stop worrying and enjoy your life

so i'm a hoosier, living in a state dominated by big trucks, country music, guns - and churches. they're everywhere, on every corner. if it's not a church, it's a billboard with some bible verse on it. i'm surrounded by it, this notion that there's one idea, one way of life, and anything else isn't just wrong - it's evil. when something gets shoved down your throat, it's no wonder you vomit it up and refuse to eat it again.

i am not condemned, in trouble, evil, bad, second-rate or any other negative adjective because i don't pray or go to church. it is a personal decision based on a personal belief to have god or jesus or allah or zeus or whoever in one's life. i have thoughts on organized religion that i won't go into here (see the movie "religulous" and you'll understand how i feel), but to lecture someone on why what she believes is the wrong of life is offensive to me.

there was a bus campaign done in london by an atheist group that used a motto to sum it up better than i can: there probably is no god. so stop worrying and enjoy your life.

i am a crap writer

i have had one dream ever since i was little, shining like a beacon that i held in front of me - i want to be a writer.

not just a writer, because in my mind that's not enough, but a published writer. and perhaps a critically-acclaimed published writer whom jhumpa lahiri really, really enjoys, but "just" a published writer would be good, too. in fact, that wold be great. that would be a dream come true.

i'm doing nanowrimo this year, that crazy thing people do every november. the idea is to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. basically it's 30 days of hell, because writing is 20% actually writing and 80% overcoming the constant self-assessment that you are the very worst writer that ever lived, ever breathed, ever existed.

writing is not for the faint of heart. or the lacker of self-esteem. it's basically a cesspool for sadists. or masochists. or both.

and here's why - it's because i care so much that i hate everything i write. those papers in high school and college, the ones that i got a good grade on simply because i could string a sentence together, were no reflection of my writing ability. they were simple showcases of my talent for vomiting bullshit on a computer screen. and believe me, i was proud of them, especially after i had friends who spent hours on papers, only to get Cs and Ds. but those papers weren't anything to be really happy with, not on a writer's level. i didn't care about those papers about crappy books i hated or homoerotic, metaphysical feelings between two random Shakespeare characters. i cared about the short story i wrote for samrat that he absolutely massacred - and about the second draft that he praised. because for two seconds, just a wisp of time, i felt like i wasn't the very worst writer that ever walked the earth. i felt like my moments of talent could possibly come together to create something that some literary agent would connect with, and then beg and plea some publisher to publish. and it all might come true, this dream of me of opening up a box and seeing a book with my name on it and smelling that truly wonderful smell of fresh book - possibility, hope, pages and pages of words that are all mine.

so i keep writing this crappy story i'm working on, keep churning out words that sometimes remind me of the bullshit vomit, keep going, hoping the next sentence will be better, or the next, or the next one after that. it has to be. what i lack in self-esteem, i make up in determination. i can do this. i have to do this.

just one more word.

работа

Я журналист. Моя работа хорошо.

тетя

я дбадцать четыри. я не девочка. я женщина!!!

мой дом

Мой дом оранжевый. Эта мой!

Мой собака, Хамлет, черный.

Сегодня суббота.

моя русский

я изучаю русский язык. я плохо гавараю па-русский. Эта не хорошо! Сегодня пятницу! Я женшина.

aka - i've joined livemocha.com. reallly cool site where you can do lessons and interact with other people learning languages. hopefully this will help me improve my russian and at least be conversant in the language. lifelong goal, here i come.

nanowrimo

so i went and joined this website with these crazy people who think they can write a novel in a month. it's a movement called nanowrimo - national novel writing month. i've been so lax on my writing, it's disgusting. how do i expect to get published one day if i don't even bother to write anything? (or if what i write is total crap because i haven't been writing?) writing, like anything else, takes practice. writing a story, novel, poem, whatever, then forgetting about it for a week, is usually the best way to improve your writing. but you have to keep writing other things while you forget about what you already wrote, then go back and improve what you originally wrote as you're forgetting about the stuff you already wrote. it's confusing, but this is one of the best self-editing tools for me and the only way i can be objective about my stuff.

and nothing like a little pressure than joining an online group of thousands of people around the world, all of whom are churning out novels that have to be 50,000 words or more in 30 days. crazy, right? but it's going to be fun. and maybe just the kick in the ass i need.

the cat i never had

pros of owning my own home: my rules, my stuff (everywhere), my choices about where my stuff goes and what my rules are.

cons: shit goes wrong. and mom won't fix it.

i just need to wake up every morning and say to myself "what today?" today's particular problem: i have a mouse in my house. it's not cute because it rhymes; it's disgusting, especially when i found its poo all over my pantry.

so i'm debating something that i've been wanting since i was six: a cat. the whole mouse problem would just be a side perk to having a cat. it would really be me fulfilling a lifelong dream, plus i get to save another animal, and that's the best thing of all.

what do you think?

i'm home

ok. so...

• i have no money
• there are sprikets in my basement
• no washer/dryer
• no dishwasher
• i may or may not have ruined my porch floor with my crappy paint job. that is also unfinished
• my house is a mess. my stuff is everywhere. i hate unorganization, but may have to live with this for awhile
• my to-do/to-buy list just gets longer
• everyone and their brother wants to stop by, even though my house is a mess.

even with all that, it's still really, really cool being a homeowner.

until october 2039...

