Eclectic Living

I did an editorial internship with Tate Publishing in Mustang, OK with my good friend, Tiffany. Obviously, we are very good workers. :)

I turned 21 and had a great, but bizarre night with friends. Apparently, I really don't like the song "Sweet Home Alabama." Karaoke at O'Connells taught me that.

I started dating a "really really nice guy" from Florida that a good friend set me up with. Listening to her was the best thing I ever did :)

I flew to Tampa and spent my spring break with the new boyfriend. We vacationed in Pensacola with some of my friends for a few days.

I ran the OKC Memorial Marathon and beat my time by thirty-five minutes. I can't wait to do it again this year!

I flew to Tampa to see Grahm graduate from the University of South Florida with a mechanical engineering degree. Smarty pants.

I moved into a beautiful house with two wonderful roommates. Seriously, I love them. And I love living here.

I attended every Oklahoma football game that was played in Norman. It's going to be hard to get used to watching them on TV from now on.

I wrote a book. Lots of pages, lots of words. Not a whole lot of plot. [And no, it wasn't written with a pink marker.]

I hung out with my wonderful friends whenever I wasn't writing my brains out.

And I wrapped the year up by celebrating the holidays with my amazing boy and my sweet family in Tulsa.

Here's to making 2011 just as wonderful.

It's the most wonderful time of the year

... unless you work in retail.

Don't ask me how many stores I waltzed into this weekend. Way too many. And how much
did I spend? Well, we won't go there either.

Christmas, in case you didn't know, is in less than a week. Five days, people. And in two, I will be with my mom and dad in the beautiful 918, making fudge and getting ready for some much-needed time with the family.

Grahm and I did all our shopping and wrapping this weekend. We had to throw a couple elbows to get through the crowded Sooner Mall, but we managed. Ho ho ho for being last minute. Grahm's a great shopping buddy; he doesn't get peeved like I do when I can't find the right size. He's the egg to my nog :)

Saturday, we wrapped presents and watched Christmas with the Kranks.

Can you believe it's so soon?
This year has flown by.

Because I feel daring.

  Bailey wondered why she had never sat in this chair before. It was a perfectly adequate, sturdy seat. It faced the left window in the downstairs den, and had lovely view of the yellow rose bushes flourishing in the backyard.
      It was one of those filler furniture pieces, she supposed. Although, she wasn't exactly sure what qualified this one. It was a little stiff, maybe. The cushion, a little lumpy. She bought it a garage sale, she remembered, a few months after she and Collin had celebrated their fifth anniversary. The dull green upholstery had called out to her from the crackled sidewalk, beckoning her to take it home. She couldn’t help but comply.
      She had been so pleased with her find.
      “Look what I got today!” she had exclaimed when she arrived at their quaint Victorian home a few minutes later. “It was only twenty dollars, can you believe that?” Collin had grunted something from behind his newspaper, but his coarse brown hair remained hidden behind an article over last night’s Yankee game. He hadn’t even bothering to look up. It was hardly the response she had been wanting.
      Bailey had felt so foolish for believing a piece of furniture could rekindle their spark that had been waning for so long; as if the missing piece of the living room would suddenly morph into the missing ingredient to their tattered marriage.
      Maybe that’s why she never sat in this green chair. It was another failure, another mark on her record. Another reminder that she couldn’t fix anything, no matter how badly she wished she could transform this icy house into a warm life filled with laughter.       If only furniture had that kind of power, she thought.
      From the window, she saw Collin’s black truck pulling into their long driveway. Dust flew into a whirlwind as the tires screeched to a halt. Bailey tightly closed her eyes and grimaced. When they were first married, she would run out to greet her husband as he came home from a long day at the church office like a child anxiously awaiting the return of his father. Now, she knew better.
      Collin was usually exhausted from the smiling, tired of trying to invest in the members of his congregation’s lives. By the time he got home, his compassion had cindered to ash and his moods became as uncontrollable as the dust flying around the tires of his truck. Bailey decided to wait in the den.
      She sighed as she fiddled with the faded fringe around her forgotten piece of furniture.
      It was perfectly adequate, she thought. Yet, they never used it. How quickly she had abandoned her magnificent find, when it hadn’t held up to her high expectations... 

Your heart is full of unwashed socks

...your soul is full of gunk.

Has anyone ever really listened to the words of "Mr. Grinch"?

