ka.boom

Dear Airplanes,

Please stop falling from the sky.

Love,
Rachel

heckled

On Wednesday I was at Clark and Lake waiting for the Red Line.

I was in a GREAT mood. I had had a great morning of writing, I was wearing new pants and I was about to experience the German/Gym Wheel for the first time.

As I walked down the platform, I noticed a performer with a guitar, a harmonica and a Nantucket Sweatshirt.

Nothing puts a big, dumb smile on my face than a Nantucket sweatshirt. So I decided to get my camera phone out and attempt to subtly take a picture of this guy to add to my gallery of ridiculous camera phone photography.

I put my bookbag down on a bench and open the front pocket to find my phone, while my hand was in the bag I discovered that my ipod headphones cord was all tangled so I pulled it out to untangle the cord before it became a bigger disaster.

"Excuse me Miss. Do you have every song ever made on that CD?"

I hear the voice and make out what its saying but ignore it, because there is no way that that person is talking to me, and if they are, I have no interest in answering (particularly these days, because now that I'm not man hunting 24/7 I'm not even checking to see if random-talking-stranger is cute).

"Excuse me. Miss. Excuse me. Miss. Miss."

When the repetition starts everyone knows its time to answer, because otherwise there is a very good chance you might end up on the business end of the C-word and/or a punch to the face.

I look up and the street performer guy makes direct eye contact with me.

"Hey. You have every song ever written on that CD player?"

I am not quite sure what he's talking about as the only CD player I currently own is attached to the computer hidden in my backpack and if he has x-ray vision and that's what he's asking then the world is probably minutes from ending anyway, so no reason to lie.

"Um no?"

"How do you know you don't like my music if you've never heard it. Unless you're listening to every song ever made."

And now I get it.

He is insinuating that I was getting my ipod out so I could listen to my music instead of what he was going to play. And that that was incredibly rude and presumptuous of me to assume that my music was better unless I was listening to ever song ever written/played/made. Also, that I was carrying a CD player because it is obviously 1998.

At this point people have noticed. It was noon, but I was downtown, so there were enough people on the platform and we were standing far enough apart that people could hear him and realize that he was talking to me.

And so now I am embarrassed because at the beginning of this wait-for-the-train I totally liked this guy and how we shared a penchant for souvenir sweatshirts from WASP-y resort-esque islands and now I'm being lectured like a five year old who won't stop touching his junk.

At this point I zip up my bag and go back to ignoring the guy as he continues to mumble. My face is flaming red. I have untangled my ipod headphones cord at this point and put the buds in my ear listening to whatever song comes on first.


The rest of the day continues in the same ilk, with a rip in the new pants, forgetting my leftovers dinner at home and dealing with more idiots...

I'm sorry, what sort of street performer has the balls/insecurity to yell at people for not listening to him even BEFORE they have their headphones actually in?

dumb love

I still hate Valentine's Day.

Apparently, this is causing a little stir. People don't quite understand why I'm not giddy with the anticipation of flowers and calories and awkward dinner dates where I have to wear a dress.

Well. I hate flowers (why would you give some one a present that is literally DAYS from dying/is technically already dead? Would you give someone a 17 year-old cat with Feline Leukemia? Sit down. Think about it. That is dumb. A plant? In soil? Is different, but I'm still not interested). I really don't need any more calories in my life, and if I want candy- I want it the day AFTER Valentine's Day for 50% off, because I'm a girl who likes saving for a down payment. And Awkward Dinner? No thanks. I mean, I love a good meal out as much as the next girl, but I would spend the entire night staring at everyone else wondering they were going to break up/have sex/get engaged. And if someone got engaged in the restaurant I was eating in, I would probably throw food in their lap. Gross (they don't wash that floor very often, get off your knee) and Cliche. And honestly, I can't really decide what's worse between the two.

Here's the thing. YES. I have a boyfriend that I love. But so?

I cannot think of anything more hypocritical than spending the first 22 years of your life (okay, I probably didn't care the first 15 or so, but whatever) feeling inadequate for being "incomplete" this one day a year and then finally getting to a point (23) where you're perfectly happy to make out with strangers but not have someone to buy you a stuffed animal and candy and dinner (ps - receiving that as a gift that makes you sound like a 12 year-old. Gross. Again.) and THEN all of a sudden when something alters slightly (ie- a boy won't stop bothering you and tricks you into taking him home for Christmas), you're singing the praises of St. Cupid for giving you this opportunity to declare your love for this person who just showed up.