...i am owned by the bank. why, you ask? because i bought a house. or as my dad put it, i fulfilled one of the american dreams: i became a homeowner. and even though i don't technically move into the house until next week, and thus making today ever so slightly anti-climatic, i am very, very excited. i felt like i signed my life away at closing with all the papers that bear my autograph. and i thought signing an apartment lease was bad. i chickened out of buying the washer and dryer, and now i slightly regret this - only slightly, because that's a pretty big bill as well. and after all, spending thousands upon thousands of dollars in one day is exhausting. i may go to bed soon, and it's not even 9 p.m.

i have felt in the past year that none of the growing i was doing was good enough. sure, i had a job - but my friends are getting married. sure, my car was paid off - but my friends were having babies. i got the idea in my head that buying a home would help me grow. it would put me on the same level, because in my head, nothing is worse than being left behind, especially not when everyone else is having all the fun. so last may, i met with a realtor and started this process. almost five months later, i am a homeowner. my intentions may not have been ideal, but the end result isn't one i regret at all.

and - it has to be said - some of those friends who got married are no where near ready to buy a home. so i do have one leg up on them.

the growing continues.

bless this band

coldplay and something corporate will always be favorites. but there is no band like sigur rós. they're from iceland, so i can't understand what they're saying. but even if i spoke icelandic (it's really a language), i still wouldn't be able to understand them all the time, because sometimes they speak vonlenska, or hopelandic - basically a nonsense language. lead singer jón Þór "jónsi" birgisson made this language up specifically for his music. most of their songs are long, six to eight minutes usually, and a lot of times they're just instrumental. their albums range from way out there - ( ) is fascinating in that it's different than anything i've heard (and yes, ( ) is the name of the album) to more traditional (i use that word loosely with this band), like the one i just downloaded, Ágætis byrjun (translated: "a good beginning"), which has some of the most melodic sigur rós songs i've heard.

one of the best things i love about sigur rós is that they're completely open to interpretation. every song on the album ( ) was untitled, though they did include nicknames for each song. the pages in the album cover were blank, so people could write in their own lyrics (as most of the songs are instrumental). even the name of the album is available for each listener to decide for themselves.

but probably the best thing is that sigur rós is just so different. there is no comparison i can point out to this band, no one out there i've found who comes close (though if you have ideas, please let me know!). i am not one to go for "out-there" music, but there is something about the way they string notes together with random instrumental combinations and jónsi's haunting falsetto. it's the most evocative, emotional, powerful music i've ever heard. i don't know what they're saying, and more importantly, i don't need to. it doesn't matter. the sounds are enough.

* under the did-you-know category of the day, "bless" is actually good-bye in icelandic. i love that the word for farewell is also a lovely word in english. and also that's probably the only word i'll ever be able to pronounce in icelandic. vonlenska, anyone?

that was then

i was in a classroom, barely watching the tv, more interested in the issue of the newspaper coming out in a few days or a week or two weeks. i saw out of the corner of my eye "the sears tower" on the crawl, and everyone gasped, but they were only evacuating it.

in the next class, we watched the news. we saw someone falling. they were wearing red or brown or green, as if it matters, tumbling like a doll.

i was expected to concentrate in algebra, and all i wanted to do was scream at my teacher, are you serious? do you really think my mind is on equations today?

we didn't have to concentrate in english. we got to write our feelings. i was working on some meaningless thing about smoke and fire and darkness when a siren went blaring down the street. even though we knew - we knew we were ok, we were thousands of miles away, no one would attack boring indiana - our heads still went up, our blood still pounded. for two seconds we were there.

we went to annette's house for lunch, so we could watch the news. on the way back i leaned my head out the window to a sky: blue, cloudless, empty. no planes. i remember thinking how strange that was. i couldn't understand. but that was then.

book diverson: "shelter me"

i have to write one of these when i read a really good book, especially one that's not a romance, since that's so rare for me - plus i won't be reading new romances for a while, since i can't stomach the judgmental librarians at the cbus library (only, only reason i miss indy - computer checkout at the library!). plus when your grandmother hands you a book and says, "read this," you should.

"shelter me" is a debut novel, and it is biting with wit and humor and laughter, which is slightly strange because it's a story about a terribly sad event - a woman whose husband died in a freak accident, leaving her a single mother to two young children. the book follows her first year without her husband, a year of lots of downs and lots of ups, and even some surprises - like when a contractor shows up a few months after her husband's death to build the porch her husband had planned for her.

juliette fay has created a lovely story that is written in the spirit of billie letts or lorna landvik, both writers that i love. they have a very conversational tone about them, less lyrical and deceptively descriptive. i can easily hear janie, the heroine of the book (because she really is a heroine if there ever was one) saying the things she says, just as i can taste the indian pudding one of the characters brings to thanksgiving dinner. i loved the cover of the book with the quilt sheltering the two people, because that's what the book felt like to me, an achingly sad, yet hopeful place that i escaped to for two lovely hours. my grandmother was right. read this.

no more indy

my shoulders feel so much lighter now that i am finally out of my apartment. it took many trips back up to the north side, but thanks in a HUGE part to my dad, brother and mom, i'm out. finally. FINALLY. i loved my apartment, my first home that i paid for and organized and was responsible for. but i am so, so happy to be done with it. it's such a hike, and i was sick of the traffic and the driving and the everything. i was done, ready to move on, which is the perfect place to be in when it's actually time to move on. there was no sentiment, unusual for me, as i left, mostly because the things that had made the apartment mine - my stuff - was gone. it was just an empty living space with a few more nicks on the walls and stains on the carpet (thanks hamlet). now my mom's house is literally overflowing with my stuff in boxes and bags and thrown everywhere. i need to get to my own place pronto. i can't wait.