I was taking a quick power nap in Dink today. I closed my tired eyes, feeling the warmth of the sunshine gleaming through my dirty windows.

Of course, Christmas music was softly playing on the radio because, like every other holiday-obsessed person, I'm currently in love with all the festive tunes.

Not long after I lowered the driver's seat into proper napping position, this song came on. Instead of singing along, like normal, I listened. After all, I was trying to nap.

"Your heart's a dead tomato splotched with moldy purple spots, Mister Grinch."

My nap was rudely interrupted because I couldn't stop laughing at all the ridiculous lyrics.

My skin isn't green and I don't think my heart has unwashed socks or moldy tomatoes in it, but other than that Mr Grinch and I weren't so different today... I was late to work this morning, because I forgot my keys in Grahm's truck yesterday. [Two things I hate: tardiness and forgetfulness.] That coupled with a stuffy nose and an annoying cough put me in a grumposaurus mood for most of the afternoon. Talk about a wart on a log.

Oddly enough, this song really brightened my day.

Sometimes the things that put us in bad moods are as ridiculous as the lyrics to this song. And sometimes, all it takes is a silly song and a power nap to turn your day around.

El Fin.

Currently, I am in bed listening to my Pandora Christmas station with my OU pajamas on. Jodi Picoult's latest book is sitting beside me, casually flipped open.

[Pleasure reading? What's that?]

I can tell from the stench that's threatening to take over my cozy little room that I still haven't showered. Actually, I've gotten up once, and that was because I didn't want my bladder to explode all over my comfy jersey sheets.

Oh, did I mention it's past three o'clock on a Saturday afternoon?
Lazy much?

Judge away, my friends.

I've got no place to be, no finals to take. The past five months of writing til my fingers bleed is no more. My semester is over and the fat lady is singing her happy tune.

This is almost as great as how I felt when I finished running the Route 66 and OKC Memorial marathons. Because really, this semester was a marathon for me. 26.2 miles of writing, if you will. They both required diligence and stamina, just in different ways. Personally, I would choose running all those miles than writing another book. No question.

Now, only four hours stand between me and my degree. Christmas is in two weeks. And I've got nothing but time. Sweet, sweet time.

So as my manuscript says on the last page, "THE END!"

Fat and Happy

Six plates of food, 185 dollars, and five extra pounds later,

Thanksgiving break is officially over and the start of a new week has officially reared its ugly head at me.

Truly, this manic Monday consisted of a bad hair day, a near-death experience by filing cabinet, miscommunications, cramping, and terrible terrible classes. Instead of focusing on the terribleness of today, I'm going to reminisce on the lovely weekend I had with just

about the sweetest people you'll ever meet. Okay, ready?

Grahm and I arrived in Dallas a little after eight on Wednesday evening. We snuck up to the top of Reunion Tower and took some pictures, spit on oblivious pedestrians hundreds of feet below, and sang our favorite Disney songs at the top of our lungs.

We wandered around the Hyatt, waiting for his dad and playing lots of random games. [If you ever get the opportunity to play the States game with Grahm, don't. You will lose.]

Lots of Saints football players were there for the game against the Cowboys. Too bad I don't know any of them...

After a lovely Hyatt room [all to my elfinwhich] that night, we went to the ranch in Kaufman [aka middle-of-no-where Texas] to see the family. There were about about a hundred smiling faces in the big house, and I was a tinsy intimidated.

The long dessert table provided instant me with instant comfort.

An obstacle course, flag football game, tug-of-war struggle, flag football frenzy, softball, arm wrestling competition [I represented the Roach family well and made it to the semi-finals], pie-eating competition, and pepper-eating competition later... we were all pooped and full of yummy food.

Such a great group of people, even if they are Aggies. ;)

THEN... even more fun began.

Friday we all got up at 530 and headed to the Dallas Galleria, which [for those of you who haven't been] is an Oklahoma girl's dream mall. It seems to stretch on for miles, store after store. My pink debit card was burning a hole in my pocket.

Did I mention I have the greatest boyfriend ever, yet?

He tried on everything I picked out for him and even dared to enter the daunting Forever21, holding all of my clothes as I milled around the store.

Papa Roach, Mama Roach, and Auttie are all wonderful. Grahm is wonderful [but you knew that already]. All the food was wonderful. Shopping [duh] was wonderful. And the Sooners heading to the Big 12 Championship is DEFINITELY a wonderful thing.

