Things That Make Me Stupid Happy

See, I'm not a grouch-mope-moper-grouch all the time, and I'm going to prove it by telling you the things that make me really, really, giddy happy.

• The fact that Rainbow Rowell exists. I love her books. I love her twitter. I love her faq's on her website. I love the fact that she responded, "I knew I recognized you" to my blogpost about the time that I met her and literally could not use real words. Purchasing Eleanor & Park was the greatest decision I made in 2013. 
• Bunnies. Bunnies are so cute, oh my goodness. One time, Renee and I went to a pet store and pretended that we were wanting to buy a bunny so we got to pick up ALL OF THEIR BUNNIES. And bunnies are so soft and fluffy. And they just make you smile, you know? I follow some bunny blogs on tumblr, and some bunny tags on pinterest, and sometimes when I'm feeling a little down it makes me feel 10,000-times better to look at pictures of bunnies. 
• Friendships. Okay, so, you know about "shipping" right? Where a fan will take two characters who may or may not have romantic feelings for one another and then be like "OH MY GOODNESS DRACO AND HARRY NEED TO DATE AND MAKEOUT AND HAVE BABIES EVEN THOUGH THEY'RE BOTH MEN NOW LET'S DO AN AU WHERE HARRY'S ACTUALLY A GIRL AND THEY CAN HAVE BABIES NOW LET'S DO AN AU WHERE THEY ARE BOTH GIRLS AND THEY DO THAT BONE MARROW THING TO HAVE MORE BABIES BAAAAABBBBIIIIEES..." I think I lost where I was going with that... Oh, right, friendships. So, when I watch TV shows and movies and One Direction interviews, rather than getting super excited about fictional romantic relationships, I get shipper-levels-of-excited about friendships. Not that I don't get excited about possible romantic relationships, too. I mean, Mindy and Danny have, basically, the cutest friendship so it's gonna be so adorable and good when they finally couple-it-up on the Mindy Project. Right. Right. On to other things.
• Renee. She's so cute and friendly and the perfect build for hugs and she has good hair and she says, "What am I? Stunned mullet!" if you complain about not having any friends and she gets jokingly huffy if you repeat her when she says, "I'll just grab the trolley" in the supermarket. Also, one time, I called her crying and was like, "Do you think no one will ever like me?" And she went, "I don't know, man, I think people should like you." And that was basically the sweetest thing I've ever heard. Also, the first time I ever met her she listened to me complain for like fifteen minutes about mock trial and then the second time I ever met her she got me to listen to The Blow. Anyway. She's great. 
• Macaroons. When I try to write the word "macaroons" I almost always try to write it "maccarroons" because double all the letters, that's why. Anyway, whenever I turned 21 my friend and I bought macaroonies I was thoroughly underwhelmed. But then, not too long ago, I bought some more maccyroones and THEY WERE DELICIOUS and now I'm basically half addicted. 
• One Direction. They're music is all happy and they're all handsome and they're all such good friends they just make me happy, man. Also, they goof around ALL the time and they're terrible at dancing. So, if you don't like One Direction, then I'm betting that you've only heard those two songs and never watched them interview.
• Thinking about the next stage of my life. Don't get me wrong, it's also super nerve wracking because adulthood sounds a little bleak if you ask me. But I like to think about having my own apartment and making smoothies for breakfast and keeping my books on bookshelves and having a couple of puzzles and decks of cards. Also, I like the idea of meeting new people. And not being in school. And having a job with set hours that don't change from week to week so that when I make plans with people I can be, like, "I get off of work at 5:00" instead of being, like, "Well, on Mondays I finish everything up at 6:00, on Tuesdays I'm busy until 9:00 so that won't work, what about Wednesdays? I get done at 4:00 on Wednesdays!"
• Hanging out with my extended family. Particularly when we get 7+ people in the same place at the same time. 

Residual Effects

To begin, let me own up to a personal problem of mine. Sometimes, when people do things that hurt me, I'm not able to talk to them about it. Not just in a, "Oh, I need space for awhile" kind of way. But, like, they've done something, and I've spent two days crying about it, and I'm trying to work up the courage to tell them, "I feel absolutely miserable when you do whatever shitty thing you did why did you even think that was an okay thing to do?" but, like, in a nicer and less placing-blame-y way. I'll even come up with the exact words that I want to say, and then, right before I say them, I choke up. See, I get afraid that if I talk to people about my pain, there will only be four possible outcomes, and only one of them is good. Like:

• They listen to me, understand, and make amends/don't do it in the future. 
• They don't listen to me and instead continue doing whatever they did that hurt me in the first place, thereby proving that they don't care about me.
• They listen to me, get upset, and then get more upset and more upset and more upset. Then I'm still sad, and now they're sad, and now I'm feeling guilty for being hurt in the first place, so the overall sadness has just increased by "a shit-ton" and the utilitarian perspective would accuse me of being a bad person. (The utilitarian perspective is that the "right" action is the action that ensures the greatest amount of happiness for the greatest number of people.)
• They listen to me, understand, make temporary amends, but then actually just keep doing whatever it was that they did that hurt me in the first place, thereby proving that they don't care about me.

"That's crazy!" Thanks, but no thanks. I don't want your opinion. I just want to talk about what's on my mind, okay? Okay.

I'm not quite sure how long it's been an issue, but I think it's been approximately around "a long ass time." I've talked to a councilor about it, and tried to move past it and talk about things that hurt me to people who love me, but... Unfortunately, more often than not, my fears about talking to people about my problems are proven true. One of my "really good friends" (pffft) Freshman year, was constantly doing things that hurt me, and then I would talk to him about it, he would say, "Oh my goodness, I see just what you mean. I'm so sorry! I'll stop in the future!" And then continue doing what I asked him to stop doing. Another one of my "really good friends" (pffft), not too long ago, tried to control my life, and when I would talk to her about things that she was, probably unknowingly, doing that hurt me, she would accuse me of being a bad friend, or get so upset she had to leave the room. I ended up feeling so guilty about being hurt, that honestly I can't trust her, now, to tell her anything about my life.

That's really not what this is about, though. What this is about is a couple of memories that I still feel the residual effects of.

See, since I'm not really able to talk to people about my hurt, it just kind of stays there. And then, after I mostly move past it, it still comes back from time to time. There are a couple of memories I have from when I was younger--like, middle school/high school age--that made me feel really unloved and worthless, ugly and stupid, and entirely unlovable.

I don't really want to get into them right now--"Then why are you even writing this stupid blog post?"--because I'm already crying. No, that's not why I don't want to get into them. Honestly, the reason that I don't want to get into them is because I tried.

Throughout November, and maybe even late October, almost every Friday I was sucked back into this one terrible memory. And, it's not just the one memory. It's that this particular memory brings forth lots of other similar memories. So, about every Friday, I would get home from school, crawl into bed, and just cry until Saturday. I tried a couple of times to write about them, thinking that it might make me feel better.

But as soon as I published those blogs, I deleted them. See, I'm worried that the person who caused my hurt in those memories would read them, and then feel bad. Or maybe mad that I'm still not over something that happened in middle school. And, I mean, it's not like I let said person know that they hurt me whenever those movies occurred. But, since I love this person, I don't want them to feel any bad feelings.

I really need to step up my writing in the next blog post. It's hard to write "well" and "vaguely" at the same time.

So, anyway, I have these couple of memories that, when they come up, I just go right back to that time, and I start feeling that way again. And sometimes there are triggers to those memories--like, similar sorts of disappointment, or people ignoring me, or whatever. But, equally often, there are obscure triggers. Like Jaws. The movie, not body part. Or awards ceremonies.

The other day, for instance, I was talking to my brother during the news, and my dad asked us to be quiet. Which is something that makes complete sense. What sent me into my latest residual effect spiral of sadness wasn't, like, the unjustness of the situation. It's really, really, fair to want quiet from the peanut gallery when you're trying to watch something. But the situation almost identically mirrored my worst birthday ever.

And then it started bringing up all these other "people silencing and/or ignoring me" memories.

"You need to get over things that happened forever ago."
WHAT DID I SAY? I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR OPINION. I'M JUST TALKING HERE.

In all seriousness, don't give me your opinion because I 110% don't want to hear it. Also, I feel kind of bad about how gloomy this blog post was. So. I'll post, like, a short story next time.

Okay? Okay.

Happy Holidays!

