Letters

Dear Boyfriend,

Question we've been getting a lot lately: How much longer until you finish/Ron finishes residency?

Answer: 2 years.

It seems like a long time until you consider becoming a board-certified physician is a 12 year journey. I've been with you for 7 1/2 of the 10 you've already put in....which I'm pretty sure makes me the most patient gold digger EVER. ;)

Here's to less than 800 more days of living the broke-ho lifestyle. Can't wait to upgrade from a futon to a ginormous couch. Then we can BOTH lounge comfortably while rotting our brains with reality TV.

xoxo
Girlfriend





*~*~*


Dear MB (the anonymous douchebag from this post),


Omitted because according to my mother it was "not how I was raised."  See sidebar for another mother-inspired disclaimer.

*~*~*

Dear Town of Speedway,


Let's be honest. When it comes to potential, you spent quite a few years limbo-ing rather than pole-vaulting yours. Scummy people moved in, shopping center tenants moved out. Main Street was practically an oxymoron, what with its ghost-like appearance.

But luckily for you, you're home to a storied history and a whole lot of gumption, at present. Though your facade lost some of its glitz and glamour, your foundation never crumbled.

The Indianapolis Motor Speedway is still home to the Greatest Spectacle in Racing.

The Speedway school system is still highly regarded in educational circles.

Your public library and your police, fire, and parks departments are staffed with hard-working individuals who take the welfare of their fellow citizens very seriously.

Not to mention, you are a small town enclave of Indianapolis. You can never grow any bigger. The children of this town will never have to ride a bus to school. And yet, you also have easy access to the interstate (well, you will again eventually), and you're just 15 minutes from downtown, or the airport.

You are, in a word, unique. Very unique.

I for one, am incredibly proud and thankful that I was raised in your village-like environment. And as I watch you transition from surviving to thriving, my pride deepens. Of course, there has been and will continue to be opposition to this process. Growth and change require open minds, flexibility and a bit of initial discomfort. Not everyone is happy to make those sacrifices.

But continue to persevere. Because I truly believe you have everything it takes to once again become a highly sought after destination to visit (more than just once or twice per year) and live. And in the end, those who doubt and criticize you? Will eat every last one of their bitter words.

I'll be sporting my baby blue version of this all weekend.

*~*~*

Dear Race Weekend,

Bring it on.
I'm ready (to have a good time without puking in the bushes this year).

*~*~*

Dear Summer Reading,

Hold your freakin horses.
I'm not ready (yet).

*~*~*

Dear Doctor Frederick,


I think it totally sucks that you have to work a 24-hour shift on Monday.
Oh well, more Summer Shandy's for me on Sunday! ;)

Love you like a love song, baby.
Master Bower

Ps. I actually kind of hate this song but I can't get it out of my head soo...

Mini Victories

It's like I fell in a well.

In October 2008, I went for a run, took a wrong turn, and fell in a deep, dark, well. And ever since I've been desperately trying, in vain, to find a way out. I've jumped and clawed at the sides over and over again...occasionally latching on, only to tumble back down when the rocks disintegrated under my grip.

I've cried, thrown fits, screamed for help. All the while knowing that no amount of hysterics would save me. "Help" was not on the way. There would be no magic fairy sprinkling me with healing pixie dust. No knight with a white horse and a long rope to bail me out.

The only person capable of pulling me out of this awful pit....was me.

Still, after a couple years it started to feel hopeless. Perhaps this was my fate. Maybe I needed to stop looking up, for a way out and instead look around, for a new passion.

But I gave it another shot. Changed my tactics, and leapt with all my might. One more time.

And so far (knock on wood, cross your fingers, turn around twice and tap three times on the ceiling), it's working. I'm making progress. Over the past few months I've climbed high enough to see the light.

Then, this weekend? I felt fresh air on my face.

I'm not out yet. There's still critical work to be done before I finally heave my body out of the well and onto the soft green grass that makes up my field of dreams. 

Therefore, this is not a time for celebration. Because unfortunately I know all too well how easily I could slide back down the wall.

BUT. I will say that while 1:28.54 may not call for a fist pump....it most certainly calls for a smile. 

:D


Happy Monday people.

Thanks for all the cheers and well wishes this weekend/always. They are the reserves I rely on heavily when I'm low on optimism. <3

Sometimes

Sometimes as I'm flying down the stairs in a rush to get to work, a memory of Gypsy tearing down the same stairs, jumping to put her front paws on the window sill, and straining to peek out...makes me stop in my tracks. And tear up a little. Dang dog.

Backseat, headed to Sunday dinner with the fam.

Loved those dirty little paws.

 *~*~*

Sometimes I think I'm the most lazy person in the world for sleeping in until noon every chance I get. And then I notice Ron has left an empty nerds box on top of the traveling Euchre trophy. Which is all of .75 feet from the trash can. And I remember he'll always have me beat.

*~*~*

Sometimes I stare at the aquarium my brother Mark set up at the library, and think: This? Is magnificent. I'm so glad he was straight determined to excel at such a difficult hobby. And I'm ecstatic that he freakin gave this to me as a Christmas gift. Because now every time a patron walks by to admire it, I get to be like Yeeeeep. It's mine. Glad you like it. Did I mention it's mine?

