Floating through the Drama

2009-12-09T14:53:00.001-06:00

hmmm

Beautiful Liar

2009-09-28T18:56:00.002-05:00

So, a bit ago I wrote this entry into an journal. At the time I didn't want to post it, in case the subject of this entry was reading my every move... but, I feel safe now to share... My words still ring true...

Nothing changes. People don’t change- they stay the same, just don different clothes and recite the same old tired lines with a new person. People lie. The simple fact of the matter is, you can’t change who you are- the essence of you. You can mask it, hide it, play pretend, but in the end you is you. The longer you try to hide who you really are, the worse off everyone is in the end: you and the person you’ve lied to for so long. The person who has invested so much of themselves, defined themselves, by your lies. The person who trusted, accepted, loved, appreciated and devoted so much time and energy to you. And when you fail them, they fall. Their world collapses and suddenly everything is upside down, inside out and no one can tell right from wrong. Moving forward becomes an uphill battle and the choices become clearer the more you climb… Either they will accept the “truth” (whatever that is) or they cut ties.

This is why you are alone. This is why you always will be alone. This is the fucking truth.

When someone tells you who they are- believe them. This might be the only time it’s not a lie.

Since You've Been Gone

2008-12-06T20:06:00.002-06:00

I was thinking about you today.

Not sure what brought it on, maybe the fact that it snowed or that I am thinking about Christmas. Who knows. But either way, I thought about you.

I thought about our first date. I thought about the first time you introduced me to one of your parent’s friend’s we ran into at a movie. You called me your “date” and for some reason it made me feel so adult. I remember our first kiss, the night you roped me into coaching the fraternity’s part in the college talent show, the night you locked me out and I was riding a bike through the halls of the fraternity. I remember the first night I knew you liked me, I remember you calling me repeatedly, I remember watching intramurals and cheering for you, I remember dinners at Chilis…

I remember coming home that afternoon, not knowing why there were so many messages on my white board outside of my dorm room. I remember wondering why my answering machine was full of messages.

I remember knowing you were dead before my best friend could tell me the truth.

I remember that devastation. Sinking to my knees, gasping for breath. Wondering how I had known the truth before it even came out. I remember the last time we saw each other and remember feeling probably as low as I have ever felt after you died. I remember how Amazing Grace made me sob that night- I remember the way your mom looked at your funeral- I remember the way your brother cried at your memorial.

I remember not understanding- I still don’t. I remember the anger- I’m still angry with you. I can never forgive the way you left us all here- the way you chose to leave us, without us knowing how much hurt you were going through.

As I type this post, even though it’s been almost 8 years, I remember you and my eyes get misty. You’ve forever affected me- even after all this time you’ve been gone.

Eddie

2008-11-23T18:21:00.000-06:00

I remember the first time I saw you- you tossed all of the other puppies aside just to get to us. We knew we had to have you that moment. The next few months were filled with you tearing up everything you could get your paws on- eating everything in sight, be it my shoes or your actual food. You were, and still are, terrified of baby gates. You sat in the car, us going back and forth to keep you company, when J left for Iraq. You slept next to me for years- my eternal electrical blanket. Your eyes were always sad, even when I know you’re happier than ever. You’re a kissing whore. You love fires and love the winter. You dig in the snow, break the ice, and burrow your way into a mountain of cold. You love basking in the sun. You are one of my most favorite “people” in the world.

And now I have to say goodbye to you.

I don’t know what life will be life without you there. I can’t think about it. I’m sorry I don’t know if I can be there, in the room, at the vet during your last moments. I love you so much, I can’t bear to see you go. It’s selfish. I can’t help it. I hope you know how much I love you- I always will. J will be there with you- to say goodbyes and kiss you after you’re gone.

I didn’t anticipate the overwhelming sadness I feel. It’s like losing a person- a best friend. You’ve been there for me for so long, even been there when J wasn’t. I take back every hateful word I yelled at you. I take back every time I got annoyed with your barking. I take it all back. I wish we’d done more. I wish I’d walked you every night. I wish I’d taken you to the park more. I wish I’d given you all the food you wanted- made you fat and content- instead of always worrying about your health. I wish you still slept next to me, protecting me from intruders in the night.

As I sit here, tears streaming down my face as I write this, I watch you lay beside the fire. You’re happy. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.

I love you. Always.

Heels over Head

2008-11-06T08:19:00.002-06:00

I’m such a lyrics whore. Driving to work today, listening to Boys Like Girls and suddenly I’m taking the long way, because I’m writing this blog in my head and I’m thinking about someone I knew in what seems like a lifetime ago…

“Yeah I'm the first to fall and the last to know
Where'd you go?”

I don’t know why I cared so much about you… I think I was addicted to the way you made me feel- addicted to laughing until my stomach hurt, addicted to the attention- addicted to the drama. You pulled me in until I got too close and then I, suddenly, this “thing” we’d been building was destroyed just like that. I was standing in the ashes of what I had thought was something great and you had moved on. Everything happened so fast and I didn’t know what I had done. You didn’t tell me- you said I didn’t do anything. I spent months trying to figure it out- figure out what was so wrong with me that would have made you change your mind so quickly.

“Where’d you go?”

You emailed me a few days ago, which was random since we haven’t talked since the wedding where we made small talk and felt awkward. I got over my hurt feelings and my anger a long time ago, but it still stings when I think back to how I felt that year. I hate that it turned into such a fiasco. I hate that I let it all go with you, put the blame on other people and maintained our “friendship” because I didn’t want things to be “weird” for you. I hate that I didn’t think about how awful that choice made things for me.

“Now I'm heels over head
I'm hangin' upside down
Thinking how you left me for dead
California bound”

My whole life I’ve generally jumped into my relationships and gave 100% from the beginning. I fall and I fall hard. Which is probably why I always end up with the bruises. It’s fairly easy to get in and out of relationships when you don’t care- I’ve done that, too. But overwhelmingly I care too much. Too much, too soon, I’m always “too” something… I spend my life being just a little over the top. I cry too easily, talk too loud, share too much, forget too easily, forgive too much- too too too- this list could continue forever. I’ve always found it hard to be selfish in a relationship, sometimes forgetting that I need to please ME and not just the other person. I just always want other people to be happy- that goes for all of my relationships- my family, my friends, J- pretty much everyone in my life. I’ve only just realized in the past few years that when you give all of yourself, without regard to what your needs may be, you end up emotionally empty.

Gotta love music… :)

I'm Yours

2008-10-27T16:33:00.001-05:00

Well, you done done me and you bet I felt it
I tried to be chill but your so hot that I melted
I fell right through the cracks, now I'm tryin to get back
before the cool done run out I'll be givin it my best test
and nothin's gonna stop me but divine intervention
I reckon it's again my turn to win some or learn some

But I won't hesitate no more,
no more, it cannot wait
I'm yours

Well open up your mind and see like me
open up your plans and damn you're free
look into your heart and you'll find love love love love
listen to the music of the moment people dance and sing
We're just one big family
And it's our godforsaken right to be loved loved loved loved loved

So, i won't hesitate no more,
no more, it cannot wait i'm sure
there's no need to complicate our time is short
this is our fate
I'm yours

Scooch on over closer, dear
And I will nibble your ear

I've been spendin' way too long checkin' my tongue in the mirror
and bendin' over backwards just to try to see it clearer
But my breath fogged up the glass
and so I drew a new face and I laughed
I guess what I'd be sayin' is there ain't no better reason
to rid yourself of vanities and just go with the seasons
it's what we aim to do
our name is our virtue

But I won't hesitate no more,
no more it cannot wait
I'm yours

Well open up your mind and see like me
open up your plans and damn you're free
look into your heart and you will find that the sky is yours

so please don't, please don't, please don't,
there's no need to complicate,
Cause our time is short
This, this, this is our fate,
I'm yours

In love with this song.

Why do I do it?

2008-10-26T18:57:00.001-05:00

“Why do you do it, if you hate it so much?”

This was the question posed by J during my recent, not so unpredictable freak out over an organization I run.

“Because I CARE.” I say fiercefully and am reminded of how many times those exact words have been uttered to me…

Years ago… High School Rome(eo) asked me why I stayed in an after school activity (in an effort not to offend others, even though everyone I went to high school with knows exactly what I am talking about) when it continued to make me miserable.
“ Because I have to… I made a commitment. I have to. I can’t quit.” I would say, tears running down my face, sobbing into the wee hours. I cried into Rome(eo), letting him soothe me as only he could do, accepting my decision, as he always did…
Years later the Ex asked me why I didn’t change my major to something more substantial. I did. For a semester. For him, I changed it all- changed everything about me from my appearance (no curly hair) to my major- no more theatre (despite the major freaking scholarship that brought me to my school in the first place). I left the classroom, in the middle of class, sobbing in the first week of school. I called my family first, then the head of the department I had left. I told me to get in to see him NOW. I went in and cried. And cried. (it’s what I do). I cried for what seemed like an hour until finally Dr. Amazing asked me what I wanted. I said I didn’t know… I wanted what was best for us… not what was best for me. He pointed that out. He made me see that I needed to do what I wanted… and I did. And even though I knew I was a disappointment every day we were together, I was happy, knowing I had made the choice for me.

Every choice J has helped me make has been just that- a help. He offers advice and always lets me know that choice. Is. Mine. I think he knows I need to make it. Me. Not anyone else and, whatever I decide, can’t be a disappointment.

My whole life I have feared disappointing others more than anything else. I would/ will never do anything willingly that disappoint my family. I have always desperately tried to please my partner. Rome(eo) was everything I had dreamed of. He was my best friend, an athlete and the guy that all of the girls loved. I would have done whatever he wanted. I adored every moment we shared. He continues to be a friend to this day. He came to my wedding… we’re that kind of people.

I next tried desperately to avoid being a disappointment to the Ex. I was me. Outlandish and entertaining. I loved it. I was myself all of the time- laughing our way through the relationship… until it wasn’t okay anymore… Suddenly, I was a disappointment… I was embarrassing when I made outrageous comments, jokes… when the laughter turned to me, rather than him. I wanted to change… I wanted him. I was so caught up in love that I would have sacrificed whatever part of me I needed to. My family had already gone by the waste side- a fact that brings tears to my eyes to admit… I know it never would have worked. When you have a back ground like mine- a brother who will need me forever- I need someone who loves them as much as I do. Who is as passionate about loving them as I am… He wasn’t. Plus… I wasn’t me anymore.

So, after marrying a man who puts up with all my craziness (and believe me- there is a TON of it) I find myself asking again why do I do things that drive me crazy…
Because, there are things that people do… Because we care. Because we want to as a person. And even when they suck- when it blows to be the person caring SO much about others… it’s hard. It’s hard not to get bitter. It’s hard not to want to walk away, because, you can. But now… so many years later, people question why I am doing something… and I have an answer: Because I care. Because I have to. Because other people… people who don’t know me and don’t weigh on my emotions… need me and I need them back.

Happiness is...

2008-10-25T17:37:00.000-05:00

Very few of us have moment of true happiness. Pure, immense, complete happiness. The kind that makes us want to pause the movie of our life and rewind- replay- re-feel. Charlie Brown found happiness in two kinds of ice cream. Aristotle said happiness is the meaning and purpose of life. Helen Keller said happiness is found in pursuit if a worthy purpose.

My happiness is:

J. He is my most favorite person. The end.

My family. This includes J, my half of the family, my amazing in-laws and the pups. My family makes me happier than any other people I’ve ever known. They make me smile, they build me up and refuse to let me fall. They are the most amazing people I know- the ones I cling to for now and forever.

Friendships that never grow stale. The friends you can talk to, I mean really talk to about things that matter. The friends you can tell nothing and everything to, all in the same hour long-I don’t even want to get off the phone-conversations. The ones you want to go camping with, sitting around a campfire, telling stories and laughing until your belly hurts. Those friendships make me happy.

Cooking and eating good food. And moreover, enjoying it with any of the above listed people.

Making people laugh- I mean, really laugh- at something I’ve said or done. This is enhanced when I’m completely myself, not holding back, being the “me” that I am behind closed doors. Outrageous, emotional, outspoken, sometimes inappropriate, crazy me. It’s who I am. I’m happiest when I get to be that Me.

Fall- it just makes me smile. Sweatshirts and football and fires. All things that make me want to curl up with a good (Jody Picoult is my new fix- she, also, makes me happy) book, relax and smell cinnamon bun candles that I technically didn’t need, but had to buy because, hey! It’s fall!

Doing something good for someone and not telling anyone I’ve done it. It feels more selfless and more satisfying to give of yourself, your time or your money when you don’t get anything back from it- except for that feeling you give yourself.
Mass. It fills my spirit and rejuvenates me.

A million other things are my happiness, it would just take too long to write them.

But, all this being said, I agree with Charlie Brown- two kinds of ice cream. Pistachio and Peppermint are my favorites. What can I say? I’m not a vanilla girl. Never have been and never could be.

Common Denominator

2008-10-17T09:26:00.001-05:00

Someday you might want to evaluate why you are always surrounded by drama and why your friendships come and go as fast a revolving door.

Maybe it’s not everyone else all the time-

after all, the common denominator is you.

This is the truth...

2008-10-14T07:14:00.002-05:00

Nothing changes. People don’t change- they stay the same, just don different clothes and recite the same old tired lines with a new person. People lie. The simple fact of the matter is, you can’t change who you are- the essence of you. You can mask it, hide it, play pretend, but in the end:

you is you.

I am the pumpkin king.

2008-10-14T06:33:00.001-05:00

If I were a superstitious person, today I would have turned around and went back to bed.

I woke up and took the pups outside for their morning bathroom break only to discover both street lights on my street were out. Odd, I thought. Next, I got in my car to drive to school and as I passed under 2 different lights, they went out above me. I consider this to be a sign of bad luck. And what are the chances of that happening twice in one morning?

As I am walking up to school I spot something ahead of me, just to the left of the sidewalk. Small, furry, adorable and, that’s right, black. A black freaking cat. I see it and laugh a little because, of course, a black cat is going to cross in front of me, cross my path, if you will. As I approach the kitten doesn’t move and I think to myself ‘see? No bad luck… all in your head.’ Puss interrupted my thoughts by running like hell back to her supposed home, just to my right.

Got to school a full hour before the library opens to get my favorite study room. Taken. But of course, why wouldn’t it be? *sigh*

I’ll let you know if I have to pass under any ladders…

Hunger Pains.

2008-10-13T14:15:00.007-05:00

"No food tastes as good as being thin feels."

Ah, my old motto. I heard it today pass from the lips of a nameless stranger in a store. It escaped this womans collagened lips and passed through the air, finally settling in the pit of my aching stomach. As I turned the words over in my head I realized at some point that this could never have been my motto... because it's never been true for me.

I adore food. I love to eat. And I have never felt thin. No matter how slim my body may ever appear, I don't think I will ever feel thin. I truly believe in my heart of hearts that I will always feel fat. I don't know how to fix that. And I don't know that any amount of therapy, food, starvation, binging or purging can ever change the way my mind works.

I know that you, my dear reader, may tire of me constantly discussing such boring and trivial subjects as food and my body image. However, what's even more tiresome is that these are the thoughts that invade my mind at any given moment of the day. Food- or lack thereof- controls my life. My universe revolves around it.

I now invite you to share a day in the brain of Kellie:

Wake up. What will I eat for breakfast? I think about this as I shower. I've started to do my morning sit ups again and all the while, I think about food. Staring at my stomach I vow it will be egg whites and whole wheat toast. Maybe an apple. No- scratch that- apple=carbs=my fat stomach. Protein please. It's been decided. I shower.

Post shower I lather my body with every ridiculous beauty product and then I examine. I look fat in nothing. I've discovered this as of late. I would like a tummy tuck. This has been decided as well. I hate my dry skin in the summer. I hate the red blotches that appear in random places in my skin. I hate growing my hair out. I like my smile, but hate the newest crows feet which have stomped beside my eyes... And so it continues.

After I dress I eat breakfast. Breakfast at this point depends on what I am having for lunch. If it will be carby- no carby for breakfast. Never sugar. I love/hate sugar.

Go to school.

Insert hours of thinking about when I can eat. And if I should eat what I brought (90% I bring my lunch- I can't handle the temptation of going out to eat) or... go out to eat. I always choose to eat what I brought- turkey sandwich or Lean Cuisine, or I grab a turkey sandwish on whole wheat from the deli... If I forgot/didn't have time to bring my lunch, I then resort to the trusty internet. On the internet I can look up the nutritional value of every fast food item. This is why I used to order taco supremes at taco bell- no meat- no sour cream. Yes, folks I used to eat a crunchy taco shell (less calories than the soft) filled with lettuce, cheese and tomatos.

Are you kidding me?

Dinner is the hardest meal. It's home cooked under my husband's watchful eye. I eat what I make and I think about what it's going to be all day until I get there- vowing to eat only a spoonful of the things that I shouldn't be eating- mashed potatos, stuffing, etc. I'm a sucker for dinner. I tend to overeat and then hate myself for it.

The rest of the night is spent trying not to snack. I love snacking while I watch whatever reality television show is on the idiot box. After this battle is over (I generally lose) I go to bed.

And then start all over again.

That. is. pathetic.

This is my life. Post-ED and all "recovered."

This is so not normal.

2L life is... slow.

2008-10-12T09:50:00.002-05:00

This year is passing at a snail’s pace. Last year was a blur of stress, confusion, motivation and a lot of determination. This year is harder. My motivation is lower, when it should be higher- I see the light at the end of the tunnel- I have a job with a firm I fell in love with. I want to work harder, but I miss those parts of myself I lost a little bit last year. I missed coming home to spend the evening with J and Eddie and Lizzy. They make me smile when all else feels lost. I missed writing and reading books that make me stay up until 4am just because I need to finish. I missed going “home” on weekends and dorking around with my friends and family. I missed spending Saturday with friends and college football Saturdays (WE ARE PENN STATE!!!!) and Colts Sundays (we’ll get it together…). I missed so much last year and this year, well, I don’t want to miss anything. This year I’m “missing” going out to the bars. I’ve “missed” drinking and losing half of my Saturday and Sunday because I feel like crap. I’ve “missed” stressing until I’m in tears, and waking up in the middle of the night because I still don’t know what was going on in Contracts. Friendships have changed, some have stayed the same, and some barely even exist anymore. And, in all honestly, I think I’m okay with it. I learned a long time ago that people come and go and the people who want to stay in my life and are the friendships worth fighting for. The others might not have truly existed in the first place.

So, this year I plan to work hard, but I’m not giving up my life. I refuse to give everything of myself and feel hollow, even when I see the “A”s when we get grades. It’s weird though- I’ve had a lot of fun and don’t they say “time flies…”????

Apparently law school didn’t get that memo.

Untitled

2008-08-26T16:34:00.001-05:00

I want to pour out my mind
onto a leaf of paper,
as you have poured out
your heart on my plate.
so you could see what
makes me sane-
or reverse,
and like or despise me
at your cost- validly.
but lately I've been thinking (surprise)
enough to fill a novel
but far too little to write,
so I can't describe to you
why I shoved it away.
put in a box and left it.
and you've given me nothing-
nothing to go on...to allow me to see why
you do it so well.
all I will know is that it's endlessly beautiful
-that broken validity-
that I cannot express.

Same time, next year

2008-08-26T16:20:00.001-05:00

Another year has gone by and here I am, sitting, the night before law school classes are up and running, and I realize I never blog.

I kept word this year and managed to write... a little... The old book is in reworks/rewrites/wtf-was I thinking when I wrote this. The new book is trash, floating in my recycle bin. I'll get to it. I really will.

Check back this time next year.

Life is... content. I am full of wishing right now. I wish I got to church more often, wish I understood antitrust, wish J would get that call we're waiting on, wish I was more creative with my dinner plans, wish fall would finally just get here already. Wish. Wish. Wish. Despite all of these wishes, I think everything seems to be going pretty well.

J and I welcomed a new addition to our little family this summer... a little girl. Her name is Lizzy and she has black hair. Her eyes are huge and her face all wrinkles. I can hear her crying in her room right now as I sit typing this blog. She's adopted from China... as she is a Chinese Pug.

Super cute. I'm in love.

Still battling the law school dragon (can anyone believe I actually own a book called "slaying the law school dragon"? It's for sale... anyone? Bueller? Bueller? Yeah, didn't think so). Still trying to balance my life as a student/friend/puppy mama/wife/child etc...