20 pounds in 30 days?

you've got to be kidding me. but that's what it says on the front of the dvd. 20 pounds in 30 days, gone from my tall, tall frame. i'm a big girl, no question (38D, what what!), but those pounds from college - ok, really from freshman year - have lingered and lingered. the few times i was dedicated to the gym, i did lose some weight - and i was actually able to pull myself up on the tube from the water, something i'd never been able to do, a true testament to my hard work. so i'm doing it again, trying to be healthy, because in the end it's really not about losing weight and i like my curves.

(*side note: girls who are sizes 00-6 do not have curves. i'm sorry, but you don't. and i have absolutely no sympathy for you. people.com describing this girl in the caption as curvy really fucking pissed me off. sorry, i couldn't find the original caption, but that she-waif was actually referred to as curvy.)

so here i am, day 2, lying in a pool of sweat, ready to kill jillian michaels. i wasn't sore today per say. but i cannot do a push-up to save my life, and she has me doing 30 seconds of them. 20 pounds my ass. which may be how much it actually weighs.

my cousin frankie

my cousin frankie, who i consider my best friend – she will be my matron of honor some day – is getting married this weekend. i never had a sister, unlike frankie, and I always considered her my sister. we lived an hour apart, but we were together a ton during my childhood. I spent a few days of spring break every year at her house. our slumber parties usually consisted of four of us snuggled in a bed together, me putting everyone to sleep with a made-up story.

once when we were watching oprah, she had several doctors that specialized in sex education on her show. one was the author of "what your mother never told you about sex." frankie and i immediately went out and bought it at borders, giggling the whole time, especially when the check-out guy said, "yeah, we usually sell a lot of these when oprah has the author on her show." we proceeded to read the book to each other poolside, with a magazine hiding the cover. for a few years we passed the book back and forth, until aunt cathy - frankie's mom - found it, we think, and threw it away.

another time we were in sanibel together and decided to put fake tattoos on our butts. frankie's was a lovely star shooting out of her crack. we took a picture to memorialize the event that i found years later, still laughing as i looked at our beautiful behinds.

we used to walk around in our bikinis to make the son of my grandmother's neighbor notice us.

i peed my pants in the movie rental store when frankie suggested a movie called "concealed weapon" for my brother - with a picture complete with a gun hidden in a woman's lacy stocking.

frankie found dozens of letters i had sent her when we were little, before even the land line phones were available to me. i usually told her stories about my snake or my school or dance lessons.

i always wanted to be frankie. i wanted to wear what she wore, do what she did. i'll never forget how happy i was that she was copying me when she decided to try flute lessons. she didn't last on the flute, but it was the fact that my heroine was emulating me that made me so happy.

we had endless shopping trips together, shared bottles of wine, made desserts out of a box that were the yummiest cakes or cookies or brownies. we spent holidays tucked into my grandparents' bed, watching parades and christmas movies that we had seen a thousand times. we laughed at the absurdity of our mothers, at ourselves when we were young, at the stupid things we had done in college. we called each other when we started working, lamenting how tired we were or how far away we lived. it figured the minute i moved to her hometown, she was 10 hours away in minneapolis, a day-long car ride, a $300 plane ticket. suddenly holidays were the highlight, if only because i got to see frankie. i always planned on naming a daughter after her, and accidentally told her that one evening after too much pinot grigio.

and now she's getting married, the first of the 12 grandkids to do so. and i love her husband-to-be. when i walked in his sparkling clean condo and had a rice krispie he made for us on the spot after frankie mentioned she was "hungry for dessert," i knew he was perfect. and, as my aunt cathy tipsily said to a party guest, they will make beautiful babies.

but first we all have to get through the wedding of the year. frankie will go on her honeymoon, and i'll go visit her in november, my married cousin, all grown up. it's how it should be.

fall fashion

diversion post alert: even though it's still august, which means it's sticky and hot in indiana, fall - or at least september - is right around the corner. i can't wait to start wearing my fall clothes, though i can live without the cold for a while! the stores of course have all started putting out their fall clothes, which makes me pine for my cozy sweaters and tights even more. the great thing about some fall trends is that they're mostly classic. forget the leggings and gauchos of the past - if you invest in these pieces, they'll work for seasons to come, instead of being one-note clothes. some of my must-haves for fall:

long sweaters

one of my favorite trends, as this is one that will work long after they're popular. these are showing up in thick wool and thin merino (like the one to the left), in colors that work as well for spring as they do for fall, making this a three-season sweater. they work with dresses, skirts and pants. add a belt around the natural waist (a la Michelle Obama) for a really polished look.


shoe booties

a slightly harder trend to pull off, even though it shouldn't be. these have been around for a while, but they're popping up more as the season changes. a true fall-winter accessory, dressy booties work with dresses, pants and skirts and come in lots of materials, from suede to leather to fabric. for a different look, they're also popular in a sandal/gladiator form. i love these.


