comings & goings & other figures of speech

dudes.

summer is cool. i just hang. on a daily basis. and that's way different than what i was doing before summer because...well it's not.

::i saw the great gatsby. and i might have leaked a bit. and exclaimed post-movie. and talked back to other moviegoers. and daydreamed about it since. let me just give you my two (or ten) cents. it was SO good. the great gatsby is literally my favorite book ever written: it's the book that made me wanna be a writer and the book that showed me that honesty can be moving and inspirational and just downright thought-provoking. and i'm not gonna go comparing book to film...but i just have to say, as completely separate entities...the film was an A+. jayz knocked the music out the freaking park. to all who are saying it makes no sense, i beg you to read any book by fitzgerald or short description of his life and you will find that he is anything but nostalgic. he was fascinated by modern culture and not only does that support the music in the film but the film itself. it was nothing short of glamorous and modern and over-the-top. poor leo didn't put on as creepy a performance as i'd have liked (gatsby is a downright sad human) but boy oh boy was he fun to look at. i thought overall it was a beautiful and devastating experience, more than you could ask of any old movie. but if you haven't read the book, i suggest you do so immediately. it's not deep or complex, it's simply honest and real, and tells the story about real people and real life in the most hard-hitting way. (***drops mic***)

::my eden friend has a sister, a sister that's 15 now holla!! we took her out for her birthday to our favorite marina & the diamonds and you guys, it was dreamy. there were a lot of creeps there but i don't care! it was downright magical and i was stinking pleased. plus, how can you not have a good experience when there's confetti in the air and you're washing glitter out of your hair the following morning? please.

::i've been spending a lot of time with my nieces. in fact, i was browsing through my instagram and wondering what others might think of me...that i have no friends? that i consume a lot of treats? that i am a single mother? i love my nieces, so don't expect me to apologize for all the pictures you guys!!! (yelling.) anyway, that's neither here nor there. basically, i don't know how my sister does it. i have the most fun of my life with those baby girls. we scream and play and dance and when it's all through, i feel like i need a nap and a backrub and perhaps a stiff drink. which my sister never gets. none of those things. well, usually. except for her regular gas-station stops after the kids are in bed. (don't tell her i told.) i love them so much. they are so funny and exciting and cute and entertaining and exhausting? and yet it's their mother that makes me think i want to be a mother sometimes. and those very kiddies that make my ovaries ache ceaselessly. (creepy? QUITE.) conundrum, it is.

::it's officially been great weather for two days now. praise the lord! it's been amazing. i sacrificed my lunch break today for a little sunshine. and i was starving. that's how beautiful it's been. plus my sister asked me if i got a spray tan and for a burton girl to assume anything as tan it's got to be at least a shade darker than snow white. but then she said it might just be "the glow." creep.

::i am the real life hair tutorial gone wrong. last summer i burned a section of my hair off and it has yet to grow but a centimeter. but based on the several sad-faced pictures i've captured featuring my little guy, it's been growing a little more heartily lately. huzzah! i am truly excited. come to find out i may have burnt the entire side of my head, as it is unnaturally dry while the other is luscious as a field of daisies (???? k.). but i've been trying to nurse it back to normality. ie letting it just dry and do it's thing. and let me tell you something i'm not one of those natural beauties. shouts to all my ladies with their natural waves but nobody wants to see this mane untamed. or do they? i got out of the shower and parted my hair, DID NOT EVEN BRUSH IT may i stress that enough?!?!?! and was on my way because quite frankly i wasn't feeling it today and i washed my hair for the first time in 6 days (no exaggeration) and wanted to let it enjoy that and i have been receiving ceaseless compliments. nothing gets to me as much as this. your hair looks so good! it smells so good! it feels so good! LEAVE ME ALONE and give me a dang compliment when i spend half an hour on it. jerks. and in other news, that literally not a single soul on the planet besides myself cares about, i am changing my hair. because i've been a redhead for a solid eight months and i feel empowered and spontaneous and ready to conquer everything. (by the way. why are girls and their hair seemingly romantically involved? i truly spend more time talking/thinking about my hair than any relationship i have been or am in. we are a shallow breed.)

