Peanut Butter and Patsy Cline

Today is a sad day.

Although not the conclusion, it is certainly the end of a chapter in my life. This particular chapter started 4 years ago. It started on the day I met a boy from Louisiana named Ian. It ends today on the day he leaves Dallas for Atlanta. He has good, even excellent, reasons for the relocation. Doesn't seem to make the day any less sad however. Because this boy named Ian is my best friend. And I don't want him to go.

We met at intern orientation. For a while our story stalled there. We were simply c0-interns, making it through the day. Although friendly with one another, we weren't yet friends. The first turning point in our friendship occurred several months into that first year. There was a bar. There was alcohol. And there was a flower pot. I can't possibly hope to describe the event in the style, or with the respect, it deserves. But luckily for all of you, Ian-on-ambien has made me proud. http://www.littlerogue77.blogspot.com/

The months and years that followed were filled with food, fun, and intoxication. We drank coffee. We drank coke. We drank Bud Light. We drank Pinot. Hell, we just spent a lot of time drinking! And we ate - the best burgers in Dallas. Breadwinners. Breakfast. And then there was the cheese. We ate a lot of cheese:)

I met his family and he met mine. And we became our own sort of nontraditional, but entirely real and sincere, family. Complete with our very own illegitimate (and imaginary!) son named Ethan. He's such a looker:)

We saw Napa Valley together in the rain.

We faced karaoke hell and came out victorious (Shut up Ian, you know we rocked!).

He was my hero (that cab driver was so mean!) and I was his biggest fan.

We've gone through a lot together - stupid people, stupid jobs, the stupidity of life in general. And came out on the opposite end of these past four years in pretty good spirits. As pretty amazing people. With very healthy self esteems!

So, Ian tonight we'll go out to dinner. We'll eat. We'll drink. We will no doubt have one hell of a good time. We'll send you off to ATL in style buddy, I promise! And then I'll go home and be a little sad. Maybe even wallow just a bit. Then I'll put on some Sheryl. Or better yet, I'll put on a little Patsy. I'll remember these past 4 years and all our good times. I'll count myself lucky that this chapter in my life was filled with you. And then I'll prepare myself for the sequel:)

It's all good in the neighborhood . . .

Today, no complaints. No poor-little-me. No life sucks. Today, it's all good. It wasn't a perfect day. There may have been a few horrible, frustrating moments - I said may have been:) But again, it's all good. No worries. Because today? Today is for highlighting the positive. Finding the fun. Enjoying the little things.

Highlighting the positive: I am not currently on call . . . :)

Finding the fun: This afternoon I went to the movies. Going to the movies. I love everything about it! Stadium seating. A ridiculously large coke. Hot dogs. The smell of popcorn. Doesn't even really matter what movie. Although, incidentally, saw Oceans 13 and loved it! I just love the whole process, ya know?

Enjoying the little things: After the movie I did a little shopping . . . Bought myself a pretty little summer dress for no reason at all:)

And the the most positively enjoyable fun today? My return to blogging:) But sorry Geege. No meaningful or profound explorations of life tonight. Check in tomorrow. . .

Hello Aunt Amy

My youngest niece turned 1 year old today. For some reason my sister and brother-in-law failed to notice the significance of 6/6/6 when choosing a cesarean date. But luckily, Miss Myla has turned out to be quite the angel and not anything similar to the devil child we all feared. I called her this morning to wish her happy birthday while she gummed the phone - her favorite mode of communication. But I caught her during a nap and spoke to my older niece instead.

Jacelynn turned 4 last month and I swear she's smarter than I am. She said "Hello Aunt Amy. How are you?" After exchanging similar pleasantries I asked her how her summer vacation was going and what she was doing. She asked "Right now or on my vacation?" Let's start with today. "Well I got up early this morning. Then I ate a little breakfast. And since then I've been working. But it's hard to work and talk to you on the phone at the same time." I'm so sorry:) I swear she's 4 going on 14. Maybe even 4 going on 40! But it made me smile and that smile lasted almost the whole rest of the day. Almost . . . :)

mild nausea and mental nunchucks

Do you ever open yourself up, just put yourself out there? Rumor has it that it can be very, very good. It can escalate a friendship, start a relationship. Get you something you really wanted. Rumor has it.

Haven't really had that particular experience myself. Open myself up all the time. To hope. To hurt. I put myself out there and sometimes all I get is sick to my stomach. You'll have to trust me when I say that isn't usually what I'm aiming for.

But I keep doing it. I keep expressing my feelings. I keep being honest with myself, with others. I keep opening myself up to the hope of some kind of return. And I keep dealing with the hurt that is often my only reward.

I have a friend who recently initiated a really intriguing conversation (via blog!) about strength, vulnerability, and truth. Those concepts are so intertwined. There is often strength in being vulnerable, in opening yourself up. That openness, that vulnerability, often leads to truth not otherwise seen. And truth? Sometimes there is no greater strength than knowing the truth. Especially,perhaps, knowing a truth about yourself.

So I continue to challenge myself to be open. To be honest. To express my feelings, whatever they may be. To put myself out there. And, I may just be imagining it but, I think I'm already starting to feel just a little bit stronger.

Yep. I'm right. Definitely feeling stronger. Look out world, I'm flexing my mental muscles as we speak:)

Kurt Vonnegut said . . .

Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.

Today I admitted an 89 year old lady to the hospital who likes to spend her time canning vegetables and crocheting various items. I envy her.

Not just because I'm still working on the same blue crocheted scarf I started in 7th grade. And not because her tomatoes are "coming up." Or, at least not entirely - I do miss my mom's garden tomatoes!

