Planning 20

Song of the Day: Sigh No More by Mumford & Sons

Have you ever seen Much Ado About Nothing? Well, it’s phenomenal and there’s a version by Joss Whedon on Netflix, so you should go watch that. It’s got Nathan Fillion. I don’t know if there is anything else I need to recommend it. 

Much Ado holds a special place in my heart among Shakespeare’s plays. I mean, you got your Romeo and Juliets, your Julius Caesars, your Macbeths, your Hamlets, and those are all good and often read. Then you have all your comedies, like She’s the Man and Ten Things I Hate About You. But (and I know all about this because I wrote a paper about it one time) Much Ado isn’t as lighthearted as the rest of the comedies. I mean, (spoilers) Hero fake dies and there are some serious defamations of character over the course of the play. Plus, Beatrice has this awesome speech where she knows that the lies about Hero need to be avenged and she’s raging to Benedick about how she would do it; if she were a man, she would eat the liar’s heart in the marketplace. Roll laugh-track, am I right?

And Shakespeare, tool-status notwithstanding, definitely goes for a “men kinda suck” theme in Much Ado. Have you heard the song from it? “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever. One foot in sea and one on shore, to one thing constant never.” Shakespeare would like for you to know that men are inconstant jerks, ladies. Keep that in mind. And not that Shakespeare defines my worldview, but I’d have to say that reading this over and over again in high school may not have been the best in terms of building my trust of the male species. 

Trust is hard. It’s hard to trust other people to get stuff done. It’s hard to trust that people will be there for you when you need them. It’s impossible to trust that you’re getting the whole story about anything and it’s difficult to trust other people with your story. If I have difficulty trusting my friends to be the awesome people I know that they are, how in the world am I supposed to trust a guy for anything when I know that there are just utter scumbags out there, hiding under a layer of relative niceness? And I know that you date people to figure all that sort of stuff out and that you don’t fall in love with someone before you date them, but eventually that end date is there, you know? Eventually, I’m either going to trust this man with everything that I have and hold or we’re going to go our separate ways and knowing that a wall like that exists scares me away from even smiling at someone too much.

(And then watching all these other parents scares me away from ever wanting kids. What if I let my kids become brats and I don’t know how to fix that? What if I drive my kids away and all they can see in me are hateful things? What if I can’t provide for them and they end up in some terrible situation because of my economic circumstance? What if I can’t keep my kids safe? I know I’m being ridiculous, but, you know, we can head off all these worries at the pass if I just keep my head down and rock the forever-alone lifestyle until my ovaries pass their prime.)

I see people starting their joint lives with other people and I don’t feel behind. I’m not really at a loss. I think I say it because it’s expected, but I’m fine by myself. It’d be nice to have someone else in my life, but I don’t know if it’s worth it, what with the busyness and the aforementioned fears. Plus, I’d want everything to be perfect, or at least perfectly imperfect, and then I’d just be disappointed, so until I adjust my expectations, I might as well just wait it out. I’m moving on in a year anyway. It’s not a great time to start a relationship. And I know, a date doesn’t imply a relationship. But why would I go through that horror of a social cluster if I wasn’t going to get something long-term out of it?

Listen, I want a family. If I’m planning my future, I want to plan a future with the possibility of a man in mind. Just… don’t think that I’m wasting my time if the fulfillment of that possibility isn’t on the horizon yet.

Of Statuses and Zombies

Facebook statuses can be really inspiring.

No lie. Some people put the best bible verses up there in wonderful translations, or they put crazy encouraging song lyrics up, or occasionally just life testimonies that are powerful, even in their simplicity. If you don't have some Christian friends on Facebook, go and grab a couple and friend them just for the happiness they will randomly pour into your day.

Especially Wednesdays, apparently. I just scrolled down and counted about five status updates that were God/Jesus related. Also, got wind of a sweet Augustine quote today- when you sing, you pray twice, or some variation around there. Regardless of the actual intent, I like the idea as it comes from that little excerpt and the snooty snob in my head who hates things when taken out of context can get over herself. But yeah, cheerfulness and faithful hearts abound on my newsfeed right now and I love that about my life.

At the same time, I look at my status updates and they're not anything like that. Why am I not so uplifting and encouraging? I took a screen shot of my newsfeed, which included my status, just to get a sense of the discouraging face-palm that is my status. Here you kids are talking about God making a temple out of this land, or about the way He leads you through valley or the joy you're experiencing and I'm complaining, again, about the love of my life. He's a pretty common theme in statuses and would probably be the biggest thing in a wordle of my life. And you know, I don't think it's a bad thing to think about the people you care about, even if you care about them more than you're supposed to. I just think that somewhere along the way, God should be glorified in something that I do. Why not take the easy route? A status can even be copied and pasted. Ten seconds to bring a little bit of happiness into the world instead of a little bit of sadness.

And I can't do it. Selfish little soul of discontent and quiet sadness, I can't take the least little bit of time to share some goodness with the people around me. No one cares about my loml. My loml doesn't even care that he's my loml. You know the best thing about Zombieland? No Facebook status updates. Yes, I think in a zombie apocalypse, the best thing about it would be that my protests against the world's oppression of hopeless romantics and silly girls with flowers would be over.

But the bright side of all of this is that I don't have to wait for a virus to mutate and spread throughout the world making us all into brain-craving drooling cannibals (though it probably wouldn't work out anyway) to stop my status from being a burden. I can choose to be better now. And you know, I don't think I can come out of the negativity rut by myself- none of us are in a vacuum- but I think that I don't have to live in the rut.

Did you know that 80% of the thoughts you think are negative? Don't do that to yourself, friend! Carve out a new path for your thoughts and sing a new song. Best lesson I ever learned from my former college roommate? That no one is ever too good for someone else- we all have worth just because we're human beings. Don't you dare think of yourself as anything less. You're worth something, dammit.

Now go live like it.

All I Know About Spiderman I Learned From StarKid Productions

OK, so I have many many things to say and no coherent way to say them. I have like three posts in my brain that I really think are worth the time I'll spend on them when I spend it on them, but this is not going to be one of them, so feel free to stop reading at any point and time. I promise, you're not missing much.

First off, can I be a terrible, horrible, shallow person for like ten minutes? Because I'm going to. If you've seen A Very Potter Sequel (I'm going to ruin a small small section of it for you if you haven't) then you know Hermione's scene at the end with Draco and you know her little speech. "I know that I have the lowest self esteem out of anyone at Hogwarts, but... but I think that I can do better. No, don't feel bad. Listen, you're always going to be a stepping stone on my journey to feeling good about myself. So thanks for being there, for me to step on." And this speech comes off just as mean as it does here in the show, I promise you. But if you understood where Hermione was coming from, maybe you'd think it was OK? Nah, nope, it's still terribly mean. (PS I hope you appreciate how hard it is for me to go back into the I-work-with-kids-on-a-daily-basis-so-I've-learned-the-nice-way-to-say-things way of speaking because the more accurate word is a little bit inappropriate for general audiences.) But the thing is, I understand what she's saying. And it's not that she knows that Ron likes her (you never tell a girl you like her, it makes you look like an idiot) and it's not that she's confident that there's going to be someone else, it's just that she doesn't want what's been offered. And you know, maybe we all have dreams that are a little too big for our potential and you know maybe we all can't have a real love of our lives and maybe we're all just waiting for a time that won't come or an awkward explanation of the Mary Jane and Peter Parker romance that somehow ends up with Ron as Mary Jane but is still super precious and incredibly endearing. Oh, just go watch it.

A friend of mine is turning 21 in a little bit and she's kinda worried about the party on her birthday. There are now three guys in her life who will probably be expecting her attention throughout the evening and she's a little exasperated. I would be too- it's not like we've ever had so much as one guy wanting our attention. And it's flattering- let me jump off the feminist bandwagon for a second to say that it's really, really nice when a guy pays attention to you and it's very easy to feel like you're worth less because you're not as pretty as the girls who normally have all the guys at the very least looking at them. There are so many beautiful people here and they're all accomplished and they're all going to go do great things or at least make a ton of money and if you step back, you realize that you don't belong and you're very amazed that you got here in the first place. So to get attention from any guys here always seems like a big deal to me.

I really dismiss out of hand anyone I don't see on a pretty regular basis. I've realized that I'm a terrible conversationalist. I have to be in your world to have any idea what you're talking about or to even care enough to add something more than the occasional "yeah" to the conversation. So if you think that our friendship is going to grow over Facebook, you're mistaken. And I think I can do better than someone who can only message me and learned everything he knows about me from my profile. However, if I once knew you pretty well and I want to keep up with you and have some idea of what's up in life, as well as have the chance to come visit you or see you before we all grow up and join the real world. then Facebook is a perfectly acceptable method of communication. I need to figure out some good etiquette, some nice way of saying that I'm just not that into Facebook stalkers, because it's vaguely disheartening to know that the kind of  guys I attract are guys I haven't had a conversation with in real life.