I've yet to take a picture of the aquarium that does it any justice. Although if you aren't into saltwater aquariums, you won't be able to fully appreciate the awesomeness anyway. Regardless of the picture quality. (Not pictured: Sunshine, the yellow tang. Dory, the Blue Hippo Tang. Hector, the Hector's Goby. Plus miscellaneous worms, crabs, and snails. And a really cool sea cucumber.)

*~*~*

Sometimes I convince myself to go vegetarian. And then I think about how one of God's greatest gifts to earth is a Penn Station club (no mayo or tomato, slathered with extra honey mustard)...and I'm like dsfjdfajhkd. Maybe I'll be an asterisk vegetarian. Like no meat, except for the occasional (okay weekly) Penn Station Club. 

*~*~*

Sometimes I wonder how on earth Ron and I got into certain habits. For example. Currently, anytime one of us acts like they might do something the other wouldn't like, the response is: I'll kill you. (I'll murder you, or I'll slit your throat also accepted.)

So:

Ron: HEY. Don't throw that (week old, half-eaten, almost moldy) piece of pizza away yet! I'll murder you.

Me: HEY. Don't you dare take that armful of clean underwear and socks and dump them on the floor and then walk away! I'll kill you.

They're such mean/vulgar phrases, when you actually think about it. But I rarely think about it. I just say it. It's as automatic as shouting "You're welcome!" when someone doesn't thank me for holding a door open for them.

Sidenote: Another reason I wish I had a speaker system on the outside of my car: so I can yell You're Welcome! when I stop to let someone into traffic and they don't even bother to throw a thank you wave. Clearly they're oblivious to what a hassle it is for me to be nice.
 

But luckily for my mother, who I'm sure is shaking her head right now, we go in phases with our phrases. Before I'll murder you/kill you/slit your throat there was "You betta check yo FRESH" (reality TV at its finest) So I'm sure the next time something catchy comes along...it'll replace murder you/slit your throat/kill you.

 

I typed I'll Kill You into Pinterest and got these cats. 

Going with it.  

*~*~*

Sometimes, when I'm out with liberal friends, the conversation turns to politics. And I immediately begin stuffing my face with chips and salsa. I mean, they're really smart girls. So I respect their opinions. And I'm sure they'd respect mine. And maybe if we had a debate, it would be a nice, enlightening experience. It's possible, I'm sure. But I have no intentions of ever finding out.

 For the record though (this is not directed at my friends but rather society in general):

Just sayin.
If you're gonna hate, know what you're talking about.  
Be specific, don't assume or generalize.

*~*~*

Sometimes, when I'm driving down Rockville Road (at a reasonable freakin' speed for gosh sake. I almost always go at least 10 over the limit) being tailgated, cut off, honked at, flipped off, etc. I think: 

*~*~*

Sometimes Ron and I lose the weekly Sunday Euchre game to Dad and Grandma. And sometimes those losses include me accidentally reneging.

Which leads to Ron trying to school me in the middle of the game.

Which leads to threats like "If you don't shut your mouth I'm going to chuck this trump marker cube at your FACE."

Which leads to Dad playing "All you need is love" from his iPhone, while he and Grandma snicker.

Needless to say, it was a quiet ride back to the apartment last Sunday.

My response to Ron when he tries to tell me how I should have played.

5 Letters. 3 Long-ish, 2 Short.

Dear Apartment G Lease Holder, 


I have a confession. You aren't going to like it. But you aren't particularly complimentary of anything that comes out of my mouth so that's okay. I'm used to it.

This morning, I re-arranged the closet in the bedroom. I'm giving you fair warning, since I know how much you HATE coming home to find I've moved things around. It sends you straight into panic mode. All of a sudden you're SUPER concerned about the status of items you have not worn ONCE in the entire 7 years we've been dating/hating each other.

So for the record, all those items? Are under the bed.

This includes all 5 rain suits.

Love, 

Future Official Occupant of Apartment G
(I had to pay 25 dollars and apply to be an occupant so I can get a parking pass because they're threatening to tow my car.)

*~*~*~*

 Dear Ebay, 

Thank you for the stellar deals on quilts and cardigans. I can't wait for Saturday. I'm going to put on a sundress, pair it with a bright little cardigan, stuff my quilt into the basket on my cruiser bike, and coast on down the cultural trail to a spot by the river. And while I'm there? I'll get day drunk on cheap wine.

Fist pump for fashions and pastimes that never go out of style. And the sales that make it all possible. 

*~*~*~*

Dear Abra, 

Recently you sent Shay, LeAnn, and I an e-mail that included the following statements: 

We need to get serious about this hangout. If we don't make this happen I'm going to suspend my TWB membership until further notice (threat #1). But for real...I 100% need to hangout with people like me before I go crazy.


(Insert relevant stories.)

I. need. to. see. my. people. The end. :)

I love our whorebag bond. I don't think I could describe it any better than the following two quotes:

"In the mind's special processes, a ten-mile run takes far longer than the minutes reported by a grandfather clock. Such time, in fact, hardly exists in the real world; it is all out on the trail somewhere, and you only go back to it when you are out there. He and Mize had been through two solid years of such regular time-warp escapes together. There was something different about that, something beyond friendship; they had a way of transferring pain back and forth, without the banality of words.” (Once a Runner)

There's a closeness about people who run together. We become better friends, better athletes, and better women by the company we keep. As our mileage logs grow, so does our ability to speak the truth to each other, not hesitating when someone is limbo-ing her potential rather than pole-vaulting it. We expect the best for and from each other, yet on any given day feel comfortable enough just as we are. With no makeup, no status, and no B.S. allowed, running purifies friendships. (Unknown)

A TWB reunion is like a homecoming for my soul. In a Sisterhood of the Traveling Sports Bras, kind of way. It doesn't take away from the bond I have with other friends and family, it's just different. We have our own level of understanding. You are my people.

