Between friends..

The title is misleading, really. What I mean to say is that between Stephanie's latest blog (My favorite redhead to the right there) and Charity's visit, I'm rethinking my choices. I have one class down and like, 13 to go before I am officially a nurse.
Do I still want to do it? Yes.
Do I still think it's the best idea? Yes.
Am I going to miss radio more than even I can imagine?

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

Steph's comments about how great she felt while walking out of school on her last day really made me think. I don't think I will feel that way at all. I think I will cry, and hard. I LOVE my job and I still think I made the right decision when I switched OUT of nursing and INTO broadcasting 15 years ago. And while it feels just as right to switch back right now, I can't help but wish that things were different and I didn't feel this as such a necessity. I love being in school, but somewhere in there I wish it was a Masters Degree in Broadcast Arts as opposed to a certificate in Practical Nursing, you know?
And Charity said I'll have to find a way to do both. I believe she's right.

The world can be so wrong...

Terry Kleiman did something so horrifying to a dog just like this that I can't even bring myself to type it. Hug a dog and give some money to a shelter today, please. And hope that somebody does it back to him.

35

Holy shit. It's coming.
I've been having some long talks with my all-time BFF this week. She's quiet and lovely and keeps things to herself; in our 20+ year friendship, I have seen her cry maybe twice. So when she called and was wavery in the voice, I knew the news was not good.
However, there are two sides to it...it's never good when a long relationship ends, but good comes out of it if you end up happier, right? And she is. The last three conversations we've had about it were more about the weight off of her shoulders, the joy in her heart at not having to pretend anymore, and hopefulness, which has been missing from her beautiful face for far too long. I just love her to death, and I think now we are going to make some serious plans to spend the second half of our lives closer to each other. Our friendship is Hallmarkable fo shiz, since we became very fast friends at an early age and even though she moved away 6 months later, we have always stayed just the way we were to each other when we were fourteen. She truly is the most precious gift I've been given.
Her birthday is next week. She is the first of my childhood friends to turn 35, and now I am OBSESSED with it. Next Wednesday, the day before her birthday, marks exactly three months until I turn 35. Thirty five. Thirty. Five. I have been fine with every other single birthday I have ever had. This one, not so much.
First of all, I have a lot of things/ideas associated with this impending number. I was 12 when my mother turned 35, and shortly thereafter she freaked out and left town with our tv and all of my childhood things packed into the back of an Oldsmobile I would inherit when I got to college. I have three 'Plans B' in effect for when I turn 35 with three different boys. If they all work out, look for some polyandry on N. 14th St come July, though I doubt I can actually lay claim on them. I have to stop smoking and start having annual hoo-haw lookie-loos and breast exams. My children are more likely to come out retarded, if I have them at all. My skin will be less pliable, my wrinkles deeper, my hair thinner, my ass fatter, my chance of every single disease in the world increased ten-fold, and I'll probably have a full beard within a week. Basically, I expect to wake up on July 1 looking like my grandma.
Of course I know this isn't true. And I promised myself a fantastic birthday gift. Maybe this sounds insane, but when I turned 18 and had my first tattoo, and the long-lost Teshannon and I were smoking cigarettes in a parking lot while picking off the dried blood, I said to her, in a conversation I recorded plainly in my journal at the time, "Tanna", because that's what I called her, "If I am not married or am divorced at 35, I am gonna have this turned into a sleeve that covers almost all of my arm." "Why?" she asked, to which I replied, "Well, the only reason to not get a sleeve, really, is so that you look good in your wedding dress, right? And if I haven't worn one by then, I'm probably not going to. So, why not get a great big tattoo to commemorate it?"
Voila.
2009.
35 years old.
Made the appointment today.

It's gonna be the best part of this birthday, and to be honest, I can't wait. :)

It's Friday, I'm in love...

