Friend is burn-a-nated.

I mean maybe I'm wrong, but those are the only conclusions I've ever witnessed. I know I'm sounding cynical, but I feel I'm being realistic. I simply don't want close guy friends, or at least any more of them. I'll keep my guy friends, but just at a bit of a distance.

Beautiful (I Guess)

Erin McKeown show: I feel the curse word is needed when I say it was the BEST FUCKIN' SHOW I HAVE EVER SEEN. Hands down. No question. I've seen her live four times before and by far this show at the Grey Eagle was the one to beat. I mean, dancing in the aisles, stompin', cheerin', banter, emotion—the gamut that concerts strive for but rarely run. First off, that little woman can simply ROCK. There was one song where she was rockin' out on her hollow-bodied Gibson and while playing guitar, sat down at the grand piano and started to play both. At the same time. Switched over to piano wholly, jammed out on that, and then played both at the same time before back to the Gibson. When you can keep playing your guitar simply on hammer-ons and pull-offs, you are an amazing guitarist. And she's barely 5'1”, a petite woman days away from her 30^th birthday. Trust me when I say if she comes near your town, you would do well to see her. If she sucks, I'll pay for your ticket. You will not be disappointed. Just...wow. Takes songs so well known by her audience and makes them completely new again—different tempos, licks, whatever. I was high on life after the show. And it only cost $10!

I went to the show with Doug, a fellow Erin fan. I will say it is very, very fun to be out in public with someone so very attractive on your arm. The girls sitting behind us stared when he came and sat beside me (I got there early to get good seats and was sitting alone for a good hour before he got there. They were silently judging me. Suckas). I got to be a little smug for a bit. We did some swing dancing to “Slung-Lo” which was fun and brief, the way dancing should be in my book. After the show Doug wanted to DTR and I've sort of sworn off DTRs (or, more specifically, R's) for the rest of the year but it needed to happen so it did. Stickin' with the friendship there. It works, don't mess with it. Please God don't mess with that.

(complete sidebar to any LVHS grads out there: I talked to Erin McKeown after the show for a while and she thinks she made out with Josh Berman in college. I was immediately jealous, and laughing very hard at the very same time, I mean what girl didn't want to make out with Josh B. at that time? He was our Jordan Catalano. Hilarious.)

Fluffy Nubblins

* There are two kinds of kisses: those that count and those that don't; those that matter and those that are obligatory or merely physical. I've had too many kisses that didn't count, and I don't want that anymore. I've changed my tune.

* You know who is great? Chris and Rachel. And what is great? This:
So excited for those two crazy kids--that baby is already way cooler than I could ever be.

* You know what is also great? Beef Jerky. I don't care what you say, that shit RULES.

*My winter wardrobe is way more extensive than my summer wardrobe. Yet another reason I love fall/winter.

* My blog is almost 5 years old. My first blog post was about wondering what I was going to do with my life. I could have written it yesterday. If in 5 years I can still relate to that post, someone beat me about the head and neck.

* I wish unemployment could be my profession. I feel I'm quite good at it. Maybe I should be a writer; it's practically the same thing.

* I've drank so much coffee lately I feel I may explode. I don't internet at home so I go to local coffee houses to use it and while there I need to buy something, hence the coffee. Holy crap I'm twitchy.

(Fluffy nubblins are the fictional mini marshmallows from Strong Bad emails at homestarrunner.com. If you got the reference, go you.)

Pirates on the Coast

So here are some photos from our trip to Charleston a few weeks ago. There was this pirate statue, and Lord knows I love me some pirates, and then there were these 5 old ladies who ended up with the tablecloth bandannas on their heads like pirates, and it just got us thinkin'. And a few gin and tonics may have been involved too.


Ok that last one is more thug than pirate, but I had been trying to teach the old ladies how to spell BLOOD with their hands. Like the gang. Don't mess with me, I got thug in my veins.

Another Mystery

I'm still thinking about the wonder conversation I had with Nate the other day.

My junior year of college I spent much of my spare time at a house three doors down that was home to four of my girlfriends. Holly was a duel Physics/Philosophy major who probably had a headache 90% of the time—I mean, I would if I was trying to reconcile those two. We were out on the front porch one evening and she expressed the desire to keep wonder alive in her life—that, in spite of pursuit of understanding and insight, a sense of mystery was crucial. I couldn't agree more.

I've never been accused of being intentionally ignorant and hope to keep that fact for years to come. I have a Bachelor of Science degree—technically, I am a scientist. But there are many things in life that I don't want to know the science behind and I don't think that makes me “ignorant” I think that makes me selective. Creative processes, music, emotions, faith, touch: beautiful things made more beautiful by their mystery. I don't know why one person's touch can affect me more than anyone else's, I just know it does and in that it is a gift. I don't know why heartache can be literal, I just know what how it feels. There are things made predictable and safe by science—electricity, weather, seasons, gravity, chemicals—and then there are the muddled interactions that cannot be made predictable, that science only knows in shadow and theory. Often these are what make up what I love most in life.

Don't get me wrong—I love science. If you know me at all, you know this. But science and mystery are mutually crucial. Nate told me I was just holding onto childhood; I told him he was a condescending, cynical bastard. I'm not saying we should only live by our gut (Thank you, Stephen Colbert/George W. Bush for “truthiness”) but some mix of the two. Understand the place of science and the place of mystery.

There is a part in “Good Will Hunting” where Robin Williams' character rips into Will, saying, “So if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that." It's the difference right there; the science and the mystery. Places for both.

Song of the Day: “These Friends of Mine”--Rosie Thomas. I love this song more and more each day.

Also: Found someone to go see Erin McKeown's Grey Eagle show with me...guess who is also a huge Erin fan? Doug. Whoa. Here's to you, D.

Misc. Monday

* Friday night went and saw Chatham County Line (bluegrass) at Grey Eagle with fellow socialite Nate--the concert lasted til friggin' 12:45. We didn't leave there until, oh, 1:30 or so. Whoa. Great show, the banjo player looks like Kenneth from "30 Rock" but with a beard. Made me giggle the whole show.

* Saturday wrangled ropes for Windy Gap then sped home, packed in 5 minutes, picked up Andy (Katherine has a big gallery show next weekend and had to finish several prints so couldn't come) and headed to meet Nate out at Lake James for a camping adventure. I need to camp more. I love camping; it brings joy not much else brings. Simple joy.

* Note: don't pack for camping in 5 minutes. You forget a whole lot.

* Food Nate brought: bratwurst, bacon, lamb chops, corned beef hash, eggs, cheese, bread and some potatoes. Meatfest 2k7. No wonder my face keeps breaking out.

* Sunday we left camping and drove straight to the Beir Garden to watch the 'Skins KILL the Lions. I was in the same clothes I'd been wearing for two days, I smelled like campfire and I was sitting in a bar, watching football with three friends. Priorities people, priorities.

* Today is my little sister's 14th birthday. Having her in my life is the greatest blessing I could have ever imagined. If any boy hurts her I will kill him.

* Saturday night Nate and I had a "discussion" about the place of wonder in a world full of science. I said I love having things in my life that I don't know the science behind; he said that was voluntary ignorance. He's also an engineer. Sometimes science can suck the mystery out of an experience. I never want love to become just a combination of pheromones, situations and chemistry. I never want to lose the art that is the science of creation.