I have wrinkles. They're new. I discovered them this summer. "Crows Feet" I think you call them. Humph.

Other than that... nothing new from us...

What's up out there blog world?

Why do I like Miley Cyrus?????

2008-08-19T18:15:00.001-05:00

I probably shouldn't say this
But at times I get so scared
When I think about the previous
Relationship we've shared...

don't judge me. don't you dare.

Truth

2008-06-15T14:20:00.003-05:00

I love for people to read my blog. If I didn't I wouldn't put it all out there, let alone direct people to this link, via facebook, myspace, whatever. But here's the thing...

The thing is... well, there are several things. There are things I want to write about, but not sure I'm ready to share. For a lot of different reasons. The first of many is that there are certain parts of my life I like to keep separate. Again, for a lot of reasons. The least of which is that I don't want my personal life to affect my professional life as an attorney. I don't want to post something out there for my colleagues to read- to judge me- to make assumptions about the kind of person I am, or at least the kind of person they think I might be. Because I'm not so one dimensional that a single issue defines who I am.

I worry about judgment. I know I shouldn't and I get told that everyday. "Who cares what they think?" I do.(n't).

I don't know if I do.

I want to be honest. Put all of me out there for everyone to see and know. Be myself, but instead I find myself making excuses. Unnecessary. Ridiculous. Excuses. They sound fake in my head and even more unconvincing on my tongue. I spit them out like fire, hoping they'll stick to what they land on, burn into the brain of the people I'm with before they have time to consider the evidence.

I worry about myself. I worry that I'll let too loose. I worry I'll trust someone too much. Tell the wrong person the wrong thing and then bam. It's out there. I'll be left trying to gather it all in, like oil. The more I grab, the more it gets spread around and no matter how hard I try to clean it up, there's always a trace. A thin, slick layer of truth that can never be wiped clean

It can only last so long anyway. Real truth- the kind that seeps from your pores- it comes out and as much as you might want to hide it, it's there, whether you like it or not. The real question is- will I be ready when it escapes?

The Blind Leading the Blind

2008-05-13T20:02:00.001-05:00

So, my husband, J, has been having trouble with his eyes. No, not like pink eye or like any other eye infection I’ve ever experienced (aka no pussy, sealed shut eyes seeping onto his pillow, stuck shut, have to hold a wash cloth on them just to get them open- eyes. Goo, huh?). I’ve been jokingly calling him Popeye, as he has been keeping one eye or the other shut most of the time, giving him the oh-so-sexy Popeye the Sailor Man. (But I’m definitely no Olive Oil). Light causes pain, his eyes hurt, they’re super red and blood shot all of the time and he’s getting headaches. Today he called me and said he needed an eye appointment asap, and then he was sent home, due to the fact that he had blurred vision and was experiencing double vision. And, although I can think of nothing more appealing than two of me- this was concerning. After him driving home when he shouldn’t have (and almost got into an accident because of his, oh you know, LACK OF VISION!), we heading straight to the ER.

Ah, the ER.

Classy place this ER. First of all, I’m not a snob, but I don’t love the stink of people. Of Stinky People, that is. And the waiting room smelled like B.O. And that, dear readers, goos me out. So, I was thankful when we were buzzed back to the ER room without having to wait for too long. However, this is where the real trouble began.

We had a resident, which I would normally be a-okay with that. I mean, come on. I would put my life in the hands of the likes of Dr. Christina Yang, Dr. Izzie Stevens and Dr. Meredith Grey. Dr. Karev might be a stretch, but we would have welcomed him compared to the Dr. we got- Dr. WTFamIdoing.

Dr. WTF entered the room and was confused from the get go. J and I continued to correct him and add on Js symptoms. He wasn’t sure how to operate the chair. The ER chair. You know the one- goes up down, back forth… yeah.

Next he was unsure of how to put the dye into J’s eyes. I knew he was confused when he allowed the incredibly bright light to shine in Js eyes (despite J telling him that bright light caused his pain to worsen…) and took about 5 minutes to try to figure out the eye dropper. Yeah. He put the dye in Js eyes and then we moved onto the eye exam.

Yeah. No we didn’t. He. Didn’t. Know. How. To. Adjust. The. MACHINE. Lucky for him, J, the blind patient managed to point out the levers that moved the machine. In fact, J figured out how to turn on the next incredibly bright light Dr. WTF would shine in his eye, while he looked uncomfortable and confused. Dr. WTF then informed us he wanted another Dr’s opinion. He sounded very confident. “I’d just like another dr. to take a look at this.” Dr. WTF said, before making his exit.

We sat. We made shadow puppets. We made music on our empty Sprite bottle. A nurse came in, outing Dr. WTF with the information that he was just a resident and went to find the attending to help him. Yeah. We actually had thought he was an intern- yikes. Dr. WTF rejoined us with Dr. I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit, who spoke so quickly, showing Dr. WTF how to put drops in and move the machine around. Neither one of them looked at J for more than 10 seconds. Then they both left. Dr. WTF promised to return soon, he just “needed to check on something.”

They never returned. An hour later we used the emergency button to page the nurse, who then came over the loudspeaker in the room (about 10 minutes later) to ask what the problem is. I wanted to be an ass. “Oh nothing, my husband just went into cardiac arrest, but you know, whenever you guys get a sec.”

Instead J spoke. “Uh, well, we’ve just been sitting here for an hour and the doctor hasn’t returned.” He said, calmly. (I love this about J, he stays calm even when he should be reloading). She paused. “Yeah, well I think your paperwork’s been up here.. I’ll check on this.” Another ten minutes later another nurse with a great bedside manner (sarcasm here, please) came in with a prescription for an eye cream we still pretty much know nothing about to treat an ailment of which has yet to be diagnosed all signed by a doctor who pulled a Houdini on us. Brilliant.

So, we now have to go to our eye doctor to figure this mess out. J can’t drive or really see and we have to try to get this taken care of tomorrow.

Luckily I am sure this little evening out will only cost us a few hundred.

Gotta love the ER.

Beautiful Broken Things

2008-05-10T10:55:00.004-05:00

It's the broken beautiful things...
shattered glass spiriting a window
reflecting each light ray.
A prism of light becoming an
unexpected rainbow...
a crack in the ceiling to watch the stars
and the raindrops that leak through,
seemingly blue and green, like droplets
from the ocean...
the sculpture's feature-
defining crack of an egg shell.
a broken record-
beautiful symphony of broken people
authentic and venerable repeating their music
over and over
demanding us to hear...
how fragile...
like a glass-blown vase.

And me.
these are the beautiful broken things.

Smudged

2008-05-10T10:35:00.003-05:00

I drew my plans on the sidewalk
with... what else?
Side walk chalk.
With pinks and purples
I sketched my life-
plotted how our paths would cross.
I wiped my brow in
the hot summer heat,
careful not to drip
on my masterpiece.
But as soon as I'd finished
the cloud came by
and she dripped great teardrops
onto my canvas from under her
cloudy grey eyes.

And the colors swirled

and the picture changed

and I saw a new plan unfolding
in a hot summer rain.

I felt your hand on my shoulder
and your lips on my neck
I kissed you in the rain
as we stood in a puddle of what I had sketched-
our watercolored future

We waited for it to dry
to see what it might reveal.
And even though we couldn't make it out
it was more beautiful than I'd dreamed.
it was real.

Serenity

2008-05-08T23:58:00.001-05:00

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

I say this prayer every day, sometime multiple times a day. Every time I want to make a decision which I know is a bad one, one that could impact my life today, tomorrow and always, I say this little prayer. It’s true what they say- live one day at a time. It’s hard to look at yourself- look hard at the person you are, seeing all your flaws (I have so many) and all of your mistakes and trying to make a change. I’ve changed so much in my life. I joked all through finals, calling myself a shape shifter (mostly because I like to say it in this funny voice), but it rings true. I’ve morphed so many times in my life, most of the time trying to fit into the mold I’ve poured myself into.

I grew up Poor Girl in Richtown. My friends were all wealthy, lived in gated communities or had a mansion with a gate (nevermind that half of the rooms in their too-big-houses were without furniture because mommy and daddy were living paycheck to paycheck). The kids I grew up with had brand name underwear (Victoria’s Secret at age 9) and cell phones before cell phones were popular. They belonged to the yacht club, which always made me laugh, as we lived in freaking Indiana. A friend from high school left to SAIL AROUND THE WORLD. Who does that? Except for the kids on Gossip Girl (a guilty pleasure which is a recent development). I spent so much time from the outside looking in at these girls, with their highlights and perfect hair. I had a perm. I thought the perm was a good look.

It was not.

I grew up, wanting so badly to be everything they were: Rich, thin and popular. I did everything I could. I cringed when my parents bought me something from Wal-Mart or Target and saved my money to buy a short from Bebe or Abercrombie. I would go to the mall with my friends and quietly head for the sales rack as nonchalantly as I could. I’d keep the clothes for years, trying to make them still look new and fashionable. I don’t know why I cared. By high school I had managed to befriend these beautiful creatures they called “girls” at my high school. I had a boyfriend. I was well-liked. I was finally “happy”- I had “morphed.” But into what, exactly? A girl who yelled at freshman who looked at her wrong? A girl who stood by while her friends criticize and put down others? A girl who had nothing nice to say about anyone at all, because no one else seemed to either? Morphed. I remember driving to graduation with two girls I called my “friends” in a too-expensive-for-an-18-year-old-to-drive convertible, top down, three manes of product filled hair in the air. I remember thinking I’d finally made it- I’d morphed into who I’d always wanted to be.

I went to a state school, funded half by my parents and half by me (I’d been working since 14- despite the fact that NONE of my friends had jobs!). I morphed again. And again. And again. I feel like I’ve changed so much and so often I lose sight of who the real me is/was. She was there. During each change, she was there. It just amazes me how different a person can be looking back.

There are things about myself that I don’t like. At all. And I know I’m supposed to love myself, but there are parts of me that I just can’t seem to love.

I hate that I get drawn into gossip. I hate that I still seek approval from peers who don’t mean shit in the long run. I hate that I get self conscious, wondering if people are looking at me or talking about me. I hate that I eat too much/too little and can’t find a balance in between. I hate the person I become after too many drinks. I hate that I made a decision to quit drinking and people make me feel like crap about it (that one goes out to an acquaintance after finals at Flanagans). I hate that I can’t keep house for anything. I hate that I am constantly saying “I’m going to do this better” and then never seem to. I hate being so G.D. self aware that I notice all of my flaws all of the time and can’t let myself overlook them, even for a second. I hate that I am up at 1am, wanting to write on my second book (yes, it’s a miracle, I’ve even started it, too!!!) and all I can do is sit here and blog about my shortcomings.

God… grant me the serenity…

Foot Massage

2008-05-08T19:43:00.004-05:00

It's been raining for two days now. Light rain, mostly, with not a peep of my favorite spring thunder and lightening. Not that lightening "Peeps" but you get the point. I stepped in puddles today and not because I was being free-crazy-child Kellie. Nope, just running through the rain and BAM! Suddenly my entire foot is down beneath and sea and my bedazzled (okay, not really bedazzled, but strikingly close) shoe is soaked. Which forced me to walk around barefoot for the rest of the day.

This didn't bother me until halfway through my massage tonight. As I lay under the thin sheet, smelling lovely and listening to New Age-Whatever, it hit me. Soon my masseuse would get to my feet. My potentially dark feet. Potentialy dirty feet. I wanted to sit up. Shout at her "STAY BACK! DON'T TOUCH!" The sad part is that the foot massage is one of my favorite parts of a massage. No, I don't have a foot fetish. I, in fact, hate feet. I hate my own and therefore, I pretty much hate everyone else's as well. I allow only trained professionals and J to rub my feet. The list is limited. But, this being said, I enjoy a good foot rub. My feet virtually always hurt, so i look forward to this part of the massage. But not today. I was dreading it. What would she think? Would she not rub them? I lay, frustrated on my stomach, naked and vunerable and possibly dirty.

"Relax." She said, as she worked on my lower back. I tried, but all I could think about were feet. I tried to listen to the waves splashing from the stereo, as she worked her way down my legs. I sucked in my breath as she got to my feet. She must have heard me.

"Tickleish?" She asked.

"No." I managed to say. She began to rub. I gave in. Let her think I'm dirty. Let her think I don't bathe. Who cares- I'm not paying her to judge me. Why would she judge my anyway? I thought in a huff.

After my massage was over and she had slipped out of room I lay there for a moment, eyes readjusting to the room, dreading that an hour had slipped by so quickly.

Then I pulled my leg up like a gymnast and checked out the bottoms of my feet.

Clean.

Whew, that was close.

What I am....

2008-04-15T18:25:00.004-05:00

I'm neurotic.
I'm passionate.
I'm insatiable.
I'm a foodie.
I'm too sensitive.
I'm loud.
I'm a person with a lot of things wrong with her.
I'm intelligent.
I'm sore every morning I wake up until I fall asleep at night.
I'm a writer.
I'm a singer.
I'm a dancer- or at least I used to be.
I'm a person who cries a lot.
I'm mellow.
I'm hyper.
I'm in love with my husband and our families.
I'm spiritual, but not spiritual enough.
I'm working on that.
I'm introspective, but outgoing.
I'm insecure.
I'm confident.
I'm chubby.
I'm recovering.
I'm a lover and a fighter.
I'm a cook.
I'm 32 flavors and then some. ;)
I.
am.
a.
work.
in.
progress.

If

2008-04-07T19:49:00.002-05:00

If I pressed you for answers
to the questions we don't ask
would you respond with a smile
or a sprint?

Maintenance level: High

2008-04-02T08:16:00.006-05:00

Stephanie Klein notes that you are either a bath girl or a shower girl. It’s like being a cat person or a dog person. Baths imply luxury, “me time,” soaps, bath salts and bubbles. All things girl are poured into a bath. Candles and music are a must, and reading my candlelight. Exfoliating, leg shaving, re-moisturizing and pumice stones invade the bathroom, along with more smells than Emeril’s kitchen… (mmm… Emeril)… I sort of have a crush on him... weird.... anyway...

Showers are efficient. The occasional loofah and delicious smelling soap are the only indulgences in a shower. Exfoliation? Who has time. Showers are for morning, when you’re rushing to get out the door and your Too-Much-Money-Latte-Hold-the-Cream-Add-the-Mocha-Hold-The-Eggnog-whatever. Showers at night are because you feel gross or want to save time in the morning. Showers are practical.

I’m a half breed. Showers in the morning, baths at night. I never knew that my liking for baths was indicative of the fact that

I. am. High. Maintenance.

The dreaded two little words words. High Maintenance. No one wants to be high maintenance, even girls who admit to it. Sure, they may own up "I'm high maintenance, so what... if he doesn't want to deal with it, he's not worth my time." But seriously. This is just a defense- an attitude developed over a period of time to protect against the judgment of others- the men who just won't deal with it- the guys who never call back. It's like making a joke about being fat before someone else can. Protection. We all do it. We thrive on it. Survival of the fittest right?

So now I realize that my affinity for bath beads and fizzy bath bombs might be a warning sign (in pink) above my head “BATH GIRL- STAY AWAY!” HIGH MAINTENACE- WARNING!

But...

I like baths. I like warm water, swirled in pink, dusted glitter and scenting with roses. I like the quiet, the candles (note: every woman looks better in candlelight- it's a fact), the pampering.

I like to be pampered. I like fine dining. I like little dogs. I like taxis to subways and subways to buses. I actually hate buses. A lot. I like steaks, but hate burgers. I like wine, but hate cheap liquors. I like nice clothes (not that I ever get to wear them), shoes and expensive make up. I demand attention- all of the time- from everyone. And after enjoying all of these things... I like baths.

High Maintenance.... damn yo. When did that happen?

"Class"y Gal

2008-04-01T10:02:00.005-05:00

I'm thinking about taking a class.

Yeah, I am perfectly aware that me, Kellie, as a law student, who spends all of her time in class, should be avoiding class as a whole, all together-get-me-the-hell-outta-here.

But, that's just not me. I'm thinking about taking a writing class. I have never jumped in and taken one, but it's always something I have wanted to do. I am nervous of my surroundings... is this "city" in which I live large enough to have a small community of writers? I assume so.

I was thinking about D.C. the other day. My friends and my apartment. Sitting on the balcony, writing as I looked out over the city. My girlfriends, martini bars, book club, theatre, museums.

I'm ansy. I want to get my creativity back on track. I can't wait for warmer weather. J and I sitting outside, reading and writing and enjoying the night.

I'm tired of being stagnant.

Put your thoughts on paper

2008-03-28T22:16:00.003-05:00

I miss writing.

Strike that… I miss writing about things I actually want to write about. People and places and things that spark my emotion and ignite creativity. Memories and ex-lovers and passion and I-Just-watched-another-sex-in-the-city-for-the-hundreth-time-and-think-I’m-Carrie-Bradshaw moments. I miss carrying a notebook with me, for moments that strike me, for thoughts so fleeting that if I don’t bother to write them down right then, they’re gone forever (I recall some analogy I thought brilliant analogizing myself to a salt shaker… I didn’t write it down… another brilliant thought lost forever… sigh).

The ironic part is, I’m writing all the time. Writing about the ADA and my fake ass client and his fake ass claim against his fake ass employer. Writing. Re-writing. Researching. Re-researching. I’m pouring myself so far into reading and writing about the law and other people’s lives, I’m forgetting to feed the aspects of my own that make me whole. The aspects that inspire thought and creation. The thinking outside of the box. The writing that brings me to tears or laughter or any-emotion-but-boredom.

I need to feed my spirit. I’ve realized this as of late. Cleanse myself from the impurities- be that alcohol or gossip or craptastic fast food that has piled around my middle, ass and thighs. These are the things I can do without. ("come on"... sorry... bad joke... moving on)

I don’t want to go out to bars. I don’t want to hear “friends” talk about other “friends.” I don’t want taco bell.

(… okay… maybe a little…)

I was peace. Quiet. Solitude. I like the sound right now in my house… Eddie asleep on his (waaaaaaay too expensive) bed in the corner of the room. I’m sitting in J’s grandpa’s easy chair by the fireplace. J is next to me, writing as well. Normalcy. The sound of fingers hitting the keyboard, the way J rubs his face when he’s thinking- covering his mouth, as if to hold the thoughts and words from escaping before he gets them down on “paper.” This is who we are. And I love it.

I love us.

I love this night.

Breakable

2008-03-05T18:49:00.001-06:00

Ingrid Michaelson sings

“Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?
Just a cage of ribbons and other various parts.
So it’s fairly simple to cut right through the mass
and to stop the muscle that makes us confess.”

Indeed. We are just breakable girls and boys.

“you fasten my seatbelt,
Because it is the law.
In your two ton death trap,
I finally saw
A piece of love in your face
That bathes me in regret
Then you drove me to places
I’ll never forget.”

This song resonates with me, for some reason. I think everyone should download it. Listen to it. Love it.

I love her.

The end.

Of

2008-02-29T15:59:00.003-06:00

Law school is eating my brain.

Maybe my soul, too, but definitely my brain.

I sat here today, staring at my Emanuel's for Contracts and couldn't think of a way to continue writing my outline. Numbers and letters jumbled together and I didn't want to read or write anything anymore.

Instead, I cleaned my house. My hands smell like lysol and pledge (lemon scented, of course). My head hurts from fumes and my back from vaccuming and hauling the vaccum up and down the flights of stairs. My kitchen is spotless again. My floors are mopped. My bathroom shiney.

And now, here I sit.

Staring again at Mr. Emanual and his damn contract.

I started to write and couldn't remember how to spell "of"

Ov?

Uv?

UH-VVVVVVVVV

This stupidity caused my realization.

Law School is eating my brain.

Two Little Girls

2008-02-19T14:06:00.002-06:00

two-thirty in the morning, and my gas tank will be empty soon- neon sign on the horizon rubbing elbows with the moon...

Untouchable Face.

The first song I listened to by Ani. We listened to it in your pickup truck, while we were both depressed over someone or another (one of the million “loves” we were so sure about at 17). We spent weekends driving around in a red truck- singing too loudly- drinking beer out of a Kool Aid container from your sister’s graduation party. We’d roll down the windows and confess where we thought we’d be and where we wanted to end up. We both were going to be actresses- together- in New York city. We were going to live together and be random and crazy all the days of our life. We’d fall in love with some man- an artist- who’d drive us crazy with his introspection- a wall street broker- who’d drive us crazy with his suits and plans. We’d always have each other- even when we didn’t have them.