Dumb.

I mean, I am under the assumption that if my boyfriend would like to purchase a present or food for me, he is at his leisure to do so whenever the spirit moves him. It would be weird and awkward, but he can do whatever he wants. I may wear the pants, but I don't control him (okay, I do kind of, but I think he understands that he can buy me food and things and if he doesn't understand he will comment on this blog, I'm sure).

And that road runs both ways...

So, on Saturday, I will wake up hungover from a birthday party Friday night, do a kid's show, go to Circus class (maybe - see hangover), and then spend the rest of the day enjoying having more than 6 hours of daylight without obligations. Will my boyfriend be around? Probably. I can't seem to shake him.

old/new thing

"I saw my first dead body." I announced to my Mother as the train pulled out of the station, making its way back to Chicago.

"No, you didn't. And what?"

I explained about the day. The day that felt so long because of the standing and the sadness. Sadness made the second hand on his watch stop.

And if the sadness wasn't enough to fill the room, she took up the rest of it. This complete stranger who dominated the space, and made me more nervous than any of the other strangers, even though she never asked me an awkward question or looked at me as though she had maybe met me before (No, that was someone else).

"Grandma Payton was your first dead body," Mom explained.

Grandma Payton who lives on in over-told stories of swivel stools and potty training.

"Really?"

"Yeah, you were three and you rushed right up to the casket and stared down at her. You thought it was the coolest thing."

"Mom, what kind of sick fuck kid did you raise?"

talk about your gas giants...

Apparently, Mars farts.

This makes my day better.

Quack Quack

So, I've been in quite the rut thus far in 2009. A whole bunch of things have gone not-right and I've spent more of this year crying than probably the past three years combined (so Lame.) I was told today how disappointed the public is that I haven't updated my blog in forever. And for that I am sorry. But the thing I hate the most is the emo-kid blog of sadness and complaining about upper-middle-class life, so I haven't done it in awhile.

It feels like I have this hole inside of me, it hurts pretty much all day. Sometimes I forget about it, but most of the time its there, hurting.

I was thinking about that when I finally got out of my pj's and showered today (the ripe hour of 2 PM) and I realized that I'm pretty self absorbed and that most people in the world have it way way worse than I do.

So here it is. The things that I am so very very lucky to have. I hope that once I write this list I'll remember to look at it every day and that it will help fill the hole.

My Lucky List.

My immediate family. I know beyond all shadows of doubt that these people will go to the mat, to the death, cage match style for me with out even being asked. I have never doubted any of their love for me and as we all grow up I am so lucky to have two siblings that I love hanging out with, and two parents who love me and no matter what I do will always be there to help in anyway they can.

My extended family. While sometimes they get real drunk and loud, and doubt my decisions (particularly where college and professional sports are concerned), they have always and will always provide a place to sleep and a meal to eat. They're a pile of crazy but they seem to appreciate the decisions I make and look at awe upon the life I've built for myself.

My boyfriend. Who is so excited about the future that it makes me want to throw up. Who believes that the glass will always be half full. Who doesn't mind that I never ever shave my legs and always take the biggest half of the cookie.

My friends. I have a full NFL team roster of people who like to hang out with me. Who know my flaws and still are willing to be seen in public with me. And some of them are down the block and some of them are hours and hours away but they're all a phone call, or an IM or a facebook message away. And they want to talk, and they're happy to listen. And they've got my back in a bar fight. There is something to be said for the fact that when I plan to go out, the list of people I call takes up both hands and when I go home I never get to see all the people I want to see because there isn't enough time. And I could go to Seattle, or New Orleans, or New York City and have a place to sleep and people who would love to see me.


My health. With the exception of my penchant for enormous December bruises on my legs and my tendency to stub my toe and run into walls. My health bills are minimal. I don't get really sick hardly ever. And I sometimes get free birth control from my doctor's office.