Ah, these glorious, glorious days when everything is okay.
1. It's cold, but sunny.
2. The Pillowman is reminding me that I do, in fact, LOVE to direct.
3. Reservations are made for the coolest wedding I will ever go to.
4. Private, but I'm smiling about it like I'm r-tarded. (Also, I'm trying to catch that on; it's pronounced, 'are-tarded'. I think it's a kindler, gentler version of retarded, and also, it is nice for Pirates.)
5. Flat out, I LOVE love Michael Jackson's music. Fuck who knows it.
6. This weekend, I am going to put my bed into a frame with a real headboard. Like a grownup.
7. I bought that headboard with an excess of cash, some of which is still available. I could even go out to eat, drink freely, and buy shoes in Marquette if I wanted to .
8. My friends. Seriously.
9. The hopefulness that new people bring to me. Especially when they come and sit at the bar for HOURS while I am working and engage me in what can only be described as 'canoodling'.
10. Itunes on random.
11. Severed prop toes and the fact that I rule at making them.
12. Still liking my mom.
13. Giving a cat to the girl who is dating the guy from 5 posts ago, which is excellent because he hates cats and once she has one, it means they are not ever planning on living together. Plus also, the doctor told me to thin out the herd or it may contribute to me nearly dying again.
14. The following lyrics: When the easy wind blows, they let their sails fill up and drink a hot cup of family....singing, "If I'm not strong enough, will you help me? And if I get tired, will you lay me down? And if I can't stand you no more, will you walk out my door or will you wait till I come around?' which were written by someone I know.
15. Rachel, who looks SUPER great from running, and who makes me want to run.
16. And Fridays.

How I Quit Smoking

Ah, it's nearly spring. Sure, we have a whopper of a storm on the way yet this week, which is PROBABLY not even the St. Pat's Extravaganza we usually enjoy, but still, it's coming. I bought plants, seeds, and garden extras online today, and am planning a marvelous display of agricultural fortitude this season. Of course, I always do. Really have some cool plans to try this year, though, and maybe have chickens again. I loved it.
I was planning this charming blog entry this week, and have been thinking on what to write for two weeks. Spring is in the air, I might be in mutual like with someone, I have some money, I got to see my girls this past week...things are great. The Full Monty is over. It was a smash hit and I have been super careful about only taking the credit due me on it, but now that only three people are paying attention, I'm going to go ahead and say that I fucking rocked that shit. It was the biggest hit we've had in years, and the only show that rivaled it in attendance over the past five years was One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. And that's all I'm going to say about it.
School is fine, I'm in love with my mom all of a sudden for the first time ever, and aside from some nagging laziness that's been pulling at me whenever I have a spare minute, I've been feeling joyful and happy.
However, (and here's the deep dark twist) I very nearly died last week. I am prone to drama, as I am well aware, so let me preface this story by saying that I am not exaggerating it, and I was so scared of doing so that I asked the doctor and two nurses if I really was as bad off as I felt, and the answer was a definite, if amused, yes. I really, really, really almost died. And it was as jarring as you'd think times about a trillion.
I guess I always assumed that I would have my life flash before my eyes, cry at the injustice of it, think of all the things I hadn't done, regret a thing or two, think of my parents, think of my friends, etc. But none of that happened.
I wasn't even going to write about this because it's so goddamn upsetting everytime I think of it, but I have to tell someone, and even if no one ever reads it, at least it's said. Here's the thing...it was just a black, sad, sucking, acute, stabbing....lonliness. And had I have kicked it right then, feeling that indescribable drowning aloneness, I'd never be resting in peace. A soul can't possibly fade out like that...it's petrifying. It's not fair. I knew the EMTs that were in the ambulance, but they don't KNOW me, you know? And I couldn't breathe to cry, so I just laid there, strapped down, thinking, "This is my last breath. THIS is my last breath. THIS is my last breath" with every little gasp, and these tears were pouring out of my face and I kept looking at the two of them for some connection to stave off how singular I felt in the world at that moment, and the only thing I thought of was Dodge. Seriously. My fucking dog. And it was only for a second. The rest of it was just, "please don't let this be the last thing I feel. PLEASE." And I wasn't asking anyone in particular, no God showed up at the last minute (although I guess it wasn't REALLY my last minute) like I thought might happen, I was trying to convince myself to think of something, anything, that wasn't so lonely. But I never did. And then my oxygen normalized some, I started breathing with a little depth, and 45 minutes and 3 IVs later, I was the proper color and texture and able to stand up for xrays to find out that I had a particulary bad pneumonia that I had been ignoring.
There's more to it, but basically, I'm haunted by the lonliness thing. I've heard that it's like that before..everyone dies alone, you know? I mean, when you're born, you're coming OUT of another person, so even though it's something you technically do by yourself, you're WITH someone the whole time. But dying is different. Even if you're surrounded by people who love you, who KNOW you, who will stay with you until it's done, it's about the only thing that you absolutely do by yourself. And when that moment comes where you either fade out or decide to let go...what if that really is what it feels like?

Oh, yay.

I got to see Dustin today. He's happy. Kind of filled my heart up.