shrunken jacket

one of the most adorable pieces. so versatile, so easy to throw on and go. the classic styling means this jacket will work as well this year as it will in ten years. as cute with jeans as it is with dress slacks and heels. i can't wait to grab a cute scarf to go with the jacket on my way to work. another plus: gray is a great alternative to black and looks amazing with almost every color. perhaps the best part about this jacket is that it's effortless: you don't even have to think about getting dressed in the morning. just grab this and go.



plaid shirt

this one's in pretty much every year. there's just something about plaid, something slightly childlike, or maybe i'm reverting to my catholic school girl days. plaid is dorky and preppy and casual and dressy all at the same time. the color combos are endless; my personal preference is green and blue, and i could kick myself for not nabbing a ruffled j. crew plaid blouse with those colors a few years ago. but the great thing is plaid always comes back year after year - it will always be in style. and fashion should be fun and comforting - to me, the epitome of a fitted plaid shirt.

dealing with things way beyond my maturity level

if it's meant to be, it will be.

i really, really fucking hate that god-awful cliche. mostly because it sounds like i have no control. and i have to have control. control and white wine = two of my best friends. when i don't have control, when i feel outside my comfort zone, when i start edging past the ability to schedule and label and categorize my various conflicts and problems, when i can't make a list on my pastel pink post-it note - that's when i start to spiral down into a pit of self-doubt and deprecation.

most of the reason i don't believe in fate and destiny and all that crap is it implies i have no control over the decisions that will lay out my life - that they're already decided and mapped out in some blueprint in the universe. i don't want to be some helpless person who has no control over her future, even if i am some helpless person with no control over my future. i know i can't predict or plan or even guess what happens next. but i would rather fool myself into thinking it's possible, that maybe, just maybe all my dreams and hopes will come true, and all my fears and doubts will just be dust in the wind.

a fear

so i don't know when this started - maybe landing in indy in the middle of a thunderstorm, maybe on september 11, but i have turned into a really bad flyer.

i love airports. i love the hustle, the controlled (for the most part) chaos. i love watching planes land and take off. i know there's a theorem to it all, but it completely mystifies me that we've figured out a way to get a piece of metal that ways thousands of tons off the ground and keep it in the air for hours and hours. i could do nothing all day except watch planes land and take off, especially jumbo jets, because apparently i'm a five year old boy. but i hate flying. i hate take off the most, that horrible feeling watching the ground slowly float away, as the plane shakes for the first time going up in the clouds. i hate the silence as the plane is descending, and then the sudden pops as gadgets and mechanics start working to get the plane on the ground. i hate the unknown of it all, the sheer hopelessness and helplessness if anything went wrong. and i hate - i really hate - how even though there are thousands of flights every day all around the world, i can't help but think about those 'what-ifs'.

maybe what i hate the most is i have to fly if i want to get to places i want to go. sure, i could drive to arizona...if i had three days to kill. but i can't drive to ukraine to visit olesia. i can't drive to russia to fulfill a lifelong dream of mine. and i really can't drive to china to adopt that baby girl several years down the road.

when i flew to europe last year, it was really scary for me, and also incredibly annoying that i couldn't stretch my legs except when i went to the bathroom. my dad, who flies all the time for his job, gave me melatonin, which didn't put me to sleep, but did take the fear away. i know i'll have to fly again, with fear in my heart and melatonin in my stomach. and for all the worries, it was worth it to see london and paris...and even more to get home safe.

a project

t left today. we're both trying to stay positive, and doing a pretty good job about it. his leaving involved a frantic search for the cell phone at 6:15 a.m. then hammie redeemed himself after pooing on the floor yesterday by finding it laying on the ground a ways away from our apartment. what are the chances? hey, i never said i was an atheist...completely. so t has his cell phone, thank goodness, and is coming home next weekend to help my brother and dad move all the heavy stuff. so it's just like way back when he was working for hh gregg and would travel for a week or even two weeks at a time. just like that.

meanwhile, i'm lonely already and need a project. besides the whole house thing, i've decided that i want to try to write a romance novel. i love my romance books. this is a love affair that's been going on for more than a year now, so i'm pretty sure it's not a crush. there is little else that makes me happier than snuggling in bed with hammie and a new eloisa james (i broke down and had to buy her new one, "a duke of her own." being #20 on the waitlist at the library wasn't going to cut it, especially after "this duchess of mine" was so good!). good romances, as i've said before, are really well-written pieces of literature. writing one isn't going to be easy. but i have fallen in love with this world that i can't believe took me so long to learn about. then of course i had to think of a good story idea and decide what period i wanted to write in. of course i picked regency. i've rarely veered away from romances from that genre, and vastly prefer them to any others. i just need something to occupy my time and help me remember everything will be alright. because i really, really believe it will be.

health care

listen, i've tried to stay silent about this. i really have. not because i don't have an opinion, but because i don't want to make this blog my political soapbox. at least not all the time. but seriously, this whole argument is fucked in the head.

here's what i know: fear is a powerful, powerful tool, and people are prone to it. taxes suck, and we hate to pay them. sometimes we're lazy, and we don't know the facts, so we let someone else research for us. i know i'm guilty of all these things. but i just can't shake the notion that something has got to change. obama isn't killing grandma. she's going to die anyway because her prescriptions are too expensive and she can't afford the surgery she needs.

and as for these "grassroots" protests organized by average, middle-class americans (usually supposedly from my neck of the woods) - i can't say it better than rachel maddow:

fingers crossed

it may have happened.