And what silly distractions guys are! I should be able to ignore you and focus on whatever's in front of me, not ignore what's happening right in front of my face to say hey to you. Though I'm glad you generally speak to me first. Arg, it's so frustrating! Sometimes you think it's you, that you're just not allowing yourself to be happy (which, let's face it, do I really have time to go chase down a guy? Do I have time to be chased? And after the chasing is done, do I really have time to commit to a relationship? Then again, if we're being honest, I probably spend as much time moping about my loml as a relationship takes up, so I probably do have time...) and then sometimes you think that it's just the guys that are around you, but most of the time I'm just fed up with the fact that I still get to dream about a first kiss. What is my life?

Sorry, that was all very shallow and I feel really bad for feeling it and if I could get rid of it without massive amounts of effort I would. But it's really enough to make you want to scream "Bitter and alone!" as you speed down a highway. Because, you know, some of us aren't looking for anything small. We're not looking for anything cute and momentary and like everyone else's Saturday night stories. When we tell someone that they mean something to us, they mean something to us and there's no way of dumbing that down, but I don't know how to tell you that. I don't want Prince Charming. I don't want to marry a doctor. I don't want someone who's gorgeous but a jerk (though I do have a propensity to like jerks and hope they grow out of it... poor Snape [starting at 2:50]). There are plenty of fish in the sea (oh wait, there's an oil spill, never mind) but you know, I don't want just anybody. And I'm willing to test out a couple of somebodies, but I know that there's one person who's going to light up my world and make every cliche not so terribly cheesy and false. I'm not searching desperately for The One, per se, I just have faith that my future's been provided for.

Which seems unfair. But that's a story for another post.

Observations.

I'm not super coherent right now (it's summer and I still procrastinate until the night my paper is due to write it... tsk tsk) due to lack of sleep and a lot of time spent around children, LEGOs and stars so I figured I'd let you in on some of my observations over the past few days. Enjoy!

Love your life.
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If the guy sitting across from me in B-ski's isn't dating or married to the lady he's with, he should be, with the way he looks at her. Good sir, you are in love, in case you hadn't noticed.
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The best sound in the world is the sound that kids make when the lights go down in the planetarium dome and the stars come up. Happy wonder and amazement. Favorite.
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There's an artificial ring around Earth... of satellites and space debris. We would be the planet with the trashy ring.
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Dear Boy, I have decided that this song describes our nonexistent relationship.
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Dear Future Boy, I have decided that It Ain't Over will describe our relationship.
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First public show tomorrow, first public show tomorrow, first public show- what do you mean, my laser pointer technique needs work? What am I supposed to do, sit around in the theater and practice drawing circles on the ceiling? And get paid for it? ... I love my life.
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Brown hair really stands out on white legs. I really have to shave.
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Tiberius- what an awesome name for a dog.
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The entire point of my story about my camper tackling me during Park Ranger is to point out the fact that children can be the sweetest things- the game stopped on the dime after I hit the dirt and several of my campers rushed to my side, picking up my water bottle and sunglasses and helping me up. Too bad I missed out on telling that part to my boss, who now thinks I'm complaining about being beat up by a 4th grader.
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I want God to be wasteful too. 
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If one of your campers shares your boss's boss's last name, chances are you should check on that before he walks up with your boss's boss while you're trying to subdue a munchkin uprising over whether an octopus can really predict the outcome of the world cup.(I cheered for Spain the whole way. Now if only I had made bets on that, I wouldn't have to worry about my job security.)
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I never knew air could be so solid before. Should you have to feel like you're pushing and invisible wall as you walk outside? A solid, invisible, sweat-creating wall.
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My education class wasn't entirely useless- I was reminded of tricky situations that you should be aware of too: http://www.cnn.com/2010/US/07/19/ncschools.resegregation.rally/
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I have never worked so hard to build a poorly functioning trebuchet than I did today, after my camper said, "This'll be my fifth failure this week!" No, young sir, you are not going to fail this time, even if I have to make an oddly shaped contraption out of your base and hold it in place as it swings wildly, almost nailing your fellow builder in the head with a tiny LEGO connector piece that I couldn't find later.
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You're talking to me! You're talking to me! You're talking to me! And... now you're gone.
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I desperately wish you'd never leave.
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I talk about raptors a lot.
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So do these guys.
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I compulsively sing along to songs I hear that I know.
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You know that the light that hits your eyes from stars is coming from an incredible distance- little photons that have fought the vast emptiness of space to reach you here. The least you can do is look up.
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Quotes

I'm practicing for my day of silent meditation on Saturday which I am surprisingly pumped for. I know you're probably waiting for words that are from me and not from anybody else, but as I just realized, every other word of mine currently is the word awesome, so I clearly need a break to stop the chaos. But. Quotations abound in my life and a friend of a friend of mine (Ah Facebook!) had several wonderful quotes that I figured I'd share. And, since I'm revamping my quote section of that book of faces (hahah did anyone see that episode of The Office where Jim wrote book on his face and Darryl didn't get it so he said, "Yes, I am popular social networking site, known as BookFace"? ... And that's why I suck at telling jokes) I'm going to put mine on here as well, with the open invitation for anyone to share other awesome ones. The end. Well, except not really. But you know what I mean. And cut.

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“I love UNC. I love the quad in the spring and the arboretum in the fall. I love the Pit on a sunny day and Graham Memorial Lounge on a rainy one. I love Roy [Williams] all the time. But what makes UNC truly special is not our beautiful campus, our distinguished reputation or even our basketball team. It’s us—the student body—who make UNC what it is.”
- Eve Carson

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
-Marianne Williamson

I believe in Christianity as i believe that the sun has risen, not because i see, but by it I see everything else. - C.S. Lewis

Don't be wishing you were somplace else or with someone else. Where you are right now is God's place for you, live and love and obey and believe right there. - 1 Corinthians 7:17

“No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be true.
-scarlet letter


“There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.” -Einstein

“The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes up short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly …”
Theodore Roosevelt
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Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
How unsearchable his judgments,
and his paths beyond tracing out!
Romans 11:33

And this life sentence that I'm serving,
I admit that I'm every bit deserving
But the beauty of Grace
Is that it makes life not fair.
-Relient K

Everybody has a secret world inside of them. No matter how dull and boring they are on the outside. They've all got unimaginable, magnificent, wonderful, stupid, amazing worlds. Not just one world. Hundreds of them. Thousands maybe.
-Neil Gaiman

In essentials we have unity, in nonessentials liberty and in all things we have charity (love).
-John Wesley

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit around it and pluck blackberries.
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

George: I don’t think I’m supposed to be doing this.
Rube: Well, if somebody else were supposed to be doing this, I’d be sitting here talking to somebody else.
George: But I don’t know anything. About anything!
Rube: You think I know anything? When I’m supposed to know something, I’ll know it. When you’re supposed to know something, you’ll know it. Be patient, you’re learning. Just smell some roses already.
-Dead Like Me

Maybe it's easier to like someone else's life, and live vicariously through it, than take some responsibility to change our lives into lives we might like.-Tish Grier

A phrase of great power, and wisdom, and consolation to the soul in times of need. Allons-y! -the Tenth Doctor

The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
-Moulin Rouge!

When life gives you lemons, make grape juice and let the world wonder how you did it.

When life kicks you, let it kick you forward.
-Kay Yow (1942-2009)

Me: I think my Prince Charming fell off a cliff, so I'm not expecting much.
Nick: Eh... you've still got one... he's just slightly
deformed

Come on, we're gonna take on the world today!
-Sarah Henson
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Noboy Puts Baby in a Corner

Sometimes I think the writers for movies are really just nerdy girls giving the rest of us hope.

Like in Dirty Dancing. Baby gets into the staff after-hours dance following this guy who's carrying watermelons. Then Patrick Swayze comes over and asks what she's doing there and the guy who let her in says that she's with him and she says, "I carried a watermelon."

"I carried a watermelon"? Really?

This is precisely the thing I would say in a situation like that, having just carried a watermelon into an entirely foreign circumstances only to be confronted by my current love interest. It's truthful and a conversation piece... I'm sure there's some question that you can ask about carrying a watermelon to make a conversation go. It' also rather awkward (as is carrying a watermelon, I might add- they're huge and there's no good way to get your arms around them and they slosh- ugh) and nobody really knows what to say to it, especially the love interest. So they walk away and you're left to yourself repeating what you just said.

Like telling someone their faces matches the polka dotted flip flops. What am I saying? At least I can laugh about that one.

I remember every time I misspeak. Does anyone else do that? I will go over a conversation or a sentence over and over again in my brain, feeling the same shame and embarrassment that I felt the first time I said it. This is a problem because there are many, many times when I say the wrong thing. Really, if I get on a run, I can spend a good three to four hours just reliving the moments when I made an idiot of myself. We were talking about that this past year, how it's not healthy to be doing that all the time. And it's not. It's kinda compulsive. I'm working on it.