My roommates. Sure, they're messy and sometimes loud but they pay bills on time, they don't bring complete strangers into the apartment. They aren't blowing coke off the sink. They let me drink their milk and they only complain about my cat sometimes and they feed her just as often. They listen to my problems. They help my boyfriend find an apartment. They unplug my straightener when I leave it on.

My cat. She's really cute and snuggly and she let me cut her nails last night with minimal complaining.


My job. Sure, it sucks right now. But I nap all the time and its enough money to pay my bills and now I even get to use some of the skills I went to college for. Also, the naps. And the fact that I don't hate the people I work with. That's always nice.


My computer, ipod, jeans, winter coat, couch, bed, and other stuff I need new winter boots and shin guards but beyond that I have a lot of really nice things. Including a Jesus Doll. And new Slippers. And a nice laundry basket. And maybe its time to buy new boots and shin guards and then stop buying things. A lot of my friends have a ton of things, which makes me jealous but I have some things that they don't. Like a talking Jesus Doll.

The hole feels better now. Its not gone, but it'll be okay.

Ding!

And once again...its over and done. My fourth novel is now a word document that will probably only ever be opened when I run out of internet, just like the other three. Everyone keeps asking when they're going to get to read these, and I don't know if just a question you ask to be nice, when someone says they're writing a novel or you legitimately want to read this 50,000 word tome. But whatever the case, the answer will always be no.

In this format, in this space, these words will never be read. Sure, some got lucky enough to read excerpts from time to time, but those were the ones who took the journey with me. And some may get to read these words when they're twisted in a different way, and they're printed on real paper with real ink. A thought so scary and wonderful, I try not to wish or think too hard about it.

So stop asking.

These are my words. I wrote them for me. This is my challenge. It wasn't about coming in first, or having the most, or doing it the best. These are my words. I do this every year to prove to myself that it can be done. To prove to myself that somewhere under all the self loathing and deprecation and procrastination there are words out there that want to get out, even if they (and I) don't know it yet.

Sometimes I wonder, normally around day 23 if this is worth it. If taking all of this time out of the month of November means anything, but by the time I'm done I'm always glad I've taken the time to do it. And its done. On to December.

The annual list of thanks:

To my museum compatriots who inspired me at some times, and left me the fuck alone at others, and for always knowing which time was which. Also for not ratting me out to the higher ups when I would stop doing work and sneak away to write.

Thursdays. Who know having a day off in the middle of the week would be so flippin' useful. On each Thursday (excluding thanksgiving) I wrote at least 4000 words. Awesome.

For all those who asked me to do things in the past thirty days and haven't gotten really, really mad when I've flat out ignored them, or promised to do them and then totally forgotten.

Boy. Who provided food, drink, snuggling, discipline and distraction all when necessary. And who is probably the only person in the world who is more happy I'm done with this than I am.

Cindy Loo-Who!! My wee writing protege. Who took up the reigns herself and on the 21st, when I was ready to quit, threw her arms around me and yelled that I couldn't quit because she would have nothing left to live for (in her defense, she was pretty drunk when she said all that), and who was holding my hand as we crossed the finish line together in that super ridiculous way that we have of doing most things. And who gave me food, drink and football on a big, sexy, man TV tonight to inspire me to finish in time.

My Mom who (unknowingly) provided me with about 99% of the sustenance I consumed while writing at home. My favorites this year included Easy Mac, Mini Nantucket cookies, and the little boxes of Yogurt covered Raisins (don't worry Cougar, I'm saving the mini pickles for a celebration)

And of course, C. who made the journey with me this year, and looked like she was going to quit when times got hard, but stuck it out and got to celebrate with me this year. And will always be there for conversations like this:

Rachel- Have forgone writing for some semblance of a social life. This is probably a mistake.

C.- Ditto.

Rachel- We're lushes. Procrastinating lushes.



Here's to '09.

copycat

I just found this as a comment on Tierra's blog. Not all of it refers directly to me. But it makes a lot of sense. And just reading it over a few times made me feel a little more okay about Everything. So Maurice, if I ever meet you on the non-internets. I owe you a frosty/warm beverage of your choosing.

His Reply to Tierra (originals to be found here)

Now, I know I don't have to tell you this, but.....


You are not broken.


