Wednesday, April 27, 2011

As Much As I Hate To Admit, Birthdays Are Freakin' Great.

April 27, 1993.
A very intriguing girl was born.
Her eyes wide open, her hair in mats.
A star shined brightly for one who could ..... skat.?

That was a poem I just wrote about myself.
Totally awkward, yet surprisingly necessary.

My morning started off great-
My eyes drifted open on their own, and when my mind realized it was conscious, I did a little dance, albeit still under the covers.
Sarah gave me the best gift ever- a Fedora and a freakin sweet necklace.
She threw it to me in a plastic bag.
I've never been more happy.

On time (somehow) to school, I was wished and wished and wished Happy Birthday! by many a folk.
Mikelle gave me the best gift ever- a Barbie bag enclosing a GORGEOUS scarf, accompanied by the most well-written, sincere card that only Mikelle and a few others can whip out of their pens. Also, her sister hand made the card. It was adorable.

Later, in Journalism, Chloe gave me the best gift ever- A tin full of yellow-frosted cupcakes for the class to share. :) they were ridiculously delicious, as only Chloe can make the best cupcakes ever.
Except for Steve,
Fifteen minutes later,
had come in bearing an equally scrumptious cupcake:) (only not to share, though I did later, with Martin.)
They sang Happy Birthday to me.:) :) :) suuuper awkward.

Mrs. Dougher gave me some candy.

At lunch.
At lunch, Cami and Whitney summoned me.... where I was sort of dragged into the dreaded atmosphere of ... dread.(?)

Presented to me was a cake, blinding-white, with blue frosting on the edges and a GIANT STAR OF DAVID made of yellow, in the very center.
Handed to me were pink, white, and black balloons, the biggest one saying, and I quote, "fabulous, flirty, and thirty!"

18 seconds later, I see Parker and his huge mouth. The entire school lunch-room sang, maybe at the top of their lungs, yet again, the awkward birthday song.

I really don't think my face could have gotten redder.
Or hot.
(and ornery.)<-----(haha SJS and LAC)

Then, we ate cake. and Shelbie gave me the best gift ever- NandNorah's Infinite Playlist. I watched it later in the night.

What a splendidly awkward but totally necessary day.

Sunday, April 24, 2011


Best weekend ever. Really. Want to know why? Well, that's too bad, because I'm not spilling any Deets!!!
Just know, that sometimes, after years and years of waiting and groaning and running and mumbling and just wanting to take a blessed walk in the park away from all that is and was.... Well. You get what you need.

Saturday. April 23. You must admit, it was a beautiful, blessed Saturday.

Today, however, I taught my first lesson in Primary! (I now teach the eleven-year-olds namely Meghan, Jasmine, Courtney, Caitlyn, Emily, and beautiful Adi Jensen)
They are hilarious. / they are not funny, but they somehow thing everything that comes out of my mouth is intended as a joke. .. Maybe it's the hair? I dunno.
But they really are a joy.
We talked about Easter today.

We talked about Resurrection.

We talked about the tradition of an egg and where the devil it comes from . (If you wanted to know, it's French and the Egg is a symbol of the Stone that had to be overturned by the Angel Elias)

But most importantly we spoke of hope.
The Original Hope.

Hope is a funny thing. (As my girls would probably burst out laughing at this point...)
It drives us to attempt the impossible. It drives us to surrender any doubts, fears, insecurities and to bound into the seemingly dark, desolate, empty space. Hoping that someone is there to catch us, feel us, understand us, love us, vouch for us.

In a way the only hope that is actually real, that actually works, is the hope that is somewhat knowledge.
It's an action.
We put that hope to action, plug it into the equation, set that hope on fire and watch it take of running, watch the solution appear from the sea of division signs and square roots, watch it conflagrate.

And even if that hope burns and dies, there is still the satisfaction of actually trying.
Failing is never the end, It's just the time where you learn you cannot fly, but maybe you can ride a scooter, instead. Then maybe one day, you'll try and fly again, and you never know....
Maybe hope is just an experiment you try over and over until it becomes reality.
Keep hoping, keep trying, until that hope is who you are: a hoper--> a doer--> a seeker--> a finder.

Anyway. I love those girls. They're beautiful. They're at the stage where they don't know what it's like to doubt. Not anything. Not their looks, or their grades, or their peers, or the world, or themselves. They have so much hope for things. Not anything like the Jr. High and High School kids who worry too much, who "know" the world is harmful and cruel, and who "know" that they are not good enough.

And guess who is the happiest out of all the world?

What's needed most is sometimes the reassurance that your hope is not in vain.
Who is the person to assure you that it's not?
It's yourself. (+2 others)

To need=to make a commitment.

Happy Easter, Everyone.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


There is one good thing about my life: My Life in New York.
and It's reminiscent of Mal and Mik. Don't worry, you two, I've not forgotten you.

It is hilarious to watch the new two, a.k.a. Laura and Shelbie gawk, squak, and oogle over the yellow lights, smelly hobos, and every single cab maybe or maybe not being the cash cab.

I love sharing this part of my life with others. It's surreal. Like two twins separated at birth, (just now meeting int their late thirties who discovered that the other had a similar life including a cat, an ex-husband, and an obsession with David Bowie), my two loves/lives are once again meeting. :)

Sitting here. Watching Those Two stare out the window of my father's apartment, enthralled. Typing semi-furiously on this ancient laptop of Laura's. I've not been so happy in a long time.

Shelb pointed out that this is something we three have needed. To escape into a world of bigger and better, into a breath of fresh air, is something we have subconsciously been craving. I think we all need a little oxygen. I'm beyond grateful to be getting that good ole O2 with Laur and Shelb in the good ole NYC.

P.S. My father is and will always be the same- the best tour guide in the country with a mouth and a nose.