You will want to be her home.

We want to be noticed and eventually adored for our hidden intricacies. We want the lover who lives to learn us. The one who wants to take us across the world to drink wine for breakfast and drunkenly stare at buildings to discuss architecture and religion. We want someone who realizes that where you invest your time, your heart will follow. With bitten nails, designer shoes and an iPod library ranging from Mozart to Ludacris. Someone who shares their first bite of steak and offers up their last bite of ice-cream. Someone who sees her.

She will always make you late, but it is you that she wants to impress. She is not and never will be a morning person so you can expect to wake up your hypothetical children and make them breakfast. She loves fire and fresh cut grass but is allergic to smoke and gets hay fever. She loves to cook for you and lives to bake, but has never cared for sweets and would rather leftovers most nights. She can’t help but talk during movies and will “Shush” you when you do. She is the most giving and selfish person you will ever meet and has all faith in the biblical definition of love.

She will laugh at herself often and see she is becoming her parents more every day. She will take pictures of you when you are not looking and write you letters you will never see when she is angry. She will pray for you more than herself and curse you quietly for leaving toothpaste in the sink and licking your fingers. She takes her coffee black because her mom does and notices every time you touch her. She will use all of the hot water, take all of the covers and expect to never touch a trash can for the duration of your life together. She will always want to see the world but avoid looking like a tourist at all cost.

She will vote in every single election, listen to talk radio and still dance until sunrise to pop music you’re embarrassed that you like a little. She has a distrust of modern medicine and big business and hates environmental irresponsibility. She is the girl who loves to run and will race you barefoot after too many drinks. She loves to sing and does so often, but rarely knows all of the words. She makes you think about houses and children and cries during comedies. You will want to be her home.

Rededicated

It wasn’t until I took a break from blogging, that I realized how many people read it. Honestly, the truth is, so much has happened that I have not had time to write.

Today I decided to rededicate my eating out funds. I spend about 10 bucks a day for lunch on average. Dinner is usually the same, or less since it is just me at home. But since a few things are changing in my life, I decided it was time for a financial change. I am half way through my “debt free” push, my house is under complete remodel and I’m sure I’ll be flying around the country more and more….so here I am….rededicated…staring at a bowl of tomato soup while Keycha is out having pizza and the break room is filled with Major Menu go-plates that smell like fried food.  I’m going to try and stay as positive as I can-after all; I do own a home, a car, and have 55 inches of free entertainment in my living room.

I'm trying to read my Bible as much as my sappy novels-which is proving to be more rewarding than even my new workout schedule.

The job hunt continues, as I am settling into a new spot at Wildlife and Fisheries, in an office FINALLY surrounded by people that I actually want to socialize with, yet I am completely unsettled. My final paper for summer school was submitted this morning marking the start of my LAST year of graduate school so I am not too discouraged. I know that with the degree comes more opportunity.

My health is a miracle, the Dr. even said so this morning and I am optimistic about the future my cervix and I have with Mr. Right.

I am missing friends and now is the season to get reconnected with them before the Fall takes over and leaves me swamped in school work. I am anxious about a football season without my “safe haven” group that I have tailgated with, but I’m sure it will be just as fun with my girls.

So, yes,

Nana-work and life are good, Kent DID move to Chicago,

Dad-Cheryl's baby is fine,

Lauren-I do want to share a pitcher,

Scott-please help me NOT leave for lunch,

and to answer the other 400 emails and facebook messages, with an acid reflux inducing slurp-

I’m back.

Web MD says drink fluids...

Runny Nose, Congestion, aching muscles, headache, earache, dizziness. Acute Sinusitis or influenza? hmm...

They say I am amazing, one of a kind…but,

I sing, play guitar, flute, piccolo, piano, violin, harmonica and banjo,
but none better than any average girl.

I love basketball, running, working out and know more about football than 90% of men I know,
but I can’t find a girl friend to do any of these things with.

I love to hunt, track, fish, hike, climb and swim
but give everyone else so much of my time that I seldom get to do much of any.

I would rather take a summer vacation to a mountain than the beach.