Great, great weekend.

I'm now fat and happy, ready to finish up the semester with a smile on my face.

Thanksgiving

Pumpkin pie, extra whip cream.

Green bean casserole.

Sweet potato casserole, extra brown sugar.

Rolls, extra butter.

Honey ham.

Shopping, shopping, shopping.

It's a Wonderful Life.

Being with those I love the most.

... Did I mention pumpkin pie?

Thanksgiving is absolutely my favorite holiday.

No question.

Really, it's an excuse to live, almost to the extreme, the very life I want. Lovin' on people, eating ALL the time, and shopping til I absolutely drop. Now that's a recipe for happiness if I've ever seen one.

This year will be a little different.

It's the first time I won't be headed north to see my extended family, who I only get to see this time of year. And it will be the first time in years that I don't get up with my sister, mom, and aunt to hit the mall at 5:30 a.m.

Instead, Grahm and I are headed to Kaufman, Texas for his biannual family reunion. I'm excited to meet everyone and participate in the fun-filled schedule they have for all of us. Papa Roach [Grahm's dad] has even volunteered to take me shopping on Black Friday! Now I just have to convince him that Bass Pro and Ace Hardware aren't exactly at the top of everyone's Black Friday "musts."

It will be a fun few days. That is, if the Turkey Trot Grahm is making me run

doesn't kill me.

Being with the Roach family, however, does mean that I won't be able to shamelessly go get my traditional fourth or fifth plate of food. I probably should show some self control.

After all, most of these people aren't going to know me.

I don't exactly want to be remembered as "girl who had four pieces of pie."

... or do I? :)

Well readers, I will see you in a few days with an extra ten pounds

attached to my thighs.

Happy Thanksgiving!

You can find "ear" in relate

Have you ever met someone going through the same thing you once experienced? The details may be a little hazy, but the emotions are identical and just as real. She's you, just two years later.

This happened to me yesterday.

It's all very surreal, almost like staring at yourself in the rearview mirror as
you're quickly driving in the opposite direction.

It was easy to relate to her, to listen. When I needed to speak, the words effortlessly poured out of me; I knew so much of what she was enduring.

You may not have had recent contact with your ex-boyfriend's current ex [try saying that five times fast] but we all have people we can relate to. On the wide spectrum of human emotion, I bet you're not the only one who has at one time or is currently feeling anxiety, jealously, loneliness, etc. In that sense, we are all bound together. We all can, in some small way, can understand one another.

Every once in a while, I think these people are purposefully brought into our lives. It reminds us of the times when we didn't have it all together, when doubt crept into our minds. We didn't understand.

Looking at the girl in my rearview, I am so incredibly grateful. I'm thankful that I serve a God who knows exactly what he's doing... all the time. Whether I get it [a rare occurrence] or not. He always, always, always has my good in mind. And he is one who experienced it all. He can always relate to what I'm feeling. When I cry, he cries. When I'm full of joy, so is he. He always has an ear for me.

I'm a little behind...

In case you've been living under a rock the past few days [I can relate], let me shed some light on your current "dark" situation.

Harry Potter came out this weekend.

Now before you go get your wizard panties all in a wad, let me just say right now that I just don't get it.

I haven't read any of the [apparently magical] books, and I believe I've only seen a grand total of five minutes from one of the movies.

Before your throw your stones, let me explain.
I'm not against magic. Nor am I an anti-bandwagon kind of gal. I wear my UGG (ahem... fake) boots and Nike shorts with pride. Not to mention, I've trudged my way through the Twilight series and all of its angst.

I just can't get into fantasy.
Is that sad?
My imagination is about as vast as my big toe.

So while the movie theaters flooded with anxious teenagers dressed with pointy magic sticks and oval-rimmed glasses, Grahm and I walked into Rachel McAdam's latest film: Morning Glory. I think there were fifteen people in the theater, and that's being generous.

So, I guess I should [probably] try reading this series sometime. After all, I wouldn't mind living large like JK Rowling now is. But I think it might be difficult to read about flying brooms, magic spells, and talking creatures.

Do you like Harry Potter? Does it live up to all the hype?

Keep your coins, I want change

Change is in the air.

I'm not talking about the loose coins that may or may not be jingling around in your linty pockets. Nor am I referring to the kind of change Obama preached for his slew of naive followers. I'm talking about a transformation of sorts.