Other than that, last night, the Boy From Three Blogs Ago and I were at the theater working on this hilarious project. The Full Monty calls for a scene with a car, and being as I can't just ever take 'good enough' as an answer, I have a golf cart packed into the backstage mayhem. (Which thus far includes a giant wagon with three sides of scenery, two sofas, a bed, a big chair, a coffee table, a park bench, a 10x8 foot lit sign, a big window frame, a ladder, two full size trees, a piano, three drops, full lighting equipment, three props tables, four clothing racks, a gravestone with a bench, another bench, two end tables, a giant television, and about 10 folding chairs.) It's a full old-style cart with a fabric top and two roomy seats and a big steering wheel. Being as The Boy has more experience modifying vehicles than anyone I know, I asked for his help. Now, this is not my golf cart, and I could not permanently modify it in any fashion for the play. So, using six big sheets of cardboard, a big tube full of zip ties, two giant flashlight heads and three rolls of duct tape, we have fashioned the funniest looking car I have ever seen out of that cart. I'd post a picture, but it's not painted yet and I don't want to ruin the surprise if you come see it. Basically, it looks like a Scion crossed with a short bus on a golf cart frame. It's appropriately silly and I just adore it.

It was just the two of us, and I kept thinking of Red's advice to wait for the moment to profess, and after about six of those perfect moments came and went, and while we were standing next to each other, laughing and taping and being the way we are, which is a way I am not with anyone else in the world, I realized that losing that would destroy me, and maybe if I knew him the other way, this would disappear. I'm not sure enough to risk it at the moment. Eventually, I will. Eventually I will spill and send him the email that is already Red-Approved and tell him I think we should give it a whirl, but right now is not the time. His current gf, with whom he is not now nor will ever be in love, is debating moving in with him. He is still caught up on someone else. It's right before Valentine's Day. I am desperate at the moment, and far too busy to devote the time to nurturing.

I am SOLID in the belief that if I DON'T say it, I will always wonder if I should have. So I will. Really. It's just that even when the moment is right, it doesn't feel RIGHT. I hope I'm not making excuses for myself. I probably am, but I just can't stress enough how it felt; I would open my mouth, put my hand on his arm, and then tell him a joke. So, that's put aside, and there will be no more talk of it until I am ready to do it.

Otherwise, the Hot Metal Six were doing the last scene last night, when all of a sudden they took off their pants, turned around, and showed it off. It was the first I've seen of the actual nudity, and it was just fucking beautiful. I love this play, because it's normal people that you end up cheering for like they were Brad Pitt. I love it. Love it. Love it. Love it. This cast is just the most amazing thing. I truly am blessed.

Rambling on and on..

It's Tuesday, and here's what's happened so far:

I bought Adele's '19' album. It's just gorgeous. I will probably listen to in until the cheap burned CD wears right out.

My purse is full. That's the first time ever, since a. I usually don't carry a purse and b. there is usually a grand total of three things in it when I do.

All of my hatreds have turned into apathy and disinterest for some reason.

No music is as good as what I listened to in college. I knew that would happen, but I sorta thought I could avoid being someone who says, "The only good music I ever heard was when I was in college."

You can knock yourself out for someone, and it does not obligate them whatsoever to say thank you. You can get mad at them for it, but really, it's your own fault.

The Full Monty is the only musical I will ever direct. I still hate them, which makes me less good at directing them than I want to be, and I don't do things I know I'm not good at, unless I am drunk. Then I sing like no one's listening.

Barack Obama has very nice teeth.

Even if I've ignored her for three weeks on purpose, it bothers me when my mom doesn't want to talk to me.

I am exclusively attracted to depressive men. If they spend time with me, I eventually get pissed at them for being so depressive, but if they are cheerful and well-adjusted and have a positive outlook in general, I think they're retarded. Thanks, Dad.

Ford trucks are stupid.

People will never cease to amaze me.

I'd like to run an elephant sanctuary.

Incredulity reads the same as the beginning of telling a joke on my face, if that makes sense.

I have two girlfriends that I would consider 'thoughtful', and I consider everyone else thought'less'.

I want a trombonist to follow me around and play the Debbie Downer effect all the time. That would rule.

A new bird story to rival the first...

Ladies and the one gentleman who reads my blog, prepare thyselves for a story so funny, I was laughing the whole time it was happening at just how great it would be to tell it. And it is.