*~*~*~*

Dear Boyfriend, 

I got so tired of you referring to my purse as an abyss, I decided to downsize. I ordered a large wristlet today. It'll be just big enough for my wallet, phone, and lipstick. So next time you're digging around in my personal belongings in search of my phone so you can play games while I'm chauffeuring you to dinner --- I don't want to hear a PEEP. 

Accommodating-ly, 

Girlfriend

*~*~*~*~*

Dear World, 

This month my storytime theme is colors. At the end of each session, I pass out really colorful scarves. Each child gets one, and I get the leftovers. Then we all stand up, scrunch the scarves into a ball, and on the count of three...throw them high in the air and watch them drift down on top of everyone. 

I usually have to throw the scarves for the toddlers. (They haven't quite mastered the art of tossing things in the air yet.) But when I do, they shriek with their whole bodies. They're so overwhelmed with excitement they end up falling down and into each other before the scarves even hit the floor. Then they pick them up, stumble over to me, and drop them in my lap shouting "Gin! Gin!" (Again, Again)

With the older kids, there's usually some initial complaints about not getting the color scarf they wanted. Even though I preface the whole thing with "You get what you get..." to which they always respond in unison "AND YOU DON'T THROW A FIT!" 

Apparently they haven't fully grasped the concept yet. Kind of like how when I ask if there are any questions and they respond with a story about how their dog chewed up their favorite pair of buzz lightyear sneakers.

But in the end, they reach the same pinnacle of enthusiasm as the toddlers. They dive and leap as the scarves hit the ground and then jump back to their feet, scrunch their treasures into a ball, and look toward me.  Breathless. Eyes sparkling in anticipation as they wait for my count.

At these moments, World, I forget how evil and unfair you can be. I'm not worried about terrorism, debt, deficits, healthcare...or any other ridiculously complicated adult problem. 

Instead, I am filled with joy. And gratitude. 

I'll never make a ton of money as a children's librarian. I know that. 

And sometimes I get really sick of getting sick. 

But the rewards of working with children? Are absolutely priceless.

Careful with your Crumbs

 

 

 

Me: I had to be an Ant Assassin today. There were ants EVERYWHERE. They were by the futon, near the laundry machine, in the kitchen, there were even some in the bathroom!

Ron: (grunts, eyes glued to his laptop.)

Me: There was like a whole nation of them right here (point to a spot on the carpet) hangin out around a crumb.

Ron: (still not looking away from the computer) Well I guess you'll just have to be more careful with your crumbs.

Me: What?! Dude I clean this apartment every. day. It's GOT to be the cleanest apartment in the whole complex.....

(still aghast)

'Careful with my crumbs...' Psh. This is NOT about crumbs. And even if it were! "Being careful with your crumbs" isn't an effective method for handling an ant problem.

Ron: (chuckles while continuing to stare at his computer)

*~*~*~*~*

Ron walked in from a run as I was getting ready to post this.

Ron: What're you doin over there.

Me: Posting a blog about your "Careful with your Crumbs" comment.


Ron: What? Oh, about that ant infestation that you caused? You're like the Denny's of the ant world. Whatchu fixin for 'em tonight? Some Savannah Smiles?

For the record...he's now taking me to Qdoba for dinner.

That way there won't be any ant-infestation causing crumbs in the apartment tonight.

You Might Be an Immature Douchebag IF...

Just sayin.
(Keep reading mom)

First things first: Note the disclaimer on the side of the blog. I think most of you get my sense of humor. But God Bless my mama, she constantly worries about how harsh I come across. And that someday I might accidently hit a pedestrian and their lawyer will use my post about aiming for a pedestrian against me.

Well played mom. You have a valid point, thus we have a shiny new disclaimer. (Work in progress. Lawyer/Super Smart friends -- feel free to offer suggestions) Is it too much to expect a sharp decline in blog-related lectures on account of this disclaimer? Nevermind. I already know the answer to that. ;)

Moving on.

Today's post refers to a certain former classmate of mine with whom I had a public facebook feud...of sorts...awhile back. We are no longer friends on Facebook but....child please, like that would stop me keeping up with her shenanigans.

Okay actually it did. Which is good, because that was the goal. I prefer to not be subjected to douchebaggery on a daily basis. It's bad for my blood pressure. But a friend of mine got annoyed with the content of her statuses this week and sent me a text about it. Therefore, I just have to throw this out there. It was originally a facebook status but I figured what the hell, why not make it a blog post. You'll get to air your grievances AND be more consistent with blogging this week. Win-win.

My response to this week's Douchebag of the Week (with the way things are going, I'm considering making this a weekly daily feature):


Here's my thing. If you don't like the town you grew up in, you move away. And then you MOVE ON. You don't move away, and then continue to spout useless cynicism. Because that? Is a waste of YOUR time and MY patience.

I don't care who you are or what you think you're accomplishing. You are not omniscient. You are not a whistle blower. You are a sad soul in need of a new hobby.

#TEAMSPEEDTOWN

#FORLIFE,YO

Dear Boyfriend

Dear Boyfriend,

It's been awhile since I've written a letter just for you. I planned to write one on Valentine's Day, but I was too busy hollering at people for not getting in the spirit to actually get in the spirit.