We were crazy together. Insane, emotional, wild girls who flew by the seat of our pants. We never committed to anything- if we showed up we did, or we’d get lost wandering through an empty house we climbed through the window to get in, or lost in the back streets getting to your parent’s greenhouse. I hit your mailbox so many times that the numbers no longer stand up straight if you touch them. We honked every time we drove by each other’s house- along with the other friends we planned to have forever.

You were depressed when I went to school. I missed my partner in crime- my best friend who really got me. Time went on. You moved away. We moved a part. Our lives crossed sporatically, but now exist in two different parts of these United States. We’re both, ironically, doing the same thing, though- married and law students. Still connected in some way.

And every time I listen to Ani, I think of you.

Acadia's Calling

2008-02-10T19:50:00.001-06:00

J and I are planning our yearly vacation. Last year, we had to use his vacation time for moving, and we had planned an amazing trip to Maine (my fav state to visit).

So, this year we plan to pull the plan back and out hit up Acadia for a week. Amazing.

I've been looking at pictures online and getting more and more excited. This excitment is tempered by the fact that if J has to deploy, the trip will be canceled again.

There are times when I miss J being active duty. When we had some sort of timeline, and the questions of will he or won't he were when he's instead. Oh well- I suppose I mostly have to just keep my fingers crossed and hope it works out for the best (as if any of us knows what that is).

But for now... Acadia calls... :)

Rexy-Rific

2008-02-03T08:02:00.002-06:00

So, in recent weeks the subject my old friend Rexy (as in, you know, Ana...) has popped up into conversation. People laugh and are, admittedly, a bit uncomfortable when they look at some of my old photos. They are even more uncomfortable when I tell them how fat I felt back then. Today, tomorrow and always, I suppose. I look at the pictures now and wish with everything I am that I looked like that again. Sick- maybe. But what is even more insane is that mere fact that I know, deep inside, that if I was that bobble-headed girl again I'd still feel the way I do. Everyday.

For example, in editing and reviewing my blog, I ran across this... At 5'6 and 110 pounds, this is what I had to say for myself:

"Boney.

I was called boney last night. I don't know that I have ever been called boney. I have been called "portly" by a woman fitting me for a dance costume. "The portly girls will have to wear these" she said to the other seamstress. She obviously operated under the assumption that our "portliness" crept into our chubby ear canals, causing deafness. As if standing half naked wasn't bad enough at age 12... it felt like a scene from a TBS movie- the girl pledging the sorority, standing naked while her sisters circled the fat on her body with a sharpy.

I never joined a sorority.

I lucked out in junior high to not develop a nickname, like some of the other fat girls. No one made jokes about an earthquake coming down the hall, or tease me about what I ate for lunch. This was because I was well liked, I suppose. As well-liked as anyone felt in the hell that is junior high school. But this didn't stop my girlfriends from singing "1-800-94-Jenny" to me whenever they decided I was not cool for a week. I hated those weeks. I was banished to the table of too fat girls. Or too skinny girls. Too smart girls sat at the table next to us. Too poor girls next to them. But they all had one thing in common... they were all too something to be anything. I spent most of junior high hoping one of my so called friends would develop a thyroid condition causing them to balloon into the good year blimp, thus cementing my position with my friends.

High School I was "average." Medium. I would hear that the average size of a woman in America is a size 10. I was a size 10. I was normal. No one called me portly. Jenny Craig's theme song didn't ring in my ears. But no one called my thin either. Never petite, but at least I had a boyfriend. And having a boyfriend in high school is a must have accessory and any girl who denies it is lying or single.

College brought freedom and pizza. Friendship and China Express at 2am. Hook ups and Hot Dog Man. And then I got fat again. But of course no one called me anything at this time. But we all knew the facts. I was the fat girl again. Beautiful girls always have a token fat friend. That way they can go out and be assured that they will get all of the attention. Wingmen look at the fat friend and cringe a little. They know their fate for the night is with that porky girl. Entertaining her and making her forget her fatness, melting it away with his flirting and allowing her inner thin, confident woman to emerge. The illusion is ruined when she goes home alone, or, if enough alcohol was involved in the evening, goes home with her suitor, only to wake up to an empty bed. This is the way of the 20 somethings. And please don't hatemail me, random chubby girl who found my page. I'm not saying it's right. I'm saying it's true.The truth... sucks. Hurts too. But mostly sucks.

Now, I was lucky enough to have a boyfriend in college as well. I have always had a boyfriend. I have not been single since high school. This is not the rants of a girl desperate for a boy to like her. However, had I been single when I turned 21 and began to go to the bar scene, the above would have been my fate. I felt it. I felt the looks when we went to a party and the dancing began. My friends had a line behind them of guys who wanted to dance with them. All I can say is thank god for the BSU football/basketball boys at these parties. They danced with me because girl can dance. They didn't try to hook up with me, but I never failed for dance partners either.

So none of my friends commented on my weight. My professors did. They told me I was fat. They just phrased it differntly. As I gained weight my dance teacher urged me to come to the studio more for workouts on my technique. They suggested trips to the gym because I just didn't "Look like I felt confident" in my body. They forced me to take off my baggy sweats in dance class, to look at my body in my leotard and tights in the mirror every day. Suggestions about a diet were made. I knew they thought I was fat. They just didn't want to be mean. They might as well have been.

I remember going to the gym and getting on the scale there. As I read the number 185lbs I felt lightheaded. How did this happen? Where was the medium 135lbs girl I had come to college inhabiting? Apparently she was sitting at her table at Greeks Pizzaria inhailing food. The fat girl was out again. And she was on a roll... with extra butter please.

I suck at dieting. I don't know how to do it. I either restrict to ridiculous proportions or I binge and purge. I started my form of a diet: 10 grapes. 1 bite of pasta salad. No dressing. No mayo. I looked around my girlfriends and recognized that many of them were doing the same as me. They took trips to the bathroom following a mean, they barely touched their food. They worked out non-stop and examined their flaws in the mirror in dance. I watched them and was determined to keep up. It was fun, in a way. I felt normal. Like what we were doing was okay. My weight began to drop and I saw results. Fast results. And that's what we all like. Get the job done, no matter what it takes. That's the way of the world.

I entered a therapy program 2 years later. Intense and difficult I began taking my steps towards recovery. Carrie was my couselor and I adored her. At this point people called me "thin." Not too thin though. But at least it wasn't portly, or even average. I was finally down to 130lbs and on a 5'6 frame I suppose that is thin...ner. But I never looked unhealthily thin. For a long time that was just another failure. To have an eating disorder and not even do that right. It only fed my insecurities.

So to hear the word "boney" as I sat in my size two pants last night come out of my friends mouth was... I can't think of an adjective. It felt like a lie. Like when a fat girl asks you if she looks fat. You always say no. Even when it's a yes. And calling me boney felt like a lie. My friend that I hadn't seen in years asked me if I was eating. Again, it felt like a lie. I hope that someday I can look at my body in the mirror and not feel like I am in the fun house at the state fair, looking in the stretchy mirrors that makes your body look wider than it is. I'd like to love what I see reflected there.

I'd like to see me through others eyes. Because I truly have no idea what I look like."

Ground Hog's Day

2008-02-01T09:03:00.001-06:00

As Ground Hog's approaches, I remember my old Ground Hog's Day...

This is my Ground Hog's Day scene that plays on any given work day...

The UPS man comes in, asks me out, I say no and then he leaves. This man never tires of asking, even though the answer is always the same. Sometimes the conversation lasts longer...

"Would you set me up with one of your friends?" he asks, referencing to the array of pictures I have on my desk of my young and beautiful friends.
I smile.
"They'd eat you alive, Tom."

And it's true.

"What about you?" he winks. I hate winks. "If you were single."
"I'd still say no." I laugh, even though I'm not kidding, a habit I picked up from my grandmother. Smile when you're breaking their hearts- makes it sting more.

"You're just saying that because you can't tell me the truth." he winks again. I wonder if he has a twitch. "It's just dinner. A burger, some fries, maybe a beer."

"Then I'd definitely say no. I'm not a burger kind of girl."

This is usually when I walk away. He always laughs and walks out, as if this is a game of cat and mouse. Little does he know I am in no way a mouse and somehow the analogy of cat and tiger doesn't seem as appealing to most men I know. I certainly can't imagine that Tom-I-love-to-wink-UPS man would be interested in that sort of game.

He treats me like a woman.

Yes, I am aware I am a woman, thank you, before you even say it.
But just because I have breasts and a vagina doesn't mean every Tom, Dick (yes I'm calling you that) or Harry (ick) gets to experience either one of them. I feel violated by his eyes. I feel raped in his thoughts. And I would never meet him for a date, single or taken.

On a sidenote if I were trying to woo a woman with a significant other, I would never suggest a meeting for burgers and beer. A good bottle of anything-but-merlot and oysters rockefeller? Tom might have had a date. But then I'd have to endure him all night, and no amount of wine, no matter how good a year it was, can make that bearable. Instead I am destined to repeat this performance tomorrow.

and the day after that.

and the day after that.

Groundhog's day. what a bitch.

A January Night

2008-01-28T17:21:00.001-06:00

It's one of those nights. Those nights where I have a million things I have to do, and about a billion others I want to.

I want to play outside. It's one of those rare nights when, even though it's still January, you can trick yourself and make believe spring is here. It smells like my childhood, unless you add beer, then it smells like college. One of those nights when we would get together and play night games, despite the fact that we were all over the age of 20. Nights where friends should be over, sitting on my front porch, drinking wine and beer and laughing until our sides split open. The kind of night J and I can sit outside, him with a cigar, both of us with a glass of whatever, look up at the sky and breath in happiness.

I want to walk down the road to the playground and swing. Run around the fountain that's not working lay in the grass, staring up at the night sky. I want to cook out, eat burgers and let the juice run down my mouth. Disgusting, I know, but I still want it. I want to dip potato chips in potato salad and have my family make fun of me, like they always do.

I want to be at my parents house, sitting out back while my grandpa fries fish. I want to be sitting in the swing, getting up every few minutes to go get another beer for the "chef" while Eddie runs laps in the backyard.

I want to call up friends, invite them over, and forget that J has work tomorrow, and I have classes at 8:30.

I've got a case of the wants. It's that kind of night.

Fears

2008-01-24T11:29:00.001-06:00

I never wet the bed. I wasn't afraid of swimming or water, or not being able to touch the bottom. I dove in head first, sink or swim, baby.

I can't remember being scared to stay over at a friend's house, although I recall other friends waking in the night, full of tears and mommies needing to be called. I was resilient.

I wasn't scared of the big boys in the neighborhood- in fact, I punched one of them in the nose.

Seperation never frightened me, I'd talk to strangers, yet not quite trust them. I didn't cry when left with a baby sitter. In fact, I don't remember crying much at all.

I was never afraid of the dark or monsters in my closet.

I've turned into a woman who still doesn't fear much, yet from life experience, should have learned to fear more. When the monster is in your house, not just your closet, your life is changed. You don't fear the superficial things- they don't exist- there's something real- something solid and in front of you- taking precedent. I've carried that with me, even to this day in some ways. Despite all of that I'm still that little girl: unafraid.

The Girl in the Mirror

2008-01-21T18:35:00.002-06:00

There are times in my life when I feel so utterly jealous of others it makes me sick to my stomach.

I'm struggling right now... with weight, with stress, with life. With wondering how much more Legislation I can read before I really do want to end it all. With questioning how I can eliminate seemingly bad foods from my diet and still not lose weight in the same way I used to. With how to de-stress in a healthy way.

There are people in this world who get this stuff. It flows naturally to them. Nothing gets to them. They display this happiness with who they are what they are and I wonder how they get that. I think to the average person I put out this same vibe, but when I am alone, just me and myself in the bathroom mirror, I criticize the girl who lives in there. I always have. I fear I always will.

Additionally, I am sick. Again. Life is good.

ha.

Great Expectations

2008-01-17T13:51:00.000-06:00

While writing/rewriting/erasing/editing my book last night (yes, laugh it up), I got to thinking about romance, about fairy tales, movies and books. Are they setting us up with unachievable expectations?

From the time we are little girls, moms and dads read to us about our knight in shining armor. A man who would come and rescue us from our towers and seek out all the kingdom in order to find his "one true love." They'd brave dragons, storms, sleet and snow (or is that the postal workers?). Either way, you get the point. There was a kiss and implied continued romance at a level so high it makes every little girl and mommy swoon when they hear it.

We watch movies, read chick lit, all telling us about these perfectly romantic men. Men who row a boat out into the middle of a lake, filled with swans and somehow manage to row back in the pouring rain. Men who are so filled with passion and want that it's all they can do not to make love to their leading lady right then and there on the dock. We read books and fill our minds with expectations- Great Expectations.

Was Prince Charming ever, well, not so g.d. charming? Did Mr. Darcy ever stop kissing Elizabeth? Did Westley ever regret "as you wishing" Princess Buttercup?

Or is true romance in the little things- the knowing when you don't want to cook dinner, he orders out. The understanding that you're tired of watching some random kill-the-bad-guy movie, so he switches to Grey's Anatomy (even though he may secretly enjoy it).

I posed these questions to my guy friends today, who responded that what women think is romantic, is not always in line with what is in their mind. Why are we wired so differently? Is it some cosmic joke on the sexes? And they say gay marriage won't work... I'm telling ya, brother, put two guys together or two girls and BAM. Seems like things may get easier...

Either way, I plan to leave my book just the way it is... ridiculous, mushy and unrealistic. Feed the fantasy, ladies... feed the fantasy.

I thought about...

2008-01-15T19:38:00.002-06:00

I thought about you today. About me today. About us.

I thought about how things ended and how I left. About the last time we talked, the last call I got, the last one I made. I remember how dead I felt- how tired. How after years of not hearing what I needed to hear- hearing it- and hating the words. I remembered the standing behind the door, after closing it, listening to you stand outside until I opened it again and let you back in... again...

I thought about me today. How I never felt like I was what you wanted me to be- and now I am. I remember feeling bad about who I was and where I was in my life and my career. I felt like I wasn't good enough- like you weren't proud just to have me, the actress, by your side. And now I'm what you would have called "worthwhile." A person who wouldn't embarrass you. I am still the same me. I still say the same outlandish things, and I laugh too loud, and I make jokes that people don't always get. I don't run in the rain- I still walk. I still watch bad television and eat sushi with too much wasabi. I still like kissing in public and crying at commercials. I'm the same- just more.

I thought about us. The beginning, middle and end. A play with too many scenes, a dark comedy perhaps. I thought about laughing, crying and nights out on the town. About frat parties, apartments, firsts and more. I thought about stories and friendship and goodbyes... distance and confusion and first dates in convertibles and driving your car.

I thought about it all on this odd cold January day and I felt ice on my lashes.

Hey J

2007-11-30T06:42:00.001-06:00

There are a million reasons why I love J. Too many in fact to explain in a mere blog post. After J stumbled upon my blog "accidentally" (on purpose) last night and read about the law school guys getting hotter, well, I think his feelings were hurt. In retrospect, the post was meant to be a laugh for my lady friends, as we happened to be talking about guys just then and the ones they thought were "hot." And, although I am happily married, I still can agree as to whether a male is attractive or fugly. So, I posted it. They looked, we laughed and continued on...

Now I feel bad for posting it- for J's hurt feelings. And the fact remains, that the guys in law school aren't even comparable to J. When I first came to law school I got tons of advice, and a lot of it revolved around relationships and friendships with the opposite sex. "Don't get into a study group with guys" "Introduce J to everyone" blah blah blah. But the simple fact of the matter is, that the reason I find it easy to be married and be friends with guys is that none of them hold a candle to my husband. Another friend and I got into a conversation about this, and both of us agreed that, for us at least, the "temptation" we heard so much about prior to law school is nonexistent. My classmates are great and I certainly would set them up with any of my other friends, they're great catches. But, the best part for me, is that I already have a great catch- the best in fact- the SHARK of catches (even in that scary mean way!)- in J.

So, J, hopefully you've taken the time to accidentally-on-purpose meander this way again- and maybe your hurt feelings have mended a bit. Because I don't look at anyone else the way I look at you- because you are my everything. Forever. (like in that scary stalker way... because we both know... "I find you!").

I love you. :)

Wasted Time

2007-11-20T15:03:00.001-06:00

So, apprently I enjoy wasting valuable study time in the library by getting on my blog and writing about nonsense.

Literally, I got nothing people.

I have 0 motivation to study, despite my outline for Torts, which ends at Battery (yes, like the second thing we talked about). Luckily, my friends McLucky and McHomewrecker are here to keep me company. I love it.

And apparently the guys in law school are getting hotter. Weird, or amazing? You decide.

Thank god I have J. Stress sucks.

Life is Beautiful

2007-11-08T14:10:00.001-06:00

Is it wrong to sit in the library, writing on your blog you’ve neglected for months, when you have a locker full of “real work” to do, but no motivation with which to do it?

Yeah, I didn’t think so.

So, about the whole “not blogging thing”… not that expect anyone still checks my site, I would have given up months ago, and, frankly, at this point, I’m not even sure I have anything of merit or worth about which to write. My life is pretty dull. I go to school at 7 and stay until late. I eat crap that is not healthy for me and bitch about not losing weight. I cry at least once a week, which I suppose, is you know me, isn’t that much different that LBLS- yeah- that’s Life Before Law School.

LBLS was different. I’m not sure yet whether it was “good different” or just “different.” The jury’s still out on that one… ( get it… law school… jury… whatever). Sometimes I miss making money. Okay- everyday I miss making money. I work the same long hours I did at the firm, only the work is harder and endless. Even as I type this, there are a million things I could/should/ought to be doing, but I just have to take a break. If I had my way, I’d blow off my last class of the day, bundle up in the new coat I’ve been eying, steal away with my girlfriends to Cosi, order marshmellows and hot chocolate and gossip about boys and boots and anything-but-law-school-classes all night. Of course, this is not going to happen. I won’t blow off class, I can’t afford the coat (read: I have no money because I don’t work), and there are no Cosis here in Dayton. And I find it virtually impossible NOT to talk about law school. And yes, it is as annoying as it sounds. Trust me- just ask J.

Life during law school is funny. It is as stressful as I thought it would be- probably worse actually, but, despite all the stress/frustration/dead brain cells I’m going through- I still think it’s worth it. The work is interesting (most of the time) and the classes less scary than anticipated (again, most of the time). My friends are incredible. I’m surrounded, again, by unicorns and feeling less like an elephant. A good step, right?

It hits every now and again, when I recognize the greatness that lies in others and so often fail to see in myself. Law school is no different. Bright men and women surround me and I often worry why I don’t seem to glow quite the same. I can only hope that maybe some of these other people are wondering the same thing. Maybe they’re just not foolish enough to not only admit it, but to post it out there for all the world to see. Whatever. It’s me- it’s what I do.

J and I are great. We’re surviving this law school thing and, even though I think he may want to kill me 90% of the time, he refrains. That’s love.

So, I guess the point of this post is that life is good. I love saying that.

"You're scared shitless? Welcome to law school."

2007-08-29T16:02:00.001-05:00

I feel exhausted.

I am surviving right now on Hydroxycut, (yes I know that’s awful) and Coke Zero, which is technically illegal contraband here in the law library, so I have to drink it from a sippy cup. I am sure many people think I’m a coffee addict. I think it would make me seem more mature and interesting if I were, but nope, not me. Coke Zero baby. Yesterday I had V8 Juice.

I am such a loser. ha.

I’m done with early start, done with orientation and I have my first law school credit under my belt. I am taking a *gasp* break to write this post. I barely talk to my family or even my friends for that matter. My husband is playing the role of Mr. Mom to Eddie and even cleans for me. I’m lucky.

I feel compelled to be here. I feel absurdly guilty for the seconds, (okay hour when Big Brother is on) I spend NOT thinking about the law. I am holed up right now on the third floor of the library (the first is too noisy and my legs hate the forth). I am in the very back, behind the books by a window with the blinds closed. My eyes are so dry that when I blink my eyelids actually stick to my contacts. I have my sandals off and hope my feet don’t smell. They do. They always do.

I know that’s gross, sorry.