I talk a lot. I like to hear myself talk (which is partially false because I hate my voice and I really wonder why anyone lets me talk around them because I would tell me to shut up to stop my ears from bleeding). I talk too fast and I speed up around my friends, especially friends I haven't seen in a while. I mix up words and I say things wrong and I'll forget words (like paper; who forgets the word for paper?) and I say things I'm not supposed to and I surprise people.

Guilty secret time- I didn't used to be like this. I mean, maybe my parents will contradict me, but I remember elementary school and I remember not talking a lot. I was a beast at the quiet game. And I think about how shut up I was and how much reading I used to do and how antisocial I was (yeah, you think I'm antisocial now? This is a massive improvement) and I think that I could go back to that. Here's the confession part- that is one of three things that's guaranteed to make me cry. The other one is clearly when Littlefoot's mother dies in Land Before Time- you're a robot if you don't tear up at that.

At the same time, you never say something dumb if you don't talk. That's generally my approach to boys- I'll be there and if they want to talk to me, they can come talk to me and I'll cross my fingers and hope to die that I don't say something idiotic. And the responses are usually sarcasm laden and then I stand in a corner wondering why no one likes me. I'm like Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing, except the prince asks if she would have him and she says no and ends up with Benedick. What the crap? Go for the prince, girl. Especially in that version when Denzel Washington is the prince and Keanu Reeves is the illegitimate son- that's a great one. "Love may transform me to an oyster."

I dunno, I just get sick of watching love stories, like I'm sure athletes would get sick of watching hours of tape if they didn't get to go play the game some time in the near future. But love stories give us unrealistic ideas of what relationships are (thank you, [500] Days of Summer) and fairy tales give us these unrealistic hopes and you think it happens for everyone and love conquers all (fifty percent of the time). I mean, should you go looking for it? Should you wait for it to find you? Because I'm convinced my Prince Charming fell off a cliff- if he's still coming, he's slightly deformed at best.

So I guess this was pretty pointless. I just wanted to let the world know that I'm in the same predicament I've been in for the longest time and to share a theory about movies (I'm telling you, they're giving us unrealistic hopes!). And to let you know that I miss you too. But I know you're never missing me.

Romeo, Save Me

We will return to your regularly scheduled blog at some time in the near future mostly because I know no one wants to read my complaints about the patheticness (which should totally be a word, spellchecker) of my life and partially because I've finished watching all the episodes of The Office and won't be faced with the distracting romantic known as Jim Halpert every day. So really, I'll return to normal (which is apparently an enormous hatred of all men-kind, according to my roommate) after I get this all out.

First off, universe, what is with all of the marriage hints invading my life? No, really, I want answers. OK, part of that's my fault because there have to be at least 4 weddings in The Office (by the way, the first episode I saw was Jim and Pam's wedding and I had no clue what was going on; so much better the second time; LOVE!) but, really? I counted 12 status updates that had to do with marriages, I have two awesome friends who are getting married and are definitely not at fault here at all, I've heard marriage hints on the radio and then there's this site, LoveGivesMeHope. It's like MLIA, except super sweet. I can't call it pathetic, but it's the kind of stuff that you read when you either want to cry and/or make that awwww noise that you make around babies or small cute creatures such as hedgehogs. You laugh, but really, hedgehogs, the cutest things ever. Anyway, half of the stories on this are cute old couples and I cry when I read about old people who've been together their whole lives. The worst one? Actual tears on my keyboard over this one:

My grandpa is 85 years old.

Today, I just found out that ever since his wife, his true love, had died, he put roses on her grave every Sunday.

The drive is 2 hours away from where he lives. She was 29 when she died.


Listen, I want that. Well, I don't particularly want to die when I'm 29, but if I got to live with that kind of love for whatever amount of time, I wouldn't mind. The worst days of my life are the days when I'm afraid that I'll be alone for the rest of my life or will live out my days with a husband I don't really love. I can see that happening, too, that's maybe the worst part. I can imagine a future alone. I can't see a future with anyone. There has to be something wrong with me because your answer to "Where will you be in five years?" shouldn't be "Alone."

It's just frustrating. I know I'm not old. I know that I don't need to worry about stuff like this. Some people go to college expecting to find "the one" (oh, no, I just became one of those people who puts quotes around "the one") but I also know that plenty of people don't get married straight out of college like plenty of people don't get married straight out of high school. You wait for your professional career to settle down, or you wait until you find somebody who makes you change that around. People meet people in grad school or at work or just going out somewhere... it happens all the time and you just have to be patient.

At the same time, though, you wonder what you're doing wrong. I mean, should I try harder to find someone, really put myself out there? I could dress up more, expand my wardrobe to something beyond jeans and a t-shirt and stop buying shirts from the guy's sections (but really, the best shirts are from there- my cookie monster shirt, my Led Zeppelin shirt, my glow-in-the-dark Batman shirt, my Star Wars shirt), wear make-up more often, actually care about my hair... smile at a guy every one in a while. It's just that there really hasn't been anyone (loml excluded, but really, eventually I'm going to have to stop lying to myself) worth dressing up over. I mean, I do go to Carolina, and while the gender ratio isn't that bad, once you take out the athletes, the frat boys, the guys who are taken and the guys who remove themselves and other guys from the dating pool, it's slim pickings. I just don't think learning to walk in heels is going to help that much.

Most of the time I complain about being single so that people will contradict it and make me feel better about myself. It's one of like three things that I do this for. You know, I like being independent. I like having my own space, my own thoughts, my own feelings, no matter what they are. I like being able to choose to do whatever I want to on Friday night without having to consult someone. I like having complete use of my phone without having to text somebody super frequently or, worse, call them (idea-since no one really uses italics anymore, can they just be the universal sarcasm indicator? Because then the whole last sentence would have to be in italics). I like having something to talk about other than my relationships. It makes me a deeper person and people can hear about the things I'm really interested in, not just some boy they've never met and don't care to know about. Really. It's great. And it totally gives me time to practice my witty comebacks and piercing remarks that I'll need in case I ever have to have a heated discussion over something significant, like the best kind of coffee or the proper placement of a television with limited available spacing. Why would anyone ever give this up?

Have you ever seen me on a clear, dark night? I get left by the people I'm walking with because I can't tear my eyes away from the sky. It's kinda pathetic, but I love looking at the stars, drinking in as much of the sight as I can before clouds take it away or dawn comes to remove it more permanently. I can see why people in love stare at each other. And I know that there's more to love than what we've made it into, more than mushy Valentine's Day crap. It's something fierce, it's supposed to change you, it's supposed to bring out the heroic, the best parts of humanity and make life on Earth something worth living, not just something you have to sit through until you get to the next good thing. It doesn't belong just with the lovers, it carries throughout the world into families, through the Church, through people helping people, caring for people, making a difference, loving the planet we're all stuck on, dreaming up ways to make this whole place better, making it the way it could be, not just the way it is. Love isn't some intangible thing that just floats around, waiting for a breeze to blow it into the hearts of unsuspecting young people high on hormones, it's this crazy combination of emotions and determination that drives you to become someone worth becoming, to bring people up with you, to lift us up where we belong, regardless of who we are.

I don't know who lost that, or when, but I want it back.

Painting

So I'm down visiting my grandparents with my little brother, down in the Villages in Florida, a little working vacation. It's like the Disney World of retirement communities- they have their own golf course, you can drive your golf carts wherever, their pool has a waterfall (that's broken this week, sadly) and there's every kind of club you can imagine. I believe my grandmother helped start the genealogy club and like six Scrabble clubs, goodness knows. So I've been getting an education down here, learning about my great grandparents and my dad and watching movies (ironically, my grandfather, who is taller than my little brother [who is like 6'4"] and used to coach high school football, absolutely loves Mama Mia) and eating a ton. It's about ten times more food than I consumed in the whole of the two exam weeks. Lovely.

A couple of days ago, Jackson was watching The Office. Now, I'm not really one of those people who plans evenings off to watch TV shows. I gave up on Heroes in high school because it came on TV on a day of the week that I wasn't home (pick a day, really) so I'm not that devoted to my television. And people would always ask if I've seen such and such a show and I'd have to say no, because I don't really watch that much TV. When I relax, I watch reruns of TNG or SG-1 on Scyfy or Hulu. Yup, that upped my nerd quota considerably. (PS- If you're a friend of mine and you haven't seen Star Wars *coughcoughChristinecoughcough* we need to plan a Star Wars marathon, at least the classic 3.) So you've got to believe me when I say that I've seen at most a combined 3/4 of an episode of The Office (and that one was Jim and Pam's wedding, so I had no clue what's going on).