Earlier today, as I was waiting in a Walmart checkout line to purchase two small bags of green buttons and a container of small, silver, spherical ornaments, I overheard the checkout clerk say to the man in front of me, "Thank you, have a nice day, and merry Christmas!" He said, "Thank you," took his purchases, and moved along. My transaction was quick--I had my cash in hand when she started ringing up the items--and when she handed me my change she said the same thing: "Thank you, have a nice day, and merry Christmas."

I said, with a smile, "Same to you!"

But the lady behind me in line said, "I really appreciate that you say Merry Christmas. It seems like everyone these days is saying, happy holidays." And that really... bothered me. Not in the same way Femen riots or sexist jokes bother me, but it bothered me none the less. It bothered me because it's the same sort of Fox News sentiment that prompted controversy over Macy's Santa helping kids with their "holiday" wish lists.

But then, the clerk says, "Yeah, yesterday a customer got very rude with me for saying Merry Christmas and said I should've said happy holidays instead. But, like, that's her preference and this is mine."

And the idea that some customer got rude with a pleasant sales clerk just because she said Merry Christmas also bothers me.

SO: let's talk about some courtesy, okay guys?

98% of the time (that's an entirely made up percentage, okay?) people who wish you happy holidays or merry Christmas or any other holiday-based-warmed-wishes are just being nice. They're basically just wishing you... happiness.

Let's think about it in terms of wishing someone a nice day verses a happy birthday. So, let's say I think it's your birthday, and I tell you, "Happy Birthday!" But it isn't your birthday. Does that make my wish mean? No. I wished you happiness. You would probably just say, "Thanks, but it isn't my birthday. My birthday isn't for another two months." And I'd say, "Oh, my mistake. But have a nice day, anyway!"

Now, if you're a close friend on the other hand, and I wished you a happy birthday when it wasn't your birthday, you might get a little offended. You might say, "It's not my birthday! Do you not know when my birthday was!? YOU WERE AT MY PARTY BACK IN SEPTEMBER."

Now, let's take what we learned from the birthday metaphor and apply it to the holiday season. If someone wishes you, "Merry Christmas!" And you don't celebrate Christmas, don't get upset with them. They're just wishing you happiness, after all. Feel completely free to tell them, politely, "Thank you, but I don't celebrate Christmas." If you celebrate something else, let them know what winter holiday you celebrate! If you don't celebrate something else, leave it at that. They'll probably just say, "Oh! I'm sorry. But have a nice holiday season anyway!" Or, "Oh, my mistake! Have a nice weekend!" If they get rude about it, that's on them, not on you.

Now, if the person who just wished you "Merry Christmas" knows that you don't celebrate Christmas, then that might offend you. I mean, sure, maybe they mean it with good intentions still, but: if it offends you, let them know so they can stop doing it. Feel free to tell them, once again politely, "Thank you, but I don't celebrate Christmas. And I would appreciate it if you didn't wish me a merry Christmas in the future." Then they would probably say, "Oh, okay." Or something to that effect. How should I know? I don't know your friends.

Now, back to the birthday analogy.

Let's say it is your birthday and I don't know that. Then, when you're headed out, I say, "Have a nice day!" You wouldn't whip around and yell at me, "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY, YOU JERK" would you?

Similarly, if someone wishes you "Happy Holidays!" You shouldn't whip around and accuse them of PC-ing America to hell. In fact, they're being way nicer than just wishing you a merry Christmas. If someone wishes you a merry Christmas, they're just wishing you happiness on December 25th. Which, don't get me wrong, is super sweet of them, but, if someone wishes you "happy holidays" they want you to be happy on literally every winter holiday. They want you to be happy on Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, New Years, Winter Solstice, Boxing Day, Yule, and even on the International Sweater Vestival.

Moreover, "Happy Holidays" is way more inclusive than "Merry Christmas" is. It's like, if I go around wishing everyone a "Happy Birthday," sure, I'll probably wish some people a happy birthday whose birthday it actually is, but more likely than not, I'll wish a bunch of people whose birthday it isn't a happy birthday. Comparatively, if I go around wishing everyone a nice day, well, it's "day" for most everybody. I mean, everybody I would see, anyway.

But, anyway, it's nice when people wish you happiness. Don't gripe about the way they go about doing it. Feel free to let them know if they've offended you--assuming you do it politely--but don't get angry with people for not wishing you happiness in the exact way you want to be wished happiness.

And have a happy winter, you all.

Tidbits

• My mom is exceptionally environmentally friendly and resource-savvy. She uses every drop of toothpaste; I throw away products after they get too close to empty and thereby a little difficult to use. She looked almost horrified when, over Thanksgiving, my cousin explained that she threw away a Fresca can because she didn't think we recycled. My mother, a teacher, taught an Environmental Issues summer school class for third graders. Our yard is equipped with a rain catcher and a compost pile. You get the idea, right? My mother's pretty green. So, the other day I was emptying the dishwasher and I found a bunch of plastic utensils. You know, the sort that are supposedly disposable?

• Renee (AKA the love of my life) is an extremely talented individual. Any of you have followed along with my moping the past seven months may already be hip to this fact, but: after graduating, Renee moved back to Australia with her family. I miss her a lot. Anyway, over the summer, Renee sent me pretty much the best birthday present ever. It's a wall ornament that has three, handmade fish. On Halloween, Nash was stabbing things with his hipster!Link sword, and he stabbed it, knocking it down a little bit, so now they hang a little lower than they used to. Anyway, they're pretty cute, right? (That's obviously just one of them. But. Still.)

• Last year, I lived in a town house with three of my friends. Near the end of our lease, I so desperately needed time and space to myself that I ended up moving back in with my parents about three months before our lease was actually up. One day, after I started moving back in with my parents, I was at the town house, hanging out and picking up some stuff. One of my roommates, T-Kupp (an adorable, cheerful woman who I barely saw last year since she had SO MUCH going on. Now she's graduated and I haven't seen her in ages. *sigh*) found me and gave me this awesome candle that's shaped like a cupcake with sparkling frosting on top. It was so beautiful I just paired it with a ceramic cupcake my other roommate, Kelly (who is basically the sweetest-kindest-MamaBear I've ever known), gave me for Christmas. Anyway, I didn't even light the T-Kupp cupcake candle until about a week ago because it was just so beautiful. BUT LOOK HOW COOL IT LOOKED ALL LIT AND SUCH: 

• If you watched my Vlogmas video from yesterday, you've already heard this story--and if you haven't, you can watch it here, I'll give you a minute, go do that. Okay, so, when I was a kid, I asked my parents pretty point-blank whether or not Santa was real when I was pretty young. Now, I am not sure whether or not this story takes place before or after that, but, regardless, I'm pretty sure I didn't believe the real Santa and Mrs. C showed up at malls and restaurants. So, anyway, my whole family (this is another one of those fabulous McKie Family memories... just, one I didn't include in that one blog post...) was at this festive brunch thing. For whatever reason (cough-Chirstmas-cough) Mrs. Claus was there (although, again, I'm pretty sure I didn't think she was the real Mrs. C). Recently, my pet mouse had died. It was a very sad occasion. I don't know what prompted me to tell the not-real-Mrs.-Claus that my mouse had died, but I did. She looked at me sadly and said, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" And then she reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small, play mouse and whispered, "That's why Santa sent me with this." (Okay, I don't know if that's actually what she said.) So, anyway, she gave me a little toy mouse and it was pretty much the most legit Christmas moment I've ever experienced. 

• My mom loves nativity sets. She has a huge collection of them. There's one that we've had as long as I can remember. It came from her grandmother and it's my absolute favorite. That was a tidbit, just not a tidbit about the intended tidbit, I guess. Right, so: we own one nativity set that's kind of a nontraditional nativity set. It's stable-less. There are no wise men. No shepherds. It's comprised of two pieces only: Joseph, and a donkey carrying Mary and baby-Jesus. It stays on our bookshelf year round, I guess, because it was already out the other day when my mother brought the big box of nativity sets up from the basement. She and my father were re-arranging the living room, increasing the nativity-set-ready surface-area when my father scooted the bookshelf and baby Jesus, Mary, and the donkey took a tumble. They landed on the hardwood floor with a shatter. My father, in a voice of sorrow, said, "I shouldn't have been moving this by myself..." and my mother, assuming it had shattered into hundreds of pieces, refrained from looking at it. So, I quickly crossed the living room, gathered up the pieces, and said, "I can fix this!" (I'm so like Gus in that one Shia LaBeouf movie.) With that, I brought it back to my room, and went to sleep. I'm just kidding, probably more stuff happened between confiscating the broken figurine and sleeping, but I guarantee it's not important. The next day, I got out the hot glue gun, and put the figurine back together. It wasn't too hard, all that broke off were the donkey's two hind legs, and the broke off in two, solid pieces. Then, I returned donkey, Mother, and Child to the lone Joseph figurine. Anyway, as I was fixing the donkey, I realized it had already been broken twice: its two front legs had also, sometime, been reattached.