I know, go figure.

That's kind of how I roll -- high speed, high anxiety, high expectations. Hopping from one good-intentioned trail to the next. Doing first, thinking after.

Meanwhile, you mosey on behind me with an amused look on your face. Unphased by all my Letsgo's and HurryUP's and Freakin A Grandpa Moses, I'd like to get there before The Second Coming's.

You're the lazy river, to my rushing rapids.

You're the slow and steady to my are you ready?

You're the woman what's your hurry? to my nonstop flurry.

You're the let's soak up the sunset to my but I haven't finished my run yet.

You're the rope that reels me in, before I skid right over the edge.


And just so you know? I love you for it.


xoxo
Girlfriend

Dear Idiot Exercisers of the World + Nice Thoughts

Dear Idiot Exercisers of the World, 


2 Things. 

1. THERE ARE NO STOP SIGNS ON A ROUNDABOUT. There are stop/yield signs before the roundabout, but once you're on it...it's a perpetual green light. If people stopped on a roundabout, it could cause a pile-up. Also, it would defeat the entire point of having a roundabout in the first place. Might as well just have a 4-way stop again.

So here's the thing. When I'm on a roundabout, I'm not looking for pedestrians. Because PEDESTRIANS DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY when they are crossing the exit of a roundabout. Therefore, if you, in your ridiculous-looking headband and ankle length basketball shorts, decide to trot across my path....you do so at your own risk.

Which Means, if I decide to be nice and slam on my breaks rather than mow you down....the appropriate response would be "My bad! Thanks!" NOT "Watch where you're going!" 

Do it again and I promise you, I'll watch where I'm going. In fact, I'll aim for you. Idiot.


2. If you are going to channel your inner Lance Armstrong after the sun goes down...you should seriously consider adding a light to your bike. Or wearing some reflective gear. Because believe it or not? Your awesomeness doesn't make you visible. Idiot.


Alright. I feel better. Now on to the happy little blog I started on Tuesday.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*



Recent blog excerpt from my favorite blogger, Kelle Hampton:

I want to be inspired. Always. I want to feel that spark that makes me come alive. And while I think most of us feel fulfilled to wake up every morning, pour a cup of coffee and go about our day loving on our kids, I think we feel more alive when we take the time to be inspired. To read blogs, buy flowers, book trips, pin pretty wallpaper pictures to our Pinterest boards, search for new talented Etsy artists, hit repeat on songs that make us get up and dance, read good books, take walks, connect with others, dream about the future and--I'll be damned, write about whatever it is that makes us come alive.

 *~*~*

I love Kelle for a variety of reasons. Namely her amazing photography and shameless full-on celebration of each new season. My coworkers might laugh as I happily switch out my desk decorations 4-5 times per year, but Kelle? She gets me. She doesn't know me. But she totally gets me.

And even though I don't have kids, and I'm in no financial position to pick up an expensive hobby like photography, I still find something that I can relate to in each of her blog posts. Case in point, today's thoughts on being inspired.

I don't think any season inspires me more than Spring. It's a dangerous time of year for me because I'm so enamored by the idea of opening the windows while I deep clean the apartment (not the dangerous part) and replacing my kitchen towels, candles, sheets, shoes, purses, accessories, rugs, soap dispensers, fake floral arrangements, and every item of clothing I own with things that are bright, fresh, and new. (that, would be the dangerous part)

So yes. I'm a bit disappointed that I've taken a small-ish step back in my financial plan for 2012. But it's not a huge setback. And every time I walk past my pretty lemon towels, smell my aloe and waterlily candle, and get complimented on my polka dot ruffled top...my heart lifts a little. Okay a lot. And that sort of makes up for it, right?

It does if I say so. And I say so.

So anyway. Here are some things that have inspired me lately:

All Things Vintage/Shabby Chic

I plan on having a vintage wedding. Therefore, I'll spend the next 2.5 years collecting mismatched vintage china for the guests to use. But of course, I want to make sure I do a little something extra for my bridal party.

So my first thoughts when I came across these? Oh hell yes. SOLD.

Can't wait for all my favorite whorebags to eat their cupcakes on their special plates. ;)

(For those not in the know, my friends and I often refer to each other as whores, hookers, etc. We show affection via insults. My mom hates it. We thoroughly enjoy it.)

This Song

Because:

1. I know Dog Days are supposed to refer to the summer heat. Something to do with a Dog Star or whatever. But I prefer to think of Winter as my Dog Day season because for me bitter cold is more dreadful than oppressive heat. So when Spring arrives, this song becomes my anthem.

2. I'm a youth librarian, therefore any song that involves clapping? Automatically wins my approval. Bonus points for stomping and enthusiastic, shouty-style singing.

3. As a runner, I can't help but support a song that encourages running fast (for your mother, father, children, sister, and brother).

Lemon Anything.

I feel like Lemon is supposed to be more of a summer thing. But for me, Lemon is to Spring what Pumpkin is to Fall. And Peppermint is to Winter. And Frozen Powerades are to Summer.

For example:

Everytime I eat these I dream about my bridal shower.

(Yes, I'm obsessed with prematurely planning my wedding.)

And how it will have tea cups, and vintage dessert plates.

And these amazing cookies.

Lemonade Cake. Found the recipe on Pinterest.
Haven't made it yet. But I will. Soon.

McAlister's Lemonade.