Well, with that in mind, knowing the ending before I start, I'm perfectly happy to become an Office addict. Since I know it's going to end happily, I love watching Jim and Pam flirt and swear that they're just friends (now, more and more I'm think that Harry from When Harry Met Sally is right) and I love watching the pranks they play on Dwight. I'm not so much a fan of Michael, just because awkward and almost assuredly inappropriate humor isn't my thing, but I think Jim makes up for that. Anyhoo, I'm kinda loving The Office and plan on getting through the rest of the season in my month off. I'm almost to the end of Season 2. It's getting to be a problem, really.

We also introduce my grandmother to Skype (which she attempted to call Scalp just now... scalp? Really? like Last of the Mohicans I'm going to take your hair as a battle prize for a form of communication? Pleasant) so we talked to my mother for a bit and scared the dog down here by showing her on the webcam the dogs up in North Carolina. Now my grandmother is all prepared to have around the world communication with her children and grandchildren of various locations. She's amazed that her laptop has a webcam and is convinced that mine must also have it, I just haven't found it. Meanwhile, my real computer is sitting up at ITS because they decided that a broken fan cover, a lost hard drive cover and an ill-attached screen required a longer stay and a warranty sign off. Should have just dealt with the helicopter. Anyway. So my computer's up at ITS and I have this old Dell that I got my senior year that has so many viruses on it, programs running in DOS could go faster. Definitely no webcam. No speaker, no microphone, nothing.

At the same time, I look like a total slob. I'm covered in paint (never get me to paint anything for you- I'll look like a reverse Dalmatian and you'll have pretty well covered walls... and floors, if we don't put down paper) and I lost my hair ties in the ocean two days ago, so my hair's up in the best messy bun that a rubber band can afford (note to self, carry around extra hair ties at all times), not to mention I've got a little Cruella de Ville going on with a streak yellow paint from yesterday stuck in my hair. I have one earring in and an awesome sun burn that's brilliantly displayed by my red painting shirt. Needless to say, I'm as far from cute as possible.

We're painting the walls in my grandparents' bedroom and since it's small and packed with furniture, we're doing one wall at a time. I'm doing the baseboard since I'm the shortest and I can bend down that far, so I get the privilege of feeling like Cinderella again as I bend down on my hands and my knees in my skirt (it's the only comfortable short thing I've got- I can't wear pants with the sun-poisoning I've got on my legs), cleaning the baseboard and painting the bottom part of the wall before slapping a coat on the bottom border of the wall. We're doing it in shifts- Pancakes is painting the top part of the walls with the roller (since he's tall and a man) and I'm going in after he's done. Then he comes back in and moves the furniture and starts again. I think we're headed home after we're done, so he's in a hurry to go.

I figure that my breaks are perfect times to watch The Office, since the rest of today I won't have any internets as we drive back up I-95. Since Jackson won't let me drive, I'll have to read. Ugh. And I finished Northanger Abbey (I swear, I am Catherin, Morland) so all I've got left are the semi-academic books that I carry around to look smart. Great. So I'm making my brain as much mush as I possibly can before subjecting it to thinking. It's gotta have something to beat into shape. So here I sit, watching The Office with one headphone in and the other out, listening for someone to yell for me to come help. Sure enough, my grandmother comes in and says, "It's ready for you, Addie Jo. So come in, but you can finish your conversation first."

My conversation? 'Scuse? I'm confused, what? And then I realize that the screen that the show is playing on is about the same size as the Skype window and that it's been on one of those documentary parts where people just stand in front of the camera for a bit and talk. So now my grandmother thinks that I'm Skyping Jim from The Office. And I'm not one to correct her. Forget the fact that I look terrible and don't actually have the capability to on my computer. If my grandmother thinks I'm attractive enough to be Skyping someone attractive enough to be on TV, I'm not going to take that delusion from her.

I guess I've got to get over this whole negative outlook on my appearance. It's just not good for confidence levels. But I don't want to go around with the knowledge that I'm pretty. That'll only end in disappointment. I'd much rather be pleasantly surprised when a guy likes the way I look. And believe you me, I'd be surprised. It's been a long year, with lomls and whatnot, and it's hard to build confidence when you're shooting for the impossible. I did learn something at the beach, though. 1) Never wear your sunglasses in the waves. 2) I don't tan the way I used to. 3) I always want to jump farther. And I don't mean that I always want more (even though I do; you can't take that back) but I mean that I always want to do more than I can. OK, I've mastered riding these tiny little close to shore waves. Let me please please go out among the big waves and see what I can do out there. I have the principles down, surely I can do that. Look, I can walk across the room. A marathon surely isn't out of reach.

And it isn't. Just not today. You know, I love watching guys who are already in love. The only reason I watch romantic comedies is to watch the guys and watch their facial expressions when the girl they love tears their heart up or makes them the happiest man in the world or the stolen glances or that stereotypical moment where one of them looks up and looks down and the other one looks up and looks down and you just wait for the second when they're both going to look up and then look down, super embarrassed. It's precious. I love it. So you can see why I love The Office, because Jim's already in love with Pam and it's kinda the most precious thing ever.

I won't need a musical number or just the right moment to know. I'm studying, you know. I'll know. It might never happen, but I'm prepared nonetheless. Who knows? Maybe someone will see me hanging out the window as I try desperately to keep the side mirror on the van because the duct tape's failing and the paint won't much matter to him. We'll see.

A Create-Your-Own Adventure: History of Rome style

Happy LDOC.

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It's the first day of classes of the new semester. Bookless, clueless, but with two new 3 ring binders, you walk from your dorm to your first class of the day, wonderfully starting at 11 AM. You wonder what you're going to do with your mornings as you pull your coat closer, trying to avoid the biting winter wind. You fully intend to sleep in until 10:30 every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, but perhaps something will inspire you to get up before then.

You make it to the lecture hall, a few minutes early because you had the building confused with another one and had no idea where the classroom actually was. You wait as the class before you files slowly out and smile and wave at a high school friend who is planning on dropping math logic. You exchange a couple of witty comments about the math department and the varying types of people in classes as you both swim through the sea of students in opposite directions. Upon entering the lecture hall, you sit down on the right side of the room. Your personality is such that you pick your seat carefully- you fully intend to sit in the same seat all semester. Not too near the front, not too near the back, against the wall so you're not blocking someone else who might come in late. You settle in, readjusting a few times because your back is protesting your backpack and really, existence. So the semester begins.

Two days later, armed with a syllabus and a better idea of the people in the class, you arrive a few minutes early to reclaim your seat. You see a friend of yours, one with whom you could sit, who would keep you focused, generally on task, and who would ensure that you'd come to class, since this class has an attendance requirement. You:

(a) wave to your friend and sit a row behind her, since she's already got a group she's sitting with. You have to move seats, but you figure it's worth the risk. Continue reading at Roman numeral I.

(b) wave to your friend but sit in your usual seat (you're much more comfortable there) and plan to just have several study sessions with your friend. You proceed to stay there the rest of the semester, mindlessly passing the attendance sheet to the people around you and Facebooking, with a slightly detrimental effect on your grade and a slightly improved social life. Fin.

(c) studiously look down, giving yourself time to think over the situation. By the time you look up, the seats around your friend are filled and you must remain where you are. You sigh and promise yourself you'll try again later. Continue reading at Roman numeral II.

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I. Your friend's friends are a little weird, maybe because you've just met them and they have absolutely no interest in knowing you. One of them talks incessantly about the Romans she knows, from Scipio to Pompey, and you're a little intimidated because the only Roman you know is Caesar. Other than that, you've got Hannibal, and he's Carthaginian. You're not really a fan of sitting beside them, but give it another day. At the end of that day, you:

(d) decide it's not really for you. Continue reading at choice (b) above.

(e) suck it up and sit there for the rest of the semester, make a couple new Facebook friends and have a good time studying for the midterms and finals, not to mention getting a great resource for proof-reading and bouncing ideas off of. All in all, not a bad way to spend the semester- you come to class and you have a new friend group for your next-to-next-to last semester of classes. Fin.

(f) really intend to sit with them the next day, but aren't disappointed that you're a bit late. Continue reading at III.

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II. You don't really try again later. In slight despair and with a lack of self-confidence, you start skipping class. Eventually, around the time that Scipio is mentioned for the first time, you decide that you don't really care about the Romans and drop the class. You plan on taking History of Sea Power the next semester. It fills the same requirement and has less papers. Fin.

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III. You run into class late. You've overslept because you have a Quantum Mechanics problem set due at 2 and you promised yourself that you wouldn't be working on homework for another class during this class so you stayed up until 6 working on it and "took a nap" that lasted until 10:50. You're still in your pajamas but you make it to class just as the professor starts talking. The seats around your friend are all taken. You:

(g) find a seat on the same side of the room, noting with a quiet despair that it's completely different than the place you picked for yourself at the beginning of the semester. You're so deep in sadness that you don't ask if you can sit in the empty seat, you just flop down. Continue reading at IV.