So, let's start out with a few prerequisites: first of all, birds find their way into my home every February, a trend which started two years ago. I had come home from a weekend in the woods to find this bird, this needle-nosed pitch blue starling, sitting on my couch. He was the first of eight that year, followed by five last year, and now this fella from yesterday. They have been on ceiling fans, under the sink, in my bedroom, dead in the toilet, upstairs on a light, hiding on top of the fridge, in a cat's mouth, in a dog's mouth, or sitting on chairs like that is perfectly normal and acceptable bird habitat. Also, if you are unfamiliar, you need to know some of the anatomy of my house in order to understand the story. The front door is in a little entryway (unheated), which meets up with the dining room, which is kind of open to the kitchen. Hidden in the back corner of the kitchen is the bathroom. The whole thing is in a terrible state of disrepair, and for some reason, most of my door handles don't work properly. For example, if you close the bathroom door firmly from the inside, you can't get out without assistance from the other side or a good hearty kick. Also, in the bathroom, there is a small bit of space behind the shower that I plan on turning into a linen closet one of these days, but for now it's a big hole that runs under the tub.

Alright, so yesterday, I got back from work and picking up my bucket of a truck, and went into the bathroom for the usual business, when I hear this sort of shuffling scratch under the tub. Both dogs, who insist on accompanying me into the bathroom every time they can, put their faces into the opening behind the tub and started to whine and scratch and freak out. "Well," I thought, " I saw all four cats in the house when I came in, so this must be a bird or something." Like I said, I EXPECT birds in the house in February, plus the sound it made was bird-like. As I was finishing up and getting ready to calm the dogs and capture the bird, he flew out like a Phoenix and was loose in the house, with four cats and two dogs in competition for his blood. I had to leave my pants behind in the attempt to save him.
I ran all over the house after the little guy, up on windowsills and back down, up the stairs and back down, into the windows and onto the floor, dogs ahead, dogs behind, cats underfoot and jumping from ledges, and eventually he flew back into the bathroom and under the tub. I had to take a shower anyway, and I was already sans pants, so I got into my birthday suit, closed the door as much as I dared to and took my shower. Sometime during, the bird came out and sat on the curtain rod and shortly thereafter, the dogs got the door open and came right in.
Hm. Fun.
So, I got done in the shower right quick, and as I pulled back the curtain, the bird took to flight in a 10'x 6' room with two crazed dogs. I was screaming at them all, when the bird flew into the mirror on the door and hit the floor, causing the cats jump at the door from the other side, SHUTTING IT FIRMLY. Me, wet and naked, two crazed dogs, bird flying around, locked in the 10' x 6' bathroom. Incidentally, this is when I started to laugh. Loudly. I put on the only clothes I had in there with me, which were slippers, and had to use my towel to catch the bird, right? Well, the bird flew in behind the sink, and I tossed the towel on him with a dog on my nude back. I scooped up the bird and towel, cradling it in my arms. I couldn't put him down anywhere because of the dogs, and I couldn't put him in the bathtub because the drain is slower than old people, so I had to hang on to the whole bundle whilst kicking the door open.
The first four kicks were fruitless. The fifth shattered the mirror on the back of the door. There we are, two crazed dogs, freaked out bird in a towel, me, wet and with nothing on but slippers, and five square feet of glass shattered onto the floor and still locked in the goddamn bathroom. I actually panicked for a second, checked my feet for shards of mirror, backed the dogs up against the bathtub, re-adjusted the bird's position in my football hold, and kicked the living shit out of the fucking door. Mercifully, it flew open, and in came the cats.
There was no time for anything, since all six of those carnivores knew I had the bird on my nude, wet person, so I ran to the front door, through the kitchen and dining room and unheated entryway, got the front door open, and let the bird go out of the towel. Then, like a raving nude, wet idiot I waited to see where it went. And so did the neighbors across the street.
What else could I do? I waved at them.

Swear to god.

Only me.

Feel like makin' words...

I feel like writing today, but I don't really have anything about which to write. I'm kind of hungry and debating what to have for lunch, I'm thinking on cutting out of work early today to go take a nap and make a meatcake*, and I'm also in complete neutral today. At the end of my life, I will not remember that today even existed. That's a cheery thought.

Which is not to say that I am depressed; I am actually in a rather good mood, but I often forget that when things are like this and calm and easy and not particularly interesting, that's a good thing. There is no frustration, anger, rage, etc. Everything is just....fine.

Judy Nerat, the one Democrat for whom I did NOT vote in this past election, appears with a quote in today's Daily Press that makes her look like the biggest idiot in the whole world. This news is out, so I'm sure I'm not really breaking it to anyone, but the Michigan State government is pulling out of funding the U.P. State Fair. I guess it's assumed that everyone knows the Fair is paid for, in part, by the state, and since the Governor Herself said so, the quote is just ridiculous: "I don't know where this rumor started. However, up to this point, the state has not provided any state (tax) funding to support the fair." Really. That's her first big statement to the Press, too, since taking office. Way to start off with a bang, Representative Nerat. Super proud of you. Good job on being on top of things. I think I'm gonna run for office. Seriously.