Couldn't find a good picture of one of their jugs.

This is prettier anyway.

Sunshine, the newest fish in the library aquarium.
She's yellow like a lemon, so that counts.
Plus, she makes me smile.

Lemon kitchen towels. Target, 9.99.

I have the first two hanging from our stove right now.

<3

Children Laughing

Despite my total lack of an immune system....I LOVE my daycare kiddos..

This Print

And This One. Extra Large, FTW.

This and That

(Started last Friday, finished on Monday)


It's been a quiet month in the Sarcasm Household. With the doctor working over 90 hours a week (shhh, technically the law says he's not allowed to work more than 80) and studying for a big exam, there hasn't been much banter. BUT, things are looking up. He's currently finishing his last 30-hour shift (for awhile) and he'll be on a new rotation soon. He informed me Wednesday night that as soon as he gets home this afternoon he is:

(Note: My boyfriend very rarely drinks. And when he does, he almost never gets drunk. Therefore, this little spiel was highly entertaining to me.)  

"Poppin bottles! (makes big sweeping gesture which I think was meant to simulate popping a bottle) I'm gonna get DRUNK. (pauses and looks into the distance as he imagines the glorious-ness of finishing his shift. then comes back to the present) Yeah. Gonna get SCHMAMMERED and watch Storage Wars alllll night."


WoW. Really knows how to live it up, this one. I offered to take him to Eagle's Nest using a gift card but,

Ron: Daaang girl you got expensive taste!

Me: Dude whatever, I was just trying to reward you. But that's fine I'll take your @ss to MAC-DONALDS and call it a day!

Ron: That's what I'm TALKIN about.


Oh my.

Anyway.

This is going to be a hodgepodge of a blog post.


First, a couple "Just because ____ doesn't mean _____" moments. 


Just because those stupid little stickers that look like bullet holes are available, doesn't mean you should buy them. 

Particularly not if you plan to COVER your rust red mini van with them. Nothing says NOT-hardcore like a soccer dad driving a bunch of kids to practice in a vehicle covered in "bullet holes." (And no, I do not care if the reason you put them on your car is because your 9-year-old kid thought they were the coolest thing on the planet. In fact, I'd call that poor parenting. You should have taken the opportunity to explain the seriousness of gun violence in our society. Just sayin.)



Just because the hood of my car is sticking way out past the white line by the stop sign, doesn't mean I pulled out there on purpose because I love making people veer around me.

It's there because it's frickin impossible to make a left turn onto 267. From ANYWHERE. And when I attempted it the first time, I underestimated the speed of a vehicle 3 times the size of mine. So I stopped in part of your lane. Sue me. Or rather, drive toward me all aggressively like you're going to hit my car and then emphatically point backwards as if I could back up when there's a car right behind me. That'll teach me a lesson. Actually no. That'll just earn you the privilege of meeting my middle finger. Because I don't care who you are, or that you're old enough to be my great-grandma. My temper doesn't discriminate.

(Yes I'm aware I should limit my middle finger usage in the town in which I work. Ok fine, I should limit it in general, but especially the town in which I work. I usually do a good job of that but the little old lady and her scrunched-up angry face really got to me for some reason and I lost my composure.)

Second, a text conversation the evening after I flipped off a granny. 


Me: I flipped off a little old woman today and I'm not ashamed.

Shay: Lol that's fine. Being old doesn't entitle anyone to immunity.

Me: Exactly, thank you. This is why I text my true confessions to you.

Shay: Well, I'm probably not the best to ask. I have a short fuse and right before your text I got burned by a pot sticker.

Love her.


Third, an observation. 


Ron enters every room with all the grace of a hugely overweight beagle with attitude.

Case in point. Our family's first beagle, Champ (who was huge and overweight due to Cushings disease. Well that and probably one too many McDonald's french fries), never took a 99.9% closed door for an answer. If it had the slightest crack in it, he felt it was his cue to ram it with his head (making a huge BOOM sound) and then saunter in like "Hey guys...what's up....whatcha doin in here...why wasn't I invited to the party."


At least five times a week, Ron does the same thing. He barges into the bathroom while I'm getting ready for work/bed/to go out to eat. And because he seems to think he can't enter a room unless the door is COMPLETELY open, and I often leave part of the bathroom closet door open as I'm getting in and out of it, they slam into each other and make a bunch of noise.

When he did it this weekend:

Me: Seriously? Do you have to do that every. time. You're as bad as Champ!

Ron: (unphased) I like to make an entrance.








Back tomorrow with....something. Maybe letters, Maybe sometimes. Maybe conversations. Who knows. But I'll definitely be posting more consistently this week. No excuses.

When you just KNOW.... (Wedding Speech, Deleted Scenes )

Thank you everyone for the kind words about my speech. Like I said, it was the easiest thing I've ever written. However, it was also the hardest thing to share. I'm often crippled with self-doubt. I seriously have more blogs saved as drafts, than I do published. I wanted to share how I felt with Lisa & Tyler because I meant every word. And I was fairly confident the words I had carefully strung together, would echo the sentiments everyone else felt as well.

But at the end of the day, I'm nothing if not neurotic. Even last night, I was still second-guessing the speech. Was it over-the-top? Did I sound like a creepy idolizing stalker? Should I have shared it? I said I would put it on the blog, but....