I could fall asleep right now, shut my computer and rest my red hair against its redder top (foolish choice for classes- it’s like a freaking red bulls eye). I actually found myself sitting with an acquaintance (not sure I can call him a “friend” yet) at a table today, both of us laying our heads down facing each other and not saying anything of value or, even moreover, sense. It was more of a mutual reaction to being completely drained, I didn't have anything to even talk about. I recall he was in my dream last night, but I don’t tell him this, that might be weird. It wasn’t even that kind of dream. I think we were studying. Oh yeah, and I dream about studying. I woke up this morning with the name Chief Justice Roberts floating in my head. What the hell? Where are the freaking “visions of sugar plums?” I’m guessing that went by the wayside, replaced by “adverse possession” and “quitclaim deeds.”

Most of my interactions with my classmates has been good. A few girls who rubbed me the wrong way, but whatever. Met some pretty great people- people I’m actually content to sit in a room in silence, only breaking it to express our frustration/exhaustion/confusion. This may seem completely lame, but it's actually pretty nice. I’ve laughed a lot, not many tears, although I had a bit of a meltdown once. The pressure to succeed is great. There’s a giant pink elephant in the room with us: Competition. We’re competing with each other, but no one really wants to be “that girl/guy.” I find myself trying to saddle my urge to raise my hand and shake it wildly in the air when I actually know what the professor is talking about. I am SO glad I didn’t when someone else speaks up and I realize they’ve thought of issues, which never even entered my mind. Or when the professor mentions a point that seems so obvious, but is nowhere to be found on my brief. I am fairly positive that many of the people surrounding me are naturally much smarter than I am. I am told that everyone feels this way. I certainly hope so. What's crazy is, despite all of this pressure and lack of sleep and confusion- I'm enjoying myself. Even now, when I want to lay down and sleep until this time tomorrow, I like the challenge.

I hope my optimism continues. I hope my new friendships continue to inspire this optimism.

I have a hunch that they will- on both counts.

At the end of this road I might catch a glimpse of me

2007-08-21T06:03:00.001-05:00

And I don't know
This could break my heart or save me
Nothing's real
Until you let go completely
So here I go with all my thoughts I've been saving
So here I go with all my fears weighing on me

Three months and I'm still sober
Picked all my weeds but kept the flowers

But I know it's never really over
And I don't know
I could crash and burn but maybe
At the end of this road I might catch a glimpse of me

So I won't worry about my timing, I want to get it right
No comparing, second guessing, no not this time

Three months and I'm still breathing
Been a long road since those hands I left my tears in but I know
It's never really over, no

Wake up

Three months and I'm still standing here
Three months and I'm getting better yeah

Three months and I still am
Three months and it's still harder now
Three months I've been living here without you now
Three months yeah, three months
Three months and I'm still breathing
Three months and I still remember it
Three months and I wake up
Three months and I'm still sober

Picked all my weeds but kept the flowers

-Kelly Clarkson

I just thew up in my mouth a little bit...

2007-08-16T08:40:00.001-05:00

My stomach has been churning all night.

I'm not sure if it's:
A) an actual illness (as I have been known to get sick every now and then)
B) gas pains (hey, you read my blog- do I ever hold back?)
or
C) I start school next week and am scared crapless.

I keep asking myself- do you have everything you need? I've read every "how to succeed" and memoir about law school I can get my shaking hands on, and still, I worry...

Eeksville. That's where I am. Party of one.

Something

2007-07-26T16:58:00.001-05:00

As I drive past my soon-to-be home away from home, as it were, I feel a pang of something. This "something" is a new emotion, which I tend to experience on a daily basis. I can only assume it will continue to build within me, until I feel it every second and every minute of every day. It's something between exhilaration and terror. Somewhere in between, sometimes both, never one without the other.

I wonder if I will step foot into a classroom and it will all turn out to be a huge mistake. The joke is on me. I have heard others say that they spent their first year of law school absolutely certain that they are somehow less intelligent than everyone else around them. This feeling exists today within me. I worry that I may turn out to be less academic than I have proved in the past. I worry that my undergrad degree did not in any way prepare me for what I am about to enter. I wonder if anyone's degree really does?

I worry I will fall victim to the draw of the money and sell my soul for long hours and big paychecks, helping little, other than myself. I reread "To Kill A Mockingbird" to remind myself of why I am going to law school. I read books to "prepare" me for being a 1L. I know they will not help. I read another one anyway.

I am excited. Filled with the adrenaline that is potential. Pleased that I know what I want to do, after never really being certain before. I feel pangs of uncertainty- do I have what it takes? I know I have the will to try, and I hope that will be enough.

I hear stories of marriages dissolving while law school becomes number one and the spouse somewhere else on the list. I wonder what it will be like, to be devoted to something other than my house, my dog and my husband. I feel a guilty excitement that I will have that something, as I find housework tedious and annoying. I, however, treasure my time with the latter two, and worry how my happiness will survive in the same way without it. I pray that my husband can tolerate the stressed out, cranky, don't-talk-to-me-I'm-busy me, that I know I may become. I hope I will not become too exhausting to deal with. I know I may at times. I'm certain of it. I also know he loves me enough to plough through it. I just don't want to take that for granted.

I hope to manage my competitive nature and not give into it.

I worry about fitting in. I feel a self-consciousness overtake me even now when I walk through my law school to take care of mundane business. I hate that I feel that I have to "hide" my personality with people until I feel comfortable. I have always harbored an intense jealousy for those who can completely be open and honest about who they are- craziness and all- for I always feel a bit like a church mouse until I somehow open up. I'm not sure how long this process takes, or what makes me feel comfortable morphing into the crazy, talkative, say anything Kellie that I truly am, but it takes time. More time than I would like to admit, in some cases. I also understand that I am... quirky. I think that is a good word for me. I'm outrageous at times, wild and spunky- up for anything. Another day I am content to sit in a friend's home, drinking spiced cider and talking about anything/everything/everyone. Most people who know me, save my college friends because we are so much alike it shocks people, would say I am crazy and funny. I suspect they also think me a bit weird. Different. Odd.

I am both pleased and embarrassed by these ideas of me. But it is what it is and I don't know how to change it.

I hope people find me more quirky than weird. I hate being the weird girl.

More than anything, I hope to be successful. To take classes that inspire me to change the world in which we life. I want to find my niche in our legal system and in my life.

All of this is the "Something" I'm feeling. Amazing for one person to be filled with so much, huh?

Those Left Behind

2007-07-14T20:48:00.001-05:00

He leaves and, try as you might, it stills feels like abandonment. You try to drown your anger in understanding and compassion, but instead it boils, until is fizzes over. It's messy and no matter how hard you try some of it is bound to end up on him, even though you want to keep it all to yourself. You try not to think about the guns, the violence and the road side bombs, taking solace in the "safe" base, where he is, all the while the television screams to your heart. The news shits on your hopes and ignorant people muddle your mind with questions. Half of them questions you never even thought to ask yourself, let alone another person. You smile, excuse yourself and catch your breath in a bathroom stall.

The waiting for the phone call that never comes. Why? Did they lose power? Did he get busy? Is something wrong? Is it just a matter of time until you get another call, from someone you really don't want to talk to now or ever. Hitting refresh in your email, praying for a message, desperate for a smile. Swallowing the perpetual lump in your throat becomes routine and going through the motions is a performance repeated daily. Benadryl in your cabinet for your "allergies" is really to knock you out and stop your mind for eight hours. Relief. Silence. Nothingness.

You call yourself a military wife, hoping the title will somehow numb the empty. People ask you what you think. You want to scream, "I think I want my husband home." You feel torn. You hate the war for so many reasons. You love the soldiers. They believe in their fight. You believe in them. You want to punch people who have more mouth than brains, those people who sit comfortably at home and bash him. They're bashing you. You are a part of this war. You are dealing just as much as the men and women sitting in their back-of-a-semi homes, just in a different way. They're thinking, in the zone, constantly busy, or at least trying to be- surrounded by people who are going through the exact same thing. You are sitting alone, trying not to watch the news/read the paper/listen to the radio, because those bases actually mean something to you. Those ticking numbers are destroying another you. You feel guilty when you hear the news, and then you get that call. Relief that it wasn't him. It was someone else's "him". You push those thoughts out of your mind, because you don't want to dwell on the worst-case scenarios anymore than you have to. But you still feel that guilt.

You go on with life, marking your calendar until he returns, like you did in school for summer. You laugh and smile and do everything else you used to do. You just hurt the whole time you do it.

A Jar Spoke my Words

2007-07-14T16:08:00.001-05:00

"I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week."

-The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath

If I lay here... if I just lay here...

2007-07-03T13:14:00.001-05:00

I'm listening to "Chasing Cars" on repeat.

J is going back to Iraq. I hadn't blogged about it, because, well, a) I haven't been a dependable blogger and b)... you know that thing, if you don't talk about it- it doesn't exist?

Eh, it works for some people. Not me so much.

Remember in Sex in the City? When Big comes back for a "heart thing" and everytime Carrie hears or talks about it she begins to sob? I felt like that on Sunday. I sat in mass and, in between prayers for the parish and world poverty, they threw in a "For our military stationed overseas in war. For their families. We pray to the Lord." I couldn't get out the "Lord hear our prayer."

The lump in my throat grew. It grows as I type this now. I swallowed hard, trying to get the pain in my throat down to the pit of my stomach. I blinked my eyes fast, hoping to somehow flush out my over the top emotions.

We had dinner with my amazing friends on Saturday. Of course it came up. I smiled in my eggplant parm and wished I had something stronger than my diet coke. Or my Shirley Temple. The thoughts of so much air, land and sea between us, once again, makes my head hurt.

And yet, both J and I know it will be easier this time. Each of us is a different person than we were the first time- and we are different as an "us." We're all grown up, as they say. I have nothing but faith in us and in him, but I still wish that I got to keep my husband home, safe, with me, like so many do.

Sigh.

At least it's not for about a year.

Give or take.

grrr.

Running In Heels

2007-06-28T15:00:00.001-05:00

It's funny the things that inspire thought.

I went to mass this afternoon, hoping it might do the trick. I was dressed in "Twiggy" fashion, with bright yellow spots, and khaki capris. Vintage clutch and cheap Steinmart heels and away we go. I found myself running through the rain, a prayer book over my hair, in a vain attempt to keep the body that I'd worked to get (thank you, Lizzie for the shampoo and products!). In the end I assumed God didn't care, nor the priest. And if either one of them did, I was in more trouble that flat hair.

I saw through mass, responding and trying to keep my mind in the moment. It sort of worked, but wasn't the "fix" I was looking for. In reality, a glass of anything-but-chardonnay would have helped. The glass, not the bottle I would inevitably consume once I started. That, most certainly, would not help. I drove to the next best thing.

After spending my four bucks at Starbucks (and a piece of cake) for lunch, I saw in the corner, curled my legs under me in the cushy chair and read my book. Which I found in the Self Help section.

Mortifying.

But a lovely read, anyway. After being annoyed by the loud man on his cell phone who crept into my corner in an attempt at politeness to the rest of the coffee shop (apparently, I don't need quiet to read and eat my cake), I left the shop. I wanted to stroll down the street and look at the antiques and over priced linens, but the clouds and rain had other plans for me.
Okay, that's a lie. I would have strolled, but it was hot. And humid. And I hate being sticky and gross. I want to live in Maine. In the evening. At 60 degrees year round and wear jackets and sweatshirts with shorts.

Which bring me to my point. I got home and began to organize (no, not REorganize- just do it- as in, for the first time) my closet. I was struck by how many of my clothes don't fit me anymore.
And I don't just mean don't fit as in, I've gained a million pounds since getting married and the sizes 2,4, and yes, even, 6 are a stretch... shit. Who am I kidding? Even the STRETCH size sixes are suck-it-in-and-let-it-hang. Not attractive. But aside from my recent poundage explosion, many of my clothes don't fit me anymore. Not who I am today.

Wet Seal? Did I really shop there? Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it's just not me. I wrapped myself in my Ralph Lauren cardigan and surveyed my clothes, making a pile of my past beside me. I actually still owned items from the 90s. wtf? Why? I'm talking, when I was going through my "Felicity-wannabe" phase.

Ridiculous.

I want clothes I can wrap in scented tissues. Cashmere wraps, cardigans, pin stripes and linen. Throw in my favorite "hippy" tops, and anything empire and I'm in heaven. I want skirts I know will wrinkle, but I buy them anyway, even though I hate ironing. Anything goes in summer, browns in fall, winter white and pastels for spring. Shoes, don't get me started.

And it made me think, staring at this pile of who I was, how happy I am to be who I am today. Maybe not "hot" (not that I ever was in the first place), but certainly contented- even running in heels with a prayer book in the rain.

Movin' On Up

2007-06-26T15:44:00.000-05:00

I found myself standing in the kitchen, holding a serving platter to my chest, and breathing with my eyes closed.

And I'm only working on my kitchen.

I wasn't sure why I felt so sentimental. If it was the fact that my kitchen is my mecca, or that the serving platter was cool in the heat of my house, or just because it was ours. My kitchen is small. Tiny, in fact, but as I unpack my three million ladels, whisks and strainers (cursing the wedding registry at Bed Bath and Beyond the whole time) it feels like home.

I hate moving. I hate looking around and seeing the boxes. My life thrown together in brown and poorly taped, at that. I like the idea of putting my house together, but I've found, as with most homey tasks- I suck at it. I wake up late because I don't go to bed until morning. I start to unpack. Get Bored. See my laptop/Sex in the City dvds/computer/books (any of the previous will do) and take the bait. All the while I still want my home to look lovely. Which is why today I stopped the procrastination and hit the ground running.

Until the platter incident.

And now this blog.

Sigh

Yes, I'm posted about Abortion... hate me now

2007-03-28T11:26:00.001-05:00

All I have to say it, I warned you.

After reading a post about a young, married blogger’s decision to abort her baby (as she already has one child and did not feel she and her husband could provide for a second), I have been thinking…

(I told you this would controversial)!

As a newly converted Catholic, I try most of the time to juggle my views as a woman living in today’s society with my religious beliefs. My value for human rights- women’s rights- and then my value for a human life. As I enter into law school, moving towards my goal of becoming an adoption attorney, I feel conflicted even more, knowing about the “options.”

Unexpected pregnancy is not “convenient.” It’s not in the “plan”. I get that. And that sucks. I’ve never been there, which, in most instances I have found, points toward me needing to keep my big mouth shut. But, again, as I tend to find, I’m no good at that. I have, however, been so certain of my pregnant status. In college once I was sure. Late, and scared to take a test, I was confused. My boyfriend said he had no interest. Did not want to be a father, and did not want our potential baby. Before we had ever had sex, we had discussed the possibility- the “what if’s”. At that time, I felt sure. I’d do it. Take care of the issue. It wasn’t a real baby. I was young and saw women with their big bellies and I didn’t get it. I understood- baby growing in there- check. But, it really didn’t mean anything to me.

It’s awful- but true.

As I got a bit older, I began to change. I began to think about things like family, marriage, future. And then came the scare. The Scare of 2003. My boyfriend’s opinion had not changed, but mine had. Luckily for us both, I didn’t have to make that decision- sever the bond my significant other and I had, although I think the knowledge that he would forever resent me for having our child did the job for me.

Now, I’ve changed even more. I believe there is life within those beautiful big bellied women. I feel my friend’s children kick at my loud voice through their mommies, and I visit them in the hospital. I’m at an age where my friends are having children. Children are a part of my every day and I can’t imagine the choice to terminate that child’s life.

One large fact must be noted in all of this rambling:

I. Am. A. Hypocrite.

I think about rape and molestation and seeing my own little girl carrying her rapists baby, and I think “No.” I wouldn’t make her do it. The whole “good coming out of a bad thing” can only go so far in my mind. And I recognize this is hypocritical. As a Catholic, I should not believe in terminating anyone’s life… That includes all abortions, euthanasia and the death penalty. But I find myself qualifying situations into “acceptable” or “unacceptable”, which, again, is not my place.

I hear all of the time from women who’ve had abortions about their “brave and difficult” decision. I agree. It was a difficult decision… but brave? I don’t know. I think about my old clients… women who’s lives could not support/handle/function with a child, but who chose to carry that child and then allow he or she to be adopted by loving parents. Not that’s what I call brave. Facing the world everyday, showing your decision to all, and then following through- allowing another couple to form a family. That defines bravery.

Don’t get me wrong- I’m not implying that abortion is “easy.” Emotionally, physically, spiritually- I imagine it to be draining and devastating. I just don’t know if I would label it as “brave.”

I feel frustrated, too, when I see abortion being used as a form of “birth control.” I know girls who have had 4-5 abortions. Aside from the fact that I think their bodies must be all kinds of messed up, I wonder this: Do they not know how it works? I mean, come on people… You have unprotected sex- you maka the baby. It’s pretty clear. There are ways to avoid this (and again- hypocrite, as my fellow Catholics don’t love this- but given the alternative?!): Birth control, condoms, the shot, the patch… and (for all of you Catholics out there) a little thing called Natural Family Planning! Any one of the above could assist. I get it if the condom breaks/you are one of the .001% of people who got pregnant on the pill, blah blah blah. But, then here comes the big question: If you’re not going to be responsible enough to have a child- perhaps sex is not a good choice.

I don’t get it.

*Hi all, glad to be back… nothing like being absent for weeks, and then posting about abortion. Lucky for me, no one’s been around in weeks, so I’ll probably get .5 hits*

My Funny Valentine

2007-02-15T11:24:00.001-06:00

So, even though we were snowed in yesterday, my flowers made it safely to my office.

1st Valentine's day as a MARRIED COUPLE. And it was wonderful...

What did you do?

Legally.. Red

2007-01-31T08:00:00.001-06:00

So, I am still waiting to hear back from four schools. Thus far, I have been accepted to three and got a big fat NO from one, which was frankly, not surprising, as it was a bit of a reach anyway.

I find myself eagerly anticipating getting the mail everyday, hoping to find these last four answers. I really don't care if they are yes or no, I just wanted to get them all in so that I can make my decision! So far I am unsure.

I visit a school on Friday with the hubs and hopefully will be visiting his alma mater shortly following. Part of me likes that idea... J knows the area, the faculty, etc, so it might be nice to in a more familiar territory, at least for one of us. Plus, the idea of going to a Catholic school appeals to me. A lot. To have a base of faith around me and opportunities to participate in my faith, while still in school, is exciting.

So we'll see.

I'll let you all know once I do!

I told my firm that my last day will be May 31, 2007. Or maybe June 1, just to end on a Friday. We'll be moving, vacationing, schooling so soon- I can hardly wait!

We have also decided on our vacation for the year. We are taking the train into West Glacier National Park in MT. Then we will be hiking the Continental Divide, into Canada. After 4-5 days of backpacking we should reach our hotel (Prince of Wales) where we will stay/horseback ride/fish/eat/shop for a few more days before boarding a bus to take us back to the train station.

I can't wait. It should be beautiful. And I think there is pretty much only one mountain we'll have to take on.

Have I mentioned how much I love my husband for planning amazing trips like this?

Yeah. I'm happy.

YES!

2007-01-23T10:42:00.002-06:00

I pulled into my driveway last night holding a rather large packet from a law school to which I applied. My first reponse.

THEY SAID YES! YES YES YES, GIVE ME MONEY TO GO THERE- YES!

:) Life is grand!

Too much to ask?

2007-01-22T15:43:00.001-06:00

When I was a kid I wanted to be a diabetic.

Or have asthma.

Or glasses.

I actually wrapped a scarf around my arm one day on the school bus (away from my parent's watchful eye, of course) and told everyone I had a sprained arm and it had to be in a sling. My teacher made me take it off and I hated her for ruining my big attention filled day.

As I grew up, I can list the millions of things I wanted to be: thin, popular, funnier, athletic, beautiful, famous, successful, a wife, a mother, the list goes on and on.

Right now I'd settle for a letter in the mail from a law school. Preferably one saying YES we want YOU to come HERE! And maybe even an addendum involving monetary offerings. That would be nice.

I also want my back to stop hurting. I pulled it somehow while cleaning my house and shoveling snow. How embarrassing.

I, admittedly, don't clean enough.

Oh, there's another. Cleaner. I wish I were cleaner. More like my grandma or my mother-in-law who's homes always look perfect. Mine tends to look like a vomited clothes/books/pens/papers/mail everywhere. I'd like the change that. Not sure if I can, because I've tried for years and yet... still messy. I like the look of a clean house. I just lack the patience to keep it that way, I guess.