It's funny how often we can, of course, recognize the metamorphosis of

other people. At the end of a break up, how often do people toss up the

familiar excuse, "You're different. It's just... it's not the same as it used to be."

I've never been slapped with that terrible line (they knew better), but I

wonder if we, the "dumpers," can see how much we've changed too?

I've been thinking a lot about change, lately. In some ways, I can see the

difference in myself from my first day of college and now nearing the end.

Physically and emotionally. We're different than before. Heck, we are

different every single day. Every breath brings something new, something

with which we have to adapt our lives to.

The point is:

You change.

People change.

We're not the same as we were yesterday or ten minutes ago. Our circumstances, our lives are forever fluctuating.

But...there is One who does not change.

He is the same today, forever, and yesterday. And it is because of Him that I can embrace the change around me. In fact, I can long for it. I can long to be free from this world and the dissatisfaction my heart feels.

So when I get heartbroken, disappointed, dumped, trampled on...

When I have to change things that I would rather not (like leaving Norman and college foreeeevvver) I can rest in the steadfastness of the unchanging One.

It makes all this change just a little more bearable.

A Chapter for You

Hi, Readers. Remember me?

Man, it's been a while. This book is eating my lunch.

I thought I would include a chapter of my book and get some
thoughts. Keep in mind, this is the ROUGH draft. It's not perfect, and it probably never will be despite my anal efforts and fondness for the delete button.

I randomly picked a very early excerpt from one of my chapters for you all to read. So I want to hear thoughts, criticisms, what have you. I know there is plenty in here to rip apart, so by all means...

P.S. Sorry for the weird spacing. It's not letting me fix it, so just pretend it's properly indented and all that jazz.