(h) whisper loudly to the boy who's sitting two seats down if the seat beside him is taken. He says no and you sit down, trying to minimize the sounds of pulling out your now slightly used notebooks. Looking slightly harassed, you try to pay attention but end up zoning out for most of the class and asking your friend, who you intend to sit with again. You go back to sitting with your friend, despite your earlier misgivings. Continue reading at (e) above.

(i) whisper loudly to the boy who's sitting two seats down if the seat beside him is taken. He says no and your sit down, making no effort stop disturbing people. He looks over, slightly annoyed and you shoot an apologetic look back, while noticing that he's vaguely attractive. You smile at him and he smiles back. Continue reading at XI below.

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IV. The same thing happens several classes in a row- you run in a little late and ask if the seat's taken, but get better at paying attention in class. You're actually a little fascinated by the Romans you're learning about, and are starting to do better on the papers. You're a little disgusted by proscriptions of Sulla, but admire him for trying to restore the empire. You slowly loose respect for Marius, though you're entranced by his name, being the same as your microwave and the character from Les Miserables, who you don't really like anyway because he should have picked Eponine. One day, you show up to class a little earlier (you learned how to do your homework before the night before) and you:

(k*) ask if the seat's taken as you have all the times before this. You continue in your routine and eventually start coming to class a few minutes earlier so you don't have to sign the attendance sheet at the end of class. You write pretty decent papers and have a good semester, feeling confident about your midterms and finals despite not really having anyone to study with. Fin.

(l) ask if the seat's taken as you have all the times before this. You're in a particularly social mood, though, and notice that you've been asking the same boy for these past few weeks if the seat's taken. It never is. You muse silently on this fact and show up early to class the next class. Continue reading at (k).

(m) ask if the seat's taken as you have all the times before this. You're in a particularly social mood, though, and notice that you've been asking the same boy for these past few weeks if the seat's taken. It never is. You strike up a conversation with the boy, asking for verification of these facts. He smiles and says that yes, you're pretty consistent. You laugh it off and listen to the now starting lecture, smiling and thanking the boy when he hands you the attendance sheet with the page that he has just initialed facing up. Continue reading at V.

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V. Several weeks go by with this routine. The Republic dies (gee, thanks, Julius) and some great Shakespeare happens. One day, back when Cicero is still spending his days bad mouthing Antony, you have to miss class because your back is acting up again. It's gotten worse- either you have to choose between being in pain or being able to pay attention and you really can't sit for more than half an hour, at absolute best. On top of that, you lifted some cases yesterday and it was a terrible plan. You can't walk down the hall, much less make it to class. The next day, though, you're doing better and though you wince excessively, you go out to dinner with your roommate and her friend. It beats watching a basketball team screw up.

Surprisingly, you see History of Rome guy, as you've dubbed him among your friends, sitting at the bar. You:

(n) look down and pay attention to your friend's conversation (inconveniently, she's seen a friend of hers and is now engaged in a discussion that you have nothing to do with) and studiously avoid looking over at him. You succeed and finish out dinner regretting the fact that the game is playing on a TV right above where HoRg is sitting. Continue reading at (l).

(o) look down and pay attention to your friend's conversation (inconveniently, she's seen a friend of hers and is now engaged in a discussion that you have nothing to do with) and studiously avoid looking over at him. It's a failure, though, because he says hey and mentions that he didn't see you in class the other day. You:

(oi) smile and explain about your back quickly, finishing your order and saying that you'll see him at the next class before fleeing to a table, slightly embarrassed and not sure why. Continue reading at (n).

(oii) smile and explain about your back in some detail. He mentions something about those little handicapped golf carts and you smile and agree and say that you'll see him in class. You fail to listen to your roommate's conversation at dinner because you're looking at the bar but only slightly regretting that the TV is playing the game right above where HoRg is sitting. Continue reading at VII.

(oiii) smile and choose not to say a word about your back, instead fabricating on the spot a wonderful story about something exciting that has not happened in your life. He smiles and doesn't really believe you, but you've started a good conversation. You ditch your roommate, who is much more interest in conversation with her friends and sit at the bar for the rest of dinner. Continue reading at XI.

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VII. You muse to your friends about HoRg but nothing really comes of it. You start saying hey to him at the beginning of class instead of joking around about the seat being open. You notice that he keeps on passing the attendance sheet over to you with the page he just initialed facing up. You can't find a good way to look without being conspicuous so you:

(p) fail to ascertain what his name is. Continue reading at VIII.

(q) ask him what his name is and he tells you. You exchange names and laugh that it's taken this long for you two to introduce yourselves. After class, he asks if you're going anywhere for lunch. You ditch the plans you have and agree. Continue reading at XI.

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VIII. You've made it almost all the way through the semester by talking about the class before class starts. You mostly say that you don't really read the book, that the lectures are pretty much the same as the book and that one of the TAs is super chill (yours) and one is a pretty terrible and biased grader (his). On the next to last day of class, you:

(r) wear a T-shirt. Nothing much happens. Continue reading at IX.

(s) wear a low cut shirt (boobquake day!) and:

(si) spend the entire class self-consciously worrying about the choice and what HoRg is thinking about it. You avoid looking at him and hurry out at the end of class. You go home and change. Continue reading at X.

(sii) feel very manipulative and hope he puts no store in it. You don't really worry about it, though. The whole purpose of boobquake day is prove that, contrary to a recently made statement, low-cut shirts do not cause earthquakes by increasing lust, because we all know that men lust enough without the aid of low-cut shirts. Continue reading at IX.

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IX. It's the last day of classes, holler praise. You wake up a little late, happy because you've finally understood a problem set for quantum. You:

(t) put on some make-up because you're convinced that today is going to be the day and whatever that means, you want to look lovely for it. Not a lot of make-up. That requires effort. Just some. You head out the door in time to be there a few minutes early. Continue reading at X.

(u) stay in bed because you understand everything and have already read the chapter (yeah, right). Why go to more classes than you have to? You sit in the back for the exam and call the class a success. Fin.

(v) put on some make-up because you're convinced that today is going to be the day. As you leave your room, though, a friend from down the hall has been locked out of her room. You:

(vi) help her out. After all, what are friends for? You didn't want to be on time for class anyway. You go in and sit down and make some small talk, hurrying out after class. Continue reading at XII.

(vii) say that you're running off the class and apologize and hope it gets better. You head out the door and get to class just a few minutes early. Continue reading at X.

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X. You enjoy learning about the end of the empire, feel prepared for the exam and come back on the last day of class on time, listening to the professor, laughing at his random, probably not that funny, jokes. You give the class a great evaluation. At the end of class you:

(w) introduce yourself. The two of you laugh that you've never done this before and he asks if you want to go out to lunch. You say yes. Continue reading at XI.

(x) take too long filling out your evaluation. Continue reading at XII.

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XI. You really start to like this guy and large amounts of time walking around and humming, to the point that one of your friends asks you who he is and you say, "No one." "And yet it is hum-worthy? You know, it's none of my business. I'm just happy that you're happy about something other than quarks... Not bad, with the quarks?" "Excellent." Continue reading... or not, because at that point in time, you've got a life to live. Messy and complicated and beautiful, so go live it.

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XII. You go out to lunch with some friends who convince you that you should look up HoRg's name (you think it starts with a D or maybe a B...) on the blackboard roster and invite him to a party that night. You:

(y) do. He agrees. Continue reading at XI.

(z) don't. Life goes on. You find someone else to hum about. Tomorrow.

Missing Meteors

It's funny how easily conversation in college turns to what you're going to do. I'm going to fail this exam. This summer, I'm going to New York, on a mission trip, to work, to save, to party, to sleep, to visit grad schools. Next year, I'm going to apply to grad schools, to have an easy semester, to have a terrible semester, to do better, to focus more on my studies, to audition, to not audition, to study abroad, to stay in Chapel Hill, to be a leader, to be a follower. After college, I'm going to get married (!), go to med school, grad school, law school, to teach, to be unemployed, to move back in with my parents, to take a year off. To do what?

Now, this isn't a post about doing something now, though it is another tragedy of our time that so much potential is locked away in institutions and dowsed with alcohol while the world outside suffers and we learn how to think, make mistakes, describe the Hydrogen atom mathematically, start a business, get inside people's heads, understand the meaning of the actions of various Romans over the course of the Republic and Empire. It's a wonderful mixed bag that you get in college, but for a good example of someone rightly fed up with the negatives of this bag and willing to be something different, I recommend the words of this friend. For the wonderful and blessing thoughts of a good friend doing what she has been called to do, prayerfully, lovingly and in full remembrance of the awesomeness of God, I recommend her words.