When I was a little girl, my grandmother told me that if I would just put things back where they go (a.k.a hang my clothes up after I try them on, rather than letting them pile into an expensive heap of mess in the corner/on the bed/over the chair). I know this is true. And yes. Currently my tank top and sleep pants I wore last night are slung over the back of the toilet. My shoes are sitting on top of my dresser. I could blame it on the fact that was running out the door to my office... but.... it's only half true.

Oh! There's another one! I wish I would wake up earlier. Get up the first time my alarm goes off and have a nice relaxing morning. Coffee and toast in front the news, or reading the paper. People do that right? My morning is full of snooze buttons, quick chilly showers where I decide what to wear, blowdrying while brushing my teeth and running out the door- one shoe on and one in hand. With a barking dog outside. Then I realize he's not in, so I have to LET him in. Then it's persuading him to his "room" and me out the door, praying it's not too icy. Driving to work through the rush hour annoyance and eating a granola bar in my office while I listen to 50 million voicemails and begin the stress again.

Sigh.

Even though this is a disheartening post- I am actually in quite a fine mood. Minus the whole pain in the... back.

The Gallery

2007-01-17T13:10:00.001-06:00

According to my friend’s myspace page (shut up- you know you love myspace, too) Robert Brown once said “I'm drawn toward big, passionate, messy works, messy emotions, messy people, messy lives."

That resonates with me. In my soul. I find a truth in it- one that I can’t quite place, but rings true nonetheless. I’m attracted to the abstract… works of art that make people say “I could do that” (to which I always want to say- “then do it”). Bright colors, shapes, ambiguous figures mingling together until it becomes a true Work of Art.

I’m messy. Not only physically (my desk as four glasses on it as I write this), but emotionally. I overreact. I cry. I yell. I laugh until I cry again. I feel emotions down to my core and I express those feelings 110% of the time. Holding in is long gone- out with the now and in with the new. I think I drive J crazy half of the time with my spontaneous craziness, yet, I’m fairly certain that part of him enjoys it. I sing at the top of my lungs. I sit in the front for mass, letting the music and the spirit fill me. It’s just me.

I feel a bit like I am a Work of Art- In Progress. Abstract brushstrokes meshing together. Sometimes it seems to come together beautifully. Other times my canvas is wiped clean and it begins again. The stain of the previous work remains underneath, providing the foundation for the work of art that is Me. I’m aware that not everyone may like it. Being me might seem easy to some (see above: “I could do that.”). And sometimes it is. Other times it sucks. Just like my painting.

But, I also know that there are people who embrace the Art of Me and would hang it on their wall. Just like I’d hang them on mine. These are my friends, my family, my husband and my support system. My Gallery of Amazing People.

They’re the most beautiful art I’ve ever seen. I’ll let you know when my piece is finished.

The War at Home

2007-01-11T08:11:00.001-06:00

After watching the President's speech last night, I felt agitated. I picked a fight with J, through my tears of memories of what it was like to have him so far away fighting in a "war" that I didn't understand.

I find myself torn. I support our troops and what they do. I am thankful for each soldier who risks his or her life so that the rest of us may rest, safe and secure. Their dedication is far greater than many may ever know and their commitment to each other, and the rest of us, has aways astounded me. They fight through their natural human fear and follow through on their mission, no matter how great the cost may be in the end. And anyone who does not respect them and appreciate them has a fight on their hand if they want to talk to me.

I can remember sitting in a restaraunt listening to two people verbally bash the war. They insulted Bush, but, moreover, they mocked and ridiculed our soldiers. I heard phrases like "Those people just like to fight" and "Just full of anger and testosterone." Yeah. Pretty much awesome people. I said something as I was leaving, but I doubt it did any good and I felt fairly certain they didn't care that my husband was overseas fighting so that they didn't have to.

The other part of me wonders how many more American lives will be lost. American and Iraqi lives, I should say. I feel like we're fighting this open ended battle and that no matter how many people we pour in, more "enemies" will continue to follow- from Syria, Iran, etc. I don't know the solution. We can't just pull our troops out- it would ensure the failure of Iraq. Nothing would make me happier than to see this mission succeed. I was peace for Iraq, to bring our troops home- safe, and to be able to know that my grandchildren will read about this conflict and see a positive resolution. For Iraq to be an example to other nations.

I just worry about the cost of getting there.

I was asked frequently while J was overseas how I felt about the war. It was a hard position to be in. Do I like war? Of course not. Does the President like war? I highly doubt it. Did we get in a situation over our heads... perhaps.

I don't claim to be a political science guru. I don't have the answers. I wouldn't want to be the President. I wish I could be one of those people who has complete faith in the mission. J does. He has faith that what we are doing is right and just and headed for success. And I've always had the attitude that I trusted J's opinions. He was there. He saw both the positive and the negative. He came out of Iraq, a changed person- not for the worse- just changed. He walked away with the Bronze Star Medal of Honor and he walked away from the army (less by choice than by the fact that we couldn't move where he had a job, but don't get me started). You never hear the positive changes in Iraq. I have yet to turn on the news and see a story about all of the schools they are building, the people who are thankful for our presence. It's the only war in the world where the loss of 4 soldiers makes the news. But, on the other hand, if J had been one of those soldiers, my opinion would surely be different. A life is a life and the loss of that life is significant, even if the numbers are not as "high" as we've experienced before.

Tell that to their family.

People have also asked me if J had died, if my opinion might be different. Who can know that? Perhaps it would, but we all must remind ourselves, that this is not a time where men and women drafted. It's a volunteer military. Everyone who signs up, knows the potential, and they must have had the conviction that they wanted to help and serve our country in this way. So, how could I lay blame and fault when they were doing what they loved? But, the point and the truth is, I simply don't know. But I'm glad I never had to figure it out.

So, the point of this babbling post, is to find out others opinions... what did you think about the President's speech? What about the war?

Take and Read... then Apply.

2007-01-10T09:58:00.001-06:00

This post goes out to the ladies.

And the gay men.

And the guys who just want to read this and feel like either a)crap or b)awesome... depending on what guy you are.

The best book for any woman to read is, of course, He's Just Not That Into You.

We know that right? If you don't- learn it. Live it. Embrace it.

BUY it. Now, there's no excuses.

Now, I know that I have been guilty of falling into the many traps that this book discusses. I have allowed myself to be treated like a booty call/just friend/assistant and everything else in between. Bear that in mind, folks. But as I talk to friends and give advice to others, sometimes the words "He's just not that into you" can sound... well... bitchy. But I say them. Well, I've said them. Blurted them out in the face of a beautiful girl, tears in her eyes when she tells me about her Worthless Boyfriend.

She's read the book.

She owns the book.

She tells everyone else to read the book.

But she ignores it.

How long should we allow ourselves to be treated like a backup plan before we get it?

The answer is- NEVER!

My friends are beautiful. I may be biased, but come on. They're smart. They are doctors and attorneys and actresses and teachers and everything in between. And yet, on occasion, when a man steps in, their attributes fly out of the window and they become this whole new person. A person who sits by the phone, tears in her eyes, waiting on him to call when he said he would. Days go by until she finally calls him.

"Well NO ONE calls when they SAY they will, Kellie."

Yes they do. J does. When we were dating he called me all the time! He called to say hi, he called on his lunch, he called when my favorite show was on- just to mock me for watching it. We racked up $500.00 in phone bills in one month (note to all- do not do this!). But, the point is, he called me. He cared enough about me to see how I was doing. He was thinking of me, and wanted me to know it.

He treats her like crap. He doesn't respect her. He doesn't respect her friends. He drives a wedge between her and her life/family/work/friends. And yet she "loves him." Why?

"He's different when we're alone." Okay. Great. So, the point is that he has the ability to act like a decent and normal human being. Has the potential to be a wonderful boyfriend/husband. But the fact that he does not respect her enough to do so all the time, well, that pretty much means he sucks. And there is someone out there who doesn't. And maybe would even "love her" more than he ever could.

I know the excuses. Trust me- I made the excuses for 3+ years. But when I took a hard look at myself, at the relationship and the way I was treated- it all boiled down to those infamous six words and it was true: He was NOT that into me.

I know this is a rant, and some of you may know why this rant is occuring... but I find it hard to sit back and smile when I see a friend continuing down this road. But I will.

I'll smile. But not because I like him, but because I love her.

And when shit hits the fan, I'll console and love her, and I'll never let her see this post- because everything in here she's already been told- and I think, somewhere inside of her, it has to resonate.

New Year, New Me

2007-01-05T11:18:00.001-06:00

Happy 2007, all. I know I've been absent lately. It's not that I don't have things to write about, or even that I don't have the time. It's just that for some reason I feel compelled to write realyl interesting things, discuss subjects that make other people say "damn Kellie". But instead I've been filled with work stresses, LSAT taking, law school applying, Christmas bliss, where-the-heck-is-the-snow wonderings, and New Year sobriety.

I've been in one of those "the weekends can't come fast enough" moods that hits me everytime I get a little chance to be off work and relax. I've been sick off and on, mostly from this crazy weather. Hello? I'm in Indiana! It's supposed to be snowing now! And not stop until March. Oh well. It's better this way, as the Mustang will suck in the snow, I suspect.

My Christmas was lovely. It really really was. We spent it with my family, spent too much money on everyone (especially J) and ate literally everything in sight. Now comes the time to work it off and become me again. The thin me. Not this chunky mess I'm allowing myself to become. I'm always amazed at how blesses J and I both are with our wonderful families. We adore spending time with them- and I think that makes us lucky.

As the year came to a close, I got my LSAT score back, which allowed me to apply to my law schools! YAY! It's a weird feeling now... sitting and waiting, knowing that my future is lying in the hands of a board of people who don't know me. They see my grades, my test results and read a statement of exactly one and a half pages, telling them why I am the one they should choose for their program. There's so much more I wanted to say in my application... I wanted to tell them that I can make anyone laugh. Anyone. Just give me an hour. Let me get a sense of them and where their interests lie and BAM. I'll at least get a giggle. I wanted to tell them how badly I want this. How certain I am that this is my path to sucess. But everytime I wrote down the words, it came out muddled and, a bit, pathetic. So, it was back to the drawing board. I think what I finally came up with was a success, although in re-reading I noticed a stupid typo, which apparently NO ONE else who read my essay saw either. Double damn.

Oh well.

New Year was spent with J's family. We went snow tubing, which rocked, and had oysters on the half shell, and stayed up talking about religion until 2:00 a.m. I rang inthe new year sober and I actually remember my entire night. Pretty great. I boiled lobsters outside with my father in law and allowed them to die in a fashion that would suit them. They swan dove into the water, back flipped, head-first, butt-first... it was beautiful.

And delicious.

They all made it the few days before New Year, except for one. I named him Tupac, as he died before his time.

He was also delicious.

All in all, the new year looks pretty good.

:)

I'm back! :)

My Best Friend's Wedding

2006-11-07T11:20:00.000-06:00

I'm a bad friend.

After reading Greek Tragedy, I saw a situation that reminded me of myself. Stephanie had a friend pull a no-show for her recent wedding. It hurt her. Everyone who commented said the "friend" was worthless, awful and a few more colorful terms...

This summer my best friend from high school got married. The wedding was 2 and a half hours away and I RSVPed whole heartedly YES for two. I was so happy for her. Although we had grown apart, I still have a special place in my heart for her. We had once shared so much and meant to world to the other...

In recent years some slight drama had developed due to her husband's friend. Blah blah blah, in the end it amounted to that I could not really spend time with her anymore because the friend would be there and it was more than awkward and awful. I called her and suggested meeting for coffee, which we did once. When I heard about the engagement I called her immediately. I asked her to dinner and she said she'd call me back.

My phone never rang. It was my fault, too. I should have called. I should have stepped up and sucked it up and dealt with the situation, rather than hiding from it. I let time and distance accumulate because I was selfish and wanted to be comfortable and had "put the ball in her court." Which was really just my excuse to say I was "trying." One phone call does not constitute as trying. Not even a little. Months went by and suddenly it was wedding time. I called her a few months before the wedding, to check in and see how plans were going. I could feel the distance in her voice. We'd let the space go on for too long and now we were not committed to working through it. She got off the phone relatively quickly and we said our "I'll call you soons" like you say to random people from high school you see in your hometown. Exchange numbers you'll never call. When I hung up, I knew that we'd never be close like we were. She was moving to California with her husband and I knew we'd lose each other.

When the wedding came up in conversation, J was not so keen on going. I knew I should go, but when J did not feel well the night before and woke up sick that Saturday morning, we never left the house. I thought about her at 4:30 and knew the service was starting. I felt like crap. I should have gone, even without J. The day was not about me- it was about my friend. And instead I sat at home, nursing a sick husband who could have taken care of himself.

I didn't call. I sent a gift, of course, but I never picked up the phone. I reasoned with myself... she'd be on her honeymoon... moving... maybe she didn't even notice I was not there...

Yeah right.

I wonder how she felt looking at my empty chair. I know she was so happy on that day, marrying an amazing man and looking beautiful because she always does. But I feel like I put the final nail in ending our friendship while sitting on a couch watching National Treasure.

I got a thank you for the gift. The card was signed with "Love." But I still feel guilty and I think I always will.

Now the number has probably changed and I don't know what I'd say if it wasn't. So, instead I'll blog about my best friend's wedding that I'll never be able to see.

Painting the Town

2006-11-06T07:50:00.000-06:00

I am so bruised today it is ridiculous. When J and I showed up to play paintball yesterday I was psyched. New helmet, new gun (or "marker" whatever) and jersey. New everything as I just acquiring all of my necessities for this sport. It was pretty apparent when we got there that this was team practice time. Gulp! The last time we had shown up at this field I was WAY less intimidated. After all, when you see eight year olds geared up and playing, you know you can take it. But this time was different.
As the lone girl, I already feel like all eyes are on me. And not in the "damn she's hot way." In the "a girl paintball player? I bet she sucks" way. With J messing around with his new gun, I hit the field alone. Everyone was talking strategy, as players on teams tend to do. I stood there ready to run and hole myself up and the most worthless player on the field. The last time I had played I had just started to get brave and begin to play for aggressively. This time, though, I felt myself withdrawing, desperately wishing that J was out there next to me, so I didn't feel quite so much like the loser. As the game began I rushed out, jumping behind a barrel. I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. I popped my gun out. "Pop pop pop." I heard. I ducked back behind my safety. I knew where the shots came from, and now it was time to fire back. I jumped out again and started shooting as fast as I could.

"click click click." I heard. I looked down. No paintballs were coming out. Back behind the barrel and began messing with my gun. It was the first time I had played with it, and I had no idea why it would not be shooting the hell out of someone. Finally, defeated, hands in the air I yell "Hit." And walk off the field. The ref looks at me funny.

"My gun's messed up." I said. He shrugged and lets me off the field. I take the gun to J. "Its broke." I say, huffing and sitting down. I felt more girlie than ever. Having to take my gun to my husband to get him to fix it. With one quick move he cocks the top of my weapon.

"There you go." he said, handing it back to me.

"Oh." I said. Live and learn, I guess.

After the game ended everyone began to go upstairs. I heard muttering of "speedball." I asked the ref what the real difference was. Speedball was how tournaments are played, but other than that- I didn't know the strategy or any differences.

"It's faster. More paint flying, more shooting and no ten foot rule." Gulp again. No ten foot rule? I like knowing that when I get shot in paintball on the field the ball is coming from a bit away, not 4 feet behind me. I was nervous. J was nervous, too. We'd never played like this. We headed upstairs where everyone was prepping to go on the field. Large inflatable bunkers were all over the field. As we walked onto the field I knew I would either love this game or hate it.

Approximately 2 and a half hours later, J and I were packing up to leave. Our clothes were covered with paint and grime; our bodies covered in welts and just a little bit of blood; faces flushed and sweaty; and an invitation to play again next weekend with a phone number of the guys on the team.

Awesome! :)

I hurt so bad today- but it was SO worth it.

I = Blog Thief

2006-10-31T07:54:00.000-06:00

While reading Steph's blog I came across her latest entry and decided to steal it. Although I do believe she actually stole it as well, so I don't feel so bad about my un-originality.

Top Five Heartaches (in no particular order)

The Popular Kid... We sat across from each other in our pod of four desks. You were so funny and cute and all of the girls liked you. I was obvious about my feelings from the beginning. One day you called me after school. I locked myself in my room to talk to you on the phone and you confessed you liked me back. You told me you had a girlfriend, but planned to end things. You told me not to tell anyone that we were going to "go out" after you dumped Sarah. We hung up and I couldn't hold it in. I told my best friend, who told someone else, and the next day at school everyone knew. You were furious and told me the deal was off right then and there. Luckily it was near the end of the year and we ended up in different 5th grade classes the following year.

High School Guy...We were barely 15 years old and way too serious for our own good. I remember meeting you at the theatre while ushering and making fun of Shelly. You played football and had a contageous laugh and I felt the crush hit me like a ton of bricks. School ended and summer began and while looking through Nikki's pictures I saw your face. She introduced us and there we began. We were so dramatic- full of break ups and get back togethers and cheating on other people with each other. Every breakup tore me up- I cried for hours- even when I knew the next day we'd make up. Eventually we broke up for good- or rather I went to Ball State and you were at IU. You fell in love with someone new and I did follow suit. But, there was always that something. The last time I kissed you I was moving away to live in Washington DC. I was with Never Right For Me Guy. You followed me to a parking lot and we stood there not knowing what would happen. I stopped it. I didn't want to do that to him. I didn't want to get caught up again in "us". To this day you are my friend- the only real "ex" I still talk to. But somehow there's an awkwardness there. An intimacy that sits ignored, shoved in the corner to the back of my mind and yours. But I'm always glad to know you're still there and still a part of my life.

HOCKEY HOOKUP GUY: When Matty moved to Carmel, I'd hear stories of his best friend from home. We started talking after you visited Matt for a short weekend. We emailed every day and chatted all of the time. I broke up with High School Guy (for the 3rd time, I think) and you were there to soften that blow. When you came to visit for Labor Day, I knew where we were headed. He wanted to get back together, but I wanted to hold off until you came to town (yes- I was a bitch at times). You drove up to the party and I tried my best to act "cool", but the second you hugged me, I was done for. The weekend was full of long talks, drunken parties (where I didn't drink), awesome memories, and a whole lotta kissing. I asked you to come back for Homecoming and we decided long distance could work. We were wrong. More specifically, I was wrong. You went back to St. Louis and I don't think we talked again. I called and emailed, but notta. I found out later you'd started dating Matt ex girlfriend right after you got back. Apparently long distance was not in your plans. I was always thankful that all we did was kiss. But, man. What a kisser! Even though the ending sucked, I actually only have fond memories of that weekend. We caught up years later when you wanted to come to Ball State to visit Matt and myself. You apologized and tried to hook up again. Oddly, I declined your offer.

THE GREAT GUY (but timing sucks): You only sang for me and every time I hear Chess (Anthem to be specific) I think about you. You were and are one of the most incredible men I have ever known. Our timing sucked- I had just met Never Right For Me Guy and you had a "situation." What started off as dating quickly turned to friendship, I think just to lessed our life complications. You moved me in my sophomore year of college and we bought fish together. My grandma still asks about you. I used to get so excited by your emails, even though we were "just friends." Part of me sort of always thought "someday..." You got married last year to a great girl (from what you say) and I couldn't be happier for you. We ended up in a better place than we would have together. We each found our partner and got to keep a great friend in the process. We don't talk often and we email only once in a great while, but just knowing you're happy makes me smile.