An Excerpt from Chapter Something
By the time she had made it to the kitchen, Collin’s silk tie was already strewn on the floor. His worn leather Bible and a crumpled Charleston Gazette were plopped onto the round dinner table. His back was turned to her as he peered into the refrigerator.
“I made the ham and cheese casserole you like. It’s in the oven,” she beamed.
He looked over his shoulder. “How long is that going to take?”
“Forty-five minutes or so, I just put it in. How was your day?”
Collin let out a short, harsh sigh. “I’m just going to make a sandwich. It will be faster.” He reached into the open door and grabbed the remaining deli meat. “Sorry, but I’ve got a late deacons meeting tonight.”
Bailey tried to mask her disappointment. “But you just got home.”
“The Lord’s work never rests, you know that.” He took out the whole wheat loaf stowed away in the bread drawer. “It’s not like I particularly want to rush out again.”
Doubt flooded Bailey’s mind like water rushing a sinking ship. She questioned whether or not he really meant what he just said. “I know you don’t,” she said, almost to herself.
His callused hands gripped the dark gray countertops. “I didn’t even call this meeting. Charles Stinson did. I’m sure it’s just another one of his mindless budget assessments.”
Bailey reached out to stroke her husband’s broad shoulders. She knew how much he detested Charles and his endless financial crises. “I’m sure he just wants to make sure the church is balancing everything well, especially considering the last few months.”
Collin’s arm stiffened. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I just know attendance hasn’t been entirely consistent lately,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “And that has probably affected the church’s finances, especially with the new building going up.”
“The church is fine. Attendance is doing well and the finances are holding,” he said sternly, turning back toward the fridge.
Does he really think I’m that blind? she wondered. “I’m sure it is, but you know Charlie. He just wants to be certain.”
“I should think you would trust me a little more, Bails,” he said, spreading a generous amount of mayonnaise onto his sandwich. “As the head of this church, if I’m telling you everything is all right then you should believe it. No questions asked. You and Charles.”
Bailey paused for a moment. She knew he was right. Believing the pastor shouldn’t be difficult for any member of a congregation. It wasn’t asking too much. After all, if the man behind the pulpit wasn’t aware of the inner workings of the church, who would be? Yet, Bailey could not distinguish flawed husband from impeccable pastor, the man at church and the man at home. They were one in the same, yet entirely different. It was impossible to differentiate.
“It doesn’t hurt to double –”
“For God’s sake, Bails. I’m your husband.” He was practically shouting now. “Have a little faith.”
She watched her spouse shove the sandwich into his mouth. “Faith?”
“You aren’t trusting that God wants us to have this new building. That he will provide.”
Leaning against the cream-colored wall, Bailey clutched her hands behind her. She wanted to tell him that that he was being unreasonable. That faith wasn’t blind and foolish.
“I was just looking forward to you coming home,” she said instead.
“Well if dinner had been ready, we could have eaten together.”
His words stung more than he knew. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Rita just dropped by earlier, and I lost track of the time.”
“What is that? The third time this week?” he questioned while he chewed. “Doesn’t she know that you have other obligations?”
Bailey ignored the muddled slosh inside his mouth. “She’s lonely, Collin. And she’s my friend.” My only friend, she thought. The only one who knows…
“I understand, probably a lot better than most people that widows are lonely. But there are several women at the church who don’t have husbands.” He wagged his scrawny finger at her. “And you, my dear, are heavily favoring Rita Blankenship.”
Does he understand me so little? she wondered. How much does it speak of a marriage when the husband doesn’t recognize his wife’s best friend? She silently admitted to herself that her disappointment wasn’t exactly merited. Expecting him to understand her reasons for relying so heavily on Rita was futile. He wouldn’t understand until he knew everything, as Rita did. As only Rita did.
She forced a smile. “I will try and see some other ladies this week. It’s only Tuesday.”
“Excellent,” he said, a little too cheerfully. “You can take this casserole to the Conners, too. Jim just got back from the hospital this morning, and you haven’t exactly been showing him the kind of service a minister’s wife should.”
Her face flushed. She glanced toward the batch of homemade bread and blueberry muffins sitting on the counter in a red basket. She had planned to take them to the Conners the next morning.
“I wanted to give him time to –”
“I know you can’t do everything, Bails. But he’s an elder.”
She nodded her understanding.
“Your negligence doesn’t exactly make me look good.”
Her eyes shifted toward his tatty loafers. She wanted so much to please him, to give him something to be proud of. Isn’t that why she had come to Charleston in the first place? To do something right, for once?
Collin walked across the hardwood floor and poured himself a glass of white wine. “You can’t simply gloss over the most important people in the church. That’s your job, hun. I only have two hands.” His broad shoulders slouched over his wine glass. “I can’t keep reminding you of your responsibilities.”
Bailey bit her tongue. It was pointless to argue, she knew. This speech had become part of their daily schedule, as routine as brushing their teeth before bed, or reading the newspaper over a warm mug of hazelnut blend in the morning. Sometimes, she thought Collin actually enjoyed chastising her.
“We have an image to uphold as the head of this church,” he droned. “The people at St. Martin look to me to guide them. Me and you. We can’t let them see us screw it all up.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I know, dear.”
He smiled sardonically. “Then start helping me, Bails. We’re a team. We’re in this together.”
Bailey turned toward the oven to check on the casserole. She didn’t want him to see the tears brimming in her eyes.

A team? she thought. Oh, how she wished it was so.

The World Spins Madly On

[Good song, by the way]

I'm a little peeved. I should be northbound on I-35 to Tulsa right now. It's my dad's birthday/

OU-TX weekend/fall break for students. A trip home, since it's been literally ages since I've returned to my parents house in Broken Arrow, sounded like a fun excursion to get away from the madness that this week has been.

Instead of letting the open road hit me like the cool breeze, I'm in my tiny room

eagerly tapping my foot to wait on boyfriend to finally get back from work.

[He's late, which I should have expected.]

I don't know why I always think that suddenly Grahm is going to morph

into this punctuality freak like me... but every time we need to be somewhere,

I am not so kindly reminded that this is NOT the case and probably won't

ever be [but hey, an anal girl can dream can't she?].

See we had planned to get to Tulsa around 7 or so. This would be ideal timing to take my

dad out for a nice dinner for his birthday.

Yet, I wait.

And dad is going to be waiting, which isn't fun to do on your birthday, the one day of the year where time is supposed to revolve around you.

Anyway, this whole scheduling fiasco has got me wondering why I'm so time conscious.

What makes me so anal about punctuality, and my boyfriend so lax?

Why do I show up ten minutes early, when he would prefer showing up half an hour late to everything?

Since the answer is [obviously] not because I'm uptight, let's ponder.

I like things a certain way. I like the expected. I like to be on time, because I care what others think about me. [Who wants to be rude girl that's always arriving late?] There's not a lot

of give with me and it doesn't take much [this post pretty much makes this point] to get my hairs in a frenzy over a plan.