I had a good conversation with a friend about what I wanted to do. It came out of talking about classes and, in particular, my teaching class. Guys, I don't want to teach physics. I could go the whole "I hate kids" route, but that would be another lie. I go the "I hate high school route" but that wouldn't be any more true. I don't have an aversion to teaching and I'd love having my own classroom, but it would be my classroom. It wouldn't belong to the kids and I wouldn't be focused on the people I was teaching. I would be teaching. I would hop into their lives as necessary and I would take advantage of every situation to be a positive influence, but it would be me, teaching. Does that make any kind of sense? I'd go home at the end of the day full of myself and miserable.

Now, I could make a conscious effort not to do that, but I fear that I would end up being that anyway because I'm not called to teach high school. You know that fear that you're made for something bigger? Now, there is nothing bigger than teaching, than changing a life, than making a generation prepared to meet the world around them, so I should probably change bigger to different. Can I get an amen from someone who has felt the Spirit move but has been entirely unsure of the direction that it's moving in? We are blessed, we are anointed... to do what?

Same good conversation, we talked about what it's like to be "called". Oh. my. lanta. Being called. What does that even mean? (I feel like a Juno reference is inappropriate here... yeah, you know what I'm talking about.) Like, a mystical voice called you out of heaven and said, "Insert name here, I call you stop world hunger because you've finally all gotten the resources and it disgusts Me to see that you waste so much food without a thought to millions of my children who are starving." Does that happen?

Because, for me, being called is this sinking feeling in my stomach that comes from disobedience (or at least the intention of disobedience). I think about things I said I'd never be, things that I know that I could be, things that I think that I should be, and my stomach just sinks because I know what I'm supposed to do and I don't want to do it. I'm supposed to actually listen to God and obey what He says. I'm supposed to put myself aside. I'm supposed to follow Him anywhere, and in the Easter happiness that has lived in my life, I never remember where anywhere can lead. And all these people have all of these stories about life and how they weren't doing the right thing and then they finally figured it out and I don't want to be that. I mean, I kinda do, because then I'd have a story to tell someone, but if I hear these things, I feel like I should fix my life, learn from their mistakes, improve the human race instead of continuing to make the same mistakes that the ancient Israelites made. So I could go where I'm supposed to and find a way to make it seem like something other than taking people with potential who care immensely about God and the world He made and locking them away in a tower for another three years learning how to think, how to pray, what this dead ancient white guy said, how to deal with what this person is saying now, how to run a church, how to preach a sermon, how to serve God in this wonderfully organized, easily dying system.

Don't believe me when I say I've got it down.

I want to share a lesson with you.

Every year, the Earth, flying through space, with go through clouds of debris- maybe the tail end of comets, what have you- and this cloud of debris will cause this thing that we call a meteor shower. I love the beauty in the idea that a cloud of space dirt comes down to Earth as something worth staying up all night to see, but maybe that's just me. We have no control when this happens. We have people who call the planetarium demanding to know why we scheduled a meteor shower on a school night. Oh sorry, we say. We'll just change Earth's position in her orbit around the sun so your child can stay up on a Friday night instead of a Thursday night. Makes total sense.

If you know your astronomy, or if you listen to the weather report, you know that meteor showers get their names, like the Leonids or the Perseids or the Geminids because of the constellation they appear to originate from. The Leonids look like they're raining down from Leo, etc. But they don't really. Once again, they're just pieces of space dirt falling to put on a show for us. Some people wish on them, so for them, a meteor shower is like driving through town and hitting every single light yellow. It's just a great opportunity. But opportunities come from a lot of places. And if you're staring at Leo, hoping to catch all the meteors, you going to miss some.

Funny how you can be looking where you're told to look, the entire time, and miss the best part of the meteor shower.

Guys

I had a Prince Charming once.

Of course, he only lived in my head, but I had him. I knew what height he would be and what he'd look like, what color hair and exactly what his eyes looked like. His face changed from time to time and I could never decide on a nose, but I knew what he'd do, what he'd think about life, what kind of job he'd have, what his favorite thing about me was. I picked my favorite name in the whole world to be his name. I could even imagine his voice in my head and sometimes I jump a little when I head a sound like it. He was my carefully constructed dream but I couldn't create him in words even if you paid me to.

So imagine my surprise when I met a guy who matched him. Same color hair, maybe a little too light in the summer, but I'm not picky. Same general build, though an inch or so maybe too short. I had always imagined him as a couple of years older than me, but I'm not opposed to someone the same age. I always felt like Prince Eric in the Little Mermaid, searching for the right voice, and though this new kid didn't match entirely, I loved his voice all the same. One day, the new kid said that he wanted to change his middle name to my favorite name in the world (a fact I think still unbeknown to him) and I took it as a weird sign. Beyond all of that, he had the right eyes. I am a sucker for a set of nice eyes.

Now, I know nobody's perfect (except for God, but I love Him anyway) but what do you do with a guy who fits the dream criteria, who jumps to your mind when someone starts talking about lomls (or loyals, we haven't decided yet), who meets expectations you didn't even know you had?

Forget him, apparently.

After three years or so, you realize that what you had thought was love is merely misplaced affection or that it wouldn't have worked out in the first place. You can't make someone your prince.

And who wants a prince anyway? Hamlet's clearly not a great choice. Pick a Disney prince and they've all pretty much done something pathetic and stupid. Prince Humperdink? I think we can all agree that Westley is in a whole different class. I mean, he's the Dread Pirate Roberts for goodness' sake. If I'm being honest, my Prince Charming wasn't technically a prince and so I shouldn't go about bashing all of them. You can't really blame their status as royalty for their uselessness. Marius, we can agree, isn't exactly the epitome of awesome manliness.

Don't mistake the general man-bashing for bitterness. And by don't mistake, I mean name it for what it is. If I say I'm not bitter, it's because I'm in denial and if I say I'm bitter, it's because I've hit rock bottom. I've been mourning the loss of someone I've never had for too long to be happy again, observing a grief that was never mine.

Well, screw that.

No, it is not my intent to go out and find me a man this very instant. I'm not going to go fall for the first guy that smiles at me across a room. I'm still watching Sweeney Todd tomorrow with a good friend (who could have better plans if dimwit would wake up and see what he's missing). I'm happy being single, and by that I mean that I'm fine being independent and by that I mean that I'm patient. But I think the war on boys may be coming to an end. I may not need a man to make me happy, but I certainly don't need them to make me sad.

Breaking News!

Blah, sorry with all the links, I have three posts in my head and none on the computer screen. However, as this article is a definition of my life (the next to last paragraph about women hitting the library, that's the story of my life), and as it sets up well the disgusting and pathetic endeavor that having a nice day on single's awareness day always is, I figured I'd share with the world. I can't say enjoy, but read away!

Thanks, NY Times, I needed someone to tell me this.


"Where are all the single, attractive, straight guys hiding?
In Narnia!
Isn't that in a closet?"

With Promises of Future Hopeful Reconsideration

You ever believe in something?

I’m not talking about the big ideals here, like Truth, Beauty, Freedom and Love or anything like that, I’m talking about something small. Maybe you believed the Wicked Witch of the West really was real, her and her flying monkeys. Maybe you believed there was sincerely something in the dark, something that you wouldn’t want to meet in the light. Maybe you believed you were really a princess (I hear all girls do this to some degree) and you just waited on the day that Mr. and Mrs. King would drive up and take you to your castle. Or maybe you feel victim to a misconception. Maybe you thought that stars were something you could pick up a handful of, since the Enterprise flies past them so easily (shout out to Sir Patrick Stewart) or maybe you thought that the proximity of Earth to the Sun causes the seasons. Maybe you believed in your brain of brains that library was spelled with one ‘r.’

Maybe you believed something bigger and crazier. Maybe you believed he really loved you, he was just too afraid to say something. Maybe you believed you could make it somewhere big or make a difference in the world. Maybe you believed that this generation is the generation, the one that’s going to make this world a better place. Maybe you believed that, at the core, we’re all good.

Favorite new word of the day: Mythopoeia. It means the making of myths or something like that. Go ahead, I’ll wait while you google it to confirm and contradict. And the truth is, as humanity, we like to make up myths. We like to explain things away with new little lies and we like to put importance where importance isn’t due. Like the New Year, for example. It’s a new beginning, a time to start over, a time to empty your bank accounts so the government doesn’t take the money you haven’t saved for a car you’re not going to get when you fill out your FAFSA, a time for When Harry Met Sally, a time when we pretend like we all have the self will and confidence to keep up with a list resolutions that will somehow make our lives better. New Year’s gets myth status. Anyone else remember Rudolph’s Shiny New Year?

But really, it’s just another day. You can be encouraging and you can say that, in that case, every day is a new chance to be someone better, to renew those resolutions and that determination to improve the world around you (and I mean quite immediately around you) and so every day is New Year’s, just like every day when there’s peace and goodwill towards men (or towards those upon whom His favor rests, I never remember which is the official version) is Christmas. It’s the idea, the spirit behind the thing. In the spirit of honesty, I’d have to say it’s all a lie. But in the spirit of Having Something to Believe In, I’d say it’s worth keeping around.