* Let me explain the meatcake, too. The fella about whom I wrote two blogs ago has just had his 32nd birthday, and I, being that kind of friend, took it upon myself to make his cake. But not just any cake will do for him, I wanted to make it unique and funny and manly, I guess. So, after much wrestling with my vegetarian nature over whether or not I can justify it, I thought, "Screw it, meatcake is FUNNY." I set about to making up a recipe. To make it cake-like, I could use stuffing to give it a spongy texture, but I think that would make it straight gross, really, and definitely too salty. So, I looked for a really great meatloaf recipe, instead. I found a few and took the basic ideas common to all of them and made my own with lots more seasoned bread crumbs than suggested, a little cumin for body, and then the rest of the standard meatloaf ingredients. I patted it down into two scallop-edged cake pans, cooked it through, and then put them on a rack to cool. In the meantime, I put a cooling rack over a pan and laid out a package of bacon on it, because that is the BEST way to make bacon cook flat. Put it in the oven at 350o until it's crispy and you have perfect, straight bacon. After that cooled, too, I made a whole box of instant potatoes. Now, I go both ways on the instant potatoes. First of all, they're not foodie food. I know that. They're dried flakes of potato starch and there's really nothing good about them. On the other hand, they are fucking delicious and my very favorite guilty pleasure in the whole world. In fact, I don't EVER keep them in the house, because I will eat them until I am sick from it. I LOVE me some instant potatoes....thankfully a whole box makes one giant extra bowl after the meatcake is all finished, so I put a full quarter of a stick of butter on that shit and it was the most satisfying experience of 2009 to date.

Whew. Got off track. Okay, so meatloaf/cake is cooled. I dropped it on my fancy cake plate, spread on some instant potatoes, then layered bacon and cheese until it was gone. Then, I put the other meatloaf/cake on top and smoothed the rest of the potatoes onto it . It looked like cake, really, and for some reason it shocked me at just how real it looked. Only when I picked it up to put it in the fridge did I really realize how NOT cake-like it was. It weighs at LEAST six pounds. I took this trial run of the meatcake to a Superbowl party, where it was well-received after initial suspicious glances. I suggested various improvements, like honey mustard (little sweetness might help with the cake-ness), dijon mustard and brown sugar (most liked) and barbeque sauce. So, I'm gonna leave a smidge early today to make it, and I think I'm going with the honey mustard. It's my cake and I'll make it how I think it should be made. Anyway, that's a picture of the loafy layers up there at the top. I still have no idea how to put pictures in the middle of the blog. Yay.

Also, he wants a Jello cake. Ick.

That's really about it. Meatcake, politics, beige, Tuesday.

My numerology report...

...is fucking creepy:




You have a wisdom beyond your years. Even as a child, your understanding of life was considerable, though it likely went unrecognized by others.
You are a born peacemaker. You are driven by a desire to settle conflicts and create harmony. You are a healer and a visionary. You long to make the world a better place, and cannot rest until you have dedicated your life to some worthwhile cause.
Your realm is ideas and philosophy. You are attracted to the world of energy more than to the mechanical or material planes. Philosophy, religion, and less traditional forms of healing are among your specialties.
You are obsessed with the quest for enlightenment.
You are extremely sensitive and possess a high degree of intuition. Subtle messages and feelings of others do not escape your attention. You are powerfully aware of the thoughts and feelings of others. Unless you are well grounded, this can throw you about emotionally. Your awareness can be both a gift as well as a problem, because you so deeply desire to please others and keep harmony in your environment.
Many 11s were born into extremely hostile or turbulent families. This often resulted in psychological pain, lack of confidence, and shyness during childhood. Somehow, the child with an 11 heart's desire recognized the sources of his family's problem. This created an internal conflict for the child, who naturally loved the troubled parent, but could not cope with that parent's behavior.
Therefore, many 11s are scarred early in life. They understand the sufferings of others and seek to be of service in some way.
This is, in fact, the easiest way for you to heal yourself and find your greatest satisfaction.
You understand the importance of close, loving relationships. Therefore, you are selective in choosing your friends and spouse. You are a romantic, idealistic, but somewhat impractical person. Unless you have other balancing characteristics (as indicated by 1s, 4s, and 8s in your chart), it is wise to team up with a more practical and realistic partner.
You have a magnetic and charismatic personality. You like pondering abstract matters. Your intelligence is electric. Ideas, solutions to problems, and inventions seem to come to you as if out of the blue.
You are highly charged and intense. This can cause nervous tension. You need to care for your nervous system with ample amounts of rest, a peaceful environment, and proper diet -- avoiding extreme foods and drugs.
You are often more concerned with universal justice than with the individual.
The 11 is a master number, possessing great potential. It has been entrusted to you as a gift that you are worthy of. The key is to maintain a hold on your ideals and seek ways to practically implement them.
You have a specific role and gift to give to the world. This requires time and maturity to fully comprehend. But with patience and perseverance, you will discover why you felt different and even unique as a child. At that time, you will discover that what made you feel weak as a child will make you strong and confident as a mature adult.