Okay, this may be starting to sound like I'm uptight...

But don't let me fool you.

[I'm a swell time.]

It's funny that I'm this way, yet I'm dating someone on the other end of the spectrum.

It makes me love him more, and hate him a little more all at the same time.

Grahm is the king of flow [note: flow should not be misconstrued as "smooth"].

I'm pretty sure he coined the phrase "Take a chill pill."

...And maybe I should.

A big, ginormous, everythin-is-going-to-be-ok chill pill.

Cause really, what's going to happen if I'm five, ten, [Gasp] fifteen minutes late?

I'm pretty sure no one will notice, my hair won't have to stand on end, and maybe I can

learn to love people a tad more because I'm not so worried about the time.

Plus, I won't have to list "uptight" on my character qualities someone is

going to have to put up with some day.

You can find "Ease" in Eraser, but that doesn't make it "Easy"

As I'm trudging through the work on my first novel's rough [and I do mean rough] draft, I can't help but liken myself to the daunting pages on the screen. Obviously, these are my

words, my thoughts, my characters. The draft is, in that sense, a part of me.

But I'm talking about something different.

I'm referring to actually being the rough draft.

It's funny how right you think you've got everything when you're writing. Or at least, I do.

I smile as I come up with the perfect metaphor, a vivid description for what I'm trying to convey.

Naively, I hand it in to my professor.

...Turns out, [and I know this is going to shock you] my work is not nearly as brilliant as I thought. It needed drastic improvements, changes for even my very best sections. It was disheartening. But also, exciting. The process is the fun part, after all. You work and work until the best version finally slaps you in the face.

Kinda like life.

I can always be edited. I can always be rearranged and improved.

The problem is allowing this to happen, allowing the editor to guide me.

So if I'm the rough draft, God must be the editor.

And he is a beautiful, just, and gracious editor, don't you agree?

He always gets it right. His ideas are always the ideal, the perfect ones.

And sometimes this editing process is hard. Sometimes, it just plain sucks. We become immensely fond of what we have written, the pages of our lives. We don't see

any good reason to delete, to start again, to write anew.

He erases the sentences, the metaphors that we think we just can't live without.

Showing us new possibilities, he steers us in directions we couldn't have

fathomed on our own. Out of love, always out of love for his creation.

And though the editing process may be difficult, we know the editor has

us in his hands. We know he cares for us, more than we can ever imagine.

Through him, we can be made into a moving, intriguing, whole stories. Without him,

we remain fragments on the page... incomplete and unfinished.

I can do anything good.

(Click me)

“Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.”

-Helen Keller

I thought I knew what homework was

...Until this semester.

I don't think I have ever been this overloaded. Sure, I've cried. I've panicked. I've invested in every color post-it note known to mankind in my not-so-distant college days. I thought I was busy; I wondered how in the world I was going to get everything done. But I didn't really know anything, I'm coming to find out. Cause busy has just reared it's ugly, hairy head at me.

I was like a kid in a pool freaking out over a soggy leaf floating next to me [thanks Doug Serven]. That was amateur stuff. And now, my friends, I'm hitting the big time. By "big" time, I mean "book" time, or "staring-at-my-computer-trying-to-write-an-amazing-novel" time. 

And it's just not all that fun.

My blogging life has suffered tremendously. Are you sad? Because I sure am. 

It's a real pain, this school thing. I love school, but I also kind of hate it.

I used to think that I would really enjoy college when I was doing what I wanted to do.

I'm doing nothing BUT reading and writing [lots and lots and lots and lots of writing] 

this semester and all instead of making my days that much more wonderful,

it kinda makes me want to curl up in a ball and die. 

My classes aren't necessarily hard [except the one major exception of novel class], 

they're just time consuming. And that's the worst.

It's my senior year, and there is just a whole lot I would rather be

doing than yet another reading assignment.

I guess, I shouldn't complain.

I could be picking the plaque off of someone's unbrushed teeth

like my roommate. Or I could be working on a dead body, fiddling with

the innards and memorizing all the little, gruesome details. 

Or I could be doing math, any and ALL kinds of math.

Still, I wish I had more time for things that are actually fun.

Dear Novel Class,

You will not defeat me.

Prepare to be dominated.