but i am a sad believer in jinxes, so i feel like i can't stay what it is. only infer from my previous rantings the one thing that has consumed my life for what feels like years. and know i am starting to be semi-hopeful. of course 20,000 things have to fall into place for this to happen. oy oy oy. but it's nice to be hopeful instead of despair that i'll never find what i'm looking for. i'm looking at my apartment, the place where i've discovered how much i really love my freedom and all that comes with it (yes, even paying bills). this place is usually clean-ish, but is now covered with boxes and random things that don't fit into any sort of category. i have hurt my back twice in this prolonged move already, but i am so excited to be going home, even if it's to my room that doesn't look anything like my room anymore. columbus may be god-awful boring, may be small, may die at 8:30, may be the place where most people my age pray to escape or give me weird looks when i say i'm happily returning, but i can't wait to go back.

fingers crossed this all works.

book diversion: "Sold"

every now and then i want to write about a book that really touched me, and this book's effect on me was profound. "Sold" by Patricia McCormick is written for a reader starting at the pre-teen level, but can be enjoyed by any person. it centers around lakshmi, a 13-year-old girl living in a very poor village in nepal with her mother, stepfather and baby brother. she dreams of making enough money to repair her family's tin roof - and perhaps stem her stepfather's gambling problem. then he tells her she's going into work as a maid in the city, and she leaves with a woman for a job that is filled with promise for her family. instead, she has been sold into the sex trade and ends up in india. lakshmi tells her story in a poetry/prose form that is not only very fitting, but also makes for a quick read - i think i finished in this book in under two hours. but it was so, so well written. i could smell the men who paid for lakshmi - and was heartbroken for her when she overhears one of them and realizes they paid as much for her as she would have paid back home for a coke. at the end of the story, i learned over 12,000 nepali girls are sold into the sex trade every year. the author traveled to nepal and india to interview people who had rescued these girls, as well as the girls themselves, and her hard work shows over each page as she brings you there, exposing one of the cruelest places in the world. please read this book.

hello lover

would it be wrong to spend $950 on a pair of shoes?

really? i mean, seriously, they are the most beautiful pair of shoes ever. lily allen wore them on australian tv and said she stole or "nicked" them. i completely understand why.

although it pisses me off slightly that lily, a girl who is both younger than me and in a position to buy a $950 pair of shoes, had to nick them. (p.s. the word "nick" is so much more fun than stole. i love british slang.)

ok, see them for yourself. and if you'd like to buy them for me, go here. (size 10.5, please!)

when i grow up

is it the pink shoes that make my feet look so professional when i point? or the grace of the dance? it's gotta be the costumes with the tulle and sparkles and beautiful colors. for whatever reason, ballet always captivated me, the way it has captivated little girls ever since it became en vogue. i took lessons at my elementary school when i was 7 or 8, and i'm double-jointed in my ankles, letting me turn out past 180 degrees. that's about the extent of my knowledge of ballet, but i've always, always wanted to take lessons again. i thought about doing it at iu - stupid that i didn't, considering they have an amazing school there. then i thought about doing it this year when i was up in indy, since there are lots of schools around here that have adult lessons. now i'm moving back to a town with a whole two dance studios, none of which have adult lessons. and i'm really sad about that, enough that i'm considering entering a beginner class with 5-7-year-olds. almost.

but how good would it feel to snatch back a childhood regret? most of the things i do wish i had done, i'll never get the chance again. just the idea that i might be able to dance again is empowering. i can't wait until i actually get to put on those shoes.

now if i can just figure out how to get en pointe in a few months...

my mother, myself

"all women become like their mothers. that is their tragedy."

my mother and i have always been close. i'm her only daughter, i'm her oldest child, i'm basically her clone born when she was 29 years old. i look like her and - even scarier - i act just like her. it's not that she acts a way i don't want to, it's that because we're so much alike, we end up at odds a lot more than we should. i have her temperament, her tendency to perfection, her want of control, her fears for everyone she loves, her sometimes judgmental attitude. that sounds all bad, and it's not. i inherited the good traits as well: silliness, passion for those i love, determination. and as i've gotten older, i've come to appreciate my mom and all she's done for my brother and me more and more.

but the control - the control is the worst. the judgmental looks as she wants into my apartment and sees that it's not clean. the high eyebrows when she hears my dog sleeps on my bed with me and always has. the constant telling and retelling of how to live my life.

(she does redeem herself. when she had to take care of hamlet, he slept under the covers with her. i was so shocked to hear that, i couldn't speak for a few seconds.)

it's so difficult for me to deal with the things my mom does because i crave her approval. i want her to accept and be happy for every decision and aspect of my life. and at the same time i can't stand it when she tells me what to do. i couldn't take it when i was 18 - that first summer back from school was the worst. i really can't take it now that i'm 24 and independent. and i have to move back with her in a month, and she wonders why i'm desperate to find a house?

i love my mom. i want to make that really clear. i love her, and i'm very grateful for her. it's my own daughter i'm worried about.

i found my mac again

next stop: house!

that's how this works, right?

twisted logic

i have been thinking and wondering and wishing and thinking about buying an apple. i had one years ago that was tragically killed when i accidentally dropped it down the stairs. pretty funny now, but horribly tragic then. i have a really bad track record with computers - for instance, my dell (the replacement) is in t's computer graveyard right now because the screen keeps falling shut and it won't turn on. this could also be because dells are pieces of shit and i hate them. i'm not sure.

