they like me

not sure about the mechanics of this, but aparently i won today's blog of the day award.
thanks, ariel, for the nomination.

piles

piles of books
and sweaters
and
shoes
litter closet floors
and the piles never seem
to get smaller
they grow
and grow
until spiders make homes
and moths move in
and then
she finds them
and feels somehow
broken
detached
afraid
of what she’ll learn
if she digs
so she leaves them alone
and doesn’t question how they got there
or what is crawling inside wool
and lace
and cotton
she closes the door
because what she can’t see
can't hurt her

rain

I was pedaling and it was sprinkling and slightly humid but lovely. And I thought it might rain soon. But I kept going. Passing elderly couples out for a stroll. Passing yards that needed mowing and randomly sprouting pink ladies. Passing dogs and boys and cars and miles — all beneath a sky cloaked in deep gray.

The same sort of sky that would have sent me inside before. When I scared more easily. When I was less sure of myself. When a drop of rain was enough to keep me indoors all day. But not Sunday. Not those sprinkles. I kept going, pumping my bike up hills and down them and around corners and it felt good and freeing.

And then, the sky opened and within seconds, I was drenched. As if I had jumped, fully clothed, into a swimming pool. My black running pants were even clingier than in their natural state, and my blue t-shirt was a dark shade of navy. My shoes were soaked, my hair was hanging and my eyes were stinging from a mix of sweat and rain. But I kept riding and it felt good and genuine and like I was a part of the very thread of our being. About a mile from home, my wet breaks stopped working properly and the puddles on the street got deeper. And so, I kept my head down – to shield my eyes from the downpour and to watch the street more carefully for pot holes and places that could send me off my bike and into an injured mess.

I got home and turned on the news. There was a tornado in Missouri, not far from where I had been riding. It probably spawned from the same clouds I was riding under. Probably. And for the first time in my life, news like that didn’t freak me out or send me into a worried state of panic. Instead, I felt stronger and alive and just a little bit hard core.

Like I had survived something bigger than myself. Like I had been a part of something that was intentionally orchestrated to make me stronger.

work

one day when our boss was gone, we filled his cube with balloons. here we are, checking out our work.

a bridal shower

i gave my sister a bridal shower this weekend. these are pictures of myself, my sister and my mom.

smoke and mirrors

My dad doesn’t smoke pot anymore. He told my sister that it’s been six months since his last hit. He told her because she was always the one who was the most vocal about how his drug use effected her. She is also the only one who experimented in the realm of the illegal. When she was hardly a teenager. I’m talking fifth grade, sixth grade. Young. A time in my life when I didn’t even know what pot was and when there was a rumor circling the playground that “popping a cherry” meant bursting an air bubble that built up on top of a woman’s breast bone during intercourse. All the kids were going around showing the “correct” way to pop it. It was basically by using one finger curled around in the shape of an eagle’s talon. That’s what the older kids told us. And that’s what we believed. I didn’t know anyone my age who did drugs or smoked cigarettes or who abused alcohol. But I did know my dad. And I remember the smell that encircled him. It was a distinctive odor. But I wouldn’t realize its origin until I was in high school sitting on the soccer field with some friends in the summer. We were barefoot and free and some of them decided to smoke a joint. I remember thinking that I had smelled that somewhere before. And then, it all made sense. A little piece of me died then.

I started to remember it all. The orange package that the rolling papers came in. The bags of what looked to be oregano. His friends coming over and everyone sitting around in the living room sharing a cigarette. That’s what I thought it was. That’s what they told me. My mom and my dad. I also remember the scale that had a permanent place on my dad’s desk. He just recently confirmed my deepest suspicions. He dealt, too. Everyone did, he said.

He spent my childhood stoned or drunk or both. There were good moments. Times when he wasn’t high yet or when he hadn’t yet hit the bottle. Times when he was normal and fun and funny. But those times seemed to dwindle as I got older. I remember sitting in agony as my high school boyfriend and I greeted my dad after he came home from a night out. He was so gone and hungry. He made steak and we feasted. It was almost midnight. The next morning, he didn't remember talking to us the night before.

I used to sit and wait for the phone call. For the one that would say he didn’t make it. That he was driving home from his brother’s or from the bar or from work and that he didn’t have his seatbelt on again and that he just didn’t see the car pull out in front of him. For the call that said that he was caught with drugs in his vehicle and that he was in jail and would I bail him out. But those calls never came. At least they haven’t yet.

By the time I went to college, I started to expect him to be stoned all the time. I didn’t even look at his eyes anymore. And I didn’t tell him anything either. Nothing that I’d want to repeat again when he didn’t recall our conversation the next day. Soon, I just hated him. But in such a twisted way that took so much effort – as hate often does. It would have been easier to have just been indifferent.