So. Anyway. That's some stuff.

Finals are coming up. Don't worry. I'll help you.

So. If you're someone currently going to school in the United States and probably a lot of other places, too, and you're older than, like, fourteen, you probably have finals coming up, as your semester comes to a close. Maybe you're new to the whole final thing--like, it's your first year of high school, or your first year of college, or you've had a bunch of teachers decide to let you just turn in papers instead of taking tests, or this is the first year you've decided to show up for your finals. Or maybe you just have always sucked at finals and you're determined to do better this year.

Or maybe you're excellent and taking finals, or you don't have to take any finals, or you've not been in school for three decades, in which case you don't really need to be reading this blog post, do you? But go ahead and read it, because I employ a pretty rockin' narrative voice, yeah? Yeah. 

Okay. Tips. Hurr we go:

1. Remember stuff. You see, the thing that makes you really successful at finals is knowing the answers to the questions. Which you can do pretty easily if you just remember the stuff. "Yeah, but how do I remember the stuff, Kat?" Don't interrupt me. I'm obviously getting to that. The best way to remember things, assuming you don't just have a magic brain that remembers everything after hearing it/seeing it/experiencing it once, you probably have to study. Studies suggest that if you review your notes within a day of taking them, you're retention of the information can be boosted by about 60%. That's pretty rad, yeah? But you already didn't do that, did you? Because you, along with the bulk of students, believe "cramming" is the most effective way of studying. You're so married to the idea that you "do your best work" at 11:54 the night before that you couldn't spend 25 minutes reading over your notes about Napoleon back in October, could you?
2. Start as early as you can. I mean, you already kind've fucked us over by not starting back in September but... I'm lying. You didn't fuck us over. You did exactly what everyone does. Don't feel too badly about it, just, maybe one semester you try the 30 minutes a night thing, yeah? Okay, assuming you haven't been studying all semester long (by studying I mean really studying, not just doing the assignments) you should probably go ahead and start today. Doing all your studying the night before is scientifically proven to turn your brain into mush. 
3. Break it up. You know how sometimes you're like, "I'm going to study all afternoon!" And then you just stare blankly at your page and then end up marathoning Angel instead? No? Just me? No. Not just me. Everyone does that, not necessarily with Angel, but maybe with Bones or American Horror Story or dance clubs or Facebook or Allegiant which has been sitting on your bookshelf untouched since you bought it back in November and you really want to read it despite not hearing that great of things about it. Well, if you break up your studying, you'll be more effective. I found one study schedule that looks like: "eat (10 min), study (30 min), break (20 min), study (30 min), sleep (20 min), study (30 min), repeat." But it really needs to be something that's specific to you. See, sleeping for 20 minutes wouldn't do me any good. I'd just toss around for fifteen minutes, get impatient, and then stand up. It'd be awful. If I did snooze, I'd be drowsy and unfocused when I got back to sleeping. The point is, study in little segments. 
4. Little bursts of cardio. So, I initially got this tip from the queen-of-all-things Joan Watson (Elementary) who would do 50 squats every so often when pulling all nighters (when she was in med school, then when she was going through evidence with Sherlock... this doesn't matter BUT IT DOES.) But everyone pretty much agrees. So, do 25 jumping jacks every time you finish reading 10 pages, do some heel raises after you go through your flash cards once, do five minutes of kickbox after you finish outlining a potential essay question. It's also smart to go for a longer walk or a jog after you've been studying for awhile. Say, after two hours cooped up in your room (taking small breaks, though!) take a twenty minute walk.
5. Change the location of your study place. So, environment actually helps your memory, which is awesome, since you might be able to remember the characteristics of closed-class affixes thanks to sitting in the same seat all year. Except: if you do all your studying in one place, you might be able to successfully define all your vocab words when sitting on your bed, but then have trouble with recall when you move to the classroom. So, by changing location, you actually strengthen your memory. Seven places to try: the library, your room, a coffee shop, the park/outdoors, a tutoring center, a friend's house, an empty classroom. (Along with the last one, maybe see if you can use the classroom you'll be taking your final in. Remember what I said about environment helping location! ;))
6. Some foods actually improve your memory. So: when you're studying, drinking green tea will benefit you more than drinking coffee will. And maybe make your snacks: blueberries, apples, avocados, and dark chocolate. DID YOU HEAR ME? THIS IS THE PERFECT EXCUSE TO EAT CHOCOLATE, YOU LOSER. 
7. Limit distractions. There are actually some pretty cool apps/websites that prevent your computer from going to websites that distract you (only during certain times!). This and this were recommended by this finals survival guide. I won't be offended if you have to put my blog on your list. I understand. Grades are important. 
8. Limit distractions. In the real world, too. That means, don't try to get your studying done in the company of handsome men. And, if you're like me, don't listen to your Dance playlist. It's just really hard not to get distracted and dance to Janelle Monae, you know?
9. Sleep. Seriously, all nighters? Don't do that shit. I only got six hours of sleep last night and I'm barely functional today. You need your sleep. Don't insist on staying up late. When you get to the point that you've read the same sentence three times in a row, or you lose your train of thought easily, it's time to close the books and get some sleep. You want to keep your sleep schedule pretty normal, otherwise you'll be less effective due to fatigue. Moreover: studies suggest that "night owls" get approximately 45 minutes less sleep than individuals who do their best work in the morning and afternoon and they generally have lower GPAS. Which, basically, suggests that "getting more sleep" correlates with "academic success." 

Anyway, good luck, losers. I'm listening to my Dance playlist right now and cannot bare to continue sitting on this couch any longer. 

...Honestly, though, good luck on those finals. Sorry for calling you losers. Twice. I didn't mean it. I love you. Keep reading my blog. Okay. The end. Bye now.

"She's Read All Your Books."

Now that I've already told the Best Friend about it, I can tell you, too.

Two Saturdays ago, my two absolute favorite authors came to town. Not only that, but their book signing was in conjunction with one of my absolute favorite, locally owned stores, Reading Reptile. Needless to say, I was excited.

That being said, I was kind of in an "end of the week" bad mood, which I have been experiencing a lot recently. So, I woke up sad. Still, I was resolved to go; no sadness would keep me from meeting John Green and Rainbow Rowell.

My mom came with me, and she invited my aunt, who is apparently a pretty experienced book-signing-er. Since I wasn't alone, and since the excitement was building, my bad mood melted away pretty quickly.

We arrived at the KC Public Library an hour before the event would begin. I brought with me Fangirl, Eleanor and Park, Will Grayson Will Grayson, and Looking for Alaska: two for me to get signed, two for mom to get signed, two by each author. While I was there, I bought Paper Towns for myself, it's the only John Green book I didn't own. Then I bought An Abundance of Katherines for my best friend, Alli. And I bought a Rainbow Rowell book for Renee (aka the love of my life), but since I haven't sent it to her yet, I've already said too much.

Upon arrival, we each took a John Green ticket, as was advised by the ticket-handing-out-lady. She told us that we could only get one ticket total, and it would insure we would get our books signed by them. Then she suggested we get a John Green ticket and just wait in the Rainbow Rowell line. We could jump over to the John Green line after getting Rainbow's sign...ing...s(?), and the ticket would allow us to get John Green's too. Best of both worlds, yeah?

So, we spent the next forty-five minutes or so waiting in the front of Rainbow Rowell's line.

Then, my aunt goes, "I think I see her."

And there she was: Rainbow Rowell. 

And she was so, so, pretty.

"IS that her?" My mom asked.

"Ohmygod, she's so pretty," I said. And then I said it again. And again. And again. And finally she was getting to close, and I saw John Green and added, "Ohmygod, that's John Green. He's real."

Rainbow Rowell sat down next to us, started unloading her bag of sharpies. My mom encouraged me, "Okay, Katrina, you should go first." And I, dumbfounded, walked over to Rainbow Rowell.

"Hey!" She said, "It's good to... We've met, right?"