A Purge...

How To Tell Your Best Friend That You Are in Love With Him: A how-to column by Bridgette Brady, who has no idea.


First of all, be sure that you are, in fact, in love with your best friend. You will know that you are when, after 9 years of friendship, you suddenly realize that were he to exit your life in some manner, you could not possibly function, and that somewhere in the back of your mind, you are looking forward to your 35th birthday because that's when your Plan B agreement with him merits a true discussion of whether or not you want to go through with it. Realizing that you keep leaving each other for stretches of time for other things, but always seem to get right back to it after 5 minutes of awkward catching up like no time has passed at all.

Also, if he has consistently dated stupid 19 year olds because they have curly hair or are skanky, or like cars, but have no substance whatsoever, and then, all of sudden he starts dating a girl who looks like you, kind of, and you are so wracked with jealousy that you can't even look in their general direction, and it causes you to write giant run-on sentences about the issue, you should probably take some time to figure out where that jealousy is coming from.

Thirdly, if he hugs you the same as he always has, and that is something you look forward to subconciously, but then it makes you nervous because you're worried that you are suddenly standing closer to him, or holding on to him a little bit longer than you should, maybe, and so all you really want to do is hug him but you're too anxious about it to do it, but then you think that maybe he will see something in your hesitance, and you're still writing run-on sentences, what more proof do you need, for crying out loud?

Okay, so does he love you back that way? Let's see...girl who looks like you? Maybe. Comments about how awesome you are? Maybe. But he's sort of always done that, and that's why you like him. General demeanor which includes more hand touching and texting than usual? Maybe...and definitely enough to make you think something should be said.Agreeing to be engaged to you, even if just for fun? Maybe. Telling you that even though you are jealous of his new girlfriend, he is not jealous at all when YOU date someone? Maybe not.


See? Maybe, maybe, maybe not.

What's there to lose? Perhaps it's something that, once said, solves every major issue you have about yourself, right? Maybe it's forever and ever and wonderful and easy and comfortable and great and full of babies and laughing and kissing and home repairs and vacations and fighting and making up. Then again, maybe it's something that, once said, takes your best friend away from you forever. Maybe he will freak out and get mad even, because you've changed everything without asking him.

Maybe he already knows and is dreading the day you finally say it.

Maybe he wants to say it but can't, just like you.

Maybe you say it, try it out, and it doesn't fit. Would that be the end of the world? Yeah, it would a little.


So many maybes and so much to lose, and so much disappointment in my lack of fearlessness on this one.

And then how to say it:

Hey, I think I'm in love with you.

That's all it is right there. Eight words total, including the greeting, and I cannot get them to exit my face in his presence.

Or something less direct? Maybe flowers, a CD, cookies, meatpies, cake, or Christmas dinner. Except I already did all that. If it can be SHOWN, it has been, and he hasn't said anything, which shatters my confidence and leads me to think that I am WAY off. And I'm too scared to be grossly obvious, and I'm sure he knows me well enough to know that THAT'S how I do it, with flowers, a CD, cookies, meatpies, cake, and Christmas dinner. That's how I've always done it, and he's witnessed that sad approach at least 10 times. How could he not see that?


The fear and the unknown of it has me crippled. I can't risk it, nor can I say it, but I can't deal with it, either. If it was anyone else, he's the one I would talk to about it. I'm as confused and embarassed as I was when I was 13 years old, for crying out loud. And I think about it so much that it is completely overthought to the point where I think I've fabricated the emotion itself to deal with lonliness, aging, and stagnation in my life. So, I don't know for sure that I really AM in love with him, which brings me back to Step One up there, and then I cycle through this whole blog again.


I'm 34 years old. I know enough to know that if someone sticks to you that long, there's more to it. Girls that stick like that will be your very best until the day you die, and you're lucky to have ONE of them. Boys that stick like that are either interested or think they might be someday. They think you're good enough to hang on to, but not ready yet or not quite sure...as long as you are somewhat available. For real, how many NOT gay very close male friends do you still have after you're married? And how many of them are this boy? Who fixes your broken things, gives you money, picks you up every time you need it, wraps his arms around you because things are good, wraps his arms around you because things are bad, and wraps his arms around you because it's Tuesday? And will back up your ghost story because he was there for it? And what boy would, one time only, wake up in the middle of the night for your phone call and let you sleep there because you were so heartbroken that you didn't think you would make it through, then hold you like a vice and never mention it again because you were embarassed to be so weak as to need that?