You hate your job. You're also in your mid 20s. If you loved your job, and it paid the bills, I would say you need to do whatever it is until you die, or retire. As it stands now, you still have plenty of time to find that type of job.


You hate the city you live in. As do I. I am moving in a week. You will probably be gone (or have to option to be gone) in about 6 months. It could be worse. At least you have a city elsewhere to call home, that you actually like. What if you were actually FROM New Orleans, and hated it? You'd probably be lost.

I ran as far from Philly and the DC area as I could most of this year, and most of the past 8 years, until finally realizing going home was inevitable, and I should try to make the best of it, and maybe even embrace it. Not saying you should have to like New Orleans, or embrace it, but, you should try to make the best of it.


You are childless. I'm guessing you prefer it that way, for now at least. You are probably fretting more that you will never find anyone who wants to raise kids with you. That's a better problem to have than actually having unplanned kids with someone who doesn't want to raise them with you, or who is terrible at it.


You're single. There could be a million reasons as to why this is. Unless they are changeable or alterable things, I wouldn't worry about them. I'm single. There are changeable reasons for this I am or planning on working on. There are reasons beyond my control, that I have long since stopped giving much thought to. And I'm a worrying-type, by nature (one of those things I'm working on). Forcing change is not a good idea either. Forced change is unhappy change, and unhappy change leads to unhappy relationships.


Basically, we are at an age where we can afford to work these problems out, and where half of us are still doing just that. (I know for some it seems like everyone you know is married and successful. Not really, it's just that those that aren't tend not to be on our envy radar, because that's not where we want to be.)


It's ok. This is the internet, you're supposed to vent here. :)



---

I like it when people tell me its Going To Be Okay. And I can almost believe them.

barackward

I have lost all faith in myself recently.

Sometimes I wish my parents didn't read this blog.

Change smells like cinnamon

You might not like Barack Obama.

You might snub America's two party system.

You might think this is just the first sign of the Apocalypse.

But here's the deal. Its history and its real. Say what you will about Barack Obama, but he is a different candidate. He wasn't handed everything on a silver platter. He was involved in the community and half of his ancestory would/was kept as slaves in this country. And now he is president. And I know that you can't vote for the lesser of two evils and we have no idea how he is going to do as president - which some would say is a curse not a gift.

There are a lot of things I can say about my life, but few things that I would probably ever want to share with my children. And I finally have something. I knew exactly where I was when the election was called. Standing on the corner of Jackson and Congress in Grant Park with a random pile of people. Some of whom I had never met and some of whom I love very much. I know what I was wearing (black north face, jeans, grey tee shirt, navy tank and a "hot women vote Obama" button).

I remember the people standing on top of the portapotties and the giant Obama poster being carried around and looking into the faces of all these excited people who really hope that a change is on the way.

And you might not care, or you might hate him but you have to appreciate the fact that people cared. People were there. And that. Is powerful.

NaNoWri-pfffffft

So, its my yearly finger marathon. I'm less excited this year than I've ever been. Probably because of my knowledge of my totally insane schedule. I don't really have time for grocery shopping or laundry so I'm not quite sure where I'm going to find time to write 50,000 words that I don't know yet.

I need to find a job. Desperately. Finding a job in the best of circumstances sucks, but at this moment in this economy it sucks even more. But the fact remains that I need one. And at this moment, I'm not willing to settle for something I don't really, really like. We'll see how long it takes for that to change (probably about two weeks...or until I have to pay rent while unemployed).

I'm not good with fear. Right now I'm totally scared of what's about to happen, and the one person who is here to listen, I don't really want to collapse in front of. The collapse is eminent. I just so want it to be when I'm alone, not trying to be adorable and fun.

So I started my NaNo, four days late, today. This is my fourth year, so this feels like Senioritis. I know it'll get done eventually (except, that I totally don't). The nicest part about starting was that out of nowhere my normally mean, distant, antisocial cat decided that she was here for moral support and put her head on my laptop to give me the strength the start (That's her picture with my photobooth, it didn't really work but she is super gorgeous).

Anyway, expect more updates to the blog, now that I have procrastinating to do. Also, the secret that I've been keeping for the past few months is now kind of out in the open. So I can talk about it. Sort of. Vaguely. Using pronouns and metaphors.