I wrote him a letter the night before I got married. About how I wanted my daddy to walk me down the aisle as himself. Not as a strung-out version of the man he used to be. I told him I was afraid he’d get really drunk at my reception and that for me, for that one night, I wanted him sober and clean and okay.

I’m not sure my request was answered. I tried not to care. But I did care.

Amy said that he had developed a burning in his chest. In the morning, he’d wake up and cough. And his chest would burn and hurt and feel tight. And so he decided to stop smoking pot. Just until he started to feel better and his chest stopped aching. He said he realized that life felt okay without it. That was six months ago. I found out Sunday. I guess I should be happy.

I once knew a girl
In the years of my youth
With eyes like the summer
All beauty and truth
I n the morning I fled
Left a note and it read
Someday you will be loved.

I cannot pretend that I felt any regret
Cause each broken heart will eventually mend
As the blood runs red down the needle and thread
Someday you will be loved

You'll be loved
you'll be loved
Like you never have known
The memories of me
Will seem more like bad dreams
Just a series of blurs
Like I never occurred
Someday you will be loved

You may feel alone when you're falling asleep
And everytime tears roll down your cheeks
But I know your heart belongs to someone you've yet to meet
Someday you will be loved
You'll be loved you'll be loved
Like you never have known
The memories of me
Will seem more like bad dreams
Just a series of blurs
Like I never occurred
Someday you will be loved

-deathcab for cutie

i got these

and i'm all "off" today getting used to the new strong lenses. i physically ran into someone in the hall. it was a glorious moment.

um

did anyone else watch the teen choice awards last night? probably not. but that's too bad for you because you missed the WORLD PREMIER of kevin federline and his entourage rapping his new song. and you also missed a very pregnant britney spears introducing him while at the same time chomping on her gum with her swollen you-know-whats almost falling onto the podium.

okay, so k-fed's new song "lose control" is all about how he's got more money than me and more ice than me and how he's gonna lose control. whatever. it was like a really bad opening rap act for a mediocre rap act. like whoever might open for the world tour of kriss kross. i know you're sorry you missed it. you should be.

book it

i'm paying hommage to the ol' book it club by pizza hut. remember it? fill your button with stars representing books read, and win a free personal pan pizza. oh, first grade, how i miss you.

joe tagged me with this book meme. so, i'm going to play along. cause i'm cool like that.



1. One book that changed your life.
Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller

2. One book you have read more than once.
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

3. One book you would want on a desert island
The Bible

4. One book that made you laugh
Running With Scissors by Augusten Burroughs

5. One book that made you cry
I don't think I've cried while actually reading a book, though, honest to God, I cried when I was finished reading Crime and Punishment, because I was sad it was over.

6. One book you wish you had written
If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things by Jon McGregor

7. One book you wish had never been written
i don't think this is a fair question.

8. One book you are currently reading
I just finished Fight Club and am currently reading my back issues of Runner's World.

9. One book you have been meaning to read
Shop Girl. It's sitting on my desk at work. Thanks, Joel. I'll get to it.

10. Tag five people.
Ben
Sarah
Chase
Faith
Jess

you are what you eat?

i did it. i did an (almost) complete grocery trip at the local whole foods market. i got everything i need for the next week minus propel, diet coke with splenda and cool whip, which i had to get at price chopper. okay, so my price chopper items aren't exactly healthful, but you've got to give a girl some credit. i bought EVERYTHING else, from coffee to bread to onions, at whole foods. and i made sure it was all organic and free of antibiotics and all kinds of other crap that i've been consuming through my foods for too long. i was a bit overwhelmed at first. and so, i spent an hour and a half shopping instead of my typical 45-minute breeze through price chopper grocery session. but i wanted to take it all in while shopping for the best price and eating every single sample. can i just say that whole foods is totally worth it if for nothing else but the samples. i had truffle pate, four kinds of cheese, banana cream pie, salmon salad, tea, coffee and hummus. i think i gained five pounds from just sampling. and to top everything else off, i only spent $13 more than i do at price chopper. yes! i leave you with this photo. alarming? maybe. making a good point? yes. am i a total hypocrite sometimes with my cool whip and propel "energy" waters? yes. but who isn't, seriously?