::anyway. the end.

moms day & a public declaration of love to all women who are not me

i like to believe that mothers day is just figurative. shouldn't all women be celebrated at least once a year? like me? shouldn't i be brought breakfast in bed and showered with flowers and gifts? don't deny me of my day, world! i have wide birthing hips and emotional instincts and all necessary lady parts to be classified as a mother so why has no one given me any sort of recognition? huh?

maybe i'll make use of my birthing hips one day, and maybe i won't (YIKES) but oh man, mothers. i respect those suckers, yes i do. they fold your laundry and make you meals and talk to you in that way that only they know how. and that is no small feat my friends.

and speaking of things not being small feats, they are literally the only person that will ever push you out of their body by themselves and if they're my momma forego medication (ho.ly.hell.) and i'm not trying to get graphic you guys but can you just think about what's going on in that situation? tell your moms you love them. now. anyway.

i especially respect my momma. how i wish everyone had a debbie. it was only her that squeezed my arm and gave me that stink eye during church meetings when i was paying less than diligent attention, her that spray tanned the parts of me i couldn't reach before dance concerts, her that forced me to strip down and let her iron my skirt even when i insisted it was only slightly wrinkled where i had sat on it.

i think i obviously took advantage of all the things my mom did for me in my youth. and i know i'll look back next year on this year and think the same thing: how did i let so much go unnoticed. but i think more than anything i neglected to appreciate the friendship i have with my mom: the endless talks and advice between the two of us, and the shopping trips that meant more about the time than it did about the clothes, and the subtle homemaking lessons when i usually wasn't listening.

my mom makes motherhood look like a privilege and not a chore and i know that she truly believes it is an honor. but i think it's my honor...to be her daughter and her chore and her pain in the butt but also her friend. i think god saw me and probably just knew i needed a debbie, and thank. goodness.
i love you mama.

dads: dead-beats and otherwise (ex. mine)

In a lot of ways I'm the dead-beat dad of this blog.  I show up every once in a while to boast about my sports teams winning or how many reality tv shows I've watched in the last little while and then shut down and shut off...until a birthday or otherwise major event.  In which case I come back with no reason as to why I left or even an acknowledgement that I was missing -- ey kid let's go see a movie and eat ice cream until our stomachs hurt and don't tell your mother!  Or something.  And just if you're wondering, I think my fictional dead-beat dad would be a fitted-suit wearing business man who often left me home alone but always with expensive gifts and money, until he crept back into my life at the arrival of grandkids...and yeah, I just described Brooke Davis' dad from One Tree Hill.  And yes, right again, most of my life experiences come from television series'.  Whatever.

But my dad's no dead-beat.  And it's his birthday today!  And just like any dead-beat, I'm swooping back in to proclaim my love and appreciation for him -- and maybe spoil him with some extra sugar!

My dad's taught me everything it takes to be a woman (no typo).  I guess it was my mom that urged the importance of wearing a bra and my mom that showed me how to do laundry, but my dad has taught me what I want to one day find in a man...and that's made me a better woman (eh hem, girl), ya feel me?

I know that without my pops I'd still be telling poop jokes and burping out loud (wait....) and I wouldn't know big words like facetious or corprophilia (don't look either of those up or you'll know why I learned them)...but most importantly, without Brad I wouldn't even know how to throw a baseball?

Wait.  Most importantly, I wouldn't know that my dad is hands-down, the smartest, kindest, most generous, hard-working, caring man I've ever met...and I wanna spend my life with people just like that, nothing less.

I feel like striving to meet the right people and surround myself with nothing but the best, my self-respect has grown and I've seen my dad's influence of becoming the kind of person I'd like to hang around with pay off in my life.

And to show him how much I care about him I took him out for pizza -- his least favorite food and my favorite -- let him foot the bill, and asked him for the rest of his Diet Coke after the pizza made him sick, just like the dead-beat that I am.