"N-n-n-no," I stammered.

"You look familiar," she explained. 

"That might be because I make a bunch of stupid youtube videos, and a lot of them recently were about you, and I tagged you in them on Twitter, and you might have seen them. Also one time I cosplayed Eleanor from Eleanor and Park. And..." I... thought.

But didn't say. What I said was something along the oh-so-eloquent lines of, "Iuhblarghab, sorasdas..." before saying timidly, "I also have this one for Renee."

Then, we went to hop into the John Green line. I would have just headed to the back of the line. But my mother didn't want to--which makes sense, because the John Green line trailed out of the library, around, down, and along the sidewalk beside the lower level of the library. So she went to find the library personnel and ask if, with our tickets, we could just get into the spot our ticket said in line. To which they said, "Sure," and went to find where that spot in line would be. We were 109 and 110, I think, so she found 107 and 108 and put us right behind them. 

Chagrin tinted me the color of a firetruck. 

"Are you mad at me?" My mom asked.

"Just embarrassed."

"Is it going to ruin meeting John Green?"

"Nope."

It didn't. I got over the embarrassment over the line thing really quick. 

But then we were at the front of the line and I was all nervous and embarrassed again. His signing was more streamlined than the other authors'. We'd hand our books to a lady, who would hand them to John Green one at a time. 

So I was standing there, nervously watching the lady pass John books, when he said, "Hey, thanks for reading my books."

To which I responded with... nothing. I just stood there silently for about a minute before quickly saying, "Yeah, thanks for writing them." Then, I grabbed the books quickly, and started walking--nay, sprinting--away. Behind me I hear my mom say, helpfully, "She's read all your books."

"Oh, great!"

And that was how I met my two favorite authors. 

These are all the books I got signed. Except for the one I got for Renee. Since it's still secret.

The Problem of Pain

I was going to start this blogpost with an explanation of why I started doing a nightly devotional in the first place, but not only was it kind of tangent-y, it was also deeply personal and, to be honest, I just don't think I want you to know about some of the stuff that goes on in my pain. You understand, I hope.

Besides, the point isn't why I started doing I nightly devotional, the point is that: for the past two and a half years, I have done some bible studying before going to bed. The first two books that I worked through where entirely biblically based surrounding the idea of "what does this segment mean?" and "how do we apply this old story about this old dude and his farming to our day to day suburban modern lives?" The next was written in the arrogant style of old white middle class men who have degrees from semi-prestigious universities. (The third one that I read said something about 1 Corinthians telling us what women's proper place in the church is in the introduction. I can't believe I read past that. Honestly. I can't believe I didn't just put it down and say, "Sorry, God, I'll find something new tomorrow.)

My current devotional is Hope by Nancy Guthrie. Compared to the others, Hope is much more personal. Guthrie applies biblical passages to personal experiences, many of which surround the loss of two of her infant children to Zellweger Syndrome.

So, there's this common argument against God that if He is really all seeing, all knowing, and all loving He wouldn't let bad things happen. And every time bad things do happen people tend to wonder, "Why would God let this happen?" I have heard the presence of suffering as many people's reasoning for not believing in God. And, along with that, I have heard a lot of Christian justifications for suffering. (Also, I own C.S. Lewis's The Problem of Pain, but I haven't gotten around to reading it. In the past four years that I've owned it. Yikes.)

Gutherie's semi-memoiric devotional is one in a long line of Christian writings that assign reason to pain, grief, and suffering. Gutherie's losses brought her closer to God. In the Soul Surfer franchise, Bethany Hamilton's loss of her arm in a shark attack ultimately helped her find strength, ability, and purpose through God. In Wake Up, Generation, Paige Omartian outlines how dealing with cancer in her childhood led her to a closer relationship with God, gave her purpose and strength. All three, and many other Christian writers, use their experiences to bring the Word of God to others.

But the other day as I was reading about Gutherie's pain and her growing closeness with God I couldn't help what perspective she might have taken had she not been so fortunate in other aspects of her life. By no means do I want to discredit any of these individuals' experiences or the wisdom they received because of it. As a culture, we attribute spiritual ethos to individuals who have experienced great losses and those who have come close to death and I believe that's deserved. The lens through which you see the world would be dramatically and divinely altered by such an experience. And by no means am I challenging the truths and lessons included in such devotionals.

But all of these authors were white, heterosexual, cis, middle class women. They were blessed with supportive families, external opportunities, and at the time their tragedies struck they were already living Christian lives.

If I were to throw in my "witnessing" story it would be the same. I went through a great deal of emotional pain throughout high school with depression, anxiety, loneliness, and insomnia. And I felt God with me. And all that pain did strengthen my faith in God. But, I too am a middle class white woman with a supportive family. And I had years of Sunday School lessons telling me which direction to turn my pain towards.

Certainly none of that diminishes their experiences. But in this lies my question.

What would the story look like if the mother whose child was suffering from an incurable disease had to spend most of her child's life working two minimum wage jobs, stacking up debts from hospital bills, and still barely able to keep food on the table? What would the story look like if the eleven year old girl battling cancer was born to impoverished parents and faced racial discrimination on the playground. And what if the story was about a young girl who was suffering from an eating disorder and feelings of isolation prior to losing a limb? What would those women have to say about God?

And that's ultimately the problem of pain, isn't it? We may be able to assign meaning to individual cases. Particularly when they're our experiences of pain. But I have trouble looking at areas of poverty with high rates of crime and violence. Thinking of people dealing with self-hate, being persecuted and assaulted. And then thinking, "God has a plan for all this pain."

It's certainly easier to see God in new life, rekindled friendships, beautiful scenery, moments of forgiveness, and the relief at the end of the week.

...This lacked resolution. But that's life, right?

The Facts of Life... Or Advice I'd Give High School Freshman

1. You cannot control how other people treat you. You can control how you treat them. I see this thing happen a lot: A kid gets treated like a "freak" or an "outsider" by his/her peers. And then s/he decides to embrace that label, and, rather than just being comfortable with who they are, they distance themselves from others. The number of times I've seen a kid with stringy hair, wiry glasses, and anime shirt treat a blonde girl with a short, floral skirt and an Abercrombie jacket like crap, just because he assumes she's already labeled him a certain way, is remarkable.
2. On a related note: be nice to people. I know that it's super hard to be nice to some people sometimes. But life is hard for everyone. So make it a little tiny bit easier on yourself and the people who are around you and just be nice. Almost everyone likes nice people.
3. Don't feel guilty about your "guilty pleasures." I unironically watch soap operas. I have a lot of affection for the boys in One Direction--I might only know two of their songs, but I like them. I love ABC Family Original Holiday Movies. I probably know all of the words to all of the songs on Hilary Duff's first album. Same goes for the first JoBros album. And I don't feel guilty about any of that shit. You know why? Because those are all things that make me happy. Yes. Belting out, "I TOOK A TRIP TO THE YEAR 3000 THIS SONG HAD GONE MULTIPLATINUM EVERYBODY BOUGHT OUR SEVENTH ALBUM WE OUTSOLD KELLY CLARKSON" makes me happy. You should only feel guilty about pleasures if they hurt someone. Which means stop feeling guilty about and/or denying that you like pop music or Disney Channel shows or styles that went out of style two decades ago or whatever.
4. Think about what you say before you say it. I know, everybody and their mother gives that bit of advice, but people still say really ignorant, sexist, and racist comments all the time. So, I figure it's advice everyone still needs to hear. 
5. Keep at least three spare feminine hygiene products in your bag. If you don't have any spare tampons, you'll inevitably get surprise attacked by menstruation at a Starbucks. If you only keep two spare tampons, they will inevitably unwrap themselves in your bag rendering them useless. Plus, if you have extra feminine hygiene products, you will get to save the day when your friend got surprised attacked by menstruation at a Starbucks. Or you will get to befriend other women who frantically run out of the stall, look around, see you standing there, ask timidly if you have a spare tampon, and then look at you like you're the answer to a prayer when you hand one over. 
6. Hang out with people who you like who you are when you're hanging out with them. Do not spend your time with people who bring out mean or catty or gossipy sides to you if you don't like being mean or catty or gossipy. 
7. Hang out with people who don't want to change you. Personally, I've never been much interested in spending my time with people who say, "I'd like to see you drunk." You want to know why? I wouldn't like to see me drunk. I wouldn't like to be drunk. So I'd like to spend my time with people who want to see me sober.
8. Don't ever catcall people. People don't like getting catcalled. It's intimidating and nerve wracking. Also: that's not going anywhere. Seriously, could you imagine talking to a couple and asking, "Where'd you guys meet?" And then have them say, "Well, it's a funny story, actually. I was walking to the store and he drove by and saw me. So he rolled down his window and called out, 'that's a fine pair of legs you got there'." It was love at first harassment.
9. Do your work. Getting around doing your work requires a lot more effort than it's worth. If you're supposed to read a book: read the book. If you watch the movie, you have to worry about the differences between the book and the movie. If you get the Sparknotes chances are you'll be missing important information. Just read the book. Muddle through. It'll be fine. If you're supposed to write a paper: write the paper. I'm serious, all the weird techniques people use to not do the assignment are obvious and dull and require too much effort. 
10. Don't be too hard on yourself. Making a mistake every now and then won't bring down the foundation of the world. You can fail a quiz or show up late or forget about your family dinner and everything will be fine. You just have to take responsibility and move forward. Everything will be okay. 