A boy who loves you does that, right?

Right?


Terrified of yes, terrified of no? Terrified of not saying anything?


Maybe he reads your blog.

Something ELSE I love about the Obamas..

Michelle's dress. I'm obsessed with the idea of it. Does ANYone ever wear ANYthing more important? I mean, sure, wedding gown, mother-of-the-bride dress, yadda yadda. But how often does one's husband become President? And how often is he the first A-A President? And how often are the hopes of so many pinned upon one's husband? I mean, come on. That is one important dress. Whatever she wears, we will all look toward her in her First Lady-ness in this new Camelot and fashion ourselves accordingly. It's been a while since I have indulged myself in the frivolities of being an American consumer who, though protheletizing against the dangers of excess in our lives, secretly drools all over pictures of Prada couture and imagines the day when she can be the smallest size of her life and still only fit into the biggest Prada dress made for her very best friend's wedding in August.

*Sigh.*

Anyway. I'm voting for Betsey Johnson, but I'm sure she won't choose it. It's so vibrant and hopeful, if a dress can be all that, and the way she's sketched Michelle's face? She GETS it. And the dress reflects it. Secondly, Koi. I love the idea of black cardigan sweater on formalwear. I do it every chance I get. It's like, "Say, I'm the First Lady, and I have the most awesome gown ever made for the coolest event in American History, but I'm also chilly. And practical. It's January." Thirdly, Kai Milla. Just elegant and beautiful. And brown. I put the LaCroix up there because even though I LIKE it, it's frightfully ostentacious, which is how I feel about most things on the label, to be honest. Creative and forward, yes. But far, far too much.

As for the actual day outfit, I can't seem to get them to post properly, but I have to go with the DVF: http://www.wwd.com/fashion-news/dressing-the-first-lady-1875632#/slideshow/article/1875632/1876135

Look at it. It's gorgeous. It sets a marvelous, appropriately regal but classic tone, and the color is delightful.

She's gonna be great, don't you think?

A service on compassion...

So, for my UU church, I was asked to give a service. It's my first one, and though I am familiar with the basic agenda of our services, presenting one is an entirely different thing. Therefore, I am posting as a blog that which I have assembled thus far. Please comment. It's a little long, but it's most of what I wish to say:

Living a Compassionate Life
by Bridgette Brady

"A small boy lived by the ocean. He loved the creatures of the sea, especially the starfish, and spent much of his time exploring the seashore. One day he learned there would be a minus tide that would leave the starfish stranded on the sand. The day of the tide he went down to the beach and began picking up stranded starfish and tossing them back into the sea. An elderly man who lived next door came down to the beach to see what he was doing. "I'm saving the starfish," the boy proudly declared. When the neighbor saw all of the stranded starfish, he shook his head and said "I'm sorry to disappoint you, young man, buf if you look down the beach one way, there are stranded starfish as far as the eye can see. And if you look down the beach the other way, it's the same. One little boy like you isn't going to make much of a difference." The boy thought about this for a moment. Then he reached his small hand down to the sand, picked up a starfish, tossed it out into the ocean and said, "I sure made a difference for that one."