i actually went into the apple store today and played around on the macbook i want. it was all white like a computer angel and absolutely gorgeous. i'm dying of indecisiveness, because even though i don't technically need a computer, i really, really want this one. and i have considered this choice for over a month, so i'm not rushing into it. i'm trying to be logical about my purchases, considering i am financially responsible for myself and all.

but here's where the twisted part comes in. i've been reluctant to spend that kind of money because from what i hear, houses are expensive. if i find a house, i'll need the money that's already gone because i bought a computer. but of course i haven't found that elusive piece of property. so what is the answer? no computer = no house. buy a computer and be in the hole a lot of money = i'll find the house of my dreams. perfect! it's a win-win! i'm buying the damn computer. and then the house will magically go on sale. because that's pretty much how my life works.

thanks aunt karen

my dad's family could not be more different than my mom's. my mom's is a loud, always arguing, Catholic bunch. my dad's was always much quieter - and much smaller. while at my mom's there are four aunts, four uncles and 12 grandkids, at my dad's there's only my brother, two cousins and my uncle bob and aunt karen. karen and i have always had a very special relationship, and she can tell me things i can't and don't want to hear from anyone else. i haven't seen her in a long time, and unfortunately she lives in arizona, a 3+ hour plane ride away. not bad, but nothing that means we're together as a family very often. in fact the last time we were all together was my popop's funeral. the next time we'll all be together is in june when we bury him in arlington. very sad. and also the reason why i won't move far from home.

i freak over fleas

i was rubbing my dog's white belly when i saw it, a tiny black speck, barely noticeable, moving, roaming for something. i squished its little body in between my fingernails and started freaking out - my adorable, lovable puppy had fleas.

i started freaking out, looking up all sorts of home remedies for flea medications until i could get to the vet. i washed all my sheets, sprayed my home with germ-be-gone (just to make myself feel better), and badgered the boy to shell out $60 for three months' of medicine, instead of paying less than half that for the store-bought version, because then we wouldn't know its ingredients if hamlet had an allergic reaction. i lovingly bathed my puppy in dishwashing soap (only the natural version) while whispering to him in my special hamish voice. i wished i could comb over every inch of his precious fur to get every one of those fucking fleas off of him. i found myself angry at those tiny bugs for invading my precious baby.

it was somewhere between this freak-out and the one i had at my mom's where i checked the back door five times to make sure it was locked so hamlet couldn't escape because my mom lives by a very busy road that i realized i was completely obsessed with the possibility of something happening to my dog.

my second thought was fuck. if i'm this worried about my dog, how the hell am i going to be a mom?

i come from a long line of over-bundle-uppers in the winter and extra medication when sick. worrying is as easy as guilt in my family; the two are close friends. how else do i know that i love someone? i tease them and i worry about them - the tried-and-true test of love. i see the horrible scenarios in my mind over and over, every little thing that could go wrong, every awful event that could happen. i freak out over fleas. how did i babysit as a preteen? why the hell did those stupid parents trust me with their children? i'm going to be that mother who hooks a webcam up to her baby's crib and uses a child leash when in public and calls the pediatrician over every red mark. i'm so messed up, i'm worrying about my tendency to be overly worried. how do parents let this stuff go?

i have a feeling it's a more "you learn to live with it" concept. which sucks almost as much as the worrying to me.

regrets

i regret not taking russian in college. spanish, seriously, what was i thinking? i can carry on a conversation in spanish only a little better than if it was in russian.

i should have gone to europe to study abroad. i don't think i could have done a whole semester, but i definitely should have done a summer. 10 days was so not enough.

i wish i had spoken up more - in class, in sorority meetings, for things i thought were unfair, for issues. i couldn't campaign or attend rallies because i was a journalist, but i still could have done something.

i could have volunteered. or at least covered more stories about non-profits. the best i did was push for directors of various charities to be on the live show i produced.

i wish i hadn't been so scared to fail. that's still a mountain i'm trying to climb.

i should have eschewed sleep more. not the all-nighter thing, but i should have at least enjoyed some more bar days with my friends who are all now living their own lives, and who i will only now see when someone gets married. my liver thanks me, my heart does not.

i needed to let the schedule go. let the planner get lost. maybe even leave the cell phone at home. another one i can work on.

why didn't i go to runcible spoon when i was at iu? or the farmer's market more? or the restaurants on 4th street? or more restaurants period? or jazz night at bear's place? uncle elizabeth's? the early music festival? any music festival?

i shouldn't have wasted time on regrets. i should have just gotten them out there, like i'm doing now, and let them go. we burn last year's palms and use them for ash wednesday mass. there's something cleansing about that, and i don't quite understand why. but this is my blog post learning from my regrets, letting them go and burning them into the air.

this isn't my city anymore

ok, it was fun, this big-city living i did for almost 11 months. i enjoyed the experience, the shopping (oh the shopping!), the morning walk three blocks into downtown, where the skyline would greet me, the 18th floor office with its panoramic views of the city (perfect for checking out a massive fire in an empty building), the choices for pretty much everything. it was lovely and all, but i'm over it. i'm done with the big city. i'm regressing - literally - back to my childhood, to the place i was raised and that i honestly didn't think i would come back to for a long, long time. true, i loved coming back when i had to work out of the office there, and true i wanted to raise my kids there. so maybe this is the way it's supposed to happen? strange, isn't it, the way things work? almost like my heart knew something i didn't. when i made the choice to move back to my hometown, it was a light switch going off - like saying, yes, of course, why didn't i see this option earlier? the moment i considered it, no other option was viable: it was this or nothing. we'll see how it all works out, but one thing is for certain: the rest of the summer is going to be life-changing for me, literally. i can't wait.