I should know by now, you can never go wrong when you write from the heart. My friends and family are more important to me than anything in this world and while I don't want to smother them with sappiness....I do want to make sure I "say what I need to say" (John Mayer) when I have the opportunity. Life is far too short and uncertain not to.

The following is a tangent that didn't make the wedding speech because a. it almost doubled the length of an already long speech, and b. I didn't have a slick transition for it. It was meant to fit in toward the end, after the "Now we know" in response to who could be good enough for Lisa. I want to share it with them because if it were me...these are the kind of spine-tingling stories I would LOVE to hear.

*~*~*~*

When people talk about “knowing” something without any real evidence or proof, it’s often referred to as a “gut-feeling.” I’m not a big fan of that term, but I’m a huge fan of having one. I prefer to describe it in more of a theatrical sense. Like when you go to the theatre, and the lights begin to dim…a hush falls over the crowd as everyone finds their seats. They know the show is about to start. Something wonderful is about to take place. And they don’t want to miss a moment of it.

That’s how I feel when I have a gut-feeling. For a split second, the background noise fades and my mind and heart whisper in unison: Remember this moment. This is important. 

 At Lisa’s Bridal shower, several people mentioned having gut-feelings about Lisa and Tyler as a couple. And truly, I think that’s one of the best gifts a couple can receive -- the knowledge that their friends and family…the people they hold dearest in life…also had instant, powerful reactions to the connection they share as a couple.

So before I get to the toast, I’d like to briefly share the two gut-feelings I had about Tyler and Lisa.

Both took place at Dawson’s on Main in Speedway. (I don't know if that has any significance, but I felt it was worth noting.) The first was a girls night with Lisa and Katie. That night, Lisa was super excited about this awesome guy at work. She wanted our help picking out her outfit for a meeting she might see him at the next morning. 

Almost immediately, the sound of Lisa and Katie chattering about what was too formal or informal became muffled as one thought consumed my mind: “This is it. This is the last time we’re going to help her make a good first impression.”  I don’t know how or why I felt that way, I just did.

The second moment was the first time I met Tyler. He stopped by Dawson’s to meet a group of us after work. Normally when I meet someone a friend is dating for the first time…I’m all kinds of skeptical. I have to resist the urge to interrogate them on everything from their childhood to their hobbies, intentions, and 5-year-plan. But when Tyler walked in the room and sat down next to Lisa….any reservations I may have had ceased to exist. While everyone else talked and joked and laughed….my heart started to beat a little bit faster, and my mind assertively said: 

He’s the one. He’s absolutely perfect for her. I don’t know a dang thing about him yet…but I know that. 

*~*~*~*

And I'm (finally) spent. ;)

Have a magical time in Fiji, newlyweds!

In Honor of Dr. & Mrs. Stepsis (My first wedding speech)

Picture courtesy of Lisa & Tyler's sister-in-law Angie.

Prologue:

All friends change you. But some friends....mold you. They're the friends you've grown up with, faced life-changing events with, or both. And the impact they make on you is so profound, there are no words to describe it.

Yet, I will try. I will always try because I love words. And I love a challenge. And of course, I love my friends.

The following is the wedding speech I wrote for my beautiful friend, Mrs. Lisa Stepsis. It's a speech that has been swirling around in my heart for years, waiting for the perfect opportunity to be shared. On March 3, 2012, I got that opportunity.

I should note though, I wasn't actually planning to give a speech. I knew I wasn't going to be the maid-of-honor, and I didn't want to encroach on Ms. Moran's moment. My plan was to keep my mouth shut and post the speech on this blog as a nice tribute.

The problem with that plan though, is I'm a toolbag.

The day after Lisa and Tyler got engaged, I felt overwhelmingly inspired to put my feelings on paper for the first time. Now, normally when I write (like really write, not when I throw together blog posts about random stuff I find on Ron's desk), it's a pain-staking process. Even when it's something I'm passionate about, I still spend hours analyzing word choices and sentence structure.

But this speech? Flowed from my heart, through my fingers, and onto the screen so smoothly....I didn't know what to do with myself. Never has expressing my feelings been so easy.

So when I met Lisa and Katie for dinner the weekend after Lisa's engagement, I couldn't contain my excitement. Before I even knew what I was doing, I'd told Lisa about the speech. She was mildly (or maybe majorly but hid it well?) surprised by the announcement, (just as surprised as I was that I'd been moronic enough to make it) but she gracefully recovered and invited me to share the speech at her wedding.

So. This is that speech. There's actually an extended version with a couple stories added, but I think I'll save those stories for a second blog post because this is long enough as is.


Shortened version of the speech:
(Karen-short, or course)
(excessive commas because I did a lot of pausing for emphasis.
And to break up really, really long sentences.)


When I play back the reel of my life in my mind, I have a tendency to pause at the part where Lisa showed up. The way our friendship started was so simple. So seamless. Yet that feels odd to me. Because 14 years later, I can recognize how monumentally important it was, that I meet someone like her.

So I guess I half-expect my former-self to have some sort of light bulb moment. Like hey, this friendship? Has the potential to be epic. So don't screw it up.

But no, I was clueless. All I knew was this bubbly girl with the unruly blond curls, wasn’t going to stop harassing me about joining the swim team, until I said yes. And with her kind of relentless enthusiasm…I couldn’t say no.

So a snazzy new swim suit, and what sometimes seems like just 5 minutes later, here I am. Desperately hoping I've found the right words to honor her, and her brand-new marriage.