McKie Memories

This past weekend, my brother's CD Good Spirits was released. (If you want more information/to purchase and download it, you should go here: Good Spirits.) So, we hosted a release party. I spent so much time planning/preparing/cooking/setting up and it was really important to me. So, this thing happens where it's really important to me that people do something (in this instance: come to the party) but I don't necessarily tell them that it's important to me. Which might not be nice of me, but that doesn't really matter, does it? Nope.

Anyway, some people who I really wanted, and kind of expected, to come, didn't. Which was disappointing. But then that disappointment was usurped by the fact that my aunt and grandmother drove three/four hours to attend the party and surprise us.

I stole both these pictures from my aunt's instagram. Just, semi-crediting, you know?

Right: Nash and Jacob performing the song "Finger Stains"

Left: my cousin Emily and my grandmother sitting by the fire

So that, along with the fact that I've been spending a lot of time with the McKie clan as of late, has inspired me to create this list of pleasant memories:

1. In the woods at my grandparents' house, there is a small play cabin. When we were younger, my cousin, Anna, and I used to have fake tea parties with kool-aid and cookies in that cabin. We'd use a plastic tea set and we'd decorate the shelves with small rocks we collected.
2. When we were all a lot younger, we used to have "Cookie Bake Weekends" at my house during Christmastime. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins would all come and we'd bake cookies. 
3. My grandfather used to write these comic books for us called Super Grampa. He even made Grampy Awards for when we did something cool (guitar recital, honor role, etc.), a special decoder, and Super Grampa trade cards. One time, we threw a Super Grampa party for his birthday.
4. Used to, both my aunts lived in Kansas City, and we would all get together a lot. One time, we went to Chili's. While we were there, my cousin Emily and I kept sneaking my brother packets of salt, and he'd eat them, and my cousins Devin and Tristan thought it was so funny which just kept encouraging us all. Anyway, my brother ate so much salt he vomited in his bowl of what-once-was-mac-and-cheese. That's not really a pleasant memory, I guess. It's just a story I enjoy telling. 
5. I used to go to Chuck E Cheeses with my aunt Heidi and Devin and Tristan a lot. And sometimes when the whole gang was together, we'd go then, too.
6. A lot of my Christmases have been spent at my grandparents house with my family, my aunt Marci, and Emily. One year, not too long ago, Devin and Tristan came, too. We always do puzzles, which is fun. We do one large puzzle all together. And then, whenever we'd wake up too early and have to be confined to the back room, we'd do small, kiddie puzzles over and over again until everything was set up. 
7. One Christmas, my aunt Marci, Emily, and my family went to stay with my Uncle Joe and my cousins Billy and Anna. It was fun because we don't usually get to see them on Christmas, because of my uncle's job. We all drove up on Christmas day and then spent the day after Christmas together. Like, Christmas just got pushed back a day.
8. One time, around Christmas but not on Christmas, my family stopped by my uncle Joe's to hang out with all of them for a bit. Anyway, he had sugar cookies in his house. But they were Kwanza and Hanukkah cookies, because I guess he didn't want one holiday to monopolize our celebration. 
9. One time, my mother took all of the cousins to Kalediscope. Kalediscope is this super fun place where you get to do arts and crafts. But, back in the day, you had to be five years old to enter. So, Devin and I are five days apart in age. And within the next two weeks, we'd both turn five. And my mother had us lie. I guess we gave her a lot of grief for awhile after that. 
10. We used to go on camping trips as family a lot. One time, Anna and I really wanted to get to solve a mystery, but we quickly learned you can't just auto-demand a mystery. Another time, these bikers drove into and destroyed my aunt Marci's tent. And then my uncle Joe lectured them. I think that same campout, Emily said George Clooney was hot, to which I responded "George Clooney is old," and Uncle Joe pitched in, "George Clooney puts the chunk in hunk." 
11. At the end of one campout, the parents had all of the cousins wade into this lake. But we weren't supposed to go in too far because we weren't supposed to get our clothes wet. But all of the cousins, we wanted to swim. So we all just conveniently tripped. 
12. Two weeks ago, Emily, Nash, and I went to meet Billy and Anna for dinner. Then we went to a concert. It was just nice because we don't get to see one another as often these days.

Skin

So, in the Old Testament, there are these ten big rules. You may have heard of them before: the Ten Commandments. Anyway, the idea is that, well, if you eat hoofed animals and shellfish and you mix your linens you just really need to make sure not to murder anyone or steal anything or bear false witness. Or any of the other seven, of course.

So, there's this one Commandment--this is relevant because it showed up in my devotional the other day--"Do not worship any other gods besides Me" (Deuteronomy 5:7). When I was younger, I used to think of the whole "not worshiping any other gods" thing as pretty cut in dry. You know: Don't start praying to Zeus, and you're in the clear. Then, when I got a little bit older, someone said, "We worship other gods all the time" and put it in a very what-you-spend-most-your-time-doing sort of light. So, TV, internet, phones, those were all the Big Bads. Not that thinking of it that way got me away from those. See? I'm on the internet right now and just a few sentences ago I made an allusion to a TV show I've been marathoning.

But, in my devotional, the author put it a different way. She said that, most of the time, our idols are just things we want really badly. And they don't even have to be bad things. They can be things like... wanting to be a good spouse. Or wanting a certain job. Or wanting to be physically healthy. And, the idea is that, well, all of these wants can be good. But if they get to be the point where that one thing is the source of your happiness, and occupies the bulk of your focus, well, then they aren't so good.

And, yeah, I'm talking about this with a perspective based on your relationship to God. So, having "being a good student" be the focus of your attention and the source of your happiness is problematic because it interferes with your closeness to God. But, from an areligious perspective, having "being a good student" be the focus of your attention and the source of your happiness is problematic because it interferes with your just general ability to be happy. It mistakenly makes your worth something that you achieve, but that's not so. Your worth is innate. So... idols are problematic for everyone, is the point.

Anyway, in my response to my devotional, I started thinking about my wants. The first thing that sprang to mind is the first thing that usually springs to mind when I think about what I really want: I want to be good. I want to be kind and gentle, I want to bring happiness, light, and love to others. I want to be patient and forgiving. I want to be so unlike what I am.

But, see, my big want doesn't interfere with my relationship to God. It aligns with it. That want? The want to be good? It keeps me crying out to Him. It's what I pray for. And it's what you're supposed to get with a relationship to God. Honest. It says it in there all the time. I don't know what book those kooks who go around telling people God hates them and sends suicide bombers have been reading. Because Jesus is all about not throwing stones and forgiving our trespassers and Love.

Back to the point. For a long time I used to day dream about falling in love. And I'm not saying that I don't any more. Every now and then I do. But I used to all the time. And then it occurred to me: it is too big of a gamble to have my happiness dependent on finding romantic love. It is entirely possible that boys will just never like me. And then I'd end up 57 and pissed off that my life had never turned out to be a Katherine Heigl movie. That's when I started daydreaming about Independence. About how I would organize my apartment when I finally lived on my own. And how I would spend my evenings. And whether or not I would get a large dog to feel safer--single girl living in the city, you know?--or maybe I would get a cat.

So I almsot wrote that down. Independence could be my idol. I wasn't even concerned with how I would break my idol habit with Independence as an idol. I was just going to acknowledge it and move on. When it hit me: my own skin.