a wedding

one of my very best friends and the person i consider a sister has now been married for 24 hours. after her name, her husband's name and the pastor's name, i got to sign the marriage license as a witness. then i got to walk down the aisle and look at her husband's face when he saw his bride for the first time. i had made it through the rehearsal (that took THREE HOURS!!!), dinner, giving shea a book of pictures and that included a very emotional personal letter to her, seeing her with her hair done, seeing her in her dress, seeing her cry over pretty much everything, and the entire ceremony - and then another bridesmaid and good friend, Meredith, had to go sing this song, and I lost it. everyone had already cried, and i had to go have my moment on the altar in front of 300 people - with the only tissue i had brought stuck down my cleavage. i thought i hid the whole thing really well until people started recognizing me at the reception as "that bridesmaid that started balling."

but all was beautiful and well, even the speech, which as co-maid-of-honor, i had to give, with molly's help. i held it together until the very, very end, when i had to say good bye to shea. stupid, really, because i was only saying good bye to her until i saw her again, which will probably be very soon, considering we live an hour away.

but i lost it. again. only this time, i couldn't stop crying for 30 minutes. it may have had something to do with the six cranberry and vodkas i had been secretly drinking during the supposed "dry" reception, but it also had to do with the fact that shea is all growed up, and i am about to burst with love and happiness for her. every time i even heard her name at the end of the night, i would start sobbing. i am so, so lucky to share the day with her and be a part of her life. and all i could think about was how much i love her husband (they're perfect - seriously) and how happy they're going to be together. that's rare and precious, that love that makes even the strongest women of steel cry because it's so real and powerful and makes me believe that it's possible for anyone, no matter what. and i am so, so happy shea and ben have found it and each other. it was an amazing wedding and an amazing weekend, though i think after three in a row, i need about a month to recover.

just send me to france

every july it happens. i start to feel antsy and can't concentrate. weekend mornings are spent glued to the tv for three hours. work days are worst - i search the web for live results, preferably with phil & paul, and if i can't find them, i eschew all news - until i inevitably break down or accidentally see the results. i am so not a sports person, but there is one event that i hold near and dear to my heart: le Tour de France, the premier bike race in the world, one of the three grande Tours and absolutely the hardest, most amazing sporting event ever. i can't help it; i'm obssessed, to the point where i seriously think about blowing off major meetings in favor of tuning into the live results. i have been depressed all day because i missed the team time trial due to meetings, and then can't even watch the results tonight - so i looked and found out who won. (he's so close!!!) because america is what it is and the majority of us would rather see beefed-up guys in layers and layers of pads run into each other, i really don't have anyone to talk to about my love of cycling, except for my dad, who started me on this obsession anyway. he's actually a cyclist himself. i wished i had a sport that i enjoyed that much. i've thought about taking up cycling, but bikes are expensive and spandex can be so unforgiving.

my first fourth without (a lot of) fear

i looked it up one day when i was bored, and it turns out i have ligyrophobia, officially the fear of loud noises. if i could add the word "sudden" to that definition, that would sum me up perfectly. i think i have it traced back to an easter egg hunt when i was 2, thanks to an old home movie: all the other kids went apeshit when the gun went off, signaling the start of the hunt. i fell to the ground, screaming and crying. since then, thunderstorms caused me to flee to my parents' room and july 4 was always my least favorite holiday. in a cruel bit of irony, it's my brother's favorite. jack is a huge pyro and used to stock fireworks all year long the way mormons stock food in case the world ends. every july 4 spelled the end of the road for an unlucky barbie of mine. my family would spend the holiday at various friends' houses, enjoying the fireworks, while i would be in the basement, crying and blasting a disney movie to drown out the sound.

this year was different. i went out to harrison lake, where my cousins have a house, and braved the noise to enjoy the sights. i did squeal a few times at the particularly loud ones, but for the most part, the simple beauty of exploding light was worth it. who knows? maybe next year i'll be able to watch them without my ears plugged.

my obsession with romance novels...this may be a multipart post

so first i should explain that i have always been a reader, but have stayed away from the chick lit in my usual uppity-nosey fashion, telling myself that i have to be enlightened or invigorated or at least feel smart when i read a book. it was long novels or thick nonfiction books about the Romanovs that lined my bookshelves and piled up along my bed. i spent a fortune at borders and barnes & noble in college, which also became my favorite study haunt.

then several big things happened to me. first of all, i finished my masters, effectively ending my official education for the rest of my life. if i thought collegiate and academic reading was bad in undergrad, grad school was a hundred times worse. i needed a break. i didn't want to have to concentrate or even think when i read a book.

with the finishing of my masters came moving away from bloomington (big thing #2), the town i called home for the past five years. but i couldn't move back to what i now considered my childhood home because big thing #3 happened: my mom's house flooded, to the point where it would be unliveable for the next five months. so i not only moved back in with my mom and brother, but joined my grandma, grandpa and uncle. all of us, a big happy family, under one fucking roof.