Watch this space. Its about to get wordy.

Also, its 5:30 on the East Coast, if you haven't voted yet you are done complaining for the next 4 years.

my bad

So, it has come to my attention that people might be checking this space more frequently than I imagined. To those people, who every day come to my little square foot on the internet and are disappointed time and time again, I just want to say I'm sorry... My bad.

Here's the problem with me and blogging. I only do it when I have free time (which is not very often) and when I think I have something funny to say. And by something funny I mean, a story that I have yet to tell at least 8 people...once I have a good story/idea I normally don't get to a computer fast enough to put it out on the interweb before I've told various people.

I did get hit with a soccer ball on wednesday, which isn't terribly tragic most of the time, except that this was a corner kick (so it was kicked from a stationary position with as much force as the kicker could put behind it) and I was only about a first down away from the guy (I have a problem with calculating distances accuratly, I've been told that it might be helpful if I think about it in football terms. Crazily enough, it totally works).

My leg felt numb which was horrifying. Trying to run on a numb leg is, I imagine, akin to trying to run on a pegleg for the first time. You have no idea how much weight it can hold and what was super weird was that where I got hit had goosebumps, but none of the rest of my leg did. And the goosebumps were huge (for goosebumps). I've now used the word goosebumps so many times its seased to have meaning.

Anyway, when I got up the next morning there were still red lines on my leg indicating the seam of the ball where it hit me. That was gross, grosser still when I started showing it to people (almost 24 hours after I got hit). Even all the guys who were giving me shit about complaining were like, "yeah, that's pretty nasty."

Now its Friday so its been about 36 hours and the bruising that has formed is pretty horrifying. You can also still faintly see the line from where the ball is stitched together. I'm really starting to resent that ball, and whoever happens to own it. The person who owns the ball owes me dinner, and probably a leg massage and maybe they should run this 5K for me next weekend.

In other news: uuuuuh, never mind-- I got nothing.

Pants on Fires...

So, I've only seen about 10 minutes total of the RNC because that is about as much as Granny and I can collectively stomach. Its so strange being at the DNC and watching the RNC and trying to compare the two. Is it just me, or are the speakers at the RNC fuckin' mean? (Sarah Palin, I am looking directly at your stripper-Librarian face right now) And beyond that - they're liars. I guess, I'm liberal so I agree with the liberal views that I heard last week, but I mean - everything I heard seemed to be true. It seemed like the crap spewing from the mouths of the RNC puppets was just untrue.

Not being very political I kept my mouth shut until I came upon this in a blog I stalk.

I'm glad to know its not just me. And, I was out not watching McCain tonight, so I'll youtube it tomorrow and I'll absolutely dissolve into tears because there are people out in this world who actually think he would make this country a better place...and there are people out there who think that when McCain kicks the bucket, Palin is going to get to be her sassy mini-van driving VP self, that she won't essentially become the puppet of the powers that be in the republican party.

Gross.

Nantucket is nice though.

Three dots in the sky

I find that my homesickness manifests itself in very strange ways.

I almost never get homesick until right before I'm about to go home, but I think that has as much to do with going home as it does with just wanting a break from real life (and some Chick-fil-A).

I started going to sleep-away camp when I was in 6th grade and I would watch these girls cry and cry when their parents left them and then cry and cry every night and then cry and cry when their parents came to pick them up. Whereas I would wave goodbye at my Mom without so much as a second glance and then kind of forget about my family until Friday when they came to pick me up and I would beg to stay longer.

Sleepovers? No problem? Weeks with other peoples' families at the beach? Cake. My younger self had no problem with separation issues (which is apparently hilarious because my very younger three year old self apparently couldn't handle being separated from my mom for more than like 47 seconds without flipping out).

When I went off to college, my Mom dropped me at my New York City apartment and she was about to leave when I (shrilly) exclaimed, "but I don't have any food!" So she took me grocery shopping and that was enough. After the groceries, we hugged and kissed goodbye and things were fine. I think the only time I remember getting really emotional about being homesick was right after my Mom and Caroline and Belinda left after being in NYC for my 18th birthday, but again - life is more fun with my family around so it might have just been that.