Compassion is innate to our souls. Compassion is what connects us to each other. I will borrow some words today from Thich Nhat Hahn and the Buddist idealogy to encourage and explain how a compassionate life makes you happier, fulfilled, and can help you find peace in the midst of torment and tragedy. Loving is a mind that brings peace, joy, and happiness to another being. Compassionate is a mind that removes the suffering that is present in another being. We all have the seeds of both love and compassion in our minds and know, somewhere, that a simple act of compassion is a perfect thing; it is it's own reward. While we can argue that nothing we ever do is truly selfless, compassion is, by nature, as self-serving as it is charitable. When you know that you have done good, when you have brought light into the dark, no matter how small the flame, you have changed someone or something for the better. It makes YOU feel better. It's almost selfish, actually, except for the fact that you have shared it with the world. For if your kindness in mirrored in another, and another, the change you have caused is immeasurable.
Compassion means, literally, "to suffer with". When we are in contact with another's suffering, a feeling of compassion is born within us. And I think that we, as UU's, are openly compassionate by nature. We realize the suffering around us, acknowledging that all people and beings suffer in some manner. From poverty, from fear, from oppression, from loneliness..from all those things that disconnect us from each other. But by living compassionately- by listening and doing and loving and helping- we remove some of the suffering in the world. It brings joy and love into our own hearts and relieves the suffering we feel privately in our lives.
Which brings me to the actual subject of Living a Compassionate Life. What does it mean and how do we do it? Certainly, no one is perfect. But in striving for perfection, we come to know our strengths and weaknesses. To me, a compassionate life is simply staying open to others despite my busy-ness, my personal struggles, my finances, and my own life. Specifically, it means mindful attention of my own power to good, cause change, and relieve suffering where I see it. It is the ability and trust in myself to do the right thing, take time to listen to what people are really saying, and, without fanfare and pats on the back, do what I can to make things easier for them. It's a little extra snowblowing, the change on the floor of my truck when I clean it, two bags of dogfood instead of one, phone calls to people I know are alone, cookies for the recently broken hearted, publicity for an event, a ride to the grocery store, and the most simple, basic acts of kindness.
Compassion is mentioned in various dogmas as a tenet of almost every faith on the planet. From Jesus' teaching to 'do unto others you would have done unto you' to Buddha's statement, 'In compassion lies the world's great strength'. Compassion can easily extend to the more strict principles of monks, who live by the idea that we are all inherently equal as we live, and that we must strive every moment to never unnecessarily harm any other living beings, but that's way easier said than done, as anyone who's ever lived a vegan, vegetarian, or fruitarian lifestyle can attest. Try getting through a summer day without killing a bug, for example, and you'll see how much compassion you really do have inside of you.
While I certainly won't lecture on or espouse that kind of strict discipline to you, what I do want to stress is just how easy it is to live a MORE compassionate life. Mindfulness and attention to all the life around you will yield endless opportunities for happiness and chances to be compassionate. And trust me...when you lie down at night knowing that you did good every time you could, that no matter how many bad things happened to you or how stressed you were that day, a life was, if only momentarily, made better because you came into it...you'll rest a little easier every day. It does wonders for your ego, your self-worth, and your ability to manage emotional crises.
Start simply by going home today after this very service and put your plants in the best possible window, even if it means changing your furniture around a little. They'll let you know in two days how much they appreciate it. Be as happy to see your dog as he is to see you. Every time. Take her for an extra long walk as soon as you can manage it. Remember to do that as often as possible. Think of your neighbors. Shovel a little more or send them a card to thank them for being great or for always having a nice yard. Thank store clerks and cashiers for their hard work. Include a note with a tip to say thank you for the service. Send cards to soldiers. Visit the elderly. Sing with children. Donate what you can in time and money. Most importantly, never let a chance to make a change pass you by. If you think of it, do it. There's a guy who walks by the station every morning and picks cigarette butts out of our ashcan. Every once in a while, when we think of it, we put a full pack in there for him or a five dollar bill. It's that easy.
If you're feeling adventurous, try being vegetarian one day a week as a compassionate act toward animals, or if you must eat meat, bring some toys out to the animal shelter. I started my own change toward a compassionate existence a year ago when I went to work for PETA for a week. Now, I'm not here to champion that cause at all, I just mention it to illustrate how I came to be such a proponent of this movement. After that week, I realized that you can write letters, shout from the rooftops, argue, protest, demostrate, and fight and be a visible, public warrior, or you can choose to live by example. Shouting and scare tactics will get you noticed, but living what you believe will get you heard. Without drawing attention to yourself, you can make a far deeper impression by helping one person at a time, as often as you can. I am amazed at the peaceful, calming change that has come over me in this past year since I have made a point of living by example my argument for compassionate choices. And the hidden benefit, which I never expected, is that I am proud of myself and trust completely that I will do the right thing whenever I find myself tested.
Instead of getting angry on those days when the transmission blows up, the gas was all siphoned out of the snowblower, the dogs tore up the couch, the roof has sprung an urgent leak, the work is all on my shoulders, and I usually would feel like fate is against me, I approach it with an inward peace and say, "I must need to do some good today since all this bad has happened." Then I go out and look for it. I drop off old clothes, write a thank you card, hold doors for old people, smile at everyone, offer a hand wherever it's needed, and shortly, the day isn't as bad as it seemed.
You can make a tremendous difference. And you can do it every day. Not just for others, but for yourself. Compassion is what connects us..the ability to recognize and feel the pain and happiness in others and to share or relieve it is what makes us human. Compassion is within every person, and unfortunately, it's become buried under activities, entitlement, selfishness and greed. To paraphrase the Dalai Lama on the subject, compassion and a good heart are developed through constant and conscious effort. If we all start to nurture it within ourselves, we start to nurture it in the world.