i needed distraction from cleaning out muck and smelly river water and childhood memories literally gone down the drain. i was shamefully at walmart with my brother buying fans when i spied their pathetic book section - and saw the book pictured above. a duke, i thought. i love learning about royalty. why not give it a go? it was only $6 (another fantastic perk about romance novels). i threw it in the cart and took it home, only to devour it in a matter of hours.

from that moment, i was hooked. julia quinn became my favorite author, and i preceded to go to waldenbooks (the disgustingly mediocre lone bookstore in columbus that stocked romance novels) and literally bought them out of her books. after checking her websites for recommendations, i moved on to gaelen foley, who i also treasure - though she is a little more into the specifics sex-wise and a little bit less believable romance-wise than julia. i couldn't get enough of romance novels. i finally had to renew my library card for the first time in 8 years and check out the books. i know those pissy librarians were totally judging me as i came in week after week, only to rent books with titles like "her only desire" and "one night of sin." oh, but it was totally, totally worth it, because the books have opened me up to a whole new literary world.

Romance novels account for billions of dollars and millions of copies in the book world and appear in 90 languages. the genres range from contemporary to historic (my favorite) to science fiction to fantasy - and there are even genres within genres (in historic, there's pirates, vikings, native americans - don't laugh!). for any topic that interests you, i guarantee there's a romance novel out there.

and they are surprisingly well-written. i say this because i have read some really, really good ones - and some disgustingly bad ones. the covers are usually embarrassing, but don't let that fool you - both good and bad books get mostly bad covers. my absolute favorite website and the place i go to for my daily laugh - as well as recommendations for other books - is Smart Bitches, Trashy Books. Sarah and Candy are geniuses and take the books very seriously, as they believe it undermines the romance novel industry to treat them any other way. For a good laugh, please go to the Cover Snark section of their website, where they have so much fun with seriously awful covers.

finally, i'll share with you the book known on SBTB as "romance novel crack", the book that turns even the most cynical reader into if not a fan, at least a person who respects the genre: Lord of Scoundrels, by Loretta Chase. if you read only one romance novel in your whole life, let it be this one. just grab a glass of wine and enjoy. i promise you'll thank me later.

i'm having a bad foot day

woke up at five in the morning to my dog licking my face (sometimes he decides he doesn't want to sleep in, sometimes he snores right along with me) and a throbbing foot. a swollen ankle from training for a marathon, you ask? a sore ligament from all the fab exercising you do? no - i have a fucking ingrown toenail. that woke me up. at FIVE IN THE MORNING. and i couldn't get back to sleep. never mind i had to hobble like an invalid as i took the dog out, and then hobble away three blocks into work. did i mention that tomorrow is Independence Day here in the US? so literally no one is working? we are the only company in my building here - and my building has something like 30 floors. i left my apartment way late this morning and it only took me 15 minutes to get into work - as opposed to the usual 45 because no one else is working today. even starbucks is closed. starbucks never closes!!

no matter. my stupid toe may be causing me to walk like a 95-year-old and i may be getting a blister now (on the same foot) because of my stupid shoes (both pairs!!!). the rumor is that we get off early today - maybe at one!!! i have a job, i love my job and yes, it's sucky that we are one of the only companies that doesn't get a day off for 4th of july. i will be enjoying my extra long christmas break when everyone else has to go back to work early. i hope.

house hunting part dva

after seeing my 27th house two days ago - and not being completely in love with the fact that we would have to expand it + add a new garage - i've officially decided that i am done rushing this process.

that doesn't mean i'm not going to continue to look at houses. but i'm not going to put an offer down on one that i don't have that feeling about. you know, that fluttery, this-is-right feeling? that feeling where instinctively i know it's the way to go. i haven't had that yet about houses - not even about the one we did put an offer on (and lost...boo). it wasn't an instantaneous love - more a definitely like that could grow into love over time.

i realize this is a slightly fucked-up way to look at homes. but i'm ok with that. if i'm going to go $140,000 in debt, i may as well be in love with the place that will own my soul.

a-hem...house stuff

this house thing is incredibly frustrating. if i wasn't so stubborn that i'm right (that now is a good time to buy), i would give up. so far i've seen 26 houses. of those, we've liked several and have even offered on one (we didn't get it, obviously). of those 26, we probably liked about 7-8 - and every damn one has sold or had an offer almost instantly after we liked it. it's the most frustrating fucking thing ever. i fall in love, only to have my house-y dreams trampled on by too high a counter-offer or too much competition. where's the crappy housing market, people? this is bullshit!

my realtor just sent me another list of houses and most of them are crap. i am not living in certain areas or using well water as my sewage system for crissakes. but we'll probably go see three more tonight...which means (only if i love any of them), they'll be gone by tomorrow. so if you need to sell your home, please have me come look at it. works like a fucking charm.

so here i am

it's a monday evening, and i'm blogging again, after a long time away from it. why now? to be completely cliche, i've come to a bit of a crossroads in my life - relationship-wise, home-ownership-wise, etc etc etc. i'm ready to leap, but may not land anywhere but flat on my ass. that's ok. i think.

i'm also a 24-year-old hoosier (if you don't know what that is, just don't ask) who has been in a relationship with the same guy for six years - aka 25% of my life. that's really freaky to think about.