4-inch heels, a stripper and me.

this afternoon, i used my employer-provided half day off to visit the local salon for a haircut. it had been about 7 weeks since my last trim and the cut needed shaping. badly.

so, i drove around the plaza for 10 minutes, determined on finding a prime spot, which i did. although i had to parallel in it, which isn't always easy for me. after four tries, i was about a foot and a half from the curb, so i called it a great parking job, got out of my car and walked toward the salon. once inside, my hairstylist met me, did a brief consultation, washed my hair, asked what movies i'd seen this summer and then sat me down for the dirty work. we didn't talk much after that. why? number one, i was tired. and i'm not much of a talker during haircuts. instead, i typically look in the mirror to try to guage whether or not i'm getting a good cut. the number two reason why i didn't chat much, though, was because i was actively listening to a conversation that i had nothing to do with.

about halfway through the hour session, a long-haired blonde sat down to have her hair straightened. she and her stylist began to talk it up. and when i say "talk," what i really mean is "yell." they yelled about everything from hair to hispanics to boyfriends to gifts to taking it off for money. no joke. the blonde was greeted by her stylist with the following words "is that what you're wearing tonight? it's hot without looking like you're trying too hard." to which the blonde replied "yeah, i mean, this is a short skirt, but it's not too short. if i go any shorter, i want to get paid for it, ya know?"

after that, i was all ears.

so, through the mirror in front of me, i watched her check her cell phone every two seconds while talking about 4-inch black pumps that are "murder MURDER" and how the solution is dr. scholls gel inserts and flip flops at the end of a long night. at this point, i began to wonder who she was. i figured she was going to the playboy shoot that is in town tonight. nothing else made much sense.

okay, so by now, i've learned that you can easily buy a dress from dillards, wear it to a hot party and return it the next day for CASH - no questions asked. and i've also learned that the blonde's boyfriend one day woke up very early (before 10 a.m.) to do the dishes for her. and the blonde was like "i mean, he doesn't have to do that stuff because he works 7 days a week so i can have everything i want."

when her badly rooted hair was finally straight and she was gone, my hairdresser turned to me and said "we see it all here on fridays. that girl is a stripper downtown. she comes in every week to get her hair straightened." classy.

oh, and the 4-inch heels part? she was wearing them. white ones. at 12:30 p.m. on a friday afternoon. when it looked like rain.

my husband, the emotional eater

after a somewhat bad day, nick ordered 50 chicken wings. for himself. 50. he ate 1/3 of them. so, there are a little more than 30 chicken wings sitting in the fridge. all fleshy and gross.

i don't even want to think about the number of wings he may have ordered had he been listening to some of my emo music. if "stolen" by dashboard was playing, he probably would have ordered 100 wings.

in his defense, i guess he's not really an emotional eater, he's more of an emotional thinker. he thought he could eat 50 wings. his eyes were bigger than his stomach.

i have the same problem with pasta. it's the ultimate comfort food. about once a week, i cook up a big pot of it thinking it will be enough for us to eat twice. i end up making enough for an army. anyone want to come over for dinner on the next pasta night? i'm thinking about making baked ziti.

in other funny "Nick News," the other night i woke up and got some water out of the fridge. i get thirsty in the middle of the night. anyway, i hear nick yell "jessi, jessi are you okay?" i was like "yeah, i'm fine, just getting some water." and when i came back to the bedroom, he was sitting up, looking awake but then he said to me "how come you just got stocks? why just stocks?" and i went "what? nick, WAKE UP!" and he was like "huh, wha?"

yeah, dreaming about the stock market again. that's my honey.

i'm going blind

okay, not really. but my vision gets worse every year. this year, the eye doctor moved me up to +4.00 in one eye and +3.75 in the other. she was like "yeah, so your vision is just going to keep getting worse as you age so..."
and i was like "um, so am i going to go blind or will i ever be legally blind?" and she goes "no, becuase in order to be legally blind, you have to have vision that can't be corrected."

so i guess i won't be legally blind with contacts in, but what about without? her words didn't make me feel better. instead, i felt old and decrepit.

to top the good news off, mrs. eye doctor proclaimed the need to dialate my eyes. yes! so, because my glasses are not strong enough to correct my vision anymore, i had to look for new frames while my pupils were enlarging. but it wasn't easy to find cute, fun frames while i could hardly see. i basically had to rely on the opinion of the office staff, the funny lady that was also trying on frames and the sidways glances from a handsome stranger. i settled on a pair that one lady proclaimed looked great on me and matched my hair. a good enough reason for me to buy anything. in 7 to 10 business days, i'll be able to try on the new frames complete with stronger lenses and anti-reflective coating. i hope they look okay.

for now, i'm getting used to my new super-strong contacts. fun times. fun times.

doing the shuffle

stealing an idea from chase (there are no original ideas anymore anyway, right?), i'm going to put my i-pod on shuffle and then write about each of the first five songs that play. okay, i'm already getting off to a great start. check this out.