*~*~*


When I sat down the write this speech, one word stood in my way. There was no getting around it. Like an 18-wheeler jack-knifed on the interstate, it blocked the rest of my mental traffic.

Beautiful.

I think everyone in this room could agree, that there's just something about Lisa. She shines. Not just today, all dressed up and radiant with love, but everyday. With the kind of beauty that can’t be purchased from a plastic surgeon.

Real beauty.

Real beauty is honesty. Loyalty. Living with integrity, and intention. It's compassion, and joy and a strong sense of self. It's a smile that draws people in, and a personality that makes them want to stay. As long as possible.

Lisa is the epitome of real beauty.

And when I look back on our friendship so far, that's what I see. Beautiful history. Her smile and laughter have brought more sunshine to my life than could possibly be summed up in a wedding speech. Even in the rough patches, Lisa never hesitated. To pick me up and dust me off, or give me a swift kick in the butt and slice of her mind.

So as far as friends go, actually as far as people go...she’s a rare bird.

And the thing about rarity, is it’s very hard to match. Before she met Tyler, Lisa would often ask me what was wrong with her, why hadn’t she found her soul mate yet? With each new wedding announcement in the Speedway Press I’d get a text that said: I’m going to die an old maid.

I tried to explain to her that it wasn’t her. It was them. Of course she didn’t believe me because that’s what everyone says. But it was true. The guys she dated weren’t bad people. It’s just that their spirits….weren't big enough for her. She needed a man who could match her step for step in intellect and energy. And until Tyler, I’m sorry but if you ask me they all just kind of hung out in the shade, cast by her vitality.

Tyler is more than the answer to Lisa’s wants and wishes. He’s the answer to the question everyone on Team Lisa has been asking for years: Who could possibly be good enough for our girl?

Now we know.

Tyler, I think I speak for all of Lisa's family and friends when I say: we think the world of you. I couldn't have custom created a better man to stand by my friend, for life.

Together you two make, a stunning pair. And I couldn't be more thrilled for both of you, and your families.

So now I'd like to propose a toast, using a sentiment I shamelessly stole from a greeting card:

May your story together have more heroes than villains.
More adventure, than drama.
And may love always, always win.

Jr. High Swimming, with Ashley Taylor.
In junior high the three of us shared a traveling notebook.
We still have one or two of them and they. are. hysterical.

Freshman @ Prom. We were cool like that.
We were also really good at scrapbooking -- 
check out the stellar use of curvy scissors.

Senior Prom. Note how in both prom pictures, 
I'm cheesing like a doofus.

A bit more recent. With the lovely KTak (Katie Takacs)!
Sadly, I didn't take a good camera
so I have to wait on others to upload their pictures
of her and I on her wedding day.

Storytime Shenanigans

HA! I need a copy of this.

There was a new kid in one of this morning's storytime classrooms. So as soon as I walked in, he felt it was imperative he introduce himself.

Kid: Hi I'm Damien and I'm FIVE (shoves his hand in my face)

Which in a normal situation is fine. Kind of cute even. But I've come to hate when a kid announces their age in storytime because then they ALL think they have to share their ages, even though the rooms are divided by age so they're all usually the same age. Anyway. They all began shouting their ages, as usual. To stop the madness I hollered:

HEY. Do you guys know how old I am??

They got quiet and one little girl asked "how old are you?"

Me: TWEN-TY SEVEN.

Cue 30 voices screaming variations of Oh. My. GOD! And NO WAY!!

Plus one little precious boy looking down at his hands with a confused look, not understanding that you can't count to 27 with your hands.

Sometimes

Sometimes I think the only reason Ron leaves me rambling voicemails is to prove I'll get bored and stop listening 15 seconds in. And if he can prove that, then I'm no longer allowed to holler at him when he's not aware of whatever important nugget of information was hidden in 2 minutes off verbal fluff I left him. (Ron: 1, Karen: 0.)

Sometimes I eat smarties until my head starts to spin. Seriously.

Ron and I at Meijer.

Sometimes I judge people for doing stupid things when they clearly know better. And then I look at my credit card statement(s) and realize I'm in NO place to be judgmental.

Sometimes I wish I had tinted windows on my car so it wouldn't be quite so obvious when I'm rockin out hardcore. (to Radio Disney)

Whaaaat. I need one of these. Asap. LOVED my bike radio back in the day.

Sometimes when a song on the radio asks a question, Ron answers it. For example, Nothing by The Script.

Am I better off dead?
Ron: Probably.
Am I better off a quitter?
Ron: Yes.






Sometimes, on Valentine's Day, I work until 8pm. So after work, I stop by Panera to pick up dinner. When I arrive, I find out they're out of french baguettes for my Broccoli Cheddar soup. I'm mildly annoyed.

When I get home, I see all the work Ron has put toward his Valentine's gifts for me. I look down at my little bag o' Panera and feel like a putz for thinking we weren't doing anything to celebrate.

When we sit down to eat, we discover Ron's Italian sandwhich is meatless. It's just bread, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. We have no meat in the apartment. There isn't a Panera nearby and it's already past closing anyway.

I feel so bad I kind of want to cry.

The next night, I decide to make it up to Ron by buying him some new hazelnut Kcups to try + dinner again. This time dinner is from Qdoba. I'm feeling somewhat satisfied with my gesture until we sit down to eat. His meal is missing 2 key ingredients.

Now, I'm irate.