Never Right For Me Guy... I don't write about you normally. Not because it hurts, but more because I somehow think you'll know and get madder at me than you already are. When we met I thought you were a different person than maybe you really are. You seemed perfect for me. I don't think I really knew you until a year into us, and by then I was too involved and had decided you were "The One." I was determined to make it work. We had some great times together, but eventually the bad outweighed the good. I always felt distanced by you- kept at arms length. You wouldn't even tell me you loved me. The silence that followed when I would say it broke my heart every time. And yet, I stayed. You never told me you loved me until the night you broke up with me after being together for over 2 years. You stayed the night and then began the new phase of us... are they together or not? That lasted for your first year of law school, where you confessed you didn't find anything better there, so you wanted me back. When I write it now it sounds as shitty as it was. But I decided you meant it in the most romantic way possible. Our getting back together was our biggest mistake. I should have made you leave the night you broke up with me, let you leave me lying on the floor of my college home crying and feeling hollow. That was my mistake. I was pathetically dependent on you. During our year of psuedo-dating, I began to distance myself from you. I built up walls you never could have broke through. I hardened my heart because I knew you'd try to break it again. I didn't love you the way I thought I had. When you asked me to move to D.C. I knew it could be a mistake. But, I wondered if part of our problems were that we had never lived in the same city. So I moved. I almost used the round trip ticket to go home 2 days after I arrived. I don't know where along the line I fell out of love with you. I hated our fighting, I hated being abused emotionally, I hated the pressures that were put on me. I hated feeling like a dissapointment to you and I hated that you were embarrassed of me. I hated that you TOLD me you were embarrassed by me. I should have left as soon as I got there. I handled the break up in the most crappy way ever. I just didn't know how to end it. I knew you'd sucker me back in, like you'd done all of the other times I'd tried to leave. You'd say all of the right lines and things would be different... until they weren't anymore. Then it was back to square one. The night we went to dinner and you told me you didn't see a future with us, was the night I was done. I should have say so then, stood up and walked out of the restaraunt, leaving you with the bill and your words. Instead, I sat there, wondering why I wasted my time on someone who proved time after time that he did not love me. I went home that next weekend and saw your friend that I had been talking with for months- the one I had a crush on- the one I call "J." It was a crappy thing to do, but my heart had been gone long before I finally left. I wish we had closure and that our friends could talk about me around you. I wish that I had not come out looking like the bad guy, but I understand why I do. I wish I had handled it differently, but I don't regret anything really. The path I walked led me to my life now- and you to yours. I have found more happiness than we ever would have shared and I hope you have too.

Life

2006-10-24T08:07:00.000-05:00

I have been busy studying for my LSAT, busy working, playing paintball with my hubs (OMG- I love it!) and just trying to get to the holidays- my favorite time of year!

Hope everyone is well!

Hollow

2006-10-03T07:16:00.000-05:00

Nothing has the ability to stop my heart quite like the voicemail I received Sunday.

I had been at church and then driven to meet the hubs for a quick lunch and then back home to relax. I don't know when I missed the call- just that I had missed it. As I picked up the phone to see who had called, I saw my friend Katie's name. I smiled and shut the phone, continuing to clean up my house. I didn't even listen to the voicemail. I had received a late night "drunk dial" as did my grandmother (Delete old numbers people!) and I assumed it was a "sorry we drunk dialed your grandma- call me" voicemail. After sufficiently cleaning up my kitchen, I listened to the message.

"Kellie, I need you to call me as soon as you get this. I have sad news. Call me."

gulp.

Bad news? No. Sad news. There is a difference. Bad news is that our favorite college karaoke bar has shut down. Or that the dry cleaners ruined my clothes. Or that the restaurant is out of crab cakes. That's bad news.

Sad news... a whole different ball game.

I called her back immediately, only to be greeted by voicemail. Damn! She must be on the other line... I waited as patiently as I could before calling back exactly 3 minutes later. After a few rings she picked up and delivered the truly sad news.

Our friend Nick had died on Saturday. 28 years old. Originally they thought it was a heart attack, but last I heard he had an aneurysm.

Nick and I were not best friends. I had not even spoken to him since his graduation from college. But I still have the memories: I had the pleasure of being in multiple shows with him, traveling to NYC together and performing there. Living in the West Side YMCA with the rest of the cast and exploring the city. Black sweatpants, a t-shirt and a flannel. Orpheus in the Underworld and him on his damn scooter. Home made murder mystery movies.

He was this incredible talent, wrapped into this lanky man with a mop of dark hair and huge eyes. He was almost always smiling.

Despite all of the interaction, there will always be a part of me that never knew Nick. I never really knew what hid behind his eyes and his smile. In a way, he felt shy- reserved. I sensed that he was always thinking and that turned off when he got the perform. He was a natural. A talent. The definition of triple threat.

Life has been such a roller coaster lately. My grandfather is having his 3rd go round with cancer and is having surgery this week. I drank at the wedding a few weeks ago. I feel a little empty inside as it is, and now I feel reminded all over again how short life is.

This probably should be a reminder of Carpe Diem and all of that.

But today it's raining outside, and that feels more right than anything.

Objection!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-09-14T08:21:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I wonder if opposing counsel understand what "unduly burdensome" means!

I am fuming today.

Sorry I only use my blog to vent, as of late. More later... when I'm not working from dawn until dusk...

... or sick....

.... or annoyed....

:)

Note: Life is really fine, just work has boiled over into this steaming pot of stress.

However, I am getting along with my cohorts more and more each day and no longer think everyone hates me! :)

J and I also had a great night last night.. even though he has been sick the past week, we still managed to have a weekday date. I put away my work at 5:00, which has been unheard of for the last 2 weeks. (note: I was up and at em at 6:00am that day) and breezed out of my office, determined to leave work behind for the night and enjoy my evening with my husband. Took him to the doc, grabbed Chinese after and rented a movie OnDemand. The weather outside is turning into perfection. I only hope that I can allow myself to enjoy it and not get so bogged down with work.

It feels like no matter how hard I try to stay caught up and on top of everything, I simply cannot. With one atty out and new hires all over the office, everyone is pushed to their max. I know this. But it is frustrating to have the knowledge that no matter how many hours I put in in a work day, I am never caught up. So, I'm a bit like a duck... looking calm above the water, but treading like hell underneath.

this weekend should be a good one though....
Indy for the night to drop off the pup with my parentals. Meeting J's parents Saturday morning for skydiving, then camping for the night. J's Godfather's 50th b-day is this weekend, so we head to a party Sunday morning/afternoon before rocketing in the car and driving home (with a pitstop for food and doggie-pick-up)

and then...

back to the grind!

How are YOU?!

Mean People Suck

2006-08-31T16:14:00.000-05:00

Yep.

That pretty much covers it.

Yeah, so not that I get too far into it on my snoop bloggy blog, but sometimes I wonder how people get so high and mighty. Is it an attitude one acquires through years of practiced bullshit, or does it come and go, like the seasonal allergies, which are also helping my phenominal mood? What school does one learn this? Because apparently I missed that day and now am being subjected to every ass who stayed late and took extra notes.

Grrrr.

Sometimes people just need to chill out. And by "people", I mean angry-for-no-good-reason clients.

Sheesh.

Get offa me.

Kellie---------------->Out.

Sickville- Population: Me

2006-08-28T07:58:00.000-05:00

Does anyone else ever have those days when they wish they had a job with little to no responsibility?

That’s pretty much where I am at today.

I fought with J yesterday and it plagued me into the night. I was restless and could not find a comfortable spot. I tossed and turned and finally the sickness came. I was sick all night and am still not up to par, despite my attempts with a extra large diet limeade from Sonic. I came into work this morning because I can’t afford a day of rest and Sex in the City right now. Too much work is piled in my office. Too many questions and meetings and everything. And now I am sitting here and wishing I had made a different choice and hit the sack, instead of the road.

And now I have a meeting to prepare for.

Blech

Gotta Get Out Of This Place...

2006-08-24T10:06:00.000-05:00

As I feel tears stinging my eyes, I put aside all of the work that I desperately need to be doing to update in my blog. Ridiculous tears, but I can't wish them away. So I sit in my office behind a closed door and gain control again.

For whatever reason I don't seem to "click" here. In this firm, in the town, in this day. I feel an insecurity that I have never experienced before. I have always had this inherent desire to be liked. At first, I didn't think I was actually DISliked. I suspected apathy. New kid on the block etc. Lately, however, I have began to feel otherwise. I hear hushed voices outside of my office. Secretaries gathered in the kitchen whispering gossip that I don't know about. Only lately have I began to wonder...

Is it me they're talking about?

In the bathroom a few moments ago I could detect hushed voices and only a work or two: "she". Not that I would be the only "she" around this place. But I seem to be the "she" who's not in the loop. I emerged to see a gaggle going into a paralegal's office. A paralegal that I feel confident in saying does not like me. The door was shut behind them and I was left alone in the hallway wondering.

The tears sprung up faster than I expected and, embarrassed, I rushed into my office, shutting the door and, in turn, the world out. I don't know why I care. Why I care that people don't flounce into my office to tell me the latest and greatest. Why I care that I seem to be the odd woman out. Everyone tells me to "give it time" and that friendships don't happen over night. Which I understand. I get that. But, at the same time, I feel like I am not included so often, it starts to feel personal. I am thankful for the few friends I do have here, and I'm glad that not everyone seems to have made so many judgements about me.

I know I'm different. My friends are different. My lifestyle is different. Where I come from is different. But I'm willing to accept and to experience new things... why do I feel so written off?

I get the distinct feeling that J and I are viewed as "priviledged." Places we go, things we like, where we come from all add into this image. But I can't apologize for who I am, or who he is. And I think that if people took the time to get to know me, they may find out that I am not as black and white as they think.

What's hard is that there is nothing I can do, but try to continue to be nice and bide my time.

I am thankful for the friends have made here. They make my days more enjoyable. I just wish I wouldn't let the others influence my mood more.

On an up note, I called J and we're going to lunch. Even though I am exactly 10 lbs heavier this summer than last. Oops.

Going to Indy this weekend and the timing couldn't be better.

Love One Another

2006-08-16T07:56:00.000-05:00

Lately, I have had a lot of conversations about religion and my recent change of heart and faith. I know everyone says that they are things that you should just not discuss… religion and politics. I find myself open to discussing both. I like debates. I like hearing other people’s points of view and why they feel the way they do. Each of us has a history that has brought us to where we are. Each one of us has a back story that has molded the person we have grown into. Rather than writing others off, I’d rather hear where they’re coming from- even when I don’t agree. I may never agree and I may never be able to understand why they believe what they may, but at least I can respect why they have taken their stance.

I realized yesterday how very open-minded I have remained, even in this religious epiphany I have experienced. I will always respect and find elements of truth in all religions. There is something we can take from each and every religion, denomination and belief. We are all made in the image of our Maker. And whether or not you believe in Jesus as the Son of God, or the Messiah, or a Prophet, or a fictional character the Bible made up… He spread the message to love one another. The Golden Rule and everything else. I would happily attend another Islamic service at a Mosque. I’ve told my husband I would support him if he ever chose to venture into Judaism. Eastern Religions resonate within my soul. I feel that I’m so open and it just so happens that I’ve found something within Catholicism that feel right.

So why do I feel that the same courtesy I extend to others is not necessary extended to me?

I look into the eyes of other people when I describe my views and I see emptiness there. A vague recollection that I am speaking and the words I speak are English, but it sits there at the front their eyes- unable, or unwilling, to sink in. Others seem different. It’s almost a smugness. That “She-thinks-she-knows-the-truth-but-really-she’s-wrong” look, when I discuss my views. That very attitude that turns so many away from religion and from Christianity most specifically.

Now, without making my blog a place to fight to death over Jesus and the Way to Heaven etc…

I want to ask people who give me that look this… What makes you so sure that Christians are the only ones who have it “right?” What makes your DENOMINATION of Christianity the “way” to God? It’s a little presumptuous to assume that only you and your itty bitty sector of Christianity are making into those pearly gates. That hell is full of the gays and the Jews and the Muslims and Ghandi and Muhammad.

My point is, none of knows what will happen when we die. We take our beliefs on faith, which is why it’s so hard to believe at times anyway. We hope we’re on the right path and we try to lead a good life. But, if you believe in heaven and hell and God, only God will decide who goes to heaven and who to hell, and maybe even a few to Purgatory. I think it’s wonderful to have a strong faith and a strong connection to God. I think it’s great to find a religion that moves your soul. But I don’t understand the need and desire to discount others, who have found the same thing as you, maybe just in a different place. It’s like that inherent need to cut other people down. To judge when none of us can judge. There’s not one person who has not effed up completely on multiple occasions. And all of us have been lost from time to time. The point is, when we finally are “found” it may be in a different way than another person. But that’s okay. Because the most important thing is that we found peace in ourselves and with whatever we believe.

And that’s what I think about that.

Ramble on....

2006-08-15T07:52:00.000-05:00

So, here I am all moved into my new office… mostly. I forgot pictures again, which I need to make it truly feel like home. The large painting I stare directly at all day is ugly. It’s a barn. Blech. I was told I could change it out if I want to… but it’s not like I have a lot of large painting lying around! I was thinking about going out and buying something. We’ll see…

The changes in our firm seem to be calming down. We will see. My secretary moved to her desk, just outside of my office yesterday. She’s been with the firm for about 6 months and I am thankful I have someone who knows what she’s doing, as I tend to be completely confused most of the time!

Part of my wonders what I am like to work for… I think it probably depends on the day, just like anyone. When I am busy and stressed I tend to withdraw from everyone, focused completely on my work and getting to the finish line. I realized yesterday that sometimes I get short with people when I am in “the mode”. I blew off someone who came to me with a question about one of my cases, because it didn’t fit my schedule of what I needed to get done. Afterward I went out to her desk and talked to her about the case. I actually learned some things I could do to make other people’s lives easier. Had I stopped being so selfish in the first place, then perhaps I may have learned this lesson earlier. Always something to think about. I need to open my eyes and ears more often and worry less about myself.

The point in, I hope I am okay to work for and with.

Today is a Holy Day of Obligation. I have mass at 6:30 and RCIA directly following that. I am excited. I enjoy my classes and the people I am meeting through St. Jude. This past Sunday I actually ran into people I know. And who knew me! I was greeting on my way into the church by name. It was a nice feeling.

Well. This post is sort of rambling and worthless. But oh well! Hope you all are having a good day!

Musical Tears

2006-08-11T07:25:00.000-05:00

So my sister-in-law left a CD in my car and I was listening to it this morning.

It never ceases to amaze me how certain songs just put me in the mood.

Not that kind of mood. Sheesh. But music influences and extracts different emotions. I listen to different tunes depending on what I am preparing to do...

If I'm going out, it's all hip hop and rap and trendy ridiculous pop music that has no meaning, but sticks in your head like glue. And then you find yourself walking around singing things like "I'm bossy...That's right i brought all the boys to the yard, and that's right, i'm the one that's tattooed on his arm..."

Shudder.

Anyways. You get my point. Music that has a beat gets me pumped and ready to shake, shake, shake that ass girls... sorry. back to the subject.

Other times, I feel completely mellow. I listen to Dave and Lily Duncan and chill out. This is usually the way I am in the morning. Driving to work with the windows just a little cracked, softly singing along with some acoustic guitar. It gets me in a calm place, ready to take work on and hoping to be chill for the day.

This morning I was listening to "For You I Will" by Teddy Geiger. It brough me back to days of crushes and new love and all of the wonder and excitement that come with it. It made me think of every boy who said he loved me, and made me think even more about the one boy that mattered when he said it: J.

I fought with my hubby last night. I cried so hard that I had to put ice bags on my eyes this morning to keep me from looking so frog-like. It was like all of my stress over my new job came pouring out, gushing from me so fast I could barely breath. I wanted to go lay on the couch. Let it pour out onto old pillows and old blankets, rather than on my husband's arm. Once it began, it was uncontrollable, and very apparent that this emotional outburst was far from about "us." And in true J fashion, when he had every right to tell me to stop taking it out on him and direct my frustrations accordingly, he held me, let me cry and refused to allow me to confide into the pillows of our couch, rather than to him.

Which makes me feel all the worse for taking anything out on him to begin with.

Why do we feel it's easiest to hurt those we love the most? Is it the confidence that we know they will always be there? That they love us enough to take it? That they just happen to be there all the time and therefore are just more likely to hear about it?

We don't go off on our bosses for fear of losing our job. We keep quiet around our co-workers rather than express our annoyance to keep the office peace. Mums the word when someone cuts in front of us at the grocery, as we don't want to cause a scene. But inside our homes, behind closed doors we allow ourselves to rage on the people we love.

Shouldn't they receive more respect and consideration than that which we so commonl bestow on others? I think so. I know so.

I just need to remember that.

Home Sweet Home

2006-08-07T11:15:00.000-05:00

It's one of those days when I'd rather be in bed. Turn on my fireplace (how ridiculous is that we never build fires anymore?), listen to the tea kettle grumble and soak in some Amazing Book. I want to wrap up in my husband's old blanket- the one that's seen more of the world that I have in my mere 25-going-on-26 years. It's got holes all over and it smells like my dog, but it feels like Home.

I miss home. I am only now beginning to truly appreciate how wonderful it is to be close to family. J is my world and my home, but there's something about dropping in on my relatives that just feels right. I can recognize that part of this is due to the fact that J is working every weekend this month. I work all week and then weekend comes and he's gone for his 12 hour days. More like 13. I know I shoudln't complain, but I can't help but wish we were in Indy. The families are close, the friends are closer and the job I loved is open. I know it seems confusing, as we were considering a move to Washington state. But with the military it all feels different... we had built in friends. Built in bonds. Built in common interests. I even find myself missing North Carolina. I miss my Beth. I miss double dates with her and Michael and baby Emma, whom we haven't seen in months. And even though we were far from "home" there, it just felt... more right. Somehow.

And living here just feels off. Like something isn't fitting. Like, I don't fit. I can't put my finger on why I feel this way, I just know I do. It's nothing to do with my marriage and nothing to do with J. I'm happy as a clam to be with him. I hate that I just used the phrase "happy as a clam," but whatever- I am. I love to be with him and spend out time together. But I feel like I'm inhabiting someone else's space. Living in someone else's city- because I know it's not mine. We're living in someone else house in a neighborhood where we're the round pegs trying to mesh into the square holes.

I keep hoping for a change- a change in me, like the change I'm waiting to see on the faces of the leaves. Maybe as the air grows crisp, I'll find my niche.

But for now, I could use a lazy day with my husband and my dog.

Is this bad?

2006-08-05T17:02:00.000-05:00

That I sort of love Chris Brown.

and he's... 16?

I'm a sick, sick woman...

Maybe this and Maybe that.

2006-08-02T11:28:00.000-05:00

Only recently have I realized how very much I have changed, and, moreover, am trying to change. We all try to make big changes, but for me, it’s been some of the little ones that have impacted me the most. For instance, the urge to join in gossip is strong. I feel compelled to throw my 5 cents in (I always have more than 2). I want to be a part of the group. Be accepted. A “cool” kid. I hate the feeling of loneliness, and although I am blessed to be married to my best friend, sometimes I just need my girlfriends. I hear group chatter and, at times, entertain the thought of joining in. But despite these urges, I am trying to be a better person. Not that I was all that bad to begin with, but a generally better all-around person. Putting someone else down no longer makes me feel better. It’s embarrassing to admit that it ever did. But a good base of insecurity mixed with peer pressure and I fell into the trap.

It’s amazing to me, however, that this attitude I had back in my teenage years can be carried into adulthood by others. I hear them talk and I feel like I am back in the cafeteria, laughing too loudly to make myself feel okay. I listen to their comments… I wonder if the Golden Rule ever even enters their brains. We all have things that could be picked on.

We are not perfect.

We all have our tender spots, as soft and pink as the underside of a pup. Try as we might to hide them from the outside world, they exist and reveal themselves daily.

Flaws.

Imperfections.

Humanity.

Why do people feel compelled to exploit these blemishes?

This question has been on my mind a lot lately.

Maybe since I’ve made the decision not to participate anymore in this chipping away at others, I’ve grown super-sensitive to others actions.

Maybe I’m just missing my girlfriends, who support, rather than tear down.

Maybe I’m just moody and maybe I’m pregnant.

My world is full of such maybes. But maybe I’m glad to be on this side of it.

Stress, Baby, Stress...

2006-08-01T12:45:00.000-05:00

I am not sure if I ought to write about this. Or if my blog is the right place to do so.

Pedictably: I post.

The last 5 morning have been the same. Wake up. Throw up. Shower. Throw up. Don't eat breakfast because everything in my kitchen makes me want to... you guessed it! Throw. Up. Finally by the afternoon, my stomach is re-settled and ready for action. I'm having heartburn.

I've never had heartburn.

Today my stomach was cramping. Reasons are unknown.

Part of me wonders if the stress over my new position is causing my body to revolt. The confusion of my job, the demands of my clients, my lack of a secretary (which is taken care of starting next week- thank goodness), and the general confusion that comes along with a new firm and new people. Husband J seems to think this is the issue.