1. since u been gone by kelly clarkson. ugh. i admit it, this song makes me want to dance. and, it may be true that at one particular sobering moment at home alone, i grabbed a remote control as a mic, turned this song up loud and sung my heart out into the mirror complete with awesome dance moves and stage hair shakes. yes. i did this.

2. several ways to die trying by dashboard confessional. this is not my favorite dashboard song by a long shot. but it is part of my collection of dashboard that lives on my nano. it kind of consists of mostly every song they (they being, chris) have ever released. yes. i have a problem.

3. sweetest thing by U2. great song. great great great. i sing it loud in the car when i'm alone.

4. come pick me up by ryan adams. this song depresses the heck out of me, but for some reason, i like listening to it while i'm running. odd? yes.

5. perfect situation by weezer. i love this song because it reminds me of weezer's pinkerton album, which is my favorite weezer album of all time. it's also fun to run to. and to sing loudly. and to fist pump to. i am a great fist pumper. i'm also a master of car dance. which i do when i'm listening to this song. right. i told you i was cool.

the way i see it

1. i've been reading a lot of blogs about people wanting to lose weight. and some of these people are having trouble dropping pounds. the thing that worries me is that a lot of people are drastically cutting calories. physiologically, when your body takes in too few calories, it goes into starvation mode and holds onto whatever you feed it for fear that it won't be fed again. for real, people. so don't cut those calories back too far. just don't. it throws your metabolism all out of whack.

2. i hate the words "moist" "teddy" and "panties." there, now i never have to say them again.

3. i have to go to the eye doctor today. i hate going because it always takes too long. i've been visiting the optometrist since i was 4, and i've always hated it.

4. i don't mind going to the dentist.

5. i'm really craving fish and chips. other than the obvious (LJS), where can i get me some fried delights?

6. i sometimes enjoy saying things like "get me some" even though i know they are incorrect forms of my beloved english language.

ah.

I think I sprained my hand. I don’t recall how. I think it happened at Costco, and no, I hadn’t been drinking. I remember holding something in an awkward fashion, feeling my hand strain and then thinking “this will probably hurt tomorrow.”
Sure enough, it did hurt. It still hurts. I am a total baby.

On a higher note though, the caramel apple pie from Costco is totally worth that $7.99. It’s big enough to feed 20 or more and if you heat it up and put whipped cream on top, it’s pretty much heaven on a plate.

Speaking of hell on a plate, a few weeks ago, I made corn salsa with jalapenos and tomatoes and onions and other salsa stuff. I’m a pretty first-rate cook and it was pretty good, so I shoveled it in with hardly a breath in between bites until it hit me. The hottest feeling my mouth had ever experienced. My eyes watered, my lips were cherry red and even though I hate milk, I chugged it out of the bottle due to its pepper oil-cooling properties.

Okay, this weekend, I went to buy some jalapenos again. Only I realized that they put habaneros where the jalapenos usually go. No wonder my salsa was so hot. It was full of habaneros instead. I will never. Do. That. Again.

yes, please.

i have this problem. i love dashboard confessional. i know i'm out of their target demographic. i'm not an emo kid. i'm not even an emo early 20-something. but deep in my heart, i have a too-cool-for-school nose ring, black polished fingernails and an edgy shag haircut.

dashboard's latest offering, dusk and summer, is reason enough to be obsessed. the thing about this album though, is that it sounds totally unoriginal. but they have never sounded so good.

the alternative press says "Dusk And Summer is proof that Carrabba's ability to drop hugely emotive choruses into three-minute pop songs has become its own form of classic American songwriting."

emotive. now there's a word that meant nothing 12 years ago when these songs should have tugged on my heartstrings. but while i'm pushing 27, my heartstrings are being tugged. and it feels good.

oh, and the "emotive" duet with adam duritz was just a sweet surprise to this wanna be emo-chick.

in the silence

This summer has been a hard one. And I haven’t written about it because there are just certain things I can’t share. But in the midst of not sharing, my heart has been heavy. Like the humidity actually. Thick and stifling and causing moisture to fall where it may. So the summer has been hard, but there have been pockets of greatness. I cling to those. I have to. And it’s those pockets — those glimpses of hope and joy and conquering — that keep me going.

