On loss

Though I'm reckless and fickle, I can be a planner. I like laying out my clothes the night before, getting my concert tickets ahead of time, choosing the reason of my post instead of just 'free flow' writing it.

But sometimes planning feels instinctively wrong to me. Like wearing rubber boots with your prom dress. Or smearing ketchup on chocolate cake. Or trying to read a novel underwater. Or thinking out a planned response of sympathy to a tragic event.

I suppose the reason I can't plan what to say about Virginia Tech, is because if I tried, I would feel... silly. It's not my school, it's not my town, it's not even my country. Adding sympathy or trying to comment on something so tragic leads to me grabbing fistfuls of cliches, "I don't understand", "Everything happens for a reason", "I just don't know what to say".

I would like to say something memorable, something relatable, something that would provide my brain a moment of rest while it races through dictionaries of words and lists of quotes, but I'm just left with cliches. And then I realize, cliches are cliches for a reason. Because they give everyone who doesn't know what to say something to reach for, and in times like this, that's what people need.

I work in a college. Everyday I see kids walking through halls, ipods jammed in ears, laughing with their friends. With the approach of spring, the laughter has grown and the mood has seemed lighter- even finals haven't dampened the mood. Until now.

Today the halls are quieter. There is not less to laugh about for them- their lives still hold the same people and promise they did yesterday or the day before, but I think, I think they have been reminded of what the look of loss is, how it's painted in shades of grief and agony. And that it can be found anywhere. At anytime.

Even, in a school like their own.

So without knowing what to say, I will say this. The loss of lives at Virgina Tech has saddened not just the nation (as put by George W Bush in his speech to the students) but anyone who has ever felt like their world was secure. Who has ever felt a bounce in their step, or a reason to laugh.

It has saddened me.

And that's all I can say, on a day where I don't know what to say.

Singing to Snoop in my cardigan

Picture it: A Saturday night house party. Except, instead of being in high school surrounded by people drinking Mikes hard lemonade and wearing Ikeda jeans, I'm surrounded by working professionals drinking wine and wearing Hugo Boss. For reasons I'm still a little vague on "Gin and Juice" is being played (because really, isn't that what all accountants listen to in their spare time?).

T: Um, did you know you are singing to this song?

Me: Ah, no I'm not. I don't like this song. At all.

T: But, but you were just singing. Really.

A moment goes by. Wine is sipped, talks of a taxing tax season are overheard...

Me: Holy shit. I'm singing along. Why am I singing along?

T: I just want to know when you learned all the words. Now, would you like a glass of gin, some crack and a ho to go with your cup of cranberry juice?

Me: Shut up. Just shut up.

Comment Horror, Comment Whore

So a few days ago I posted this lovely ditty. I thought it was well said, with some interesting points written in a lovely, non-confrontational way.

I checked my email later in the day to accept those who disagreed with me and feel warm and fuzzy for those who did. I expected compliments and flowers. Disagreements but acceptance. I expected sentences that started with " Well, I don't agree but...". Instead, I got crickets.

There were no comments.

At first I thought nothing of it. I have always felt that all you bloggers secretly meet to discuss when you post, since you always do so when I least expect it. (This is frustrating since I'm always the 14th person to comment and all my "original" comments have been said already by persons 1-13). I imagine the "blogger.com" people meet in a warehouse drinking dusty kool-aid out of plastic cups and eat prepackaged foods high in sugar and low in taste. The 'wordpress.com' kids get together at a Ramada hotel and drink diet sodas out of real glasses and marvel at the pretty landscape paintings adorning every wall. And those with their own domain? They meet each dripping in diamonds and sweating in mink, via satellite- since they are all on their own yachts and phone reception is iffy.

Anyway...

So the 'no comment' thing didn't bother me. I mean, as I recently told Miss Fabulous (who herself has started her own blog), writing for comments is like, working for the man. It's prostituting greatness, and if I'm going to prostitute myself, I'm going to do it for big bucks. More bucks than the man could ever pay. (Actually, I think I just told her I didn't write for comments, and left the man out of it). I was sure that you were all busy with Easter and work and family, and the comments would come flooding in, and suddenly my world would make sense and I would once again, feel whole.

I checked back.

Nothing.

I re-read the post searching for something that would have caused you all to slap me with silence. Did I accidentally type "I believe the only good orphan is a working orphan?", or "I believe when my *grandma doesn't polish my shoes the way I like, it's a free pass to pistol whip her and kick her good hip while wearing stilettos?". Nope. I didn't say any of those things. So what the hell?

I was stumped.

Later on I started getting emails from people saying they couldn't comment. I checked back and realized I had the 'no comment' filter on. Suddenly, my world made sense again. People weren't shunning my post, they were forced to not write something. It was only when I realized this, did I fully understand how comments can really be useful, or at least nice to get once in a while. In short, I realized, I'm a comment whore.