I have never had "good" skin. Part of that is just natural, I think. But also, a compulsion that came along with my generalized anxiety disorder is the tendency to pick at my skin. A few months ago, my skin issues started worsening. I would get large, hard to cover up, lumps on my face. They would stay for a couple of weeks, and eventually dissipate. This was problematic, but I was dealing. A couple of weeks ago, however, a lumpy, irritated, patch of rash?breakout?terribleness appeared along my jawline. Besides being ugly and disfiguring, it has the added bonus of being painful. Moreover, it's bright red and somehow also flakey.

And I have been obsessing over it. I have tried numerous tactics--face masks, face washes, spot treatments, and steroid ointments, to name a few--and nothing has made it go away. I obsessively check my appearance in the mirror. I apply more and more makeup throughout the day. And on multiple occasions it has brought me to tears.

You see? I might be a chunky girl with frizzy hair and the kind of eyebrows that draw the not-so-pleasant sort of attention from makeup counter girls, but I'm also really pretty. Except for this damn thing on my face.

And, sure, I know that my worth doesn't stem from my appearance. I'm smart and funny and sometimes I'm even nice to people. Plus, remember earlier? Worth is innate. It comes from the simple fact that we are. God made us, and that makes us worthy. But because of my vanity and because my own appearance is an idol of mine, I have a hard time seeing that. (Also because of perverse aspects of socialization that place women's worth in their appearance...)

To add insult to disgusting-disfiguring-skin-problems, I felt this very strong "how to move past this idol" calling. There's this book that I intend to read sometime... after I've finished my homework, and I've finished rewatching all of Buffy the Vampire Slayer... that this woman wrote as part of a social experiment wherein she spent one year without looking in a mirror. So I'm assuming she also spent a year without wearing makeup.

And I thought to myself, ask soon as I realized that my own skin was an idol, "I should go, say, a week without wearing any makeup."

And then I immediately thought... but I can't do that.

And why can't I do that?

• The release party is this weekend
• Liz's Halloween party is next week
• And I have to judge debate next weekend
• Plus there's school
• And this thing on my face is terrible
• And everyone will be like, "OH MY GOODNESS WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?"
• And I'll probably make people sick just to look at me...

And I'm so... mad at myself? I feel so pathetic and stupid and shallow and vain. And what really bothers me is that the day before I flippantly wrote in my prayers booklet, 

"Have I sacrificed anything for you? I can't think of a single time. And yet I am always pleading you to change me. What sacrifice can I make for you?" and then "Please, show me how and what I can sacrifice for you." 

And what if that was it? It came to me so clearly. Give up this one weakness and I don't know if I can do it. I'm like Jonah. Except, well... if I got swallowed by a big fish and I spent three days and three nights in its stomach... well, I'd only have to go four days without makeup. Right? 

...I should really stop ending these blog posts with silly anecdotal jokes. It really discredits me, doesn't it? Ah well. Such is life. 

Dissatisfaction with Myself and Lots of Love for Renee

Don't get me wrong: I'm okay. I'm creative and thoughtful and I don't get my kicks out of hurting people. So... those are all in the plus category for the "do I like myself" list. But I'm not happy with who I am.

I read somewhere once that God didn't really give the people in the Old Testament that many rules. It was mostly just the big ten. You know... don't go around worshiping other gods or making idols or killing people or stealing or adulter...ing. And then the rest of the loads of rules in the Old Testament were mostly just people afraid of doing the bad ten things and trying to keep really far away from them.  Like, you have to testify about any wrongdoing you've seen or heard about because not doing so is a little bit too close to bearing false witness which was a big no-no. Or you shouldn't tear your clothes because then you're a little bit too close to... causing coveting, maybe.

That and preventing death. Like, you shouldn't eat or touch the carcass of a weasel or a rat because that will probably kill you.

Also, there were a lot of kind of obvious things that people were probably just like, "well, you shouldn't do this so we'll make a rule about it just in case someone doesn't just realize that they shouldn't have sex with their relatives.

But back to what I was originally saying. I read somewhere that a lot of the rules written in the Old Testament were rules that people made up. Because, well, it's just, frankly, easier for people to have a checklist of things not to do.

It's kind of like... have you ever been on a diet? Maybe on your diet you realize, like, "You aren't supposed to eat more than 50g of sugar in a day." And you can totally go around eating sugar in moderation, but you then you give yourself the rule, like, "only one sweet per week" or maybe even "no sweets ever." Anyway, that's kind of how I think of a lot of the rules in the Old Testament. People thought that, even though they could have a serving of sorbet or a chocolate chip cookie without it really hurting them, they thought that they better not let themselves. Because it's really easy for half a cup of sorbet to turn into a banana split and rootbeer and a bunch of fries.

"What does this have to do with you not really liking yourself?" You may ask. Which is a good question because I opened up with how I don't really like who I am but then I kind of went this whole different direction and now you're maybe a little worried that I don't like myself because I've been eating weasels and coveting my neighbor's wife.

That's not the case, though.

The reason I'm not too keen on myself these days is that there's a divide between who I am and who I would like to be. And I'm not talking about the difference between who I am now and who my crazy fantasy self (cough-Mindy Kaling-cough) is. I'm talking about the difference between who I am now and who I would like my everyday self to be.

The sort of person I want to be is kind. She's hardworking, compassionate, forgiving, and understanding. She is remorseful for her mistakes, but eventually forgives herself and then takes steps not to repeat the same mistakes. The kind of person I want to be is peaceful and nonjudgemental, but she also sticks up for others.

In contrast, the person I am is scared of being judged by her friends if she objects to their trash-talking. She is quick to anger and judgement. She holds grudges. She gossips and loosely throws around insults. The sort of person I am feels remorseful and nauseated by all of these things, but she never really forgives herself and she hardly ever changes.

...I've talked to you guys about Renee (aka the love of my life) before, right?

Well, the thing about Renee is that she always saw my good bits. Even though I can be pretty scowl-y and passive aggressive and grumbly. She would pardon my bad moods as grumpiness, and she'd always think of me as kind, smart, compassionate, creative, and... lovable.

You know in Juno when her dad is like, "the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person is still going to think the sun shines out your ass"? Well, that's Renee.

Sometimes, though, the fact that Renee always saw my good bits made me hyper-aware of all my bad bits. It's like... the person that I want to be in the world is the person that Renee saw. You know? The kind version of myself. Because I think I'd like to see myself the way she sees me.

We're going to have to take a different direction, talking about this, now... because I'm getting a little choked up and cry-y what with my missing of Renee.

So I'm thinking maybe we should go back to the biblical stuff, right?

You see, I have this kind of general idea of the person I want to be. I want to be the version of me that Renee sees, but it's more than that. I just want to be better than I am. I want to be kinder, I want to be more forgiving, I want to be more patient. And I need a guide for how to get there. I need to make like Alicia Silverstone at the end of Clueless. I need a drastic renovation. I need to... I almost referenced Patrick Dempsey in Can't Buy Me Love but it occurs to me that that's not quite the type of change I'm hoping for. Kind of the opposite, in fact.

I don't know what that guide will be just yet. I'm okay with small steps, not necessarily rapid, dramatic transformations. And maybe I need some made up rules to keep me far away from the person that I don't want to be. Maybe my rule can't just be, "Don't participate in or initiate any gossip." Maybe it has to be, "When people are gossiping, state your case and leave." Maybe it means omitting certain music, tv shows, and activities; maybe it means seeking out new ones.

I'm not quite sure. But there's a person that I want to be, and I want to start moving towards becoming her.

Whose Death Affected You Most in Deathly Hallows?

I saw a post once where someone posed, "I think you can tell a lot about a person by which character's death affected them the most in Harry Potter." And I think that's true.

But I also think there's lots of things that could tell you a lot about a person, if you considered them in conjunction with other things and other people. Maybe that didn't make sense, but my degree's in English not in Eloquence. Damn, a degree in Eloquence would be nice, wouldn't it? Right, but what I was saying is this:

There's probably a lot you can tell about a person based on...