And I do have to say that I’m a bit biased against New Year’s. It’s a time to think about the year that’s passed and I’d rather not. And it’s a time to think about the year to come, and I’d rather not. I’d rather run up to the mountains and find me a nice cave with a space heater close to a fast food restaurant than think about where I’ve been or where I’m going (or where I am for that matter). I don’t know what resolutions I’d make. I’m inclined to say none. Aren’t I great just as I am? Nope, never good enough. Welcome to my world.

You know, I had this stalker (and I use the term as derisively as possible, because I’m a terrible and heartless person with no intention of repentance on this without a divine edict) who sent me a message on Facebook asking, “How do I get to know you?” No ‘Hi, how are you, I was just wondering what was going on in your world,’ no ease into the conversation and no reason for it at all, just “How do I get to know you?” And because I’m a nice, indulgent person, I sent some witty and guarded reply back, but I was willing to start the pathetic excuse for a friendship that Facebook messaging offers. It turns out that he had been reading my blog (privacy settings updated? I think so) and he wanted to know if I was a ‘Super Christian’, meaning that I believed in heaven and hell. I personally think that there’s a lot more to Christianity beyond heaven and hell, but he asked me a theological question, and, like the sucker I am, I bit. I wrote long replies which he answered with long replies. I became the dumping ground of atheistic logic and lack thereof, coming from someone who had had a close, personal relationship with God and then realized that it’s all a lie. I was tempted to put air quotes around the close, personal relationship so we would all be aware that it’s a lie. A semester with Bennie taught me well.

So I blew him off. He told me that it sounded like I believed what I believed because I had believed it my whole life and because I didn’t like the things he was proposing. (As a side note, What meaning can you possibly find in a Universe completely ruled by random chance and odd happenings? How do you marvel at the beauty of something if you think that we make up beauty? How do you get out of bed in the morning and say, ‘Hey, I think that all my happy feelings are created by chemicals in my body and all of the purpose I put into my day is entirely self-imposed and partially a reflection of the society in which I was raised so I’m just going to breathe another breath because it’s a survival instinct and go about my day’? And I’m not saying that that’s a defense of God, I’m saying that we have a reason to live beyond chemicals and I’m not saying that just because I have a bias against chemists. I do love Sherlock Holmes. End side note.) I tried as politely as I could- OK, that’s a lie, I layered on caustic sarcasm as I told him that I obviously haven’t thought out a thing about what I believe and that I hoped he would find what he was looking for. Then I deleted him from my friends list and blocked him and there’s another Christian unwilling to listen to an atheist out in the world.

And it’s not that I’m unwilling to listen, it’s that I have listened and I have thought, just not enough to have a watertight argument against the first thing that’s thrown at me. How is God any different than New Year’s Eve? He makes you think about where you’ve been and what you want to be better about and He gives you a new beginning. How do I know that God isn’t as made up as the end of the year (and slightly less accurate to boot, which is a lark, considering how terrible our calendars are and the fact that we have to add extra seconds every so many years and a whole day every once in a while, I mean, who thought that up, we should redefine the second so we can live our lives without this confusion, just pick another atom with a different electron transition, geeze)?

I don’t have an answer for that. I have my beliefs and my experiences and my hopes, all of which could be lies. And at the end of the metaphorical day, when humanity has explained everything away, when we have probed the fathoms of the deep and the depths of the soul and compiled it all neatly in a data storage space, in short, when we have lost our curiosity and our humanity, there may not be room for God and the people of the future will shake their heads at our quaint beliefs.

Remember Job? There’s this chunk in there, maybe someone put it in later, maybe the original author really meant for it to be there, but he talks about knowing that his Redeemer lives, someone who will plead his case before God and make God answer for what He’s done and why He’s done it. I don’t want to make ice cream castles in the air of faith, you know? I don’t want to cheapen someone’s faith or take them away from it. But we think, we love, we laugh, we cry, we feel, we are fearfully and wonderfully made and we deserve a Redeemer, we deserve a reason. A reason for this damn doubt, for this painful world, for this irredeemable sin. For believing, for not believing, for creating, for not stopping, for not knowing what He stopped, for living in this haze of a mystery, effing unnamed deity leading us onto confusion.

But I’m going to wake up, God willing. And maybe that’s reason enough for now.

Because My Blog was Feeling Lonely

I'm a terribly inconsistent blogger. If it makes you feel any better, you're mentioned in the novel I wrote this past month. I spoke to my dear readers quite often when I couldn't for the life of me think of anything else to say. You served to be my outlet of literary analysis. Unfortunately, I feel like all my intelligence went into writing this thing (which is hardly worth reading, much less printing, though if you want a laugh bad writing and a nonsensical story line you're welcome to it- I'll fix it up one day) and so my everyday thoughts were much stupider. Some of my favorites:

Where is my notebook?

I should really give up Facebook. Right about now. Nope, not happening.

I wonder if I could give up basketball for Lent. Hahahaha.

Why do I do my best writing between 11-2 at night/morning?

Why is my best writing so terrible?

No, seriously, where is my notebook? Ahhhhhhh....

Why do I consistently fail at English?

Why is occasionally so hard to spell?

Haha. Lettuce. Haha.

But seriously, lettuce? It doesn't even look like...

Notebook? Notebook notebook notebook?

Screw physics. I'm going to drop out of college and... well, drop out of college at any rate.

Also, screw boys. They're jerks.

PS- Love of my life, you're not a jerk. You're just very confusing. Please don't walk out of my life again. Love, Addie Jo.

I hate football. And bowl games. I hate the football team. Eff eff eff. Gee.. eye...

How do you say H phonetically? ache? ... incorrect.

Maybe I left my notebook in Phillips? In Hill? At the Planetarium?

How have I never seen a complete Bond movie?

Sometimes I think people just cut their hair for attention. But mine bounces now!

Taking apart your TV is fun!

Studying for exams is not!

I always feel so productive when I write out my schedule.

And now I don't, because I haven't done a thing on it.

Blogging isn't on my schedule. Maybe I should write that down.

How does your building not have a lost and found? I need my notebook!!!!

Also, snow? Haha snow. Snow and lettuce and icicles. And two cool points for those people who are laughing right now. And two innocent points for those of you not.

And, sadly, I probs won't be blogging much until... well, when life gets less busy. So we're shooting for late April. Don't hate me. I'll probably procrastinate, so that's four posts in the next two weeks alone. Bon courage, mes amis! The time is at hand! Happy Advent, kids!


A random sign from my first group of kids over the summer. Enjoy the random.

I Hope That I Don't Fall in Love With You

So perfect for the way we see love. Or the way I've seen love. Or the way that I kinda really want to see love. Just thought I'd share.


Well, I hope that I don't fall in love with you.
Falling in love just makes me blue.
Well, the music plays and you display your heart for me to see,
I had a beer and now I hear you calling out for me.
And I hope that I don't fall in love with you.

Well, the night does funny things inside a man.
These old tomcat feelings you don't understand,
Well, I turn around to look at you; you light a cigarette,
I wish I had the guts to bum one, but we've never met.
And I hope that I don't fall in love with you.

I can see that you are lonesome just like me,
And it being late, you'd like some company.
Well, I turn around to look at you, and you look back at me,
The guy you're with has up and split- the chair next to you's free.
And I hope that you don't fall in love with me.

Well, it's closing time, the music's fading out.
Last call for drinks, I'll have another stout.
Well, I turn around to look at you; you're nowhere to be found,
I search the place for your lost face,
Guess I'll have another round.
And I think that I just fell in love with you.


-Hootie and the Blowfish

A Summer Well... Spent

I saw my last firefly of the summer. A flash, seen out of the corner of my eye, was like a door closing in my face. And now that I'm doing my first laundry of the year in the bottom of Manly in a room that feels like summer hasn't left the building, I feel like reflecting on what's on the other side of that door. Things I learned this summer (in no particular order):

1. You can do many, many, many things with LEGOs. Many things. Trebuchets being my favorite, of course.

2. All children under the age of 12 think that you are over the age of 35, at best.

3. Kickball is intense and there is a real strategy to Mancala.

4. Sidney Carton is quite possibly my favorite hero in a novel.

5. You can survive off of pasta, Parmesan cheese, water and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for at least a month and a half.

6. God really is good, all the time.

7. You may not smoke, eat or drink while practicing the organ at Wesley.


8. The lights in the alley in between Newman and Wesley stay on until 12 AM.

9. Campus is gorgeous at dawn.


10. Sometimes you think that you'll ruin something just by being there.

11. Sometimes you're very wrong.

12. Where you are is where you're meant to be. If it's not, you wouldn't be there. If it's not where you're going to be, you won't be there.