Love,

The Optimistic One

I'm not a very good fan

I went to a football game this weekend, as I always do when Sooner football rolls around. It's one of my favorite parts of being at The University of Oklahoma, for sure. I mean, you can't exactly beat screaming with 85,000 other fans at the big boys in red pounding each other on the field [can you imagine trying to feed those guys?].

I realize, readers, not all of you may know what Boomer Sooner football is all about [which is kind of shocking and depressing and you should probably go do something about that], but all you really need to understand is that we're kind of a big deal.

Because we're such a big deal, football season in Norman is basically the highlight of everyone's weekends/years/lives. It's true. Streets are completely closed down for tailgaters. Crazed fans grab their beer and OU paraphernalia and stake our their spots. No matter where you are in relation to the stadium, you can always hear an obnoxiously loud person shouting "BOOMER" and faithful fans will respond "SOONER."

Essentially, Norman revolves around the Sooners. So, if you don't go the games on Saturday, you'd best just stay at home cause you're not going to be able to get anywhere. [Have I mentioned that we're kind of a big deal?]

Well, I was especially excited because G-money got to tag along! We snuck him in with a friend's student ID and he got to sit with us in the student section [when I say "sit," I really mean "stand" for like four hours]. I was eager to show him what OU football and most importantly, what WINNING was all about. After all, we were playing Utah State. Everyone knew we were going to destroy them.

Wrong.

We were scared for the entire second half. It seemed like our boys were never going to take the football out of their buns and actually play the way everyone wanted them to. I mean it was embarrassing how awful we played. I found myself starting to agree with all the mean Sooner-haters, who say we are the most overrated team in the country. I was grumpy and I wanted to leave.

See? I'm an awful fan.
A few things go wrong, and I'm out. I've already kicked them to the curb.
Even Grahm, who didn't even go to OU and doesn't even consider himself a fan was more interested in the game.

So this whole fiasco made me wonder if it's the Sooners I love, or the winning.

Aren't you glad your friends and family aren't like this?
The only time they'll root for you, or care about you is if you're winning and at the top of your game?

When you throw yet another interception, when you launch the ball over the receiver's head for the millionth time, when you miss the tackle... Aren't you glad they aren't standing like angry fans in the stands, screaming their frustrations in unison?

Boy, I sure am.

It's nice to know that no matter how poorly you "play," they still love you and are gonna be there again next week to watch and cheer.

I guess it's a good thing all fans [of football teams or people] are not like me.

Dis-missing the Dis-connect

There's this delightfully depressing Ingrid Michaelson song in my head. The lyric currently floating around my spaghetti-noodle brain is "I want to change the world, instead I sleep."

I can relate.

Now that I'm writing a book [starting this week, eek] for my novel class, I feel this strange sort of empowerment. My fingertips hold such potential. Like a fluttering bird trapped in cage, waiting to be released into the wild. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

With each keystroke,

I begin to wonder whose life is going to be changed by reading

my oh-so-engaging thoughts.

And then I realize, I'm getting just a tinsy bit [like miles and miles]

ahead of myself.

You see, there's this disconnect.

And I'm not really sure why or when exactly it happens, but we all say that we

want to do big, big things with our lives. [Ingrid Michaelson wants to change the world,

I want to create great books.]

Yet, we find ourselves unable to make this happen.

This aspiration of ours suddenly melts like pink cotton candy in our mouths.

We say we want something. We have a dream, but

we can't seem to go about actually DOING it.

We are too lazy, or unmotivated, or something.

Even in making the outline of this novel, I feel drained.

I yawn at my computer screen just thinking about all the late nights

I'm going to be spending trying to create a brilliant plot.

I feel overwhelmed at my goal, and I haven't even started.

So my question, Ingrid, is if we all want to change the world,

[in whatever sort of way] why can't we?

I think the only one stopping us, is us.

It may look like Pepto Bismal, but...

Sometimes...

When my life is crazy, and I don't know how in the world I'm going to get

everything done. When I'm stressed out, freaked out, and becoming a

border-line insomniac. When I'm over-analyzing and cramming 500 things

into a planner with five lines. When all I want to do is curl up in a ball and

listen to Damien Rice, or some other depressing musician.

When I don't know what to do...

I get a strawberry milk green tea with boba.

It's my ultimate pick-me-up.

It helps me, just for a minute, forget everything else and believe

that, maybe, it's all going to be okay.