I keep moving further and further away and while I feel the tug of the East Coast its nothing like some of my friends experience.

When I went to South Africa, I went the longest I've ever gone without actually vocally speaking to either of my parents (almost three weeks) and I knew I was upset, but I was also having so much fun that I couldn't decide which emotion (sadness or excitement) had the most power (I ended up drinking a whole lot, obvi, because I didn't want to make the choice).

I found that when I was feeling upset, the thing that calmed me down was finding the constellation Orion's Belt in the sky. I'm not a huge stars person, but its one of the easiest to pick out and one of the only ones you can see both in North America and South Africa.

Every night after drinking as we stumbled back to the dorms I would look up in the sky and announce that I had found Orion's Belt, as if it hadn't been discovered several thousand years ago. Then I would fall asleep, wake up and everything would be just fine.

Since I've gotten back from South Africa (about 3 and a half years ago), Orion's Belt has been one of those things that has remained a touchstone. Let's be f'real. You can see it pretty much from anywhere in the world and so I've found it in England, in New York City, on Nantucket, in Chicago...

Everywhere I go, when I'm feeling kind of lost and alone (which tends to happen most at night) I look up and find it and am okay again...and by okay I mean, I might end up crying or screaming at some point but when I wake up in the morning, everything will be just gravy.

So that's why, if you're ever standing next to me, and I exclaim that I've found Orion's Belt with an absurd amount of happiness-- don't roll your eyes. Just give me a hug because its probably what I want.

D. N. Flippin' C.

Its over. Its all over. I've sent my last blog (which might not even get posted), I've put up the rest of my pictures

I have all the buttons I'll buy here. Which isn't very many because I didn't get as much shopping time as I wanted. But I have plenty of schwag and 1300 pictures and this story to tell my grandkids.

It was really, really, reaaaaally overwhelming. By the end of yesterday I pretty much lost it and had a freak out for a solid 30 minutes before I managed to get myself back together. And I almost got hit in the face by a cop (you're going to have to ask me for that story). I loved getting to take pictures, but the life of a photographer is nuts and I wasn't even a real photographer so I can only imagine the added pressure when you're trying to get paid for your work. Also, your camera is probably pretty heavy when it is as big as most of theirs.

But I have to say, the once in a lifetime-ness of it all made it so worth it. I mean, I was there!! I saw Barack speak. I was 5 yards from him when he surprised everyone on Wednesday. I listened to Michelle and Bill and Hillary. I watching Hillary letting her delegates go, which was one of the most heartbreaking things ever (being a loser sucks and losing on this level probably sucks even harder and yet you have to keep smiling all the time). I saw Dennis Kucinich rev up a crowd more than I've ever seen (for the number of people in the audience, which wasn't many, making the amount of noise they made, which was a lot - I think it was one of the most well received speeches of all 4 days).

I don't think of myself as really political, just opinionated and I went into this thing not getting the big whoop about Barack. I know people who love him, and I respected their love but there was always this voice whispering in my ear, "he's just a presidential candidate" but I guess its because we haven't had a candidate like this in so long. I mean, I didn't see Kennedy run and I didn't see Clinton run (well, I don't really remember it) so maybe its because these past 8 years have just given us lame candidates. But when I got up there and listened to him speak and watched the people react to him, it made so much sense.

He's a rockstar. Liberals love rockstars. And I know there's some seamy underbelly to his story, but that's politics. People want to believe in him because they're running out of things to believe in. And while I don't totally feel that way, I respect it and am very interested to see how he does for the rest of this election.

Also, I touched a Kennedy. Which, if you aren't a democrat before, you sure are after. Bobby Kennedy Jr gave a 15 minute speech standing on a chair in the middle of a Gumbo restaurant in downtown Denver at 10 PM on Tuesday and it was amazing. It was stump-y of course, but it didn't matter. He's got the genes for it.

So here's the blog - which hasn't been updated all day, which sucks, but might be updated tomorrow. And pictures.

I'm ready to go home though. A whole three days of work, class, packing, unpacking and then off to Nantucket.