13. Your heart can break and rejoice in the space of 2 seconds.

14. Mephibosheth was spared by King David. Go read about it in 2 Samuel.

15. I really don't know my summer constellations.

16. I don't know what it's like to be in love, though I do know what it's like to love Someone you can't see.

17. The Star Theater is cold. Bring a jacket.

18. Spider bites are TERRIBLE.

19. You can't swipe guests into the pool.

20. Campus is much more apparently hilly on a bike.

21. Pluto's official designation is a 'plutoid.'

22. Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog is AMAZING, as is Godspell.

23. The roasted almonds are in between the pecans and the walnuts and cotton candy ice cream with butterfingers mixed-in is more popular than you would think.

24. Wesley really is like my pre-college life: The downstairs looks like South, the upstairs has the same amount of random stuff as my house, and the sanctuary reminds me like the old sanctuary at St. Luke's.

25. I should like very much to defy gravity.

Everyone asks how your summer was the first time you see them when you get back to school. What am I supposed to say? Boring? Incorrect, as I was quite busy and engaged. Unproductive? Also incorrect, I made a good little chunk of change and read a couple of books. Interesting? Perhaps, but that's not its defining feature. Oddly painful, comforting, restricting and freeing at the same time? Yes.

But I want something to show for it, something that will make me remember and make me forget, something that will cement it into my mind and be my defining triumph, like the lift in Dirty Dancing. I probably simply want to prove to myself something that cannot be proved.

For now, though, I'll carry on with school, my jobs and my friends, sit back and label the memories as summer and my summer love as God. One day that'll change, but only when the change doesn't matter.

Yellow Light Epiphany

Dear Boy,

Thanks for this summer. You probably don't know and won't know how much you changed my plans. You don't know how many hours I spent letting my heart ache pointlessly over you or how many people I asked for advice on what to do about you or how long it took me to realize that you are not what I really want in my life today, but I know. I wasted those hours, I started those conversations and I waited my two years- let me go check my email to find the exact date- to figure out what I figured out today.

You know, I may have loved you. There are times that I've been afraid that I did and there was a whole week of happiness induced by that thought. I knew all along that you never loved me, though. You take the taste out of peanut butter, as Charlie Brown might see it. Maybe I preferred it that way. You were safe and you were unknown to most of the people around me. You could be my mysterious excuse to not talk to someone else. You were safe. You left my heart in a confused mess, but you were safe.

I probably should apologize- I'm sure this is making you uncomfortable. My pen sees it as revenge for having to smile when you mentioned past girlfriends when I've never even been on a date or for the times when I was sure you were saying things to make me size up your opinion of me, knowing that I would fall short. I'm not the girl you want and you probably never thought of me outside of the times that you saw me. I had one painful evening when I could imagine us seeing more of each other. Maybe that's the night that I began to realize that you must become part of my past as much as I am only a part of yours.

Ever since high school, I hit the ceiling when I go under a yellow light- you get a wish when you do. I often waste mine- a wish for a car, for a boyfriend, for a perfect day. Not that these things are inaccessible, just that they don't come by wishing. I realized today, after musing under a yellow light, that neither would you and, upon further examination, I realized that I wouldn't want you to.

Would you believe in a love at first sight? I'm certain that it happens all the time. But it doesn't mean a relationship, as it's just a glance. Destiny is worked out by us and love remains unrequited when left idle. So here's to you- you cured me of my ridiculous obsession with love and helped me grow up, all the while being true to yourself, which Shakespeare tells us is the most important thing.

Still, if you want to spend a couple of hours talking about my favorite books (a question of yours which I never answered satisfactorily), listening to Beatles' songs (just to see where I'm coming from), looking at the stars again (before the constellations I know set), or talking about our awesomely blessed yet superbly separate lives, I'm not at all opposed to putting off packing every little thing until one in the morning. Just in case you happen to be a Hawk Nelson fan, too.

With best regards,
Your Ordinary Girl

I Love Thee Yet

"Simon son of John, do you truly love me more than these?"
"Yes, Lord," he said, "you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Feed my lambs."

Again Jesus said, "Simon son of John, do you truly love me?"
He answered, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Take care of my sheep."

The third time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?"
Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, "Do you love me?" He said, "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you."

Jesus said, "Feed my sheep."

As usual, Mr. Oswald Chambers has said something that disagreed with my spiritual stomach. I never thought about whether I loved Jesus or not. I think I thought it was a given. Jesus loves me (this I know for the bible tells me so) and so I love Him back. No big deal. Basic Christianity One-oh-one. Then I wake up one morning to the question. "Lovest thou me?" Yes, Lord, You know that I love You.

So someone explain to me why my heart is deeply troubled by this exchange.

Maybe it's the results of the love. Feed my sheep. Not going to lie, the Lord's sheep have been too hungry for too long and I have not done a thing about it. Maybe it's spiritual hunger among believers, but I haven't helped out there. Maybe it's physical hunger among the poor, but I've only fed myself this summer. Maybe it's feeding comfort, peace and joy to the world, but I see the starvation and I do nothing. Who are these lambs? Are they the same as my neighbors? Knowing who they are may serve to decrease, or increase, my guilt. I look at my fruits, the results of that love that I claim, and find that if I love the Lord, I have loved Him very ill indeed.

But then, maybe I do love Him, because the point of Mr. Chambers' short devotion is that a question, asked repeatedly by the Lord, can cause hurt to the faithful, as Peter was hurt when Jesus asked a third time if he loved Him. 'You can't say nice things' when corned with the question- Jesus asks in such a way that niceties are unacceptable. And of course, this scares me, because the quiet whisper of, 'No,' is enough to shake my world apart. 'Do you love Me?' No, Lord. I never knew You either.

And yet, from whence comes this hurt? I'm free, aren't I? I mean, if Jesus means nothing more to me than some old, old dead guy who started a revolution a long time ago, then there's no need to feel sorry for my fellow humankind, Christians especially. They got themselves into their mess and I'll help them out when it's convenient, but there's always someone else to deal with it. I have no reason to care about another person. I can go on living my life focused on me and I can find my own happiness. I can plan my own plans, go my own way, dream my own dreams and work however hard I want to achieve them. I don't need morality- it's been overrated for centuries. I mean, I'll stay a good person and that'll be good enough. Maybe then I'll have a boy who loves me, instead of waiting for whatever crazy idea I had about God sending someone into my life. I'll have a ton more free time, won't wake up late and feel guilty that I can't spend any time on a devotion. I can go to sleep at night with my thoughts filled of whatever I want, because then, no one else can see it. Yes, altogether, my life would be much better without this Jesus kid. I'd be in charge. It'd be great.

That hurt... hums... that hurt must be... loneliness. I mean, I'm far from my family, I'm just getting used to the planetarium staff to call them friend, everyone I'm close to is really out of reach a lot of the time. I must be lonely. Or maybe it's left over heartache- you don't stay single this long without longing for someone, sometime, and part of me thinks that the hurt of never knowing is just as bad as the hurt of losing love. Or best yet, perhaps that hurt is merely a growing pain- the sadness of losing my imaginary friend called god. But everybody does someday, right? The afterlife, the divine, miracles, things inexplicable except by the grace of God or some sketchy science, everybody knows they're like Santa Claus- something you believed in as a kid and think it'd be nice, maybe, if it continued, but you know, deep down, that you let that go a long time ago. So I'm not really hurting, I'm just mourning the loss of another part of my childhood and good riddance, because it was an abnormally consuming part of my childhood, youth, and later life.

Goodness, did Peter run through all of this in his mind before he answered the last time? They're lies, sigh, though comforting. I've been lonely before, it's not this. I've listened to my heart beat through an ache and it's only dimly like this, like the flash from a burnt-out light bulb is like a supernova of a dying star. Best yet, I've lost an imaginary friend, even slightly recently, and that was nothing like this. Maybe part of the reason we feel the stupid pains in life is so that we know, when God's got something to say, that these smaller pains, no matter how big, are not the cause behind it. Like Christian, at the beginning of Pilgrim's Progress, who knows that he must start a journey because this is no normal agitation of the mind and heart, we can come to know when our heart is being taken from us by this world and when God is tugging and we feel it a little less gently.

But this is Jesus! He's not supposed to hurt like everyone else. He is our refuge, our peace, our love, or so they say. And yet, He doesn't ask to hurt us, not in the normal way. The title of the passage in John is not, 'Jesus saying things that hurt Peter's feelings and make him feel guilty so he does his best to make it up to the Lord,' it's 'Jesus reinstates Peter.' It's a realization hurt, it lets us know what would happen if we found that we really didn't love Jesus, and it's bringing us to see how much He can't be seen, if He has to ask three times. And it's not like I don't hurt Him every day, in the normal way.

The Summons. Stanza Three:
Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen,
and admit to what I mean in you and you in Me?

Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You. But how is such a love to be shown? And if I admit to what You really mean to me, how can I ever live up to that? Your love is never ending- mine is never-endingly finite. And yet, I do love Thee. Perhaps I'll borrow a bit of Your love, just to tide Your sheep over until You come back.