I hope so.

Another part of me wonders...

J and I would like to wait to have a baby. Not that we don't both love children. We do. I love them desperately. But waiting until he finishes his MBA or at least just giving us a few years together would be ideal.

But I still wonder...

Falling Again

2006-07-31T08:13:00.000-05:00

This weekend I got excited about fall. I know I’ve got some time, but it was the first time the excitement hit me this year. It all happened in Yankee Candle. Sarah and I were shopping and testing out all of the new scents. Pumpkin Spice. Candy Corn. Fall Leaves.

Mmmmm.

The smells entered through my nose and wafted (is that a word?) straight to my heart. Memories of football season, carving pumpkins, chilly night time walks and jumping in piles of leaves (and yes, even at 25). Thoughts of sweatshirts and jeans, hockey games, candied apples, Halloween costumes, and hayrides. Even as I type this I feel an excitement in my chest. I can’t wait! And now that I am a camper extraordinaire, there’s so much more to look forward to! Plus, J and I finally have our own house to decorate and have the kiddos trick or treat to our door.

I wonder how much of this excitement is due to this unforgiving and hot summer?

But, frankly, I don’t care. It makes me happy to think about- and gives me something to look forward to.

Now, if only we had more trees… Maybe next year… as we will be buying/building a new house soon!  I love my life!

What a Boy Wants

2006-07-28T17:28:00.000-05:00

Without going into geat detail, as to protect the parties involved (and by parties involved I do mean, my ass), there is something I want to discuss.

Why do men fall for dumb girls?

Correction. Why do smart men fall for dumb girls?

Is it the fact that they can control them? That the Dumbs hang on every word they say? Think that they are soooooooo smart? Follow along with boobs pushed out and minds closed, allowing the Man to lead?

I don't get it.

I've recently watched a new relationship bloom. The cast- two people. You guessed it- a Smart Man. Funny. Smart. Sharp. Good looking. All in all, what I would label as "a catch." His counterpart... less so. Cute. Great bod. But all things added together... just another cute girl. Not even hot. I mean, come on.

It's not the first time I have witnessed such a dynamic. And I'll say it, it pisses me off! Why does it seem that men in power seem to want a woman who is weak? I know I am generalizing right now, but come on! Why don't more men want a partner?

I mean a true partner. One that can connect with them in ways that, gulp, don't involve their penis? A woman that will argue with them, speak her mind, and tell them when they are full of it.

I know they are out there... trust me. I married one.

But I guess the question of the day is...

what's up with that?

Curses

2006-07-25T11:09:00.000-05:00

So, today J had to go to the BMV or DMV, whatever you want to call it, as I tend to use the initials pretty interchangeably.

He had to renew his license.

He had to take The Test.

Let us all recall when I took The Test how it turn out...

He passed.

On the first try.

I hate my life.

The TV and Me

2006-07-24T07:15:00.000-05:00

Another weekend gone and back to work on Monday morning.

Monday morning is the worst. Try as I might, I cannot seem to grasp the fact that I need to hit the sack at a reasonable hour on Sunday nights. On normal nights, J and I make our way to bed no later than an embarrassing 10:00. We shoot for 9:30. After we take our pills and our jello, as we are each apparently 60 years of age.

So, last night was full of Big Brother All Stars. Yeah, that's right. I said it. I love me some BB. I've always felt that I could be a success on Big Brother. I couldn't cut it on Survivor- as I am not strong and so I could not outlast. I'd be all about the whole outwit thing, but those physical challenges and I would not get along. It's pretty pathetic.

Amazing Race and I have potential. Only one huge problem... I would have to have a partner who would be willing to put up with me. And a partner I would not kill on national television. One of my major character flaws is that when I get frustrated, I tend to take it out on whatever is closest. This generally tends to be a person. J and I could try Amazing Race. But then again he hates reality television, so there goes that idea. Moving on...

I'm too old for Road Rules and too boring for Real World.

Not hot enough for American Idol, although talented enough.

Not skilled enough for So You Think You Can Dance.

Well, I think you get the point... I will never be cast on a reality television series. And although I know I am actually becoming stupider (see- it's hitting already) by watching, I just can't stop.

So. I watch Big Brother and after it is over, I know I need to go to bed. I am 30 feet from the bedroom. I do the one thing I know I shouldn't do (besides the rice pudding I ate during BB)... I flip through channels... You know, just to see what's on...

Well, lo and behold, Iron Chef America was on! Holy cow! What a surprise! Actually, it wasn't a surprise at all, as I tend to do this every Sunday. I cuddled up to watch I.C.A. (which is totally not as awesome as the original Japanese version). After an hour of Wild Salmon and a victory for the challenger (which I love), NOW it was time for bed... but wait... wait... what's this?

A FOOD NETWORK CHALLENGE!

CELEBRATION CAKES?! With PARTNERS paired the DAY OF THE CHALLENGE.

It was like a car accident... I couldn't look away.

So, J and I stayed up tv-ing it until 11:00. By the time I actually shut my eyes for sleeping it was past midnight.

So, folks, the moral of the story is....

I'm tired

and

Television is the devil.

The Ghost Blogger

2006-07-18T12:19:00.000-05:00

I know, I know I know...

Where did she go?
Has she passed through?
Has something, gulp, horrible happened?
Is she sick?
Is she... ALIVE?!

Yes, indeed, folks. Here she is. Alive. Breathing. Blood Pumping and now, shockingly...

Typing!

Holy crap!

So here I am. Living and loving in Indiana and sucking at my beloved blog. It's not for lack of material. I have a new job, a new religion and am still adjusting to being married to the J.

The new job came about pretty randomly via a neighbor. Again with the law firm and again liking the work. Again thinking about law school and again dreading the costs. School here in the Fort was a bit out of my price range and a little unecessary. So back to work I am.

As my regulars can remember I, the Kellie, tended to hate me some church in the past. I was bored, I was annoyed and I didn't believe what I was being told. I couldn't jump on any band wagon to heaven thinking that I was going to leave so many I love alone in the fires of hell- as I had been taught for years. Upon moving, I ventured into a new world...

Catholicism.

I know it seems random, but I have found a place where my beliefs are valued and I actually enjoy worship. I've been going to Mass every week since I moved and love it. I am beginning my RCIA classes to learn more and, most probably, eventually become Catholic. It's a surprising turn of events, but one I am more pleased with than I could have anticipated. I had been keeping on the hush, as so many people in my life had an adverse reaction when I mentioned the words Mass, Priest and Catholics. But now I'm putting it out there. I'll say it. I love God.

Get off me.

Marriage is effecting me every day. The knowledge that I get to go home each night to an amazing partner fulfills me more than I could have anticipated. The adjustments are still happening, but for the most part, we're in sinc with each other and just able to enjoy being each other's better half.

Who am I kidding? We all know I'm his better half.

:)

So that's my life, team. Please keep reading and I promise to write.

Oh. And one more thing.

I recently slept in a tent. On the ground. With bugs. And even though it aws in my backyard, I'll say I went camping. And I lasted the whole night.

Adjustments... I'll say!

A Woman's World

2006-06-21T12:08:00.000-05:00

As I went out to the clubs with my girlfriends last weekend in celebration of Elizabeth's last weeks as a single woman, I took in a lot. I watched a lot of drunk, ever more desperate, but the most prevelant was, shockingly to me, a lot of bitchy.

Why are women so mean to one another?

No one is more judgemental of other women than women themselves. It really hit me as I was getting ready to go out. Sometimes we're more focused on looking "right" or "as good" as other women than we ever are around men. As we walked into The Red Room, clad in designer jeans, tiny tops and uncomfortable-but-fabulous shoes, it all began. The dance floor was less than hopping, just a few women gathered to bob and step (the white man's anthem) to the music. The group dancing close to us was a small but eye-catching cluster of are they really 21? girls. All blond, all beautiful, all missing half of their clothes and, most likely, missing most of their meals. Their dresses were tight, exposing ribs and barely-there breasts. Their skirts were short and their ankles bobbled on shoes that were just a bit too tall. They looked a little like young girls raiding their mother's closet, wobbling around in high heeled shoes, playing dress up. As we took a spot on the dance floor, I felt the Barbie's staring us down. Never missing a step they took us in. I felt their eyes look us up and down judge us. Pointing out ouf flaws in their minds. Validating themselves with whatever they could find wrong with us. I heard laughter, and I automatically wondered "Is it me?" Am I the one they're laughing at?

I felt more self concious than the first time a man sees me naked. With a man I've always known that my flaws, because I know I have them- we all do, are lessened by the fact that, frankly, if there are breasts exposed my slightly-less-tight-than-they-used-to-be thighs are the last thing on his mind. With women, it's a whole different ball game. I've heard girlfriends talk about another friend's outfit/haircut/weight gain. I've seen groups of women tear apart another women, just for fun. I've seen all of this- and, unfortunately, done it too. But who hasn't really?

As we danced, I felt something else, too. Then I heard it. "Look at her belt." my friends whispered. I giggled. It was a hideous belt. Black and white dress with a HUGE red shiney belt cutting right around the middle of the only girl who seemed to NOT be missing meals. Not attractive. We laughed at her amongst ourselves, and then it hit me. We were no different. We felt threatened and we fought back. Insecurities filled us and so we found something wrong with our enemy. Validated in another woman's flaw.

Why are we like this? I used to think that this was competition over men, but I just don't think that's true anymore. We are our own worst enemy, turning into a high school cheerleader picking on the less popular girls. We tear down other women- picking apart everything- from their jobs to their eyebrows. We seek and destroy. Find their flaws and expose them. Somehow we get pleasure in knowing that someone else is not perfect either.

But is there anything more flawed than a lack of kindness?

We worry so much about our appearance. We make time for the gym, we buy anti-aging, anti-wrinkle, anti-acne... what about anti-bitch? So many of us pride ourselves on a bitchy nature, but isn't this just a defense mechanism? Don't we call ourselves a bitch so that we've said it first? Don't we find the flaws in others so we can defend ourselves when they find ours? I wish we could support each other. Only we can truly understand what other women go through every day- what our insecurities are, what our trials are, and who we want to be.

I smiled at the girls while we were in the dance club. They didn't smile back. Instead they turned around and had a mini session, followed by laughter. But this time I didn't feel bad for me. I felt bad for them. I watched them while we were at the Red Room. I watched two go to the bathroom and their fellow "friends" make fun of the belt. I watched a girl cut in while her friend was dancing with a hottie. The friend looked hurt and then slinked away, off to the side, conversing with another girl. They shot death glares at their "friend" and then proceeded to break up her dance. They were all so beautiful, and yet, so ugly to one another.

As we left the Red Room, I posed this subject to my girlfriends. We started a serious conversation on the streets of Broadripple, in midst of drunks and catcalls. The years we had on those girls was apparent. We respect each other. We understand. We're right there with each other, and there when we need each other. We went to more clubs and danced. There were no more girl fights that night. We were tired at 1:00am and walked the dirty streets minus our shoes, laughing and talking. We ate Jimmy Johns on a wooden picnic bench and went home before the sun came up.

Because that's just how we roll.

I went to bed that night at Mandi's house, sharing a bed with her like we were kids at a sleepover, and thought about how lucky I am.

Update

2006-06-19T19:33:00.000-05:00

So, I have pretty much sucked at the whole posting thing. Apologies to all. Not sure exactly why I have been such an anti-blogger lately. Part of it is that I don't always know that I have a lot to say. And the other part is that when I do think of things to write I am usually in my car or elsewhere etc...

I had a great weekend in Indy for Elizabeth's party! Being out at the bars is very different when sober... this is something I found to be true! But seeing the girls was amazing and reminded me of these amazing friends.

Home is good. The J is working a lot and the dog is wild. We're (and by "we" I mean HE) is thinking about another one. So... we'll see! :) It's like the prelude to children. I know this. I accept it. I'm okay with it.

At this moment the dog seems to be giving the hubs some trouble... so I better jet...

more tomorrow.

Love to all! I miss you!

Word Vomit

2006-06-09T15:31:00.000-05:00

I feel restless.

I am sitting in our office drinking a diet cherry coke, eating sour patch kids, waiting on a call about a job I'm probably not qualified for... And I feel restless. I've watched Carrie get back into bed with Big, my dog crap grass and the clock tick away minutes and then hours.

I want to write, but subject matter floats through my head better when I'm in my car than sitting in front of my laptop.

I stood in front of the card section in Walgreens for half an hour, desperate for a card for a bachelorette party. I settled on one that should make Elizabeth laugh- we'll see.

I'm going out tomorrow night in Indy with my girlfriends from the city. It will be my first big test of my sobriety. Beautiful women dressed to the nines. Usually it takes a drink or two to get my confidence level boosted. I hate that I'm eating sour patch kids when I know tomorrow I will be cursing the gods for this, while trying to squeeze into my I-wish-these-were-a-size-larger jeans. But oh well.

I have a new top from H&M I may pull out for the evening. Too much money, but adorable and trendy and totally comfy. Jeans, of course. Fancy tops and torn up jeans. This is our fashion. Cute shoes that I paid way too much for but just had to have.

But again the question plagues me...

Why am I so restless?

The Best Times I'll Never Remember

2006-05-25T09:20:00.000-05:00

After being inspired by someone I love dearly, I've decided to forgo the drink.

Yes, that's right. Me. Kellie. No drinking. I understand the shock.

Without going into insane and, moreover, embarrassing detail, the facts are that I drink too often. And I drink too much when I drink. It had been on my mind before, but after talking with this person that I love as much as I love family, it was like God was stepping in and showing me that there's more. I am not the girl I am when I am drunk. It's not me. It's this crazy person who throws fits and yells and cries until the sleep comes. The next day is full of red-faced embarrassment, apologies, and horrors of having to ask someone else what you said or did. There's nothing worse than hurting those you love, all because you had one, or five, too many drinks.

It's amazing how it tends to invade my mind now. Thinking about NOT drinking. It's crazy. In the past, I thought there was the possibility of a problem. Too much. Too often. Dizzy nights and foggy mornings. That was college. And, to be honest, it's what all of my friends were doing. Not to sound so after-school-special, but it's true. Skip class to have beer, take shots before the party- just in case the alcohol ran out, and begin in the morning on the weekends. It all seemed so... College. It seemed like what to do. But after 4 years of it, it's hard to make that switch into the Real World.

Now here we are. So many others my age, trying to get control of this monster we created while "just having fun." Eventually, it becomes a way of life, more controlled- sure, but a way of life nonetheless. We are barraged my images of sexy and "cool" and most of them involve a drink... or five. Think Cosmos- Sex in the City, right? Right. Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte. They live these glamorous lives, right? Expensive shoes, explosive sex, amazing clothes and fabulous parties. But, in the core of each woman, is an inner loneliness. And I think many others feel this way, but drown it in one more drink and shared kisses with strangers in another's apartment. I'm not saying it's wrong. I'm just saying.

But I realized that I am a stronger person than Drunk Me. I'm happy. I have an amazing life. It's normal and stable and a tad on the boring side, but I like it that way. I like who I am- sober. But I don't like who I become drunk. That's the key for me.

I was contemplating scenarios last night when I couldn't sleep. Thinking about when it might come up... Dinners with family, bars with friends, New Years... New Years. It would be amazing to have a New Years where I actually REMEMBER the New Year instead of either being passed out already or praying to the porcelain gods of the bathroom. I'd like to be sober next New Year.

So this is my statement. My embarrassing confession to the "world" that I'm not so good with the alco-mo-hol. I feel ashamed to say it, but excited to live the way I want to live.

Here goes...

No Babies For Me

2006-05-22T19:46:00.000-05:00

After three glasses of red and a pregnancy scare/dissapointment later I post...

I say scare/dissapointment because when 4 days of thinking "what if I am..." goes out the window, there is that distinct part of you that cries a little inside. The part that smiled at the baby clothes in target and admired the selection in Motherhood Maternity. The part that talked about named with the husband and felt guilty enjoyed a glass of sake with a friend in town for the weekend. It's always a little bit of a loss when you are snapped back to reality in the bathroom of your home.

I'm not ready for children. I love them. I adore children. Other peoples, strangers, friends, any kids. Love 'em. I would have been a great step-parent because I embrace all children and try to love them as best I can. But I know in my heart it's not time for me to have my own. And that's okay. I want the years of spending time with my husband. Of vacationing together just the two of us. I want our biggest responsibility to be the dog and where to kennel him, rather than choosing a Disney cruise over mad passion in the Greek isles.

So why does seeing a rattle bring the misty eyes?

I've always been secretly afraid that I won't be able to have children. My medical history as it is... it would only seem fit. 2 sugeries before the age of 22, one muslce disease, 2 eating disorders, and all of the other randomness that has infected my health... I worry about my fertility. I've asked doctor after doctor if there should be an issue and then assure me "no." But in my heart I worry. It's a stress I couldn't handle- losing a child. A baby already made inside of me... No way.

Not this gal.

Nope.

I was enlightened with my last job- with adoption. If there ever were to be an issue- I know there is another way. Even when I had to assist in my job- to care for a baby for a few hours to a few days before the adoption could take place- I fell in love. This child was going to become someone else's baby. It would only know its parents. Its adoptive parents. Parents. To be a parent is more than to give birth it's to be there for your child. To shower a parental love on that child- unconditionally- forever. To guide that child into it's life and to help. nurture and care for. That's what it means to parent.

Someday I'll be that parent- whether it means I'll give birth- who knows. But I'll parent like none other and love until it hurts.

Are we there yet?

2006-05-18T14:07:00.000-05:00

So I started using this new hair product.

Yeah, it's going to be one of those posts...

This hair product- by John Freida- is called a color glaze. It's supposed to add a subtle hint of color with each use.

I decided today that this "glaze" is not for me. I use it and after each use, I rush to the mirror to see my beautiful "glazed" hair. I blow dry. I tilt my head to the light hits it juuuuuuuust right. There! Is that it? Is this a glaze? I'm tempted to jump back in the shower- wash, rinse and glazing the day away. I need more immediate results.

It's a theme that runs my life. I weigh myself after I work out- just to see if I might have already lost a pound or perhaps even 2! I use a new face product and expect blemishes to disappear in hours. I drink cognac like it's a shot and I always order appetizer because I just can't wait. I want things now. Hurry up and get them before they get away.

I think that's what has been in the back of my mind about my new surroundings. A new town where I know no one- I'm desperate for friends. But not just the normal run of the mill friends. I'm desperate for call me when you're already on your way to my house friends. Friends who hold up a shot glass and scream at the top of their lungs "FUCK YOU BENNY" friends. Line dancing, state fair loving, can't stop shopping at Express friends. Friends who will go to a Chinese buffet with me and don't judge me when I eat three plates of food (get off me- one is always dessert). Friends who order beer at 11:00am with their salads. Friends who say "I love you" "You're amazing" and "I miss you."

Then I realize that those friends are not going to be found, because they already exist. And no matter how far away we are, I know they're there, living in different cities, different states and on different coast. They're beautiful and incredible and I'm lucky to have them.

I need to visit. Ugh. I hate travel. I just want to get there.

Shocker, I know.

Married in the Suburbs

2006-05-16T15:31:00.000-05:00

Whenever I watch Sex in the City, it inspires me to write. Probably because Carrie is a writer and poses the same questions that I think all of us women tend to ask ourselves... It makes me focus back on myself, my relationship, my life, my goals and, most of all, my friends.

There is a part of me that is jealous of my single girlfriends. Now, before J reads this and begins packing my bags, I just mean a PART of me. The part that loves going dancing, drinking pretty drinks, talking to even prettier men and spending way too much money on shoes and clothes. The part that misses candy corn and pumpkin parties (and wine- always with the wine) when one of my girlfriends (and myself) got dumped, or screwed over, or was doing the screwing. Drinking cosmos from a cheap martini glass and then moving on to cheap beer once the buzz got going. Parties and kisses and beautiful people. Jumbo margaritas followed by too many chips and salsas and enchiladas that always made me sick. Or was that the margarita? Who knows. I remember the bathroom of Puerto's all too well. I look back on my "single" days through rose colored glasses.

Where did that girl go?

Now I'm sitting in a room with too many boxes. Hair short and unkept because I didn't bother to shower today due to working in my yard. My nails are au natural- due to the fact that they got in my way when I was typing, and it was truly getting expensive to keep them. I've traded in my vodka tonics for the occasional red wine, which tends to give me a headache, but I drink it anyway. In the background, the noise from my television blares, because I forgot to turn it off, and now am hounded by the fact that I need to do so... You know, electric bill and all.