The funny thing, though, is that the people I typically could lean on for everything haven’t provided a shoulder this summer. Instead, I’ve found strength and encouragement from new friends and a few old ones, but not from the ones that are supposed to be there. And when I realized this, god it hurt. A lot. The past several months have arguably been the toughest I’ve ever gone through. On a bad day, you can read it on my face or in the tone of my voice or the style of my writing. Some days were like one really depressing emo song on repeat. Over and over and over. And in the thick of it all, she was too busy for me. Too busy to call or come over or to really care. And it sucked. I felt abandoned and shunned and totally let down. But now, after three full months of almost no contact, I’m healing. I’m moving on. I’m figuring out that my life is okay without. And that my life is fuller with the new. With people who add value and who teach me things. Everyday. With people who pour as much into me as I pour into them. These are the people that have helped me focus on fixing things.

I started running again. Yesterday, I ran three miles. Without stopping. And my foot didn't hurt. I ran hard and sweat a lot and it cleansed me. I took the time off, my body healed and now, I'm getting back on track and my feet are ready to take me places and my body is ready to feel "fit" again.

And I am thankful that I can start running now, when I'm taking active steps in my life to fix things. Because I plan to keep seeking sound advice. And to keep praying a lot. And I’m trusting when it seems futile and am totally ignoring that part of me that is selfish, the part that says not to trust, not to work, not to try. I’m tuning that out and I’m listening to a happier song. And I’m growing, which comes with achy growing pains. But I’m stretching and realizing that I am only in the warm-up stage. It’s almost as if my whole life has led to this moment. This chance for me to make the right decision or to make the wrong one. And I choose to make the right one. Even though it’s harder and it hurts right now. I choose it because it is what I know to be true. And I’m ready to win this race. My shoes are tied, my dry fit running tank is ready and my hair is fashioned in two pigtails - with hair bands made especially for distance running. Because, the distance before me is great, but I plan to conquer it one stride at a time.

funny for so many reasons

this is the content of my head

For the first time in my life, I’ve got nothing to say.
Other than to tell you that I am guilty of watching One Ocean View two weeks in a row.
Shameful.

to prove i'm slighlty insane

1. We keep our coffee in the freezer. Somehow, coffee grounds have gotten all over the place in there. Instead of cleaning it, I don’t let strangers look in there. You have to be a really good friend before you get freezer-opening privileges.

2. The bathroom remodel is almost finished. But to go with the shabby chic shower curtain, wainscoting and accessories, I fear I picked a drastically wrong shade of green. My neighbor told me the shade of green looks like mashed-up peas. I think it looks like baby poop. I plan to just “live with it.”

3. I’ve developed a newfound love of pickled beets. I buy a jar a week and eat them plain. Straight out of the jar. Just me, a fork and the slightly sweet, slightly salty purple yummies.

4. I just made up the word “yummies.”

5. Speaking of yummy, I was suckered into buying some of Yummy’s Choice jalapeno shatta from the grocery store this weekend. And I must say, the exorbitant $6 price is some of the best money I’ve spent lately. I can’t get enough.

6. My ringtone is currently “Don’t Wait” by Dashboard Confessional. Before that, it was “Gold Digger.” That’s right. Holla back.

7. Today, I have been listening to “Either Way” by Guster obsessively.
Tomorrow, I hope to find another deeply depressing song to propel me through my day.

exhale

I ran on Saturday. Two miles. On the treadmill. At a painfully slow pace. A pace that would have driven me crazy two months ago. Slower than everyone else on the treadmills. Slower than the people on the elliptical machines. Slower than I used to walk. But still, I ran. And I felt good and real and alive and scared all at the same time. I was afraid I’d hurt my foot again. Was I doing too much, too soon? Were my shoes good enough to protect my foot this time? What if I hurt the other one? But my foot didn’t hurt. Not during the run. Not until a few hours later. Probably a sign that I ran too soon. Probably. But my aching muscles after a short two-mile run were also a sign that it’s been too long since my last run. Two months. A roughly 60 day span that I’ve been dealing with this injury and the inability to do that which brings me joy and peace and sensibility. And so, I ran on Saturday. And I can’t tell you the last time running felt so good. So freeing. So necessary. I also can’t tell you the last time I stopped at two miles.

When I first got hurt, it felt like darkness was surrounding me. It blinded everything, shielding me from any light at the end of the tunnel. I was sure I’d lose all of my fitness, gain a lot of weight and go crazy. Instead, not being able to run taught me balance and patience and to rely on other things to get through the day like God and love and laughter. I lost all control of my physical circumstances and at first, it killed me. I was a mess and my insides felt jumbled. But then, I learned to give in. To be okay with not being in control. To live the way God intended. And it felt good and holy and real.

I’m ready to run again. This time, though, with a healthier outlook. And with the ability to stop if I have to. And to be okay with it.