But I also gave him a big-old squeeze, cause without that guy...where'd I be.

an overdue and an unnecessary and a there's really no way to say this

happy end of finals and happy tuesday to you too, deceivingly warm day.

anyway.  whatever.

i finished finals today.  and i totally rocked them.  and took them out to dinner afterwards and then gave them a swift kick in the pants and a "gotcha!" cause oh boy those suckers do suck.

and then i saw a guy that i was pretty sure only i could see, holding a handful of dum dums.  i slapped myself silly and remembered how tests do weird things to me -- like give me the sweats and make me hum and also apparently hallucinate?  but he was walking towards me.  and smiling.  and holding dum dums?  so does it really matter what happened after that?  i took two.

and then -- well there's really no way to tell this story.  and it's felt overdue since the second it happened -- like i couldn't decide whether to conference call everyone i knew right then and there or just run to the next person i could see and laugh/cry till i could finally get the words out.  anyway, nothing's gonna feel right until i get it out of my system...and there's no good way to do it (sort of like a bad burrito), so apologies in advance.

basically.  i proceeded with my sucker in hand and spotted a female not far off, also with a sucker, but flailing her arms.  at me?  at me!  "is this it?  is this heaven?" i thought.  free dum dums and enthusiastic waves from strangers?  this rocks!

but as i got closer, dum dum in one hand, apprehensive pending wave in the other, i heard a faint noise coming from the woman -- a grunt of sorts?  balls.  she was choking.

i sort of ran-walked and couldn't help thinking "well maybe she'll die here and she'll have a sucker and she'll be okay and happy and maybe this is how she wants to go?" because how does one relieve someone of choking on a sucker...that's in their hand?  my mind was whirring so fast.  i don't remember feeling like this except for when i played minute to win it at a family reunion and my brother told me i couldn't keep the last name if i lost.

i gathered my thoughts...remembered all my CPR/Heimlich training from my girls camp years and did a fist pump.  i gotchu girl!  just as i wetted the old whistle to plant one on this breathless choker, she spouted out, "i'm choking!  ah!  i'm choking! (grunt) (grunt) (grunt)" and by some miracle or rather my sudden realization that i was not about to liplock with this untouchable i said "but what the what you're talking...?" and she fell to her knees, seemingly collecting herself?  as best as a previously dying person could?

she went on to explain how she had "felt the sucker slide down her throat" (it was still in her hand?) and how she just must have choked on her saliva.  and then she was on her way.  without a thank you or a real enthusiastic wave.  just a stand-up-and-walk-away-because-you-didn't-just-attempt-to-save-my-life-strut.

i was offended.  and hurt.  and scarred?  and unsure of whether i should laugh or cry?  or hide my face in shame?  was this a prank?  did anyone else just see what i saw?  was it just a theater arts major?  am i REALLY hallucinating?

but i think it was real.  and that's way hard to swallow.

so however morbid or slightly offensive this story might have been....i surprisingly feel no better after telling it.  yikes.  oh well.  have fun.  hope you don't catch my word vomit.

on college. but also on the underprivileged and marketing techniques

so there's not just one thing target is good at.  besides marketing cheaply-made clothing with beautiful models and top-of-the-line designers, they also have a starbucks in their store?  so that's something.

but wait.  that's not all.  in addition, they have some crazy good commercials.  remember the #moreJT commercial that featured my boyfriend surprising his supposedly "biggest fans"?  good crap you guys. that one hit so close to home.  no joke, i recorded an entire, uh, episode? of the news just so that i could relish in those 30 seconds repeatedly.