I can lay tile, float sheet rock, form concrete and build anything,
but I have never met a man that wanted to hand me the tools.

I love to write, listen and tell bedtime stories,
but have no one who feels the same way.

I could lie on a blanket and listen to the wind, a band or “people watch” for an entire weekend,
but everyone I know thinks this is boring or rude.

I don’t watch a single sitcom ritualistically and only have cable for ESPN, Discovery and the History Channel,
but can’t find a single movie that I have not seen.

I love to meet, talk and get to know every person I come in contact with,
but people say this behavior proves that I love myself.

I am neat, organized and efficient,
but have to battle to relax.

I love to dance to every song; alone, with friends, or strangers,
but I’m not that great.

I do not get nervous. In front of crowds when singing, speaking, praying or dancing
and I have a hard time understanding “social anxiety.”

I want to be a mother more than anything I have ever wanted and for as long as I can remember,
but my doctor doesn’t know if I can have children.

Words cannot describe

As some of you know, I am using my recent fender bender as an excuse to get a new car. Well, its "my" car...but newer. I ordered a 2010 2 door altima coupe that i plan to "hood out" even more than my current one. Currently I am in a base model Toyota Corolla so God bless Enterprise...but, aside from my new little coupe or the someday possibility of an infinity or 2 door beamer-this would be first on my list.

Shhhh....

So, i have decided to post secrets about myself in attempt to bring my secretive, shady life to an "open

book."I am obsessed with pretending to pick my nose in public.

 

I make snoring sounds when I am not interested in what someone is saying, and somehow think that this is less offensive then just asking them to shut up.

I snarl at boys that hit on me, smirk at guys to shy to, and turn my head away completely when I think a guy is attractive.

I Arrive

Since my blog is dominated by the "stuff" of now...i thought i'd take it back a little.

On November 2, 1982, my mother had been cleaning the house all day. After waxing the floors, she lay down for a nap. At 7:48 pm, I woke her up ready to see the world. Forty-five minutes later, I was born. There was no time for preparation or anesthesia. The doctor said that after about five more minutes, I would have been born in the elevator. I wonder if I was just sick of swimming around in that tiny world or if I had planned the surprise attack.


Unusual, they called me. I never took a pacifier nor did I wake up in the middle of the night like most babies. I sucked my knuckle, not my thumb and I would “reason” with my parents on the subjects of pregnancy, divorce and the validity of Santa Clause. I had a three and a half year old sister and an eight-year-old brother. Had I know this, I might not have been so eager to be born. My mother stayed at home to make sure we did not kill on another, and my father began building computers, electrical systems, and built his photography business from the ground up. I still wonder when they had time for themselves…to “make us.” My mother had her son and my father had his “daddy’s little girl,” and I was, well, “the mistake" as my sister had called me. In her own defense, my mother later explained that I was not a mistake, but merely a surprise. I however was not your average naïve child who would actually believe that there was a difference between the two.

I know now that I was frightening to my parents. They didn’t exactly know what to do with me. I would ride my bike to garage sales, buy toys and sell them at school. I stripped lawnmowers and bikes and turned a profit to buy yet something else I could sell. I had tons of ideas for things like restaurants and inventions and coming from a family that eats not much more than some variation of hamburger meat…my squirrel skinning days solidified my place as the “black sheep” of the family.

My childhood memories are littered with memories of being locked in the deep freezer, making a swimming pool with a tarp and a trailer, dragging home dead snakes after swimming in the creek, never actually wearing a pair of shoes, and booby-trapping the house with my brother to bully my sister (he began my Marine Corps training somewhere around age 4). I now realize that my mother never wanted to whip me, although she threatened on the hour and my father would come to my rescue when she did have a rampage with the switch tree. My dad would pretend to spank me and we would giggle in the back room as if my mother had no idea she was being undermined. I am so thankful for childhood that i did have, whether it be short lived or plagued with fighting, relocation and a domestic shelter. While some memories scream in my head, others make me thank God for the support system i did have.  And at 27, i realize that while my parents were not perfect, neither was I.

Luke 6:37

Last night I ate Thai food.