1. Their favorite color
2. Which bathroom stall they choose in a vacant bathroom
3. Whether or not they make eye contact with the people they pass in the grocery store
4. What movies they watch when they're feeling nostalgic about their childhood
5. The clothes they wear on Saturdays
6. Which parent they think they look more like
7. What recipes of their mothers they never dream of attempting
8. The names of their stuffed animals
9. How they spend their Sunday mornings
10. The number of pillows they have on their bed
11. What they say about their friends who aren't there
12. The way they wear their hair
13. How frequently they read books
14. Which movies make them cry
15. What TV shows they marathon
16. Who they dress up like on Halloween
17. Which bands they listened to in the 90's
18. What flavor chapstick they buy
19. How they look when they think they look hideous
20. What stories and movies give them nightmares

And a lot of other things, too. And I think those things probably tell us a lot about ourselves, too... If we consider them. Maybe that's why questionnaires were popular on Xanga, Myspace, Facebook, and Tumblr. Maybe that's why tag videos are so popular on Youtube. Maybe that's why there are multiple issues of Coke vs. Pepsi, teenagers play truth or dare, and tween magazines include quizzes designed to show you which Jonas Brother or Backstreet Boy would be your perfect boyfriend.

Because, maybe, if you know that Hannah is my favorite of the Pretty Little Liars or that I ate cheesy rice for lunch or that Pottermore placed me in Ravenclaw then you'd know a little bit more about me. And a little more than just the fact that I watch Pretty Little Liars and like Hannah best. Maybe you could know that my best friend in elementary school was named Hannah, or that I prefer her style, or that I, as a chunky person, am more likely to have more affection for the formerly-chunky-girl.

Maybe I could learn more about myself through these seemingly trivial details, too. Maybe the fact that my favorite time is Christmastime or that my favorite season is Autumn or that Oz is my favorite character in Buffy The Vampire Slayer or that I love ABC Family's Holiday movies can teach me something about myself.

And isn't that all we really want? To understand ourselves and to have others understand us, too.

By the way, I'm not quite sure which death affected me the most in Deathly Hallows. I would say Fred's, but then I repressed Lupin and Tonks's. I don't know. It's a rough book, y'all.

Making Friends

There's this girl in my Principles of Acting class, Katie, who is probably my favorite person ever. She's just so genuinely hilarious and she has the hands-down cutest style. On the day that we all had to embody animals, she embodied a turtle. During the mock interview she told the interviewer, "Well, I'm not the fastest worker, but what I lack in stamina I make up for in work ethic." When asked, "What character do you think you were playing?" She, still kind've acting like a turtle, said in a sincere voice, "Oh, I was thinking I was about eighty years old. I never really worked before, but kind've wanted something to do with my time." It was the best part of class.

If I could have absolutely any friend in the world, I would probably pick Katie. And I would totally try and befriend her... if she didn't intimidate me so much.

If you know Katie, it might surprise you that she intimidates the bejeezus out of me. She's younger than me, shorter than me, quieter than me, and seems to be a lot kinder than me, too... So there isn't really a good "logical" reason for me to be so damn intimidated by her. And yet...

I'm always really intimidated by people who I want to befriend. Not too long ago, I went to visit my best friend. I am very, very similar to one of her roommates. We like the same sort of TV shows, we don't like when people touch us, and we have similar humors. And I could have totally been like, "Hey we're super similar, let's be friends!" (But, like, not in those words and instead through just being personable, relatable, and charming.) But then, instead, when my best friend was away seeing to sorority-obligations, and her roommate said (to me and her third roommate), "So where do you guys want to go for dinner?" I had to physically stop myself from letting them know they didn't have to include me. As we walked toward the car, I had to hold back a, "I don't want to be a burden, you really don't have to take me...."

People think that I don't like them. But really, I just think they probably won't like me.

When Renee (AKA the love of my life) was getting ready to go back home, I met hoards of her friends.  And I really wanted to befriend a lot of them. And some of them I have totally successfully friended. But it's so hard for me. I had to kind of desperately trick them into giving me their phone numbers so that we could maintain a relationship after Renee was gone and unable to keep connecting us.

There used to be two girls who went to Avila, Sarah and Janelle, and both were so nice to me. The first time I hung out with Sarah, she was, like, cracking up at all my jokes. And when I left I thought, "She'd be nice to be friends with..." And then I was so intimidated that the next time I saw her, I barely spoke at all. And I hardly ever talked to Janelle, she just had to overhear me saying really nice things about her. (She's so talented and pretty and funny and kind and oh my goodness she's the best...)

Anyway, the crux of this bunch of rambles is this: I can't think of a more intimidating bunch of people than those people that you would like to befriend. Not handsome men, not possible employers, not professors, or parents of people you love. And it's so hard to befriend people when you turn into a giant, rambling, bowl of jelly in front of them.

She Is A Tree Trunk

She is a tree trunk.
She is well aware of the indelicacy of her shape:
Society tells women to be flowers.
And when she thinks, "Be a flower"
She almost hates herself.
She almost wants to starve herself into another species.

They call her thighs thunder
Not because of their size
But because of the reverberations of her footsteps.
And she thinks that flowers must glide.

But darling, remember:
Only insects can climb flowers' stems.
Trees can be climbed by grown men.
Petals wither in the winter,
But you can push through the seasons
With or without your leaves.
And flowers are meant for nightstands and vases
But people build houses in trees.

That's not just some fat girl stomping down the hallway.
That's a storm.
Her thighs are made of thunder
And her heart's been set on fire.

Darling girl, remember:
You are a tree trunk.
There will be no laughing at your mass.
'Cause you've got bark and a bite
(And both are pretty bad)

Darling girl, remember:
You are a tree trunk.
You are the home of birds who make music
And bees who make honey.
Your insides are made
Of sap and wisdom.

And the rest of you listen up:
Hug a tree trunk.
And maybe, if you're lucky,
She'll let you build your home
In her limbs
And drink the sap
From her veins.

Okay

"Are you okay?" She asks me. She's asking me because it's my dog who's dying, and because it's my dog who's dying, she doesn't really need to be asking me at all.

I am not okay.

"Yes," I say. I say it more abrasively than I intend to. I say lots of things more abrasively than I intend to, I think maybe I'm constantly trying to convince myself that my skin is thicker than it really is.

The trouble I have with dying is the "ceasing to be alive" part. The part where something is here in the world and its heart is beating and blood is pulsing through its veins and air is filling its lungs and then it's just not anymore.

I'm having a hard time conceptualizing the finality of death. In the living room, I sit on the hardwood floor, cross-legged like a child during story time. The skirt of my dress is pulled over my knees and I sit my dog on my lap, her chin rests on one of my knees and her hipbone rests on the other. I pet her slowly.

***

We adopted my dog right after my brother went to college. It was my junior year in high school, and she was this scrappy cairn terrier. At the time, she had just been freed from a five year stint as a puppy mill breeder. She'd had a hard life and the repercussions were numerous. When we first got her, she'd eat absolutely everything, and she wouldn't leave the bed we made up for her in the kitchen. She kept living by the survival strategies she'd learned in the clink but without the necessity. But eventually, she started exploring other parts of the house.

Then she started having problems with her eyes, which we got eye drops to rectify. Unbeknownst to us, she was allergic to the eye drops and all of the hair fell out of her face and she stopped eating.

For a while, we were really concerned. But pretty soon she started eating again, and her hair started growing back, and she became the chipper, albeit slightly lazy, dog she usually was once more.

Puppy mills are atrocious places. I don't think you could look at either of our dogs (both of whom were adopted, rescued from puppy mills) and think support puppy mill practices. Jubilee, bless her heart, had been robbed of a lot of the joys of dogs' lives. For the longest time, she didn't enjoy going for walks, she went outside to use the bathroom only, and after we got our second dog she relatively stopped playing. But as she acclimated to her new home, she came out of her shell a little more. 

I have no doubt that we gave her a better, and happier life than before.

***

As I walk out of Principles of Acting, I see a missed call and a text message from my father.

"Vet said Jubilee will have to be put down. Do you want [me] to wait for you to see her or just take her?"

I call him back. "What's wrong with her?" I try not to sob, but I sob. In the middle of campus.

I don't want to get caught crying on campus. I'm not quite sure why. I've cried over the fact that shitty people don't want to be my friends before, but for some reason I don't want to get caught crying over my dog's impending death. I'll chalk this up to an evolutionary theory I learned in literary criticism: stories are told to prepare us for facing similar situations in the real world. Almost every story ever told about a dog ended this way. In the sixth grade, I may have cried at Where the Red Fern Grows but for whatever reason it did not prepare me to lose my dog ten years later.

"I won't be home until this evening," I say. "Don't do it until tomorrow. I don't want you to do it today."

And then I run/waddle my crying self to the bathroom to dry up my face.

***

"Are you okay?" She ask as I walk into the house. It's late. She's asking me because it's my dog who's dying. She doesn't need to ask. I'm not okay.