I throw on my coat, not bothering to clear the mascara raccoon eyes leftover from my shower. Stomp out of the apartment, slam my car door, tear out of the parking lot, tromp through the rain and puddles on my way into Qdoba...which makes my pajama pants all wet and gross...stand in line, order the missing ingredients, speed home, throw the ingredients on the counter, change pajamas, pout about (what felt like) my second epic fail for a few minutes, then join Ron for dinner and 5 minutes of American Idol before we decide all the singers suck and turn on Glee.

Therefore,

Sometimes I think I should go ahead and laugh at the situation and my ridiculous reaction right away, since I know I will later. But I can't. I'm too busy plotting my homerun. After two strikes, I have every intention of absolutely nailing dinner tonight.

What I should do when I'm upset.

What really occurs.

This Week's Letters

(written yesterday)


Dear Boyfriend,

I wish you'd get off the phone so we could go for a run.
Oh well. I guess it gives me more time to write pointless blog posts.

Love,
Girlfriend

*~*~*

Dear 1980 Dodge Ares K (aka "The Box"),

Everytime I hear Nelly's Ride Wit Me, it reminds me of high school and driving you around Speedtown after track practice. We had some good times, you and me. And to be honest, I was kind of sad to see you go. What you lacked in air-conditioning, defrost, and automatic locks....you totally made up for in character. I loved your plush baby blue interior, your ginormous bus-sized wheel, and the fact that you made me instantly recognizable (cool when it came to classmates, not so cool when it came to attempts at sneaking past driving boundaries set by the parentals).

I don't know where you are now, but I hope your owners appreciate you as much as I did.

Similar to what The Box looked like.

*~*~*~*

Dear People of My Generation & Younger,

That'll be enough. Your language modifications are getting a little out of hand. I'm cool with a few text abbreviations every now and then. And I've got nothin' but love for the person who coined Holla (Holler). But I draw the line at "Cray." (Crazy)

First of all, it sounds ridiculous. Second of all, the letter Z doesn't get enough mileage as it is.
So knock it off.

And heaven help us all if I catch you
wearing a shirt like this...

*~*~*~*

Dear Dr. Nor,

I realize you're (still on the phone) gaining valuable information for your new rotation that starts tomorrow but....according to my weather app the temperature just dropped a degree. So seriously. LEZGO.

(For the record, LEZGO (from Let's Go) came well before the line I drew at Cray).

Ps. I don't know why you're making motions at me to hurry up and get ready when you don't even have your running shirt on. All I'm missing are my shoes.

(Update one day later: we made it a whole 4 miles without arguing! Fist pump.)


*~*~*~*

Dear Girl Scouts,

Remember when you used to sell a box of cookies for 2 dollars? No? Well I do. That's why I cringe a little each time I shell out 3.50 per box. Just incase you were wondering.


*~*~*~*

Dear Gypsy,

We still miss you.

*~*~*~*


Dear Newfound Desire to be a Bit More Assertive,

Until you untangle yourself from Constant Desire to be Snarky...I have no choice but to ignore you. The two of you together spell nothing but trouble.


*~*~*~*

Dear House, M.D. & Desperate Housewives,

Not gonna lie, I'm kind of bummed that you both have to end in the same year. Together you represent the persona I'll probably never have the intelligence, guts or money to take on: brilliant, endlessly sarcastic, overly confident, and impeccably dressed.


*~*~*~*

Dear Mr. Anesthesia Resident,

This month you'll average 80 hours per week. 60 of those coming from 2 30-hour shifts (per week!...I really can't get over that. and in the ICU, no less. really sucks to be you). Out of respect for your hard work and lack of sleep, I solemnly swear to not rearrange things while you're gone.

So good luck, I love you!

Your Little OCD Librarian

P.s. That said, be prepared for a very detailed plan of attack targeting all 5 walk-in closets to appear on your desk .2 seconds after you finish this rotation.

Observations: Ron's Desk

Ron was got called in to Riley on Saturday morning, so while he was busy saving lives....I did something equally important: Dust his desk. In the process, I observed a great many interesting things.

But before I share those things, let me say I'm all for a man keeping his desk as clean or cluttered as he pleases.

When he has his own office.
With a door.
That a woman can keep closed at all times. 

However, since we currently live in a one bedroom apartment, Ron's office is located in the dining room. (my office is my side of the futon. fair enough since I have too much debt to help pay rent at the moment)

Which means I have stare at his clutter every. day. I realize I could just avert my eyes but actually? I can't. I'm a complete Neat Freak. With a capital F-R-E-A-K. And when I'm having a particularly bad day in the OCD department, his desk can make my eye twitch.

Yet I very rarely say a word to him about it. It's his desk, he pays the rent, and to the rest of the world I'm sure it's not that bad. But know that it drives me crazy. And the fact that I almost never bring it up is like...sainthood nomination material. So don't hate on me for poking fun at his desk.


Ok where were we. Oh yes. While cleaning Ron's desk, I found:

Four Stress Balls

3 Pairs of Sunglasses

2 electronic-less remotes, a broken mouse,
and his old flip phone circa 2000.

A Lava Lamp that NEVER gets used.
Which I guess makes it a funny shaped
vase filled with water and green stuff.

His printer that I think works just fine,
But he refuses to use it because he thinks
it gave his computer a virus.
3.5 years ago.

Bonus points to the person
who can guess what this is.

It wouldn't be Ron's if it didn't
come with an empty box.

Ron's dust-free desk.

Ron comment: I think it looks just fine.