Last night I drank red wine.

This morning I woke up late,

but managed to arrive at my usual time.



I got my usual phone calls,

but one didn’t go as planned,

as for the tenth time someone told me,

how terrible of a person I am.



I put twenty in the “swear jar”

and shoved a Danish in my mouth,

then sent for the state vehicle to be checked out.



I opened up my email,

to send a civil defense,

But the fact that someone told me they know me best,

 so they “can judge me,”

brought me to write this.



I have backed away from men who like me,

I don’t intend to string along,

I have stopped swearing and white- lying

And yet the bitterness is not gone.



I think I know what love is,

Regardless if a “you and I” are to be a “we,”

And I don’t think it is judgmental,

I think it is “shackles-off”, and free.

 

"Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.

The Louisiana Wife.....

A man married a woman from KANSAS. He told her that she was to do the dishes and house cleaning. It took a couple of days, but on the third day, he came home to see a clean house and dishes washed and put away.


Another man married a woman from MICHIGAN.. He gave his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes and the cooking. The first day he didn't see any results, but the next day he saw it was better. By the third day, he saw his house was clean, the dishes were done and there was a huge dinner on the table.



The third man married a girl from LOUISIANA . He ordered her to keep the house clean, the dishes washed, the lawn mowed, the laundry washed, and hot meals on the table for every meal. He said the first day he didn't see anything, the second day he didn't see anything but by the third day, some of the swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye, and his arm was healed enough that he could fix himself a sandwich and load the dishwasher.

Maw Maw and Paw Paw-outside of Mississippi...that means "grandparents"

Her stories always began with “Once upon a time” and inevitably there was always a little boy and a little girl-walking home from school more often than not. In her stories there was a mother and a father, a Nickel and Dime store, which I imagined with wood floors and candy jars, and a small family dog. Some of them were about dresses and some about buying candy, but they all ended living happily ever after with a quick pause interrupted by her familiar sweet voice-“ the end.”

When my sister and I were little, we shared my Aunt Tangea’s bedroom. She was my father’s little sister and we had grown up hearing how much more spoiled she was than him.

I never fell asleep after “the end” but my sister always did. Even at 5 I remember thinking that maybe she had a clearer head than I did because I would lay awake every night covering every topic I possibly could in an inescapable compulsion to figure out something I may have missed before. I am still an avid scenario generator.

Cheryl always got to wear maw maw’s robe, it was green. Not a pretty soft green or spring time Kelly, but an outdated pea green with a missing button and the piping that was just a shade lighter. However aesthetically displeasing; it was hers.

The smell of my grandparents’ home was overwhelmingly inviting. It smelled of fabric softener, Bryll cream, and Chap Stick. The bathrooms smelled of almond cherry lotion and mouthwash. The water had an unforgettable smell, tinted yellow and so soft you could never rinse the shampoo out. I remember that few of the towels matched, but all were thin and soft.

Their carpet was brown shag and perfect for playing putt-putt in the hallway. Their TV was the large wooden cabinet kind with the extra channel box sitting on top so we could watch Nickelodeon, but had to get up to change the channel.

My grandmother used to ask me to help her clean out her cabinets every time she called to check on us. It was quite the event. We would cover the floor in clean sheets and wash our hands, then unload them one at a time just to stack them back up. It made me feel important, like I was the only one that could help her organize things like she wanted. I remember graduating to the pantry, then my job became much specialized, being sure that all of the green bean cans faced forward and the diet cokes stacks remained steady.

In my life I have rarely felt safe. I have continually been plagued by restless nights and daily anxiety and until last night when I dreamt about a specific night when I was taking a long bath listening to Norah Jones singing “Don’t know why,” did I remember that the last time I truly felt safe was in the bed beside my sister and Raggedy Ann in my grandparent’s house.

It is what it is

Ive been told to write a book or start a blog...im opting for the easier option that im more qualified to do. I'm 26 years old, work for state government and am getting my Masters of Public Administration. I just bought a house, I have a great car...a cat named Belle and a puppy named Dodge. On paper, my life looks perfect, but... it is what it is.