***and as a not-so-fluid segue into my next topic, but still on the topic of both target and JT, i need to recall what happened the day i purchased the 20/20 experience, which i hope you all own, and if you don't, get out my house! or just go to target.  anyway.  i took it to the register, all smiles, some nerves, because, this was a big moment obvs.  and the cashier asked me if...i had heard "any of his songs"?   (and the whole cashiers commenting on my items disaster is for another day but seriously??)  i said yeah.  and kind of rolled my eyes.  and kind of did the little black girl head roll and stomp in my mind because really, b?  then she said, "i only know that one.  that's on the radio.  you know...which one does he sing in a really high pitched voice?"  i said, "uh, all of them," and ripped my receipt out of her hand.  DIVA OUT.***

but again.  what else can target do well?  besides commercials?  no wait.  let's talk about commercials. have you seen the target ad with all the kids getting accepted to college?  oh my word.  i've cried over it.  i know that all of those kids have amazing back stories and most of them are probably the first in their families to go to college and you know what they're probably all suffering of terminal illnesses!  i love that commercial!  it makes me feel so much!

teary-eyed and moved by all of my mind's stories on these kids, i sat wishing that someone had recorded the moment i got into the college of my dreams.

and then i found my journal entry from just that day.  and let me tell you something, there's something about an 18-year old voice full of hope and excitement that really puts things in perspective.

and even though i had no idea what was coming or that i'd be a junior with one failed class and no major, i don't think i'd take back a second of what i felt.

so thanks to target, i guess, for not only the clothes and great makeup selection, but also for the perspective.

today is a good day.

Every day is an opportunity for a better day.  Realizing that makes life a lot easier, I promise.

I think sometimes in times like this: times of struggle and weakness and tragedy, we tend to look at the bad in everything.  People are so bad.  This world is so messed up.

But in reality, though horrible and terrible the price can be sometimes, what a small price it is to pay to live in this beautiful world and experience this beautiful life.

The good will always outnumber the bad.  We always will.

(untitled)

I've been itching to read a book.  Not a text book or a magazine plastered with pictures of Justin Bieber (you guyssssssss...........), but a paperback, withered, stained, smeared-paged from falling in the bathtub one too many times book.

This is the part where I confess to my worst sins.  In my "I've-got-to-read-a-book-and-more-importantly-waste-time!" rant throughout my bookshelves, I picked up the sleaziest, dumbest (but so captivating and culturing?) book that I own and smeared its pages with peanut butter and celery stains, proving that I have indeed read it.  Rats!

I have such a weird relationship with reading.  I'll read a book until I get a headache, cry when I'm finished, and perhaps most embarrassingly, narrate my life in character's voices.

I've always loved to read, and when I say always I mean ALWAYS.  I picked up books as in infant, I was reading in the womb, I could read before I could talk you guys!  But really.  I read every Beverly Cleary book until it fell apart and religiously kept up with the Junie B. Jones books (until I was probably much too old for them, admittedly).

But it was reading The Great Gatsby that I think changed things.  I began reading in a completely different way.  I let my mind go into this other world, a world I would never physically know.  It was my "turning point" book.  It was The Great Gatsby that made me realize I wanted to be a writer.  It also struck me hard and fast with the reality that I can't write, but oh boy oh boy, I'm going to spend my life trying.

It's books like The Great Gatsby and The Giver, books that made me feel like they trusted me as a reader, that were game changers for my 12-year old self.  It's a big deal to feel like someone trusts your mind's ability to create and wonder, especially at such a young age.

Books like that...and Nora Ephron movies.  Those were my own personal game changers.  I think of when I started thinking like an adult and considering myself a valuable human, even in my insecure and hormonal state, and it was most likely the times that I regarded myself a friend of Daisy Buchanan's or engaging in a chat online with Kathleen Kelly.  Characters that not only let me into their worlds and lives, but that taught me something that has stuck with me.

The movies that Nora Ephron produced all had one underlying theme, a theme that, in my young age, taught me that women could be powerful and beautiful and strong...and that by all means, they should be.  With the fascinating trend of women to be men in terms of business and education, I've pulled out my little Nora Ephron-isms years after they proved so beneficial to my livelihood.  This woman viewed all women as ladies, who could be classy and fabulous, but who could speak their minds, and weren't afraid of being girls!  Because girls, you know, are the most beautiful things in the world.  And she showed me that's something to be proud of.

So even though I just spent a half an hour writing and not reading, I think I'll go pick up a GOOD book.  And it's National Drop Everything and Read Day, so...there's that.


The odd thing about this form of communication is that you're more likely to talk about nothing than something.  But I just want to say that all of this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings.
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