This led me to think about all the times I read something I enjoy and don't comment. This was the last one I read on someones site that I really, truly and madly enjoyed and left without commenting. All the comments seemed to be what I was feeling, so I didn't add anything. Now I realize how important every comment is. So do I go back and comment and say 'ditto?', or do I just leave it? Sigh, I don't know. Perhaps I should invent an abbreviation for the line "I really enjoyed this post, and wish I had an original comment but I don't. But I still want you to know I enjoyed it". Perhaps this could be shown as "IRETPAWIHAOCBIDBISWYTKIEI!".

Or I could just stick with 'ditto'.

* the grandma reference was just for you e.b.

When a good run can break your heart

I have a confession. I'm a runner.

No, I'm not confessing to slipping on my pink and silver Nike's at the twilight hour and running until a thin film of sweat covers me and my body aches in appreciation of being tested. My running isn't healthy and doesn't do anything positive for my heart. I run from people. Problems. Discussions where arguments hang heavily in the air like the smell of a burnt dinner that's ruined the night.

I don't run from every argument, every person. Just the big ones. The really big ones. The ones who matter, the people that earned an explanation before the shotgun goes and my legs start. The ones who deserve you to plant your feet and have the talks you don't want to. The talks where your awkward fingers dance on tabletops giving you a focus other than someone else's apologetic eyes.

Running doesn't mean I don't say sorry. When I feel something is my fault, when I have been in the wrong, chosen the thoughtless word rather than the the thoughtful act, I apologize. And I mean it. But when someone has hurt my feelings, suddenly my only option is to throw on my sneakers and sprint to a safe spot, avoiding the hurdles that come with a healthy relationship.

Perhaps running would be fine if I wasn't the type of girl who liked to look back, but I do. I like seeing where I started, how far I've come. I need to see my progress, whether it's the distance between me and the starting line, or me and a boy who broke my heart. But lately, looking back has only shown me how little I've moved. Instead of running on an open track, where the perspective changes with each step, I've been on a treadmill- pretending. Pretending that my aches and breaks, pains and gains have been worth something, and you know what? They haven't. Running only works if you feel better from it.

I don't feel better.

So maybe it's time to hang up the sneakers and try something a little better for my health. Something that doesn't promote regret and make my heart ache in a way that only making a big mistake can. Perhaps table tennis.

* I got a few emails about people asking why they couldn't comment on the previous post. I accidently had the comment section turned off. Sorry.

Stealing Inspiration

So once again, I'm stealing an idea from Bre, because sometimes stealing is the only way I can be inspired.


Things I believe in....

I believe that "sleeping on it" always helps figure out life's big problems. Unless you are sleeping on a rock, then I'm against it.

I believe if your $15 lip gloss makes you feel like a million bucks, it's worth it.

I believe that the only thing more dangerous than a president with a narrow minded personal agenda, is a public who votes him into office. Twice.

I believe in forgiving people, not for them, but for yourself. I believe, this is easier said than done.

I believe that everyone belongs to someone.

I believe that drinking alone doesn't make you an alcoholic. Only drinking alone, maybe...

I believe that a true, honest, platonic friendship rarely can occur between a man and woman, but that it can occur. I believe I'm cynical about this because I'm much more like Harry than Sally.

I believe the hardest lesson to learn is that you can't help who you love, and trying to understand why you do, will lead to a weekly therapist appointment and a strange love affair with late night television.

I believe that you don't have to call your best friend at 3am, to prove she's your 3am friend.

I believe everyone looks prettier when they are happy and are happier when they are feeling pretty.

I believe in thank you notes, tipping even when the food wasn't great, and solo break dancing performances at weddings.

I believe that crying when your sports team loses a big game is perfectly acceptable- crying every time they lose a game, is not.

I believe in regrets, and that I'm a girl who needs to say I have them.

I believe every song sounds better live, every pie tastes better homemade and every shoe is more fabulous when it's on sale.

I believe teachers are undervalued. I believe I think this because I'm a) a teacher and b) someone who sees on a daily basis the gigantic impact a teacher has on students. I also believe that anyone who utters the phrase 'two month holiday' in regards to how easy teachers have it, has never heard the phrase ' school wide lice outbreak'.

I believe that money provides freedom, and freedom provides happiness.

I believe "I'm sorry" always sounds better than "I apologize".

I believe you can love someone more deeply and clearly than ever before, and still be the absolutely wrong person for them. I believe that knowing this, doesn't always bring comfort, in fact, it usually doesn't.

I believe that a woman should choose what she does with her body. I also believe, that abortion shouldn't be used as a form of birth control. I believe that this is a topic that needs more than three sentences to be fully explained.

I believe opening your presents on Christmas Eve is cheating.

I believe that forgiving someone doesn't mean you need to be friends with them.

I believe if someone wants to propose marriage to you, they will. I believe that asking for a proposal is asking for something I would never want.

I believe in the usefulness of interactive toys, light up games and sturdy Baby Einstein books. I also believe that an empty refrigerator box is the best gift you can give a child.

I believe that unless you voted, you haven't earned the right to complain about the government.

I believe every success I've had has been the result of a mother who gave me a truckload of confidence and an eye for great shoes.

I believe people need to let the Anna Nicole thing go. Seriously.

I believe being 'complicated' doesn't make you interesting. Some of the most fascinating people I know are those who live life simply, without the tanglements of drama.