There. Back. Better.

I have a dog asleep on a gold sofa that has more throw pillows on it than I can stand. When no one is here, I push them all on the floor (which hasn't been vacuumed in over a week) and lay on the couch with an old, stained pillow, under a blanket with more holes than baby swiss. My life has changed so dramatically in the last 3 years. When I think back to the way life used to be, I realize one huge fact: this is where I wanted to go. I wanted to be this girl I am now. I was chasing this dream. I wanted to be the girl in the kitchen. The one who's singing at the top of her lungs, taking breaks to sip this cheap beer that's sitting next to me, making dinner for her husband- her family.

I still laugh uncontrollably after a few drinks. I still crave passion and love. I still dance around my house, singing songs I've made up. I still call my friends late on a random Monday- just to hear about their life and laugh until I cry. I still write (bad) poetry in my head about my husband's freckles while he sleeps.

And I like it this way. Sex in the City? Nope. Just Married in the Suburbs.

Love It...

2006-05-12T14:48:00.000-05:00

The scene: Our bed in our bedroom. Lights out. The decision is being made... sleep... or otherwise...

The setup: I, as per always, have just told an incredibly long (I lack the ability to tell stories in a concise manner) story have realized that it is without humor or, moreso, point. There is a long silence as both husband and I realize this. I step in to save the moment and my story:

Me: ... And then I found blood in my stool.

J: GROSS. (rolls over).

I curl up behind him.

Me: What?! You used to laugh when I ended with "and then I found blood in my stool." You thought it was cute.

J: No, I felt awkward, so I laughed. I think YOU'RE cute. That's disgusting.

Me: hhhmmph. (We curl up and there is silence.)

Five minutes later...

Me: OTHER people think it's funny. They laugh a lot. TONS O LAUGHTER.

J: They feel awkward, too.

Me: For real?

J: For real.

Me: Oh. Check.

Who knew people thought that was gross?

Needless to say, we didn't have sex.

Mapquest and Me

2006-05-04T10:25:00.000-05:00

So, as I prepare for my day, I'd just like to reflect on how much I love Mapquest.

Sure, we've been through a few tough times... I've been steered wrong a time or two, and, on more than one occasion, cursed the gods that invented said quest for said map. However, more often than not, I end up at my final destination with little or no trouble.

Gone are my days of asking directions from people. Gone are my days of asking "Which direction is North? Right or Left?" (but seriously people- you KNOW which way you want me to turn- stop trying to sound superior. Sheesh). Gone are the questions of how much time to allow on the road.

Aw Mapquest. What a guy. Or girl. Whatever- you get my point.

So here's to hoping my directions for the day are good ones. And here's to hoping my grad school interview rocks out and I wow them with my beauty and my wit. Mostly just my wit- I doubt they care much about my beauty.

Adios- more to follow- Keep those fingers crossed. :)

Back to life... back to... reality??

2006-05-03T14:04:00.000-05:00

Hello all! Well, I am officially married, honeymooned, moved, and connected to the World Wide Web! WOO-HOO!

I get my pictures back from the wedding on Friday, but here are a few pics that one of my Bridesmaids took...

Josh and I at our rehearsal. AWFUL picture of me, but oh well...

Jody (my maid of honor) and I pre-party before the rehearsal dinner!

The girls and I at Nippers II the night before my wedding. We were missing Sarah! Damn that whole 21 to get in thing.

The happy couple... Please note my classy John Deer hat. What else could you wear to Nippers II. This was my husband and some of his groomsmen's first time at Nippers II... Let's face it, though. Nothing says "Happy Wedding" like some good ol karaoke! :)

The day of! Getting ready to put on the dress!

Bridesmaids flowers...

Church McChurch...

Mandi and I "back stage", where we did play Down By the Banks... and did repeatedly do the Cha-Cha dance to pass the time... "Let me hear you clap your hands..."

BFFs... Kirsten is so hot... lol

Ain't no wedding like a Ball State Wedding...

So there you go folks... I promise to post more pics as I get them scanned etc...

One fun story before I head back to my boxed house:

I put the ring on the wrong finger. Yep. I took his right hand and tried to force it on. J was saying "Fix it... fix it..." under his breath, but I was SURE that he was saying "Fit it... Fit it..." So I tried to force it on, when suddenly I heard the congregation saying "WRONG HAND!" I try to remove the ring, but it will not budge. Finally we give up and have to keep going. However, in the middle of my wedding, I did turn to the crowd laugh and say "I would be the one to do that" and then hit myself in the head. So from now until forever, his family and my family will mock me relentlessly.

stupid lefts and rights...

Again, I'm Alive

2006-04-27T07:01:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the delay and falling off the face of the planet all! I AM ALIVE... again, I have to say this... oops!

Anyway, we are in the middle of our move so as of right now, we have no internet. Next week we will be all hooked up and ready to roll and I will be unemployed preparing for grad school, so you can all bet your hot little hineys that I will be a blogging FOOL again!

More to come- and pictures! :)

Love to all!

~K~

p.s. Being married is amazing!

I'm Alive

2006-04-04T07:41:00.000-05:00

Worry not. I am alive! Just busy as can be getting ready to be married on SATURDAY! J and I have been running around like chickens sans heads.

We move soon as well, and trust me, once that happens I will have all the time in the world to write write write!

I miss you all blogger buds!

:)

The Life of Me

2006-03-20T12:30:00.000-06:00

I feel like a broken record...

"Sorry I haven't updated"
"Life has been so crazy"
"I promise to get better"

blah. blah. blah.

Apologies either way. I sort of dropped off the face of the blogging planet for a bit, but I vow to try to hop back on. The last few weeks have been spent flying back and forth from North Carolina to Indiana, doing more wedding prep than I ever though I'd need to do, trying to lose the extra five pounds before the wedding and, subsequently, the honeymoon. My eyes have been broken out, my stomach in knots, my J stressed to the max and my body bloated on what seems like a daily basis.

And despite all of this- life is getting better by the minute. I have managed to be less stressed about the wedding than I ever anticipated. I am filled to the max with excitement- eager to begin our future together. J is still job hunting, which is the main stresser at this point. He is finally here with me in Indy, as well, which makes my world filled with happiness, despite his lack of job frustrations.

I started writing a new "book" on a plane the other day. I quote it because I tend to do very well at starting, but not so great at ending. I've needed to be inspired, needed time to write, needed an idea. I've made a million excuses of why I'm not writing as much as I say I'd like to. Too tired, too bored, too drained, too much tv, too everything and nothing all at once. I've made the decision to "force" myself to write, even if it's crap, and I know it's crap. Maybe it will be crap I can work on. Who knows?

So that's my life, all. It's busy and wonderful and crazy all wrapped into a package of me. How are YOU?

Prepare to Shake Your Heads...

2006-03-08T12:52:00.000-06:00

Am I ridiculous that on my break from my busy day at work I went online and purchased a pink and white track suit that says "Bride" on it?

I think I am, team... I just might be...

Taylor Taylor Taylor...

2006-03-02T10:48:00.000-06:00

So this post might be rather boring to those of you who do not watch American Idol.

Just a warning.

I am sitting here at my desk, after having finished all of my big projects I wanted to knock out before leaving for the airport (NC again... oh lordy the monies...), and I start to think about American Idol.

More specifically, I start to think about my favorite male contestant, Taylor Hicks.

And no, not like THAT. Sheesh.

But back on track...

I love me some Taylor Hicks.

Sure, he may have grey hair. Whatever. So, he might occasionally look like he's about the have a seizure. So what? Get off of him. He can SING. And I will buy his album. I can't imagine that someone won't pick him up and sign him, even if he gets the boot on American Idol.

So here's to you Taylor. A little shout out.

I heart you.

And your grey locks!

The Baby in my Family

2006-02-27T07:42:00.000-06:00

After my last post about Eddie I had gotten a lot of questions regarding him, how I got him, what he is exactly, etc. So I thought it was high time that everyone learned the story of how I met the Other Man in my life: Prince Edward the Black...

J and I were living in North Carolina at the time. I had been desperate for a puppy for a good lifetime (Fish were the only pets I was allowed to have as a child). J had grown up with dogs and his family dog had been put down the year before, when he came home on mid-tour from Korea. So, needless to say we were both itching to get a dog.

In Fayetteville, where we lived, there is this rescue place that always has their stuff set up with a million dogs and after being bombarded with puppies and dogs month after month, we knew it was time. Originally, we had wanted an English Bulldog. That was the plan, however, as many of you probably know they are extremely pricey. They also have short lifespans, because they have a ton of health problems. So we decided we might look into other breeds.

I suggested we pick up one of the local papers and look at the animal listings, which is how we happened upon an ad selling "Bulldog Puppies." J called the phone number and we were told that they had a litter- the dad was an English Bulldog and mom was a Boxer/American Bulldog mix. J and I talked it over and decided that we would go check it out.

We drove about an hour away from Fayetteville out into NC country to a little Tobacco Farm, so removed that J and I couldn't find it. We ended up stopping at a trailer near where we though the farm was, only to discover the person who lived there was related to our puppy sellers. She pointed us in the right direction and we were off. By the time we arrived, there were only 2 puppies left that had not been spoken for- a little girl and a little boy pup. The little girl puppy was timid and shy and when we tried to play with her, she ran the other way. Eddie was the opposite. He was crawling over the other pups to get to us. He was playful and wiley and charming. At the time his name was "Spot"- so original, I know. As J and I looked at "Spot" we knew that we were not leaving there without him.

So, that day we paid out some cash and rolled home with a 6 week old Eddie. We went directly to Petsmart and bought out the store and then took him to his new home...

And that is the story of Prince Edward the Black- his full name! :) A lot of people were surprised at the pics of my pup- mostly because I think I am a fairly feminine girl etc and Eddie is FAR from that. As I said before, I think all dogs are cute. But there is just something about having a big protective dog that I love. Sure, he's wild. Stronger than me? Absolutely. But can I go running at night with him and not worry- sure can!

Fight Club

2006-02-24T09:55:00.000-06:00

I don't mean to go all "Stephanie Klein" about my dog... but here goes.

Today was Eddie's first day of Doggie Day Care. Now, before you all barrage me with your mockeries of Doggie Day Care, let's talk facts... 1) I have one dog- and one dog only. 2) I have no close friends with a dog of similar size for my pup to play with. 3) people are scared of my dog because he is rather intimidating and does not always know how to play well with other. 4) My parents, whic currently watch Eddie while I work, need a break every now and then. And fianlly, 5) Doggie Day Care is pretty damn cheap.

So I figured, what the hell.

I woke Monster Dog up this morning early. He immediately grabbed my tennis shoe and took off. I tracked him down, cursed his name, and thus our morning begins as usual.

First, I have to admit, I love how smart Prince Edward the Black is. I say to him "You're going on a trip today! You're going to SCHOOL!" And somehow, in his little doggie brain, one of words registers (my guess would be "trip" or "going"), because he was at his leash ready to have it put on him and then was at the door ready to embark on his adventure.

When we got to the day care, he was pretty excited... until we opened the door. He leered in, not moving, just sniffing. I think he knew this place was not meant for him. We walk in to fakey greetings. "AW LOOK AT DA PUPPY!!!' One blond girl- probably 18 years old gushes, as she holds a chihuahua. Um, lady, I know you don't like this dog. He's huge. He's masculine. You're holding a Chihuahua. You're blond and tanned and fake boobed. You don't like my dog. And he's not a puppy- he;s over 70 lbs. Give it up.

Instead I smile. I even remark about how "cute her dog is." (Admittedly, I do find all pups cute- big, small, furry, hairless- I'm an equal opportunity animal lover). They ask who he is and I tell them it's Eddie and this is his first day. Eddie in the mean time, is completely confused. He chooses to sit beside me, trying to figure out what this place is, and what it has in store for him. A man walks in holding a miniture Yorkie. It is, obviously, cute. I smile at him and at his little pup. He looks at me, looks Eddie up and down with disdain. I saw it flash in his eyes 'Pit Bull.' He hugs his little dog a bit closer. I want to lash out. This is what I go through with my dog. First I want to scream "HE'S NOT A PIT BULL, HE'S AN AMERICAN BULLDOG." Then I want to, politely, point out that this large man with his little dog really has no room to judge me for my masculine fella... he's carrying a Yorkie... She has a leapord print collar... hello? And he's looking at ME like that. Sheesh.

ANYWAY! So, I let Eddie go back to the room and I leave, hoping he'll have fun and that this will be an enjoyable day.

I get to work.

I begin work.

Fast Forward ONE HOUR. Yes, folks, ONE. HOUR. I get the call. The call every parent dreads.

"You need to pick up your son." Er.... dog. I mean, dog...

Apparently Eddie was not getting along with some of the other dogs. They offered to keep him in a cage for the rest of the day, but that, frankly, sucks, and he could be caged at home. So I agree to go pick him up.

Now here's where it gets sketchy.

So I show up at this place and go in. I am embarrassed. I had counted on Eddie to disprove the stereotype of his appearance and breed and he did NOT do a very good job with his task. I enter and smile, apologetically.

"I'm here for Eddie." I say. The girl who checked him in this morning comes out and starts talking to me. Apparently, they just let all the dogs loose and then leave the room. The girl walked by later and saw that Eddie was "Cowering in the corner and snapping at anyone who came near him." Odd. So does not sound like my dog. So she offers to show me. We go into the room where the other dogs are, and where Eddie is sitting in a cage- detention. I want to scold him for being a bad dog, but he's super cute and dopey and excited to see me, so I hold it together. She lets him out and he is up on me. Paw on my shoulders and licking my chin. It's times like this that I love having a large and in charge monster. I smile and laugh and tell him he's a good boy. And then I turn my attention to the lady in charge. She says that he was okay with some of the dogs, but others he was very aggressive. I watch him. He's being good. He's social with some dogs. The only time I see him get even the slightest bit angry is when the Chihuahua continue to come over and BITE his leg. BITES HIM! So he snaps. I would too. It's like having a rat nip you- I'd be pretty shitty myself. And he doesn't like another dog- the Humping Dog... you know this one- he goes around trying to hump everyone... Eddie didn't like him either.

GO FIGURE?!

My dog doesn't like being gay humped or bit by rats.

Damn... whoda thought?!

So, now the road turns a bit more sketch. It's bad enough that they copped out and called me after an hour. But now here we go... So this girl says to me "He's awfully fear aggressive for being so young. He's not quite two... this could be a major behavioral issue."

"Well, we plan on putting him back into training as soon as we get married." I say to her, figuring this will calm her concern for my pup. It's not a lie. We DO plan on putting him back into obedience. We want to work with him more and more- because he is a great dog- but he's stubborn and strong and smart- he needs to be reigned in.

"Well, I just wanted to let you know, if you don't want him, I'll take him." She says.

Wtf?!

"Oh, well, thank you, but I don't think we'll be getting rid of him." I say.

"Well, with behavioral issues, it's hard sometimes... so if you want to get rid of him, I'd be willing..." she continues. I cut her off.

"I'm pretty sure we won't." She nods.

"Another thing..." WARNING BEEP BEEEP SKETCHY "If you want, we could get our dogs together.... I have a Pit, and we could muzzle them both and let them fight." I must have looked confused, because Crazy continues. "That way they couldn't hurt each other, but my dog could teach him what he knows, and they could fight their agression out."

Hold up. When did I get on the road to Crazyville? Am I on Crazy Street? I think I am, ladies and gents.

"I don't think so... but thank you for all of your help." I mumble as I leave the room.

To put the icing on the cake, as I try to leave she stops me- to CHARGE me for the day.

"But he got sent home?!" I say.

"Yes, but we offered to keep him the whole day."

"IN A CAGE!" I exclaim. I realize this is a no win situation so I plop down the money and rock out of there.

"Call me if you change your mind about getting together!" Crazy calls after me.

What a morning for the Eddie. And J comes in tonight. Exciting day all around.

Pay Foe

2006-02-23T07:49:00.000-06:00

So I get into work pretty early this morning, knowing I have clients coming in for a meeting at 9:30. This way I have a nice relaxing prep for the meeting- organizing, drinking my Pepsi One (you drink coffee- I drink diet sodas), checking emails, surveying the left overs from the work day before... You get the idea.

That was the plan.

Then I check my email. And I have this odd email from Paypal, saying that my payment has been sent to this random men's watch company.

Cue old school Tim the Tool-man Taylor growl of "Arrrgh?"

Because I surely know that I did not purchase a watch, nor have I used paypal in probably 6 months. And had been using Paypal it would have been on the fake Louis Vitton purse I have been eying... so cute... so realistic looking.... so admittedly ridiculous.

So then, of course, I am a bit concerned. Especially because I currently have 50 bucks in my checking account (worry not, team, payday is tomorrow). At the bottom of this email it says "if you wish to dispute this charge click here". Accordingly, I click.

A new pop up comes up and asks me to fill in my information, which I begin to do. Then I realize they are asking me to give them my debit card number

and the expiration date

and the code on the back

and my ATM pin number.--- you know, for security purposes... riiiiiiight.

This seems sketchy to me.

So, I do what any independent female does...

I called my significant other.

Note: J is sick- very sick- ugly sick. And it's 8:30 in the morning on a day which he does not have to work... oops!

A big brown bear who we'll call "J" answers the phone. He sounds awful. He sound tired. He sound confused as to why I would wake him from this hybernation.

"I know you're sick and asleep, but I need to ask you a question and you need to wake up and help me." I say this in one breath. That's how you know this is serious. I talk really fast when I'm serious. And when I'm drunk. Only it's 8:30 am, so obviously I'm not drunk. That leaves one option: Serious Business.

"What's up baby?" growls BBB (big brown bear- keep up folks). I explain the situation and ask if I should give this pop up window my info. Suddenly BBB is gone and Cap. J, the officer in the United States Army is awake, alert and at attention. "NO! It's a scam!" he then proceeds to tell me to call Paypal and report these people.

I do.

It was a scam. J/BBB was right (again).

It wasted a good 45 minutes of my morning where I should have been blogging/emailing/talking/sipping Pepsi One.

The moral of the story is...

Kellie is an internet and computer idiot.

The One Where Kellie Almost Passes Out

2006-02-22T14:15:00.000-06:00

Finally sat down with the Boss.

Told him of the probable movings of J and myself.

Almost passed out.

Didn't cry.

No one yelled.

Pleasant talk.

I'm still alive and feel honest again.

Foggy Morning and Sick Puppies

2006-02-22T08:07:00.000-06:00

This morning is full of fog.

I went to bed rather early last night, only to wake up even groggier than normal... hate that! However, two diet cokes later I am feeling bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready for my day.

My plan of sitting down with the boss this morning backfired again, when one of my co-workers could not come in and has court today. Suddenly my schedule is full and we're all running here and there with little interaction. I saw the Boss for about 5 minutes, 4 and a half of which he was on a call, and the other thirty seconds he was going over the plan for the day while walking out the door. A "Goodbye Kiddo" (which may sound insulting, but somehow is endearing) and away he was, leaving me and my good intentioned requests for a meeting in the dust. This afternoon it has to happen- although I don't know where I will get the time to have said meeting. I just need an extra hour in my afternoon today- that would help out a lot.

My mother surprised me a few minutes ago with flowers. She's off work and dropped by with Lilies and Belles of ireland. So now my office is fragrant and beautiful- with leftover flowers from Valentine's and now these. :)

Eddie was sick last night. He was pathetic. Whiney and mopey, however, at the same time, a lot more cuddly and affectionate than I am used to- I liked it! I'm embarrassed to say how trained HE has ME- and, frankly, when he sees me he automatically thinks three things: presents, playtime, and treats. I used to come home virtually every day with a bag of goodies for him. A toy, or cookies or a new jacket (although now he is too big and none of the jacket's fit his broad chest). It made it hells when I actually went shopping for me- I would walk in my house and be barraged- me trying to keep the bag away and him certain that it contained a present for him. So I had to stop all of that. I couldn't help but feel bad for him yesterday. He'd gone to the vet to get groomed, and while there I got him micro chipped. They say it doens't hurt- but it's a pretty big needle.

And I know my dog- and he was NOT pleased last night.

Good thing he's not spoiled...

nope... not at all... :)