I envy her the freedom to spend her day however she chooses. If she feels like snapping a couple of green beans, she snaps some beans. If she wants to make some sort of dainty doily, the doily gets made. Granted, she is a little demented. But pleasant with it:) And if asked, she may very well envy me. My youth, my life ahead. Something along those lines. Not thinking I'd like to trade places with her exactly, but I would like a little of that freedom.

Freedom to spend time doing something I love. Spending time creating something, as Mr. Vonnegut has recommended. Maybe I can start with the dancing along to the radio. Or the really horrible poem? Perhaps, I'll just continue my daily rants and ramblings posted here and be content with that for now. Better yet, I think I'll see about finishing that scarf . . .

As promised, a return to Sophia

Thank you for being a friend
Traveled down the road and back again
Your heart is true, you're a pal and a confidant.
And if you threw a party
Invited everyone you knew
You would see the biggest gift would be from me
And the card attached would say, thank you for being a friend.



When I think of summer I sometimes recall perfect nights playing softball. Or sitting in the back yard for hours, doing nothing. Catching fireflys. Laying down in the back of the bronco with Mr and Mrs Bubbles while our parents drove around in the country. Sleepovers that lasted a week. Acting out the Disney version of Robin Hood.



And sometimes I remember curling up in the basement with a quilt, my sisters, and Golden Girls reruns. Remember guys? Dad would always come down and threaten to turn up the air conditioner. He never got it, still doesn't. The point was to have the air so cold that you needed the quilt. I still love that feeling . . . cool air and a warm quilt. Feels like summer to me.

F.Y.I.

White wine will completely remove a red wine stain. I promise! It's been road tested and happy hour approved:)

Thunderstorms and Seersucker

There is nothing quite so good as a perfect cup of coffee early on a Sunday morning, knowing you have the whole day ahead of you. Unless it's having the previously mentioned perfect cup early on a Saturday morning, knowing you have the whole weekend ahead of you. But seeing as how I don't (frustratingly) have the power to turn back time I'll take what I've got and be happy.



I've been trying to do that more often lately: be happy. It didn't used to be something that I had to make an effort to do. I was a happy person, I had a happy life. It was just that easy.



I recently sent out a challenge via e-mail to a group of friends re: being happy. I asked them to name 5 things that made them happy on that particular day. Their responses ranged from the small and superficial (mine actually!) to the heartfelt and moving. Some of them responded only back to me but some sent out a group reply. I liked those best. They don't all know each other but they shared their happy thoughts, their happy stories. And that made me happy.



I'm currently sitting at my kitchen table in my pink flamingo seersucker pajamas with the now infamous cup of Community Private Reserve Hazelnut coffee. Listening to Wilco's new CD. Pretty happy.



Trying not to think about what happens when the CD ends, when the coffee pot (because, oh yes, I made a full pot!) is empty. Will I have to search out some new source of happiness? Or will the seersucker and the memories be enough to float on for a while? Like I said, it used to be so easy.



I guess I'm worried that this is what happens as we get older. Worried that we have to seek out happiness . Worried, if I'm completely honest, that I may not be enough anymore. That I've finally hit the time that I may need to have someone in my life to be completely happy. My oh-so-strong sense of independence is screaming at me right now. Let me take a minute to turn up the Wilco and refresh my cup . . .



On my trip to the coffee pot I've briefly exited my self-absorbed bubble and noticed that the sky is completely black now. Looks like we're in for some weather. And apparently I'm safe for the next few hours, no more searching. Because I love a good storm. They make me happy.

Cute as Hell, Fucking Hot,and Voluptuously Sexy go to the movies . . .

I have really great friends. Friends from all walks of life, friends from different periods in my own life. Friends I never get to see. Friends I see or talk to everyday. Friends that I call every time I hear a certain song on the radio. Friends that know all my secrets, friends that love me anyway. Friends that can always be counted on to get you drunk and sing karaoke when you've had a particularly bad day. Friends that always know what to say, friends that never know what to say but sit by you anyway. Friends that provide you with the best advice even if it's from hundreds, or thousands, of miles away. Friends that are like family. Friends that are family.

So, to you, my friends: Thanks.

books, boys, and baked goods

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

I love to read.

I love books.

I love owning books.

My library is, well, diverse. Right next to my complete Harry Potter collection I have various selections from Shakespeare. I have copies of all the books Nick Hornby's written. Tolkien and Lewis share space with Jack Kerouac. I'm a huge fan of David McCullough. Currently reading Robert Kiyosaki's Retire Young, Retire Rich. And I have quite the assortment of Dick Francis mysteries and Nora Robert's romances. I'm not ashamed. This list barely scratches the surface. Much like my taste in movies, my love of books crosses many genres.

One of my all time favorite read-it-when-I'm-happy-read-it-when-I'm-sad books is Pride and Prejudice. How beautiful is this story? I still get actual chest pain whenever I read the interactions between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. It has always been my understanding that this is a fairly universal feeling amongst JA's readers. However, I've recently been made aware that this is not the case. Apparently P&P does not have a lot of male fans. Did you know this? Am I really this naive? Do guys really not identify with the story? How can they not know that all women are out there searching for their very own Mr. Darcy?

Which brings me to boys.

As my little sister would say, "What the fuck?"

And, really SJ, well said. I grew up knowing that men and women's differences went way beyond the physical. I grew up in the era of Men are from Mars . . . But somehow I thought with age would come wisdom. I really thought that at some point we would begin to meet somewhere closer to the middle. I thought that eventually I could say "Finally! I understand you!" Again, my naivety.

Because, boys? I just don't get you.

Personal opinion time (Because the above was neither personal nor opinionated enough!):

Baked goods should never contain nuts. Never.

Little Rogue goes to Sonic

Guaranteed to make you smile . . . especially if you are personally acquainted with Little Rogue:) You may notice our resident Karaoke Superstar making an appearance as back-up vocalist. Enjoy!