"Yes." It's less abrasive this time. I walk with purpose. I swoop up a handful of trail mix and take a seat in the chair closest to my dog. I give my dog a couple of peanuts from my trail mix. She gobbles them up happily and then starts breathing heavily.

An impromptu family meeting congregates in the kitchen. Nash thinks we should give her a couple of weeks to respond to the new diet. (The new diet doesn't include peanuts.) The parents both seem to agree--she doesn't look like she's in any pain. I point out that there have already been times when we thought that she was dying, and then she turned out to be fine.

I sit on the floor and pet her. She's happy, but breathing heavily. She's going to get to live a little longer.

***

The next morning, my father tells me that she's doing worse. She ate breakfast out of his hand. She wouldn't stand. When she finally moved, it was to lay down with her head in the water bowl. "We'll see," he says sadly.

I go and sit on the kitchen floor beside her. I pet her, and she rests her chin on my knee. I tell her I love her. She's a good dog. It'll be okay, whatever happens.

What do you say to someone who is dying?

As I leave, I text my father. "Whatever you decide, I'm at peace with it. But if you take her to the vet today, will you take her to get ice cream first?" Jubilee loved getting ice cream. A last meal shouldn't be a handful of diet dog food. It should, if at all possible, be from Dairy Queen.

Throughout the day, I try my best to forget. But every once and awhile, it comes back to me. I lied. I wasn't at peace with it.

I text my father again, "Will you let me know whatever you decide?"

"Yes. She's moved to her bed."

"Is she doing better then?"

"Can't tell. She is breathing hard but not panting, not too labored."

"Okay..." and then I say, "I want to give her the weekend... just to see if she gets better."

***

I go to a coffee shop to work. I do this whenever I have lots of work, or whenever I get out of school at the same time traffic is bad. By the time I get there and get seated, I have three missed messages from my family. My father says, "Okay, maybe she'll just die at home." That's my hope.

My brother says, "I don't know. She just kind of peed on herself like she couldn't get up to do it. Dad's thinking it isn't looking good."

My mother says, "Katrina, are you sure?" Then she calls.

I get audibly upset. (Side note: my sincerest apologies to the man who looked like Patrick Drake from General Hospital who I was sitting by when I started raising my voice and sobbing; also to the man who looked like he belongs in "Frightened Rabbit" who accidentally made eye contact with me twice while I was weeping.)

"Okay, Mom, okay. It's fine. Just, it's fine." I sob into the phone.

"Well, I think that's what we're going to do, then." She says.

"Okay."

***

My parents did get her ice cream before taking her to the vet. They both tell me that it made her very happy. That doesn't surprise me, going downtown and getting ice cream made her ridiculously happy.

***

Well, anyway. Jubilee was a very good dog. She was sweet and funny and got so enthusiastic whenever someone was eating chips. And I'm going to miss her a whole lot. 

The concept of death is weird, because of its finality. And I know that life ends, but it's hard not to want a little bit more time. Just, you know, one more ice cream cone, one more nap in the sun, one more walk downtown, one more embrace. I know that she was pretty sick at the end, but I hope her life ended on as good of a note as she deserved regardless. 

Here's Some Advice, Kids

Earlier today, I took two quizzes.

The first one went well because I prepared for it. The second one went not so well because I read only the first three pages of the required reading. Now, the obvious bit o' advice here is to do your homework and try hard and everything will turn out okay. But that's not the bit o' advice I'm giving.

"WHAT? HOW IS THAT NOT THE BIT 'O ADVICE YOU'RE GIVING?"

Easy: that advice has already been giving. In the first real paragraph of this blog post. Do you really expect me to waste a whole blog post on a bit of obvious and easy to give advice!? Because that's not the sort of person I am. I'm the sort of person who gives actual real advice that's also important.

"How is doing your work not important?"

It's not important because it's what people already know. It's not important because it was the very reason that 90% of the ill-prepared students in my class were fretting in the five minutes before class. It's not important because it's the very reason that I feel comfortable predicting my peers fretted over that damn second reading and damn second quiz at breakfast this morning, before falling asleep last night, and potentially even after our professor commented, "I might even give a quiz over chapter two next class period, too." 

Yes. Do your work. You know that. But this is important to: everything is going to be okay. 

Look, this piece of advice is true a bulk of the time. Especially if you're as privileged as 98% of my peers at this here suburban, private, Catholic college, in the middle of the United States is. 

And that's really who I'm talking to. Not specifically kids at my school necessarily. What I mean is there are some situations I wouldn't patronize with this sort of advice. Not that this advice is patronizing, I definitely don't mean it that way. What I mean is: I've never been a sixteen year old, pregnant, homeless, ethnic minority, with undiagnosed disorders. And since I haven't been in that sort of situation, I wouldn't dare say, "Calm down, it'll be okay," to someone living through it.

But, if you have a home and a bed and a high school diploma and four dollars that you're willing to spend on an overpriced cup of coffee, listen up!

I know that life can be very stressful. I know that sometimes you miss a meeting and sometimes you forget to do an assignment and sometimes you show up to work late. And I know that you have a lot you have to do. I know that you're taking 18 credit hours, or you're on the football team, or you're working two jobs. And I know that that's all really hard because what you'd like to be doing is, like, whatever you'd like to be doing. But what's important to remember (you, person who bought new clothes for the season and regularly pragmatically considers starting an all natural diet) it's going to be okay.

I'm super high strung, don't get me wrong. While I was driving to class, I was working through a lot of this. "OH NO I ONLY READ THREE OF THE PAGES AND THERE WERE EIGHTEEN AND I AM GOING TO FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIL."

This is when I think about Anthony Weiner. You know Anthony Weiner, right? I ask because I assume *everybody* knows about Anthony Weiner and the Anthony Weiner scandal, but the bulk of classmates looked at me like I was straight up crazy when I pointed it out. So, in case you don't know who Anthony Weiner is, he was the NY congressman who accidentally tweeted pictures of his junk, admitted to sexting six women, and resigned from congress. Then, he turned around and ran for mayor of New York.

"Why would you ever think about Anthony Weiner?" you might ask.

That's a good question. For which I have an okay answer.

Sometimes, I forget to do a reading. Or I skip work study. Or don't take a shower. Or I say something stupid. Or I shake while I'm presenting. Or whatever. And when I'm starting to panic about it, I think to myself, "Anthony Weiner tweeted pictures of his junk and was still able to run for mayor of New York." (I should say here that he did not get elected as mayor of New York. Partly because he found himself in the middle of yet another sexting scandal.)

And do you know why the story of Anthony Weiner makes me feel better? Because life goes on. Because people make mistakes and then have the opportunity to change their behavior. Because I have not been part of any sexting scandals to ruin my political career (let alone two, Mr. Weiner). Because even though Anthony Weiner lost the mayoral race, he managed not to lose everything.

Most importantly: life goes on.

And the thing about something small, something like forgetting to do a reading and then bombing a quiz, for example, is that you don't really have that much to repair. Next time, you do the reading and get a better grade. You can't change the past, you can only alter your behavior for the future. But altering behavior and fixing mistakes is advice for another time.

You know that saying, "Sometimes you can't see the forest through the trees"? It's a good saying. See, if you spend your entire time panicking of one tree, you won't realize that there are a whole ton of trees to panic over. No, just kidding, that's not what I'm saying.

What I'm saying is this: this is a moment of time. One quiz, one paper, one test, one class, one shift, one whatever doesn't define you. See, you can fail a quiz without failing the class. You can fail multiple quizzes and still get an "A" in the class. You can be late to a shift without getting fired; you can certainly be late to a shift without getting unemployed for the rest of eternity. You can accidentally hurt your best friend's feelings without losing your best friend forever. You can lie to your mother without getting disowned. I'm not saying that you should do any of these things, and I'm not saying that you shouldn't try to correct your mistakes, I'm just saying, look at the forest from time to time.

You see it all the time where people make mistakes and then life turns out to be fine for them. Anthony Weiner isn't really the best example, I mostly like to think of him so that I can think, "I might not have done my homework, but at least I didn't tweet a picture of my junk." There are other people who make big mistakes and move on from it. Like Robert Downey Jr or Britney Spears or whoever you want to think of.

So, just, remember that it'll be okay. And if, when you're stressing the fuck out, you can't remember that it'll be okay: remember Anthony Weiner. And at least you'll be amused.