Michelle Obama has an amazing backside

My first day at the convention was one of the most overwhelming of my entire life. I am feeling really guilty right now because everyone is getting ready for the day (my Aunt and Uncle who have so graciously allowed me to stay on their couch are now cooking me bacon) and I am sitting here blogging and posting pictures to Picassa. I'm going to put up a few more pictures before I get ready for day 2 (Barbara Mikulski! Mark Warner! HRC!). My blogs can be found here

And my pictures can be found here


So check those all week!! And check here, if I get a chance I'll post here, but probably not because the FNP actually hooked me up with the press passes so I have to keep them happy before anyone else.

I will say though that listening to Michelle Obama speak and listening to Ted Kennedy speak and being right there with them for all of it was one of the most surreal experiences of my whole life. I've never been all about the politics, more all about the Hollywood, and so never thought of these as real people. But they are real and they're spectacular.

More soon.

Its almost over/its just beginning

So, life is kind of crazy right now, for a bajillion reasons. Most of them being that at some point in life I was taught to save all the best parts of summer for the end of it. I don't know why- but it makes a whole bunch of sense and it makes the transition into fall that much easier. Although, now that I'm no longer in school there shouldn't really be a transition, and yet for some reason there always is.

The rest of this week promises a Cubs game, a job interview, my first time hosting a Chicago party, new improv classes, and my first Nats game (which will also be my third cubs game).

Then next week I fly to Denver to take part in one of the craziest things I've ever talked my way into. The Democratic National Convention. I can't really believe that we're actually flying all the way there - and we're going to have press passes and I'm going to be in Colorado! For the first time!! Ever! I keep going West!

Then I come home with just enough time to unpack and then repack before heading to Nantucket. By myself!! I've never gone on a solo vacation. If it isn't completely sad its going to be totally wonderful. I don't think I spend enough time just by myself not talking. I have a lot of writing I want to get done and there will be nothing better for the muses then sitting on the porch eating portugese bread and drinking Granny's bad coffee.

After that...its the middle of September. I might have managed to talk my way into a new job. And I'll be taking two new classes, interning, doing shows and keeping myself more busy than most people actually believe possible. And its football season! And the world series! And I'll be turning 24. And I get to go to Chincoteague!! And my baby sister is turning 16 (more on that later).

I've been getting less sleep lately, for a whole bunch of reasons all good except for the fact that, you know - I miss sleep.

I know this sounds crazy, mostly because I am always crabby and I complain a lot and I seriously have no money, but I'm pretty absurdly happy right now. I know that once winter starts things are going to get pretty depressing, but I'm trying to save up happiness, like a squirrel, and I'll have it to get me through January and February.

Hey!

I don't like getting tricked.
I don't like being two steps behind.
I don't like knowing things last.

I don't like trusting people I don't know.
I don't like having to rely on my own judgment.
I don't like leaving things up to chance.

And yet -

Here I am letting all that happen because I'm trying to not be me for awhile.

It's hard.
And it sucks.

But it makes me kind of happy.

pondering.

"Without parents to defy, we break the rules we make for ourselves."

With nothing good on TV right now, I'm going through and watching old Grey's Anatomy episodes. That was part of Meridith's voice over in one season 2 episode. I spent most of the time when I was watching this in real time ignoring the voice overs because Ellen Pompeo's voice gives me a headache. But I heard that today, and it made things a little bit clearer.

I look at the quote and I have to kind of shrug. Because its true, and I can't figure out how to stop it.

I *heart* Wisconsin

Things I experienced this weekend for the first time.

-Mar's Cheese Castle (unfortunately not a castle made of cheese).

-Cheese curds, regular (disgusting).

-Wisconsin Cheddar Grilled Cheese in Wisconsin, where the cheese is so gooey you get a cheese puddle.

-Donkey Balls.

-A Brat.

-A Pontoon Boat.

-Sturgeon Bay.

-A Fish Boil.

-$1 Beers (what? I didn't go to real college).

-The game of shoulders.

-Leinenkugel Summer Shandy (tastes like lemonade!)

-Door County Cherries (in ice cream, pie and cookies)

-Berry Wines (not a fan)

-Cheese curds, fried (amazing).

-A Tom Collins (although apparently when made with grenadine its fake)

-McDonald's Country Chicken Biscuit (embarrassingly delicious).